Sinjar 11 Years Later: Between the Ashes of Grief and the Fire of a New Yazidi Generation

ERBIL (Kurdistan24) – Eleven years since ISIS unleashed its genocidal fury on Sinjar, the Yazidi community is navigating a profound duality: the deep, unhealed wounds of the past coexist with a powerful spirit of communal healing and a new generation’s unwavering resolve to ensure their story of survival and loss is never forgotten. As survivors in displacement camps relive their trauma, the sacred Lalish Temple offers a path to spiritual reintegration, while Yazidi youth are arming themselves with education and a firm conviction that silence is no longer an option.

The eleventh anniversary of the August 3, 2014, catastrophe—a crime described as one of the most heinous in modern history—serves as a raw and painful reminder of the ongoing tragedy. In the sprawling displacement camps where thousands of Yazidis still reside, every family carries a story of profound grief.

Binafsh Silo, a displaced Yazidi woman, sits looking through photos of her abducted family members. Her words, overcome by sadness, recount the day ISIS stormed her village of Kocho. "They took the men—my father-in-law and his brothers—and they took my mother too," Binafsh says. After miraculously surviving more than six months in captivity, moved between Mosul and Tal Afar, she still clings to the hope of seeing her father again.

Beside her, her mother, Khatoon Amlo, an elderly survivor, is bedridden and unable to move. She recalls with palpable sorrow how ISIS terrorists executed her husband by gunfire right before her eyes, throwing his body with others into a pit. "They took my husband, and all the men, lined them up, and shot them," she says in a frail voice, before asking a question that hangs heavy in the air of the camp: "To whom can we complain?"

This personal anguish is a reflection of a collective, open wound for the community. Official statistics indicate that the fate of 2,827 abducted Yazidis remains unknown, a number that represents a continuing source of pain and uncertainty.

Yet, in stark contrast to the sorrow of the camps, the Lalish Temple in Duhok province—the holiest of sites for Yazidi Kurds—serves as a potent symbol of resilience and hope. With every survivor who returns, ululations fill the temple grounds as a journey of spiritual healing begins at "Kanî Spî" (the White Spring). There, survivors are baptized and receive the "Mor" (religious seal) in a sacred ritual that symbolizes their unconditional acceptance and the renewal of their belonging to the Yazidi community.

This ceremony is particularly moving for survivors, who recall the psychological warfare waged by their captors. "They told us the Yazidis would kill us and wouldn't accept us," says Riham Haji, a survivor. "But when I returned, I found love and respect everywhere."

This institutionalized welcome was a deliberate and swift decision by the community's leadership. In 2014, just weeks after the genocide began, the Mir, the Baba Sheikh, and the Spiritual Council decreed that every rescued survivor must be accepted and respected.

Jahi Hamid, a relative of victims, explained the process: "It's not just me, but every Yazidi—when one of our sons or daughters is rescued from ISIS, we bring them to Lalish to start their lives anew among their people."

Pir Sardar, the custodian of "Kanî Spî," confirmed this has been the unwavering practice. "Over the past years, anyone who is freed from ISIS, whether a girl or a boy, we bring them here, seal them, and bless them, by a decision from the Spiritual Council, the Baba Sheikh, and the Mir of the Yazidis," he stated.

This spirit of defiance is now being carried forward by a new generation, who are determined to transform their community's suffering into a global call for justice. "We learned not to be silent; rather, we must convey our story and our suffering to the world," says Sufyan Salo, a young Yazidi man. "This is not the first time a genocide has occurred against the Yazidis; it is the seventy-fourth time. But it is the first time the Yazidis have been able to come out and convey their suffering."

Another young Yazidi, Maysar Ilyas, emphasizes the role of youth in reclaiming their narrative. "As Yazidi youth, we have learned to be strong, to make our voices heard, and to change the incorrect image that has been painted of the Yazidis," he says. "We learned that education is the Yazidi's weapon, because without education and knowledge, we cannot obtain our rights." He also expressed gratitude for the support that gave them strength, noting, "We will not forget the role of those who stood with us in our time of suffering and hardship, especially the people of Duhok."

This new generation feels a profound responsibility for memory and documentation. "We want the next generation to always remember that in the 21st century, these great crimes were committed against the Yazidis and humanity, and for the world to take this genocide seriously," says Bakhtiyar Qadir.

For Marwan Dawad, the reality of the genocide shattered his worldview. "I did not expect something like this to happen in reality, and for it to be worse than what is shown in movies and books," he says, expressing shock at the inaction of countries that claim to protect human rights, concluding that those slogans proved to be "nothing but ink on paper."

The weight of these personal stories and future aspirations is underscored by the staggering statistics of the genocide. Of the 6,417 Yazidis abducted by ISIS, 3,562 have survived, while 2,827 remain missing. The crimes left 2,745 children orphaned, and to date, 83 mass graves have been discovered, in addition to the 68 Yazidi shrines and religious sites that were destroyed.

Reports were done by Chekdar Jamal (Duhok) and Maher Shingali (Lalish) – Kurdistan24