A story of my life … How I escaped death!

By Kamal Chomani:

Is there freedom of speech in Kurdistan of Iraq? If you want to understand the truth of how journalists put their lives at risk, stay with me until the end of my story. Then you will realize how difficult is the situation for journalists and how death is their ‘closest gift’ whenever they expose the corrupt and undemocratic rule of this region.

On a beautiful spring evening last year, I was as usual outdoors in my home town, Choman, with a few friends. We were talking about two things: the beauty of nature in Choman’s spring and the dirtiness of Kurdistan’s politics. As we talked, my mobile rang. Someone from Kosrat Rasul Ali’s (Jalal Talabani’s deputy’s) media office informed me that I was invited to dinner with eight other intellectuals, professors, journalists and Islamic scholars. I accepted because it was good to meet a Kurdish leader at that time and explain to him how Kurdistan was on the brink of collapse.

“Kamal you must not go to Hawler these days, it is terribly dangerous,” said a friend. My friend was worried about me travelling alone to Hawler because this was during the period of the protests in Slemani when ten protesters were killed and dozens wounded. Dozens of journalists and activists had been kidnapped, attacked and tortured to death.

Choman was also full of thugs with big, hard sticks and unnumbered cars. The security men had been brought in from other cities so as to be able to crack down on any protests without anyone recognizing them afterwards. They were wandering around outside the houses of anyone they suspected might organize protests.

Some youths had collected 48 signatures on a sheet which they gave me, almost all of them were my students in school. “Dear teacher, just be with us and come to speak for us in a protest. We are not afraid of death. Let the thugs do whatever they can”. The youths urged me to organize a protest.

“Please be patient”, I told them. “I know that, if I take part, they may not beat me because I am well-known enough to have public support – but what can I tell your parents if you are beaten! We have to wait until Hawleris do something and then we can start good protests here’’.

Some of my friends would come with me to the gate of my house to be sure that nothing happened to me. My parents were not sleeping at night because they were waiting for thugs to come and knock at the door and arrest me. Arrest in Kurdistan at that time meant nothing other than to be beaten and tortured and thrown outside the city in the middle of night. This was the risk taken by almost all my fellow journalists and those friends who spoke out against corruption, nepotism, the tribal rule of the KDP and PUK and the totalitarian system of the Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG).

During the protests, I was working hard documenting and writing about human rights and freedom of speech violations, along with my other critical articles for Lvin Magazine, the tri-monthly leading magazine in Iraqi Kurdistan. At that time, I was editor of staff writing for Lvin magazine and the correspondent for Reporters without Borders in Iraqi Kurdistan. I was also doing my best to inform Human Rights Watch of the violations that KDP and PUK thugs were committing against activists, journalists and protesters in Slemani and Hawler. (You may visit the RSF website to check the reports I contributed to. You can also read this interview in which I spoke to Open Democracy about the situation).

To return to the opening story, I have kept the email that I sent to colleagues at the time. I have edited it but without changing the information:

26 April 2011:

Let me tell you what a terrible incident happened to me in Arbil last Tuesday April 26, 2011. To be quite honest, I have never before faced such things or seen such scenes except in movies.

I had been invited by Kosrat Rasul, Talabani’s deputy in the PUK, to discuss the current situation in Iraqi Kurdistan. We were eight intellectuals, writers and journalists. We had to be at Kosrat Rasul’s home by 7:00 pm. Masud Abdulkhaliq and I were together – he had also been invited.

Abdulkhaliq is a very well-known political analyst and the owner of Standard Magazine in Hawler. We decided to go to Azadi mosque, which is near to Kosrat Rasul’s house, for Maghrib prayer. But he suggested walking in the streets nearby until the Azan called Allahuakbar. Muhammad Qadir, a Kurdish poet and writer, was also with us. I had told Muhammad to meet up in Machko Chayxane but he said he wouldn’t leave me till we got to Kosrat’s house. However, Masud Abdulkhaliq told him to relax because no one knew about us and where we were walking. Muhammad left us and Abdulkhaliq and I walked and talked.

“Mamosta, do you think these protests will be fruitful in the end?” I asked.

“In Sha Allah, at least people have spoken out and the two ruling parties will understand,” he replied.

We discussed the protests and what we should do to change the political system because we both agreed that our dreams should not become victim of the corrupt and undemocratic rule by two families or so-called political parties.

While we were talking, I saw a car with passengers who I suspected were observing us, though I thought they might just be youths out in the evening, as is common in Kurdistan. But the car was following every our step.

“What does that car with three men want from us? Why they are monitoring us?” I asked myself. But I didn’t say anything to Abdulkhaliq so as not to worry him.

The car followed us for almost 30 minutes. We were walking towards the mosque. Masud Abdulkhaliq had told his two sons who had been with him as his bodyguards to go home. His situation was very difficult. Some activists had already been kidnapped and beaten to death. Thugs had previously tried to kidnap Masud Abdulkhaliq but without success.

Later, at exactly 6:35pm in Azadi Quarter, the car stopped about 20 meters away from us. The car was a new model of Optra and had no official number plate.

I slowed my steps as I watched them. I had been advised by my friends what to do if ever I saw something strange.

I had ten eyes and ten ears!

Suddenly another black car (I think a Land Cruiser, which commonly people call a Monica, but I couldn’t identify the model and the name precisely) appeared and pulled up. Then I became certain that they were thugs.

There were three men in the first car and five or six in the second. A young man got out of the second car (the others followed him) and he called me: “Hey guy, come.”

They all came rapidly towards us holding sticks, pistols and Kalashnikovs.

“Mamosta, run, ruuuuun! They are going to attack us,” I shouted.

I was running and had to turn back to see if they were following us and to make sure my much older friend did not fall behind.

We ran as fast as we could. There was no alternative. Sometimes, running is bravery.

They followed us for about 100 meters but couldn’t reach us as we had a head start of more than 15 meters (I think). Meantime other people, specifically shop keepers, came out and asked what was happening. I quickly told them that these men were KDP thugs who wanted to attack us.

I approached a taxi parked nearby, but I think the driver was too scared to take us. Another taxi came, and thank God we were able to hire it. I asked the driver to go as fast as he could, explaining that we were so late for our appointment. Luckily we arrived safely.

There, at Kosrat Rasul’s home, we criticized the situation and how difficult it is for journalists. I criticized him, the PUK and the KRG’s political system in very strong language, but he accepted all the criticism. We didn’t tell him and the others, except for two friends who already knew our situation, what had happened to us.

We agreed not to report the incident for these reasons: first, other activists and youths would become frightened; second, our families would be shocked and might not have let us go out anymore; and, third, we might become the target of other forces.

I had promised to stay in Hawler at Muhammad’s home, but now I didn’t want to. Someone from Soran, which is close to Choman, was also there with a car and we set off together. We arrived in Soran at 12:00 am. But, to be quite honest, when we passed the KDP checkpoints I felt very stressed. I stayed at Soran and the next day got back to Choman.

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This is a small story from among hundreds of untold stories. Reporters without Borders, Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have been reporting such stories since the murder of Soran Mama Hama in Kirkuk. I have seen a few other stories by my fellow journalists these past few days, but these were written in Kurdish.

Now I am studying in India, but the situation of my journalist friends at home is the same. Exactly one year has passed since this happened to me, but still journalists are arrested, kidnapped, attacked and threatened.

Once, a friend compared the time of Pesmhergayeti to that of current journalism in Kurdistan:

“At that time, Peshmerges were fighting against the dictatorial regime and families were expecting the death of their sons. Similarly, we are fighting against corruption and the undemocratic political system, and our families are expecting our death as well.”

Copyright © 2012 Kurdistantribune.com