Tired of promises
Iraqi refugees in Syria tell their stories
by Natalie and Noah Baker Merrill (More about the authors.)
“There are only promises, from the UN, from everyone,” he says. “And no realities.”
On the outskirts of Damascus, Syria, a warehouse initially intended for emergency supplies has been converted into a center dedicated to registering Iraqi refugees on a massive scale.
The center opened in February 2007 and, in a reflection of the huge numbers that had already arrived by that time, six thousand Iraqis per day lined up outside seeking papers that would identify them as refugees from the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). Now UNHCR estimates that more than 2,000 Iraqis enter Syria through the Iraqi border each day.
Inside the high security barrier that surrounds the compound, scores of Iraqis wait in lines divided by gender to complete their initial processing and get an appointment for a formal interview. Dates for interviews are often up to six months after initial processing, though recent improvements and staff increases may decrease the waiting time.
Because of the crises in their country, nearly all Iraqis presenting themselves for registration are granted refugee status, though only a very small fraction will be referred for resettlement to another country. The rest will have to stay in Syria, and wait for a time when they can return home.
Eager to speak to outsiders
The men in line are quiet—there is little talking among them. Most have arrived in Syria in the last two months, fleeing the escalating chaos and violence. The majority are from Baghdad.
Many seem eager to speak to outsiders, especially those who might tell their stories to people in the U.S.
One young man found information on UNHCR in Syria on a website while still in Iraq. He is here to get an appointment for all seven members of his family to register. They left, he says, because of the total lack of security in his neighborhood in Baghdad. He was threatened with a letter sent to his house by an unknown group. A week earlier, one of his neighbors was taken from his house and never returned. His family made the choice to leave before the same thing happened to him.
Another older man waiting in line who is from a different part of Baghdad wants the world to know that Iraqis are tired of promises.
“There are only promises, from the UN, from everyone,” he says. “And no realities.”
One of this man’s brothers was killed in his neighborhood. The next week, his brother-in-law was also killed.
“My family—we have nothing to do with politics,” he insists.
The violence that took two of his family members’ lives, he says, has to do with foreign political goals, and about the power struggle between militias. He blames Saudi Arabia, Iran, and the United States for fighting their wars “on the backs of Iraqis.”
Asked for his opinion of the politicians in the U.S.-supported Iraqi government, he shakes his head.
“They are liars and thieves,” he says, as two men next to him nod in agreement.
He begs to differ
But another man a few places down the line disagrees.
“No, they’re not,” he counters. “They’re making a lot of mistakes, and there are many corrupt people, but some of them are trying to build something instead of spending their time fighting for their own power. What have the other politicians done? the ones outside the government?”
This man worked for the Ministry of Health in the current government, before death threats and an assassination attempt forced him to flee. He worked for the ministry because he wanted to help improve the health care system for his people, he says, not because he supported the current leaders. “But,” he insists, “this is the only government we have.”
“There is no government in Iraq,” interjects the man next to him. “There are only guns.”
Because the man from the Ministry of Health worked for the current Iraqi government, an armed group accused him for working for the Americans, and so they tried to kill him. He was forced to leave his mother and his sister in Iraq. He didn’t even have time to go home to say goodbye. They heard he had fled when he arrived in Syria and got a mobile phone. Two of his cousins, who also worked for the Ministry of Health, weren’t so lucky. They disappeared a few months ago, and their bodies were found a week later. They had been tortured and then executed.
Punished for being a Sunni
A medical student who identifies himself as “Omar” was completing his residency at a hospital in Baghdad last year when he was arrested by an Iraqi army unit and jailed for six months without charge.
“They said it was because my name was ‘Omar’,” he explains. “They were punishing me for being a Sunni.”
When he was released, hospital administrators told him he would no longer be permitted to work there. He fled the country within days, knowing that it was only a matter of time before he ran into another problem with Iraqi government forces or another armed group. He had stayed in Baghdad only because he was doing something useful by working in a hospital. Now, he says, his biggest concern is for his family, who still live in Baghdad.
An elderly man at the other end of the line shouts that he wants to say something to the people in the U.S.
“Tell them that the U.S. president is the first killer in the world,” he says. “The politics of your country are slaughtering Iraq.”
He continues more quietly: “We don’t need to be refugees. We don’t need to beg. Two months’ oil revenues would pay for all of our needs, everywhere that Iraqis are now.”
Making the wait bearable
Inside the repurposed warehouse building, large families who have come for their interviews fill rows of seats in the loud, shady waiting area. Children play in an area where art made by other Iraqi refugee children decorates the walls. A troupe of Iraqi clowns who lost one member in the violence performs for the waiting families.
A mobile clinic, originally purchased for use during the Israeli war on Lebanon last summer, focuses on women’s health issues. This has been especially important since the violence in Iraq has resulted in a huge number of households headed by single women, and rising numbers of rape cases have gone unnoticed due to the social stigma. Now, some of the women who visit the registration center can go to the clinic for support and counseling.
A waiting mother whose husband was killed in a car bombing looks over at her young children and asks:
“Why is politics more important than peace?”
She explains, “We don’t have a problem with the American people. We just want security, like any other people in the world.”
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