Attempting to enter Aleppo’s mainly Kurdish neighborhoods shows Syria’s war-battered, frayed status in microcosm.
First one comes to a checkpoint guarded by Arab and Kurdish fighters. Their demeanor is casual as they wave in traffic, a quiet display of Syrian unity. The low-key joint checkpoint is the result of the March 10 agreement between the Kurdish-dominated Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), a key U.S. ally against ISIS which still controls swathes of northeast Syria, and newly empowered authorities in Damascus to cooperate for the greater good.
“At first we were uneasy, but after the first hour, we became comfortable with each other,” says Munir, an Arab who fought with Sunni Islamist rebels and, like several people in the neighborhoods, declined to give his family name. Ali, who served in the Kurdish security apparatus, echoes Munir’s cautious optimism. “Kurds and Arabs, in the end, we are family,” he says. “And the Syrian state must encompass all its people.”
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A key challenge for postwar Syria is building trust between the Arab majority and its historically sidelined Kurdish minority. The security regimes in Kurdish parts of Aleppo show just how slow that trust may be in coming.
But once that barrier is cleared and one turns the corner, the second checkpoint comes into view. And the atmosphere here is not one of Syrian unity, but of Kurdish independence – in more ways than one.
Kurdish flags flutter above the fortified checkpoint’s reinforced sandbags. Advanced security cameras monitor the area, complementing the work of men and women in green uniforms. A portrait of jailed Kurdish leader Abdullah Öcalan dominates the installation. Here, authority speaks Kurdish, clinging to autonomy and resisting integration into greater Aleppo.
And whatever clearance that is given at the first checkpoint, it is clear that for all practical purposes it is this second checkpoint where access to Aleppo’s Kurdish neighborhoods is truly granted.
These controls offer more than a glimpse of localized self-rule. These neighborhoods, known as Sheikh Maqsoud and Ashrafiyeh, are a petri dish for what post-conflict Syria could become. For now, the focus is on building trust and cooperation, guided by the public agreement between Kurdish leaders and the new government in Damascus.
“The cooperation until now is positive and successful,” says Ali Rahmon, a senior Kurdish official involved in the talks. “Both parties are invested in the success of this experience so it can be generalized.”
A prickly relationship
The March 10 agreement between the SDF and Damascus recognizes the Kurds as an Indigenous community, guarantees them citizenship and constitutional rights, and ensures integration of civil and military institutions in northeast Syria. It also calls for the safe return of displaced populations and enforcement of a nationwide ceasefire.
Both sides described initial meetings between SDF and Damascus delegations as constructive. Delegates drafted plans to form joint committees on security, administration, and economic matters – supported by the U.S.-led international coalition that fought ISIS. So far there has been enough cooperation to address university exam testing procedures and Kurds selling oil to Damascus.
Follow-up meetings stalled. The ceasefire holds but implementation of the agreement has been patchy, according to officials on both sides. In line with the deal, SDF forces – especially groups like the People’s and Women’s Protection Units (YPG/YPJ) – withdrew from Aleppo’s Kurdish districts. They did so, convoy-style, but former fighters appear to have returned in civilian clothes or as traffic police.
The return of prisoners and detainees held by Damascus and the Kurds remains an outstanding issue. To date, Damascus has handed over 300 detainees to Kurdish forces in return for 176 prisoners, says Muhammad Abdulghani, a former rebel now heading the recently established Internal Security Command in Aleppo. The 300-plus included Kurdish detainees who ended up in Turkish prisons – highlighting geopolitical entanglements, especially given Turkey’s long struggle with Kurdish separatist movements and its support for Syrian Arab rebels who clashed with Kurds.
Trust, as ever, takes time. “What we hear is positive, but we are waiting for actions,” Mr. Rahmon says when asked to share his assessment of Syrian President Ahmed al-Sharaa. “The national dialogue was not inclusive. The constitutional declaration excluded many. The interim government is of just one color.”
Both sides remain skeptical about the historic – and potentially bloodshed-preventing – agreement. Mr. Abdulghani says the SDF and de facto Kurdish-run zones have destabilizing potential on par with remnant ISIS cells or pro-Assad insurgents.
“When we sit with their leadership, the meetings go well,” he says. “But when it comes time to implement? Nothing.”
Yet he remains hopeful. He believes Syria must build a new security apparatus that avoids repeating the errors of the past. The brutality and scale of recent violence in Syria’s Alawite coastal regions and in Sweida, a stronghold of the Druze minority population in the south, adds urgency to making progress with the Kurds.
A Kurdish enclave
Discrimination is still a problem. Kurds are a marginalized group in the Middle East region, historically deprived of citizenship and the opportunity to express their culture and language. And in Syria’s Kurdish-run areas, the governance model is mixed in principle, but Arabs often face heightened scrutiny in practice.
“There used to be Arabs, Kurds, and Christians living together,” says Abdelbasset Ahmed, an Arab who owns property in the Sheikh Maqsoud neighborhood. But today he was turned back at the second checkpoint, even though he had papers to prove his claim. Now he has to find someplace to stay for the night outside the neighborhood – or convince the authorities at the checkpoint of his residency.
Inside the neighborhood, Kurdish watchers surreptitiously surveil nearly every block. Munir Abu Shukri, an ice cream seller, is relieved the Kurds remain in local security networks. For him, security for both Arabs and Kurds depends on mutual comfort – though ultimately, he places his trust in one side.
“The most important thing is peace of mind,” he says. “People’s main concern here is economic. There is safety thanks to the good guys – the Asayish [Kurdish Internal Security Forces]. The YPG/YPJ left in two convoys to the east. Still, we feel protected by them, even if they’re not physically here. We trust them.”
While Mr. Abu Shukri believes Syria can stay united, not all Kurds share a commitment to territorial Syrian integrity. Fourteen-year-old Omar, a native of the nearby city of Tel Rifaat, has a sharply different take. His childhood has been shaped by war, displacement, and the loss of classmates to shelling by Turkey-backed Islamist militias.
“We want to be a state on our own,” he says. “We were born Kurds and will die Kurds. We don’t want anyone else to rule us. We’ve seen too much injustice.”
Others still hope for a middle ground. Ismahan Horo, a Kurdish mother, says she wants her three children to learn Arabic in school – not as a political statement, but for practical considerations. “Arabic paves the way for other languages,” she says. “English. French. It’s the basis. You can study Kurdish, but you’ll gain nothing.”
Her husband, Mohammed, is apprehensive about the new authorities in Damascus – particularly whether their stricter interpretations of Islam could result in lost freedoms. He cites instances of hard-line Islamists at the first checkpoints asking him to turn off his music – something he worries is a sign of religious strictures being implemented.
“The outer checkpoint gives us grief, scrutinizes our identity cards,” he says. “Once we get to our [Kurdish] checkpoint, we relax.”
“There is still no trust”
Meanwhile in Raqqa, the former capital of the so-called caliphate established by ISIS, tensions simmer. Arab residents are alarmed by the Kurds’ recent tunnel- and trench-digging operations. The long-established strict checkpoint controls, reminiscent of international border crossings, have added to local frustration.
“The Kurds don’t want peace – they’re preparing to fight,” Ibrahim, an Arab resident, alleges.
“There is still no trust between the two parties,” Mr. Rahmon concedes when asked about Raqqa’s fortifications. Yet he remains guardedly hopeful. If the Ashrafiyeh and Sheikh Maqsoud experiment holds, he believes it could be replicated elsewhere.
“This could be a model,” he says. “Especially if the forces are made of locals who know each other.”
