An Assyrian Priest Returns to Mosul

By Tona Ishaq


Mosul, Iraq – AINA — Since the invasion 2003 the situation of the Christian Assyrians in Iraq has deteriorated. Churches have been destroyed, several priests have been killed and at the end of last year thousands of Christians were forced to leave the city of Mosul in northern Iraq. Now Christians must use extreme methods to keep themselves in safety. One of them is the priest, Hanna.

Hanna is driving his old Mitsubishi around Bahshiqa, a village situated about twenty kilometers northeast of Mosul. With his black calotte, long black caftan and the big golden cross around his neck, he looks like a typical Iraqi Syriac Christian priest. Hanna comes to Bahshiqa every week, but lives in Mosul. Even though the uncertain situation keeps him from moving freely and many Christians has left Mosul, Hanna is determined to keep his church open. But it is here in Bahshiqa he runs his errands, and today he’s picking up new ID cards at the local stationer’s. Hanna gets a double set of IDs for every one in the family.

A real one, that states that they are Christians, and a forged one, that says that they are Muslims. “Because of the situation today, it is safest to carry both. At least for us Christians,” says Hanna. A lot of people issues fake IDs for safety reasons. “For example, if your going to Mosul you have one card near at hand and if you go back way you use the other one,” he says. Using double IDs has become a necessity among Christians in Iraq. Since 2003 about half of the them, around 400,000 people, have fled the country, (that includes half of the Christians in Mosul) and the ones that are left live in fear of threats, kidnappings and killings.

The violence is aimed at ordinary Christians, but also at church representatives and churches. In recent years a number of priest have been killed, among them the Chaldean Archbishop in Mosul, and several churches have been burned down or taken by Sunni or Shia extremists. Hanna himself experienced the heavy attack in October that forced thousands of Christains to leave Mosul, a city that used to hold Iraq’s oldest and largest Christian population. “One day a group of men came up to a Christian family’s house. They asked for their IDs and, when they read that the family was Christian, they killed the father in front of his wife and child,” Hanna says.

At first Hanna thought that this was an occasional event, like those killings that can happen to any Iraqi. “But in a few days time there were a number of similar events. People got killed as a result of what was written on their id cards.” It didn’t end with these killings. Suddenly cars started circling in Christian areas, shouting out an ultimatum through loudspeakers. “We got twenty four hours to leave our homes, otherwise we would be killed and our houses destroyed,” says Hanna.

Three families were dragged out of their homes just to watch them blow up. People got really scared and fled. Hanna estimates that somewhere around 1,700 families disappeared from Mosul in a couple of days, about 13,000 people according to the UN Refugee Agency. Many of them went to Bahshiqa and other villages in the Nineveh plain near Mosul. A lot of Christians also fled to other countries.

“Iraq’s Christians don’t feel protected at all. For example, the events in October happened in the open, before the eyes of the government and the occupation forces, but no one reacted,” Hanna says. Hanna and his family also left Mosul. They moved to his parent’s home in Bahshiqa, but Hanna couldn’t bear leaving his church and the few members who were left. He soon returned to the city. “There are some people that can’t afford leaving Mosul. They don’t even have money for a taxi ride out of there. I went back for them.”

The first Sunday after the October attack Hanna decided to ring the church bell, something he hadn’t dared to do since a priest got killed for doing that a few years earlier. “It was the only way to make my presence known.” The church bell was heard all over the neighbourhood and it didn’t take long for a few people to finf their way to the church. Six or seven of the poorest and oldest ladies came stumbling into the building. “I became blissful when I saw them, and they, they started to cry out of happiness. These were people who was all alone, people who didn’t have anyone else to turn to in this bad situation.” Hanna says that even though the October attacks seemed organised, he doesn’t know who was behind them.

“We have no idea who wants to harm us Christians. Maybe it’s political forces that want us out of the country. But it also seems to be a jihad aimed at us Christians, at least here in Mosul.” Hanna isn’t the only one in his family that has suffered from the religious persecution. His cousin Walid is building a new pharmacy in the front yard of his house in Bahshiqa. Right up to recently Walid used to work as a pharmacist in Mosul, but the situation became intolerable. His Christian colleague was kidnapped, Walid’s own son was threatened and forced to leave the country.

Finally, Walid himself received threats from kidnappers and had to leave his job. Starting over in the village is the only possible solution to earn a living. His wife Nawal says that many of their friends have been forced away from Mosul. “One family was having supper when a couple of disguised men came to their house and ordered them to get out. They left without anything, not even their shoes,” she says.

“They came out here for a while, but couldn’t afford to pay the rent. Now they’re back in that hell. You never know when the next attack comes.” Hanna explains that his work in Mosul is really difficult nowadays. Carrying out a funeral or visiting a parishioner can lead to a kidnapping or, in the worst case, death. “Sometimes it feels as my heart has died. Still, it is my duty to encourage people and to help them survive,” Hanna says and starts preparing for his return to Mosul.

He puts his caftan and calotte in a plastic bag in the trunk and hides the golden cross. Hanna’s wife puts on a black jibba that covers all of her body and a hijab over her hair. This procedure is necessary. That and the fake IDs they carry near at hand are attempts to keep them safe on the drive back to Mosul. Hanna says that he hopes and prays for better times, but that it will take time. “Anyway, we’ve lost so much in recent years. People have left Mosul and many have left the country.

This is devastating for our Christian society, because the one that leaves seldom comes back. We are bleeding to death”