Trudy
Rubin, Inquirer Opinion Columnist
May
24, 2015
The
news from the Middle East has become so grim I am always looking for a bright
spot.
So,
on a recent trip to Iraqi Kurdistan, it was a relief and a surprise to come
across an upbeat story in an unexpected place: a church in Erbil that houses
Christian refugees from northern Iraq who barely escaped the ISIS invasion in
August.
The
first hint of something unexpected was the shrieks of children's laughter when
I entered the Mar Elias churchyard. The next surprise was seeing young boys and
girls playing volleyball together on a paved court under improvised night
lights, a sight I'd never seen in the gender-conscious Middle East.
This
scene was a far cry from the dark days when ISIS overran ancient Christian
towns in Nineveh province and 60,000 Christians fled to Iraqi Kurdistan, where
they crowded into cheap apartments or churches or squatted in unfinished
buildings.
The
Kurds, who are Sunni Muslims but not Arabs, welcomed the Christians but
couldn't cope with the influx (having already accepted 200,000 Syrian refugees
and previous waves of Christians fleeing Baghdad and Mosul).
At
Mar Elias, 110 families, 564 people in all, jammed into its large grounds in
Ankawa, a Christian suburb of Erbil. Mar Elias is a Chaldean, or Eastern-rite
Catholic church, but the refugees included other Catholics and Syrian Orthodox.
They were a confused angry crowd with hundreds of traumatized children.
"We
had to use the church garden and an unfinished mall," recalled Father
Douglas Bazi, an ebullient Iraqi cleric with a brush cut and a short
salt-and-pepper beard, wearing black slacks and an electric-blue short-sleeved
shirt.
But
when relief agencies finally sought to move the refugees into rental apartments
or makeshift camps, a strange thing happened. "People here refused to
move," Father Douglas said.
Under
the priest's direction, and with the contributions of local Christian
volunteers, the refugees had morphed into a close community. With help from
charitable groups and local volunteers, Father Douglas had moved them into
brightly colored trailers - he uses the British term, caravans - which line the
edges of the churchyard.
And,
gradually, the children began to laugh.
Having
seen other, desolate refugee camps filled with desperate Christians (or
Muslims) bereft of hope, and living in confusion, I can assure you that Mar
Elias is not the norm.
What
Father Douglas had decided to do was focus on young children and teens.
"To focus on the adults in a time of chaos is a waste of time," he
told me. "I care about the kids. They are our revenge and our
promise."
When
the children arrived with their families "they were lost," the priest
recalled. "They were aggressive, and the boys used bad language."
There was no sense of order. He was determined to keep the kids busy, although
the government was unable to provide formal schooling until two months ago. He
set up programs staffed by volunteers from Ankawa and from among the refugees,
to teach English, French, music, dancing, and acting - all the things that ISIS
had banned.
He
forbade families from sending their children to work. He insisted that girls
and boys learn and play sports together, another repudiation of ISIS ideology -
and something uncommon even among Iraqi Christians. He created a camp library
in two trailers with donated books and computers and a huge chessboard, putting
students in charge.
He
has just acquired another trailer that will become a kindergarten and plans to
set up a sports arena for the kids in another building.
Still,
Father Douglas has given himself an uphill task in an uncertain time.
"The
future of Christians in northern Iraq is vague and the challenges great,"
I was told by Chaldean Bishop Bashar Warda in his Erbil residence.
Tens
of thousands of Christians have fled to Erbil from Baghdad over the last decade
to escape violence and church bombings, while Chaldean clerics were murdered in
Mosul during the violent years after the U.S. invasion.
But
the latest exodus has raised questions about the very survival of historic
Christian communities in Iraq. Bishop Bashar has worked frantically with
Christian charitable groups to raise money to cope with the refugees from Mosul
and Nineveh, but the money is running out as the months are passing. So he
agonizes over whether and when these destroyed communities can be rebuilt or
repopulated, even if ISIS is ultimately defeated.
Until
the violence in nearby Syria is halted, and the jihadis driven out of Mosul,
there is no way Christian refugees can return home.
As
for Father Douglas, he says he can't say whether it's better for Christians to
stay or emigrate abroad, where they would lose touch with historic communities
that have endured for generations.
So
he will keep pursuing his goal: Give children the skills and a mind-set that
will enable them to survive the coming years of hardship. "If I lose one
kid, I lose the future," he insists.
This
indefatigable priest is looking for donations of illustrated children's books
in simple English. He would also love to have some volunteer English teachers
for a two- or three-week stretch this summer. To learn more, e-mail him at [email protected].
