Former soldier captures ISIL up close
MONTREAL — We first met Wali, a former sniper with the Canadian Armed Forces, back in July.
As headlines focused on the bewildering numbers of foreign fighters leaving western countries to join ISIL — dozens from Canada and the U.S., thousands from Europe — Wali wanted to join the other side, specifically the Kurdish forces who continue to battle ISIL in northern Iraq and Syria.
“I feel like I must do something,” Wali told the Gazette two months ago. “If I can make a difference, then I have to. (ISIL fighters) are like other fanatics but worse. Cutting heads off women and children, and no one is doing anything to defend them.”
But Wali, who was also an accomplished photographer with the army until he quit the forces in May, wanted to engage the enemy in its war of images, battling ISIL with a camera in one hand, and a gun in the other.
In late July, Wali, who uses the nickname given to him on one of two tours of duty to Afghanistan so as not to be identified, packed his cameras and desert gear and left for Kurdistan. Given that ISIL has offered a bounty for each foreign fighter captured, he does not want his exact location to be known. But somewhere on the front lines between the peshmerga (the Kurdish army) and ISIL, he is witnessing firsthand the reality of war in Kurdish villages and refugee camps.
These are his dispatches from the front. For more of his images go to www.facebook.com/TorcheEtEpee
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My first week feels more like war tourism than war. It is part of the plan, given I am waging a war of images, as much as a war of soldiers wielding guns.
The goal of this first step is to show the consequences of the war. I visit a refugee camp, for example. I want to show the reality of those suffering from the war. People without homes, maybe even without a future.
I also film a Christian monastery in the mountains. This monastery is only a few kilometres from the front, close to an old battlefield where Alexander the Great once led his armies. If it fell to enemies, the monks would be subjected to atrocities, and the building, a jewel of architecture and history, would be destroyed. From on high at the monastery, you can clearly see the front lines. I decide to join the peshmerga on the Iraqi side, bringing other foreign fighters with me.
We are welcomed with an excellent meal as well as plentiful smiles and tea. Everyone wants to get to know us. Our living quarters are prepared and we have access to a shower, electricity and mattresses. Even Internet access is installed.
I have never seen such hospitality. Everywhere we go, we are showered with gifts and invitations. Everyone wants to invite us to their village. Everyone wants to have their photo taken with us. We receive encouragement and thanks.
They love people from the West. “Canada, America, friends ...” they tell me often.
The landscapes in the backcountry are breathtaking. Mountains, rivers, hills covered in pasture.
My daily life is 10 per cent war and 25 per cent filming “cultural” scenes. The rest of the time I’m writing, working on the photos and interacting with my Kurdish hosts.
The front is reminiscent of the First World War. It’s clearly delineated. It’s not a counter-insurgency like in Afghanistan, with bases spread out over the territory.
The front is covered in ruins, debris and the carcasses of abandoned vehicles. Villages have been razed. Yet, an hour’s drive from this apocalyptic scene, you can eat in a beautiful restaurant, out of danger.
On the front, the situation is relatively quiet. Isolated shots are sometimes heard. The atmosphere reminds me of the Afghan campaign. It makes me nostalgic. You can hear crickets, and coyotes barking. At night the stars are magnificent.
In my sector, the enemy is under constant aerial bombardment. It’s not unusual to see dozens of bombs exploding in one evening.
The enemy sometimes engages in isolated shooting. We can hear car bombs exploding. The risk of a counterattack by the enemy is omnipresent.
So there are two modes: defensive and offensive. The offensive mode is most interesting. It’s like an attack during the Second World War, with aviation, armoured vehicles and infantry engaged in a full-on attack.
The number of dead is higher here than during my missions in Afghanistan.
In one instance, I get separated from my group. The situation is confusing and chaotic but bloody interesting. There are armoured vehicles heading toward the next villages, already engulfed in smoke. From a distance you can watch the attacks as they progress in columns of smoke in the sky.
I am surprised how close the fighting is — gunfire coming from the next street corner! An injured fighter is near the main road. About 20 soldiers crowd around, filming him on their cellphones, posting immediately to social media! We hear gunfire still approaching as the medics go to work.
Before every offensive as we approach the front, there’s a sense of liberation. People wave to us. We feel energized, and we know we’re fighting on the right side.
Most of the time, enemy fighters are killed under a tonne of bombs and reinforced concrete. Those who survive can’t escape, as the roads between villages are then bombed from the air. The enemy is surrounded and massacred.
In the villages, the scenes are apocalyptic. It’s nothing but destruction, ruins and buildings on fire. There’s a strange, macabre odour.
At one point, a column of vehicles is being fired on from the right. The turrets rotate to face the enemy. I am standing on top of a vehicle, in the open! I have two choices, fire or film. I like to say I have a gun in one hand and a camera in the other, but my main weapon is the camera. I decide to film.
I am proud to have captured two enemy flags. One of them is outside a village that has been liberated. I’m worried enemy soldiers are hiding in a building and that there are booby traps around the flag. Sidestepping anything suspicious, my Kurdish friend and I bring back the flag, dragging it in the dust before a group of refugees so they understand the occupation of their village is over.