Photography by Sakir Khader | 2025
When Alaa Abdel Qader recounts the night of 2–3 June 2015 in Hawija, northern Iraq, his words are measured yet carry the weight of trauma that has shaped his life ever since.
Once a thriving city with bustling markets, workshops, and families building their futures, Hawija was under ISIS control by 2014. Freedom of movement disappeared, the local economy collapsed, and fear became an uninvited constant in every household.
On the night of 2–3 June 2015, Hawija was subjected to aerial bombardment by Dutch F-16 aircrafts. The airstrike hit its mark, an industrial building used by ISIS to manufacture vehicle-borne improvised explosive devices, detonating a massive stockpile of explosives and triggering a secondary explosion of unimaginable scale. The explosion created shockwaves with a diameter exceeding 5 kilometers, and was felt as far away as Kirkuk, approximately 50 kilometers from Hawija. Registering at 4.3 on the Richter scale, the bombing claimed the lives of at least 85 civilians and caused extensive damage to 6000 residences, 1200 commercial establishments in the vicinity, and the destruction of vital governmental structures and community infrastructure. The strike on Hawija ended up being one of the deadliest airstrikes carried out by the international coalition against ISIS in Iraq.
Alaa’s world, along with that of his neighbours, changed in an instant. “We were used to the sounds of bombs,” he recalls. “But this one… it destroyed our future.”
His family lived just over a kilometre from the site, and the shockwaves demolished their home and stores. Alaa’s wife was heavily injured in her back by shrapnel. His then five-year-old son, Abdulmalek, was hit by falling debris and became blind in his right eye. “His eye was bleeding,” Alaa remembers. “The doctor told me a piece of metal had destroyed his pupil.”
Alaa himself sustained injuries to his leg, and his family’s livelihood vanished overnight. “I owned two wholesale stores for women’s products,” he says. “Both stores were destroyed, along with all the furniture and merchandise. Everything I worked for, all the years of building a life for my children, vanished in a single moment. We didn’t just find it on the streets, we earned it through decades of hard work.”
Despite the immense loss, Alaa expresses no anger toward the Dutch government. “The problem was not the Dutch people or the planes,” he emphasizes. “The fault lies with ISIS, they occupied our land, and they created the conditions for this tragedy. But still, the impact on our lives is immense. Our home, our shops, our future, are all gone.” In recent years, the Dutch government has acknowledged the extensive civilian harm in Hawija, following the findings of the independent Sordrager Commission, which confirmed the scale of destruction and urged greater transparency and accountability in military operations. While an official apology or comprehensive reparations have yet to be delivered, the recognition of their loss represents a step toward justice.
After a perilous journey through Turkey and Greece, Alaa and his five children eventually arrived in the Netherlands. Yet life has remained difficult. Living in Terneuzen, far from the hospitals where he and his family continue to receive treatment for injuries from the bombardment, Alaa navigates daily challenges. His son and wife’s ongoing health issues require regular care, and the distance complicates their access to essential medical services. For Alaa and his family, reparations are not only about financial redress but also about the opportunity to rebuild their lives, to recover, heal, and regain a sense of stability in the aftermath of loss.
Even years later, Alaa follows news from Hawija closely. He hopes for accountability, reconstruction, and recognition of the lives disrupted by the airstrike. “We ask for compensation from the Dutch,” he says. “For the injuries, and for everything we lost. This is not just about money, it’s about justice. It’s about showing that our suffering matters, that our work and dreams were not meaningless.”
And yet, despite the trauma, Alaa remains remarkably resilient and life-affirming. “I am lucky,” he reflects. “My family survived. Many families in Hawija lost everyone. We are still here. We still hope. We still believe that someone must stand up for what is rightfully ours.”
The Nuhanovic Foundation has sought to bridge the gaps left in the aftermath of the bombing. By supporting legal representation and facilitating the active participation of survivors in ongoing legal proceedings in the Netherlands, the Foundation has ensured that voices like Alaa’s can be heard in a courtroom, a space where their experiences finally gain recognition.
“Justice matters,” Alaa says firmly.
“Not just for me, but for all families in Hawija. People need to hear our story. People need to understand the injustice we endured. Only then can accountability and real change begin.”
About The Photographer
Sakir Khader is a Palestinian documentary photographer and film director based in the Netherlands.
His main focus is the relation between life and death in conflict zones, especially across the Middle East. Known for his raw yet intimate cinematic signature style, Sakir always seeks to illuminate the poetic sorrows of everyday life.
Justice
From War to Democracy and Freedom
Our latest initiative, a storytelling campaign titled Justice: From War to Democracy & Freedom, showcases the real-life experiences of survivors and victims of international crimes and grave human rights violations. At the heart of this campaign are the survivors themselves, the faces, voices, and stories behind these precedent-setting legal battles, which will be brought to life through a series of survivor portraits captured by acclaimed photographers. Through these portraits, our goal is to make the resilience, courage, and pursuit of justice of these individuals tangible, urgent, and deeply relatable.
