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Iraq's Christians consider fleeing as attacks on them rise
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Like many others, Mr. Maamouri, the Muslim merchant, sees Christians as sympathetic to the American occupiers. "When the Americans invaded Iraq, they thought God had delivered them," he says. "They think that this is their day."
The peace between Christians and Muslims in Iraq, ever fragile, has always cracked in the crucible of national crisis. In 1931, as the British Empire handed over Iraq to a "sovereign" government of its choosing, the country's Assyrian Christian minority begged for a protected enclave or permission to migrate en masse. The British rejected both, offering them a deal instead: Assyrian soldiers could guard Britain's air bases inside Iraq.
This illusory British "protection" proved fatal. In July 1933, a band of armed Assyrians tried to flee into neighboring Syria, and a border skirmish erupted. Iraqi authorities portrayed it as a full-blown insurrection by an Assyrian fifth column trying to bring back their imperialist protectors. That summer, Iraqi troops and armed Kurdish tribesmen led a massacre against Assyrians, culminating in the slaughter of hundreds of helpless Assyrian villagers on August 11. On their return to Baghdad, a cheering populace showered the troops with rose water and pelted them with flowers for their victory in crushing the Assyrian "revolt."
Today, Assyrians are again asking for a protected province in the north, as well as money to fund a hotline and three safe houses for victims of anti-Christian crimes. "If we can get a zone in the north of Iraq, the rest of Iraq is going to go to hell, but we can be safe," says Mr. Joseph. "Otherwise, Chicago and San Diego and Detroit had better get ready for another flood of Assyrian refugees."
About a month ago, a rumor tore through Baghdad's Christian community, half a million strong, that Australia had agreed to give Christians political asylum. Frantic asylum-seekers flooded passport offices and churches trying to get copies of their baptismal certificates.
Salwan, who asked that his last name not be published, was one of them. On June 19, he took a $10 taxi from Baghdad to Damascus. The next morning, he went to the UN High Commissioner for Refugees office on Maliki Street. On the sidewalk, hundreds of Iraqis waited in line. Most had slept there overnight, hoping to get in and register as refugees.
Salwan, a moonfaced young businessman, had already camped out overnight on the pavement twice. Each time, the office closed before he reached the head of the line. This time, he talked his way to the head of the line and got his prize: an official UNHCR document noting that he is an Armenian Catholic and giving him six months to apply for refugee status.
Now back in Baghdad, he says he loves Iraq, but he is hoping the UN will call him and tell him he can go to Australia: "Because of the situation, and because all my family is there, and because I cannot bear the life here anymore."
