Iraqi Refugee Crisis

Invisible Iraqis

Against a sensual and elegant backdrop of marble and lush carpets, impeccably attired men and women talk business in a room overlooking the fairy-tale lights of the city. The clink of ice in sparkling glasses, the splashing of Scotch and the fizz of soda mix with the talk and the muted laughter. The setting? Not Paris, or even Chicago or Dallas. This is the Le Royal Hotel in uptown Amman, where wealthy Jordanians, Iraqis and Americans come to deal. Downtown, however, near the al-Husseini mosque and Roman ruins of the ancient city of Philadelphia, a very different picture unfolds: one of grinding poverty, fear and desperation. Off a narrow alley in a room without windows, lives one of the many poor refugee families from Iraq. Like those who have fled to Damascus and elsewhere, this family is in search of relief and an escape from the unrelenting violence. "Mohammed" (not his real name) brought his family to Amman to find medical care for his son, and a life removed from the violence of Baghdad. In his prior life, he earned a living as a truck driver, but here in the city he and his four children, ranging from ages three to eleven, live out their time inside the dimly lit room so they won't be arrested as illegal refugees.

"Riya," his wife, spends her day sitting on the sidewalks of the old souk (marketplace) selling cigarettes, lighters and trinkets. She has a pleasant smile for each customer, but must be vigilant to ensure she doesn't get arrested or have her goods confiscated by the police. She wonders if anyone cares about her little family. This family of six arrived four months ago from the Sadr City district of Baghdad to seek medical help for a son, Haider, whose leg and back were severely burned in 2004 when a Katusha rocket landed near their home. He still needs extensive medical treatment, as well as plastic surgery. Since there was no hope for obtaining assistance in Iraq - all international aid organizations have fled the country - they saw Jordan as a new chance for their son. But so far, that has not proven to be the case. They receive some economic aid from Caritas, a Catholic social agency, but still struggle to pay their $65 monthly rent and buy food. Medical care is out of the question, whether for their son or for their other children, now suffering from malnutrition and from respiratory problems caused by the damp, moldy walls of the apartment.

YOU CAN HELP – from a prior blog post

Very few organizations are working on getting aid to Iraqi refugees, and of those that are, many are too small or too beleaguered to accept individual donations; the Iraqi Red Crescent, for example, has suffered bombings and mass kidnappings, yet its volunteers continue to deliver aid to displaced families inside Iraq. One of the larger relief organizations working with the refugees is the Catholic group Caritas, whose caseworkers I shadowed while in Amman. Bucking the image of the Land Rover-driving aid worker, they made their rounds in an aging gray Honda, its roof eaten through by rust. They visited Iraqi doctors, engineers, and executives desperate for food, heat, or blankets to fend off the desert winter; one family told the crew they had just sold their stove to buy food. Caritas helps a few thousand families a year, but "the demand far outstrips the money available to us," says Magy Mahrous, who oversees the project.

You can make a contribution at: International Catholic Migration Commission, Citibank USA, 153 East 53rd Street, 16th floor, New York, NY 10043. To ensure that the money reaches the Iraqi program, write "Iraq-icmc" on your check.