By Allan Slater
Christian Peacemaker Teams

“The use of deadly force authorized beyond this point.” This is the best translation I have for the sign in Arabic beside the military checkpoint outside the city of Fallujah. Hundreds of cars and thousands of people line up to pass that sign on their way to their homes in the city. As we pass by Fallujah we can see the nearest subdivisions from the highway. The homes are deserted. Half of them have collapsed roofs because of the U.S. bombing. All the standing walls are pockmarked with bullet holes and huge holes from tank fire. Fallujah was an industrial center. Now one of the few industries in operation is the cement plant.

It is February 24th. We are on our way to the village of Amoriya about 25 kilometers south west of Fallujah. Hundreds of refugees from Fallujah now live in Amoriya. There are five of us in the car. Our driver has relatives in Fallujah. This connection to Fallujah is essential for security reasons. We asked to go along with an Iraqi human rights activist who was collecting stories and evidence of the suffering of the people from Fallujah. With her is an Iraqi pharmacist taking medical supplies to the refugees. Sheila Provencher and I are observers from the CPT team here in Iraq.

In Amoriya we go straight to a school. We enter the first classroom we come to. Crude shelters made of blankets have been constructed around the perimeter to give families a measure of privacy. There is a common area in the center of the room, which contains a gas- fired oven for making bread. The remains of a sheep lie on the floor. About 25 people have lived in this room since November. Two babies have been born here. All of the people have horrible stories to tell about their flight from Fallujah. Family members are injured, missing or dead. One man, with a family of five, tells us the U.S. military said he has to take his family back to Fallujah or he will be arrested. Their home in Fallujah does not exist. The U.S. destroyed it in the bombing. The man plans to leave his family in the care of other people while he goes on the lam to avoid arrest. We quickly pass by many other similar rooms and just look in. I start to wonder how many observers might have come to this school and stopped at the first room to hear stories and then passed on.

We stop at the single bathroom used by hundreds of people. Immediately we are surrounded by lots of people with stories. Some of these include people from the first room, especially the children. I look to the back of the group. New people crowd in or hang back. Likely they all have stories that they know we will not hear. As the moments go by their faces become more sullen, visible evidence of their growing anger and frustration that we will not hear their terrible stories. I start to wonder what our presence is doing to the community life of these people forced together under very difficult circumstances. The community is being divided into those who get to tell their stories and those who do not. There is an old scientific law that states, “nothing can be observed without inflicting change upon it.”

Outside, we walk behind the school into the dusty gravel playground. We see something that gives new meaning to “portable classrooms.” The play area is covered with drab dark tents that are being used for classrooms. A big, neatly lettered sign, all in English, proudly proclaims that this is a joint project of Human Appeal International and The Ministry of Education, Government of Iraq. We ask the assistant director of the school why the sign is only in English. She says it is for media, so that the group can mount appeals for money. We ask if she is proud that her government education ministry supports this project. We get an abrupt, No!

Suddenly someone hands the Iraqi human rights activist a note that says “You must leave the area at once.” Apparently, some people in the camp had spread the word that “Americans from the American embassy” were in the camp. The activist is a cool lady but she is clearly frightened. Some of the refugees provide us with a second car to accompany us out of the area. Our driver hands a concealed pistol he carries to one of the women we are with, knowing that she is less likely to be searched. Our Iraqi colleagues have put their lives in danger so Sheila and I can experience some of the problems of the people of Iraq.

Truly, the world needs to hear the stories of refugees, but it will be a long time before I go to another refugee camp without some sort of official invitation from the camp community. I believe that our visit has increased the likelihood of tensions in that refugee community.