Marion Fontenille
August 7th, 2024
On the road from Erbil in Iraqi Kurdistan, beyond the checkpoints, a multitude of flags bearing the image of Imam Hussein, the Prophet's grandson and a central figure in Shia Islam, can be seen. Raised on the roofs of dozens of houses, they signal the recent presence of Shia militias, who have emerged as key players in the fight against ISIS in Iraq. Mosul, the major Sunni city in Iraq, is only about thirty kilometers northwest. The city of Karakoch, the largest Christian town in the country, caught in the crossfire, continues to rebuild its holy land ten years after the ISIS takeover of the Nineveh Plains.
August 7th, 2024
On the road from Erbil in Iraqi Kurdistan, beyond the checkpoints, a multitude of flags bearing the image of Imam Hussein, the Prophet's grandson and a central figure in Shia Islam, can be seen. Raised on the roofs of dozens of houses, they signal the recent presence of Shia militias, who have emerged as key players in the fight against ISIS in Iraq. Mosul, the major Sunni city in Iraq, is only about thirty kilometers northwest. The city of Karakoch, the largest Christian town in the country, caught in the crossfire, continues to rebuild its holy land ten years after the ISIS takeover of the Nineveh Plains.
It took more than two years of work and a lifetime of savings, with the help of the Syrian-Catholic Church and international organizations, before Martin and his family could return to their home. “The house was unrecognizable. The garden was covered in debris, and the second floor was blown out by a bombing during the international coalition's offensive against ISIS. We were in shock,” recalled the 30-something.
He keeps a long video on his computer, documenting the consequences of a war he experienced vicariously. “We were very lucky because I received a call from a very good Muslim friend in Mosul who told me, 'Leave immediately.' When ISIS entered the city in the middle of the night, we had already arrived in Erbil.”
Martin returned as soon as he heard of the Iraqi army's liberation in October 2016: “We are doing well now. I will stay until I die. Paradise is being at home.”
Martin returned as soon as he heard of the Iraqi army's liberation in October 2016: “We are doing well now. I will stay until I die. Paradise is being at home.”
In the heart of the city, the Syrian-Catholic Church Mar-Behnam-and-Sara presents a dismal scene of battlefield remnants. Its bell tower still lies on its side, as if frozen amid renovations.
“It's necessary to keep visible traces to never forget,” says Amjad, another Christian who returned immediately after the liberation.
Reconstruction of the town
“It's necessary to keep visible traces to never forget,” says Amjad, another Christian who returned immediately after the liberation.
Reconstruction of the town
Karakoch has regained some of its former glory and half of its inhabitants despite its mutilation. Its streets are clean and quiet, and its wide sidewalks would invite strolling if the summer heat were not so stifling. Residents are reclaiming their joy of life, sitting in the new “chic” downtown restaurants or small cafés.
Amjad is a nurse. He juggled for several years between clinical assessments of his patients and damage assessments on the ground. “I participated, with other volunteers, in the town's reconstruction. We recorded the condition of each house.”
Amjad is a nurse. He juggled for several years between clinical assessments of his patients and damage assessments on the ground. “I participated, with other volunteers, in the town's reconstruction. We recorded the condition of each house.”
This colossal work was led by the Nineveh Reconstruction Commission, headed by Father Georges Jahola. “Forty percent of the houses remain to be rebuilt. The authorities' role is minimal. Financial compensation is distributed slowly. But we cannot deny the municipality's efforts, which provide us with water and electricity,” explained the Syrian-Catholic priest. “Today, we can say that in terms of infrastructure, Karakoch is even better than before.”
Then, turning a corner, one encounters the language of scars. “This was one of the most beautiful houses in town, with its intricate architectural style. Today, it is worthless,” Amjad noted. On the facade, the threatening tag left by ISIS endures: the letter ن, meant to designate Christian populations. Entering the imposing, deserted house also means entering the intimacy of survivors, touching the identity wound, and grasping the collective trauma.
This identity, symbolized by a cross, is something Fadi, just of age, has decided to tattoo himself on the space between his thumb and index finger. “I am proud to be Christian and proud to be from Karakoch. But if I could go abroad, I would because there are no job opportunities here,” explained the young man. He spends his summer with friends at the St. Paul Interparish Center, whose hall has been renovated into a charming cafe-library.
"The situation is stable now. If I travel, I will have to learn a new language and a new culture. It’s difficult and exhausting," added Youssef, only 18 years old and already too accustomed to new beginnings.
Is the situation truly stable in an Iraqi context where tomorrow rarely sings?
The portraits displayed in the city, in memory of the hundred tragic victims of a wedding hall fire last September, are proof of this.
Is the situation truly stable in an Iraqi context where tomorrow rarely sings?
The portraits displayed in the city, in memory of the hundred tragic victims of a wedding hall fire last September, are proof of this.
"The ideology has not been eradicated"
Safa, meanwhile, hesitates and is unsure if his wife and young son should join him by the end of the summer. “They have been in France for years. I can't get the papers to join them. They are supposed to come for a vacation in a few weeks, but I heard that ISIS men are planning a major attack next month.”
This rumor – or perhaps post-traumatic hypervigilance – does not run through all households. But the scenario haunts minds so much that some choose to continue living in Erbil while working in Karakoch.
This rumor – or perhaps post-traumatic hypervigilance – does not run through all households. But the scenario haunts minds so much that some choose to continue living in Erbil while working in Karakoch.
Iraqi Kurdistan, an autonomous region that is part of Iraq but governed by the Kurds, remains a haven for Christian communities. Archimandrite Emanuel Youkhana, director of Capni (the Christian Aid Program), reminds us that only 0.6% of Christians remain in Iraq. “Ten years later, nothing suggests that lessons have been learned. The ideology has not been eradicated; there is still no honest and transparent national debate to address some of the real questions: Why did this happen? How can we prevent it? Turning a holy land into a museum of Christianity is a great loss for Christianity,” he asserted.
Heeding only Pope Francis's words during his 2021 visit, the returnees decide to see “with the eyes of faith, the triumph of life over death.”
Bishop Younan Hano, the Syrian-Catholic Archbishop of Mosul, proudly announced the good news: “A new church will soon rise in Karakoch. The cornerstone has been laid. Prosperity returns where there was nothing but destruction.”
Bishop Younan Hano, the Syrian-Catholic Archbishop of Mosul, proudly announced the good news: “A new church will soon rise in Karakoch. The cornerstone has been laid. Prosperity returns where there was nothing but destruction.”
He hopes to celebrate the first Christmas Mass in this new Mar-Ephrem church this year. St. Ephrem the Syrian, author of the Hymns of Nisibis, according to whom the “resurrection of the living” will be as prodigious as the “resurrection of the dead.”
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About 250,000 Christians in Iraq Today
Following the invasion of Iraq by the U.S.-led coalition in April 2003, the country entered two bloody decades of violence and instability, and the number of Christians plummeted by about 80%.
Following the invasion of Iraq by the U.S.-led coalition in April 2003, the country entered two bloody decades of violence and instability, and the number of Christians plummeted by about 80%.
While there were around 1.5 million Christians in the country before the American invasion, some recent estimates indicate that about 250,000 Christians live there today, among a population of 40 million Iraqis.
However, the exact number of Christians in Iraq is subject to controversy. “It is generally not possible to fully rely on the figures cited by Christian organizations and churches, as they are influenced by ecclesiastical considerations on the one hand, and political considerations related to Christian representation on the other,” state researchers Gilgamesh Nabeel and Saad Salloum in an article published by the French Center for Research on Iraq in August 2023.