One day with the YPJ Sniper Unit in Rojava, Syria
I went to Rojava, Syria, where I was able to meet with YPG (People’s Defense Unit) and YPJ (Women’s Defense Unit) and understand better about their fight against the Islamic State.
A version of this article was published by Reuters Foundation and you can find it here.
TIL KOCHER (Syria) – A Makarov, a semi-automatic Russian pistol, is hanging next to a blue flower clock on an empty wall mounted coat rack. Her owner left it there for the night while sleeping in the one bedroom apartment on the second floor of an empty building in Til-Kocher, on the Syrian border with Iraq. Til-Kocher is one of the most strategic bases for the YPG, the Kurdish People Protection’s Army, in their war against ISIS.
Arin, a 27 years-old woman from Germany, was awarded the gun when she got twenty confirmed ISIS kills. That was months ago. Now, her Havel (Comrades and friends in Kurdish) claim she is one of the most dangerous snipers in the war against the Daesh, as they call Islamic State fighters.
Although she does not say it openly, she is working towards being awarded a Beretta, the most sought after incentive prize amongst Kurdish snipers. In order to get it Arin needs to kill 100 jihadists.
However, once they get back home, they try not to talk much about war, in an effort to regain some normalcy. They cook, laugh, hug, and kiss each other as if they were ordinary girls, but they also read Nietzsche and go into combat.
“This is a bloody war,” Arin said to Reuters. “But we need to fight it, we need to protect our women and children. Otherwise nobody else will defend us.”
Born in Cologne, Germany, from Kurdish parents, Arin (her fighter name) went to college for nursing, she graduated and started working. “I had a good life, I liked living there” she said without hesitation. But something changed when news from Syria became more dire. ISIS entered the war amongst a long list of other violent actors including Assad’s forces, Al-Nusra, and the FSA.
“I remember watching tv and when I saw women and children slaughtered by the Daesh, I could not stand it anymore.” So last year she joined the YPJ, the women’s militia group belonging to the Kurdish coalition that controls the region of Rojava. Now she is the commander of her unit, which originally had 20 members, but today only seven survive.
Since she left Germany, she has not talked to her parents. “I don’t call them, it is better this way.” Maybe one day, once the war is over, she will eventually reach out. She does not want to think about Germany, as if it is too painful to remember what she left behind.
“My life is here with these brave women. They are my family,” she said smiling. While talking about them her light brown eyes sparkled. Nothing about her seems violent or ferocious. Her long auburn hair is collected on a side pony tail, and frames her oval face. She is wearing a dark green camouflage uniform which includes baggy trousers.
It is Thursday morning and their schedule is always very tight, especially when not engaged in combat. They have meetings with other units, then have marksmanship training a few miles away. At 12 pm they have lunch together and straight after Arin will call everybody for their daily assembly during which they are free to say whatever they want, even criticize each other, no matter what the woman’s rank.
At 8 am, everybody is busy cleaning up and preparing breakfast. Arin is vacuuming the entrance and the living room’s brown and yellow carpet. After few seconds Nisan, 24 years-old, enters with a gray plastic table cloth which she spreads out on the floor. She has lost her right finger while fighting in Rabiaa, the Iraqi town adjacent to Til-Kocher, in August. Now she pulls the trigger with her left hand or the middle finger of her right hand. “I am still very good,” she says.
Rangin enters the room with breakfast. Chopped tomatoes, olives, goat cheese, and home made bread. Always bubbling with happiness, she tries to cheer everybody up, especially if the unit’s morale is low. Sometimes she can come across as disrespectful, especially towards men.
“It does not matter because they can’t do anything to me,” Rangin said loudly. She is referring to the YPJ military structure. In Rojava, women can not be issued orders by male soldiers. This is why there always have to be both male and female commanders in the YPG military hierarchy. The YPJ stands at 7,500 fighters, 40% of the entire YPG. This model is also used in Rojava for the civilian institutions. They call it a “Women revolution.”
“We can do everything and we fight next to our men who we respect and love them as brothers,” they say while eating breakfast. They deeply believe every woman should be free and they are ready to die for it. “We want to set an example for the Middle East and the West. We want gender equality for all.”
After a few hours the phone rings. Arin answers and her face changes expression. She says something in Kurdish and without further hesitation three of them grab their combat gear. In 10 minutes a car will bring them to Jezza, a disputed town close to Kobani. “We are going to fight the Daesh, take care,” she said while closing the door.
