(SYRIA) UK-linked children whose parents have been stripped of their British nationality remain trapped in detention camps in northeast Syria, with officials and aid groups warning that the government’s policy on UK citizenship deprivation is blocking repatriation and leaving a generation at risk. As of October 2025, more than 30,000 people are held in the sprawling Al-Hol and Roj camps, where high fences, barbed wire and armed watchtowers mark what residents describe as open-air prisons. About 60% of those detained are under the age of 18, most of them under 12. Among the detainees are approximately 8,500 women and children from more than 62 countries, including the United Kingdom.
The UK has conducted only limited and piecemeal returns, according to camp officials and humanitarian workers, and Syrian-Kurdish authorities who oversee the sites say London’s deprivation policy is a central reason many children cannot leave with their mothers. When a mother has lost her British citizenship, British-linked children face a wall of legal and diplomatic obstacles, even when local authorities are ready to facilitate repatriation. This reality has left UK-linked children effectively stateless in the camps, with no clear pathway home.
One rare exception emerged in October 2025, when a young British girl, thought to be around nine years old, was repatriated from Al-Hol. She had lost both parents and had been living with a woman who was not her biological mother and did not speak English. Khaled Ibrahim of the Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria (AANES), the governing authority in the region, said the child had spent years adrift without even the basic details of her identity.
“She had no idea about her identity, name, or citizenship,” he said, describing how she had moved “from the custody of one woman to another.”
The UK asked AANES to identify and hand the child over, and she was transferred out of the camp. Officials familiar with the case called it unusual and difficult, underscoring how infrequently such rescues occur.
Most UK-linked children are not so lucky. Syrian-Kurdish authorities often reject UK requests that would separate children from their mothers, which means families remain in limbo if the mother has been deprived of citizenship by the Home Secretary on grounds deemed “conducive to the public good.” While the UK says deprivation powers target national security threats, in practice, aid groups say, the approach strands children for whom London bears a duty of care. The policy is detailed in Home Office guidance on deprivation of citizenship, a power that can be exercised even if it risks leaving a person without a state.
Inside Al-Hol and Roj, conditions are harsh and unsafe. Aid organizations describe limited access to healthcare, education and clean water, alongside daily threats of violence ranging from murder and assault to intimidation and sexual abuse. Many children are orphans of war who have witnessed bombings and killings and endured multiple displacements. Some have been indoctrinated by ISIS or trained in violence, according to camp monitors and UN officials. The cumulative effect is a bleak future for minors who had no say in how they arrived in Syria, yet must now live with the consequences of their parents’ decisions and government policies far beyond their control.
The danger is not hypothetical, the United Nations has warned. Alexandre Zouev, the UN Acting Under-Secretary-General for Counter-Terrorism, said the prolonged, indefinite nature of detention—combined with the lack of basic services—poses a long-term security risk to the region and beyond.
“Residents not only face prolonged detention without legal basis and without due process, but women and girls have experienced or are at risk of sexual violence while children lack bare essentials and access to formal education. … The camps threaten to turn into incubators of terrorist radicalization and future recruitment,” Zouev said.
That stark assessment has been echoed by many humanitarian groups pressing governments to bring their citizens home.
The UK’s approach contrasts with the actions of countries such as Sweden, the United States, the Netherlands, Canada and Finland, which have repatriated small numbers of their nationals, including children, often with a focus on orphans and the most vulnerable. These operations are complex, expensive and politically sensitive, and they require close coordination with AANES and international partners. But for British-linked families in Al-Hol and Roj, the scale of UK action remains limited. Even when individual cases move forward, it can take months or years to verify identities and negotiate transfers, eroding children’s health and prospects as time ticks by in the camps.
Camp administrators say they face a difficult balancing act. They do not want to separate children from their surviving parent, yet they also cannot keep children safe in perpetuity. In many families, a mother is the only remaining caregiver, and if she has lost UK citizenship, local authorities will not agree to send the children to Britain alone. British officials, in turn, have argued that any repatriation must be carefully managed to address security concerns and ensure appropriate assessments, particularly in cases where there are ties to ISIS. The result is often stalemate, leaving families in tents behind razor wire while governments argue over responsibility.
The human cost is etched into the daily routines of children who line up for scarce medical care, attend informal lessons—when they exist—in crowded makeshift classrooms, and sleep in cramped shelters exposed to desert heat and winter cold. Aid workers describe children who flinch at loud noises, hoard food, and struggle to recall their home countries. Some cannot read or write in any language after years without school. Others carry untreated injuries, chronic illnesses and trauma that worsens with each passing month. There is little doubt, specialists say, that long-term detention like this erodes mental health and increases the risk of exploitation.
In the single British case that succeeded in October 2025, the young girl’s lack of English and lack of knowledge about her own identity highlight a broader pattern. Many children were born in Syria or traveled there as infants. Without birth certificates, passports or relatives who can be located and verified, they fall through the cracks of an international system that often requires documentation to prove what they do not have. Even for those who can be identified as UK-linked, the barrier of a mother’s loss of citizenship remains daunting.
Rights groups argue that citizenship stripping is punishing children for the alleged actions of their parents. British organizations, along with international NGOs, have urged London to prioritize the safe return of minors and to provide rehabilitation, education and long-term support. Save the Children, which has repeatedly documented conditions in Al-Hol and Roj, has warned that
“the international community appears to be deliberately allowing the formation of a new generation of ISIS.”
The group and others say the longer children are left in detention camps, the harder it will be to reintegrate them into safe communities and the higher the risk that extremist networks will exploit their vulnerability.
For its part, AANES has repeatedly asked foreign governments to take responsibility for their citizens, citing the strains the camps place on local security and humanitarian services. Officials say the continued presence of thousands of foreigners, many with minimal ties to the region, is untenable. They emphasize that while they can support temporary humanitarian measures, they cannot offer permanent solutions for children who, by law and by birth, belong to other countries. In the absence of broader repatriation efforts, they warn, the camps will continue to serve as a pressure cooker for violence and radicalization.
Families in the camps face impossible choices. Some mothers fear their children will be taken from them if repatriation proceeds without clear guarantees of family unity. Others, whose citizenship has been revoked, feel trapped by a process they do not control and a future they cannot change. For teenagers who have spent most of their lives in the camps, the concept of “home” is abstract. Their identity has been shaped by fences, checkpoints and the rhythms of detention, not by schools, neighborhoods and extended family. Repatriation, when it happens, is only the start; the real work begins when a child arrives in a new environment that must address years of disruption and pain.
The stakes are not only humanitarian but also legal and strategic. Long-term detention without due process raises human rights questions that will shadow the countries involved for years. Security officials warn that leaving children in volatile settings where armed groups operate is the opposite of risk management. And from a policy perspective, every year of inaction hardens the reality that there is no quick fix. Repatriation requires planning, resources and political will, but advocates argue that those investments are far less costly than the alternatives—whether measured in human suffering or long-term security threats.
Some governments have demonstrated what is possible. Sweden has carried out targeted missions, supported by families who helped confirm identities and navigate legal hurdles. In one case widely cited by humanitarian groups, a Swedish woman named Amanda was killed in Syria, leaving behind seven children who survived bombardments and violence. Their grandfather worked with authorities to bring them home to Sweden, where they now receive care and schooling. The story stands in sharp contrast to the experience of UK-linked children who remain in camps, underscoring how policy choices—not just logistics—shape outcomes.
Al-Hol and Roj were never designed to house people for years on end. What began as a response to the collapse of ISIS territory has become a grinding status quo in which children grow up inside perimeter fences as the world looks on. Security incidents still flare, and despite the best efforts of aid groups, services are stretched thin. For British-linked children, the path out runs through decisions made in London as much as in northeast Syria. Until those decisions shift, camp officials say, the number of UK-linked minors who can be repatriated will remain small, and the broader population of children at risk will continue to grow.
The case of the nine-year-old repatriated in October 2025 shows that returns are possible even in complex circumstances. It also reveals the gaps between what is declared and what is delivered. For every child who leaves, many more remain—patients in overstretched clinics, pupils in informal classrooms, names on spreadsheets held by overstretched authorities. They are living the daily cost of policies written thousands of miles away, waiting for officials to decide whether their future lies beyond the wire.
The debate over UK citizenship deprivation will continue, with strong views on national security and national responsibility. But in the camps of northeast Syria, the argument is not theoretical. It is measured in missed school years, untreated wounds and childhoods spent in detention. Repatriation, when it comes, is a lifeline. For now, it is rare. And for UK-linked children whose mothers have lost their nationality, the line back to Britain is thin, frayed and, for most, still out of reach.
This Article in a Nutshell
As of October 2025, over 30,000 people are confined in Al-Hol and Roj camps, where roughly 60% are minors and about 8,500 are foreign women and children. The UK’s use of citizenship deprivation has created legal barriers that prevent many British-linked children from being repatriated with their mothers. Conditions in the camps are harsh, with limited services and security risks. Humanitarian groups and the UN warn prolonged detention increases radicalization risk and urge coordinated repatriation, rehabilitation and international responsibility.
