The List Project: Helping Iraqi Refugees

Many of you who have been following my work for some time now will recall the harrowing stories of Iraqi colleagues whose lives are threatened because of their affiliation with coalition forces in the Iraqi reconstruction effort. I have told many stories of colleagues who's parents are kidnapped; those who find severed animal parts at their homes; of how they sleep with AK47s at night; but most of all of their resolve and their commitment to try and believe in a better future for their children.

Source: The List Project homepage

Iraq today, is by all accounts a quagmire and, behind Afghanistan, is the greatest producer of refugees in the world. Almost all of my former colleagues live in Jordan, Syria, Dubai or anywhere else they could get in (some in Canada and Sweden as well). I am still in close contact with many of them, who face a growing uncertainty in countries that are also questioning the feasibility of allowing more and more Iraqi refugees in their borders. They battle to find work, they keep a low profile, and most of them are fighting for even a temporary status in their host countries, just to keep them from having to return to Iraq.

Enter Kirk Johnson, a former colleague and good friend of ours. When he heard about the particular incident where a friend and colleague found a headless dog in his front yard with a note pinned to it saying "your head is next", he sprung into action. What followed was first an op-ed in the Los Angeles Times. This gave him the necessary exposure, and after many visists to capital hill where he works with Bureau for Population, Refugees and Migration, as well as the UN High Commision for Refugees (UNHCR), he launched The List Project.

The List Project advocates for refugee status for the hundreds of Iraqis who have placed their own, and the lives of their families, in jeopardy to support the US and other coalition partners in the reconstruction of Iraq. Many of them worked as translators for the military, but many more worked with Aid agencies and NGOs physically trying to rebuild their country day by day. They faced death threats, kidnappings, bombings in their neighborhoods, and threats to the lives of their children. In the uncertainty that prevailed, they continued to sneak in and out of the International Zone every morning, and again every afternoon, fearing for the worst, but told that there was no way to accomodate them inside the relative safety of the zone.

I urge you to visit the website of The List Project, to learn more about the plight of our Iraqi colleagues and friends, I believe we owe them that. Kirk Johnson, founder of The List: Project to Resettle Iraqi Allies, is slated to appear on the ABC World News Weekend broadcast this Sunday, July 8, 2007. Check your local listings for time and station.

21 Jan: Leaving Baghad

[right: The residents of the D1 quad, with Carol and Loki]

Following our sad departure from house D1/3 in the USAID compound, IZ, Baghdad – amidst the early birds for the Viking raid of any and all useful goods we may leave behind in the house, we board the armored Mercedez G-Wagon for the final time as friends and colleagues surround the vehicle in the customary “send-off”. Travel out of the IZ was exhilarating as we sat aboard an Australian piloted Puma helicopter (in case you missed my post on that, please see “Riding High Aussie Style” below).

The final sendoff by friends and colleagues. Hugs and well-wishes.

Riding High, Aussie Style!

Baghdad International Airport

A bittersweet day for us indeed. As we depart Baghdad after a year,we have forged many friendships we are sure will last a lifetime. We have seen and experienced things that we can sometimes not explain. We have been more happy than ever, and at the same time felt pain and suffering with our Iraqi colleagues deeper than anything I have ever witnessed. And here we are, one year later...headed out of Baghdad for the last time (for now). Our keys are turned in, our house has been raided in the customary "viking raid" for any and all useful goods/wares we have acquired and do not want to lug with us. Our packages have been mailed, Travel Authorizations cut, goodbyes have been said by the final "motorpool" call, my flack jacket gingerly awaits a new arrival in the storage container, and we are heading out. As is customary in Baghdad, nothing is customary, and sure enough we were in for just one final thrill before we're wheels up tomorrow....this little antic is something I put together when we first arrived at the airport this afternoon...

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So one thing's for sure...the next time I head to a war zone, I'm going with the Aussies! We were waiting at the landing zone in the IZ (LZ Washington, the one you always see on CNN) for a US military helo out to the Baghdad International Airport. As usual, our show time is an hour before the scheduled flight. So we check in and start what we do a lot around here: wait. Short while later a sergeant comes out of the office and yells "anyone going to BIAP?", to which we eagerly respond "sure, we are", he says "follow me". We do the customary grab and stick of Velcro sides on a flack vest while trying to simultaneously secure a helmet and stuff ear plugs in, and we head to the flight deck. Sitting on the tarmac among about six black hawks (our regular means of transportation) are two funky looking (almost cute) helicopters, I later learn are Pumas.

An Aussie with a headset directs us to the bird in front, just in time to watch the gunner move two cases of Guinness out of the doorway for us to climb onto. He grabs our bags and gives us a hand up and actually welcomes us on board. What followed was the most fun 20 minutes of my entire year in Baghdad! These guys flew us over Baghdad at what cannot have been more than 100 feet off the deck. I know it was close because I couldn't even use the small zoom on my point and shoot when taking video! For twenty minutes these guys were flying in a formation that would make most people (at least my dad) lose his lunch! Absolutely awesome, up and down, left and right, over the fields, and through the woods, and then on to BIAP. After an unusually long taxi at BIAP, we came to a halt, the gunner undid our bags, helped us down, then unloaded the bags and insisted on carrying the one bag all the way to the edge, only to be met by three guys with a vehicle there to "drive our bags over to the check in". I kept thinking "wonder if they'll mind that we're not Australian". What a way to run a war! Guinness and customer service with a smile. Hope the crew is enjoying a cold one as we speak. Cheers mates!

PS: We're flying to Amman tomorrow, then off to Petra, Paris....etc,etc. Will keep you posted.

Update

It has been almost a month since I last wrote, and the requests for updates have started picking up. Trust me, it is not for a lack of news or desire that I have not put my thoughts to paper, but rather more the weight of the realities squeezing us from every angle. With the emergence of study groups, high-profile resignations and political tug-of-wars in Washington, I ache for my Iraqi friends who have now turned to say it bluntly, petrified of the situation in Baghdad.

As the daily sectarian killings continue to plague the neighborhoods, we bid yet another colleague goodbye, weekly it seems. I am sad at losing my friends, but glad that they are of the fortunate few with the means and an option to get their families out. At a dinner with a colleague, his wife, and their five and two year olds, I listen to their optimism about moving to Dubai. "We have lost everything, as long as we have each other, we will be okay" says the mechanical engineer wife of my colleague.

As surreal as it seems, in the interest of an actual "update" I will give a brief overview of what we have been up to for the past month. I mentioned we had a week's break in Tuscany where we stayed at a 13th Century Agriturismo Estate called Spannochia. The estate is part of the Spannochia Foundation and was recently awarded as a "Green List" by Conde Nest Traveler. For our family and close friends, we have already indicated a possible return to Spannochia for a reunion in the near future.

Today we start the four day trek out of Baghdad to get to South Africa to spend Christmas with my family, including my now very ailing grandparents. We fly via Amman (as usual), and then to Dubai where we will spend the night with my good friends from high school who have lived in Dubai for about five years. On Tuesday we are off to Pretoria for a couple weeks of road tripping through Southern Africa with my dad's new double cab (complete with off-road trailer), eventually ending up at his house on a game farm for Christmas with my sister and her new fiancee, and his parents.

Our xmas cards and gift boxes are in the mail, you should all receive them shortly. Thank you also to all who sent us cards, good wishes and lovely care packages. We appreciate them all tremendously. And if you did send something that we did not receive before we leave (including toys for the Toys for Tots campaign) do not worry, they will be kept for our return.

I will leave you with a few recent photographs...

Baghdad Marathon

(Photo: Our "kiss-off" instead of a "handoff" raised many "aaauuuw's" from the supporters of the Baghdad Marathon)


On Saturday November 11th, a bunch of us participated in the Baghdad Marathon. While three of our much, much braver colleagues ran the entire 26.2 mi through the International Zone (accomplished through two laps around a 13mi course), the rest of us opted to sign up for the 5-person teams. As part of a relay team each member had to complete one 5.2 lap for a total of 5 laps.

(Photo -Coming in for the finish)

Certainly one of the most interesting courses one could ever hope to run. The highlights of the day started with the only pre-race safety briefing I ever heard to include "incoming fire" and "kidnapping risk" - now I don't know, perhaps runners in Colombia get the same briefing, but it was a first for us. Comments to the instructions to "duck" included "or run faster".


The first runner departed at 0500 from the back of Saddam's palace, next to the pool. As each runner completes the course he/she hands off at the same location. Mile one was run flanking the T-walls where a row of big-rig supply trucks were lined up to be scanned, searched and scrutinized before gaining access to the highly guarded Embassy compound. Not quite used to dodging rigs on runs either, but hey - it's not the half of it. At the end of the long stretch of T-wall, marathoners went underneath, relayers went to the right of the 14th of July bridge, in plane site of the Tigris river, and mind you, the Red Zone (hence the "indirect fire" briefing I imagine). Continuing on straight to the traffic circle with the statue of the four soldiers (the same statue that was infamously hit by a certain South African colleague in a 300K armored vehicle, winning him a one-way ticket home). From there the route veered slightly left toward the convention center, right at the "tomb of the unknown soldier" (the marathoners got to run under Saddam's swords but not the relayers) past the Combat Support Hospital (CASH), and back around the embassy.


All along the route were KBR employees for whom the distinction between "marathoner" and "relayer" apparently posed just too much information, hence rendering most of the relayers to run far longer than the planned 5.2 mi. In addition to KBR folks were the ever-present Peruvian guards, automatic rifle in hand, ready with the standard greeting "buenos dias miiiieeeeeeees...."

Apart from our starter not coordinating with the second fellow (resulting in the second guy waiting around for about 20 mins before simply jumping into the next group of people that ran past at the change over), our team did fine - and most importantly, we all had a great time. A computer crash at the embassy caused the loss of most of the race times, so I regress that I cannot report back on our marvelous performance.

Living through a death sentence

For once the ice-cold interior of the Hamurabi office building is a welcome refuge from the outside. I dashed back to my house; adrenalin runs high; heart beats quickly as I navigate through the fortified hard houses that long-term staff occupies on the compound. Instead of the direct route I normally take home I find myself snaking as much as possible, at times even entering other quads, adding precious concrete barriers between myself and the exterior walls.

The sounds are unmistakable, "rrrrrrratatatatatatatatatata" sounds the AK47, "rat-duht-duht-duht-duht" come the much deeper, evenly-spaced 50-caliber's response. In my ten months in Baghdad, one of the many things I have come to understand is that the latter is what they call "outgoing", generally a good thing. But when it happens in response to massive celebratory fire, it doesn't seem as effective as its normal silencing of misleading AK fire we experience at night from time to time.

And so, as with so many other random dates, today is in itself again a historic moment for Iraq. Saddam Hussein was convicted mere minutes ago for his role in the 1982 killing of 148 Shi'a villagers in the town of Dujail. The sentence passed down from the judge is that he will be hanged for his crimes, something he protested against instead demanding death by firing squad as a "military man", and not hanging like a "criminal".

The Regional Security Office at the embassy issued a precautionary mandate that all employees should be wearing their Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) when moving around outside on the compound outside, hence my necessary dash home. Everyone in the office is quite; the air conditioner is pleasantly cooling, not much discussion going on…

Earlier, a couple of Iraqi colleagues came into the dining hall with huge smiles on their faces, one of them, an attractive young man that works in motorpool indicated the international sign for "he's dead" by slicing his finger across the front of his neck exclaiming "finally, it's over". I asked him if he thought something was going to happen. He said "you mean something bad?"

smiling again, he added

"…no, of course not, the shooting outside is for the happiness".

So on that "happy" note, I'll keep my flack jacket and helmet on for good measure. "



A Few Hours Later.......


Just an update on the situation in Baghdad...in the scheme of things it was a relatively quiet day - even the celebratory fire was actually less than that which happens after a good football game in Baghdad. I do hear a lot of air traffic overhead tonight in what I can only imagine is continued surveillance of the volatile city. Please keep our Iraqi friends and neighbors in your thoughts and prayers.

Baghdad holdings its breath

With the anticipated conviction of Saddam Hussein expected later today, Baghdad is taking no chances. A curfew has been in place since 2100 last night, and runs through tomorrow - rendering all streets practically impassable to residents, including to our local staff.

The concern is that if a conviction (and subsequent penalty, most likely to be that of death by hanging) is passed, Saddam's own Sunni minority will rise up in anger. Alternatively, if a conviction is not passed, the Shi'a majority might view this as a failure in the fragile justice system.

The imminent conviction is riddled with potential problems and claimed irregularities. Some argue the timing was rigged to provide a boost for republicans before the mid-term elections, others fear that a conviction in this case, will hamper the process of justice in the ongoing Al Anfal campaign. Iraqi law states that if a death sentence is passed, it must be carried out within 30 days. Thus, if Saddam is convicted and sentenced in the Dujail case in which he allegedly ordered the killing of 148 Shi'a villagers following an attempt on his life in 1982, he will most likely not complete the Al Anfal trial that accuses him of systematically killing as many as 182,000 individuals between 1986 and 1989 in his anti-Kurdish campaign.

One thing I wonder about is what Kurdistan will do if they do not see their own slice of justice.

In the meantime, Bradley and Abraham's tanks have been rolled out at checkpoints and we'll be hunkered down, working hard. Please keep the Iraqis in your thoughts.

Jonah, Ninewa and the Assyrians...

You know how some days you are having a quite ordinary, daily grind, nothing special kinda day. Today was no different – went to the gym for 45 mins, stuck in management training for eight hours, did a yoga DVD before heading to the 18:15 “contemporary” protestant service at the Palace. I can’t help but think how this the “Republican Palace” of Saddam Hussein, has remained exactly that, the “Republican Palace” – only now, the halls crawl with GOP ideologues here for a thrill, and for their president. This article highlights how resumes of incredibly qualified individuals were thrown out in exchange for 24-year olds who gave the right answer to where they stood on Roe vs. Wade.

Wait, this is not the reason for this post at all. But I do encourage all to read the article in the Post to understand some of the frustration we deal with everyday. Back to the reason for my writing tonight however. The sermon, and how a seemingly ordinary day, turned out to have a very special gift at the end. His name is Canon Andrew White. His 6’5” posture is overpowering, and that is before he opens his mouth. The late’ish-thirties Brit who is a visiting pastor to our largely military congregation, save for the development folks like ourselves, towers over the podium, and the congregation is glued. “How many of you were here when I talked about Jonah?”…he briefly scans the room “…ah, maaaahvelous then, you won’t mind if I repeat myself then would you?”, joking with the handful of folks that raised their hands.

He continues to explain that he will preach from the book of Nahum. Something he has done “about once, I think it was about ten years ago”. Explaining the only reason for preaching about this obscure prophet is that one of the members of his Iraqi congregation told him that he is from Ninewa.

As it is, our friend with the Monty Python sense of humor and little tolerance for unwanted political correctness, has worked in Iraq since 1998. He used to live in the Karada district in downtown Baghdad, and had a congregation on Haifa street. That was until the US Embassy told him to move his operation into the IZ after they discovered he had a $5 million bounty on his head. Pastor White continues to worship with his dedicated Iraqi congregation however, albeit within the confinement of the IZ. Every Saturday from around 10:30 or so – apparently last Saturday after 5 hours he tried using a Blessing to end the proceedings, alas, he was there for two more hours as the mostly Caldian Assyrian Christians continued to worship. I was waiting to hear where these proceedings took place so that we might attend next week, when the entire congregation went deathly silent when he explained that it actually takes place in the office of the Shiite Muslim Prime Minister. The reality of that is slow to sink in, when he continues.

People ask Pastor White, “wow, when did the Iraqis convert to Christianity”. Did the Baptists come here? He responds “sure they did, in 2003, right after the invasion – I met them at a Southern Baptist Convention in Baghdad” (sic). After all, how do you explain to people that Iraqis have been practicing Christianity for roughly 2,600 years? At the tale of Jonah and the whale the Pastor exclaims “…and to think Jonah didn’t want to come to Iraq, instead he wanted to go to Spain, I mean REALLY, who WOULDN’T want to come to Iraq???...” we laugh. He continues “not to worry, that’s when God sent him by submarine”. More laughter. The congregation is gripped with his tales of Saturday worships in the PM’s office and quick stabs like “…yes, I am indeed Anglican, but not American Anglican, I’m British Anglican, the side that still believes in the Bible”. Nervous laughter.

To listen to a man preach the Bible that spends his Saturdays working with the people who are in the Bible, is something way beyond spiritual. Just this past Saturday during his Jonah tale, he asked his congregation, “how many of you are from Ninewa” (the town Jonah was sent to save), over 60 people raised their hands…And here they were 2,600 years later. Islam has come and gone through their towns and villages, and they still worship God… and we read about them in the Bible, and they are here, in Baghdad.

I am going to try and get a copy of the service on DVD to share with those interested (and you can be sure I’m trying to go to the service in the PMs office).

The paintbrush speaks up

A piece of art in a cultural center depicting

Saddam Hussein behind bars

Wise man

A village elder that discussed the needs of this

Rania community with us

Lady of the House

Beautiful Kurdish mother and wife.

Boys with a Bike

These boys gathered for a parting shot outside the home of a
Kurdish beekeeper we visited.

A photo

A Kurdish boy at a sports center for internally displaced people (IDPs) in Kurdistan

Notes From Kurdistan

(This piece was first distributed over email, I repost it here with some photographs from my trip)

Girls learn to sow at a Women's Center

in a village an hour from Erbil, Kurdistan

For the past few days I have had the immense pleasure of running around the hills of Kurdistan. Accompanied by two colleagues, and a team of 10 PSDs (personal security details) I have definitely been treated like royalty, or at least a CODEL as we fly over the rolling hills of this northern province of Iraq, drinking tea with the locals, eating grapes with the Sheiks.

Kurdistan, yes, the place where the Kurds come from, is located on the northern border where Iraq meets Turkey, Syria and Iran. What has made this experience even more unique, is that just last week, while still in Baghdad, I attended the Al-Anfal Campaign Trial of Saddam Hussein. This, the second trial deals with the 1987-88 genocide against the Kurds in which a reported 182,000 lost their lives in brutal attacks including the widespread use of chemical weapons.

(below: A snapshot with some of the kids at a sport center for internally displaced persons)

The Kurdish region is rife with political complexities and this is not the place to try and explain the PUK vs PDK and the dress code of the Peshmerga, rather, I want to highlight the marvelous experience of actually getting to sit down in the most modest of villages interacting with men, women and children.

We drove between villages in Erbil, Duhok and Sulaymaniya province visiting beneficiaries of some of the USAID funded projects in the region. This included a visit to the mayor of a small 34-family village who benefit from a bee-keeping program we ran last fall. Next we attended a training session on the proper use of pesticides, held at a local mosque and widely attended by farmers from this particular village. Here we listened to the frustration of farmers at the realities of not having access to government.

We spent the night in the "5-star" Al Ashur hotel in Sulaymaniya. The run-down structure runs on a skeleton staff, and serves the same food for lunch and dinner with no menu. Nonetheless, there is great potential for its location begs the launching of boats, jet skis on Lake Dukan, and a myriad of other activities such as hiking and mountain biking in the awesome foothills that surround the property. Not surprisingly, it is on the same compound as the Iraqi President Talabani's residence - a large squarish structure that I could see on the hill directly opposite my hotel room window.

Today we attended another training, this time in the recognition, prevention and treatment of zoonotic diseases, again in the modest mosque of a small village. Interestingly, this time the attendance was almost exactly 50/50 males and females. Reason being of course that it is often women who participate in the keeping of farm animals (currently livestock amounts to 50% of Iraq's agriculture activities, which in turn employ 30% of the workforce). We had a heated debate about the culling of birds in the village following the Avian Influenza scare in another part of Kurdistan last year, with demands for reimbursement for such acts.

Leaving the training session, we headed deeper into the hills of Sulaymaniya, and the countryside continued to grow more and more beautiful. For the California crowd, I would say it looked something like the rolling hills in the Sacramento area, during summer, when everything is golden brown, and the bugs are buzzing in the heat...rolling hills, with scattered trees (although much of Kurdistan suffered immense deforestation during the Al Anfal Campaign as innocent civilians fled to the mountains for refuge), and the neat rows of grapes and other fruit trees.

With the Peshmerga guard that travels with the agricultural implementing partner organization.

On this, our last stop for the day, we visited a house way at the top of a small hill, right down in the bottom of a breathtaking valley. The hill sits perched on the edge with picture windows from the ceiling to the floor. Needless to say, I was quite surprised at this obvious opulence, not exactly our run-of-the-mill beneficiary, until I realized what the aim of the project was.

The property is that of Sheikh Muhammed Mahmoud Abdullah. A wealthy man with connections in the right places and a family currently in London, he returned to his old Peshmerga stomping grounds, where he, himself had been blinded by the chemical attacks during Al Anfal. When he pointed in one direction across the mountains he said "Iran is about 6 hours walk that way", it was clear he knew this from experience.

Following his 6 month recovery, the good Sheikh remained in the UK, only to return and build himself what he refers to as his "Freedom House", where the bar apparently opens at 6pm and wine, beer and Rakia flows, "even in Iraq" one of us asked, to which he answers "of course yes, up here [Kurdistan] it is different", and my hunch is, no one argues with the Sheikh anyway. His servants return with a tray of chai, followed by home-grown grapes and figs, topped off with more chai and the best Iraqi sweets I've had. We discuss the 30 varieties of grapes the viticulturalist has found in the area and prod him on information about the sustainability of agribusiness with the right kind of funding.

When I ask for the bathroom he assures me there is a "western" toilet at the top, which I respectfully acknowledge but still opt for the Arabic version by the front door. (which I secretly prefer, makes squatting so much easier)

Long story short, our project funded a trellising and drip irrigation pilot project, currently implemented by a 70 year old Lebanese with a PhD from the Soviet Union who used to be the head of the fruits department in Baghdad under the previous regime. The idea is that if the village sees the Sheik's yield and quality increase, they will come begging for the technology, something that they currently shun for fear of a failing crop. Understandable of course, it's not like the Sheik needs a good yield to sustain his wine habits, but most of the folks down the hill in their mud huts surrounded by kids, do.

And so, my day ends with a 2.5 hour drive back to our office in Erbil, looking out the back of our overly up armored Suburban SUV, plated vest laying too heavily on my bladder full of chai and water...I cannot seem to wrap my mind around the dichotomy between the two sides of this country. On the one side, literally, a place where one feels free, wants to hike and mountain bike, a place where communities seem to make do, perhaps not flourish, but show me a post-conflict society where that is the case, but where people can concentrate on educating their kids and dreaming of their futures, versus what I see in Baghdad. This week, again a colleague lost a family member, this time a cousin who was so brutally tortured, they shoved a cue ball in his eye and stitched his mouth shut...he lived, only to die from his wounds two days later.

And I drive, through the mountains and over the hills of Kurdistan...my mind runs, runs away. Kids splash in wheelbarrows filled with water, folks sell Iranian gas in 10 gallons plastic containers next to the street, and Fleetwood Mac sings

"Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Don't stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterdays gone, yesterdays gone"