ROJ CAMP, Syria — The Roj detention camp sits in a corner of the Kurdish-controlled northeast of Syria. Children weave between worn tents on bicycles, a boy kicks a soccer ball and a little girl in a full cloak pedals furiously around the compound. The facility houses the wives and children of people who joined the Islamic State, and because children make up the majority of residents it raises both security and humanitarian concerns.
Kurdish officials say a security vacuum that followed the Syrian government’s advance and the withdrawal of U.S. forces in January coincided with renewed ISIS activity in parts of the region. That instability allowed some fighters and relatives to flee other sites: al-Hol, the region’s largest camp for families of suspected ISIS members, was effectively shut down in February amid fighting, and many residents either escaped or were transferred. Roj, by contrast, has remained under Kurdish control and continues to hold roughly 2,300 detainees, most of them foreign nationals.
“I’m struggling a lot. I’m really scared for my situation, for my son’s situation as well,” said Hoda Muthana, 31, one of three American women authorities say are detained at Roj. Born in New Jersey to a Yemeni diplomat, Muthana says she would try to help de-radicalize young people if allowed to return to the United States; U.S. officials have revoked her citizenship, saying she should not have been issued the passport she used to travel to Syria.
Camp security officials draw a sharp contrast between the fates of al-Hol and Roj. Chavare Afrin, the nom de guerre used by Roj’s head of security, said many people in al-Hol left believing they would be rescued by elements aligned with the new Syrian government. She said fighters told camp guards they intended revenge attacks — “They told us that before they leave they were going to behead all the security people.” Afrin believes Roj’s location in a Kurdish-majority area helped prevent a similar mass escape; by her account, al-Hol’s surroundings of Arab villages aided departures there.
Roj is run by Kurdish-led authorities who have administered the area since breaking away from Syrian regime control more than a decade ago; they now face pressure to reintegrate under Syria’s Arab-led federal government. Camp administrators say they have made only a few exceptional humanitarian departures when nationals presented travel documents. In February, 11 Australian women and 18 children with temporary passports were permitted to leave Roj by camp authorities but were turned back at a Syrian government checkpoint and returned to the camp. “It was an exceptional case because the family members approached us and said they had discussed with the Australian government and they managed to get temporary passports for their family members,” said Mila Ibrahim, co-chair of the camp administration. Australia later described the families as a potential security risk and said it would not assist their return.
About 60% of Roj’s roughly 2,300 residents are children, according to Save the Children, one of the few aid groups still operating there. The rows of plastic tents stand on bare earth and the camp depends heavily on external assistance. Aid has been disrupted following cuts by the U.S. Agency for International Development last year and renewed fighting between Syrian and Kurdish forces in February.
Journalists were allowed limited access to Roj and could not enter the section where camp officials say the more radicalized women and children are held. Many women in the camp say they were trafficked or lured to Syria under false pretenses; others embraced ISIS ideology and passed it on to their children. Some older teenage boys have been moved out as they age — with few effective de-radicalization programs in the region, some have been placed in prisons with adult ISIS suspects.
Repatriation has been slow for detainees from dozens of countries. From populations that once numbered in the tens of thousands, only a few states have repatriated large numbers: Russia, Kazakhstan and some other eastern European countries have taken many nationals back. France has repatriated a few hundred; the United States recorded relatively few citizens who joined ISIS and has repatriated only a small number. Kurdish authorities have repeatedly urged other governments to take responsibility. “We did your duty, we managed to bring them to this stage, and now it’s their duty for all the countries to bring back their citizens,” Afrin said.
Inside the tents, day-to-day life continues in improvised ways. During Ramadan many women rest in the heat while children — home-schooled by their mothers in the absence of internet and books — play and draw. One little girl ran out clutching a painting of a brightly colored flower with “Hello friends” written on the back. Mothers describe trying to keep their children away from neighbors who still hold extremist views. “It’s a constant battle of keeping him close with me and allowing him to just be a kid. It’s really difficult,” Muthana said of her son, Adam.
Camp staff and Kurdish officials describe the detainee population as mixed: families from nearly 60 countries, some culpable and radicalized, others victims of trafficking or deception. The Kurdish-led administration says it lacks an internationally recognized justice system to properly try or rehabilitate those accused of fighting for ISIS, and it has urged other governments to repatriate their nationals and handle prosecutions.
For children and other vulnerable people in Roj, the key concerns are immediate needs and long-term futures: shelter, food, education and protection from radicalization or re-recruitment. With ongoing instability in northeastern Syria and limited international engagement, many families remain detained in camps like Roj while fighters who once held territory in Iraq and Syria are reported to be on the move again.