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Electronic Iraq
http://electronicIraq.net/news/printer1890.shtml

28 February 2005

The Good Fugitive
    Kathy Kelly

Yesterday, sitting in a tiny restaurant that serves kebabs and tea on a
small side-street in Amman's city center, I was suddenly reminded of
children playing "Migra!" in a Chicago Hispanic neighborhood. "Migra!"
screams one child, and the others squeal and scatter. These children grew
up watching "illegal" adults hide from U.S. immigration authorities.

Saad, who serves tea at the restaurant, had spotted a Jordanian police van
passing the nearby intersection. The police vans frequently raid shops,
restaurants and factories, in search of Iraqis who haven't been granted
temporary residence or who violate the labor laws by working for wages. In
no time, my companion and I were alone in the restaurant. Across the way,
a barber shop emptied. For about five minutes, the street was deserted,
and then, just as suddenly, it came back to life. Observers on another
street reported that the police van was already packed. Iraqi men
returning to the restaurant chuckled; but the well-practiced routine is no
laughing matter. If detained, Jordanian police might deport them to the
Iraq side of the Iraq/Jordan border.

A few days ago, Saad, age 43, agreed to talk with us, but he said it would
take several hours to tell his story. Like many others Iraqi refugees, he
doesn't want to call attention to himself and risk what little security he
has found here in Amman. And yet, he yearns for some benevolent group,
somewhere, to recognize the plight of Iraqis, like him, who suffered
torture and imprisonment under the old Iraqi regime, lived as fugitives
for more than two decades, lost homes and family members in Iraq, and yet
cannot qualify for asylum or refugee status anywhere in the world. He
didn't want us to hear only from Iraqis who have recently arrived. (During
the first two days in Amman, without even leaving the hotel lobby, I met
four Iraqis who had just fled Iraq because of death threats.)

Saad is a stocky man whose face is creased with deep lines and bears a few
scars. His eyebrows nearly cross his entire forehead, adding to his
serious expression. When he smiles, his large, hazel eyes light up. Often,
Saad stands on the top step of a stoop in front of the restaurant,
scanning the intersection. For the past four years, he has been a familiar
figure on this street where he spends twelve hours each day, serving tea
and keeping watch. He's a seasoned "lookout" who knows how to sound a
quiet alarm.

In 1980, Iraq's army conscripted Saad, but he took the risk of becoming a
deserter that same year, one month after the September outbreak of the
Iran-Iraq war. Saad lived as a fugitive for the next 10 years, until the
Iraqi occupation of Kuwait. He returned to Najaf during the doomed
uprising that followed the 1991 Gulf War. U.S. conquerors allowed Iraq's
Republican Guard to keep their attack helicopters. The Iraqi forces
assaulted Najaf. During a fifteen-day battle, four missiles were fired at
Saad's home, killing his parents and his wife. Saad's four children
survived. They went to live with his wife's parents. Saad went to prison.

Republican Guard forces arrested Saad and many others, taking them by bus
to Baghdad and then to the Al Radwaniyah prison. "They put me in a big
hall with many people and they kept us there for 10 days," Saad recalled.
"They checked people who participated in the uprising, women and men. They
could recognize twenty people. They put them aside, kept the others, about
100 persons who were not yet recognized. They kept us for more than three
months. We were beaten severely as punishment and discipline. The purpose
was to humiliate us and break our morale."

Saad was released three months later. "I heard that released people were
questioned or searched by Baath party members in Najaf," said Saad. "I
went to the marshes –500 km. from the city. There I worked as a laborer,
along with many other people coming from the south, hunting bears in the
winter and fish in the summer."

Again, Saad was a fugitive for ten years. Lacking any identity papers, it
was too risky for him to see his children.

In July of 2001, he paid a 1,350,000 Iraqi Dinar bribe, (approximately
$700 U.S. dollars), to obtain a passport in Najaf. With this passport, he
could leave Iraq and seek asylum in Jordan. In August, 2001, Saad
submitted his application but learned, with dismay, that he needed death
certificates to verify that the Iraqi government had killed his family
members. "It's not possible to obtain those papers," said Saad. "The old
Iraqi regime denied the assassinations of those people in Najaf and of the
prisoners in Al Radwaniyah, in spite of all the confirmations that this
tragedy happened."

Still suffering from trauma, Saad struggles with insomnia, depression, and
homesickness. But, in Amman he has at least saved some money, every month,
to help support his children in Iraq.

Cathy Breen and I accompanied Saad to the UNHCR office in Amman because he
wanted to inquire about the possibility of reopening his case. He wants
protection from the Jordanian police, should he be detained, and he wants
to try again for asylum. We looked at his papers and it seemed he'd
already gotten a final answer: "We regret to inform you that further to
your second interview your claim does not meet the refugee criteria. This
is a final decision."

The UNHCR officials admitted us inside their building. We were fairly sure
that he never would have been allowed inside had we not been gently but
firmly insistent. A UNHCR official informed him that his file is closed
and the UNHCR is technically not able to issue him a new card. He only
qualifies for Temporary Protection Status which will not allow him to work
in Jordan or acquire temporary residency status. However, if the police
detain him, he can call the UNHCR hotline, open twenty-four hours a day,
and the UNHCR will intervene with the authorities for his release.

At the UNHCR headquarters in Amman, the Iraqi case-load has been on hold
for two years, since the onset of the U.S. invasion of Iraq. Ideally,
legal, medical and financial help for Iraqi refugees in Amman should be
available through other Non Governmental Organizations, called
implementing partners, but Saad and his friends assure us that there are
no international groups advocating on behalf of human rights for Iraqi
refugees. Saad has very little confidence that access to the UNHCR hotline
number would protect him from deportation. The UNHCR official acknowledged
that if a large number of people are swept up for detention it is
difficult for UNHCR to intervene.

In the early evening, yesterday, we sat across from Saad in his apartment
in the Mahata district of Amman, a simple neighborhood where he lives in
one room, furnished with a television, a refrigerator, a table, a lamp,
and stacks of mats. On the walls are portraits of Ali, the leader revered
by Shi'a people, and photos of Saad and his friends in the tea shop. There
are no pictures of his family.

I asked Saad why he has so many mats stacked in his room. "In the cold
months, there are Iraqi drivers who have no place to stay," he explained.
"I will invite a driver to sleep here if it is too cold to sleep in his
car."

"We don't want to live like rats," he said, after a long pause. "Always,
we are scattering when we see a police van." He asks for so little, it
seems. The right to work, the right to walk down the street without
fearing deportation, a chance to stop living as a fugitive. What is his
crime?

He and his companions at the tea shop try to help one another. If someone
becomes ill, medical treatment is exorbitantly expensive. Iraqis living in
Jordan illegally aren't eligible for health care. If an employer or
landlord takes advantage of them, they can't bring their grievance to a
Jordanian court. They help one another manage in the face of unexpected
troubles.

Who can blame Jordan's government for asserting that it can't cope with a
new influx of Iraqi refugees? Compared to many wealthy countries, Jordan
has stretched itself to the breaking point in trying to share scant
resources with impoverished refugees. Already there are 500,000 refugees
from Gaza living under wretched conditions in the Jerash camp. An
estimated 450,000 Iraqi refugees have come to Jordan and of that number
there are only 14,000 who can afford to pay the required deposit of
$75,000, for each adult, which must be left untouched in a bank for at
least one year before consideration of an application for permanent
residency.

Many countries, including the U.S., take advantage of refugee laborers
whose readiness to work for low wages drives down the minimum wage. All
over the world, authorities cope with unwanted refugees by routinely
scooping them up and deporting them. Jordan's government uses familiar
means to deter more Iraqis from coming here. Anyone who overstays their
three month temporary visa faces a daily fine of 1 ½ Jordanian dinar.

The UN, international NGOs and foreign Embassies offer Iraqis very little
hope for asylum, resettlement, or advocacy on behalf of basic human
rights. Yet even the anticipated miseries of living as an unprotected
refugee in Jordan are better, for some, than the insecurity and penury
many have experienced in Iraq.

Professor Juan Cole, an expert analyst of Iraqi social and political
developments, noted last week that Iraq is slipping out of the news. The
plight of Iraqi refugees in Jordan never made it into mainstream media
news. "Nobody cares about us," said a Christian Iraqi who fears return,
has run out of money, cannot work, and is not allowed to apply for asylum.
"We are lost."

I feel like a silly Pollyanna wondering why the U.S. doesn't try,
peacefully and compassionately, to help the millions of people devastated
and displaced by our successive wars. We could be reversing feelings of
antagonism and hostility, causing people to admire and love U.S. people.
Instead, U.S. efforts to foster security continually rely on overwhelming
other people with threats, force, and economic insecurity, forcing people
to compete for dwindling access to basic human rights. Every day, the
numbers of people who resent the U.S. multiply.

Consider this. I know women in a U.S. federal prison who earn a pittance,
working in the prison factory, to manufacture small cages which the prison
sells to U.S. immigration authorities. The U.S. "Migra" uses the cages to
transport children of "illegal" migrant workers, bringing them to
detention centers for eventual deportation. Other prison factory workers
manufactured armored plates which the U.S.military uses to fortify humvee
vehicles. Over 1/4 of the world's prisoners are incarcerated in U.S.
prisons. The women I met befriended me while I was imprisoned for
nonviolent protest at a U.S. military base that trains soldiers from other
countries to police their own people.

I don't harbor much hope that U.S. people will agitate to reform U.S.
foreign policy and change our overconsumptive, wasteful way of life. But
could we at least stop pretending that we are the champions of human
rights and the defenders of democracy? Our past support for dictatorships
and our attacks against other countries have caused incalculable death,
destruction, and displacement. In the U.S., we have abysmally failed
millions of our own children by directing needed resources toward weapons
and war and eventually shipping our own youngsters off to fight unprovoked
wars against innocent people.

Saad is a good man. His case is all too ordinary. He and his companions
can't watch their children run and play. Instead, they and thousands of
other Iraqi refugees are forced to play the "Migra" game. Run. Hide. And
hope that someday adults in powerful places will understand a terrible
truth about war games. Ultimately, nobody wins.


Kathy Kelly is a co-coordinator of Voices in the Wilderness, a campaign to
end U.S. economic and military warfare abroad and in our own locales. She
has just returned from Amman, Jordan. She can be reached at [EMAIL PROTECTED]

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