Earlier this year, I took my first-ever trip abroad and landed in Kurdistan, the semi-autonomous region that stretches across northern Iraq, touching Syria, Turkey, and Iran. I arrived in Kurdistan with no first-hand knowledge of the region, taking with me only what I’d read about the Kurds and their vital contribution to the fight against Daesh, the self-proclaimed Islamic State. What is less discussed, and the most impactful takeaway of my time in Kurdistan, is the outsized humanitarian burden the region is shouldering.
Tensions between the Kurdistan Regional Government and the central Iraqi government in Baghdad came to a head after a Sept. 25 referendum in Kurdistan: 92 percent voted in favor of the region’s independence from Iraq. The referendum exposed the deep mistrust that’s been boiling under the surface for years. Both governments have struggled to build interdependent but functioning post-Saddam societies while coping with an economic slump, all compounded by the terror and massive humanitarian crisis the jihadi cult left in its wake.
With help from the United Nations and private humanitarian organizations, Kurdistan and its population of just more than 5 million is supporting nearly 2 million refugees and internally displaced people from within Iraq. Kurdistan has taken in more people per capita than any Arab or European Union country, and perhaps any country in the world, and is providing a safe haven for persecuted religious and ethnic minorities. With this influx, the population of the small region, which has roughly the land area of Vermont and New Hampshire, has ballooned by nearly 30 percent. That’s equivalent to the U.S. taking in 128 million refugees; for context, the Trump administration recently lowered the U.S. refugee admissions cap to a pitiful 45,000.
During the months-long battle to reclaim Mosul from Daesh, an estimated 10,000 civilians were fleeing the city each day. This steady stream of sick, hungry, and desperate people placed immense pressure on Kurdistan’s already strained infrastructure, healthcare, and economic systems.
The group of American advocates I traveled with witnessed this crisis up close. On the ground, the humanitarian situation is at the forefront of every conversation, and the frustrations with Baghdad over the lack of necessary aid are apparent. The KRG has not been receiving its share of the national budget from Baghdad, and foreign aid shipments of food and medical supplies are routed through Baghdad, where they are delayed or pillaged before heading north or prevented from getting to Kurdistan entirely.
At a meeting of high-level U.N. humanitarians during the U.N. General Assembly’s recent convening in New York, Kurdistan’s Foreign Minister, Falah Mustafa Bakir, said that the U.N. and non-governmental organizations were only providing 22 percent of the needed assistance.
Camps are overflowing with Syrian refugees and internally displaced Iraqis, including men, women, and children, Arabs and Kurds, Yazidis, Muslims, and Christians, all living side-by-side — trying to keep themselves and their families alive, and waiting for the day when they can return home. Some have been waiting for years, but their villages remain unsafe or were completely destroyed.
At the Ashti IDP camp I visited outside of Sulaymaniyah, children flocked to our cohort of well-heeled Americans as we made our way through the endless rows of family shelters. We played soccer, shared candy, and got the kids giggling with iPhone selfies, all the while feeling devastated that there wasn’t more we could do.
We could not erase their trauma. We could not rebuild their homes. We could not promise them a peaceful future. As I studied the faint smile of a shy, four-year-old boy, I realized he’d probably never lived anywhere other than the makeshift structures within the camp, the cinder-block walls, tents, and tarps that made his home. I felt embarrassed by the comforts of our own lives — the air-conditioned SUVs we would return to, the feast of a lunch awaiting us, the warm showers and secure night’s sleep we’d have that evening.
I grew up in rural Arkansas; I thought I knew what poverty looked like. I was wrong.
At the time of our visit, the Ashti camp was supporting an estimated 33,000 people. It’s one of the better-performing facilities, but there is a dire lack of food, water, and medicine. Daily caloric intake is far below where it should be. Camp administrators told us they often receive only 15 days’ worth of food and water to ration over a monthlong period. There aren’t enough seats in the classrooms to provide the thousands of children in the camp with even a rudimentary education. People aren’t starving, but they are malnourished, and the situation could deteriorate rapidly.
The KRG’s representative in Washington, Bayan Sami Abdul Rahman, told me that when these families begin to see their children starve, the chances increase that they’ll climb aboard a rickety boat and risk it all trying to cross the Mediterranean to get to Europe.
Onlookers and diplomats alike feel helpless facing this humanitarian crisis after the years-long fight against Daesh, but there are needs that can be met for the IDPs and refugees in the short term. One immediate solution would be to allow for the flow of humanitarian aid directly into Kurdistan, rather than routing it through Baghdad. As Erbil and Baghdad seek to resolve this post-referendum conflict, the fragile humanitarian situation should not be forgotten, and discussions to improve and stabilize the lives of these individuals should be prioritized.
We must separate these immediate needs from the ongoing, but no less important, conversation about whether the U.S. or Europe should accept more refugees. It’s arrogant to assume these families want to be in the U.S. or Europe, and it’s absurd to suggest they are seeking to come to our shores for sinister purposes. Many don’t want to leave their families, their culture, and their ancestral homelands, and they’re eager to preserve their pride and their heritage. They seek refuge outside of their home countries when it is their only chance for survival.
The Kurds yearn for a stronger, more stable Middle East, and the Kurdish people deserve a chance to pursue independence and democracy in a similar, messy way as America’s founders. There will never be a perfect time to break free from an imperfect country like Iraq.
The children we met in the Ashti camp are the Middle East’s next generation. Will we step in to ensure their needs are met, and not tossed aside, during the tough negotiations ahead? Will they know what American leadership looks like? Will they see our beacon for freedom, democracy, and security in the world, or will we allow more ominous forces to fill the void and shape the ensuing decades of Middle East relations?
Keeley Hanlon (@keeley_hanlon) is a director at Allegiance Strategies, a Washington-based public affairs firm, where she engages directly with conservatives to advance freedom for refugees, immigrants, religious minorities, and LGBTQ people.
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