Iklass and Raed are married with five children (unfortunately I can’t remember/spell all their names, but if I ever find a mini USB cord and upload pictures, you better be sitting down because the cuteness is overwhelming). They left Iraq several years ago to escape threats from all sides: they were simultaneously in danger from American bombing, Shi’a extremists targeting all of the Sunnis in their neighborhood, and militia factions threatening to kill Raed if he did not join them. Things became unbearable when their Sunni neighbors who had received the same written threats they did were killed. Around the same time, a bomb exploded near one of their small sons, who suffered serious brain damage, and their daughter developed a kidney disorder and required regular medical care, which was simply unavailable. So the family fled, joining the growing population of Iraqi refugees in Jordan.

This population is estimated at somewhere between 165,000 and 800,000, depending on which study or organization you believe. A Jordanian official we spoke with estimated the number at approximately 500,000, which he got from the most recent international study, plus the border entry numbers from 2008.

The first step for a newly arrived refugee in Amman should be to register with UNHCR, the UN’s refugee agency. It doesn’t cost anything, and it opens the door of eligibility for a number of benefits, most of which UNHCR pays for through grants to other NGO’s (Caritas for medical care, IRC for cash assistance and so on). UNHCR also refers registered refugees to other charities (like the Jordan River Foundation, which works on domestic violence and empowerment issues). If necessary, it also refers Iraqis to their Special Protection Unit (if they’re under a specific threat even in Jordan), and/or to the Resettlement Office. Even though registration is, by all accounts, pretty simple (we haven’t heard of anyone turned away), only 70,000 refugees have taken this step. Where the others are and why they haven’t registered is somewhat of a mystery, but it probably has to do with misinformation, rumors of deportation, and fear of authority, all pretty natural responses to the total destruction of their former lives.

OK, so this is where things get a little more complex. Our family is registered, they’re certain they cannot return to Iraq, they’re running out of money here, and their children aren’t getting necessary medical treatment. They need to be resettled, and through the Collateral Repair Project are in touch with Oregonians who will help them transition and establish themselves there.

But they couldn’t take their resettlement needs directly to the US department, since they didn’t work for the US government in Iraq (which would get them Special Immigration Visas), and they don’t have blood relatives in the US (which would help them apply for a green card directly). So they were required to apply for a referral from the UNHCR’s resettlement office. UNHCR interviews resettlement applicants and judges them based on a list of 11 priority categories,* and if they are approved, refers them to one of the embassies whose host country is accepting refugees for resettlement.** The UN allows applicants for referral to appoint a legal representative, although there are not really legal resources available to most of them (yet), and Iklass and Raed did not have one.

Nevertheless, Iklass, Raed and their children, since they were medically vulnerable and persecuted based on their religious origin, were referred to the United States Embassy, via IOM (the International Organization for Migration, which the State Department essentially contracted out this review work to), so they made it to the next level of refugee bureaucracy. Here, the IOM opened another file on them and did another interview, but the process stalled. Since it is socially unacceptable for a woman, rather than her husband, to attend an official function like this, Raed was in the interview by himself, and when he was asked what would happen if he went back to Iraq, he made a mistake (if you can call it that).

He said he didn’t know.

Of course, no one knows what would happen to them if they went back to Iraq, although the most reasonable prediction would be death for one or all family members, but at this point his interviewer closed his file and the family got a notice from the US embassy that they were “ineligible for resettlement,” that “there is no appeal” and that the principal applicant may make a detailed request for review based on new evidence or significant error within 90 days.

There are no guarantees that we will be successful in pressing Iklass and Raed’s case, of course. But I hope I’ve demonstrated that at this point, a family in their situation needs a lawyer. Any rational person faced with this final determination on their entire future peppered with legalese would head straight for the nearest directory of attorneys. Unfortunately, refugees at this stage have no right to legal representation. No, more than that, they’re not allowed it. Our legal advocates can help them prepare their documents, make legal arguments on their behalf, and moot them before their last interview, assuming it is granted. But unlike an asylum seeker (who has already made it to US soil), these applicants may not bring a legal representative with them to meetings at IOM, and their representatives are not allowed access to their files. Their legal rights are about on par with someone applying for a tourist visa – none.

By the way, there have been some large demonstrations here, and yesterday the police tear gassed a pro-Palestine rally. I’m completely fine, but if you’re the slightest bit worried about my safety, it would be great if you could channel that into supporting the end of the siege: http://www.codepink4peace.org/article.php?id=4410. Thanks!

*

1. victims of severe trauma, detention, abduction, torture by state or non-state entities

2. members of minority groups and/or individuals which are/have been targeted owing to their religious/ethnic origin

3. women at risk

4. unaccompanied or separate children, children as principal applicants

5. dependants of refugees living in resettlement countries

6. older persons-at-risk

7. medical cases and refugees with disabilities with no effective treatment available

8. high profile cases and/or their family members

9. Iraqis who fled as a result of their association with Multi National Force, Coalition Provisional Authority, UN, foreign countries, international and foreign institutions or companies and members of the press

10. stateless persons from Iraq

11. Iraqis at immediate risk of refoulement

** Many applicants get stuck at this point in the process, since if they’re not approved, they’re also not denied – they just sort of stay in limbo and keep renewing their registration. This can be terrible if, for example, the applicant is very ill, since they don’t know whether to go home to Iraq to die, or to stay in Jordan hoping for resettlement and risk dying here, separated from friends and family.

Have you ever realized, after a particularly bitter fight or an angry encounter, that you’ve flat out broken your relationship with someone, whether they’re a friend or a stranger? You know that sinking feeling you get, realizing how much work it will take to repair the trust?

This morning we met with Najlaa, a former teacher from Iraq now working for Direct Aid Iraq, a small and very focused group that responds to the immediate medical and other needs of refugees that are unable to access urgently needed help from more beaurocratic aid agencies. She is an incredibly competent woman, accomplishing a great deal in terms of concrete benefits to the refugees who call her for help. But she also sustains a philosophy that bringing help directly from American citizens can heal the broader traumatization of Iraqi/American relations, preventing future conflict. Each act of assistance is accompanied by a statement of American goodwill, so that recipients are provided both a concrete benefit and a message in furtherance of peace. Nearly all of DAI’s funding comes from the United States, and hundreds of refugees here in Amman have already received this double gift. She described the process on both sides as “washing the heart with tears.”

Najlaa’s lesson of intentional reconciliation was brought into focus for me as our bus driver returned us to the hotel. Seeing a march up ahead, he swerved up a side street and pulled over, insisting we walk the rest of the way ourselves. He didn’t want our bus (oh-so-subtley labeled “Tourists” in big lettering) to get rocks thrown at it on its way through the crowd.* The demonstration was in response to the recent bombings in Gaza, not directly against America, but the proverbial cycle of violence was clearly present: “Arafat, teach us how to blow up airplanes” chanted one section of the 2,000-person crowd.

This post is emphatically not about guilt (as I read in a rather cheesy book I won’t name, guilt is the ego tricking us into thinking we’re making moral progress). There will always be people learning how to bomb airplanes (and cities and embassies and innocent civilians), and when it’s not done in God’s name, I notice it’s often done in ours. So the rest of us will just have to learn other skills, like how to pick up the pieces.

* We’re pretty sure he was just being overly cautious. We walked through the crowd to the hotel and definitely did not get stoned. Jordan is pretty safe, and the people have been nothing but kind and welcoming toward us – more on that later.

I spent the night sleeping in bits and pieces on my flight to Amman, waking up occasionally to chat and sympathize with Eric, the Blackwater security contractor seated next to me. We joked about the food and the cramped seats, but he also told me a little bit about his job over our twelve hours together. He told me about how he misses his wife and kids. About how he hates working in Iraq, he’s sick of the violence, but he gets paid more than he could ever make at home. He told me about how after seven years in the military, he quit and went into private security because it pays far more for essentially the same work, and explained that his company can pay more than the government because they don’t have to have the same support network, and the government is willing to pay a lot for the contract because it “keeps their hands clean.” He also likes working in the private sector because he gets assignments for only three months at a time – he was once kept in Iraq for a fifteen month tour.

I tried to keep the conversation somewhat lighthearted (Eric was a very nice guy), but really, it’s tough. When I started flipping through my lonely planet trying to learn some Arabic phrases and asked if he knew any, he shrugged. “Naw. Just ‘put your hands behind your head’ and ‘freeze’ and ‘down on the ground.’”

Well, what can you do? I learned the word for freeze – kif – which who knows, maybe will come in handy. I passed on the other phrases though.

Sidenote: this one time, I went speed dating in Boston and I met an interrogator for the Navy in Guantanamo. True story. He told me that Americans don’t understand what has to be done to protect them. The end of our eight minute date cut short our conversation, but John, if you’re out there, I understand what is being done, and it isn’t protecting anyone. Not me, not the Iraqi people, not the young Americans who have now spent years risking their lives chasing the aftermath of phantom weapons of mass destruction and their imagined mushroom clouds.

P.S. I’ll be blogging over the next ten days or so about my experiences in Amman. I generally won’t use the real names of the people I meet in the interest of their safety.