Inside the Church of the Immaculate Conception in Qaraqosh (Joseph Galanakis/NurPhoto via Getty Images)
Areas
freed from the Islamic State’s grip display the depth of the terror group’s war
crimes. As Iraqi forces continue that fight, American aid groups are staking
out front-line positions, too
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By Mindy Belz
When
ISIS, also known as Daesh, seized Iraqi territory in 2014, the extremists gave
Christians four options—leave, convert to Islam, pay a jizya tax, or be killed.
Nearly all the Christians, an estimated 120,000, fled. Those left behind were
tortured and subjected to sexual abuse and forced conversion. At least a dozen
Christian women and girls disappeared from Qaraqosh, all believed enslaved by
ISIS fighters. Esam, a refugee living in Jordan, said ISIS crucified his
brother-in-law in Qaraqosh: “He was crucified and tortured in front of his wife
and children, who were forced to watch,” he told World Watch Monitor. “They
told him that if he loved Jesus that much, he would die like Jesus.”
“There
were killings and horrible things happening in the church courtyards,” said
Bassam. His own family members were forced out and are living in Iraqi
Kurdistan about 30 miles away. His brother, a monk at Mar Behnam Monastery
about 10 miles south, barely escaped execution when ISIS took over the site, a
fourth-century monastery built by Assyrian King Sencharib. ISIS blew up and
destroyed parts of the site in March 2015.
Such
catastrophic losses haven’t dimmed Bassam’s family’s hopes of returning. “They
will all be coming back for sure,” he said.
Not
everyone is optimistic Christians will be allowed to return to their homes or
will want to. “Security is the most critical need we have,” Chaldean Archbishop
Bashar Warda told Catholic News Service. “We want to first build houses for our
people so they can live with dignity, and we need infrastructure in the
villages. But all this is only possible if we can have security.”
Emanuel
Youkhana, an Assyrian Church of the East priest who heads Christian Aid Program
Northern Iraq, said he’s no longer sure there is a future for Christians in
Mosul. Besides destroying Christian landmarks and homes, ISIS eliminated public
records, making legal claims over contested property difficult. When Youkhana
visited Mosul in late January, he visited two damaged churches used as
warehouses by ISIS. Already one of them had been turned over to a contractor,
who was dismantling the building until the Iraqi army intervened.
“We
will hear nice statements, but it will be impossible to get some of this
property restored,” said Youkhana. “On the ground Daesh is defeated, but we are
the losers.”
Complicating
the situation are the competing armed forces currently fighting ISIS in and
around Mosul. Besides the Iraqi army and the U.S.-led coalition supporting it,
Kurdish peshmerga hold territory east of Mosul toward the semiautonomous
Kurdistan region, separate Kurdish militias from Syria and Turkey hold
territory in the west, and Iranian-backed Shiite militias fight alongside the
Iraqi army in Mosul. They also control some of the territory in Nineveh,
including once-Christian towns like Bartella. For Christians hoping to return,
knowing who will control their hometowns and whether they can be trusted is the
challenge.
“I
notice discouragement most with Christians. They are finished,” said Darrell
Yoder of Christian Aid Mission (CAM), a Virginia-based nonprofit. “They have
seen Saddam; they have seen ISIS; they have seen enough.”
YODER,
WHO HAS DIRECTED CAM AID PROJECTS
in Iraq for a decade, is among a number of
Christian workers not running from the challenges of the ISIS conflict.
Remarkably, as fighting has intensified and Iraq again has become a war zone,
some aid groups are pressing toward the front lines.
CAM
has been partnering with other organizations to provide food, blankets,
kerosene, and necessities to residents who’ve been surviving ISIS occupation,
particularly in Mosul. At casualty collection points run by military commanders
during fighting, CAM provided blankets and water under armed escort. Yoder, a
Mennonite, avoids using weapons himself but isn’t averse to the danger. “It’s
been our opportunity to be in the middle of the difficulty, because that’s
where we see the gap.”
One
of the partner groups Yoder has helped supply is Free Burma Rangers (FBR), an
American-led aid group with 20 years’ experience providing help to war
victims—though thousands of miles from Mosul in Burma. Director David Eubank, a
former U.S. Army Special Forces officer, got a call to help in Iraq and Syria
in 2015, and by November 2016 he was handing out badly needed supplies to
civilians caught in combat.
“Over
and over we’d hear this part of Mosul was clear of civilians, nobody was living
there, and when the bullets stopped flying people would pop up from their
houses by the hundreds. They were desperate for help,” said Eubank.
Besides
material help, FBR also offers spiritual teaching and neighborly kindness.
Eubank’s team—which includes his wife Karen and three children—hosts “Good
Neighbor Clubs” in the areas where they work. These include mornings of singing
and storytelling, usually featuring Bible stories, plus games and T-shirts for
school-age children.
Mortar
rounds and gunfire sounded from West Mosul as the FBR team led children in a
round of “duck, duck, goose” in East Mosul in February. The approximately 1,000
people living in the suburb of Shahrazad, mostly Muslims and Turkmen, survived
two years of ISIS control plus its fight with the Iraqi army in December. ISIS
dug mortar pits in the school playground where FBR held its program, and surrounding
buildings are pockmarked with bullet holes. Earthen berms surround the area.
As
children played on playground equipment erected by FBR, Haiman Abdulkadem said
Mosul residents were just glad to be outdoors: “We had to burn our furniture to
cook and stay warm during ISIS occupation.”
He
himself was held for seven days by ISIS, he said, tortured alongside Yazidi and
Christian prisoners in central Mosul. “We need the love and forgiveness of
Jesus. What’s wrong with my people is we love chaos. In chaos we can do as we
want.”
Eubank
has been caught in the crossfire. His team was pinned down alongside Iraq’s
36th Brigade during several days’ fighting at Al-Salam Hospital, one of Mosul’s
largest medical facilities. Soldiers advanced quickly into the area then became
surrounded by ISIS fighters, who called for reinforcements from throughout the
city. ISIS deployed suicide bombers, destroying half a dozen tanks and killing
about 20 soldiers, before U.S. airstrikes successfully targeted the ISIS
positions.
The
airstrikes left the hospital in ruin, but three weeks after the battle the
surrounding area was coming back to life. Merchants opened shops displaying
mannequins dressed in colorful gowns—all forbidden under ISIS. Taxis again were
running, and children walked debris-strewn streets. “We’re no longer needed
here,” said Eubank, who only weeks before had ferried battle casualties across
the same roads. “Our main purpose is helping the people in greatest need, and
that means continuing to the next front alongside the army.”
Mosul’s Al-Salam Hospital lies in ruins (Mindy Belz)
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