ENDING IRAQ’S SUFFERING NEEDS NO JUSTIFICATION

In 1991 I met Dr. Alexander George at one of his popular lectures on international peace and conflict studies. After his talk I quietly approached the podium to inquire about his views on the Gulf War. After all this was the man behind Bush Sr.’s policy of “Coercive Diplomacy” which led to the implementation of the economic sanctions against Iraq. I asked Dr. George: “What makes you believe that these sanctions would work?” He insisted that coercion works only if the policy is imposed upon a rational actor.

After two major military assaults on Iran and Kuwait, attacking citizens of one’s own country with chemical weapons, and destrcution of 4000 Assyrian and Kurdish villages in less than two decades – we can safely say that the United States for the past 12 years, in her handling of the Iraqi affairs with Saddam Hussein, has not dealt with a rational actor.

Diplomacy works when leaders of two countries respect the international treaties like the 1984's U.N.-sponsored Convention Against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment, and can reach an agreement to benefit the majority of their populations. Coercion works when the coercee cares enough for the welfare of his people that he may seek means to end their suffering. Saddam Hussein is an evil man who has committed genocide and other gross violations of human rights. He loves no one, cares for no one, and has no regard for the past or the future of Iraq and its people. Tonight he is not defending the people of Baghdad or Tikrit – if he is still alive. He is protecting only himself and his two sons at all costs. To end the reign of terror of such criminal leader, so twisted in his ways, there can be no diplomatic solution. Hence, military action against Saddam for the purpose of liberating 23 million Iraqis – including 2 million Assyrians - is justified.

When Gulf War II is behind us, many innocent lives will have been lost. By then several archeologically important sites may be destroyed, and thousands of artifacts will be carried off with the returning soldiers and sold on eBay for a few dollars. In the meantime, most of us will still be struggling to understand if the outcome of victory over Saddam is good for the Assyrians. Our modern history shows that what is good for the majority people in Iraq or any of our adopted countries is good for the Assyrians. Assyrians thrive in difficult conditions and succeed even more when the environment improves.

A free and democratic Iraq, under the protection of the Coalition forces or the United Nation, will give the Assyrian people an opportunity unlike any witnessed in the last 150 years. We can quickly replicate the experiements carried out in North Iraq in the last 15 years and expand our educational and cultural endeavors in Mosul, Baghdad, and elsewhere.

To accomplish this we must separate humanitarian and philosophical values from our Assyrian national interests when it comes to dealing with a leader who has the will and power to exterminate our race. The arguments of “Humanity First, then Nationalism” works for a nation of fifty or more million fast-breeding individuals. Assyrains cannot afford to entertain such fanciful ideas. For the sake of the survival of the Assyrian identity in Iraq, using any military force to put a final stop to the systematic Baathist repression in Baghdad is justified.

The dogs of war have been unleashed once again in the land of Hammurabi and Nebuchednezzer. I often wonder what Dr. George would have said about Bush Jr’s policy of “pre-emptive war”. As he was about to leave the lecture hall that evening 12 years ago, he murmured something about his mother’s cooking and used the word “dolma”. I immediately asked him about his background and a few seconds later, we were discussing the villages in Urmia-Iran where our parents had come from. How ironic that the man behind the policy of economic sanctions against Iraq was indeed Assyrian. I invited him to my place to enjoy authentic Assyrian food. He declined my offer, and asked if there were still any Assyrians left in the United States who spoke Assyrian and knew what dolma was. I left the lecture hall dismayed and discouraged.

Let us not cheat ourselves and betray our past by subscribing to the “one-world” philosophies put forth by the powerless non-political entities. A free and democratic Iraq in the heart of Bet-Nahrain, liberated via quick and decisive military campaign carried by western coalition, is our only salvation from complete and utter extinction.

Wilfred Bet-Alkhas
Editor

SEEKING ASSYRIAN WOMEN OF IRAQI BACKGROUND

Even as war continues, Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) in the United States and elsewhere are gearing up for work in Iraq. Some strong and active NGOs that are entering the planning stages for this work are beginning to collect resumes of likely people to tap as consultants, state-side organizers and in field administrators. Among these are NGOs that concentrate on recruiting women, especially those with professional training and experience who, in exile, may be operating below their capabilities.

Assyrian women need to make themselves known so that they too can become involved in this reconstruction work. Assyrian women¹s involvement will not only help make our community better known, but it will help Assyrian women gain NGO experience, help our community in Iraq, and expand the opportunities for employment in a useful and
nationalistic way.

Spearheading this push to get our community women involved is Dr. Katrin Michael, who recently met with President Bush at the White House. She would like to encourage Assyrian women of Iraqi ancestry or those born in Iraq to send in their professional resumes or biographical sketches so that we will have a pool upon which to draw as the occasion demands. Knowledge of Arabic or written Assyrian is not required. But if you have these skills, do not be shy about saying so.

If you are interested in putting your resume into this pool, please make sure it contains the following:

· Contact information
· Educational background with degrees and dates
· Work experience (professional and volunteer)

If you have worked as a teacher at any level, lawyer, community activist, doctor, dentist, journalist and similar professions, your experience could be very helpful.

Assyrian women step forward and be counted in the ranks of those who can work only as Assyrian women can. Send your resumes to Dr. Michael at AssyrianIraqiWomen@zindamagazine.com.

Zinda Magazine

IN TWO WORLDS

I have lived in two worlds for far too long. I am an Assyrian born in Iraq, yet I am also an American raised in California.

Growing up, my two worlds were very well demarcated. I am a product of American pop culture; I grew up watching MTV and cheering for the San Francisco 49ers. Yet at home, I spoke Aramaic and listened to great fairy tales my grandmother told me about the legendary city of Baghdad.

As a young girl, I would sit on Nanna's lap as she told me vivid fables about the princess who ruled over Baghdad and the evil dragon that was trying to capture her. Her brown, almond-shaped eyes would mist over as she recalled the devastation that has engulfed Iraq in the past 50 years. She lost two of her sons, my uncles, to the many wars in Iraq.

As a child, I would throw my arms around Nanna to try to take her pain away. I could not understand the immense sadness she felt, nor the tears she shed. But now, as a woman, I am beginning to understand the repercussions of war. Today I sit in peaceful Delmar and watch the enchanting city of Baghdad being bombed by missiles and my two worlds come crashing together.

I was not raised by typical Iraqi parents. My parents, who were both well educated and belonged to the middle class in Iraq, realized long ago that we must fight for freedom in order to survive the politics of oppression. My parents left Iraq when I was 5 years old so that they could provide my two sisters and me with the opportunities that they knew we would never have in a country ruled by fear and devastated by a tyrant. The opportunity for equality, the opportunity for education, the opportunity to live and love freely in a country where the statue of a woman stands tall and proclaims, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free ... ."

As I drove home one cold night, I saw people standing on street corners in Albany to protest the war. I smiled to myself because I believe in the freedoms that they were expressing, yet know that these people would be seeking liberation if they were being ruled by an oppressor. These are the same type of people that the regime of Iraq has silenced.

My friends who are anti-war cannot understand why I so badly want the "coalition of the willing" to liberate Iraq. They do not realize the crippling fear that Saddam has instilled in the Iraqi people. They call me an idealist for wanting a secular, democratic Iraq.

I am deeply wounded every time a Westerner makes a crude remark about a region that is filled with heterogeneous groups of people. First of all, not all Iraqis are Muslim. Second, not all Iraqis are Arabs.

The Assyrian people are the indigenous people of Iraq. They were among one of the first civilizations to accept Christianity during the late second century. The New Testament was written in Aramaic and Hebrew, and Christ spoke Aramaic. Some of the oldest churches and Christian communities can be found in northern Iraq. Churches that Saddam has burned in villages that Saddam has starved.

Typical Americans do not understand this; they are ignorant of the fact that 5 percent of the Iraqi people are Assyrian-Chaldean. I am disappointed in the American media for not focusing on the Christian minority in Iraq.

Iraq does not belong to one regime; Iraq belongs to its diverse people who practice many different faiths. Saddam Hussein does not discriminate against those he murders or brutalizes, be they Assyrian, Arab, Kurd, Turkomen and, now, American.

Beyond anything else, I am saddened by our world today. I am haunted by the images blazing through our television sets of Iraqi children who will never have the same opportunities that my sisters and I had. They come to me in my dreams and ask me for food to nourish their bodies, for prayer to heal their souls, for peace to ensure their future.

I am troubled by the death and capture of our American soldiers -- men and women I probably would see at the local grocery store, men and women who, in happier times, I would befriend and socialize with.

And so the two worlds that I kept separated so well have come colliding over a beautiful fabled city that I still dream about. My Nanna died while I was away at college and while she was away from her precious homeland. I long to throw my arms around her now to tell her that I finally understand her sadness.

I still remember her warm eyes, her passionate stories and her quiet strength. She once said to me, "As long as there is oppression, as long as there is no freedom, there will be no peace. You must stand up for what you believe in."

Dr. Vian Younan
10 March 2003

[Z-info: Dr. Vian Younan is a physician living in the State of New York. This article appeared in the Sunday edition of the Times Union newspaper].

MY TURN

I was five years old when my parents nestled my sister and I in a secret compartment in the back of a truck and told us to “Be quiet, we are going on a wonderful journey!” That journey was an escape in the middle of the night from the country of Iraq – the only home my parents had ever known – to the West. They left Iraq in 1981 because of religious and political persecution, because the Iran-Iraq war was looming on the horizon like a threatening storm and because they had two young daughters that they wanted to not simply survive the ravages of war, but to thrive in a country of freedoms and liberties they themselves never tasted.

So now, twenty-two years later, I find myself living in a country that is bombing, on a nightly basis, the city of my birth. I, along with the rest of America, watch the minute-by-minute news coverage of the war on my television set with an inner turmoil and a sense that things will never be the same. And I have never been as proud to be an American as I am right now.

Why am I so passionate about my support for the war? Because I, and my people, have felt the venom of Saddam Hussein ever since he came into power in Iraq in the late seventies. As Assyrians, we are the indigenous Christian minority in Iraq, the direct descendents of the ancient Aramaic-speaking Assyrian nation, which inhabited the “fertile crescent” between the Tigris and the Euphrates (modern day Iraq).

My parents can trace their lineage in Iraq back through generations and sadly through eras of cultural and religious genocide. At the bloodied hands of Saddam Hussein, Assyrians in the past several decades have suffered unheard-of human rights atrocities, culminating in recent years with Saddam’s desecration of ancient Assyrian historical sites in Iraq. Saddam’s dictatorship has led to the diaspora of the Assyrian peoples, with my family as just one example. I have aunts, uncles and cousins right now in every country in Europe, North America, Australia and New Zealand. These family members are the lucky ones … they were able to escape.

My pride in being American is commingled with my knowledge that in many countries (Iraq being just one) there is an absence of the incredible liberties that so many Americans take for granted. While some may argue that it is up to the Iraqi people to claim their own freedom from a cruel dictatorship, my only answer is that it is virtually impossible to rid a country of that sort of power-hold internally, especially when the populate is starving and surrounded; that sometimes even when that power is ousted, it is often replaced by a similar evil. For Hitler’s regime to end, there had to be a more-powerful entity to end it. For the Iraqi people, that entity is the United States and Britain.

Many of my friends and business colleagues ask me what I envision for a future Iraq, an Iraq without Saddam and his Ba’ath party. My surging hopes are tempered by the realization that there will be years of unstability as a population that is used to being powerless is suddenly asked to take part in the structuring of a nation. The people of Iraq may attempt to rule with violence, as this is all they have known. There are many factions within Iraq now that are clamoring for power in a post-Saddam Iraq. My knowledge of the many different religions and cultures in Iraq, and the need for those ideologies to dominate each other, dampens my hope at times.

There are times, however, in the midst of the play-by-play newscasts of the war, in the middle of the bombs and bullets, I see Baghdad on the television set and spy the beautiful buildings, the palm and date trees still swaying gently, determined to grow. And in those small moments when I turn off the television set and sit in the resounding silence, I think of a future Iraq as peaceful, thriving and perhaps one great day, even celebrating its incredibly diverse history.

Marian Kaanon
Arizona

[Z-info: Mrs. Marian Kaanon is a Public Relations Consultant, based in Phoenix.]

I WAS WRONG

I had opposed the war on Iraq in my radio program, on television, and in my regular columns, and I participated in demonstrations against it in Japan. But a visit to relatives in Baghdad radically changed my mind.

I am an Assyrian Christian, born and raised in Japan, where my father had moved after World War II to help rebuild the country. He was a Protestant minister, and so am I.

As an Assyrian I was told the story of our people from a young age: how my grandparents had escaped the great Assyrian Holocaust in 1917 and settled finally in Chicago.

There are about 6 million Assyrians now, about 2.5 million in Iraq and the rest scattered across the world. Without a country and rights even in our native land, it has been the prayer of generations that the Assyrian nation will one day be restored.

A few weeks ago, I traveled to Iraq with supplies for our church and family. This was my first visit ever to the land of my forefathers. The first order of business was to attend church. During a simple meal for peace activists after the service, an older man sounded me out carefully.

Iraqis: “We Want the War”

Finally he felt free to talk: ''There is something you should know--we didn't want to be here tonight. When the priest asked us to gather for a peace service, we said we didn't want to come because we don't want peace. We want the war to come."

“What in the world are you talking about?” I blurted.

Thus began a strange odyssey that shattered my convictions. At the same time, it gave me hope for my people and, in fact, hope for the world.

Because of my invitation as a ''religious person'' and family connections, I was spared the government snoops who ordinarily tail foreigners 24 hours a day.

This allowed me to see and hear amazing things as I stayed in the homes of several relatives. The head of our tribe urged me not to remain with my people during its time of trial but instead go out and tell the world about the nightmare ordinary Iraqis are going through.

“We Live Like Animals”

I was to tell the world about the terror on the faces of my family when a stranger knocked at the door. ''Look at our lives!'' they said. ''We live like animals: no food, no car, no telephone, no job, and, most of all, no hope.''

That's why they wanted this war.

“You cannot imagine what it is to live like this for 20, 30 years. We have to keep up our routine lest we would lose our minds.”

But I realized in every household that someone had already lost his or her mind; in other societies such a person would be in a mental hospital. I also realized that there wasn't a household that did not mourn at least one family member who had become a victim of this police state.

I wept with relatives whose son just screamed all day long. I cried with a relative who had lost his wife. Yet another left home every day for a ''job'' where he had nothing to do. Still another had lost a son to war and a husband to alcoholism.

As I observed the slow death of a people without hope, Saddam Hussein seemed omnipresent. There were his statues; posters showed him with his hand outstretched or firing his rifle, or wearing an Arab headdress. These images seemed to be on every wall, in the middle of the road, in homes.

“Everything will be all right when the war is over,” people told me. ''No matter how bad it is, we will not all die. Twelve years ago, it went almost all the way but failed. We cannot wait anymore. We want the war, and we want it now.''

The People Don't Want the U.N.

When I told members of my family that some sort of compromise with Iraq was being worked out at the United Nations, they reacted not with joy but anger: ''Only war will get out of our present condition.''

This reminded me of the stories I heard from older Japanese who had welcomed the sight of American B-29 bombers in the skies over their country as a sign that the war was coming to an end. True, these planes brought destruction, but also hope.

''I Felt Terrible About Having Demonstrated Against the War''

I felt terrible about having demonstrated against the war without bothering to ask what the Iraqis wanted. Tears streamed down my face as I lay in my bed in a tiny Baghdad house crowded in with 10 other people of my own flesh and blood, all exhausted, all without hope. I thought, ''How dare I claim to speak for people I had not even asked what they wanted?''

Then I began a strange journey to let the world know of the true situation in Iraq, just as my tribe had begged me to. With great risk to myself and those who had told their stories and allowed my camera into their homes, I videotaped their plight.

But would I get that tape out of the country?

To make sure I was not simply getting the feelings of the oppressed Assyrian minority, I spoke to dozens of other people, all terrified. Over and over they told me, ''We would be killed for speaking like this.'' Yet they did speak, though only in private homes or when other Iraqis had assured them that no government minder was watching over me.

I spoke with a former army member, with someone working for the police, with taxi drivers, store owners, mothers, and government officials. All had the same message: ''Please bring on the war. We may lose our lives, but for our children's sake, please, please end our misery.''

''Soldiers Hated Their Work''

On my last day in Baghdad, I saw soldiers putting up sandbags. By their body language, these men made it clear that they dared not speak but hated their work; they were unmistakably on the side of the common people.

I wondered how my relatives felt about the United States and Britain. Their feelings were mixed. They have no love for the allies--but they trust them.

''We are not afraid of the American bombing. They will bomb carefully and not purposely target the people,'' I was told. ''What we are afraid of is Saddam and the Baath Party will do when the war begins.''

The final call for help came at the most unexpected place--the border, where crying members of my family sent me off.

The taxi fares from Baghdad to Amman had risen within one day from $100 to $300, to $500 and then to $1,000 by nightfall.

My driver looked on anxiously as a border guard patted me down. He found my videotapes, and I thought: It's all over!

For once I experienced what my relatives were going through 365 days a year--sheer terror. Quietly, the officer laid the tapes on a desk, one by one. Then he looked at me--was it with sadness or with anger? Who knows?

He clinically shook his head and without a word handed all the tapes back to me. He didn't have to say anything. He spoke the only language left to these imprisoned Iraqis, the silent language of human kindness.

Rev. Ken Joseph
NewsMax.com
28 March 2003
Jordan

OVER 4000 ASSYRIANS RALLY IN SUPPORT OF U.S. TROOPS IN CHICAGO

Courtesy of the Windy City Reporter (31 March)

(ZNDA: Chicago) The largest pro-American rally to happen in the United States to date was held in Chicago this past Sunday by thousands of Assyrian-Americans who support the U.S. operations in Iraq.

Assyrians are the indigenous people of Iraq, Iran, Turkey, Syria and Lebanon. They come from the vast area that was once known as Mesopotamia, with the heart or capital of their original homeland being located between the Euphrates and Tigris rivers, in what is now modern day Iraq.

"There are about 95,000 of us living in the Chicagoland area," said Peter Dagher, an Assyrain-American who ran for Blago's vacated congressional seat as a Democratic candidate. "My brother is a U.S. Air Force pilot," he continued. "It's great for us to see how he went from being a typical kid with a messy room to a Lieutenant Colonel. We're all very proud of him and the others who are over there doing this terrible work and risking their lives."

Eddie Nissan, President of the Assyrian Social Club on North Pulaski Avenue, said many of his in-laws were able to get out of Iraq just before the bombing started, gaining safety across the border in Jordan. Born in Iraq with an advanced degree in engineering, Eddie Stated, "I don't understand the protestors. They have no idea what it's like in those countries, particularly in Iraq under the Hussein regieme. People disappear for no reason. They are tortured and murdered every day. I can't see why these kids protest when our American troops are doing good by getting rid of Saddam and his Baath Party."

OVER CENTURIES OF PERSECUTION, ASSYRIANS HAVE KEPT THE FAITH

Courtesy of religonjournal.com (30 March)

(ZNDA: Chicago) Nearly forgotten by the world, 1.2 million Assyrian Christians live a precarious existence in Saddam Hussein's Iraq. They are the remnants of the great Assyrian Empire, which ruled Mesopotamia – or present-day Iraq, Iran, Syria and Turkey – thousands of years before Christ.

Assyria has played a central role in world and Christian history. Its capital, Ninevah, repented to Jonah. Ninevah later believed the gospel preached by the Apostle Thomas, becoming one of the first Christian nations. In the first century, newly converted Assyria launched a missionary force that carried Christianity as far as China and Japan.

Over the years since the Assyrian monarchy was abolished in the 4th century, Assyrians have lived with a minority status in the lands they once ruled, oppressed by the Persians, Mongols, Turks, Kurds and Arabs.

Then in the 20th century, mass dispersion occurred. Four million Assyrians left the Middle East for 40 nations after the Ottomans massacred hundreds of thousands of Armenians and Assyrians in 1915. Assyrians believe that after World War I they were betrayed by the League of Nations, which had promised them a homeland.

Throughout the centuries of persecution, Assyrians kept the faith. Today, the indigenous Christians of ancient Mesopotamia belong to several sects and denominations including the Chaldean Catholic Church, the Church of the East, the Syriac Orthodox Church, the Syriac Catholic Church, and some Protestant denominations.

Assyrian Christians also have preserved a dialect of Aramaic, the language spoken by Jesus. Assyrians have "a special passion" about using and preserving Aramaic, Ronald Michael, president of the Assyrian American League, told religionjournal.com. Aramaic is passed down from generation to generation, said Michael, who speaks the language fluently. He was born in Beirut, moved to Iraq, grew up in the United States, and now lives in Illinois, where he is a member of the Church of the East.

The times are again perilous for Assyrian Christians, Michael said. Iraq, a secular nation, formerly allowed Christians more freedom than many other Middle Eastern nations. Yet anti-Christian sentiment has risen as Saddam Hussein portrays himself as a defender of Islam against the imperialist West, according to political analyst Jonathan Eric Lewis.

Saddam's Baath Party has implemented policies aimed at erasing the identity of Assyrian Christians as a distinct people. According to Lewis, this ethnic cleansing has included denying the ethnic identity of Assyrians in government records, removing textbooks about Assyrian history and accomplishments, looting ancient artifacts, and killing clerics. Saddam might incite a bloodbath against the Assyrians now that Iraq has been invaded, Lewis said.

Still another threat to Assyrians comes from ethnic Kurds in northern Iraq. The area has been protected as a British and American no-fly zone since the 1991 Gulf War. Free from Saddam's control, the Kurds have lived at relative peace with Assyrian Christians, who have built Christian schools and churches.

Yet those 200,000 Assyrians are "very much under pressure to toe the Kurdish line," Michael said. An additional half million Assyrian Christians live just outside the no-fly zone, and 750,000 to 1 million live in Baghdad. With the collapse of Saddam's regime – a common enemy for the Kurds and Assyrians – historic differences between the groups could resurface. Some Assyrians fear that, in the chaos of war, the Kurds might seek an independent state, grabbing oil-rich land and inciting violence and tyranny, according to ABC News.

What many Assyrians really want is a homeland of their own, according to Ken Joseph, whose Assyrian grandparents escaped from massacres at the hands of the Kurds occurring in Iraq in 1919. "If there is a Jewish state and Muslim states, there should also be a Christian state." He said he believes that most Assyrians living overseas would return if a state homeland was established.

For his part, Michael said he hopes for a democratic Iraq "where all citizens enjoy freedom of religion." After the war, Americans must stay engaged long enough to make sure the post-Saddam regime protects all of Iraq's minorities.

Unlike other Iraqi opposition groups, Assyrians are not trying to grab land or oil, Michael said. "We wish to survive, to build our churches and schools, to preserve our language, and to live as any human being should be able to live. Our challenge to Arab governments and the broader Arab world is to push as vigorously for Assyrian rights as they do for Palestinian rights. Otherwise, they risk losing credibility and appearing to be hypocrites."

American Christians know little about Assyrian Christians, yet "there is a natural kinship," Michael said. And when American Christians realize that a portion of the body of Christ is struggling to survive, Michael's hope is that they will "commit themselves and reach out to them."

ASSYRIAN CHRISTIANS AFRAID FOR RELATIVES STILL LIVING IN IRAQ

Courtesy of Daily Herald (31 March); Story by Cass Cliatt

A bomb blast flashes behind closed eyes. Smoke shrouds the scorched crater that was her family's home in Baghdad.

Soldiers march past civilian dead. She can't see the faces. Could it be her uncle, her brother's wife?

Ashtar Shamoon wakes.

The clock reads 5 a.m. when she turns on the news in her Arlington Heights home.

Shamoon abandoned her vigil here just four hours earlier, but worry compels her to watch a war progress toward the city she used to call home.

"If I don't watch the news, it's like I don't care about it," the 44-year-old Shamoon said. "It's still your country."

But fear has kept the hair stylist away from her homeland for more than 20 years.

She is tormented by reports about other U.S. families sending letters to their fathers, sisters and sons in military service in the Middle East.

For Shamoon, the hold Saddam Hussein has over Iraq grips her, even here, stifling her with fear of maintaining too much contact with her own family.

She is among thousands of Iraqi expatriates who carried their sense of oppression to the Northwest suburbs, away from Iraq's borders. They harbor a dread here that continues to alienate them from families back home.

"I have my brother's wife, his sister, her daughter, my uncle, many cousins," Shamoon said. "Now with the war starts, I've been talking to them every two days, but I'm scared even to mention their names. Maybe the government of Saddam Hussein just go after them."

Shamoon is one of about 80,000 Assyrian Christians in the Chicago area, a large majority of whom fled Iraq because of political persecution, according to the Assyrian National Council of Illinois.

As much as they fear that their families could fall victim to the ravages of the war, some worry even more that they could unleash torment on their own relatives.

"Sometimes, for example, if someone is talking against the government or against the regime in Iraq, they cut his tongue," said Isho Lilou, director of the Assyrian council. "If a man doesn't want to serve in the army, they cut his ear."

The punishment can be much worse for families seen as American sympathizers, Lilou said.

"Basically, the government point of view is, whoever is outside, especially in America and they have relatives there, they treat them as if they are all Americans," he said. "And the regime hates America.

"If there is communication, you don't know what will happen. Some people will either disappear or they get hit by a car," Lilou said. "One way or another, they are gone."

It's the main reason Shamoon hasn't been back to Baghdad since she left in 1981.

She and her family were among the estimated 1 million Assyrian Christians in a country that's 97 percent Muslim. She says she left because Hussein's government asked her to spy on other Christians who were customers in the hair salon where she worked.

"To see what the people say about Saddam Hussein, if they like him," Shamoon said. "I say I can't do that. I say I am a Christian. I do my job and come home. I said I can't talk politics."

Yet they kept at her for five months. Shamoon had to get out.

She came to the United States with her teenage sister in 1981 and became a U.S. citizen 10 years later. Shamoon, her sister, now 40, and her 73-year-old mother now live in Arlington Heights, afraid to ever return to Iraq.

But tomorrow, Shamoon will make one of her increasingly frequent calls home to Baghdad.

Since the war started last week, Shamoon's questions are always the same.

"Are you safe? Nobody is killed and nobody is bombing there? How is uncle, how are nieces and nephews? ... Do not go outside. Stay at home."

Three minutes on the phone with her family is all Shamoon will risk - five at the most.

"I don't say anything about what's going on here," Shamoon said. "They (the government) listen on their phone when you talk, and maybe someone here, the Muslim people here contact them. You never know."

Louise Cainkar, a professor at the University of Illinois at Chicago, said many people might classify the fear felt by Shamoon and others as paranoia. But that doesn't make their fear any less real.

"It's the nature of the society when you live under oppressive conditions and you know people are watching other people and reporting on each other," said Cainkar, who specializes in Arabs and Muslims in the United States.

"I think it's how most Iraqis feel, whether they're Muslim or Christian," she said. "They're afraid to call their families. They have been traumatized by a watchdog society."

The potential to regain open lines of communication with her family makes Shamoon welcome the war, in a way.

"I'm glad they're going to get Hussein and they're going to kill him, but I'm feeling bad for a lot of people who are there - my family, the other Assyrian Christians and a lot of poor people," Shamoon said. "They're going to die, too."

The last time Shamoon risked talking to her relatives, they told her they sit huddled inside, wondering how long the groceries they bought a month ago will last.

All of the businesses are closed and no one is working.

"They don't know what's going to happen to them, if they're going to bomb everything there," Shamoon said.

She rushes from work today, as she does everyday, and immediately turns on the news when she gets home.

Troops remain on the outskirts of Baghdad.

Shamoon will probably stay glued to her television until 1 or 2 a.m. again. She'll definitely try to call her family in Iraq tomorrow.

The phone lines have remained clear so far, but Shamoon doesn't know how long she should rely on them - rely on the peace of mind so many other families get from hearing their relatives' voices on the other end of the line.

"If I can't hear nothing from them, I can't go to work," she said. "I would be nervous every day. I can't sleep."

ASSYRIANS WANT SADDAM OUT

Courtesy of Chicago Sun Times (30 March); story by Dave Newbart

The mood among the Iraqi-born men who gather each week at this Northwest Side club was unusually low-key Friday night.

Conversations moved fluently between Assyrian, Arabic and heavily accented English as they sat around tables smoking cigarettes, drinking beer and whiskey and eating beef kabobs well past midnight. But unlike most of these gatherings, no Iraqi music played in the background. Some of the men squeezed strings of "sipha'' beads to relieve stress.

As the war in their homeland unfolds, the members of Chicago's Assyrian Social Club are gravely concerned about the safety of their friends and family still in Iraq. Despite their fears, they are clear on their thoughts about Operation Iraqi Freedom.

"We want Saddam overthrown by any means,'' said Sam Dibato, 66, a retired geologist who fled Iraq two years ago when he learned he was going to be arrested on false charges. "We are not supporting war. We are supporting a free Iraq.''

The mostly older men are part of Chicago's Assyrian-American community, which numbers nearly 100,000. Members of the community are holding a rally today at Warren Park in support of the U.S. troops. Organizers said they canceled the annual Assyrian New Year's parade scheduled for next week because of the war.

Like Dibato, thousands of Assyrians--who boast of being some of the oldest Christians in the world--have been persecuted and killed by Saddam Hussein's Baath party. Despite their religious beliefs, the men said using force to oust Saddam is the only option to save their country. They say that even knowing that innocent civilians have died and more will die because of the war. But they believe more people would perish if Saddam remained in power.

"He is cutting the ears off the people, cutting the tongues, killing people to stay in power,'' Dibato said.

That includes 10 members of Dibato's extended family, who disappeared from a village in northern Iraq in 1988 and are thought to have been burned alive when Saddam accused them of opposing his regime. Dibato was forced to leave when he was accused of the same. His mother, two daughters and two brothers remain in Iraq.

The men believe most in Iraq shares their feelings about Saddam but are too afraid to speak out. But they also think many Iraqis aren't convinced the United States will back them if they rebel, considering they were abandoned following the 1991 Persian Gulf War.

"They don't trust anybody, not Saddam Hussein, not the American government,'' said Khoshiaba Jaba, 50. Jaba took up arms against Saddam in 1998, and witnessed the effects of a chemical attack on another Assyrian village in northern Iraq that left two people dead and 200 with deformities. He left in 1990.

"We are a peaceful people,'' said Jaba, who now lives in Skokie. "Saddam is not.''

The men offered mixed views on the United States' role if Saddam is overthrown. One said he'd like to see the United States there "forever,'' while another said he would oppose any American rule over Iraq. No matter what, most said they were likely to return to an Iraq free of Saddam.

"Of course we'll go back,'' said Edward Isaac, 65, of Skokie.

IRAQ BECKONS FEW LOCAL ASSYRIANS

Courtesy of the Modesto Bee (28 March); by Melanie Turner

(ZNDA: Modesto) Though they have strong ties to Iraq, for some Assyrians who immigrated here their country is a distant memory and they have no desire to return.

"No way," said 77-year-old Youab Yonan of Turlock, who left Iraq in 1966, years before President Saddam Hussein came to power. "Because what am I going to see? Injustice."

Daniel's father-in-law and a fellow Assyrian, 77-year-old Youab Yonan, who left Iraq in 1966, says he constantly watches the television for news about the war

Others say they remember Iraq as a beautiful place and would like to visit in more peaceful times.

"I'd love to go, definitely," said Elki Issa, 31, of Modesto. "Not now. One day." She said it would be "something like Alex Haley going back to Africa and seeing your roots, where you came from."

Assyrians, a tiny minority in Iraq, say they have experienced religious discrimination for many decades in Iraq because of their Christian beliefs.

But while most say it is past time for Saddam to go, a few have differing takes.

When Yonan, a retired mechanical engineer and scholar, lived in Iraq, he said, there were no cars and no electricity. He walked two or three miles to school, he said. "Life was very, very hard."

These days, the longtime U.S. citizen said, he has nothing in common with people there. He believes the United States had no choice but to go to war because weapons of mass destruction are a danger to the world.

"It's unfortunate that they came to this kind of aggressive decision," he said, adding that Saddam could have opted for peace.

Bill Dadesho of Modesto was in his early 20s when he came to the Northern San Joaquin Valley from Baghdad in 1963. He said he is not eager to return, although he might want to see the places of his childhood one day.

Born in Mosul, a northern city where U.S. bombs have dropped in recent days, Dadesho said Iraq was not a nice place to live because of the religious discrimination.

"There's nothing there that's beautiful except that you were born in that place," he said.

The valley is home to thousands of Assyrians, some of whom emigrated from Iraq.

Three percent of people in the mostly Muslim country are Christian, and 5 percent are Turkoman and Assyrian, while the largest ethnic groups are the Arabs and Kurds, said Marjorie Sanchez Walker, assistant professor of history at California State University, Stanislaus.

Beautiful memories

Bill Yonan, 44, Youab Yonan's son, left Baghdad when he was 6 and remembers it as a beautiful mix of desert and tropical greenery along two rivers that surround the city. "It was a gorgeous place," he said.

His sister visited the country two years ago and was disappointed to find that military installations had replaced nightclubs and casinos on the river. But he said it would not be safe for a man to return. He said his U.S. citizenship would not protect him there, and he would risk being forced to serve in the military.

"I would love to go back there to my original homeland and visit Baghdad and visit my cousins," he said. "I'd love nothing more."

Issa said her family is split, although she admits most of them are for the war.

"I question the motives of this administration," said Issa, who was born in the United States. "I believe if we wanted a regime change, we could have done it without destroying the country. The main losers are going to be the innocent civilians.

"Look how devastated we were seeing those buildings fall on 9-11," she said. "They're humans, just like us."

Jacklin Daniel, 44, of Turlock, who is of both Iranian and Iraqi descent and the wife of Bill Yonan, calls Saddam "evil."

Jacklin Daniel, 44, comments on the war in Iraq, her family's homeland.

Dadesho agreed. He said the United States should have toppled Saddam and his government years ago.

"Let's get this thing over with," he said. "Get our boys back home."

IN REMEMBRANCE OF MILTON DANIELS (28 FEB 1925 – 14 MAR 2003)

(ZNDA: San Jose) Mr. Milton Daniels, the son of Younatan and Nanajan, was born in Hamadan, Iran on February 28, 1925. The second youngest of four sons, he attended Nusrat School in Hamadan and later transferred to the American Missionary School, where he finished the Baccalaureate in Mathematics program and graduated in June 1942. After graduation and the early death of his father, he was admitted to the Abadan Institute of Technology in Southern Iran on 5th September 1942. The Institute was established by the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company that operated the oil refinery in Abadan. Mr. Daniels studied Petroleum Engineering there and finished the five-year program in four years, graduating in June 1946 in the top ten percentile of his class.

Mr. Daniels was subsequently hired as a chemist by the Abadan Refinery, the largest facility of its kind in the world. He completed his initial training as a chemist rotating in different labs, i.e. Black oil lab, Aviation lab and Sulfur lab, and was assigned to work as the shift chemist. After the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company was nationalized and renamed the National Iranian Oil Company (NIOC), he was promoted and became Aviation chemist, taking over a position held previously by two British Engineers. Mr. Daniels’ next assignment was to serve as a Process Engineer in the Black Oil Movement Facility. He later became the manager of Exports, Stocks and Shipping where he was always on call and responsible for handling 10-15 oil tankers on a daily basis.

On November 23rd, 1963 the same day that President Kennedy was assassinated, Mr. Daniels was transferred to the Iranian capital Tehran to serve as an adviser to Mr. Saeed Naghavi who was in charge of Special Projects for the NIOC. At that time the government of Iran signed the first contract with the Soviet Union to deliver natural gas to Russia and the former Soviet Republics. Once again Mr. Daniels’s ability, dedication and integrity were recognized and he was assigned as the Project Manager at Ahwaz Pipe Fabrication Company to oversee the production of up to 42” diameter pipe for the installation of the natural gas pipeline from the gas fields in southern Iran to the Soviet Union. This enormous project was completed in 1977 and the pipes were manufactured and laid 92 days early, generating savings of nearly one million dollars a day. For this impressive achievement, the late Shah of Iran awarded Mr. Daniels the “Three Crown Medal of Honor”, and the “Grade Five Royal Medallion” (*Note – “Grade Five Royal Medallion” was the highest designated civilian medal of honor, the first four Royal Medallions were awarded only to the Military).

Milton Daniels’ last promotion was serving as the Deputy General Manager of the Ahwaz Pipe Fabrication Company. He also served on the board of the NIOC and acted as the special assistant to Mr. Mossadeghi, the Chief Executive Officer of NIOC as a technical advisor. Mr. Daniels represented NOC at several regional and international conferences and seminars.

Mr. Daniels was in line to become the General Manager of the Ahwaz Pipe Fabrication Company when the Iranian revolution took place and he decided to retire. In 1979, after thirty years of loyal service, Mr. Daniels retired from the NIOC and immigrated to London, England where he lived until his passing.

Family

Milton Daniels is survived by his wife Larissa - the daughter of Isaac and Anna Radeh, whom he met in Abadan and married on August 4, 1964, in Tehran - daughter Monica, recently engaged, and son Richard who recently returned home after completing his education in the United States.

Personal

Milton Daniels was active in the Assyrian community at a young age. In Abadan he joined the Assyrian Association of Abadan and Khoramshahr early on and soon was elected President. During his tenure as President, the Association secured land and built an Assyrian community center in Abadan that housed the Shooshan Primary School, the Church and the Social Hall. These facilities benefited Assyrians of all ages and enabled them to preserve their culture and heritage. After Mr. Daniels transferred to Tehran, once again his passion and dedication for his nation continued. He joined the Assyrian Association of Tehran, was elected President and served for two years.

Among the many attributes that made Milton so humble and unique were his larger than life heart and the spirit of giving without the thought of return. He gave indiscriminately and quietly. He gave to his family, his friends, and the needy. Among his many charitable contributions was his donation to the Assyrian Aid Society of America’s Medical Assistance Project that supplied medicines and medical equipment to the Assyrians in Bet-Nahrain.

Milton had a very warm and sociable personality and liked nothing better than spending quality time with friends, sharing poetry, jokes and political discussions. He was charismatic, had a magnetic personality and attracted people from all walks of life. In recent years, as illness started taking its toll, he was forced to spend more time in bed, but he never gave up on friends and family, and kept in touch by phone. He nourished his mind by reading and often slept with books laying on his bed. He was an active man, a funny man, and a gentleman who loved life and loved to live.