The Iraqi Exodus
Nearly 2 million have fled, but that could be just a drop in the bucket
"Pressure cooker." As the number of refugees continues to increase, Iraq's neighbors are growing less receptive. Some, like Saudi Arabia and Kuwait, have barred them altogether. Human Rights Watch criticized Jordan last week for turning back growing numbers of Iraqis at the border and for discouraging Iraqis from sending their children to Jordanian schools. Jordan's approach shifted, the group said, after the bombings last year of three Amman hotels by several Iraqis. Even in Syria, which has traditionally welcomed Iraqis, attitudes have hardened, with Iraqis finding more restrictions on access to health facilities. Still, Syria is quickly becoming the only option. "They are the only country dealing with this head-on," says Sean Garcia, an advocate with Refugees International who recently returned from a visit to Syria. "If Syria was to shut that border, it would create a pressure cooker in Iraq where people being targeted couldn't escape the violence."
Many of the Iraqi refugees are beginning to run out of money, squeezed by costly rent and Syria's high unemployment. Faleh Kasem, a 28-year-old computer technician, works in a Syrian Internet cafe making $200 a month, which does not even cover his $400 monthly rent. "If it wasn't for the help I get from my father in Baghdad, I could not have survived," he says. Iraqis working in Syrian factories make even less–as little as 30 cents an hour. A former prominent Iraqi ambassador under Saddam's regime fled soon after the invasion to Syria, where he is living entirely off the remains of his life savings. "When it runs out, I will start to sell whatever I have left in Iraq to keep my family alive," he says.
What little money many Iraqi men do make often gets spent on Al Rabwa Street in Damascus, famous for its nightlife. While most of the nightclubs used to cater to visiting Kuwaitis and Saudis, many are now filled largely with Iraqis. Al Rawaby is one of the most popular clubs, starting its nightly entertainment at 11 p.m. and not wrapping up until 6 a.m. Iraqis pack the club to drink and listen to famous Iraqi singers like Hussam al Rassam, known for his sad tunes about the violence in Iraq and the wave of migration. Ali Fouad, a 23-year-old Iraqi working in a clothing store, saves up his meager earnings for the $30 entrance fee. "It makes me feel at home to see this Iraqi crowd and our famous singers as they sing about our country," he says. "We all, Sunni and Shiite, feel as one Iraqi family, just like before, as we clap our hands hard when the name of our country is brought up in a song."
With Amer Saleh in Syria
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