'ISIS Brides’ Open up in Syria Camp Documentary

Shamima Begum features in ‘The Return: Life After ISIS.’  - AFP
Shamima Begum features in ‘The Return: Life After ISIS.’ - AFP
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'ISIS Brides’ Open up in Syria Camp Documentary

Shamima Begum features in ‘The Return: Life After ISIS.’  - AFP
Shamima Begum features in ‘The Return: Life After ISIS.’ - AFP

“Okay, um... My name’s Shamima. I’m from the UK. I’m 19.”

Spoken with a nervous laugh, the introduction to a room full of women and restless babies could be the start of any young mothers’ support group.

But the speaker is Shamima Begum, the teenage “ISIS bride” who left Britain for Syria in 2015 to join the group, and whose desire to return sparked a right-wing press frenzy that saw her stripped of her citizenship.

The footage is captured in “The Return: Life After ISIS,” a documentary premiering Wednesday at the online Texas-based South By Southwest festival.

Spanish director Alba Sotorra got rare, extensive access to Begum and other Western women over several months in Syria’s Kurdish-run Roj camp, where they remain following the so-called caliphate’s collapse in 2019.

“I would say to the people in the UK, give me a second chance because I was still young when I left,” Begum tells the filmmakers, AFP reported.

“I just want them to put aside everything they’ve heard about me in the media,” she adds.

Begum left her London home aged just 15 to travel to Syria with two school friends, and married an ISIS fighter.

She was “found” by British journalists, heavily pregnant at another Syrian camp, in February 2019 — and her apparent lack of remorse in initial interviews drew outrage.

But Begum and fellow Westerners including US-born Hoda Muthana strike a very different and apologetic tone in Sotorra’s film.

The documentary follows “workshop” sessions in which the women write letters to their younger selves expressing regret about their departures for Syria, and plant a tree to remember their loved ones.

“It was known that Syria was a warzone and I still traveled into it with my own children — now how I did this I really don’t know looking back,” says one Western woman.

Begum recalls feeling like an “outsider” in London who wanted to “help the Syrians,” but claims on arrival she quickly realized ISIS were “trapping people” to boost the so-called caliphate’s numbers and “look good for the (propaganda) videos.”

Sotorra, the director, gained camp access thanks to Kurdish fighters she had followed in Syria for her previous film.

She set out to document the Kurdish women’s sacrifices in running a camp filled with their former enemies’ wives and children, but soon pivoted to the Western women.

“I will never be able to understand how a woman from the West can take this decision of leaving everything behind to join a group that is committing the atrocities that ISIS is committing,” Sotorra told AFP.

“I do understand now how you can make a mistake.”

On Sotorra’s arrival in March 2019, the women — fresh from a warzone — were “somehow blocked... not thinking and not feeling.”

“Shamima was a piece of ice when I met her,” Sotorra told AFP.

“She lost the kid when I was there... it took a while to be able to cry,” she recalled.

“I think it’s just surviving, you need to protect yourself to survive.”

Another factor is the enduring presence of “small but very powerful” groups of even “more radicalized women” who remain loyal to ISIS and exert pressure on their campmates.

“We had (other) women who joined in the beginning, and then they received pressure from other women so they stopped coming,” said Sotorra.

In the film, Begum claims she “had no choice but to say certain things” to journalists “because I lived in fear of these women coming to my tent one day and killing me and killing my baby.”

The question of what can and should be done with these women — and their children — plagues Western governments, sowing divisions among allies.

Last month, Britain’s Supreme Court rejected Begum’s bid to return to challenge a decision stripping her citizenship on national security grounds.

How much the women knew about — and abetted — ISIS's rapes, tortures and beheadings may never be known.

In the documentary, Begum denies she “knew about” or “supported these crimes,” dismissing claims she could have been in ISIS's feared morality police as a naive 15-year-old who did not even “speak the language.”

“I never even had a parking ticket back in my own country before... I never harmed anybody, I never killed anybody, I never did anything,” says Canadian Kimberly Polman.

An incredulous Kurdish woman points out that “maybe your husband killed my cousin.”

Sotorra believes the women could be useful back home in preventing the same mistake in future generations, and points to the cruelty of raising young children in this environment.

“It took them a while to realize that they have responsibility for (their) choice... they cannot just think ‘Okay, I regret, I go back, as if nothing has happened,’” she said.

“No, it’s not about this... you have to accept the consequences.”



Homes Smashed, Help Slashed: No Respite for Returning Syrians

People walk along a street, on the day US President Donald Trump announces that he would order the lifting of sanctions on Syria, in Latakia, Syria May 14, 2025. REUTERS/Karam Al-Masri
People walk along a street, on the day US President Donald Trump announces that he would order the lifting of sanctions on Syria, in Latakia, Syria May 14, 2025. REUTERS/Karam Al-Masri
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Homes Smashed, Help Slashed: No Respite for Returning Syrians

People walk along a street, on the day US President Donald Trump announces that he would order the lifting of sanctions on Syria, in Latakia, Syria May 14, 2025. REUTERS/Karam Al-Masri
People walk along a street, on the day US President Donald Trump announces that he would order the lifting of sanctions on Syria, in Latakia, Syria May 14, 2025. REUTERS/Karam Al-Masri

Around a dozen Syrian women sat in a circle at a UN-funded center in Damascus, happy to share stories about their daily struggles, but their bonding was overshadowed by fears that such meet-ups could soon end due to international aid cuts.

The community center, funded by the United Nations' refugee agency (UNHCR), offers vital services that families cannot get elsewhere in a country scarred by war, with an economy broken by decades of mismanagement and Western sanctions.

"We have no stability. We are scared and we need support," said Fatima al-Abbiad, a mother of four. "There are a lot of problems at home, a lot of tension, a lot of violence because of the lack of income."

But the center's future now hangs in the balance as the UNHCR has had to cut down its activities in Syria because of the international aid squeeze caused by US President Donald Trump's decision to halt foreign aid.

The cuts will close nearly half of the UNHCR centers in Syria and the widespread services they provide - from educational support and medical equipment to mental health and counselling sessions - just as the population needs them the most. There are hundreds of thousands of Syrian refugees returning home after the fall of Bashar al-Assad last year.

UNHCR's representative in Syria, Gonzalo Vargas Llosa, said the situation was a "disaster" and that the agency would struggle to help returning refugees.

"I think that we have been forced - here I use very deliberately the word forced - to adopt plans which are more modest than we would have liked," he told Context/Thomson Reuters Foundation in Damascus.

"It has taken us years to build that extraordinary network of support, and almost half of them are going to be closed exactly at the moment of opportunity for refugee and IDPs (internally displaced people) return."

BIG LOSS

A UNHCR spokesperson told the Thomson Reuters Foundation that the agency would shut down around 42% of its 122 community centers in Syria in June, which will deprive some 500,000 people of assistance and reduce aid for another 600,000 that benefit from the remaining centers.

The UNHCR will also cut 30% of its staff in Syria, said the spokesperson, while the livelihood program that supports small businesses will shrink by 20% unless it finds new funding.
Around 100 people visit the center in Damascus each day, said Mirna Mimas, a supervisor with GOPA-DERD, the church charity that runs the center with UNHCR.

Already the center's educational programs, which benefited 900 children last year, are at risk, said Mimas.

Nour Huda Madani, 41, said she had been "lucky" to receive support for her autistic child at the center.

"They taught me how to deal with him," said the mother of five.

Another visitor, Odette Badawi, said the center was important for her well-being after she returned to Syria five years ago, having fled to Lebanon when war broke out in Syria in 2011.

"(The center) made me feel like I am part of society," said the 68-year-old.

Mimas said if the center closed, the loss to the community would be enormous: "If we must tell people we are leaving, I will weep before they do," she said.

UNHCR HELP 'SELECTIVE'

Aid funding for Syria had already been declining before Trump's seismic cuts to the US Agency for International Development this year and cuts by other countries to international aid budgets.

But the new blows come at a particularly bad time.

Since former president Assad was ousted by opposition factions last December, around 507,000 Syrians have returned from neighboring countries and around 1.2 million people displaced inside the country went back home, according to UN estimates.

Llosa said, given the aid cuts, UNHCR would have only limited scope to support the return of some of the 6 million Syrians who fled the country since 2011.

"We will need to help only those that absolutely want to go home and simply do not have any means to do so," Llosa said. "That means that we will need to be very selective as opposed to what we wanted, which was to be expansive."

ESSENTIAL SUPPORT

Ayoub Merhi Hariri had been counting on support from the livelihood program to pay off the money he borrowed to set up a business after he moved back to Syria at the end of 2024.

After 12 years in Lebanon, he returned to Daraa in southwestern Syria to find his house destroyed - no doors, no windows, no running water, no electricity.

He moved in with relatives and registered for livelihood support at a UN-backed center in Daraa to help him start a spice manufacturing business to support his family and ill mother.

While his business was doing well, he said he would struggle to repay his creditors the 20 million Syrian pounds ($1,540) he owed them now that his livelihood support had been cut.

"Thank God (the business) was a success, and it is generating an income for us to live off," he said.

"But I can't pay back the debt," he said, fearing the worst. "I'll have to sell everything."