The second reaction, when an American friend of Lemmon's who had been working with the women's units, urged her, "Come on, you have to see it," was: "No."
As Lemmon explains in the introduction to her new book, "The Daughters of Kobani: A Story of Rebellion, Courage, and Justice
," she had just spent years on books about women and war in Afghanistan: "I was tired of living two lives, the one at home and the one immersed in war," she writes. Lemmon, an adjunct senior fellow with the Council on Foreign Relations and a longtime journalist experienced in reporting from war zones, is the author of "Ashley's War: The Untold Story of a Team of Women Soldiers on the Special Ops Battlefield
" and "The Dressmaker of Khair Kana: Five Sisters, One Remarkable Family, and the Woman Who Risked Everything to Keep Them Safe
But she couldn't shake the questions she had about the women fighting in Syria. Three years of research and interviews and seven reporting trips to northeastern Syria later, Lemmon's book chronicles some of the YPJ's fiercest battles with the Islamic State.
Lemmon details how the force that would become the People's Protection Units (YPG)
arose in response to a crackdown against Syrian Kurds after an uprising at Qamishli in 2004. They offered coed training in ideology and tactics and became known as the YPG in 2011 at the outset of the Syrian civil war. A number of the women who became Lemmon's central characters joined the YPG during those first years of that conflict, which ISIS exploited
to sow violence and grow its ranks. In 2013, the organization's women members formed their own group, the Women's Protection Units (YPJ).
As Lemmon takes the reader along with the intrepid fighters she meets, they rescue trapped colleagues while ISIS fighters taunt them over the radio for being women. They know that those taunts, coming from ISIS, mean death, even beheading, if they are captured. They are wounded. They sustain losses, sometimes heavy ones, sometimes close friends. They kill to liberate their homeland, even though, as Syrian Kurds, they are not permitted by the Assad regime to publish in their own language or celebrate their own holidays. They do not surrender.
Women and girls in the cities they set free come out to hug them, or simply to look, marveling that they exist. In one riveting scene, American soldiers visit a school in Kobani where some of the YPJ had been pinned down. In the basement, they see graffiti scrawled on the wall. It reads: "We will fight to the last person."
"Daughters of Kobani" is a war story for the 21st century, unflinching in its depictions of the violence and kinship that shape the lives of soldiers like Nowruz, Rojda, Azeema and Znarin, who serve and lead on the front lines to liberate the cities of Kobani, Manbij and Raqqa between 2015 and 2017.
Freedom to risk their lives to fight ISIS was a radical change from the lack of freedom many of these women faced in their younger years. Azeema, seeing what things were like for most women around her, had vowed at 13 never to marry; she becomes a sniper and commander in Kobani. Znarin had been denied both a university education and a love marriage she desperately desired before her political awakening sent her off to war; she is later one of a half dozen or so field commanders of hundreds of fighters in Manbij. Of the latter, Lemmon writes, "While the world considered ISIS a movement, Znarin saw it as far less grand than that: for her, ISIS was a group of men who brutalized women and wanted to destroy her and her friends."
These women and their comrades are instrumental to the US-backed Syrian Democratic Forces that ultimately defeat the Islamic State, but since that liberation, they have been thrust into danger again, facing military incursion from Turkey without US support.
While not aligned with the Turkish Kurdistan Worker's Party (PKK), which Turkey, the US and the EU consider a terrorist organization, the YPJ and other Syrian Kurds follow the teachings of the PKK's jailed leader, Abdullah Ocalan, about grassroots democracy and gender equality.
Their Kurdish identities and association with Ocalan place the women of the YPJ, their families and their comrades in an uncertain position militarily and diplomatically against Turkey and in their relations with the US. As Lemmon puts it in her book, "The future of northeastern Syria remains a question written in invisible ink in a language no one can yet decipher."
When we spoke, Lemmon told me that for now, the women she came to know while reporting her book are living with "a fragile stability that's holding." She reports that fortunately amid their other precarities, they have also been relatively unscathed by the Covid-19 pandemic.
Near the end of our interview, Lemmon described a conversation she had with Nowruz, in which she asked what she wants a girl born in Syria 20 years from now to understand about the war she and her sisters in arms fought against ISIS -- especially now that things have again become volatile in northeastern Syria.
She told me that Nowruz said: "I'm doing this for my nieces and nephews, so they can speak their language, they can publish in their language, they can name their children what they wish. So that they can live in peace." Nowruz wants the yet-unborn-girls to know their own power, to understand "that we did this for them. For the next generation, so they wouldn't face this."
The following interview has been lightly edited for clarity and flow.