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THREAT OF WAR LOOMS OVER KURDISH VILLAGE
Khaleej Times
Oct 24 2007
United Arab Emirates
ENISHKE, Iraq - Georgis Hamon Shlemo feels he is being stalked by
fate. The Christian fled Baghdad to escape the daily violence and
settled down to a new life in his ancestors' village of Enishke in
Iraq's Kurdish region. But now war has caught up with him again.
In the dead of night, six Turkish artillery shells slammed into the
sleeping village just 20 kilometres (12 miles) from the border.
Nobody was hurt and the damage was minimal, but the craters and
scorched vegetation are clear for all to see.
For Shlemo and the 450 inhabitants of this tiny Christian hamlet 250
kilometres (150 miles) north of Arbil, the mountains which surround
them and which had previously seemed so secure now feel considerably
less safe.
Somewhere in the undergrowth of the mountainside are concealed the
fighters of the Kurdistan Workers' Party (PKK), the separatist group
branded terrorists by Turkey which wants to destroy them.
"We don't know what to do any more. In Baghdad I was threatened
because I was a Christian. And here I find more violence," sighs
Shlemo as he clutches a set of rosary beads.
The Kurds of northern Iraq have had a great deal of autonomy for
more than 15 years, and are torn between preserving this security
and prosperity and sympathy with the Turkish Kurd rebels, many of
whom have sought refuge close by.
"We have never seen the PKK fighters. They never come here," says Demke
Yalda, the 56-year-old mayor of the village where the Assyrio-Chaldean
population still speaks the Aramaic language of Jesus Christ.
Western-dressed, his face sporting a bushy white moustache, he does
not want his little community to fall victim to the bloody conflict
between the PKK and Turkey which has raged for almost 25 years.
"Luckily we have not suffered any casualties. Only the windows of
several houses were smashed," explains Yalda, discussing the first
Turkish bombardment of their village in front of an attentive audience
of locals.
"But the people now have fear in their hearts, especially the women
and children."
The anxiety of residents has grown with the increasing threat of an
incursion by Turkish soldiers, after a series of deadly raids by the
PKK into southern Turkey close to the border with Iraq.
"They do not have the right to come onto our land. Our region is
stable. Perhaps this is what holds back the Turkish government,"
suggests the mayor of Enishke where most voters are farmers.
"The Turks? We don't want them under any pretext," says Matti Esho,
56, a grocer.
"It is a dictatorship. In the past they have massacred Armenians,
Assyrians and Kurds. They are criminals."
For Shlemo and his neighbours, fleeing in the face of the increasing
tension is not an option.
"I will not leave for any reason. It is my village and it was the
village of my ancestors. I am living in the heart of my community,"
he says.
"Here we can practise our religion without any problems. A priest comes
each Sunday and takes mass and we live in peace -- Kurds and Arabs."
In his little shop, Esho arranges fruit, cheese, cans of beer and
bottles of whisky. He fears for the future of his business.
"Since the start of these problems, the people from the nearby towns
do not come to breathe the fresh mountain air. Economically we are
going to collapse," he says.
In the street outside his stall, little girls in blue skirts, white
blouses and satchels on their backs are heading for school.
But for the grocer of Enishke, this tranquil image of childhood
happiness masks a sense of foreboding.
"The Turks are going to come. I'm sure of that," are his closing words.
Khaleej Times
Oct 24 2007
United Arab Emirates
ENISHKE, Iraq - Georgis Hamon Shlemo feels he is being stalked by
fate. The Christian fled Baghdad to escape the daily violence and
settled down to a new life in his ancestors' village of Enishke in
Iraq's Kurdish region. But now war has caught up with him again.
In the dead of night, six Turkish artillery shells slammed into the
sleeping village just 20 kilometres (12 miles) from the border.
Nobody was hurt and the damage was minimal, but the craters and
scorched vegetation are clear for all to see.
For Shlemo and the 450 inhabitants of this tiny Christian hamlet 250
kilometres (150 miles) north of Arbil, the mountains which surround
them and which had previously seemed so secure now feel considerably
less safe.
Somewhere in the undergrowth of the mountainside are concealed the
fighters of the Kurdistan Workers' Party (PKK), the separatist group
branded terrorists by Turkey which wants to destroy them.
"We don't know what to do any more. In Baghdad I was threatened
because I was a Christian. And here I find more violence," sighs
Shlemo as he clutches a set of rosary beads.
The Kurds of northern Iraq have had a great deal of autonomy for
more than 15 years, and are torn between preserving this security
and prosperity and sympathy with the Turkish Kurd rebels, many of
whom have sought refuge close by.
"We have never seen the PKK fighters. They never come here," says Demke
Yalda, the 56-year-old mayor of the village where the Assyrio-Chaldean
population still speaks the Aramaic language of Jesus Christ.
Western-dressed, his face sporting a bushy white moustache, he does
not want his little community to fall victim to the bloody conflict
between the PKK and Turkey which has raged for almost 25 years.
"Luckily we have not suffered any casualties. Only the windows of
several houses were smashed," explains Yalda, discussing the first
Turkish bombardment of their village in front of an attentive audience
of locals.
"But the people now have fear in their hearts, especially the women
and children."
The anxiety of residents has grown with the increasing threat of an
incursion by Turkish soldiers, after a series of deadly raids by the
PKK into southern Turkey close to the border with Iraq.
"They do not have the right to come onto our land. Our region is
stable. Perhaps this is what holds back the Turkish government,"
suggests the mayor of Enishke where most voters are farmers.
"The Turks? We don't want them under any pretext," says Matti Esho,
56, a grocer.
"It is a dictatorship. In the past they have massacred Armenians,
Assyrians and Kurds. They are criminals."
For Shlemo and his neighbours, fleeing in the face of the increasing
tension is not an option.
"I will not leave for any reason. It is my village and it was the
village of my ancestors. I am living in the heart of my community,"
he says.
"Here we can practise our religion without any problems. A priest comes
each Sunday and takes mass and we live in peace -- Kurds and Arabs."
In his little shop, Esho arranges fruit, cheese, cans of beer and
bottles of whisky. He fears for the future of his business.
"Since the start of these problems, the people from the nearby towns
do not come to breathe the fresh mountain air. Economically we are
going to collapse," he says.
In the street outside his stall, little girls in blue skirts, white
blouses and satchels on their backs are heading for school.
But for the grocer of Enishke, this tranquil image of childhood
happiness masks a sense of foreboding.
"The Turks are going to come. I'm sure of that," are his closing words.