Syrian Family Reunited, Against the Odds, in Greece

Abdul Salam Al Khawien, 37, right, and his wife Kariman, 32, left, pose with their children for a family photo, at their apartment in the northern city of Thessaloniki, Greece, Saturday, May 1, 2021. (AP Photo/Giannis Papanikos)
Abdul Salam Al Khawien, 37, right, and his wife Kariman, 32, left, pose with their children for a family photo, at their apartment in the northern city of Thessaloniki, Greece, Saturday, May 1, 2021. (AP Photo/Giannis Papanikos)
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Syrian Family Reunited, Against the Odds, in Greece

Abdul Salam Al Khawien, 37, right, and his wife Kariman, 32, left, pose with their children for a family photo, at their apartment in the northern city of Thessaloniki, Greece, Saturday, May 1, 2021. (AP Photo/Giannis Papanikos)
Abdul Salam Al Khawien, 37, right, and his wife Kariman, 32, left, pose with their children for a family photo, at their apartment in the northern city of Thessaloniki, Greece, Saturday, May 1, 2021. (AP Photo/Giannis Papanikos)

Torn apart in the deadly chaos of an air raid, a Syrian family of seven has been reunited, against the odds, three years later at a refugee shelter in Greece's second city of Thessaloniki, a centuries-old melting point of cultures overlooking the Aegean Sea.

When the warplanes screamed in over the village of Dana, near Idlib in Syria, in September 2017, Abdul Salam Al Khawien was at home with his five children. His wife, Kariman, was out shopping in the marketplace. Bombs burst among the stalls, scattering corpses and knocking her unconscious.

She spent the next week recovering in a clinic, and by the time she was well enough to leave, Abdul had fled with the children to safety across the Turkish border, some 15 kilometers (9 miles) away.
Now in different countries, lacking mobile phones, internet or any other means of communicating or learning what had happened to each other, Kariman and Abdul each lost hope that the other had survived.

Until, one day last August, Kariman's brother discovered a social media account with a photograph of her eldest son, Hamza. It had been opened by Abdul, who had managed to reach Greece with the children — in his fifth attempt, having paid smugglers 5,000 euros ($6,000) for berths in a flimsy boat with more than 60 others — and had been granted asylum.

She immediately got in touch.

“I had a good feeling that day,” Abdul, a 37-year-old former car salesman from a village near Homs, told The Associated Press. “When I saw the message I nearly went mad with joy. I didn't tell the children, though. I thought it would be better for them to find out when she got here.”

Before, he said, whenever the children had asked about their mother, he told them she was in Syria and would rejoin them one day. “But they suspected she was dead," he said. "I had lost all hope.”
The 32-year-old mother still faced a daunting prospect: Making the dangerous — and illegal — journey from Syria to Turkey and then Greece, assisted by smuggling gangs.
“We didn't have any money (to pay them),” Kariman said, “and had to find some.”

She was able to raise the cash and entered Turkey with other Syrian refugees, finally reaching Istanbul. “From there, using smugglers, I tried to enter Greece by crossing the Evros River” that runs along the Greek-Turkish land border, she said.

But they were caught by Greek border guards and, according to Kariman, were sent back a day later to Turkey in the type of illegal action, known as a pushback, that Greece has repeatedly been accused of using against migrants slipping across the porous frontier. Greek authorities deny the practice.

Her second try, in November 2020, was successful. She found her way on foot, in the dark, to a Greek village.

“I went into a coffee shop and broke into tears,” she said. “They asked me where I was from, I said Syria, and they welcomed me. ... I sat on a balcony with a woman and drank coffee, and she made me understand, in sign language, that I was now safe.”

She was able to contact Filoxeneio, the facility set up by the Arsis NGO and the Thessaloniki municipality where Abdul and the children were living, and after registering with police the family was reunited.

Filoxeneio coordinator Manolis Zougos said he'd never encountered such a story during the 17 years he's been working with refugees.

“Up to the last minute we had thought her dead, which is what Abdul believed,” he said. “He had had a hard time. He was on his own and needed to perform multiple roles for his children.”

Even before the air raid on Dana, the family had struggled to escape violence in Syria's civil war.

“We changed locations 28 times, starting from our village near Homs in 2011,” Abdul said. “I had just built our house there, and it was destroyed. Whenever unrest came, we moved on. ... As soon as we heard a bombardment, we grabbed blankets, a tent and a generator, put them in the car and left.”

The couple tell their story with their children — Hamza, 10, Iman, 8, Layan, 7, Bayan, 5, and Safa, 3 1/2 — sitting around them. Kariman is pregnant again — “I would like a boy," Abdul said. But their travels may not yet be over.

Abdul says he wants to reach Germany, where his brother and sister live.

“Greece is a very safe country, but it is difficult to find work,” he said. “It's difficult for us.”



'Too Dangerous to Go to Hospital': A Glimpse into Iran's Protest Crackdown

In this frame grab from video taken by an individual not employed by The Associated Press and obtained by the AP outside Iran shows people blocking an intersection during a protest in Tehran, Iran, Thursday Jan. 8, 2026. (UGC via AP)
In this frame grab from video taken by an individual not employed by The Associated Press and obtained by the AP outside Iran shows people blocking an intersection during a protest in Tehran, Iran, Thursday Jan. 8, 2026. (UGC via AP)
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'Too Dangerous to Go to Hospital': A Glimpse into Iran's Protest Crackdown

In this frame grab from video taken by an individual not employed by The Associated Press and obtained by the AP outside Iran shows people blocking an intersection during a protest in Tehran, Iran, Thursday Jan. 8, 2026. (UGC via AP)
In this frame grab from video taken by an individual not employed by The Associated Press and obtained by the AP outside Iran shows people blocking an intersection during a protest in Tehran, Iran, Thursday Jan. 8, 2026. (UGC via AP)

Young protesters shot in the back, shotgun pellets fired in a doctor's face, wounded people afraid to go to hospital: "Every family has been affected" by the deadly crackdown on Iran's recent wave of demonstrations, said one protester.

Speaking to AFP in Istanbul, this 45-year-old engineer who asked to be identified as Farhad -- not his real name -- was caught up in the mass protests that swept his home city of one million people just outside Tehran.

With Iran still largely under an internet blackout after weeks of unrest, eyewitness testimony is key for understanding how the events unfolded.

Angry demonstrations over economic hardship began late last year and exploded into the biggest anti-government protests since the 1979 Iranian revolution.

"On the first day, there were so many people in the streets that the security forces just kept their distance," he told AFP.

"But on the second day, they understood that without shooting, the people were not going to disperse."

As the protests grew, the security forces began a major crackdown under the cover of a communications blackout that began on January 8.

Sitting inside a church on the European side of Istanbul, this quietly-spoken oil industry worker said he was in his car with his sister on the night when the shooting began.

"We saw about 20 military people jumping from cars and start shooting at young people about 100 meters away. I saw people running but they were shooting at their backs" with rifles and shotguns, he told AFP.

"In front of my eyes, I saw a friend of ours, a doctor, being hit in the face by shotgun pellets," Farhad said. He does not know what happened to him.

Both Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have accused the security forces of firing rifles and shotguns loaded with metal pellets directly at protesters' heads and torsos.

"I saw two people being carried, they were very badly injured, maybe dead," Farhad said.

A lot of people also died "in their cars because the bullets were coming out of nowhere".

'Afraid to go to hospital'

The scale of the crackdown is only slowly emerging.

Despite great difficulty accessing information, the Norway-based NGO Iran Human Rights says it has verified the deaths of 3,428 protesters killed by the security forces, but warned the true figure could be much higher, citing estimates of "between 5,000 and 20,000".

Those who were injured were often too afraid to go to hospital, Farhad said.

"People can't go to the hospital because the authorities and the police are there. Anyone with injuries from bullets or shotgun (pellets) they detain and interrogate," he said.

"Doctors have been going to people's houses to give them medical assistance."

He himself was beaten with a baton by two people on a motorbike and thought his arm was broken, but did not go to hospital because it was "too dangerous".

Many "opened their homes to let the demonstrators inside and give them first aid", including his sister and her friend who took in "around 50 boys, and gave them tea and cake".

There were a lot of very young people on the streets and "a lot of girls and women", he told AFP, saying he had seen children of "six or seven" shouting slogans against Iran's supreme leader Ali Khamenei.

The security forces were also staging spot checks for anyone with protest-related injuries or footage on their phones, he said.

"It's so dangerous because they randomly check phones. If they see anything related to this revolution, you are finished. They are also making people lift their shirts to look for signs of bullet or shotgun injuries.

"If they see that, they are taken for interrogation."

Speaking just before he flew back to Iran -- "because I have a job to go to" -- he insisted he was "absolutely not afraid".

Despite everything, people were still ready to protest "because they are so angry", he explained.

He is convinced US President Donald Trump will soon make good on his pledge to intervene, pointing to recent reports of US warships arriving in the region.

"The system cannot survive -- in Iran everybody is just overwhelmed with this dictatorship. We have had enough of them."


A US Shift Marked Kurdish-Led Forces’ Fall from Power in Syria

 Syrian government forces patrol inside the al-Hol camp as smoke rises from an arms depot explosion in northeastern Syria's Hasakeh province, Syria, Wednesday, Jan. 21, 2026, after the withdrawal of the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF). (AP)
Syrian government forces patrol inside the al-Hol camp as smoke rises from an arms depot explosion in northeastern Syria's Hasakeh province, Syria, Wednesday, Jan. 21, 2026, after the withdrawal of the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF). (AP)
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A US Shift Marked Kurdish-Led Forces’ Fall from Power in Syria

 Syrian government forces patrol inside the al-Hol camp as smoke rises from an arms depot explosion in northeastern Syria's Hasakeh province, Syria, Wednesday, Jan. 21, 2026, after the withdrawal of the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF). (AP)
Syrian government forces patrol inside the al-Hol camp as smoke rises from an arms depot explosion in northeastern Syria's Hasakeh province, Syria, Wednesday, Jan. 21, 2026, after the withdrawal of the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF). (AP)

Two tumultuous weeks saw the fall from power in Syria of the Kurdish-led force that was once the main US partner there, as Washington shifts its backing to the country's nascent government.

Analysts say the Syrian Democratic Forces miscalculated, taking a hard stance in negotiations with the new leaders in Damascus on the assumption that if a military conflict erupted between them, Washington would support the SDF as it had for years when they battled the ISIS group.

Instead, the Kurdish-led force lost most of its territory in northeast Syria to a government offensive after intense clashes erupted in the northern city of Aleppo on Jan. 6. Washington did not intervene militarily and focused on mediating a ceasefire.

By Wednesday, the latest ceasefire was holding, and the SDF had signed onto a deal that would effectively dissolve it.

Elham Ahmad, a senior official with the de facto autonomous administration in the Kurdish-led northeast, expressed surprise to journalists Tuesday that its calls for intervention by the US-led coalition against ISIS “have gone unanswered.”

Experts had seen it coming. "It’s been very clear for months that the US views Damascus as a potential strategic partner," said Noah Bonsey, senior advisor on Syria with the International Crisis Group, according The Associated Press.

US President Donald Trump has strongly backed the government of interim President Ahmed al-Sharaa, a former opposition leader, since his forces ousted former President Bashar al-Assad in December 2024 following years of civil war. Under al-Sharaa, Syria has joined the global coalition against ISIS.

US envoy to Syria Tom Barrack in a blunt statement Tuesday said the SDF’s role as Syria's primary anti-ISIS force “has largely expired" since the new government is "both willing and positioned to take over security responsibilities.” The US is not interested in "prolonging a separate SDF role,” he said.

Stalled negotiations led to gunfire

As al-Sharaa sought to pull the country together after 14 years of civil war, he and SDF leader Mazloum Abdi in March 2025 agreed that the SDF's tens of thousands of fighters would be integrated into the new army. The government would take over key institutions in northeast Syria, including border crossings, oil fields and detention centers housing thousands of suspected IS members.

But for months, US-mediated negotiations to implement the deal stalled.

Syrian government officials who spoke to The AP blamed fractured SDF leadership and their maximalist demands.

Syria’s ambassador to the United Nations, Ibrahim Olabi, said Abdi on several occasions agreed to proposals that the group’s more hardline leaders then rejected.

“Then he stopped agreeing to things and started saying, ‘I have to go back’ (to consult with other officials), which obviously didn’t work with us and the Americans," Olabi said. “We wanted to spend a week in one room and get everything done.”

A senior Syrian government official who spoke on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to comment publicly said Barrack slammed his hand on the table during one negotiating session and demanded that Abdi clarify whether he wanted to continue with the agreement. Barrack declined to comment via a spokesperson.

Ahmad with the Kurdish-led administration accused Damascus officials of dodging meetings and said those that occurred "were only possible because of the Americans pushing Damascus to come and join.”

Talks were always likely to be thorny. The SDF's Kurdish base was wary of the new government, particularly after outbreaks of sectarian violence targeting other minority groups in Syria.

There was “a major disagreement over a huge substantive set of questions around the future of Syrian governance, how decentralized or centralized it should be,” Bonsey said.

Meghan Bodette, director of research at the pro-SDF Kurdish Peace Institute think tank, said the impasse came down to an “astronomical” gulf in political outlook.

Damascus sought to create a centralized state, while the (Kurdish-led authorities) wanted to keep maximum local autonomy through decentralization and institutionalizing minority rights, she said.

Integrating forces was especially tricky

Much debate focused on how the SDF forces would be integrated into the new army.

The senior Syrian official said SDF leaders at one point proposed integrating Syrian government military groups into their forces instead.

He said the government rejected that but agreed to keep the SDF unified in three battalions in northeastern Syria along with a border brigade, a women’s brigade and a special forces brigade.

In return, the government demanded that non-SDF military forces have freedom of movement in the northeast and that SDF divisions would report to the Ministry of Defense and not move without orders. The senior official said Abdi asked to be named deputy minister of defense, and the government agreed.

At the last negotiation session in early January, however, SDF commander Sipan Hamo — seen by Damascus as part of the hardline faction — demanded that the northeast brigades and battalions report to a person chosen by the SDF and that other forces could only enter the region in small patrols and with SDF permission, the senior official said. The government rejected that.

SDF officials did not respond to request for comment on details of negotiations.

Aleppo was a turning point

Days after that session, clashes erupted in Aleppo.

Olabi, the ambassador, said the Syrian military's success in limiting civilian casualties in Aleppo was another key to the diplomatic breakthrough with the SDF.

Syria's military leadership appeared to have learned lessons from confrontations elsewhere in which government-affiliated fighters carried out sectarian revenge attacks on civilians.

In Aleppo, the military opened “humanitarian corridors” so civilians could flee.

“If Aleppo had gone wrong, I think we would be in a very different place,” Olabi said.

After Syrian forces captured the Arab-majority oil-rich provinces of Raqqa and Deir Ezzor from the SDF, the two sides announced a deal. SDF would retain a presence only in Hasakeh province, the country's Kurdish heartland. And SDF fighters would be integrated into the army as individuals.

Bonsey said the SDF had been warned during negotiations that their effort to maintain their dominant role in the northeast conflicted with geopolitical shifts.

They ended up accepting a deal that is “much worse” than what was on offer just two weeks ago, he said.


Israeli Settler Outpost Becomes a Settlement within a Month

Israeli finance minister Bezalel Smotrich, center, strides through the newly-legalized Jewish settlement of Yatziv, adjacent to the Palestinian town of Beit Sahour, in the West Bank, Jan. 19, 2026. (AP)
Israeli finance minister Bezalel Smotrich, center, strides through the newly-legalized Jewish settlement of Yatziv, adjacent to the Palestinian town of Beit Sahour, in the West Bank, Jan. 19, 2026. (AP)
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Israeli Settler Outpost Becomes a Settlement within a Month

Israeli finance minister Bezalel Smotrich, center, strides through the newly-legalized Jewish settlement of Yatziv, adjacent to the Palestinian town of Beit Sahour, in the West Bank, Jan. 19, 2026. (AP)
Israeli finance minister Bezalel Smotrich, center, strides through the newly-legalized Jewish settlement of Yatziv, adjacent to the Palestinian town of Beit Sahour, in the West Bank, Jan. 19, 2026. (AP)

Celebratory music blasting from loudspeakers mixed with the sounds of construction, almost drowning out calls to prayer from a mosque in the Palestinian town across this West Bank valley.

Orthodox Jewish women wearing colorful head coverings and with babies on their hips, shared platters of fresh vegetables as soldiers encircled the hilltop, keeping guard.

The scene Monday reflected the culmination of Israeli settlers’ long campaign to turn this site overlooking the Palestinian town of Beit Sahour into a settlement. Over the years they fended off plans to build a hospital for Palestinian children on the land, always holding to the hope it would one day become theirs.

That moment is now, they say.

Smotrich goes on settlement spree

After two decades of efforts, it took just a month for their new settlement, called “Yatziv,” to go from an unauthorized outpost of a few mobile homes to a fully recognized settlement. Fittingly, the new settlement's name means “stable” in Hebrew.

“We are standing stable here in Israel,” Finance Minister and settler leader Bezalel Smotrich told The Associated Press at Monday’s inauguration ceremony. “We’re going to be here forever. We will never establish a Palestinian state here.”

With leaders like Smotrich holding key positions in Israel’s government and establishing close ties with the Trump administration, settlers are feeling the wind at their backs.

Smotrich, who has been in charge of Israeli settlement policy for the past three years, has overseen an aggressive construction and expansion binge aimed at dismantling any remaining hopes of establishing a Palestinian state in the occupied West Bank.

While most of the world considers the settlements illegal, their impact on the ground is clear, with Palestinians saying the ever-expanding construction hems them in and makes it nearly impossible to establish a viable independent state. The Palestinians seek the West Bank, captured by Israel in 1967, as part of a future state.

Emboldened

Settlers had long set their sights on the hilltop, thanks to its position in a line of settlements surrounding Jerusalem and because they said it was significant to Jewish history. But they put up the boxy prefab homes in November because days earlier, Palestinian attackers had stabbed an Israeli to death at a nearby junction.

The attack created an impetus to justify the settlement, settlement council chair, Yaron Rosenthal, told the AP. With the election of Israel’s far-right government in late 2022, Trump’s return to office last year and the November attack, conditions were ripe for settlers to make their move, Rosenthal said.

“We understood that there was an opportunity,” he said. “But we didn’t know it would happen so quickly.”

“Now there is the right political constellation for this to happen."

Smotrich announced approval of the outpost, along with 18 others, on Dec. 21. That capped 20 years of effort, said Nadia Matar, a settler activist.

“Shdema was nearly lost to us,” said Matar, using the name of an Israeli military base at the site. “What prevented that outcome was perseverance.”

Back in 2006, settlers were infuriated upon hearing that Israel's government was in talks with the US to build a Palestinian children's hospital on the land, said Hagit Ofran, a director at Peace Now, an anti-settlement watchdog group, especially as the US Agency for International Development was funding a “peace park” at the base of the hill.

The mayor of Beit Sahour urged the US Consulate to pressure Israel to begin hospital construction, while settlers began demonstrations at the site calling on Israel to quash the project, according to consulate files obtained through WikiLeaks.

It was “interesting” that settlers had “no religious, legal, or ... security claim to that land,” wrote consulate staffer Matt Fuller at the time, in an email he shared with the AP. "They just don’t want the Palestinians to have it — and for a hospital no less — a hospital that would mean fewer permits for entry to Jerusalem for treatment.”

The hospital was never built. The site was converted into a military base after the Netanyahu government came to power in 2009. From there, settlers quickly established a foothold by creating a makeshift cultural center at the site, putting on lectures, readings and exhibits.

Speaking to the AP, Ehud Olmert, the Israeli prime minister at the time the hospital was under discussion, said that was the tipping point.

“Once it is military installation, it is easier than to change its status into a new outpost, a new settlement and so on,” he said.

Olmert said Netanyahu — who has served as prime minister nearly uninterrupted since then — was “committed to entirely different political directions from the ones that I had,” he said. “They didn’t think about cooperation with the Palestinians.”

Palestinians say the land is theirs

The continued legalization of settlements and spiking settler violence — which rose by 27% in 2025, according to Israel’s military — have cemented a fearful status quo for West Bank Palestinians.

The land now home to Yatziv was originally owned by Palestinians from Beit Sahour, said the town’s mayor, Elias Isseid.

“These lands have been owned by families from Beit Sahour since ancient times,” he said.

Isseid worries more land loss is to come. Yatziv is the latest in a line of Israeli settlements to pop up around Beit Sahour, all of which are connected by a main highway that runs to Jerusalem without entering Palestinian villages. The new settlement “poses a great danger to our children, our families," he said.