Tolerance of Iraqi refugees is growing thin in countries such as Jordan, where they are increasingly seen as a strain on resources, writes Mary Fitzgeraldin Amman
They call it "Little Baghdad". After midnight dozens of cars with black Iraqi registration plates clog the hilly streets of this once sleepy residential area of the Jordanian capital. In smoky cafes, the conversations come thick and fast, all delivered in the unmistakably guttural Iraqi dialect. As dawn approaches and the last belly dancer leaves the stage in one of the new Iraqi-owned clubs, customers sway to the strains of a maudlin folk song before spilling out for breakfast at one of the nearby restaurants recreated as replicas of much-loved hang-outs in Baghdad. Like Qaddouri, the no-frills cafe famed for its bagilla, a traditional Iraqi dish of fried eggs, mashed beans and bread. The owners moved to Amman last year after a suicide bomber targeted their premises on Abu Nawas Street in Baghdad.
Or Qassim's, where homesick émigrés queue for schwarma once renowned as the best in Iraq. "When the restaurant is full of people talking and eating, I almost feel like I'm back home in Baghdad. Baghdad before the war, that is," says Zuher, the manager. "Everyone gathers in this part of town. It helps to have your people around you, to feel that closeness when we are all far from home." Zuher came to Amman last July. He considers himself relatively lucky - no one in his immediate family has been killed but several distant cousins and friends lost their lives as Iraq slid into civil war. According to the UN High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR), more than 750,000 Iraqis have escaped the war next door to settle in Jordan. Others say the actual number is closer to one million because many keep a low profile for fear of being deported. Ranging from destitute Shia women selling cigarettes on street corners to the former Baathists who flaunt their wealth in Amman's new shopping malls, the refugees include members of Saddam Hussein's family - two of his daughters have set up home in the city's more affluent enclaves.
And it's not just in Jordan. Little Baghdads have sprung up in Damascus, Cairo and other Arab cities. Hundreds of Iraqis have also sought refuge in Turkey and Iran.
Almost two million Iraqis - about 8 per cent of the pre-war population - have joined the exodus out of the country, with the largest numbers choosing neighbouring Jordan and Syria. Those leaving include many doctors, professors, engineers and other professionals, the very people US officials hoped would build a brave new Iraq. Another 1.7 million have been displaced within the country, with tens of thousands of Iraqis fleeing their homes every month, according to the UNHCR.
ARAB GOVERNMENTS ARE loath to classify the new arrivals as refugees, forcing them to exist in a precarious semi-legal limbo as temporary visitors. A recent report by Human Rights Watch criticised Jordan for its tardiness in renewing visas for Iraqis who live "in the shadows, fearful and subject to exploitation". The report acknowledged the government's initial tolerance but added Jordan was now ignoring "the existence of hundreds of thousands of Iraqi refugees, does not address their needs for protection, and has not asked for international assistance on their behalf. It is a policy that can best be characterised as 'the silent treatment'." Aid officials are also concerned about Syria's plans to introduce restrictions on its Iraqi refugee population, a move many fear will result in hundreds being deported back to Iraq.
On a visit to the Middle East to highlight the issue this week, UN high commissioner for refugees António Guterres said the situation in Iraq had resulted in the biggest population movement in the region since the Palestinian exodus from Israel in 1948. Many fear the consequences of this demographic reshaping of the Arab world, uneasy about how it will ultimately effect the social, political and economic fabric of countries such as Jordan, Syria, Egypt and Lebanon. The increased strain on meagre resources means "tolerance is growing thin", a recent UN report warned. Already there are tensions in Jordan and Syria, with locals blaming recently arrived Iraqis for soaring prices and lack of work.
The most pronounced effects have been felt in Jordan, a tiny kingdom where the issue of refugees has always been a sensitive one - more than half its population is Palestinian.
In Amman, the population has doubled from one million in 2003, and property prices have increased three-fold in the last two years, edging many middle-class Jordanians out of the market.
"The pressure over society, over resources and infrastructure, over social systems and education, is enormous," says Guterres. "The sacrifices made by these countries are remarkable and the international community needs to assume full responsibility supporting them." Some locals accuse the exiles of ghettoisation, with the wealthier Iraqis perceived as doing little to invest in their host countries. Governments worry that the mix of Sunni, Shia and Christian refugees could result in a replication of Iraq's sectarian conflict beyond its borders. Iraqi refugees in Jordan say any initial tolerance has waned since Iraqi suicide bombers attacked three Amman hotels in 2005, killing 60 people. Since then the government has issued fewer residency permits, Iraqi men between the ages of 18 and 35 are denied entry at the border, and police regularly deport poorer refugees.
"Everything changed after the bombings," says one Iraqi, an engineer from Baghdad who doesn't want to be named. "I arrived two years ago and now I notice more suspicion and resentment from Jordanians. Everyone is feeling the pressure of rising prices but it is the Iraqis who get the blame."
MEANWHILE, THE UN is struggling to find the necessary funds to assist the refugees. Midhat Al Omari, an Iraqi programme assistant at UNHCR's offices in Amman, says the situation is becoming increasingly desperate. He left his home in Baghdad in 2003. "I get calls from friends and acquaintances all the time asking me what can the UN do for them," he says. "Jordan is expensive and people are worried about how long their money can last. Most people don't have residency so they are unable to work legally." Aid officials say the international community, and the US in particular, has been slow to recognise the problem and even slower to respond. The Bush administration earmarked $20 million (€15 million) of its 2007 budget for Iraqi refugee assistance, a paltry sum compared to the billions of dollars it is spending on the war itself. Fewer than 450 Iraqis have been allowed to immigrate to the US as refugees since the invasion in 2003. There are signs that this could change, however. At recent Senate hearings in Washington, there were calls for more funds to be made available for refugee relief. Democrats recommended the government do more to resettle Iraqis in the US, particularly those who have risked their lives working with American forces.
With compassion fraying, finances dwindling, and prejudice growing in their newly adopted countries, Iraqis such as Mohammed, a teacher from Mosul who moved to Amman last year, are fearful of what the future will bring. But no matter how bad things get in Jordan, he points out, remaining in Iraq would have been much worse. "Every day I think of all those left behind when I hear the terrible stories of what is happening there now," he says. "Anything would be better than that."