Iraq’s Mosul logs civil records lost to years of Daesh rule

Iraqis wait at the Nineveh governorate building in Iraq's second city of Mosul to resolve issues related to their identity documents. (AFP)
Updated 17 October 2018
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Iraq’s Mosul logs civil records lost to years of Daesh rule

  • During the Daesh’s reign, thousands of Iraqis who lived in areas controlled by Daesh virtually disappeared from state registers
  • When Iraqi forces retook the city and courts reopened, he and his wife rushed to sign a new marriage contract

MOSUL: When Shahed was born in 2015 her father tried to notify Iraq’s civil registry. The problem was, their city of Mosul was held by Daesh group and the office had been shut.

Three years later, 39-year-old Ahmed Aziz has yet to officially register his daughter’s birth, the certificate for which bears the seal of the so-called caliphate.
Under the late summer sun, the taxi driver braves a long queue outside Mosul’s reopened civil registry, hoping that by the end of the day Shahed’s name will finally appear in state records.
The little girl was born just a year after Daesh swept across the country, seizing swathes of territory including Iraq’s second city Mosul.
“The civil registry was closed,” said Aziz, holding the IS-stamped document issued by a hospital in Mosul.
But since Iraqi forces ultimately regained control of the city in July 2017 after a bloody months-long campaign, residents have flooded the city’s reopened offices.
Thousands of children like Shahed had been born under Daesh rule, and the extremists had systematically blown up civil offices and archives.
“I saw this massive rush to get to the public offices, so I preferred to wait a bit before going there too,” said Aziz.
As a result, his daughter does not yet officially exist.
During the Daesh’s reign, thousands of Iraqis who lived in areas controlled by Daesh virtually disappeared from state registers.
Some lost their identity documents as neighborhoods turned into battle zones, others as they fled the violence.
Many of those who remained were given documents from Daesh’s proto-state — ministries and courts created by the jihadists to register births, marriages, deaths and trade agreements alike.
None of that paperwork has been recognized by Iraqi authorities.
When Zein Mohammed got married in 2014, he and his soon-to-be wife had to present themselves at an IS court to seal the deal.
What should have been the best day of the now 29-year-old civil servant’s life was instead a test.
“I appeared in front of the judge with my fiancee — she was covered head-to-toe in black,” he told AFP.
Under Daesh rule, Mosul’s residents were forced to bow to the jihadists ultra-conservative demands.
Women were compelled to fully cover themselves in black veils and long robes, and civil cases were heard by courts that dealt out death sentences and corporal punishment for “sins..”
“The judge issued us a marriage certificate bearing the IS seal,” said Mohammed.
When Iraqi forces retook the city and courts reopened, he and his wife rushed to sign a new marriage contract.
Now, packed in among the crowd outside Mosul’s civil registry, Mohammed is hoping to finally regularize their marital status.
Iraqi civil servants are working around the clock to meet the massive demand, compiling files, verifying identities and registering official documents and certificates.
It is a titanic job, often slowed due to additional safeguards imposed by Iraqi security services in the former IS stronghold.
To weed out fake IDs and spot jihadists seeking to slip through the cracks, “intelligence services check each document,” head of Mosul’s registry office General Hussein Mohammed Ali told AFP.
But the added security measures have not hampered progress.
“More than a million certified documents and more than 2,000 passports have already been issued,” he said.
Mustafa Thamer, a 23-year-old student, is applying for his first passport even though he has no plans to travel soon.
“We say we must have a passport so that we can leave whenever we want,” he told AFP.
“We lived under IS occupation and we no longer trust the future of the city,” he said.
“Anything can happen in Mosul.”


A ceasefire holds in Syria but civilians live with fear and resentment

Updated 27 January 2026
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A ceasefire holds in Syria but civilians live with fear and resentment

  • The Arab-majority population in the areas that changed hands, Raqqa and Deir Ezzor, have celebrated the SDF’s withdrawal after largely resenting its rule
  • But thousands of Kurdish residents of those areas fled, and non-Kurdish residents remain in Kurdish-majority enclaves still controlled by the SDF

QAMISHLI: Fighting this month between Syria’s government and Kurdish-led forces left civilians on either side of the frontline fearing for their future or harboring resentment as the country’s new leaders push forward with transition after years of civil war.
The fighting ended with government forces capturing most of the territory previously held by the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces in the country’s northeast, and a fragile ceasefire is holding. SDF fighters will be absorbed into Syria’s army and police, ending months of disputes.
The Arab-majority population in the areas that changed hands, Raqqa and Deir Ezzor, have celebrated the SDF’s withdrawal after largely resenting its rule.
But thousands of Kurdish residents of those areas fled, and non-Kurdish residents remain in Kurdish-majority enclaves still controlled by the SDF. The International Organization for Migration has registered more than 173,000 people displaced.
Fleeing again and again
Subhi Hannan is among them, sleeping in a chilly schoolroom in the SDF-controlled city of Qamishli with his wife, three children and his mother after fleeing Raqqa.
The family is familiar with displacement after the years of civil war under former President Bashar Assad. They were first displaced from their hometown of Afrin in 2018, in an offensive by Turkish-backed rebels. Five years later, Hannan stepped on a land mine and lost his legs.
During the insurgent offensive that ousted Assad in December 2024, the family fled again, landing in Raqqa.
In the family’s latest flight this month, Hannan said their convoy was stopped by government fighters, who arrested most of their escort of SDF fighters and killed one. Hannan said fighters also took his money and cell phone and confiscated the car the family was riding in.
“I’m 42 years old and I’ve never seen something like this,” Hannan said. “I have two amputated legs, and they were hitting me.”
Now, he said, “I just want security and stability, whether it’s here or somewhere else.”
The father of another family in the convoy, Khalil Ebo, confirmed the confrontation and thefts by government forces, and said two of his sons were wounded in the crossfire.
Syria’s defense ministry in a statement acknowledged “a number of violations of established laws and disciplinary regulations” by its forces during this month’s offensive and said it is taking legal action against perpetrators.
A change from previous violence
The level of reported violence against civilians in the clashes between government and SDF fighters has been far lower than in fighting last year on Syria’s coast and in the southern province of Sweida. Hundreds of civilians from the Alawite and Druze religious minorities were killed in revenge attacks, many of them carried out by government-affiliated fighters.
This time, government forces opened “humanitarian corridors” in several areas for Kurdish and other civilians to flee. Areas captured by government forces, meanwhile, were largely Arab-majority with populations that welcomed their advance.
One term of the ceasefire says government forces should not enter Kurdish-majority cities and towns. But residents of Kurdish enclaves remain fearful.
The city of Kobani, surrounded by government-controlled territory, has been effectively besieged, with residents reporting cuts to electricity and water and shortages of essential supplies. A UN aid convoy entered the enclave for the first time Sunday.
On the streets of SDF-controlled Qamishli, armed civilians volunteered for overnight patrols to watch for any attack.
“We left and closed our businesses to defend our people and city,” said one volunteer, Suheil Ali. “Because we saw what happened in the coast and in Sweida and we don’t want that to be repeated here.”
Resentment remains
On the other side of the frontline in Raqqa, dozens of Arab families waited outside Al-Aqtan prison and the local courthouse over the weekend to see if loved ones would be released after SDF fighters evacuated the facilities.
Many residents of the region believe Arabs were unfairly targeted by the SDF and often imprisoned on trumped-up charges.
At least 126 boys under the age of 18 were released from the prison Saturday after government forces took it over.
Issa Mayouf from the village of Al-Hamrat, was waiting with his wife outside the courthouse Sunday for word about their 18-year-old son, who was arrested four months ago. Mayouf said he was accused of supporting a terrorist organization after SDF forces found Islamic chants as well as images on his phone mocking SDF commander Mazloum Abdi.
“SDF was a failure as a government,” Mayouf said “And there were no services. Look at the streets, the infrastructure, the education. It was all zero.”
Northeast Syria has oil and gas reserves and some of the country’s most fertile agricultural land. The SDF “had all the wealth of the country and they did nothing with it for the country,” Mayouf said.
Mona Yacoubian, director of the Middle East Program at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, said Kurdish civilians in besieged areas are terrified of “an onslaught and even atrocities” by government forces or allied groups.
But Arabs living in formerly SDF-controlled areas “also harbor deep fears and resentment toward the Kurds based on accusations of discrimination, intimidation, forced recruitment and even torture while imprisoned,” she said.
“The experience of both sides underscores the deep distrust and resentment across Syria’s diverse society that threatens to derail the country’s transition,” Yacoubian said.
She added it’s now on the government of interim Syrian President Ahmad Al-Sharaa to strike a balance between demonstrating its power and creating space for the country’s anxious minorities to have a say in their destiny.