If it were not a conflict zone, the view across Lake Assad would be beautiful. A heron feeds on the edge of the water as sunshine glimmers off its surface.
But this is Syria’s longest remaining front line, stretching for hundreds of kilometres from the border with Turkey to the frontier with Iraq.
Along the course of the mighty Euphrates, it has remained a major fault line since the fall of the Bashar Al Assad regime last December, as the new government struggles to close the cracks in controlling Syria.
Across the lake are positions held by the Syrian Democratic Forces, the Kurdish-led, US-backed militias that have not integrated into the Syrian army led by Damascus. As the former regime fell just over 12 months ago, SDF fighters were pushed east by armed groups aligned with the triumphant rebel offensive towards Damascus.
While the front line has moved, it has not disappeared and a chunk of territory in north-eastern Syria containing most of the country’s water and energy resources, including the Tishreen Dam, is under the control of the Kurdish-led militias. On the government-controlled side, roadblocks on routes leading to SDF territory cut through the low hills and olive groves in Al Khafsa.
In March, SDF leader Mazloum Abdi and Syrian President Ahmad Al Shara signed an agreement intended to usher Kurdish integration into the central military and civilian authorities by the end of this year.
But with the deadline looming, real implementation has not happened. Despite US mediation, disagreements emerged, in particular over whether SDF fighters would be allowed to remain as whole units or if they would disperse into Syrian army brigades. As the months have rolled on since March, clashes continue to occur at this front line between government troops and the SDF, especially around the strategic dam area.
“There was a drone [strike] two days ago, and strikes happen every day,” a security official in the area told The National this month.
Some officials in government-held areas are sceptical that the agreement will work. They accuse the SDF of “sabotage” and claim internal divisions within the organisation are stalling integration.
“They haven’t implemented 1 per cent of the deal,” the security official said. “They are digging trenches, continuing conscription and bombing our people.”
The SDF has accused government forces of escalating the situation with continued strikes, for which they hold Damascus responsible. On Tuesday, the group said two of its fighters were injured in an explosion caused by a suicide drone and that “it reserved the legitimate right to respond”.
Turkish role
The SDF, a group of multi-ethnic militias with Kurdish commanders who are backed by the US as partners against ISIS, is the military wing of the north-east region that claimed autonomy during Syria's civil war. Estimates of its force size vary wildly from 50,000 to 100,000.
Turkey, whose influence in Syria has soared since Al Assad’s fall, sees the SDF as an extension of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK), a militant group that Ankara regards as a terrorist organisation and which has fought a four-decade insurgency against the Turkish state.
The PKK announced its dissolution and disarmament this year but the SDF said the move did not apply to its fighters. The stalemate in Syria imperils efforts to make headway on the Turkish peace process, as Ankara says the group – which, in its eyes, includes the SDF – must fully disarm. In turn, Syrian officials see the fate of foreign PKK-affiliated fighters in the country as another potential obstacle.
“They may be the stumbling block to the implementation of this agreement,” deputy director of the Manbij district, Abdulmalek Al Sheikh, told The National. “We are committed to the official government decision and the current course of negotiations.”
Turkey has been pushing for implementation of the March deal and senior officials say its aim is the elimination of the SDF and the People's Protection Units (YPG), the Kurdish militia that makes up its backbone.
Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan said Turkey does not want to resort to military means but warned that patience with the SDF is "running out".
Life under the SDF
Manbij, the nearest city to the front line, was taken from the SDF by pro-government forces as they swept east last December. Remnants of the SDF's rule are seen in the tunnel shaft entrances around the city, which they used to shelter from military attacks. On the outskirts, a road sign now reads: “Warning: this road leads to the SDF.”
Syrian civilians in government-held areas take umbrage at the SDF's control of most of Syria's natural resources and their claims to areas where residents do not welcome their version of federal rule.
Their integration into Damascus-controlled forces "is the most important thing that needs to happen in Syria", said one person who lives in a sparsely populated area near the front line. "They’ve taken much of Syria and it’s not theirs to take. The people there don’t support the SDF and the SDF is strangling them."
In a speech last week, Mazloum Abdi said the SDF was “ready to resolve issues according to the March 10 agreement and seek support from everyone,” but also spoke of self-administration in areas currently under his forces’ rule, which Damascus has repeatedly rejected.
Ongoing instability in this pocket of northern Syria has had a tangible effect on civilians over the past year.
In the village of Abu Qilqil, a few kilometres from the front line in government-held territory, families displaced in the fighting between government-aligned forces and the SDF a year ago are still living in limbo.
Aziza Al Salem, 63, and her extended family fled the SDF-held village of Hajj Hussein east of the Euphrates one freezing night last December, when bombs rained down in the area, she said. She does not know who was responsible or why her village was attacked.
"Coming here was better than dying," she told The National from the orange breeze-block home her family rents for $15 a month.
They rely on donations to make ends meet and Ms Al Salem, a mother of seven, gives a sad laugh at the prospect of eating meat. "That is for people with money," she said.
Her son-in-law, Mohammed Hussein, 30, left behind his two chicken farms worth $5,000, he said. He has paid bribes and smugglers 300,000 Syrian pounds ($27) a time to go back to check his property over the past year, but doing so is dangerous. “I am wanted [for conscription] by the SDF,” he said.
Syrian officials, human rights organisations and analysts have documented conscription of men, women and children in SDF-controlled areas. The European Union’s asylum agency said in July that this amounts to "forced recruitment” and persecution by armed groups.
The SDF agreed to an action plan in 2019 to ban child conscription. But Human Rights Watch said last year that affiliated organisations were still recruiting minors for military purposes. In October, the Syrian Network for Human Rights, a monitoring group, recorded widespread detention with the purpose of forced conscription in areas under SDF control.
Mr Hussein is now able to travel into areas once controlled by the Assad regime but with the threat of conscription still looming, he feels unable to return to his village, under SDF rule. He wants the group to unite with Damascus.
"They want decentralisation. We can’t live with that, we want a centralised system," he said.
Violent incidents
Other forms of violence have also left civilians traumatised. Just outside Manbij, some survivors of a car-bomb attack that killed at least 20 people in February are still recovering.
Najia Ghabbia Al Thani, 50, was travelling in a truck with nearly 40 women in February when a car packed with explosives detonated on the roadside next to them. She spent five days in hospital with shrapnel injuries and has since returned to work, but the memories of that day still haunt her. No group claimed responsibility for the attack.
“When I get in the car to go to work, my heart races. I feel like the car is going to explode. I feel like I have a psychological complex,” she told The National from her home in Rasm Al Akhdar displacement camp. “The image of the explosion, that moment, will not leave me until the day I die.”
Many of the camp's residents come from areas around Deir Hafir, a town currently under SDF control, and were displaced from their homes in fighting in 2017. Movement restrictions have disappeared since the camp was taken from the SDF by government-aligned forces last year.
“Before, it was like a prison; the SDF only let us out of the time between certain times,” said Ibrahim Al Ahmed, 54.
But two of his daughters, Khuloud, 18, and Hayyam, 22, were killed by the car bomb in February. His relief at the fall of the Assad regime and the freedom to travel to and from the camp is tainted by their loss.
“They were happy with the liberation, because we started to be able to come and go as we pleased wherever we wanted,” he said. “But afterwards, what happened happened – the explosion.”
Manbij deputy area director Mr Al Sheikh said he would be willing to work alongside Kurdish authorities if they integrate. He and colleagues are waiting for further instruction from Damascus, he said in an interview outside a low-slung breeze-block building now being used by local authorities. They are attempting to improve services in the area, home to one million people, since regaining control from the SDF last year. A recent fund-raiser gathered $12 million to help repair schools and government offices.
"We firmly believe that there are many patriotic Kurds east of the Euphrates who, like us, are seeking a solution," he said. "There are also senior Kurdish politicians at the state level who are with us and support the Syrian state's approach, and are committed, like us, to preserving national unity and cohesion."
Back in Abu Qilqil, Ms Al Salem wants a future in which she can rest easy. "I want to be able to go to sleep with my head resting on my hand, without worrying about anything happening, without worrying about strikes or bullets," she said.
