The small cavity soon widened, exposing the sewage pipes buried beneath the road. According to Khaled Hijazi, Said’s uncle, who owns a shop nearby, municipal workers responded by simply filling the hole with construction debris.

“When I tried to question what they were doing, they told me not to interfere,” he recalled. “One of them just said, ‘Mind your own business.’“

In the weeks that followed, sewage water began surfacing through other sinkholes that appeared unexpectedly across the same neighborhood, particularly after the heavy winter rains that swept across Syria earlier this year.

Among the most striking incidents was a massive sinkhole that opened in Ain Tarma’s main road during the Eid al-Fitr holiday in late March 2026.

Similar ground collapses have since been reported throughout Eastern Ghouta. The latest involved a 10-meter-deep sinkhole that opened in the middle of the main road in Zamalka, while numerous other collapses have been documented in Douma and several neighboring towns.

Through field reporting, along with the collection and verification of dozens of social media posts, photographs, and videos, the SIRAJ and Daraj investigative team documented at least 10 sinkholes and ground collapses across towns and cities in Eastern Ghouta between the beginning of 2026 and the publication of this investigation.

The Legacy of the Siege

What unites the communities now grappling with recurring ground collapses is a shared history: all endured years of siege by Bashar al-Assad’s forces and allied militias between 2013 and 2018, while coming under relentless bombardment. To survive, residents dug an extensive network of tunnels beneath their towns—creating underground routes that allowed them to move, seek shelter, and stay alive.

As Hamed al-Zein, who remained in his hometown of Hamouriyah until he was displaced to Idlib aboard the regime’s so-called “green buses“ in 2018, recalls:

“After the massive offensive against Eastern Ghouta between 2015 and 2018, people had no choice but to dig tunnels by hand—from inside their homes or from nearby basements—to protect themselves and their children. Entire apartment buildings were collapsing on civilians because of the shelling.”

Speaking to SIRAJ and Daraj, al-Zein said residents worked collectively to excavate what became known as “civilian tunnels.” These existed alongside tunnels dug by opposition factions to transport supplies and fighters, as well as specialized underground passages serving medical facilities.

One of the architects of that underground infrastructure was Samir Bouydani, a civil engineer who lived through the siege of Douma and helped dig three underground medical facilities. Bouydani says he was also the first to propose the idea of civilian tunnels in 2013.

“The armed groups’ commanders didn’t embrace the idea at the time,” he recalled.

His vision was ambitious: to create underground spaces where civilians could not only shelter but also live and even shop, as markets had become one of the regime’s most frequent targets.

Bouydani remembers one attack in 2015, when an airstrike on Douma’s marketplace killed 120 people.

During the siege, Eastern Ghouta was divided into two principal sectors. The northern sector—including Douma and Misraba—was controlled primarily by the Army of Islam (Jaysh al-Islam-JAI). The southern sector, encompassing towns such as Arbin, Kafr Batna, and Jisreen, was controlled by the Rahman Corps (Faylaq al-Rahman) and the al-Nusra Front, later known as Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), while Harasta remained under the control of Ahrar al-Sham.

Having lived in Douma from 2013 until his forced displacement in April 2018, and while serving with the city’s municipal council, Bouydani worked alongside local opposition authorities to oversee the construction of several underground medical facilities.

Among them were tunnels beneath the Cave Hospital in Kafr Batna, another beneath al-Shifouniyah Hospital, and the largest of them all: the Damascus Countryside Specialized Hospital, known locally as “Point One.”

The latter underground complex included long passageways wide enough for ambulances, operating rooms that Bouydani describes as “state-of-the-art,” backup power generators, a water well, and a dedicated ventilation system.

To prevent its collapse, engineers covered the structure with approximately 1.5 meters (five feet) of earth and reinforced the surrounding area with additional soil. Access to the operating rooms was concealed through tunnel entrances hidden inside nearby residential buildings.

“It was so well equipped that the hospital continued operating for six to eight months after Assad’s forces captured Douma,” Bouydani said. “Later, soldiers looted the entire facility and stripped much of the steel reinforcement.”

Bouydani says he was not involved in constructing military tunnels, which were managed by separate engineering teams. His work focused on medical facilities, while also advising civilians who decided to excavate tunnels beneath their own neighborhoods to protect their families.

According to Bouydani, civilian tunnel construction accelerated in 2015. Residents dug directly beneath their homes—particularly in informally built neighborhoods—or connected the basements of adjacent buildings to create underground escape routes.

Asked where such engineering expertise came from, Bouydani answered with a laugh:  “Douma was different. We turned plastic into diesel, gas, and gasoline. We used solar heat to boil water. We had electricity for 22 hours a day using generators that ran on vegetable shortening.”

In a besieged enclave cut off from the outside world, he said, survival depended as much on ingenuity as on endurance.

Stolen Steel: The Final Blow

The airstrikes, barrel bombs, and artillery attacks carried out by Assad’s forces, backed by Russian air power and allied Iranian militias, have long since ended.

But for many residents of Eastern Ghouta, a new danger now lurks beneath their feet.

The ground is collapsing.

In the wake of these sinkholes, stagnant pools of sewage have begun spreading through neighborhoods due to ruptured sewer lines shattered as the collapsing tunnel network gives way underground.

Wael Salam, mayor of Ain Tarma, says the tunnel network began taking shape in 2015, constructed primarily by the Rahman Corps (Faylaq al-Rahman) and the JAI.

“They were enormous tunnels,” he said. “A vehicle could drive through them.”

According to Salam, many of the tunnels lie 10 to 12 meters (33 to 40 feet) below ground and extend for long distances.

“We’re not afraid of the tunnels themselves,” he said. “Had Assad’s forces not stripped out their steel reinforcement, they might even have become tourist attractions—or another means of transportation.”

Instead, he argues, the way the former regime dealt with the tunnels made their collapse almost inevitable.

“When the regime removed the reinforcing steel, the surrounding soil began to cave in. The collapse eventually reached the sewer network. The pipes lost their support, leaving them suspended with space beneath them.”

Once the pipes failed, sewage began pouring into the abandoned tunnels, accelerating erosion below ground.

That process, Salam says, has increased the risk not only of further tunnel collapses but also of damage to buildings above them.

It has also created a new environmental hazard.

“During periods of heavy rainfall, groundwater levels rise and mix with sewage,” he said, raising concerns about contamination of underground water sources.

Dr. Nidal Jouni, a professor of geology and seismology at the University of Damascus, says the removal of steel reinforcement has a direct impact on tunnel stability.

“If tunnels were not excavated according to proper engineering standards,” he said, “removing the steel significantly weakens their structural integrity, increasing the likelihood of collapse and causing the overlying ground to subside.”

Ahmad Saryoul, a resident of Douma who lived through both the siege and the subsequent takeover by Assad’s forces, says the regime troops deliberately destroyed the major tunnels connecting Eastern Ghouta to Damascus after recapturing the area.

Smaller tunnels, however—including those inside towns and villages that had been used to transport wounded civilians—were largely left untouched.

“The authorities left those for residents to deal with,” he said.

Most families, he added, are already struggling simply to repair their damaged homes.

“They’re asking the government and aid organizations to help rebuild their houses,” he said. “So how can they possibly afford to fill in underground tunnels—especially when their homes are sitting on top of tunnels that could collapse at any time?”

The danger often remains hidden until chance reveals it.

Abu Nimer, a shepherd from Eastern Ghouta, recalls losing one of his goats and spending hours searching for it.

As he walked along a nearby stream, he heard the animal bleating.

Following the sound through dense vegetation, he eventually found the goat trapped inside a water channel.

Only then did he realize that an abandoned tunnel lay concealed beneath the riverbed—another unseen remnant of the siege, still hidden beneath the landscape years after the war.

Tunnels Without Maps

When sinkholes linked to Eastern Ghouta’s underground tunnels appear, the most obvious solution seems straightforward: those who dug the tunnels should fill them in.

Today, however, that solution is largely impossible.

Many of those who excavated the tunnels are no longer alive. Others remain outside Syria. And even among those who have returned, many no longer know precisely where the tunnels lie. Years of military operations after Assad’s forces recaptured Eastern Ghouta in 2018, coupled with the deliberate sealing of many tunnel entrances, fundamentally altered the landscape.

A former commander in the JAI—who requested anonymity because he now works for Syria’s Ministry of Defense and is not authorized to speak to the media—said it was the former regime that ultimately erased many of the tunnels’ identifying features.

“The regime approached the tunnels strictly as a security issue, not as infrastructure that people would one day have to deal with,” he said.

“They were afraid opposition fighters might still be hiding inside them. They didn’t care if a building collapsed as a result.”

After spending more than eight years displaced in northern Syria, he said, returning to Eastern Ghouta revealed just how dramatically the terrain had changed.

“When we came back, we realized the landscape was completely different. The situation is extremely dangerous. At any moment, a building could collapse, and people could be killed or seriously injured.”

He added that many tunnels were dug haphazardly during the early years of the siege. Only later did local municipal bodies establish a formal licensing process intended to regulate excavation and improve safety.

“By then,” he said, “it was already too late.”

A Patchwork of Underground Networks

According to Imad al-Ajwa, mayor of Douma, one of the greatest challenges today is that no single entity ever built—or documented—the entire tunnel system.

“The tunnels were constructed by multiple parties,” he told SIRAJ and Daraj. “Some were dug by opposition factions, others by humanitarian organizations, and many by civilians.”

As a result, no comprehensive map exists.

To address the problem, Douma’s municipality has begun assembling what officials describe as the nucleus of a centralized database.

The effort combines whatever historical records remain—many dating back nearly eight years—with interviews involving residents and former tunnel builders who may still remember where underground passages were excavated.

At the same time, municipal teams are identifying the areas believed to face the greatest immediate risk to prioritize field inspections.

A similar effort is underway in Ain Tarma.

Mayor Wael Salam said municipal officials have been contacting former opposition fighters who have returned from Idlib in an effort to reconstruct the tunnel network from memory.

“So far we’ve been able to map roughly 60 percent of the tunnels,” he said.

He added that officials have repeatedly heard claims that Russian forces produced tunnel maps after the regime recaptured Eastern Ghouta.

“We’ve been told those maps were drawn by the Russians and kept in government offices,” Salam said. “But we’ve never received them. We don’t even know whether they actually exist. They may have ended up in one of the regime’s intelligence branches—or perhaps they never existed at all.”

Russia announced that Assad’s forces had regained full control of Eastern Ghouta on April 12, 2018, following the evacuation of the last opposition fighters from Douma, their final stronghold in the region, and the deployment of Russian military police.

The former JAI commander, however, doubts Russian forces ever produced a complete mapping of the tunnel network.

“They entered only the major strategic tunnels,” he said, citing one leading toward Harasta Suburb, another in Zamalka, and the large underground medical facility in Douma known as Point One.

The SIRAJ and Daraj investigative team contacted the Russian Embassy in Damascus by email seeking confirmation of whether such maps exist, but received no response by the time of publication.

Searching for What Has Been Lost

Samir Bouydani, who briefly served as mayor of Douma after the area’s liberation, said he contacted the engineer responsible for the JAI’s military tunnels during the siege.

According to Bouydani, the former engineer told him the faction had lost its tunnel maps during the displacement from Eastern Ghouta.

Bouydani said he later approached the Ministry of Defense, where officials likewise informed him that any remaining maps had disappeared during the displacement process.

He also criticized the way Assad’s forces handled the tunnels after retaking the area.

Using the underground medical complex known as Point One as an example, Bouydani said the facility originally had three entrances, but government forces sealed two of them.

Without maps—and after much of the steel reinforcement had been stripped—the remaining sections became extremely difficult to access safely.

A Complex Engineering Challenge

In response to questions from the SIRAJ and Daraj team, the Media and Communications Directorate of Syria’s Ministry of Emergency and Disaster Management described the tunnel issue as “highly complex.”

The ministry said the region contains multiple categories of underground structures: large strategic tunnels, smaller passageways, vehicle tunnels, building-to-building connections, underground medical facilities, and numerous tunnels excavated independently by civilians—many of which were never documented.

Because of that complexity, officials say producing an accurate map of the underground network now requires coordination among four institutions:

• the Ministry of Emergency and Disaster Management,
• the Ministry of Housing,
• the Syrian Engineers Association, and
• local municipal councils.

The investigation team was unable to obtain responses from representatives of the armed opposition factions that controlled Eastern Ghouta until 2018.

The former JAI commander acknowledged that even his faction possessed only partial documentation.

“Our maps covered only the areas under our control,” he said. “There was never a complete map of all the tunnels dug by the factions, institutions, and civilians. Given the conditions of war, no one can accurately account for the entire network.”

Technology: the Only Way Forward

According to Dr. Nidal Jouni, locating the remaining tunnels is still possible using modern engineering geophysical methods.

Technologies such as ground-penetrating radar (GPR) and seismic surveys, he said, can identify the location, direction, dimensions, and structural condition of underground voids.

“These techniques make it possible to map a tunnel’s extent and evaluate the risks it poses,” Jouni said.

He argues that authorities should undertake both short- and long-term geological and geophysical studies to determine the types of rock surrounding each tunnel, assess the likelihood of future collapse, and develop engineering measures capable of preventing further sinkholes before additional buildings—or lives—are lost.

A Mere Emergency Measures

For now, local authorities in Ain Tarma are relying on emergency repairs rather than permanent engineering solutions to address the growing number of sinkholes.

According to Mayor Salam, a comprehensive response remains beyond the municipality’s financial and technical capacity.

“When a sinkhole appears, we widen the opening slightly and fill it,” he said. “My priority is protecting the infrastructure—making sure the road doesn’t collapse again and safeguarding the sewer, telephone, and electricity lines. We reinforce the area with solid materials and asphalt, but I can’t fill an entire tunnel that runs beneath residential buildings.”

Meanwhile, the municipality is waiting for funding from the Damascus Countryside Governorate to implement a more substantial intervention.

The proposed plan focuses on five locations where tunnels intersect with the sewer network. At each site, crews would excavate down to the tunnel level, pump out accumulated wastewater, fill the cavity with engineered materials designed to prevent future collapses, and then rebuild the damaged sewer, water, electricity, and telecommunications infrastructure before resurfacing the road.

Officials in Douma face similar financial and technical constraints.

Imad al-Ajwa, the city’s mayor, said that only days before speaking with the SIRAJ and Daraj investigative team, new sinkholes appeared above former military tunnels behind Douma Municipal Stadium.

Those tunnels, he said, had once been reinforced with steel that was later stripped by Assad’s forces.

“Every time a collapse occurs, we provide a temporary engineering solution,” al-Ajwa said. “But we don’t have the funding to enter and stabilize the entire tunnel network. We also don’t have the specialized personnel—and I’m not going to risk my workers’ lives.”

He believes the region narrowly escaped a much larger disaster.

“Last year wasn’t a year of drought—it was actually a blessing,” he said. “If we had experienced heavy rainfall immediately after liberation, the situation could have been far worse.”

The Ministry of Emergency and Disaster Management says it is operating under similar limitations.

According to the ministry’s Media and Communications Directorate, current efforts are based primarily on incident reports and emergency response, with teams intervening only after sinkholes or structural collapses are reported.

Officials pointed to a recent operation in Douma, where several tunnels were filled in cooperation with the municipal council and the Syrian Engineers Association.

But ministry officials stress that filling abandoned tunnels is far more complex than simply dumping soil into an underground void.

“Large tunnels cannot be filled arbitrarily,” the ministry said. “The process requires pumping specialized concrete and carefully protecting building foundations under the supervision of engineering teams. Filling a tunnel is nothing like filling an ordinary hole.”

Homes Above Hidden Voids

According to Aghiad Othman, deputy mayor of Douma, backfilling sinkholes with ordinary soil is ineffective because the ground is likely to subside again.

Instead, municipal engineering teams excavate each collapse site as necessary before stabilizing it.

“But we’re treating the sinkhole—not the entire tunnel,” Othman explained. “Even when we discover an underground passage, we notify the governorate because dealing with the full tunnel requires heavy equipment and specialized engineering methods.”

The greatest concern, he said, is when tunnels pass directly beneath building foundations.

Those cases require special structural intervention.

As a precaution, the municipality has begun issuing evacuation notices for buildings considered at immediate risk.

According to Othman, two residential buildings were evacuated only recently.

In Ain Tarma, Mayor Salam estimates that around 50 buildings are situated above underground tunnels.

Municipal authorities have placed legal restrictions on those properties, preventing their sale or transfer, and have urged residents to leave.

Many, however, have refused. They simply cannot afford to.

One of them is Abu Mohammad, an elderly resident who discovered a void beneath his apartment building while renovation work was underway.

Despite the warning signs, he chose to continue the work.

“I need to get my son married,” he said. “Our home is still better than paying rent.”

Then, with visible frustration, he added: “We’ve already started, and we’re going to finish. If the building collapses, may God have mercy on us.”

For Abu Mohammad, leaving is not an option unless an alternative home is provided.

“This is our house—we’re not abandoning it,” he said. “If it’s dangerous, then let the municipality give me another home. We’re waiting for them to close the tunnel. We can’t afford to pay for that ourselves. We’re barely surviving as it is.”

Some residents have attempted to solve the problem on their own by filling cavities beneath their homes.

Mayor Salam acknowledges that no one knows whether such efforts are actually effective.

“We don’t really know the correct engineering method. Is pouring concrete into the tunnel enough? We’ve never dealt with a problem like this before.”

He argues that Syria urgently needs specialized engineering units dedicated to tunnel stabilization and structural rehabilitation—not only for abandoned tunnels but also for buildings damaged during the war.

“There should be a dedicated restoration authority,” he said, “so that the people carrying out these repairs know they’re doing them correctly.”

As winter rains have exposed the hidden tunnel network beneath Eastern Ghouta, officials warn that the coming summer may bring a different threat: foul odors, rodents, and worsening public health conditions as damaged sewer systems continue leaking underground.

For now, residents can do little more than wait—uncertain how long it will take before permanent solutions replace temporary repairs.

• A version of this investigation was also published by Daraj Media
• Creative Production and Visual Design: Radwan Awad

The post Collapse of “Siege Tunnels” in Eastern Ghouta: Widespread Cave-Ins and Lost Maps Endanger Civilians appeared first on SIRAJ.

Many are aware of the fact that, inside Syria’s displaced persons’ camps, women are constantly subjected to sexual extortion. More obscure is what happens to their peers at the capital’s so-called shelters and those of the surrounding rural areas. Here, the identity of the perpetrator may vary, but the women’s lot of suffering and exploitation is just as gruesome. Whether in camps or government shelters, the “sex in return for food” deal is the order of the day.

Since 2012, 20 year-old Reem has been living with her family at the Kafr Sousa shelter in Damascus. For three consecutive months, she had been sexually assaulted by the shelter’s supervisor. Fearing defamation, she did not dare to whisper a word about it.

I met Reem outside her residence back in October of 2017. Terrified, she requested anonymity, both for the sake of her family’s safety and her own.

It had all started the year before when, one day, Reem’s mother sent her to collect the food ration. The family had been living off of this aid since they first moved into the shelter from rural Damascus.  That day, the supervisor in charge of distribution forced the young girl to have sex with him in exchange for her family’s share. The abuse continued for a while. When Reem finally asked her assaulter to stop, he threatened to throw her family out, and tell everyone about what happened between them.

“I was so scared.  I dreaded what would become of me and my family. I kept my mouth shut to protect us. He continued to assault me until he found another, younger girl. Only then did he let go of me,” Reem said.

Reem’s is only one of innumerable stories of Syrian women who have been subjugated to sexual exploitation, physical and verbal harassment, as well as leering, in temporary accommodation centers (shelters for the displaced) in Damascus and its surrounding rural areas. Women are coerced to have sex with shelters’ supervisors and officials in return for humanitarian aid. They are pressured to keep quiet, out of fear of being thrown out, defamed, and their aid cut off. They even risk being arrested, should it ever be discovered that they spoke up.

Women’s ordeal is aggravated by the shelters’ strict regulations.  They are not allowed to leave, even for a few hours, unless they submit an official request, the approval of which hangs on the management’s whim.  This prevents women from finding a job to insure a decent life, escape sexual oppression and the abominable conditions inside the shelters, as I have been told by five such women we met.

During my successive visits to several shelters in Damascus and its rural areas, I have interviewed eight women who have been forced by male managers and supervisors to yield sexual concessions.  Throughout this investigation, I have also met with thirty-five male and female volunteers at the shelters, who unanimously corroborated the systematic scale on which sexual extortion is practiced in exchange for food for displaced women.

But it was impossible to confront the officers in charge of the shelters with such revelations. That would put the victims’ very lives at risk, as well as compromise my own safety.

A report by the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA), titled “Voices from Syria 2018”, upholds that humanitarian aid is being exchanged for sex in many regions in Syria.

The detailed document reveals that “women and young girls inside these shelters are being sexually harassed and exploited by those in positions of authority in return for housing and aid. The most vulnerable are those “without male protectors”: widows, divorcees, and the displaced.”

According to another study commissioned in 2014 by UNHCR, one in every three Syrian women never left her house, or only did so in cases of extreme necessity, for fear of harassment and insecurity.

In yet another study, conducted by UNFPA, in cooperation with the Syrian Ministry of Social Affairs, titled “Situation of Women in Temporary Accommodation Centers in Damascus”, it is shown that 3.5% of women have been sexually exploited after coming to these shelters, including being subjected to leering, and verbal and physical harassment.

The night of the rape

On the morning of January 24th, upon a visit to a shelter hosting over 500 displaced families, I sat with a group of women who told me about the sexual concessions they have to make in order to receive their share of the aid. None of them dared to go into specifics. But perhaps Um Saad, a strong woman in her 40s, speaks for all about the extent of the tragedy when she asks “Who will save us from retaliation if we speak up? And who will defend our rights?”

Hanan, a 30-year old widow and a mother of two, has been living in a shelter in Al-Duweir, ever since the death of her husband compelled her to leave Mayda’a in September of 2014.

I met Hanan outside the shelter on 28 March. She had gotten the permission to leave for a few hours, under the pretext of taking her child to a doctor in Damascus.

Back in 2016, when she went to pick up her food portion, the distributor gave her only a fraction of it and asked her to come back at night for the rest. When she returned that evening, he raped her.

She says that what happened to her is absolutely indescribable: “I could not yell at him. He approached me and began to touch my body. My tongue was tied. I tried to push him away, but he persisted.”

Hanan came out of his room not daring to tell anyone about what happened. For weeks on end, she continued to be raped without any means to escape. For there was no alternative shelter.

Getting advantage of women in need

What emboldens the offenders the most is the absence of the family’s male breadwinner coupled with the women’s lack of any skills that would qualify them for a job and a decent life, leaving them with no other safety net than the basket of humanitarian aid.

35 year-old Huda left the shelter after she could not take the manager’s sexual assaults anymore. I met her shortly thereafter at her house, on 23 July, 2017.

Huda took refuge with her two children in a shelter located in the upscale district of Kafr Sousa in Damascus, after her husband’s death drove her to flee Ein Tarma in Eastern Ghouta, in 2013.

In 2015, the officer in charge of distribution began making advances on Huda. When the latter did not reciprocate, he tried again, offering to give her and her children everything they needed in return for one night with her. Upon her rejection, he retaliated by withholding her food ration for more than three months.

Try as she might to survive, borrowing money and food from neighbours, she could not make ends meet. Faced with two hungry children, she ended up accepting the offer.

In August of 2016, her 9-year old son was diagnosed with diabetes, “God’s punishment for what I have done,” Huda thought. She decided to stop seeing the officer, left the shelter in October, and rented a room in Jaramana. She has since been earning her living working in a sweatshop, and selling homemade food supplies. She was never able to forget the painful details of her ordeal inside the shelter.

Now the head of the Department of Forensic Medicine at Damascus University and the former head of the Syrian Forensic Medicine Authority Hussein Nofal, had declared in June of 2017 that violence against women and children has dramatically increased during the ongoing crisis. The chief reasons behind the upsurge being displacement and rising poverty levels which have forced many families to share housing with strangers or rent small rooms.

Anas has volunteered in three different centers after he ran away from Al Yarmouk Refugee Camp in 2013. He says sexual harassment is raging inside the shelters. He himself has witnessed women being pressured into having sex. Once he saw a woman knocking on the manager’s door in the middle of the night, a price she had to pay in exchange for a blanket, or an extra bottle of baby milk.

Fear of defamation

“I don’t want to ruin my own life,” said one woman I interviewed in September of 2017. She was sexually abused at a shelter in Al Tal city, north of Damascus, a couple months before.

Her words account for the obstacles I faced during the present investigation. They also elucidate why women refrain from denouncing their aggressors by filing complaints. Victims dread defamation. They are petrified of being hurt, arrested, or even excommunicated. Society here blames the victim. Even the woman’s family themselves would shun her.

Thanaa, a woman in her thirties who escaped Meda’a to a shelter, says: “I didn’t dare to tell anyone about what happened to me. I was so scared. He used me repeatedely for sex. I care for my children. I am scared of him. He manages the shelter. He can kick us out anytime. We don’t have any other place to run to. Not to mention that he’s capable of writing a spiteful report against me and have the police land me in prison.”

Victims’ stories vary. So do the facets of their suffering. But one element is common to all: fear.

Wedad, 35 years old, is a volunteer with the Syrian Red Crescent. In 2015 and 2016, she worked at a shelter in Rural Damascus. With her own eyes, she witnessed four women, between the ages of 20 and 40, being sexually exploited by the shelter’s supervisor.

The victims’ silence is the greatest hurdle to Wedad’s work. “I totally understand their fear, she says. They’re weak and vulnerable, especially the ones who have had their husbands killed, arrested or kidnapped. Those women are powerless, with no one to protect them. Their aggressors have power and privilege. Their links with the authorities scare the victims into remaining silent.”

“Who will save us from retaliation if we speak up? And who will defend our rights?”

A center for exploitation

Sociologist Aliaa Ahmed calls these shelters “centers for sexual exploitation of women.” What pains Ahmed the most is the way in which the victims seek to cover up the crime, in order to avoid being blamed. Society’s attitude toward rape victims is to condemn the victims themselves: “if she had behaved decently, none of this would have happened to her.”

Ahmed points out that “it is a common belief that in the absence of a law that protects women’s safety, only their men can fulfill that function. Some women live alone with their children in shelters, which makes them an easy target for perpetrators.”

She explains that “assailants do not stop at anything to coerce women into sex, using force against those who refuse to submit to their repugnant desires. They know that if a woman decided to denounce them, she would be inviting the worst consequences upon herself, and herself alone.  Noting that poor, displaced women in general is the group that is most vulnerable to sexual exploitation. Women coming from areas controlled by opposition fighters are at an even greater risk. Against the latter,  “political reasons” and “security concerns,” are threatening tools for sexual extortion.  “Terrorism” charges are always ready to be doled out to them. They are totally helpless.”

And she adds: “In such circumstances, many women find themselves obliged to submit to their assaulter and remain silent, or else escape and start a journey of endless torment, where they will have to face innumerable risks in search of alternatives that are equally bad.”

Silencing the voices

I contacted Kafr Sousa Police Department to inquire about the number of complaints filed by sexually exploited women. An officer who has served at the department between 2014 and 2015, proclaimed that they have received no more than five complaints from women living in shelters, all concerning “problems” with the shelters’ supervisors.

He added that whenever the police called on the shelter to see these women and issue a proper citation, the supervisor would immediately take the patrol chief aside, and persuade him to drop the issue, belittling it as mere “women trouble.” The case would end here. No further proceedings, no official investigation. Nothing is even documented, thus depriving the abused of her right to file a formal complaint and pursue her case in court.

The policeman observed signs of abuse visible on women who come to file complaints: a messed up hijab here, torn and dirty clothes there, tears, and refusal to tell what happened.

His daily chats with colleagues at the police station leave no doubt that shelters’ supervisors have clout and are more powerful than chief patrols. He and his colleagues have heard numerous stories about women being subjected to sexual abuse as a price for the food aid, the distribution of which is personally controlled by supervisors.

On the other hand, four women from an Adra al- ‘Amaliyah shelter North of the capital filed a complaint against the supervisor who forced them to have sex with him and threatened to expulse them if they refuse, according to volunteers who have witnessed the complaint.

The governorate of Damascus and the Supreme Committee for Relief investigated the issue with residents at the center. But then, the case was closed, as if nothing had happened. The supervisor remained in his position. It was later discovered that the grievants were expelled from the center.

I was not able to find those women. And when I inquired about them at the governorate’s offices, the officer refused to cooperate, claiming we were dealing here with “classified information.”

Minor girls were also molested

I met five girls between the ages of 13 and 15 who have been sexually harassed, one by an officer, the other four by residents and workers of the rural Damascene shelter, back in 2016. None of them dared to tell anyone except their mothers who asked them to keep quiet out of fear for their reputation, and the danger of expulsion.

13-year old Walaa is one of those girls. She and her family were displaced from Adra in 2013 and settled in a shelter near Damascus. Walaa lives with her mother and siblings in a small room. Her mother double-locks the door at night. She lives in fear for the safety of her daughters, ever since her husband was detained in 2014 and she has been kept in the dark about his fate.

Walaa’s mother felt utterly helpless when her daughter came home in tears one day after being molested by the supervisor who gave her the family’s food portion.

Walaa recounts: “first, when he talked to me in a weird way, I didn’t care. I was very tired from the long wait. I was thinking about the dinner my mother was preparing, and I wanted to take the basket and leave quickly, especially that mother always warned us not to hang around the center after sunset. But then he began to touch me. I tried to scream but he put his hand on my mouth and touched my private parts.” She continues, “ I went to my mom. We cried a lot. We didn’t dare take any action. My father has been missing for three years. We know nothing of his whereabouts. Those people can harm us. No one is here to protect us. What can we do?”

Psychological effects

Psychiatrist Mohammed Mohsen reflects on the psychological damage of sexual extortion: “the victim feels oppressed and neglected. Replaying the details of the assault in her head can result in severe depression as well. In some cases, stress, anxiety, and a gloomy view of life could lead to suicide. The psychological harm resulting from sexual coercion needs serious medical attention.”

The law forbids but filing a complaint is impossible

In its “Public Morality Crimes” section, Syrian law distinguishes between “rape” and “honor crime.”

Given the “coercion” element in sexual extortion, the penal code classifies it under “rape.”

However, “in the absence of a clear mechanism for filing complaints, we have lost all hope that those committing such atrocities be held accountable for their crimes,” said Basema Jabry, a board member of the Syrian Women Network.

Conditions of coercion or menace in the Syrian law

“Non-consent necessarily implies physical coercion by violence or threat, or moral coercion, or abuse of power, or abuse of minors. In the absence of these acts, the offender cannot be punished.” (Resolution 886/1984 – Basis 1194 – Court of Cassation – Criminal Chambers – Syria.)

Jabry emphasizes that the law is on the victim’s side, were she to have to courage to report the crime. She adds, however, that “the fears that hold sway over the victims are justified: from fear of parents who play a negative role, to fear of society and defamation, and finally the fear of the offender himself, especially if he is in a position of power.”

*This report was produced with the support of “Open Media Hub”, funding from the European Union, and supervision from Ahmad Haj Hamdo– SIRAJ. Published on Daraj

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