Skilled Refugees Struggle After Fleeing Retaliation for Aiding America
By Pamela Constable
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Two years ago, Firas Safar was a successful Baghdad printer, winning contracts with U.S. authorities to produce brochures for aid missions, posters for army units, and several million copies of the new Iraqi constitution.
Today Safar, 31, is a jobless refugee in Takoma Park, part of a new wave of professional Iraqis who have received special immigration privileges because, in many cases, their work for U.S. authorities or organizations resulted in threats or violence back home. For many such as Safar, it has meant trading economic security in Iraq for personal security here.
He, his wife and two small daughters just moved into a tiny apartment. Half-opened suitcases spill off the bed, and toys are jumbled on a donated crib. Safar's most valuable possession is a laptop computer that contains images of his work in Iraq, images he hopes will win him a new career in the United States.
"I can do many things. I have many ideas," said Safar, restless in his cramped quarters and eager to start over. On his kitchen table is a reminder of the dangers he left behind: an educational comic book he designed and dedicated to his small cousin, who was killed by gunfire in an Iraqi schoolyard.
"That is the sadness of the past," Safar said. "Now the future is here: four people in one room."
Safar has gotten further than many. According to U.S. groups who advocate for their cause, thousands of Iraqis eligible to immigrate have not yet reached this country. They remain either stranded in Iraq, vulnerable to retaliation from anti-U.S. groups, or elsewhere in the Middle East, waiting out the long and cumbersome approval process.
State Department officials said the delays have stemmed in part from overburdened consular offices in Iraq and nearby countries, and in part from the bottlenecks caused by a need for exhaustive background checks by the Department of Homeland Security, especially for immigrants and refugees from Middle Eastern countries, in an era of heightened terrorism concerns.
"The demand has far exceeded what we initially anticipated," said one State Department official. He also noted that there had been a major change in U.S. policy, which was initially aimed at encouraging skilled Iraqis to remain home and help rebuild their country.
"For a long time, we did not want to open the floodgates," he said.
Last year, however, with the conflict continuing and danger increasing, Congress passed the Iraqi Refugee Crisis Act, which opened up more avenues for eligible Iraqis to immigrate. Officials said more than 6,800 Iraqis have reached the United States since early last year, and they expect to meet their goal of bringing 12,000 by September.
Under the act, Iraqis who "believe they are at risk or have experienced serious harm" because of their work for the U.S. government, multinational forces or other U.S.-based organization qualify to be resettled in the United States with their immediate families. In addition, all Iraqis who have worked with U.S. authorities may also qualify for less-urgent "special immigrant visas" to move to this country.
In the past, similar special immigration privileges have been given to groups that supported U.S. efforts, including Cambodians and Laotians who came to this country after the Vietnam War.
Kirk W. Johnson, a former U.S. aid worker in Iraq who has taken up the refugees' cause, says the government still has not done enough. He says swifter and more efficient action should have been taken to help Iraqis reach safety, especially those who performed courageous service as interpreters in combat zones or other high-risk jobs.
Johnson, who runs a nonprofit organization called the List Project, has compiled his own roster of nearly 1,000 eligible Iraqis, only 31 of whom have reached the United States. Trying to prod officials to put them on a faster track to resettlement, he recently brought new arrivals to Washington to testify before Congress and speak to reporters.
"Many of these people have been threatened or tortured, their relatives have been raped or even killed, all because they helped the United States," Johnson said at a workshop for refugees in the District this month. "They were branded as collaborators, and the stain of collaboration does not evaporate."
The second part of his crusade is to help find the displaced professionals more fulfilling jobs than the cab-driving or car-parking shifts that are the frequent fate of educated foreign refugees. The recent workshop was organized to help them practice job-hunting skills, and the highlight was a mass mock-interview exercise.
Seated in pairs of chairs, 40 carefully dressed, mostly middle-age men sat across from 40 volunteers who tried to look stern as they scanned résumés and fired questions in rapid English. Asked about their job histories, qualifications and workplace attitudes, the Iraqis answered politely but not always precisely, struggling with their English.
One gray-haired man, a former translator for the U.S. military who now lives in Nashville, spoke at length about his years of experience as a civil engineer building offices and bridges in Iraq. His manner was formal and his explanations were overly technical. The mock interviewer grew impatient, looking for a human spark that the applicant was too nervous to supply.
Only after the session ended did the man confide what was really on his mind.
"It is very hard," said Hashim Abbas, 51. "I drive taxi, I work in Target at night, I get 50 dollars a day. It is not enough. My son has many problems, he cannot walk, he cries all night. He has the cerebral palsy. We worry all the time. We have no insurance, we have to ask for charity, this is shame for us. I want to contribute to this country, I want to work as engineer, for the future of my children, please."
According to U.S. officials, some of the Iraqis receive short-term government benefits that include money for rent and food, but others must rely on private or religious charities for support, depending on which of several immigration programs allowed them to enter the country. Although many arrive with immediate legal permission to work, others have to wait for months.
For Atheer Muslim, 26, who lives in Falls Church with his wife and infant daughter, the tedium of waiting for immigration papers and work authorization has been outweighed only by the relief of being safe after a long, harrowing nightmare.
Muslim, a computer analyst, held a series of sensitive jobs with U.S. authorities in Iraq, from analyzing intelligence to acting as a conduit between U.S. forces and local leaders in conflicted areas. Although careful to cover his face while on duty with U.S. military forces, he began to receive threats that escalated to several attempts on his life.
Even now, he said, his relatives in Iraq continue to receive threats, making it impossible for him to return home.
"I dreamed of coming to America since the seventh grade, but not like this," said Muslim, whose apartment is empty except for a bed, some baby toys and a TV set donated by a Quaker group.
"I have spent the last eight months doing nothing. I am not a man to cry on anyone's shoulder, and I will do any job to survive," he said. "I know I cannot go back to Iraq. I just want to get started here."
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