A People in Hiding: Iraqi Refugees in Lebanon

You’d think that a woman with a loving husband, newborn baby and a master’s degree in physics would be set for life — or at least not hiding out in a dank basement room bare of anything but two thin mattresses on the floor.

A few years ago, Rana [name changed] had a successful career in Iraq. Today, she fears for her life. One of an estimated 50,000 Iraqi refugees in Lebanon, Rana does not leave the tiny apartment in Beirut where she, her husband and her 10-week-old daughter wait out the time until another country accepts them as immigrants.

A young Iraqi refugee in Lebanon holds her baby daughter, whose name in Arabic means “Flower.” A Muslim, the mother ordinarily veils only her hair. Here, she has veiled her face for fear of being identified and deported. Photo by CRS Staff

A softspoken 30-year-old new mother, Rana explains that her father was murdered for his political beliefs. As his daughter, she herself was later threatened directly. She fled to Beirut to join her husband, who was in Lebanon already.

Lebanon proved not to be the asylum she hoped for. Having moved into one apartment, Rana heard rumors that her father’s enemies knew her whereabouts. She and her small family moved to another apartment, which the talented and well-educated Rana does not leave. “I am afraid all the time,” she says.

Stories like Rana’s are painfully familiar to the staff of the Caritas Lebanon Migrant Center, one of the few charities in Beirut reaching out to those fleeing Iraq’s violence and chaos. Funded by Catholic Relief Services and other donors, the migrant center helps the refugees with rent payments, medicine and household needs like mattresses.

The vast majority of Iraqi immigrants live illegally in Lebanon, unable to receive work permits or access public schools and health services. Many put their names on a long U.N. waiting list, hoping against hope that countries like Canada will take them in. Forbidden to work and afraid to go out often for fear of arrest, they sit in near-empty apartments and watch the months drag by.

This week, a group of U.S. nuns are visiting programs for Iraqi refugees in Lebanon. Hosted by CRS, the sisters have made home visits, seen shelters and met with women religious working in and around Beirut.

They are sharply aware of Lebanon’s limitations in dealing with the flood of refugees. Just a few days ago, a car bomb meant for a U.S. embassy vehicle killed several people on the streets of Beirut (everyone in the CRS delegation is safe). Lebanon has been in political turmoil for the past year and without a president since the end of November 2007, the country’s government has more problems than it can handle.

Private groups like the Caritas center are trying to bridge the gap, with case workers putting in long hours and struggling to find more resources. “There are just so many” Iraqis needing help, says one social worker.

“They are not refugees,” says a Lebanon-based Sister of the Good Shepherd that the delegation visited. “They are our brothers and sisters, because the world belongs to all of us.”