Joseph Yacoub and Thierry Oberlé
July 05, 2017
"They're coming! They're coming!" On that day, Feb. 23, 2015, a new page in the tragedy of the Middle East's Christians was written on the banks of the Khabur River, in northeastern Syria. Armed with heavy weaponry and armored vehicles, ISIS fighters swept down from the Mount Abdulaziz region and stormed local Assyrian Christian villages, sending panic-stricken residents fleeing for their lives. Thousands sought shelter in the area's major cities, Al-Hassakeh and Al-Qamishli.
The fighting lasted several hours. Two local militias, the Khabur Guards and the Syriac Military Council, fought to defend their countrymen. In Tel Hormuz, where the resistance was strong, 11 were killed and a good number went missing. Women distinguished themselves with their courage. Still, the Christian fighters were overwhelmed. The military superiority of ISIS was obvious and defeat was inevitable.
Everything began 10 days before the invasion, when ISIS ordered the villagers to remove crosses from their churches and pay a special poll tax. The villagers refused. The overall goal of ISIS was to expel these "infidels' from the country and extend its hegemony to the region. This was a repeat of the religious cleansing operation that took place in the summer 2014, on the other side of the border, in the Ninevah Plains region in Iraq.
"They had been training for a year to invade the villages," says Guiwargis (not his real name) a survivor who later fled to Lebanon. "ISIS had plans and maps. The jihadists implemented a concerted and deliberate strategy to empty the region of its Christians."
Victorious, the jihadists assembled their "spoils of war."
As ISIS advanced, the Syrian army — which had vowed to protect its minorities — seemed to disappear. Free Syrian Army rebels were nowhere to be seen either. Kurdish military forces, in contrast, confronted the jihadists at times but withdrew from certain villages, abandoning the Christians, according to former inhabitants.
Victorious, the jihadists assembled their "spoils of war": more than 220 people — including children and seniors — captured from Assyrian villages along the Khabur. Even the 80-year-old mayor of the village Tel Shamiran was arrested with his wife and family. Male and female prisoners were separated and forced to wait in a torrential rain before being deported to another village. Then, the hostages were piled on top of each other in vehicles like livestock to be transferred to a nearby city.
"On the sixth day of our captivity, Widad Yonan, a 48-year-old woman who had resisted ISIS troops during the invasion of her village, was taken to an unknown place to most likely be executed," Guiwargis recalls.
For seven months, they were kept in a large room that was formerly a Syrian police station. The premises were equipped with screens to teach prisoners about the Koran and Muslim jurisprudence. "We were taught the lessons of the Koran and urged to convert to Islam. The main instructor was Saudi ... We all refused," Guiwargis says.
In the courtyard there were also Uzbeks, Iraqis, Turks, Tunisians, Turkmens, Egyptians, Algerians and Syrians. The guards were Tunisians. Sometimes, coalition raids would target the area.
One day, the main local emir for ISIS, a one-eyed Iraqi rumored to be Saddam Hussein's former officer, ordered that the three most beautiful girls be brought to him so that he could choose one. Caroline Shlimoun, a 14-year-old girl from Tel Jazira village, was torn from her family. Since then, her parents have had no news of her. The emir most likely married her by force before bringing her to Raqqa, the Syrian capital of the jihadists, to mother a child.
"Her father and mother have not lost hope of finding her," says Auchana (not his real name), another survivor.
The religious pressure exerted on the prisoners was constant. They were accused of being infidels and threatened with death. "We were told that killing us is lawful," says Auchana. "One morning they came to select six of us under the false pretext of going to Al-Hassakeh to negotiate our release in exchange for ransom paid by the Assyrian Bishop Mar Aprim Athniel. I was part of the lot."
That was the day of Eid al-Adha, the feast of sacrifice. The hostages were led into the desert for a show of Islamic justice. They wore orange outfits. A "judge" verified the "legality" of the sentence and ordered it to be carried out immediately: death! "Three of our companions were killed before our eyes on Sept. 23, 2015," Auchana recalls. "We had to carry their dead bodies to a truck. I don't know where they were buried."
In Raqqa, we no longer saw the sun.
These dour scenes, which ISIS filmed and broadcasted, marked a tipping point for the abducted Christians. The videos created an international shock wave and led to negotiations to pay a ransom for the hostages, who were transported to Raqqa.
"We were moved blindfolded all the way. In Raqqa, we no longer saw the sun," Auchana explains. "We were locked up in an underground prison. Three days later, the Russians started bombing the city. The guards asked us whether we had ties to the Russian Church. We replied that we were Assyrians and followers of the Eastern Church."
Discreetly, negotiations took place via smugglers who had settled on the Iraqi-Syrian border.
Around the world, the Assyrian diaspora mobilized to raise funds that were given to Mar Aprim Athniel, the tireless Assyrian bishop. Donations came from Europe, the United States, Canada and Australia. Volunteers transported the money to Iraq and Syria. Solidarity demonstrations like the one that took place in Sarcelles, France, on March 1, 2015, were organized.
"Without this generous help, we would have experienced a fate similar to that of our three compatriots. Death, in other words. Except of course for the women and children, who are considered of value to ISIS because they can be sold as slaves," says Guiwargis.
In August 2015, ISIS began releasing children, women and men for ransoms of $30,000 per person. The six-stage process of release ended Feb. 22, 2016, exactly one year after the mass abduction. In total, the captors were paid more than $500,000.
Clerics walking in Aleppo, Syria — Photo: Giulio Paletta/ZUMA
The Assyrians of Khabur are descents of one of the world's oldest Christian communities. They belong to the Church of the East, also known as the Nestorian Church, and are the children of families deported from Iraq after the Simele massacre of 1933. Before that, in 1915, the Assyrians were the target of a genocide under the Ottoman Empire.
The Simele survivors were settled in Syria's Khabur region by French authorities, who controlled the country at that time. The northeast of Syria, with its rosary of villages on both banks of the Khabur, was their second country of refuge. ISIS has now abandoned the area. But it is still almost completely void of inhabitants. Houses are plundered, churches completely destroyed, public buildings burned.
Guiwargis returned to his village of Tel Shamiran only to find ruins. Broken hearted, he went back to Lebanon. He, like the other survivors, must look for a host country. Australia, perhaps. A number of survivors have already taken the road to exile, joining others in Europe, the United States and Canada. One Assyrian woman, currently a refugee in Germany but with plans of going to Australia, summarizes this new tragedy: "It is a wound that will never be healed," she says. "Now we're going to the land beyond the sun."
Le Figaro is a French daily founded in 1826 and published in Paris. The oldest national daily in France, Le Figaro is the second-largest national newspaper in the country after Le Parisien and before Le Monde, with an average circulation of about 331,000 copies Its editorial line is considered center-right. The newspaper is now owned by Dassault Media.
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With loans and solar panels from China, the massive solar park has been opened a year and is already powering the surrounding areas. Now the Chinese supplier is pushing for an expansion.
October 18, 2021
CAUCHARI — Driving across the border with Chile into the northwest Argentine department of Susques, you may spot what looks like a black mass in the distance. Arriving at a 4,000-meter altitude in the municipality of Cauchari, what comes into view instead is an assembly of 960,000 solar panels. It is the world's highest photovoltaic (PV) park, which is also the second biggest solar energy facility in Latin America, after Mexico's Aguascalientes plant.
Spread over 800 hectares in an arid landscape, the Cauchari park has been operating for a year, and has so far turned sunshine into 315 megawatts of electricity, enough to power the local provincial capital of Jujuy through the national grid.
It has also generated some $50 million for the province, which Governor Gerardo Morales has allocated to building 239 schools.
Abundant sunshine, low temperatures
The physicist Martín Albornoz says Cauchari, which means "link to the sun," is exposed to the best solar radiation anywhere. The area has 260 days of sunshine, with no smog and relatively low temperatures, which helps keep the panels in optimal conditions.
Its construction began with a loan of more than $331 million from China's Eximbank, which allowed the purchase of panels made in Shanghai. They arrived in Buenos Aires in 2,500 containers and were later trucked a considerable distance to the site in Cauchari . This was a titanic project that required 1,200 builders and 10-ton cranes, but will save some 780,000 tons of CO2 emissions a year.
It is now run by 60 technicians. Its panels, with a 25-year guarantee, follow the sun's path and are cleaned twice a year. The plant is expected to have a service life of 40 years. Its choice of location was based on power lines traced in the 1990s to export power to Chile, now fed by the park.
Chinese engineers working in an office at the Cauchari park
Chinese want to expand
The plant belongs to the public-sector firm Jemse (Jujuy Energía y Minería), created in 2011 by the province's then governor Eduardo Fellner. Jemse's president, Felipe Albornoz, says that once Chinese credits are repaid in 20 years, Cauchari will earn the province $600 million.
The Argentine Energy ministry must now decide on the park's proposed expansion. The Chinese would pay in $200 million, which will help install 400,000 additional panels and generate enough power for the entire province of Jujuy.
The park's CEO, Guillermo Hoerth, observes that state policies are key to turning Jujuy into a green province. "We must change the production model. The world is rapidly cutting fossil fuel emissions. This is a great opportunity," Hoerth says.
The province's energy chief, Mario Pizarro, says in turn that Susques and three other provincial districts are already self-sufficient with clean energy, and three other districts would soon follow.
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