The Iraqi Exodus
Nearly 2 million have fled, but that could be just a drop in the bucket
For now, few governments want to discuss the refugee problem. In Iraq, the accelerating migration has produced a debilitating "brain drain," which is leaving the nation ever less capable of managing its own affairs. Most of the Iraqis who have left are the ones who could afford to do so–the wealthy and the middle class. Insurgents have focused much of their ire on professionals–targeting doctors, civil servants, teachers, and even hairdressers. In exile, these middle-class Iraqis are now living off their quickly dwindling savings and, if they are lucky, some meager wages.
Most alarming, few of the refugees appear to anticipate going home anytime soon–if at all. A U.N. survey of Iraqis in Syria found that only a fifth intended to return to Iraq. "Most refugees refuse to go back," says Kristele Younes, who recently returned from interviewing Iraqi refugees in Syria, Jordan, and Lebanon for Refugees International, an advocacy group. "Because revenge can carry on from one generation to another, some of them can never go back." In all, the UNHCR estimates that as many as 1.8 million Iraqis now live outside the country. Most receive little help. Human Rights Watch, a New York-based watchdog, issued a report last week criticizing Iraq's neighbors for not doing enough to assist the displaced Iraqis: "Generally Iraqis throughout the Middle East remain unregistered, uncounted, unassisted, and unprotected."
There are few more vulnerable than Khawla Hamed Saadallah. Her first husband was killed during Iraq's war with Iran. Her second was killed, she says, by U.S. soldiers who raided their home in Mosul six months ago. U.S. soldiers returned two days later with $1,500 in compensation ($200 of which went to an interpreter and a lawyer). "I was left with $1,300–homeless, with three children to raise," she says, "and with a tragic memory in a country where your life is worthless and so cheap in the eyes of others." She went to Syria with her younger brother, who found work in an Iraqi-run bakery. Her two sons, 7 and 8 years old, dropped out of school to work in the bakery, as well.
Most of the Iraqis in Syria are slightly better off, at least for now. Syria has been relatively tolerant, admitting many Iraqi children to public schools free. Jobs remain more difficult to find, however, since few Iraqis have work permits. Toma Georges, an Iraqi Christian, has been lucky. He fled Baghdad a year ago after his church was bombed on the same day as six other churches. Even before that, he was, like many other Iraqi Christians, being threatened by extremists on both sides. Sunni insurgents had forced him to stop selling alcohol at the supermarket he owned, while pressure from Shiite militias forced his wife to start wearing the hijab, or Islamic head covering, in public. "So in our days of democracy and freedom, I had a Christian wife wearing the hijab, and me, a Christian supermarket owner living in a Christian neighborhood, not selling alcoholic drinks." Today, Georges owns his own supermarket in Syria and rents apartments to other Iraqis. "I make good money now from selling alcoholic drinks, and I am also happy to see my wife's blond hair lighting up my life again," he says. "There are times when you feel homesick, but when I remember the burnt church and when I see the happiness in my children's eyes, I think that leaving my country was for the best of all."
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