By Donna Mulhearn

The statistics on the whiteboard looked frightening. There were columns of Arabic words in black pen and rows of various numbers in bright red. Asterisks, arrows, ticks and crosses. The whiteboard squiggles presented a scenario that appeared chaotic and overwhelming. But still it did not convey the human horror of the Fallujah refugee situation.

We were in the offices of the Iraqi Red Crescent Society, the group now grappling with the disaster of an entire city becoming homeless in a war zone - a disaster within a disaster.

Ra’id, my Iraqi friend and helper could not wait to start work helping the people of Fallujah.

“This is the best work to do now in Iraq,” he said punching the air with even more than his usual high-level enthusiasm.

“The Iraqi people have big emotion for the people of Fallujah and the Australian people do too.”

Ra’id, 33, spent three months in Australia this year and personally felt the deep concern Australians have for the Iraqi people. He is keen to convey this concern to his fellow citizens who are suffering the most, the Fallujans

With fundraising from Australia, our little organisation, Our Home – Iraq, would be able to help some of these people.

So we started by seeking advice from the ones who know what they are talking about. The Iraqi Red Crescent Society is the group most aware of the situation and how best to help.

When we arrived outside the Red Crescent office, we immediately got a taste of the task ahead as we were mobbed a group of woman and children waiting outside.

“Can you help us?” they asked. “We are from Fallujah, we need so many things …”

Their faces were etched with lines of stress; their eyes were desperate, their clothes were thin and dirty.

“Please, when we left it was warmer and now it is so cold and we have no heater.”

Inside International Relations Manager, Mr Mazin Salloum told us that Red Crescent staff estimate that more than 200,000 people from Fallujah were now ‘internally displaced’.

That’s a population bigger than Newcastle or Wollongong!

He said a large number had sought refuge in four or five towns around Fallujah, many had swam across the river or travelled by foot to get to the towns. Others found their way to Baghdad.

That’s like the residents of Newcastle desperately converging on Cessnock, Maitland, Kurri Kurri, and Raymond Terrace by swimming down the Hunter River or marching along the New England Highway.

Mr Salloum said the accommodation in these towns ranged from sleeping on the ground under trees, to make-shift tents to the floors of mosques, schools and empty buildings.

“They don’t like to be in tents,” he assured me, not really needing to. I’d assumed as much. I had been to Fallujah before and seen the many large, cosy, comfortable houses. I wouldn’t want to swap it for a cold, concrete floor either.

And there were no facilities to support the throng of humans in the near-freezing conditions. No power, hot water, gas or kerosene.

So it’s camping out in Cessnock but without the amenities block! Imagine living in these conditions with your grandmother, your mother-in-law, your cousins and all their children - and not for the Christmas holidays, but indefinitely. And with nothing.

In Baghdad, the Fallujah families converged on mosques; some camped on the lawns of the university, others found rooms with families or in bombed-out buildings.

Mr Salloum said, on average, 15 families a day came to the Red Crescent office asking for help.

“They ask specifically for blankets, heaters and food,” he said.

“When they left Fallujah it was still warm. Now it is cold and they have no warm clothes or blankets to cope with the temperatures,” he said.

“When you have to run, it is impossible to take everything with you.”

That’s the predicament for those outside Fallujah. Inside it’s worse. Far worse.

Red Crescent staff report that dogs are still eating the decomposing bodies that litter the streets. Raw sewage is flowing through neighbourhoods. There is no power or running water. People are starving, one family forced to eat flour for three days.

Staff met two old women who could not leave before the attacks because they had no relatives outside Fallujah and no where to go. They survived, but are gravely ill.

The Red Crescent has set up a small office inside the city and try to get in each day with medicines, fresh food and water. Entry is often refused by US forces because of what they call: “military operations.”

When I asked Mr Salloum to share more stories from inside Fallujah, he hesitated.

“I don’t want to make a problem. There are many stories, but telling these stories publicly has caused trouble for us.

“Trouble?” I asked.

“We cannot risk losing the cooperation of the military…”

I didn’t press him on the matter. It was clear. The Red Crescent was being pressured and censored by the US forces.

“This is not a natural disaster,” he said. “There are no politics in a natural disaster. This is war and we are caught in the middle.”

As I left the building his words kept ringing in my ears.

“This is not a natural disaster.”

The women were still waiting outside; their faces more desperate, their eyes more hollow.

“This is not a natural disaster.”

We spoke with the women, took their details and told them we would provide blankets, heaters and food for their families.

“I am sorry,” one young mother said to me in English as we were leaving, her head low with shame.

“Sorry?”

I touched her arm and blinked away the tears. My emotion stole my voice from me so I had to whisper: “Don’t be sorry.”

This is not a natural disaster.

The words started pounding in my head. This is a man-made disaster. Someone made this happen. Someone planned this. Someone executed this.

This is not a natural disaster.

“I’m sorry” I told her as we left.

Your pilgrim
Donna

Refugee Work

After meeting with the Red Crescent staff to discuss the Fallujah refugee crisis, we got their blessing and encouragement to go ahead and start the work.

We had received some information on where large groups of Fallujah families were staying in Baghdad so Raid went to investigate a few of the sites so we could get a good idea of their numbers and needs.

He found a Muslim theological school in Central Baghdad which had agreed to give over its buildings to Fallujah families.

After Raid described the scene and the conditions to me, I knew this was a good place to start. There were more than 40 families living in classrooms and corridors. Around 400 people in total, almost half of which were children. And he heard there were more on the way!

The greatest challenge for the families was the cold temperatures. When they fled Fallujah they could not carry heavy blankets or heaters.

So we decided to buy some good quality, thick double blankets and give two to every family along with a kerosene heater.

We would also supply a large quantity of kerosene, two hot water heaters, a large supply of flour for making bread and some nappies and supplies for the babies.

Food was being donated by the Iraqi community who rallied around to help, so that was not a pressing need for the moment.

Raid spent a day shopping for these things and got some friends together to help prepare them for delivery. It was large volume and a lot of work.

We were keen for the families to know that the help had come from Australian people who were concerned for their well-being, so we made a paper to slip in the blanket bags saying in English and Arabic: ‘Aid for Iraq, from Australian people’. It was important that it not be seen to have any Government involvement.

We had to decide if it was too risky for me to go with Raid to deliver the aid. In the end, I decided to do it because I didn’t just want to give physical aid; I wanted to offer friendship as well. To shake hands, share hugs and make personal connections with people.

As I was on the way to the school, the risk was heightened by an unexpected drive down Haifa Street because of a US military roadblock along the route we were supposed to take. You might have heard of Haifa Street on the news? It is a major thoroughfare in central Baghdad which is controlled by insurgents. There are fierce gun battles and explosions there every day. It was a place I had planned to avoid.

I didn’t realise I was on Haifa Street until I was half way down it. The driver carried on nervously. I didn’t let on to him that I knew where we were, but we laughed about it later when he told me he hoped I hadn’t noticed!

Fortunately it was Friday, which is a holiday here, so Haifa Street was quiet. But I could see evidence of battles fought in the days before. Burnt out cars, potholes in the road, bent and twisted fences, many of the shops were permanently closed. If anyone wants to tell you everything is okay in Iraq, take a drive down Haifa Street and you know its not.

The Iraqi resistance is well and truly in control here, as they are in many other areas of Iraq.

I arrived at the school turned refugee camp not really knowing what to expect and how it would all turn out, but feeling happy to have the chance to connect with people who had just become a cliché on the news.

In the blow-by-blow accounts by embedded media on the US attack on Fallujah, the civilians who live there were often portrayed as some sort of an inconvenience to the military campaign to destroy their city.

They have other views, rather strong ones, about inconvenience and who has created it.

Their views and stories to come.

Your pilgrim
Donna

Donna was in Iraq prior to, during and after the US invasion of Iraq. She is from Australia and recently returned to Baghdad. Read Donna’s prior writings from Iraq.