October 10, 2007
Amman, Jordan
Dear Friends,
Yesterday I returned from a trip to Damascus, Syria. While I was there I had the opportunity, together with a young Iraqi Moslem friend, to visit the ancient Syrian monastery of St. Moses the Abyssinian. About 80 kilometers north of Damascus and 1320 meters above sea level, the stark and barren landscape brought back memories of Bolivia where, over a span of about ten years, I periodically sought silence in a hermitage hidden in the bowels of the Andean mountains.
Dating back to the middle of the sixth century, the present monastic church was built in 1058 and the astoundingly intact frescos in the church are from the 11th and 13th centuries. The monastery is engaged in deepening inter-cultural and inter-religious collaboration and of building positive Christian-Islamic relationships.
On the morning after our arrival, my young friend and I were sitting outside at one of the low tables with a Syrian man breakfasting on bread, goat cheese, fried eggs and tea. At one point in the conversation I asked the young Syrian how he was personally affected by the massive number of Iraqis who have come to his country seeking refuge. While larger than Jordan and with, I believe, a population of about 17 million, Syria is poorer in comparison.
“Do you see this cup?” he asked, taking one into his hand and then slowly setting it down again on the table. “Once we were three people sharing from this cup. Then two more people joined us. Now we are five people drinking from the cup.” His voice was sad, with no trace of resentment or rancor. “What shall we do?” he asked. “How can we turn people away?”
Until recently Syria has been the final refuge for Iraqis escaping violence. Hosting more than 1 1/2 million Iraqis, which is likely a gross underestimation, the country is no longer able to bear the strain of thousands of Iraqis trying to enter daily. In recent days, Syria has reimposed rules barring entry to Iraqi refugees. Visas are now required of all Iraqis entering the country. As a spokesperson from the UNHCR described it, this means that Iraqis “lose their only remaining safe haven.”
What the new visa requirement will mean for Iraqis already living in Syria remains to be seen. I could sense their anxiousness however, as heretofore they have been able to go every two or three months to the Syrian border and return with a renewed visa. If this is no longer possible, they fear their situation will become like that of Iraqis in Jordan, the vast majority living “outside of the law” with long since expired visas.
In Damascus I was graciously hosted by our dear friends, Gabe and Theresa, who live in a densely populated Palestinian neighborhood. I learned that during the bombing of Lebanon last year, Syria’s President Bashar Assad issued a plea to the Syrian people to open their homes to Lebanese refugees. School openings were also delayed as many Lebanese had taken refuge in school buildings. Imagine we mused, if President Bush were to do the same in our country in the face of such human tragedy and need. Sadly, we couldn’t possibly imagine that. To the contrary.
Wanting to learn how Iraqis are faring in Syria in comparison to Jordan, I was struck by the consistent accounts I heard of the lack of discrimination Iraqis feel in Damascus. The Iraqis I met did not evidence the fear and apprehension of police pickup and possible deportation, to the extent that some of those I spoke with didn’t even carry their UNHCR document identifying them as refugees when they were out and about.
The school system runs a morning and afternoon schedule to deal with the large number of students, and the parents I spoke with find the standard of education higher than that of Jordan. If the children are in school, the family receives a year-long type of residency. Unlike primary and secondary education which is free, university costs about $4,000 a year and thus is not an option for the Iraqis I met.
My time in Syria could best be described as “bitter sweet,” as I visited with numerous Iraqis who are unable to reach their loved ones in Jordan.
The young Iraqi who acted as my companion and translator for part of my sojourn is brother to one of our friends in Jordan. His eyes filled with tears when he spoke of his mother in Jordan. He has no hope of seeing her anytime soon. Another family father related how he was unable to travel to Jordan to bury his father who died three months ago. I had brought greetings from his sister whom we know in Jordan, and took pictures of his four small children to show her upon my return to Amman.
I was able to visit with a family who had lived Amman, but were separated when the mother and youngest child were refused reentry to Jordan this past spring. She had gone to Baghdad as her father had suffered a heart attack. The father and other three boys had no recourse but to move to Syria in order to be reunited with his wife and smallest son. It was a joy for me to see them all together.
Time restrictions did not allow me to visit the UNHCR or the U.S. embassy in Damascus, to see how they are processing Iraqi refugees or handling cases of Iraqis who served as translators or worked for the Coalition forces in some capacity within Iraq. With the exception of Holland, I couldn’t get a sense of how many Iraqis are moving on to other countries. To my great surprise, I had been able to speak over the phone with someone from that embassy who agreed to meet with me on the morning of my return to Amman. I learned that a month ago a special envoy from Holland had come to Syria. They had taken 100 Iraqis for resettlement. I went with two Iraqi friends. The mother of one was Danish. She lived her whole married life in Baghdad with her Iraqi husband. The other has a brother and relatives in Holland and his wife’s siblings and parents are there as well. Is there any hope for them? We were advised that they could apply for a visa to visit their relatives, but it might be problematic for them to return given Syria’s new visa requirements. But they don’t want to return, I said.
They want to join their families in Holland. They shook their heads, shrugged their shoulders. Such decisions are met by the Ministry of Justice in Holland. And, I thought, Holland has just agreed to take 100 Iraqis for resettlement.
As in Jordan, people are without work and “in the dark” with little or no idea of where in the system their cases are. They are waiting for some miracle to happen. And so we wait with them.
Cathy Breen
