Fighting for Freedom: The Russian Speakers Defending Their Identity in Syria

Idlib Governorate, SYRIA— A parched breeze sweeps through the remnants of shattered streets, carrying the pungent odor of smoke infused with gasoline. In the distance, a minaret stands tall above the dome of a partially ruined mosque.

“This structure was obliterated by a Russian airstrike,” remarks Abu Musa while indicating various sites around Idlib that have been struck by Russian bombs, many of which hold personal meaning for him, such as his teacher’s home.

He is a short and stocky figure, driving a beaten yellow car lacking license plates with an air of confidence.

“We took it from Hezbollah during the takeover of Damascus in December,” Abu Musa explains with a victorious grin, referring to the Iran-backed Shiite militia from Lebanon that collaborated with the Assad regime.

At his feet lies an M16 rifle wedged between the steering wheel and the gear shift. His face is framed by a small, thin, copper-hued beard. Abu Musa, who identifies as a mujahid, or religious warrior, wears a snug green kufi, a traditional Islamic head covering symbolizing devotion to Allah.

Having been born in Russia to a Russian mother and a Dagestani father, he embraced Islam from an early age. While studying the Quran in Egypt from 2012 to 2013, he resolved to join the jihad in Syria to oppose the oppressive rule of Bashar al-Assad.

After a period with the rebel group Jabhat al-Nusra, Abu Musa took on the role of a sniper in a Russian-speaking division of Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS).

Alongside Abdullah, a fighter from Tajikistan who took command after the deaths of five previous leaders, they endured the most intense battles of the civil war, facing both Assad’s Russian-backed forces and ISIS.

Since 2020, their group has maintained the frontline in southern Idlib, playing a significant role in HTS’s crucial offensive against the regime in December.

HTS is classified as a terrorist organization by the UN, U.S., EU, Britain, and others. A senior UN official stated in December that they would contemplate lifting this designation if HTS established a genuinely inclusive transitional government.

Unlike many Chechen and Dagestani fighters who arrived in Syria after the Second Chechen War, both Abu Musa and his current commander Abdullah came primarily for spiritual reasons.

Conversely, Rizvan Kubakaev, one of Abu Musa’s acquaintances whom we met beside a car workshop and a highway rest area, has a different story.

Born in 1984 in Russia’s Stavropol region and hailing from the Nogai ethnic group, a Turkic-speaking Muslim minority from southern Russia, Kubakaev was just 10 when the First Chechen War erupted between Moscow and Chechen separatists.

“My sister’s husband, Kamil, was killed while fighting with the Chechen resistance. After that, FSB agents visited our home. They beat me, tortured me, electrocuted me, and broke my ribs. My parents were also attacked. They tried to force me to provide information. I was still just a child,” he recounts.

After years of oppression, Kubakaev escaped Russia in 2014, first to Turkey and then to Syria.

“I understood that wherever Russia engages in warfare, be it Chechnya, Ukraine, or Syria, the struggle is the same,” he explains. “I didn’t come here [to Syria] for jihad, but to oppose occupation.”

From Idlib, he leads what he terms an “information war” against Russian imperialism, utilizing Telegram, YouTube, and Instagram to reach the Nogai community and its diaspora, raising awareness about what he perceives as their quiet obliteration.

Traversing the rocky hills near the former front line about an hour’s drive from Idlib, Commander Abdullah, similar to Abu Musa, considers himself first and foremost a mujahid (religious fighter), but he also feels a sense of satisfaction with Russia’s failures in Ukraine.

He perceives these setbacks as factors contributing to HTS’s swift progress against Damascus and the weakening of Assad’s regime. This has motivated his unit to closely analyze Russia’s military approach in Ukraine.

Before the invasion of Ukraine began, Russian aircraft dominated the skies over Syria, restricting rebel movements and launching strikes without consequence. However, as Moscow shifted its military resources towards Europe, its presence in Syria diminished, creating tactical openings that HTS quickly capitalized on.

“When the war in Ukraine started, we also studied Ukrainian tactics. While their terrain is distinct, more wooded and humid, making it hard to apply here, the use of drones stood out the most,” Abdullah says, his expression serious after a visit to the former battlefield where he once fought.

“Ukraine has the resources to mass-produce drones. We had to procure and import a few devices, particularly kamikaze drones and Mavics—barely 50 in total. It’s not a lot, but we utilized them to their fullest potential.”

With just a few dozen drones, his unit counterbalanced their lack of aerial intelligence and refined their strategies—conducting reconnaissance on enemy bases and executing coordinated strikes.

“For us, it was an essential reconnaissance tool. A real game-changer,” Abdullah states.

“We strike from the air, then advance on the ground. We fight for Allah, but we learn from every possible source,” he adds.

Abu Musa attests that the conflict in Ukraine demonstrated the Russians could withdraw, instilling a sense of hope that even empires can fall.

With Assad vanquished and now seeking refuge in Russia, both fighters have no intention of going back home.

Imprisoned in Russia for “terrorism” and “inciting terrorism,” Abu Musa resigned himself to the idea of not returning as early as 2014.

“I was charged with a crime carrying a sentence of 15 to 20 years in prison. My mother sent me the verdict since the trial occurred without me, and my parents were summoned to appear in court,” he explains.

In his former apartment, Abu Musa proudly showcases his collection of primarily religious books. From atop the shelf, he retrieves his personal weapons and positions them against the rows of books.

“I prefer American firearms over Russian ones,” he remarks, an unwavering smile on his face as he displays his possessions.

Like Kubakaev, he is also engaged in an information battle. Actively posting on YouTube, Abu Musa creates Russian-language videos aimed at fostering an Islamic worldview.

“When we’re not in combat, my role is to promote Islam and explain its principles. I also provide lessons to our Russian-speaking militia, whether in mosques, at our bases, or their homes.”

He occasionally receives messages from Russians facing conscription to fight in Ukraine, asking for his advice: “What should I do?” Abu Musa recommends they escape to Turkey or, if that’s not feasible, to come to Idlib. He concedes the journey is fraught with challenges: “They’ll encounter difficulties along the way.”

Kubakaev, too, strives to dissuade anyone from joining the Russian army through his social media channels.

“We are a small people [the Nogai]. If our youth perish in Ukraine, it’s a silent genocide for us,” he states. “I urge them not to participate in this conflict. It’s not our fight.”

He mentions that he receives no funding or support for his efforts, regarding it simply as his life’s mission. His project is neither an NGO nor formally registered, but that hasn’t stopped Russian authorities from labeling it as a “terrorist” organization.

“They warned my parents that they would torture them on camera if I didn’t cease [my activities],” he explains.

He adds that the FSB has threatened his family in an effort to compel him to return. However, he has no intentions of going back.

“I do not belong to the Russian empire,” he concludes calmly. “I belong to a people yearning for freedom.”