'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.”



Bittersweet Return for Syrians with Killed, Missing Relatives 

Syrian activist and former refugee Wafa Mustafa shows a picture of her missing father Ali on her phone after attending a demonstration in Damascus on January 1, 2025. (AFP)
Syrian activist and former refugee Wafa Mustafa shows a picture of her missing father Ali on her phone after attending a demonstration in Damascus on January 1, 2025. (AFP)
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Bittersweet Return for Syrians with Killed, Missing Relatives 

Syrian activist and former refugee Wafa Mustafa shows a picture of her missing father Ali on her phone after attending a demonstration in Damascus on January 1, 2025. (AFP)
Syrian activist and former refugee Wafa Mustafa shows a picture of her missing father Ali on her phone after attending a demonstration in Damascus on January 1, 2025. (AFP)

Wafa Mustafa had long dreamed of returning to Syria but the absence of her father tarnished her homecoming more than a decade after he disappeared in Bashar al-Assad's jails.

Her father Ali, an activist, is among the tens of thousands killed or missing in Syria's notorious prison system, and whose relatives have flocked home in search of answers after Assad's toppling last month by opposition forces.

"From December 8 until today, I have not felt any joy," said Mustafa, 35, who returned from Berlin.

"I thought that once I got to Syria, everything would be better, but in reality everything here is so very painful," she said. "I walk down the street and remember that I had passed by that same corner with my dad" years before.

Since reaching Damascus she has scoured defunct security service branches, prisons, morgues and hospitals, hoping to glean any information about her long-lost father.

"You can see the fatigue on people's faces" everywhere, said Mustafa, who works as a communications manager for the Syria Campaign, a rights group.

In 2021, she was invited to testify at the United Nations about the fate of Syria's disappeared.

The opposition who toppled Assad freed thousands of detainees nearly 14 years into a civil war that killed more than 500,000 people and displaced millions.

Mustafa returned to Branch 215, one of Syria's most notorious prisons run by military intelligence, where she herself had been detained simply for participating in pro-democracy protests in 2011.

She found documents there mentioning her father. "That's already a start," Mustafa said.

Now, she "wants the truth" and plans to continue searching for answers in Syria.

"I only dream of a grave, of having a place to go to in the morning to talk to my father," she said. "Graves have become our biggest dream".

- A demand for justice -

In Damascus, Mustafa took part in a protest demanding justice for the disappeared and answers about their fate.

Youssef Sammawi, 29, was there too. He held up a picture of his cousin, whose arrest and beating in 2012 prompted Sammawi to flee for Germany.

A few years later, he identified his cousin's corpse among the 55,000 images by a former military photographer codenamed "Caesar", who defected and made the images public.

The photos taken between 2011 and 2013, authenticated by experts, show thousands of bodies tortured and starved to death in Syrian prisons.

"The joy I felt gave way to pain when I returned home, without being able to see my cousin," Sammawi said.

He said his uncle had also been arrested and then executed after he went to see his son in the hospital.

"When I returned, it was the first time I truly realized that they were no longer there," he said with sadness in his voice.

"My relatives had gotten used to their absence, but not me," he added. "We demand that justice be served, to alleviate our suffering."

While Assad's fall allowed many to end their exile and seek answers, others are hesitant.

Fadwa Mahmoud, 70, told AFP she has had no news of her son and her husband, both opponents of the Assad government arrested upon arrival at Damascus airport in 2012.

She fled to Germany a year later and co-founded the Families For Freedom human rights group.

She said she has no plans to return to Syria just yet.

"No one really knows what might happen, so I prefer to stay cautious," she said.

Mahmoud said she was disappointed that Syria's new authorities, who pledged justice for victims of atrocities under Assad's rule, "are not yet taking these cases seriously".

She said Syria's new leader Ahmed al-Sharaa "has yet to do anything for missing Syrians", yet "met Austin Tice's mother two hours" after she arrived in the Syrian capital.

Tice is an American journalist missing in Syria since 2012.

Sharaa "did not respond" to requests from relatives of missing Syrians to meet him, Mahmoud said.

"The revolution would not have succeeded without the sacrifices of our detainees," she said.