Iraqis With Ties to U.S. Cross Border Into Despair

Ammar Ibrahim resents that employees of the U.S. Embassy in Baghdad and U.S. military interpreters have better odds of reaching the United States than he does. "It's not fair. We were in more danger than them. We worked on different sites, and none were as secure as the Green Zone," he said. "The translators for the Army covered their faces when they worked. Nobody knows them. I could never cover my face at my job."

Mustafa Ahmed, 33, a computer engineer from Mosul, received a letter in October 2004 that branded him "a traitor" and said he "deserve[d] to be beheaded." His crime? He worked for ACDI/VOCA, a U.S. government-funded nonprofit that hands out micro-loans to impoverished Iraqis. So he fled to Jordan.

"Until this day, I look over my shoulder," Ahmed said.

Mohammed Ameen, burly with a long face and moustache, used his engineering skills to help set up MCI's telephone network in Baghdad, which is used by U.S. and Iraqi officials. He fled Iraq last year after a neighbor told his mother that he must stop working for the Americans -- or else he would die. Today, he walks around Amman with his expired U.S. Embassy Baghdad badge and credentials from the U.S.-led Coalition Provisional Authority, which ran Iraq until 2004.

His hopes of finding refuge in the United States rest with a small group of Americans who run the List Project, which promotes the resettlement of Iraqis who worked for the American effort. Ameen, after answering 150 questions about his plight and background, was added to the List this year.

"Am I a security risk? I've worked with the Americans for so long, and I never had a problem. Why should they be afraid of me?" Ameen asked. "Why should I not be allowed to find a job and have a decent life? I'm afraid to go back to Baghdad. I can't find a job here."

Nearly 800 Iraqis who worked for the Americans have joined the List. Nine have been resettled in the United States, along with six relatives, according to founder Kirk Johnson.

The money Ameen earned from working for the Americans is running out, and soon he may have no choice but to return to Baghdad. "The countdown has started," he said, shaking his head.

Intisar Ibrahim, the engineer, says she cannot work in Iraq again. "When you've entered the Green Zone, it's finished. There's a cross against you," she said. "You have to be killed."

Waleed Mohammed and Ghada Mohammed -- no relation -- both work inside the Green Zone. But their futures will soon diverge.

Waleed, who works for a small U.S. communications firm, tells his neighbors that he does computer maintenance for an Iraqi company. "After work, I go home and stay at home. I don't go outside," he said.

Waleed wants to move to the United States, but Iraqis cannot apply for resettlement from inside Iraq, and he can't afford to travel to Syria or Jordan. Those who manage to get a referral from the United Nations still face a long process of interviewing with U.S. officials, with no guarantees. "That would mean two years waiting for nothing," he said. "It needs a lot of money. Where would I get money from? Spend my savings? I've got a family, a daughter. I also have my old mother and father."

It's getting more difficult for Iraqis to leave. Burdened by the massive influx of refugees, Syria now admits Iraqis only with certain types of visas, and Jordan is considering similar restrictions.

Ghada, 36, also works for a U.S. military contractor but deals directly with the American Army. In March, she flew to Jordan to apply for a special immigrant visa for U.S. military interpreters. In August, her visa was approved. But her good fortune is tinged with guilt. "I have so many colleagues and friends working for Americans who do not have this chance. They face the same problems. But they can't apply because they don't have people with high ranks in the Army to vouch for them."

This month, she's headed first to Washington, then to settle in Baltimore. She's looking forward, she said, to finally feeling safe. She paused, realizing where she was, and added, "I hope I will stay alive until I leave."

Special correspondent Yasmin Mousa contributed to this report.