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The Star
16 hours ago
- Politics
- The Star
Vanished without a trace
'DON't wait for her,' the WhatsApp caller told the family of Abeer Suleiman on May 21, hours after she vanished from the streets of Safita, a town in Syria's coastal heartland. 'She's not coming back.' The kidnapper and another man, identifying himself as an intermediary, said the 29-year-old would either be killed or trafficked unless her relatives paid a ransom of US$15,000. 'I am not in Syria,' Abeer herself told her family in a call on May 29, using the same Iraqi phone number as her captors. 'All the accents around me are strange.' Reuters reviewed the recording, along with other calls and messages from the abductor and intermediary, who also used a Syrian number. Abeer is among at least 33 women and girls from Syria's Alawite sect – aged between 16 and 39 – who have disappeared this year amid the chaos following the fall of Bashar al-Assad. That's according to the families of every one of them. The overthrow of Assad in December, after 14 years of civil war, unleashed a wave of revenge against the Alawites, the Muslim minority from which he hails. Armed factions aligned with Syria's new government turned on Alawite civilians in March, killing hundreds. The UN Commission of Inquiry on Syria says it is investigating the spike in reports of missing Alawite women. Its chair, Paulo Sergio Pinheiro, told the UN Human Rights Council in June that the abductions of at least six women had been documented. Two remain missing. The commission has also received credible reports of further cases. Abeer's family scraped together her ransom, borrowing from neighbours to transfer US$15,000 in 30 installments via accounts in the Turkish city of Izmir. Once the money was paid in full on May 28, contact ceased. The kidnappers' phones went dark. Abeer's family has heard nothing since. A fighter of the ruling Syrian body standing while holding a weapon, after violence in Tartous province. — Reuters Interviews with the families of 16 of the missing found that seven were abducted for ransom – demands ranged from US$1,500 to US$100,000. Three, including Abeer, managed to get messages to their families saying they'd been taken abroad. There's been no word on the other nine. Many are under 18. Reuters reviewed messages, calls and ransom receipts linked to the abductions but could not verify every detail or confirm the identities or motives of the perpetrators. All 33 women disappeared in the governorates of Tartous, Latakia and Hama, Alawite community heartlands. Nearly half have since returned home. None would speak publicly – many cited fears for their safety. Most families said police dismissed their cases or failed to investigate thoroughly. Pinheiro confirmed that Syria's interim authorities had opened some investigations but gave no details. The Syrian government did not respond to requests for comment. Ahmed Mohammed Khair, a media officer for the Tartous governor, claimed most cases stemmed from family disputes or women running away to avoid forced marriages. A media officer in Latakia echoed this view. Hama's authorities declined to comment. A fact-finding committee set up by Syria's new president, Ahmed al-Sharaa, to probe the March killings of Alawites declined to discuss the missing women. Rights advocate Yamen Hussein, tracking the disappearances, said the pattern began in earnest after March's violence. As far as he knew, only Alawite women were being targeted. The identities and motives of the perpetrators are unclear. Alawites, who follow an offshoot of Shi'ite Islam, make up about 10% of Syria's predominantly Sunni population. Hussein said fear has gripped Alawite communities. Some women now avoid school or college, fearing abduction. 'For sure, we have a real issue here where Alawite women are being targeted,' Hussein said. 'Targeting women of the defeated party is a humiliation tactic that was used in the past by the Assad regime.' Thousands of Alawites have been displaced from Damascus, others fired from their jobs or harassed at checkpoints run by Sunni factions now aligned with the government. Family accounts suggest most women vanished in daylight, running errands or travelling on public transport. Zeinab Ghadir, 17, disappeared on her way to school on Feb 27. Her kidnapper texted the family from her phone: 'I don't want to see a single picture or, I swear to God, I will send you her blood.' Zeinab made a brief, frightened call saying she didn't know where she was and felt unwell. She hasn't been heard from since. Khozama Nayef, 35, was abducted in rural Hama in March by five men who drugged her and held her for 15 days while they negotiated a US$1,500 ransom. After her release, her family said she suffered a mental breakdown. Days later, Doaa Abbas, 29, was grabbed outside her home in Salhab, Hama. A relative chased the abductors' car on a motorbike but lost them. Three Alawite women reported missing this year later resurfaced publicly denying abduction. One, a 16-year-old from Latakia, claimed she ran away to marry a Sunni man. Her family insists she was forced and that authorities coerced her into recanting to protect her kidnappers. Two others, a 23-year-old woman and a 12-year-old girl, told Arabic TV they had travelled willingly to Aleppo and Damascus respectively. One later claimed she was beaten by a man before escaping. For decades, Alawites dominated Syria's political and military elites under the Assad dynasty. But Assad's fall ushered in a government led by HTS, a Sunni group with roots in al-Qaeda. It is trying to integrate former rebels, including foreign fighters, into the security forces to fill the void left by Assad's collapsed army. Families fear history repeating. Many dread that Alawite women could suffer the fate inflicted on Yazidi women by Islamic State a decade ago: mass abduction, trafficking and sexual slavery. Nagham Shadi's family lives in that terror. The 23-year-old vanished in June after leaving home in al-Bayadiyah, Hama, to buy milk. Her father, Shadi Aisha, said his family had already been forced from their previous village in March's anti-Alawite violence. 'What do we do? We leave it to God,' he said. — Reuters
Mada
07-07-2025
- Mada
Kafr al-Sanabsah: Life and death at the mercy of daily labor
Residents of the village of Kafr al-Sanabsah in Monufiya found themselves last week preparing coffins for 18 women and girls killed in a microbus crash. The vehicle was transporting them along the Regional Ring Road to work on desert farms. In a solemn funeral procession, thousands came out for the collective burial of the victims from the village — all between 14 and 22 years old. Since then, the village has remained in mourning. By the time I arrived in Kafr Sanabsah, talk of the immediate causes of the crash — the road's dangerous conditions and questions of accountability — had already begun to fade. In the mourning tents, what filled the air instead was rage at the daily wage system that governs life in the village, particularly for women. Each of the victims had set out that morning to make just LE130 for 12 hours of labor. *** 'We fight over that 130,' Abeer, a farmworker, shouted at the funeral tent for Mayada, one of the crash victims who was just 18 years old. As well as the tragedy of losing the victims, through the conversations with mourners I could feel a deeper crisis: that of lives taken in pursuit of LE130 and what that sum represents for a community becoming increasingly dependent on daily labor for its survival. According to residents speaking to Mada Masr, agricultural land ownership in the village has become so fragmented over the decades that in many cases, families own little to nothing. At best, one or two family members work a small plot of the family's land, while the rest are forced to chase daily labor to cover expenses, especially as rising operational costs continue to eat away at the potential income from these small plots. Meanwhile, the village population has grown and now stands at over 22,000, according to the village mayor Mohamed Allam. Most villagers agreed that women and girls make up the bulk of the agricultural workforce, while men tend to work in what they call 'with-his-arms' jobs — a term used to describe a range of informal work some consider unsuitable for women. This could include work in construction, carpentry, plastering or transporting goods on motorbikes — which is what Mayada's father used to do before his license expired and he was unable to renew it. At the funeral, the women told versions of the same story over and over. It is the story of working in 'the mountain,' or 'the yellow land' as villagers call the reclaimed desert farms that stretch beyond Monufiya's black, fertile soils. This time, however, the story ended with Mayada and her peers losing their lives. The 'yellow land' referred to here includes reclaimed desert areas in Beheira Governorate and also in Sadat City, which falls under Monufiya's jurisdiction, according to Farag Gharib, Mayada's uncle, who was receiving condolences in the men's funeral tent. When harvest time comes, work in the mountain splits into two categories: harvesting in the fields on one side, and sorting, packing, weighing and preparing the produce for export at packing stations. As an unmarried woman, Mayada worked in the latter category, where shifts stretch later into the day than field work. 'I leave early because I go to the fields — I'm out at dawn and back by 2 pm,' Abeer says. 'Us married women come home early for the children and cooking. The unmarried girls leave at 6 or 7 am and don't get back until 8 pm,' she says, her voice rising in anger, 'Since the accident, I'm scared to go out. This morning I couldn't afford breakfast.' The official daily wage for a farmworker in Kafr al-Sanabsah is LE200. But , LE20 goes to the labor contractor, and another LE50 is deducted from the total for transportation. 'If you go on your own [without a contractor], they cheat you out of your money and you don't get the whole sum,' one of the people attending the funeral said. 'My husband got paid less because he went on his own. They told him the tomatoes were rejected [by exporters].' Contractors' control is further entrenched by the payment system: workers are not paid daily, but every 15 days. Transport costs can also rise if there aren't enough passengers in the microbus, since the fare is typically divided among the riders. That's why, Abeer explained, the workers themselves often see overcrowding in the microbus as being in their own interest. But in practice, the rules around transportation aren't so straightforward. As the women at the funeral explain, cramming more passengers into the microbus doesn't always lead to a reduction in the LE50 transport fee. Among them were two of Mayada's peers, who had traveled the same morning in a different microbus from a neighboring village. They made it home safely from the Saad Station, where they worked that day, and learned of the fatal crash after they got home. The two young women avoided speaking in detail about the working conditions at the station and its ownership. Looking into the station reveals several companies operating under the same name: El-Saad for Export, El-Saad Fruit for Import and Export and El-Saad Company for Trading, Production, Sorting, Cooling and Freezing of Agricultural Crops. One of Mayada's peers tells me that a family member confirmed to her that the crash occurred on the way to Beheira. This makes it likely that the destination was El Saad Company for trading and post-harvest processing, located in Idku, she says. After graduating middle school, Mayada began working at the station year-round. Before this, she had only worked during the summer, as is common for many girls in the village. Summer typically brings a surge in labor, with students — both boys and girls — joining the workforce at the mountain during school holidays. In contrast, the winter season draws fewer workers, which drives up daily wages to around LE150 after the different fees are paid. Still, one mourner noted that wages remain largely uniform across employers. 'They've all agreed on the rates,' said one. 'You won't find one paying LE130 and another LE140 — otherwise people would just switch. They're all the same.' Toqa, another victim of the crash and Mayada's cousin on her mother's side, started working seasonally each summer after finishing her elementary schooling. She was under 15, her mother Sabah tells Mada Masr at her funeral. Girls like Toqa take on summer work to help pay for continuing their education, especially once they reach secondary school. That was Toqa's hope, but her mother confronted her with the reality: thanaweya amma education — or even vocational diplomas — come with steep expenses, particularly for transportation, not to mention the cost of private tutoring. These costs are largely due to the absence of secondary schools within the village itself. The nearest one, in the village of Sudud, requires a tuktuk ride. There is only one middle school in Kafr al-Sanabsah, which naturally leads to overcrowded classrooms and a heavy reliance on private tutoring, a resident who works as a teacher tells Mada Masr on condition of anonymity. For Toqa, that financial pressure translated into nearly LE1,500 a month in tutoring fees and external textbooks, according to her mother. 'We get the Takaful and Karama cash assistance, and it all goes to lessons — plus just as much again,' she said, her voice angry. 'The president who raises the price of everything for us can't fix the road?' Another victim, Marwa, was also part of the summer workforce. She had been pursuing a diploma at a technical institute and hoped eventually to enroll in a commerce faculty, her father says while receiving condolences outside their home — just a few meters from Toqa's. Grief-stricken, he spoke of how determined his daughter was to complete her education despite the family's financial hardship — especially after his health deteriorated and his already meager earnings from odd jobs, never more than LE200 per day, became even more uncertain. Marwa's uncle joined in, his voice swelling with pride as he spoke of her and her peers. 'There's no one like our girls,' he said. 'Why do you think they go out to work? It's to help their families, not to mess around.' This sentiment echoed in many conversations throughout the village that day. One relative of Toqa and Mayada was more blunt. 'Of course this isn't normal. More and more girls are forced to go out and work because of rising expenses. Last Eid, I saw a group of them heading out and asked one where she was going on Eid. She said, 'The daily wage is triple today, that's LE1,000 over three days. Do you expect us to miss a chance like that?' It wasn't like this a few years ago.' That is why residents aren't just demanding jobs — they are calling for jobs for women, jobs that would allow them to stay in their village. Even the mayor Mohamed Allam believes that setting up a local sewing workshop could be a solution, as the idea of women not working in a rural village like Kafr al-Sanabsah is simply unrealistic. For Shaimaa and Jana, two sisters who were also killed in the crash, the struggle to fund their education was shared. Shaimaa, the eldest of the two, had completed her diploma. Jana, who died before finishing middle school, would join her sister during summer breaks to work. Shaimaa, meanwhile, worked year-round, even before she graduated. She would go to work on weekends, and at times even skip school to earn money not only for her own education, but eventually to help cover Jana's as well. Just a few meters away, the funeral tent for Malak was set up. Unlike the others, Malak had abandoned her education altogether. Rising living costs and her father's forced retirement from his job at Beshay Steel in Sadat City — due to a diabetes-related leg injury — left the family in need. The company paid him no severance, and Malak began working continuously to help make ends meet. *** At every funeral I visited, the prevailing mood was anger. It led a significant number of villagers to boycott a collective condolence gathering organized by the village mayor at his home, which was attended by the governor of Monufiya. Many residents said they refused to go because the governor failed to visit the victims' families in their homes, as tradition dictates. Others criticized the lack of organizational support from authorities during the funerals, which they felt turned the burial of 18 women and girls into a chaotic and undignified ordeal. The village's narrow pathways became choked with grieving residents, and the absence of the governor at the girls' funerals only deepened the resentment. According to one eyewitness, the governor was on his way to pay home visits to the victims' families. But when he arrived in the village, a woman confronted him, saying, 'Now you come? After everything's been ruined?' He turned on his heel and left. Allam did not respond to the criticism over the collective funeral, but when speaking with Mada Masr, he acknowledged all the grievances residents raised as reasons for their poverty — chief among them the lack of job opportunities and essential services. 'The health unit here is a disaster,' he said, referring to the village's severely under-resourced clinic, a view echoed by many villagers. He added that he had tried to negotiate with officials to include Kafr al-Sanabsah in the government's Haya Karima initiative, but no decision had been made yet. What Allam did express satisfaction about was the financial compensation for the victims' families. The Labor Ministry allocated LE300,000 for each victim, and the Social Solidarity Ministry added another LE200,000 per family. Business magnate Ahmed Ezz's charitable foundation contributed an additional LE100,000 per household.
Time of India
02-07-2025
- Health
- Time of India
PGI's miracle of sound: Infant gets hearing gift with implant
1 2 3 Chandigarh: In a medical accomplishment that resonates with profound hope for families battling the silence of deafness, PGI Chandigarh has successfully performed an Auditory Brainstem Implant (ABI) on Abeer, a child barely 1.4 years old. This makes him one of the youngest recipients of this life-altering procedure in India, offering a lifeline where conventional hearing solutions have failed. For Abeer's mother, Shilpa, it ignites a deeply personal hope of hearing her son utter a single word – 'ma' even if it takes years of waiting. For Sumit and Shilpa, parents of little Abeer, life had been a silent, heart-wrenching struggle. "When Abeer was a year old, he just wasn't responding," recounts Shilpa, her voice still carrying the echoes of past pain. A Brainstem Evoked Response Audiometry test at AIIMS Bathinda confirmed their deepest fears: profound deafness. The devastating news was compounded when an MRI revealed Abeer's hearing nerve was tragically undeveloped, ruling out the more common cochlear implant. "We were heartbroken," Shilpa admits, recalling their desperate journey to Delhi, only to hit a dead end. Abeer's father, Sumit is a businessman based in Bathinda and has relocated to Chandigarh for Abeer's treatment. by Taboola by Taboola Sponsored Links Sponsored Links Promoted Links Promoted Links You May Like Giao dịch CFD với công nghệ và tốc độ tốt hơn IC Markets Đăng ký Undo Hope, however, glimmered when Abeer was identified at PGI as a candidate for the highly specialised ABI. This groundbreaking procedure bypasses the non-functional cochlea and auditory nerves, directly stimulating the brainstem to interpret sound. Prof Ramandeep Virk from the department of otolaryngology, the main surgeon for Abeer's case, said, "Abeer was born with Michels aplasia, a rare congenital malformation where inner ear structures are completely absent. For children like Abeer, ABI is the only viable path to sound," adding that "the youngest in India to be treated was a child at the age of 1.39 years, in 2018 in Chennai." While around 120 ABI surgeries have been performed across the country, most have taken place in private centres in Chennai, where the cost can soar to Rs 16-17 lakh for a single ear implant. At present, only Tamil Nadu government covers the expense of this surgery. "We have had a word with the Haryana government on coverage for this surgery for our paediatric population here in the PGI. Two of our patients have been offered assistance from the state government, and we are hoping for more," said Prof Virk. The surgery itself, independently performed by Prof Virk (ENT) and Dr Apinderpreet Singh (neurosurgery), presented immense challenges. "Operating on such a young child involves significant risks due to anaesthesia, potential blood loss, and delicate tissue handling," said Dr Ashwani Reddy, the anaesthesiologist involved in the case. Post-operative care is equally critical, requiring vigilant monitoring in the ICU for at least 48 hours to prevent complications. "Yet, the younger the age, the better the outcomes for hearing, making early intervention paramount," emphasised Dr Parul Sud, the audiologist for the case. The PGI team stressed that the journey ahead for Abeer is long as the implant in the brain has to be activated soon. "Unlike a cochlear implant, which sees learning within six months, an ABI works at the brain level, so learning takes much longer. Therapies will continue for three to four years, requiring immense patience," said Prof Virk. He underscored the importance of parental commitment, stating, "We seek only motivated parents, as it's not about numbers, but sustainability – the dedication to years of therapy and follow-ups. " This achievement marks PGI's second successful ABI. Their first, performed in 2022 on a 2.5-year-old girl, involved a team including Prof Naresh Panda, Dr Mohan Kameshwaran, and Dr Vasu, who had flown from Chennai to assist. "Abeer's surgery was initially scheduled two months prior, but a crucial airport closure during the Pahalgam incident prevented the visiting pioneer, Prof Kameshwaran, from arriving; otherwise, Abeer could have been the country's absolute youngest at that time," said Prof Virk. ABI can only be performed in children with inborn defects where the inner ear nerve connecting to the brain is missing. Those who have undergone a previous cochlear implant are not found suitable for the ABI. Get the latest lifestyle updates on Times of India, along with Doctor's Day 2025 , messages and quotes!
The National
01-07-2025
- Politics
- The National
'Get the money fast if you want her alive': Syria's Alawite women and girls disappear in abductions
It was a March afternoon near the end of Ramadan when Mina and her sister left their home to buy groceries for iftar from a nearby shop on the Syrian coast. They never made it to the store. What should have been a short walk turned into weeks of excruciating anxiety for their family as they wondered where their girls were. Throughout their ordeal, the parents received no news of their daughters - one of whom is a minor - except for a brief voice message that the girls had sent to their mother, Abeer: "We're all OK. We'll be back soon," they said. The only available surveillance footage showed the siblings walking down the road as an unmarked white van passed by. The video cut off before their paths crossed. The family's nightmare ended only recently when the girls were returned to their mother, wrapped in niqabs. The girls said they were abducted by four armed men in civilian clothes who got out of the white van, blindfolded them and held them in an underground site, about three hours from their home, for more than two months. The captors did not demand a ransom. The family said intermediaries helped to negotiate the daughters' release. Disturbing pattern The sisters are among a growing number of Alawite women who have gone missing since the fall of former president Bashar Al Assad in December. Mr Al Assad is a member of the minority sect. With him gone, Alawites are at risk of acts of revenge and political marginalisation. Their vulnerable position in the new Syria seems to have turned them into easy prey for criminal gangs. Over the past two months, The National has spoken to a dozen families of missing Alawite women and girls, from teenagers to those in their late 30s. Most disappeared between February and June, in the coastal region known as the Alawite heartland, as well as in the province of Hama, and even in the capital, Damascus. Interviews with families and human rights and advocacy groups point to a troubling pattern of disappearances and kidnappings of Alawite women, often orchestrated by what appear to be criminal networks, frequently involving ransom demands, motivated by financial gain and, in some cases, sectarian retribution. Activists based in the US, Europe and Australia told The National that dozens of women have vanished since February, prompting concerns of a pattern of abductions. The fear, they say, is palpable. 'Women are afraid to go to school, to university, to the market, even to do simple things like step outside the house,' said one activist. Another said: 'It is deeply affecting women's ability to live their lives or practise their rights." Although the new Islamist-led authorities in Syria have called for inclusivity, revenge attacks against Alawites have continued, as anger against Syria's former dictator is directed at the minority sect. In March, hundreds of unarmed Alawites were killed, mainly along the coast, by unregulated factions and armed men exploiting the chaos caused by a pro-Assad insurgency to carry out mass reprisals against civilians. Syrian President Ahmad Al Shara has pledged to hold those responsible accountable. But authorities have struggled to contain rising sectarian tensions. Abeer believes her daughters' abductors were driven by revenge. 'It's sectarian,' she told The National. 'And they want to get to us through our girls.' The kidnappers asked the girls about their sectarian affiliation, they told her. 'They replied that they were Alawite,' Abeer said. The men then reportedly forced the sisters into the vehicle, insulted them and blamed them for the March pro-Assad ambush. 'What do they have to do, my girls, with loyalist remnants?' lamented the mother. There is no confirmed information about the identity of the men. The country's General Security Service reportedly told the family that the girls' abduction was part of a broader kidnapping network they have been trying to dismantle. The UN 's Commission of Inquiry on the Syrian Arab Republic said it had documented the abduction of at least six Alawite women by unknown people across several Syrian governorates. 'The whereabouts of at least two remain unknown,' Paulo Sergio Pinheiro, the commission's chairman. The commission, which is investigating violence in Syria's coastal regions, told The National that investigations into more than a dozen cases are continuing and that they can only comment when the findings are made public. It also quoted credible reports of more abductions. Mr Pinheiro said interim authorities had opened investigations into some of the cases. The UN Commission of Inquiry on Syria was established in 2011 to investigate human rights violations after the outbreak of the civil war. Ransoms, threats and abuse Despite everything they went through, Abeer and her daughters are among the lucky ones. In most cases reviewed by The National, captors demanded exorbitant ransoms that many families could not afford, while other victims have reportedly shown signs of abuse. One woman was released after weeks of captivity and threats to her family, her head shaved and her body covered in cuts. Others have disappeared without a trace. Many of those who return are too afraid to speak. Their families have been threatened. They change their stories, saying they were never abducted at all Activist Within the Alawite community, many believe women are being trafficked and forcibly married off in Idlib, a northern region controlled by the Sunni Islamist groups that led the offensive to topple the Assad regime. In one case, a young woman from the coastal city of Tartus who was able to return described being tortured and pressured to marry a fighter, referred to as an 'emir', according to another Syrian activist based in the US, who has been documenting the cases. She was reportedly taken to an area in Idlib. Syria accuses ISIS of suicide attack in Damascus church 'The abductions began before the massacres in March along the Syrian coast, I would say some time in February,' the activist said. 'But many of those who return are too afraid to speak,' the activist added. 'Their families have been threatened. They change their stories, saying they were never abducted at all.' It remains unclear who is behind these kidnappings and how organised the captors are. The National could not independently verify the entirety of the families' accounts. But the prevailing chaos, fuelled by the presence of extremist factions operating outside government control despite promises to integrate them into a new national army, and widespread arms proliferation, has created a dangerous mix. Syria's Ministry of Interior has not answered The National 's questions on the issue. 'Get the money fast' In several cases, captors were after extravagant amounts of money. For Faten, it was $25,000. The young woman disappeared on what she thought was another ordinary trip to the city. But her parents grew concerned only when their calls went unanswered and her phone was completely cut off. Hours later, they received a chilling call. 'He said; 'I'm calling to tell you Faten is not coming back. Don't look for her. Forget about her',' one of her relatives recalled. A few days later, the captor called again, asking for money. 'They started with $50,000, then lowered it to $25,000,' the relative added. 'They kept repeating, 'Get the money fast if you want her alive.'' The family filed a missing-person report with General Security and continued the search on their own, posting appeals on Facebook and asking anyone in the city if they had seen the young woman. Not long after, they received a call from Faten. 'It was her, terrified, shaking, crying. She didn't know where she was but that she wasn't in Syria. She couldn't identify the dialect, it wasn't Arabic. She was surrounded by strangers. She kept telling us not to do anything, obviously she was under pressure,' Faten's relative said. The family suspects the captors are not Arab, but possibly Turkmen, Uighur or Chechen. In a very short clip mistakenly sent to the relative, the men could be heard speaking a language that The National was not able to identify. The relatives believe that Faten's abduction is part of a worrying pattern of mysterious disappearances within their community. 'We see missing reports every day, and it's always our women. Why?' The family scraped together the sum for the captors, but the young woman has yet to return. 'Now, I've paid the money, and I'm just waiting – either they'll let her go and forbid her from saying a word about what happened, or she'll come back dead, or she'll disappear forever,' the relative said. 'We, the poor, are paying the price' Many families said General Security is not doing enough to help them find the missing women, either because it lacks resources, such as the ability to track phone numbers, or because newly appointed staff are inexperienced after the fall of the regime. Others suspect that the security force lacks the will. Families have complained that cases of missing women have been handled with indifference or a lack of urgency. In several instances, they say, officials were quick to dismiss the possibility of criminal motives and instead focused on the assumption that the women had left voluntarily. In April, UN special envoy for Syria Geir Pedersen raised concerns at the Security Council over reports of women and girls being abducted, urging Syrian authorities to launch thorough investigations and 'take measures to reassure the impacted communities on this". But activists said the Syrian authorities have made no serious effort to find those women, prompting some families to take matters into their own hands. In at least two instances, families paid ransoms to the kidnappers without notifying General Security. 'I was afraid they'd ruin everything,' said the relative of one missing woman. Many families see this as part of a wider pattern of bias against Alawites. Although the Assad dynasty relied on the community to fill the ranks of its security forces and military, many Alawites say they were also marginalised and oppressed under his authoritarian rule. 'We're seen as if, under the old regime, we lived in luxury. But it's all an illusion,' said Hayan, whose wife, Lana, was kidnapped in the middle of the night in their home. They live in a remote village in the countryside, barely able to make ends meet. 'The top officers who took everything have already left,' added one of Lana's relatives. 'It's the poor, the ones who couldn't leave, who stayed behind. And now they're paying the price, just because Assad was Alawite.' Women are afraid to go to school, to university, to the market, even to do simple things like step outside the house Activist For weeks, Hayan received no news of his wife. Then one day, he said, the captors called, demanding that he divorce her immediately. 'They threatened to harm me if I refused,' he said. 'She was also on the phone, all she wanted to know was if our child was safe. She said I should do what they say, so she doesn't get hurt'. But Hayan refused. He later shared the kidnapper's phone number with General Security, although he holds little hope it will help. 'I'm not optimistic this will lead anywhere,' he said. Lingering taboos There are many unanswered questions around these disappearance cases. Families are often afraid to speak out, fearing repercussions for their missing daughters or wives. Such was the case for Rana's relatives. The young woman from the countryside was released after her family paid a ransom. She had been drugged and held for several days in an undisclosed location. One of her relatives said he preferred not to share more details and ended the interview. 'Honestly, I'm still afraid to say anything,' he said. In a conservative society where stigma lingers, women survivors are often reluctant to share their stories or to reveal whether or not they've been subjected to sexual abuse. 'Most families, when they know we are investigating, talk to us, but they won't speak publicly because of the shame and also because the kidnappers threaten them,' the US-based activist told The National. Syrian President Ahmad Al Shara makes historic visit to Daraa 'Many of these women have been raped, abused and tortured and fear being rejected by their community if they speak out because of what they have been through,' the activist added. Alawites frequently fear reprisals or systematic persecution, drawing grim parallels to the treatment of Iraq's Yazidis by ISIS a decade ago. During the extremist group's brutal reign, thousands of Yazidi women were subjected to sexual slavery, sex trafficking and torture. The issue has also deepened tension between Alawites and Sunnis, with many Alawites viewing Sunnis from northern Syria as more conservative and with suspicion, especially as Sunnis are taking a leading role in the country's post-Assad government. 'They are not used to seeing girls walking like this on the street and not completely covered,' a relative of a kidnapped girl said. Lama, whose daughter is missing, said she began receiving hateful phone calls from scammers after posting photos of the girl on social media. 'One of them told me he would strip her and show me pictures of her body – that they would do to her what happened on the coast – calling Alawites 'pigs',' she said. 'They're trying to make up stories' The high-profile media coverage of a few cases involving missing girls who returned claiming they had eloped to marry their lovers has only added to the sensitivity of the issue. One case sparked national controversy. In May, weeks after she went missing, Mira, a young Alawite woman, reappeared wearing a blue jilbab and standing beside a young man. She told local media that there had been 'no kidnapping' but she had run away to marry a Sunni man. This has led some to dismiss the issue of disappearances entirely as frivolous, while others have denounced forced marriage and human trafficking. 'Then they create stories claiming the girls ran off with men. But why has this never happened before?' asked a relative of a missing woman. For most of the families interviewed, Mira's case has deepened fears that their voices will go unheard, or drowned out by sectarian hate speech. 'God willing, things will turn out OK, and if my child comes back, they'll try to write a whole scenario around my kids the way they did with Mira – to deny the kidnapping and so that everyone stays quiet,' a mother whose daughter went missing said. Meanwhile, women and their relatives live in constant fear. 'There's an Arabic saying that says: 'He who burns his tongue from the soup will blow on yoghurt',' said Jaafar, whose sister has been missing for months. 'That's us now, we don't know what's safe any more. Even inside our homes, we're afraid. We're suspicious of everything.' Jaafar has not heard a word from her sister since she disappeared.
Globe and Mail
12-06-2025
- Business
- Globe and Mail
Ottawa extends refugee jobs pilot program on day it was due to expire
Ottawa has extended a pilot program that matches skilled refugees with job vacancies in Canada on the day it was due to lapse, after an outcry from employers, including universities, about its imminent expiry. Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada has extended its Economic Mobility Pathways Pilot, which was founded in 2018 as a route to permanent residence, until the end of the year, saying it is helping employers in critical sectors meet labour market shortages. Since 2019, 970 people have come to Canada through the pilot program, which offers a route to permanent residence for refugees with skills Canadian employers want. The decision to extend the program until Dec. 31 was welcomed by employers. Earlier this week, after The Globe and Mail disclosed how the pilot program was about to expire, universities wrote to Immigration Minister Lena Diab urging her to extend the program. The former immigration minister Marc Miller had said the pilot would be made permanent last year, but only days before it was due to expire employers were distraught about hearing no word from the government about its future. Carleton University, based in Ottawa, has hired a refugee from the civil war in Sudan as a visiting professor, to help with research into artificial intelligence, through the pilot pathway. Abeer, who fled to Somalia, holds a PhD in wireless communications and network engineering. She has researched the impact of AI and machine-learning-based algorithms on wireless communication systems. The Globe and Mail is not publishing her full name owing to fears for the safety of family members in her home country. She is still waiting for biometric checks and the university said it was keen for her to arrive soon to help with a research project being run by a Carleton professor. Carney's aim to cut immigration marred by undercounting of temporary migrants, economists warn Norah Vollmer, manager of faculty affairs at Carleton, said the university is 'very pleased to hear that the EMPP is extended.' She hoped the pilot program would be put 'on a permanent footing' and that processing times for applications to come here from refugees who have been offered jobs would be sped up. IRCC said in a statement announcing the pilot's continuation that the program had helped fill job vacancies, including in construction. More than 30 per cent of refugees accepted to come here through the pilot are working in health care. From 2019 to the end of March 2025, 970 people have been admitted to Canada, under the program, it said. It said it would cap applications for refugees offered jobs at 950 this year. Groups mount legal challenge against Ottawa over refugee treaty with U.S. 'The extension will allow more workers in essential sectors such as health care to benefit from the pilot's pathway to permanent residence and continue to contribute to our economy,' it said. Dana Wagner, co-founder of TalentLift, a non-profit international recruitment company that matches displaced people with employers, said the renewal was 'fantastic' but said the cap at 950 was 'very low' with 'no word about a permanent program.' 'It will be important to quickly move from a pilot to a permanent program as the Liberals have pledged,' she said. 'We want to see predictability, fast processing times that work for employers, and room to grow – this is a demand-driven program, and levels should reflect Canada's skills demand and the potential of talented individuals in refugee situations to meet it.'
