July 29, 2026

Published in Turkish on etha

Eva Maria Michelmann, a volunteer correspondent for our agency ETHA, reports on her five-month stay in HTS prisons. Michelmann, who was detained at six different locations in three different cities, was subjected to various forms of repression and torture, ranging from strict solitary confinement to sexual torture. Attempts were made to force her to renounce her values by telling her, “No one is looking for you or asking about you,” and she was threatened with death.

Eva Maria Michelmann, who fears for the life of her fellow journalist Ahmet Polad—who was abducted alongside her—is calling on the German government to advocate for Polad.

ARZU DEMİR – Eva Maria Michelmann, a volunteer correspondent for ETHA who was abducted in Raqqa on January 18 along with our fellow journalist Ahmet Polad by Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) and was able to return to her home country on June 19 thanks to an international campaign, answered our questions.

Michelmann, who had been in Rojava since 2022, described in detail for the first time what happened on January 18 in the building where they had sought refuge. She provided information about the prisons where she was held, the interrogations she underwent, and answered the question: “Were you sexually tortured?” She spoke about her concern for Ahmet Polad, who remains in the hands of HTS. Eva Maria Michelmann called on the German government to advocate for the “endangered Kurdish journalist” Ahmet Polad. First of all: How are you doing right now? Are you in good health?

Thank you very much. My thoughts and feelings are with the people in Syria who are still missing, who are being held in prisons, or who have been murdered, as well as with their families and friends. I miss Hesekê. I’m very worried about the families and friends who live there. I’d like to apologize for keeping you and the public waiting for so long. After months of solitary confinement, I needed some time to process everything that happened during that period, to meet with family and friends who had spent months fearing I might be dead, to stabilize my own situation, and to better make sense of everything I’ve experienced as a free person. But I can’t keep you waiting any longer. At the same time, I feel a responsibility to the public to protect the lives of all those in Syria who are still su ering under the terror of HTS, being tortured in prisons, or threatened with abduction and death.

Everyone is interested in what you were doing in Rojava. You were a volunteer correspondent for our agency, ETHA. Perhaps you’d like to provide our readers with some more detailed information about that. How long were you in Rojava, why were you there, and what did you do there?

I traveled to the territories of the Autonomous Administration in Rojava/Northeastern Syria in 2022. On the one hand, I wanted to see where the refugees I had worked with—both in my role as a social worker and in factories—came from, and to understand them better. On the other hand, I was curious about the Autonomous Administration’s social model, which is based on an understanding of equality, and I wanted to support it. In the heart of the Middle East—a region that has been plagued by ethnic, religious, and sectarian divisions for centuries—a social model has been under construction since 2012 that integrates all peoples, religions, and sects. It is a project that serves as a model for the entire world when it comes to placing women at the center of society’s decision-making processes. I considered it so valuable to get to know and support a society that is building such a project up close that I was willing to accept all the risks involved. I wanted the message of this project to spread further throughout the world, and so I became a volunteer correspondent. The perspective o ered by the socialists in the areas of autonomous self-governance particularly caught my attention. A perspective that aims, together with the people and relying on their own strengths, to collectively utilize society’s natural resources and productive forces and to make the fruits of this collective labor available to society as a whole in a just manner. In my opinion, this is a social perspective that possesses such power that it can put an end to hunger, misery, and wars. I have great respect for people who are willing, if necessary, to even sacrifice their lives to defend such projects and dreams—which aim for equality—against fascist attacks of annihilation, such as those carried out by sleeper cells of the Islamic State, the HTS, or the Turkish state. Since I wanted to experience life there firsthand, I initially stayed with families of migrants with whom I had worked in Germany, and later with people I had met in Syria. I also met Ahmet in Syria. In Ahmet, I found a living example of what the people of the free, just world I dream of should be like. After some time, we decided to build a life together. Drawing on my professional training, I also contributed to strengthening community life in neighborhoods and refugee camps. In addition to my journalistic work, I collaborated side by side with Ahmet Polad (Mehmet Nizam Aslan) here as well. For example, Ahmet is exceptionally talented when it comes to working with children. He loves children and organizing activities for them. For example, he made it possible for women to participate in courses I taught by taking responsibility for their children. At the same time, he helped combat discriminatory gender roles in society by setting a good example for other men in terms of the equal sharing of domestic responsibilities within the family. Most recently, for a book project, I conducted dozens of interviews with women who had been forced to flee multiple times within Syria but who persistently refuse to leave Kurdistan and Syria and stubbornly insist on returning to their homeland and their homes, and who shared their experiences and dreams with me.

You were last at a youth center in Raqqa on January 18. We were in contact with Ahmet Polad. In his last message, he had said about the militias, “They’re down there.” Then the connection was lost. First, I’d like to ask: What happened in that building on January 18?

Throughout the day, there was gunfire coming from all sides around the youth center. The center itself was also targeted. Civilians from Afrin who lived in a nearby neighborhood were there with us. When the Turkish state bombed and occupied Afrin in 2018, they had been forced to leave Afrin and sought refuge in refugee camps in Shehba. Then, when HTS occupied Shehba in 2024, they had to flee once again. They had also come to Raqqa to find work there. On January 18, they found themselves once again in the midst of war and destruction and sought refuge in a room where we were also staying. There were definitely over 40 of us—perhaps even close to 70—in the center. Among us were also four children under the age of 12. There were convoys from Raqqa to Kobanê and Hesekê, but since the gangs had surrounded the building where we were staying, it was impossible to join these convoys. Outside, the ISIS gangs were firing at the building where we had taken shelter, shouting “Takbir! Allahu akbar.” Some people from the center began defending the building and the civilians seeking shelter inside. They tried to keep the attacking gangs at bay.

This went on for hours. The fascist gangs bombarded the ground floor, forcing us all to seek shelter on the first floor. Bullets rained down on civilians and children who were trying to use the restroom. In the evening, the gangs fired on the diesel fuel depot on the second floor, blowing it up. For about an hour, the second floor above us was completely engulfed in flames. Fortunately, it didn’t collapse. We were able to open a window in the stairwell, preventing the pitch-black smoke from the flames from poisoning us all. It would have been impossible to reach a window on the second floor to open it. We would have burned to death on the way there. If there hadn’t been a window in the stairwell—that is, halfway between the floors—we would have been forced to choose between death by smoke inhalation and the ground floor, which was being bombed by ISIS. The people from Afrin gradually turned into a fear-stricken, silent, gray mass.

Once, the question rang out: “Naha eme bimrin?” (Are we going to die now?), and then there was silence again. In the middle of the night, perhaps around 2:00 a.m., we received word that the militias outside had set up a weapon called a “DSchK” aimed at us. We were told, “Naha dernakevin” (Don’t go out now). The bullets pierced through all the walls. For about ten minutes— or perhaps even longer—the center was continuously fired upon with this weapon. Miraculously, no one was injured. The fascists didn’t know exactly where we were hiding. After 3:00 a.m., the o icial HTS troops arrived in front of the building. A woman from Afrin warned everyone, saying, “Kesek denga xwe dernaxe!” (Nobody make a sound!). Those were the last words I heard from the group.

At the top of the staircase leading down from our floor was a locked door. On the other side of the door, HTS forces stood side by side with the gangs that had been trying to kill us for hours, and they wanted to come in. A tall HTS man shouted “Abu Hamza” as he kicked the door open. They tried to grab some of those gathered on our side and drag them outside. Inside, we clung to one another for protection. To be honest, in that situation, I feared that our work as journalists might not protect our lives but, on the contrary, could make us targets. That’s why I chose to identify myself as a social worker. I made it clear in Arabic that I worked in the social services sector. The IS gangs grabbed Ahmet and tried to pull him out of the group. I made it clear that he worked with me in order to save him from the hands of the IS gangs.

Upon hearing this, the HTS members separated the two of us from the group, took us into a room, and locked the door. I suspect they didn’t want a European woman working in social services to see what they were about to do. When we were finally led out of the room, no one was standing by the stairs anymore. They took Ahmet and me to a car. We waited in the car for hours. Toward morning, Ahmet and I went back into the building to use the restroom. The building was now empty. Even the room where the people from Afrin had been hiding until the very end was empty. Later, Ahmet told me that he had seen people from Afrin in the garden and that the adhan (Islamic call to prayer) had been recited. Perhaps half an hour later, from the car in which we were being held, I saw a large tour bus pull up. The group from Afrin was led from behind the building toward the bus. A total of 14 people, including four children, boarded the bus in this manner. What had happened to the others? I meticulously counted the group over and over again until they had disappeared into the bus. They were also in a dreadful state. The people could barely walk. An elderly man’s shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his bare stomach. An elderly woman fell to the ground as she walked. The man who had previously screamed “Abu Hamza” as the door opened walked alongside them. I told the HTS men in the vehicle where we were being held that I had counted 14 people who had boarded the bus and asked where the other people from Afrin were. But the men, who had previously been very interested in talking to us, now responded with an icy silence. No one else got on this bus. I watched the scene intently until the doors closed and the bus drove o . I kept looking toward the corner from which the people from Afrin had come, but no one else arrived.

Later, we learned from witness accounts that you and Ahmet had been separated from the group in the building and taken to another vehicle. Where were you taken?

The HTS men told us, “We are police o icers” and “We will help you return to your home countries.” They took us to the “Internal Security Command” in Aleppo, which is under the authority of the Ministry of the Interior.

Who were your kidnappers? Do you have any information about them? Where were you taken first after you were kidnapped? What did you experience there? How and under what conditions were you held captive for five months? What were you accused of? How did the people who accused you identify themselves?

I didn’t learn until I was back in Germany, after I had regained my freedom, that the head of the HTS unit that had abducted us was Muhammad Abdulqani, the head of internal security in Aleppo. In general, the HTS men had agreed among themselves that they would all introduce themselves as either “Muhammad” or “Ahmet” if asked for their names. Nevertheless, I was able to gather some information about their identities. For example, among the HTS men who had abducted us in Raqqa, there was one with very distinctive features: an extremely high-pitched voice—the likes of which I had never heard from a man before—and curly, shoulder-length hair. Later on, an HTS man introduced himself to me as an employee of the Ministry of Foreign A airs; even though I couldn’t see his face, he had exactly the same distinctive features.

One of the o icials we had already encountered on our first day at the Internal Security Command in Aleppo was Muhammed Schabib, an employee of the Press and Public Relations O ice of the Internal Security Command in Aleppo. There, on the very first day, I made it clear that I was German, provided my name, date of birth, etc., and demanded to be put in contact with the German Embassy. I was not allowed to establish contact directly on my own, so I wrote a letter to the German Consulate. I was promised that the letter, along with a photo of me, would be forwarded to the German authorities that very same day. When Schabib came back a month later to interrogate me, he told me—in response to my inquiry—that the German government had not replied. He also said to me, “Nobody has asked about you.” In fact, I had already heard people speaking German outside my cell during my first week in the Internal Security Command building. For example, I heard the voice of a man who, as if he were on the phone, said: “That was Michelmann, right? Yeah, the problem is that she doesn’t have a passport.” I had no way of knowing who the people were whom I’d heard speaking German, and no one made contact with me. For weeks, I secretly carried a note with me, hoping to find an opportunity to hand it over to a civilian. In the first few days, before my pen had been taken away, I wrote my name, my date of birth, and the following note on a piece of paper: “Could you please pass this note on and ensure that the German government and the public are informed that I am alive and here?” But I never had the chance to hand this note to a civilian.

On January 19, at the Internal Security Command building, we were asked to provide information about our activities. I explained that I am a social worker, which was met with suspicion. The reasoning behind such reactions is as follows: She works in the social sector, which means she collaborates with the PYD, which means she is a terrorist. It was only when I described my academic training—specifically, my training in social work in the areas of child and elder care— that I was able to convince them of my profession. When two men, including Mohammed Schabib, came that evening to interrogate us, I was repeatedly asked, above all else: “Do you collaborate with the QSD?” In an angry, loud voice, they kept proclaiming, “The QSD are terrorists!” When Schabib came back for another interrogation a month later, I asked him why I was being detained by them. He explained that I didn’t have a passport, that the German government wasn’t responding to inquiries, and that there were people out there who wanted to kill me. I proposed solutions to all these issues and o ered to help resolve them if I were granted my right to make a phone call. He then admitted that they didn’t want to let me go to Germany because they thought it was possible that I might be collaborating with the PKK. From then on, I was constantly subjected to the angry declaration: “The PKK—they’re terrorists.” I explained that, should any legal issues exist, they could be resolved on the proper basis: by contacting the German Embassy and with legal representation in accordance with international law. But I encountered no willingness or openness whatsoever to this approach. At the next interrogation in March, other HTS representatives promised me that they would take me to the German Embassy and that I would have the opportunity to make a phone call there. Instead, they took me to another prison where interrogations are conducted using torture methods, and later on to Idlib.

Did you experience any other forms of torture besides imprisonment, isolation, and starvation? Such as physical violence or torture?

I could recount my own experiences with physical torture methods, but I do not wish to draw attention to myself publicly on this matter. As I also emphasized in my video message, torture involving beatings with sticks and electric shocks are completely normal, standard interrogation methods in HTS prisons. Women I’ve met at various times told me about the torture they’d endured and showed me the burn marks on their bodies caused by electric shocks. They blindfold you and make you hold the other end of a stick; they lead you into an interrogation room with that stick and then beat you with it. Before the beatings, they might say, “Don’t be afraid; beating is forbidden here.” Or, as they carry you to a chair for electric shock torture, they’ll tell you in Kurdish, “Don’t be afraid; you’re like a sister to me.” Before taking you into the torture chamber, they may demand that you put on a burqa. I met women who told me how they were hung by their arms and beaten all over their bodies, or how their legs were broken during torture by the HTS. One woman recounted how, while she was in an HTS prison, the door to her cell was deliberately left unopened during a bombing raid, and she survived only by chance. In one of the torture prisons, I also met a mother who was being held there with her baby.

Was there sexual torture, such as sexual harassment or rape?

In Aleppo, I always had to go to a separate area to use the restroom or take a shower—a place that the HTS men also used. I wasn’t allowed to close the bathroom door, and when I went to the toilet, people would gather outside the door. I was watched while I washed myself at the sink. Once, I lost my temper and tried to force the door shut. The HTS member in charge then said in front of my cell, “Tomorrow, this woman will be killed.” A month later, I fought for and won the right to close that door, and thus finally had the opportunity to take a shower. When I took my first shower, the HTS members assigned to guard me stood outside the door, laughing nonstop like little children. I wondered if they could perhaps see inside, but that was impossible. They continued to behave very strangely afterward, like drunks. Normally they had always been ice-cold toward me, but now they told me, “We’re your friends.” Then, on their own initiative, they brought me a cup of co ee. They never did anything like that normally. Shortly after I drank that co ee, I became extremely tired and fell asleep. I don’t know how many hours I slept like that. In the days that followed, I heard the HTS guards outside my cell repeatedly talking about putting something in my co ee. One evening, I heard someone giving very specific instructions about this over the radio or phone. “Mix that in now, then go in around 4:00 a.m.,” they said. Then the HTS guard standing outside my cell brought me a cup of co ee. This time, I didn’t drink it. To make it look as though I had drunk it, I scooped up the co ee with paper towels and threw them in the trash. Sure enough, the HTS guard came into my cell around 4:00 a.m. while I was lying in bed. I made a reflexive movement; he was surprised and walked back out. Outside, he said into the phone or walkie-talkie, “She’s not sleeping; she’s strong.” The voice on the other end asked, “Did she really drink the co ee?” Were there any female HTS members among those who tortured and pressured you?

In the torture prisons and military hospitals, there were women who carried out the men’s orders. Essentially, I encountered them in the role of searching through clothing and helping to restrain prisoners so they couldn’t move.

Do you remember in which cities and in which prisons you were held for five months?

I was held in a total of six different locations: two di erent locations in Aleppo, one in Idlib, and three di erent locations in Damascus. The first prison I was taken to in Damascus held mainly Alawite women. There were 15 of us women in about 16 square meters. That 16-square-meter space also included the toilet, which we used as a shower as well. At another location, there were no beds and the floor was tiled. It was extremely overcrowded there, too. At my last place of detention, there were women from Iraq, Uzbekistan, Somalia, and Ethiopia. There were a great many children and babies there. The Iraqi and Uzbek women were waiting to receive a residence permit or a Syrian ID card.

Can you tell us about your first meeting with representatives of the German Embassy in Syria? When did they come? Who was there, what did they say to you, and what did they ask? What was the atmosphere like during the conversation? How often did representatives from the German Embassy visit you? What feelings did these visits evoke in you? What did they tell you during the visits?

As far as I can remember, representatives from the German Embassy visited me a total of four times. The first time was toward the end of April. Until that day, I had been completely cut o from the outside world. I was taken to a hotel. The HTS men hadn’t told me beforehand where we were going; they told me they were taking me to my family. They had said things like that before and then taken me to a different prison instead. The woman who came as a representative of the German Embassy told me about her e orts to find me. She sent the HTS men out and tried to create an atmosphere of trust. She said she wanted to come back the next day. After the conversation, the HTS men took me back to the same cell. I was once again held in solitary confinement; for weeks, no one came to visit.

In May, the German ambassador to Syria visited me three times in a row. I was taken out of the cell, and we met in an o ice at the prison. He explained to me that they wanted to bring me to Germany. He brought doctors with him to check whether my health was suitable for the trip. He sent everyone else in the room out so he could speak with me alone and thus create an atmosphere of trust. He assured me that I could feel safe and speak openly. He went out of his way to meet my needs. During our last meeting, he arranged for me to speak face-to-face with my family via video call. He really went to great lengths to reassure me and ensure that everything went smoothly until I arrived in Germany. For that, I would like to thank you once again from the bottom of my heart. I assume that after your release, you learned about the campaign that was carried out on behalf of you and Ahmet.

Would you share your thoughts and feelings about this campaign with us?

It made me very happy to see that, because of our situation, thousands of people around the world have stood up for the right to free journalism and human rights in Syria. I’ve come to believe that, in this context, the fight against the crimes against humanity committed by the HTS regime has gained significant momentum. I hope that other people in Syria—who are constantly exposed to the terror of the HTS in prisons and on the streets—can also benefit from this public pressure. And, of course, I very much hope that we can use this approach to save Ahmet as well and restore his freedom.

You’re here with us, and now the priority is to secure Ahmet’s freedom. Would you like to say anything about that?

We must be aware that, as a Kurdish journalist, Ahmet will be an even greater target of hate-filled attacks by HTS supporters than I am. We must assume that he is enduring many times worse than what I had to endure in HTS prisons. According to witness accounts, he, like me, is being subjected to solitary confinement and has also su ered injuries to his abdomen and hand. The last time I saw Ahmet, before we were separated at the Internal Security Command building in Aleppo, he was unharmed. Before we were separated, Ahmet had told me that he highly expected to be killed because he is a Kurdish journalist. During interrogations, I was told regarding Ahmet: “He is a terrorist; he will be executed in Turkey.” Especially if public pressure were to subside now, we must assume that his life is in grave danger. I would like to call on the responsible o icials of the Federal Republic of Germany—who are supporting the HTS regime with millions of euros and believe they can now steer the Islamo-fascist HTS, which emerged from Al-Nusra, onto a democratic path—to do everything in their power to save Ahmet. The Federal Republic of Germany can grant humanitarian protection to the Kurdish journalist Ahmet Polad, whose life is in danger. It should take advantage of this opportunity.

Is there anything else you’d like to say in closing?

The campaign waged for my and Ahmet’s release has succeeded in raising public awareness of the crimes against humanity committed in Syria. My case has made it clear that it is possible to save lives in this way. Turkey, too, should be the focus of this public attention, as one of the main parties responsible for the massacres and crimes committed in Syria, as well as the mentor of the HTS. Furthermore, human rights violations play a central role in Turkish domestic politics. Critical voices against the government are violently suppressed. Torture is commonplace in Turkish prisons. For example, Alma (18) and Lorena (24) from Berlin, who had set out via Turkey in January of this year to support Rojava, were threatened with rape and death by public o icials in Istanbul, beaten unconscious, and sexually tortured. These examples also demonstrate that Ahmet must not be deported to Turkey, of which he is a citizen. The German government must use all means at its disposal to protect Ahmet.