By The Daily Signal
Nolan Peterson
Nolan Peterson
Some 20 miles from Mosul in northern Iraq's Nineveh Plains, this Christian monastery has stood high on the slopes of Mount Alfaf since the year 363. Once home to about 7,000 monks in the ninth century, it's among the oldest Christian monasteries in the world.
Over the
centuries, St. Matthew's Monastery has survived attacks by Kurds, Muslim
tribes, and the Mongol emperor Tamerlane. Yet perhaps the direst threat
of all came in 2014 when the Islamic State's terrorist army rampaged
across Syria and northern Iraq to take control of Mosul.
Bolstered
by a U.S.-led bombing campaign, a force of Kurdish peshmerga
fighters--who are Sunni Muslims--stopped the advancing Islamic State
militants just 2.5 miles from the beige stone citadel of St. Matthew's.
Today,
Christians from Mosul and the surrounding villages make the trek up to
the historic Syriac Orthodox monastery every Sunday to celebrate mass.
"It's
safe for us to pray here," says Besman Naif, 42, a Christian man from
the nearby village of Mergey at the foot of Mount Alfaf. "We aren't safe
anywhere else."
A coalition of Kurdish and Iraqi forces liberated
Mosul from the Islamic State (also known as ISIS) in 2017. Yet Naif,
who is originally from Mosul, says he won't return to the city anytime
soon.
"The Daesh mentality is still there, many well-known
terrorists just blended back into the community," Naif says, using a
pejorative Arabic nickname for ISIS. "There are still Daesh cells
operating in the city. It's very dangerous."
Living on the Edge
Living on the Edge
The U.S. declared victory over the Islamic
State in March after the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces overran
the terrorist group's final stronghold in the Syrian village of Baghuz.
As
a territorial power, the caliphate is no more. Yet, the underground
ISIS network of sleeper cells and sympathizers remains a lethal threat
to Iraq's religious minorities.
Across the country, Christians and
Yazidis continue to live on edge, wary about publicly demonstrating
their faiths for fear of violent reprisals. And for those who sought
refuge from the Islamic State's wrath by fleeing to safety in Iraqi
Kurdistan, returning home to places such as Mosul or Sinjar remains a
prohibitively frightening proposition.
"The threat from remaining ISIS members and followers remains. It is a
big mistake to think that ISIS is completely defeated," says Pari
Ibrahim, founder and executive director of the Free Yezidi Foundation, a
nonprofit that provides assistance to displaced Yazidis. (Yezidi is an
alternate spelling for Yazidi.)
"There are many thousands of ISIS
members and huge numbers of ISIS sympathizers and supporters throughout
areas in Iraq and Syria," Ibrahim tells The Daily Signal. "Even if the
attacks become insurgent operations, we should remember that there are
many towns and areas that believe in what ISIS said. That is an
existential threat to Yezidis, especially, and to all civilians, and it
will remain so."
The bedrock, ideological catalysts that spawned the Islamic
State--and drew many fighters from Iraq to join the terrorist army's
ranks--still exist within the region's shadows, posing a perpetual,
existential threat to Iraq's religious minorities. The region,
therefore, remains a fertile breeding ground for the Islamic State's
brand of militant Islamist extremism.
"The Islamic State was
excessively brutal, but it did not come from a vacuum," says Elizabeth
Monier, a fellow in the Department of Middle Eastern Studies at the
University of Cambridge.
"There is certainly lingering distrust.
This is clear from the slow return of Christians to their homes in
northern Iraq," Monier says, adding:
The cause is not just fears that ISIS might return ... ISIS is not an isolated threat. There is mistrust toward Muslim neighbors, some of whom were complicit in the violence and looting, and a lack of confidence in the commitment and ability of the central government to guarantee security of minorities.