From “Nightmare” to “Prison”

In 1999, while at his shop in a busy commercial district of Baghdad, Abu Walid witnessed the murder of a neighboring shop owner and helped subdue the murderer. His courage that day and at the trial resulted in death threats that forced him and his family to flee, first their home, and then Iraq.

Abu Walid is a member of the Mandaean community, a small, indigenous religious minority. In Baghdad, he worked as a goldsmith, an occupation common to members of his religious community. His goldsmith shop was located in a commercial district where other goldsmiths also had shops.

In 1999, a young Muslim man came to the goldsmith shop next to Abu Walid’s shop. He and Abu Walid’s neighbor argued. The young man said: “You are Mandaean. You have no right to argue with me. I am Muslim.” The young man pulled out a knife, stabbed him repeatedly, and ran.

Abu Walid was at his shop at the time, right next door. “We heard arguing,” he said, “and when we went outside, we found our neighbor in a pool of blood. The young man tried to run away, but we caught him, took away his knife, and subdued him, tying him up. An ambulance took our neighbor to the hospital. The police took the young man.”

 Because he was so close by when his neighbor was killed, Abu Walid was in fact the first witness on the scene. He and a second witness followed the police to the station, to give testimony. The police kept the young man in their custody.

 The next day, a leader of the young man’s tribe came to Abu Walid’s shop to speak with him in private. “He came to me because I was the first witness. And he asked me to change my story so that the young man would be released. ‘How can I do this?’ I said. ‘The man whom he killed is a relative of mine. And he was caught red-handed.’ The tribal leader threatened me. ‘OK, then it will be very bad for you. You will not be safe anywhere.’ He spoke to me in very harsh language.”  

 The court date for this young man was set for late September 1999. “It is not right that Mandaeans should suffer such persecution. It is not right that we should be killed,” Abu Walid says. “For this reason, I went to court and testified. When I left court, the tribal leader offered me money to change my testimony. Again I refused. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘You have had your last chance. There will be no more offers, no more negotiations. We made every offer we could to preserve your life and you refused to accept. Your life is forfeit.’ This worried me a great deal. I spoke with my wife. We were especially concerned for the safety and welfare of our daughters.” 

 Abu Walid and his wife, Umm Walid, decided to close their shop and flee. Umm Walid and the eldest daughter went to live with relatives Al-Ramadi, and Abu Walid and the other children moved in with relatives living near the university which some of the children attended. The second witness to the murder also fled.  

 The court sentenced the young man to death, and a year later he was executed. “After this,” Abu Walid says, “other goldsmiths called and told me. ‘Never come back. They will kill you.’ I was afraid because I believed there is no place in Iraq where I could be safe. The Muslim tribes are vengeful. Wherever I hide, the tribes, working together, could find me.” 

 In late 2000, Abu Walid fled, alone, to Jordan, leaving Om Walid and their children with relatives in Iraq. “At the time, our children were still in college and we wanted them to finish, so my wife stayed behind with them in Iraq.”

 Given the laws in force during the Saddam Hussein regime – laws which prevented women from traveling without a man or without full permission from the male head of the household – it was not possible for Umm Walid and the children to follow once Abu Walid left the country. “Even though I’m also a lawyer,” Abu Walid says, “and I gave my permission, it still wasn’t possible for them to travel. And at the time, some of the children didn’t have passports.”  

“From the moment I left them, I worried about them. For five years here in Jordan, I thought about them and worried about how they were doing and if they were safe. 

 During this time, Umm Walid and her children in Iraq also lived in fear, uncertain if the Muslim tribe would seek revenge on them because of Abu Walid’s testimony. After the 2003 invasion, conditions worsened, and they became more anxious for their safety as Mandaeans became both targets in a growing business of kidnapping for profit in Iraq as well as targets of violent religious persecution. “It was terrible,” Umm Walid says. “We lived in terrible fear.”

 The crisis for the family in Iraq came to a head in late 2005, when the youngest daughter, Fatima, received a death threat. “At 2:00 pm, I was walking home from college on the main street. Four men with weapons said to me ‘We’ll kill you if you don’t wear a hijab. We’ll kill you if you wear tight pants.’ ” Two days later, one of Fatima’s college friends was killed because she wasn’t wearing a hijab. “From that time, until we arrived in Jordan,” Fatima said, “it was a nightmare.” 

 After Abu Walid fled Iraq, his twin brother was murdered. “They came from behind,” Abu Walid says, “and clubbed him over the head. I believe that he was killed because he was mistaken for me,” by people who sought revenge. “I want to be clear that I do not know this for a fact. It is my suspicion that they killed him thinking he was me.” Abu Walid has  pictures himself and his twin brother, taken at a family gathering in Iraq not long before his brother was killed, pictures which showed how much they resembled each other. 

 Sadly, persecution for this family did not end after they fled Iraq. When Umm Walid and her children joined Abu Walid in Jordan, “our neighbors asked our religion. We told them we are Mandaean. They think this is a part of the Jewish religion. They came and wrote a threat in the stairwell of our building and right outside our door. It said ‘There is only one God. Death to Jews and Christians.’”

 The owner of the apartment building, who is a Christian, pleaded with Abu Walid not to report the incident to the police, saying “It will create a big problem for me.” Abu Walid did not report the incident, and the apartment owner came and painted the walls, trying to cover the writing. But the threats are still visible, beneath the new paint, in more than one place. 

 When Abu Walid arrived in Jordan, he did not register as a refugee with UNHCR. Instead, he applied in 2005 when Umm Walid and the children arrived. In May of 2008, UNHCR called to arrange an interview with Abu Walid and Umm Walid in preparation for resettlement. At the end of the meeting, UNHCR said “We will be in touch.” More than a year later, the family has had no word from UNHCR. “All my family,” Abu Walid says, is in Sweden. I’m the only one left here.” 

“We have written many letters, made phone calls, sent emails to UNHCR,” Abu Walid’s children say. “No matter what we do, no matter how much we try, there is no response. We get very depressed and sad. We feel that things are so bad and hopeless here that we will have to return to Iraq. But when we get to that point, we think, ‘where will we go?’” 

 “Look at our living conditions,” Abu Walid says. “We are six adults living in two rooms. Let me show you the condition of the bathroom ceiling, which is collapsing. One day it will drop and maybe someone will be hurt . . . When we arrived, we had some money, but it is gone. We receive some help, but we are always in need.” 

 Members of the family lives in fear in Jordan, leaving the house only when they have to. “I feel I have aged twenty years, since coming here,” one of the children says. “As bad as it was in Iraq to be separated from my parents for five years, here it is becoming worse. I feel so much pressure here. I am depressed, forgetful.”  

 “They are at the age to be married,” Abu Walid says, “but their lives are stopped.” Umm Walid adds, “It is just like a prison here. We can’t visit friends and family as we did in Iraq. Sometimes I say, ‘I am bored in this house.’ And my family says to me, ‘OK, you can go out.’ But where will I go? And will I be safe?” 

 In 2005, Abu Ammar was diagnosed with blockage in two (three?) arteries. He had surgery to clean out and open the arteries. The surgery cost $9,000. An international NGO provided $3,000, and Abu Walid borrowed the remaining $6,000, of which he still owes $3,000. His wife and children are very concerned about his health. He has shortness of breath even from simply walking down the stairs. He also has hypertension and chest pains. His most immediate health problem is intense, chronic back pain related to a disk problem. A doctor at the Jordanian Red Crescent recently examined him. The doctor ruled out surgery because of the risks, given his heart condition. 

“Every time he has pains,” Umm Walid says, “I shake and tremble. What will I do without him?” Abu Walid has not had an MRI since 2005, and he receives no physical therapy for his back pain. Instead, he receives a daily injection at a local hospital to help manage the pain.

 As one member of DAI’s team says, “This family can’t recover from one trauma before it is hit with another.”

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