By Samer Yassin
HASAKAH, Syria (North Press) – Five years after Turkey’s occupation of the city of Sere Kaniye in Northeast Syria, Christians left behind their homes and community. Only a handful of Christians remain in the city, enduring harassment under the rule of Turkish-backed armed opposition factions, aka the Syrian National Army (SNA).
On Oct. 9, 2019, Jan Yakub fled his hometown of Sere Kaniye (Ras al-Ain), also known by the Syriac people as “Rash Ayno”, as Turkish warplanes and bombings shook the city.
Yakub, 40, was forced to leave behind a life deeply rooted in the city, where his family had settled after what he describes as the 1915 “genocide” of Christians in Turkey.
He lived with his mother after his father’s passing. A law graduate from Aleppo University, he owned an optical and eye examination center before the Turkish invasion displaced him and hundreds of thousands of others.
Like many, he sought refuge in temporary shelters, expecting to return quickly, unaware that his exile would stretch on for over five years—and possibly even longer.
Displacement of Christians
Before 2012, Sere Kaniye was home to approximately 230 Christian families, mostly Syriacs (both Catholics and Orthodox), along with a few Armenian and Chaldean families. These families practiced their faith in three churches located in the “Churches” neighborhood, according to Simon Jerjis, a member of the Sere Kaniye Displaced Committee.
Between 2012 and 2015, Sere Kaniye was attacked by armed groups like the al-Nusra Front, in addition to the Islamic State (ISIS).
Jerjis recalls that in 2015 after ISIS attacked the city and its surrounding areas, most Christian families were displaced.
“Only about 60 families returned and resumed their lives before the Turkish occupation in 2019,” he said.
He notes that now only six Christians remain in their homes, determined to protect their property despite harassment and violations from Turkish-backed SNA factions.
Jerjis remembers when the three churches would ring their bells regularly to mark prayer times and religious rituals. In addition to the churches, there were three schools dedicated for Christian students.
The churches and schools once bustled with students and worshippers. Now, however, all signs of Christianity have vanished from the city, he adds.
Since the SNA factions took control of the city, “No religious ceremonies or masses have been held in the churches, and no church bells have rung,” Jerjis points out, lamenting the absence of a Christian presence in a place that was once so full of life.
Demographic change
Mohi al-Din Iso, the executive director of DAR Association for victims of forced displacement, highlights the profound demographic shifts caused by Turkey’s occupation of Sere Kaniye and Tel Abyad during Operation Peace Spring.
He explains, “The Turkish occupation has dramatically altered the demographic landscape, displacing Christians, Kurds, Arabs, Circassians, Armenians, and other communities in the region.”
Iso notes that Christians once made up 10 percent of Sere Kaniye’s population, with entire neighborhoods predominantly Christian. However, after the Turkish occupation, “These Christian communities were completely displaced.”
He adds that Turkey has allowed only around five Christians to return and reopen churches, claiming it has no problems with Christians or other religions.
“Turkey’s real objective is to change the region’s demographics, settling families of its affiliated militants under the guise of a ‘safe zone,’ while preventing the original residents from returning.”
He further explains that the factions controlling Sere Kaniye are characterized by extremist Islamist views, rejecting other religions and sects. “They prevent the Christian minority from practicing their rituals and have seized their homes, properties, and farmlands,” Iso adds.
Chaos
Yakub recalls the day he fled his city, never imagining that he would not be able to return.
“I did not even lock the doors of my shop, nor did I take my mother’s medicine with me,” he says. “I was certain everything would settle down in a few hours, and we would be back home.”
He and his mother fled to Hasakah in a van, unsure of their destination. “We spent seven days living in the van—sleeping, eating, and drinking there,” he recounts.
Each day, they waited, hoping for news that it was safe to return. But instead, they spent a year and a half in a camp before moving into a relative’s house in Hasakah.
After five years, Yakub refuses to return to a city now ruled by what he calls “strangers and criminals.” He cannot bear the thought of living among “gangs who shoot at each other over trivial things like a pigeon or a chicken,” he explains.
Yakub frequently hears from friends who have returned to the city, telling him about the daily harassment, lack of security, chaos, and ongoing violence.
“These conditions are nothing like the peaceful atmosphere of the city we grew up in,” he says. “The people there now are not part of our community and do not share our values.”
With a heavy heart, he continues to appeal to the international community and all relevant authorities to find a solution, urging them to ensure his return and the return of all displaced persons to their homeland.
He describes the experience of displacement as an “overwhelmingly painful feeling,” one that brought him to tears every day for six consecutive months. Being forcibly removed from his home and unable to return has left a lasting emotional scar.