Father Najeeb Michaeel works on an old manuscript at the Oriental Manuscript Digitisation Center (CNDO) in Arbil. SAFIN HAMED / AFP
ishtartv.com - middle-east-online.com
2018-03-09
Father
Najeeb Michaeel: We can't save a tree if we don't save its roots, and a man
without culture is a dead man.
BAGHDAD
- As jihadists swept across Iraq three years ago, he rescued a treasure trove
of ancient religious manuscripts from near-certain destruction. Father Najeeb
Michaeel is now training fellow Iraqis to preserve their heritage.
"My
duty is to save our heritage, a significant treasure," the Dominican friar
told AFP in a telephone interview from his office in the city of Arbil, capital
of Iraqi Kurdistan.
"We
can't save a tree if we don't save its roots, and a man without culture is a
dead man."
In
August 2014, as the Islamic State (IS) group charged towards Qaraqosh, once
Iraq's largest Christian city, Father Najeeb filled his car with rare
manuscripts, 16th century books and irreplaceable records.
He
fled towards the relative safety of the autonomous Kurdish region in northern
Iraq.
With
two other friars from his Dominican order, he also moved the Oriental
Manuscript Digitisation Centre (OMDC).
Founded
in 1990, the centre works in partnership with Benedictine monks to preserve and
restore documents. It also scans damaged manuscripts recovered from churches
and villages across northern Iraq.
In
all, some 8,000 Chaldean, Syrian, Armenian and Nestorian manuscripts have been
digitally copied.
Today,
the OMDC has about 10 employees, "displaced people who have turned into
professionals" who host researchers from France, Italy or Canada, the
friar said.
-
'Whole heart into it' -
The
new recruits are all academics who lost their jobs after fleeing their homes
during the jihadist takeover.
"They
are working for the future and they know it. They put their whole heart into
it," said Father Najeeb, whose team includes Christians and Muslims.
Thousands
of religious relics and sites, both Christian and Muslim, were destroyed by IS
before Iraqi security forces finally declared victory against the extremists in
December.
"I've
trained four or five different teams," said Father Najeeb, explaining that
as Iraqi troops advanced against IS, many trainees returned home, forcing him
to take on fresh recruits.
The
centre now makes several copies of each document to guarantee its preservation.
Originals are returned to the owners, one copy is kept on file and another
posted on its online digital database.
Until
2007, these documents were kept in the convent of Al-Saa church, also known as
Our Lady of the Hour, in the city of Mosul, which became the major battleground
of Iraq's war against IS.
The
archives contain nearly 850 ancient manuscripts in Aramaic, Arabic and other
languages, letters dating back three centuries and some 50,000 books.
Al-Saa
church takes its name from its clock, which was a gift from France in 1880,
given to the Dominicans in recognition of their social and cultural work.
The
Dominican order had opened 25 schools across Mosul and its surrounding
province, and -- on the backs of camels trekking across the desert -- brought
Iraq its first printing house in 1857.
-
'Peace, not the sword'-
But
attacks against churches in Mosul were on the rise even before IS seized
control of the city in 2014. At least five priests and a bishop had been
murdered since 2004.
"I
was on the list of religious figures to kill," said Father Najeeb.
In
2007, he moved the archives to Qaraqosh, some 30 kilometres (20 miles) away.
Thanks
to "a premonition" in late July 2014, the Dominicans relocated the
archives once again, this time to Iraqi Kurdistan.
When
IS pushed into the Christian city less than two weeks later, the friars filled
their cars with the remaining documents and followed suit.
Jihadists
tried to stop them at the Kalak crossroads into Iraqi Kurdistan but Kurdish
peshmerga fighters intervened. The friars were left without a car and forced to
continue on foot.
"As
soon as I saw anyone with their hands empty, I handed them some of the cultural
treasures and asked them to return them once they entered Kurdistan," said
the friar. "I got everything back."
When
he returned to Mosul last year to attend the first post-IS Christmas mass,
Friar Najeeb found his church in ruins.
The
tower that housed the clock had vanished, the convent had been converted into a
jail, rooms transformed into workshops for bombs and explosive belts, and
gallows had replaced the church altar.
But
Father Najeeb, who plays organ and electric guitar, remains hopeful. "I'm
optimistic. The last word will be one of peace, not the sword," he said.
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