Team Infidel
Forum Spin Doctor
Wall Street Journal
December 26, 2006
Pg. 1
By Philip Shishkin
BAGHDAD, Iraq -- Khattab al-Juboori, a Sunni Muslim, was preparing to move from his longtime home to escape the threat of sectarian violence in his largely Shiite Muslim neighborhood. Then, with a phone call from the wife of the man to whom Mr. al-Juboori was planning to rent the home, the situation got even worse.
"The wife told us he has no intention of paying the rent and wants to take the house for free," recalls Mr. al-Juboori. She was warning him because she had been friends with Mr. al-Juboori's mother for years.
Panicked moves -- from mixed Sunni and Shiite neighborhoods to sharply divided ones -- are on the rise across Baghdad as both Sunnis and Shiites flee their homes for safer areas where their sect is in the majority. As this shapes the city's sectarian landscape, it is also fueling a now-common real-estate scam: expropriating the newly vacated property. Shrewd defensive measures against such takeovers, along with the occasional brave act of cross-sectarian kindness, are appearing too.
Most refugees have to leave in a hurry, often after a family member has been murdered, so they have little time to sell or rent the house or even move their belongings. Gen. Jalil Khalaf of the Iraqi army was going over some paperwork one recent morning when an elderly Shiite man in baggy pants was ushered into his office, complaining about assailants trying to take over his house. "They threatened me, I'm scared of going back," the man told the general. "The whole street is empty now." Gunmen shot at his door in the mostly Sunni neighborhood, he continued, and shouted at him to get out. He was now begging for an army escort to accompany him back home so he could fetch some clothes and warm blankets for his children and leave the house for good.
Local strongmen, backed up by sectarian militias, simply take over the empty houses, not allowing the owners to sell or rent them out. This forces the refugees further into poverty. Their old houses are used by militias to provide free or deeply discounted accommodation to militia supporters or to refugees from other neighborhoods.
A recent United Nations report estimates that some 420,000 Iraqis have been displaced from their homes since February. Shops full of merchandise get confiscated too. Owners count their blessings if they simply escape alive. A Sunni computer technician who would only identify himself as Abu Aiman says his brother-in-law was recently murdered and left behind a large grocery store in a mostly Shiite neighborhood. Then a Sunni relative running the shop was abducted together with his son. The kidnappers called other family members with a warning: "You have no right to this shop, go away and leave everything, it belongs to us now," Abu Aiman recalls. The family did as it was told. Sacks of rice, shelves of canned food and row upon row of other groceries along with some cash were all lost. The kidnapped shopkeeper hasn't been heard from again.
Places of worship aren't safe either. In the mostly Shiite neighborhood of Hurriyah, the scene of the capital's latest sectarian cleansing, Shiite gunmen shuttered a Sunni mosque and pinned a piece of paper on the door identifying it as a Husseyniah, or a Shiite mosque. Elsewhere in the neighborhood, Shiite vigilantes painted red X's on abandoned Sunni houses, and on the walls they scrawled notes like, "This house is wanted for blood" and "This house is not for sale or rent."
The economic toll of confiscated property can be devastating for families who have already lost breadwinners. Wassan Habib Dishar, a 31-year-old Shiite mother of two, used to live in a sprawling two-story house with a large backyard. Her husband's brother Taleb owned the house and also lived there with his own wife and children. Taleb, a middle-class clothes merchant, was shot dead outside of his shop by Sunni extremists in plain view of his 14-year-old son, she says.
Ms. Dishar and her husband, Qadem, fled to a relatives' house, but a few weeks later decided to return. Qadem was working in his dead brother's clothing store one day, and called Ms. Dishar to inquire what she wanted him to bring home for dinner. That was the last she heard from him: Qadem was killed that night, she says. A few days later, Ms. Dishar grabbed her 6-year-old daughter and 9-year-old son and moved into a crowded apartment in a safer neighborhood with relatives.
Then she made inquiries through her old Sunni neighbors about selling or renting the big house. But it was too late: A family of new Sunni tenants had already moved in. The neighbors, who were good friends with Ms. Dishar and her late husband, approached the new tenants on her behalf with a quiet suggestion: This house is owned by a widow so perhaps you should consider paying some rent. The tenants flatly declined, saying Shiites were no longer allowed to live in the neighborhood, Ms. Dishar says her Sunni neighbors told her.
Scared, the widow decided not to pursue the house matter. She rented a small place for herself and her two children. Her husband's shop was burned, and she is now struggling to find a job to keep up with her rent of $220 a month. "It's a huge problem for me, because I never had to pay rent before," she says, clutching two tattered yellow folders with death certificates for her husband and brother-in-law.
She's been trying to get compensation from the government, but that would require going back to her old neighborhood to collect signatures in a municipal office. Ms. Dishar is too afraid to return, even for a brief visit. So all her savings and charity money from relatives goes into rent, making it impossible for her to pay for an eye surgery for her daughter, who is almost blind.
Many Iraqis don't wait for tragedy to strike before leaving their homes. Instead, they make quiet inquiries about selling or renting their old houses, so they can move out with at least some money and belongings to start fresh elsewhere. After several of his neighbors received death threats and eviction notices, Mr. al-Juboori decided it was time to go. When his neighbor heard about this, he offered to rent the house. It has a big garden, a garage, a large first floor with two bedrooms a living room and two bathrooms. Mr. al-Juboori had been adding a second floor, which is almost finished now. Then came the telephone warning from his neighbor's wife. Mr. al-Juboori suspects the neighbor coveted the house because it was bigger than his and because his sons' alleged ties to a local Shiite militia gave him clout to attempt a takeover.
But the neighbor's wife, whom Mr. al-Juboori's mother once helped through a bad illness, got wind of the plan and alerted her friend. "The wife didn't forget our kindness, but [the neighbor] forgot," says Mr. al-Juboori who agreed to be identified only by his common tribal last name for security reasons.
Mr. al-Juboori wasn't surprised by the neighbor's plot. A Sunni family just down the street had fled their home and left the keys with their Shiite neighbors, asking them to watch the empty house. Soon afterward, a band of Shiite gunmen approached the caretakers and demanded the keys, according to Mr. al-Juboori and another person familiar with the matter. The Shiite father refused, saying he had promised his Sunni neighbors he'd guard the house. A loud confrontation ensued, and the gunmen shot the man's son in the leg to show they meant business. The father relented and gave up the keys, says Mr. al-Juboori, who is good friends with the wounded son from whom he heard the story.
Tipped off to his own neighbor's plan, Mr. al-Juboori went to a local real-estate agent for help. The man told him there was little he could do because Shiite militiamen had put out word that no one should buy Sunni property. The real-estate agent, a well-connected Shiite, is an old acquaintance of the al-Jubooris, so a few days later he called back with a ploy. He pretended to buy the house from the al-Jubooris, and then rented it to new tenants. He told the Shiite militiamen that he was the owner, and his neighborhood stature shielded him from pressure.
Unbeknownst to anyone, Mr. al-Juboori retained the actual ownership and moved to another neighborhood. He now secretly meets the real-estate agent every month to collect the rent. The agent took a small commission for the first month, but now turns over the rent in full. "He would be in danger if people found out the truth," Mr. al-Juboori says. "He's not doing it for the money, but simply because he's a friend."
December 26, 2006
Pg. 1
By Philip Shishkin
BAGHDAD, Iraq -- Khattab al-Juboori, a Sunni Muslim, was preparing to move from his longtime home to escape the threat of sectarian violence in his largely Shiite Muslim neighborhood. Then, with a phone call from the wife of the man to whom Mr. al-Juboori was planning to rent the home, the situation got even worse.
"The wife told us he has no intention of paying the rent and wants to take the house for free," recalls Mr. al-Juboori. She was warning him because she had been friends with Mr. al-Juboori's mother for years.
Panicked moves -- from mixed Sunni and Shiite neighborhoods to sharply divided ones -- are on the rise across Baghdad as both Sunnis and Shiites flee their homes for safer areas where their sect is in the majority. As this shapes the city's sectarian landscape, it is also fueling a now-common real-estate scam: expropriating the newly vacated property. Shrewd defensive measures against such takeovers, along with the occasional brave act of cross-sectarian kindness, are appearing too.
Most refugees have to leave in a hurry, often after a family member has been murdered, so they have little time to sell or rent the house or even move their belongings. Gen. Jalil Khalaf of the Iraqi army was going over some paperwork one recent morning when an elderly Shiite man in baggy pants was ushered into his office, complaining about assailants trying to take over his house. "They threatened me, I'm scared of going back," the man told the general. "The whole street is empty now." Gunmen shot at his door in the mostly Sunni neighborhood, he continued, and shouted at him to get out. He was now begging for an army escort to accompany him back home so he could fetch some clothes and warm blankets for his children and leave the house for good.
Local strongmen, backed up by sectarian militias, simply take over the empty houses, not allowing the owners to sell or rent them out. This forces the refugees further into poverty. Their old houses are used by militias to provide free or deeply discounted accommodation to militia supporters or to refugees from other neighborhoods.
A recent United Nations report estimates that some 420,000 Iraqis have been displaced from their homes since February. Shops full of merchandise get confiscated too. Owners count their blessings if they simply escape alive. A Sunni computer technician who would only identify himself as Abu Aiman says his brother-in-law was recently murdered and left behind a large grocery store in a mostly Shiite neighborhood. Then a Sunni relative running the shop was abducted together with his son. The kidnappers called other family members with a warning: "You have no right to this shop, go away and leave everything, it belongs to us now," Abu Aiman recalls. The family did as it was told. Sacks of rice, shelves of canned food and row upon row of other groceries along with some cash were all lost. The kidnapped shopkeeper hasn't been heard from again.
Places of worship aren't safe either. In the mostly Shiite neighborhood of Hurriyah, the scene of the capital's latest sectarian cleansing, Shiite gunmen shuttered a Sunni mosque and pinned a piece of paper on the door identifying it as a Husseyniah, or a Shiite mosque. Elsewhere in the neighborhood, Shiite vigilantes painted red X's on abandoned Sunni houses, and on the walls they scrawled notes like, "This house is wanted for blood" and "This house is not for sale or rent."
The economic toll of confiscated property can be devastating for families who have already lost breadwinners. Wassan Habib Dishar, a 31-year-old Shiite mother of two, used to live in a sprawling two-story house with a large backyard. Her husband's brother Taleb owned the house and also lived there with his own wife and children. Taleb, a middle-class clothes merchant, was shot dead outside of his shop by Sunni extremists in plain view of his 14-year-old son, she says.
Ms. Dishar and her husband, Qadem, fled to a relatives' house, but a few weeks later decided to return. Qadem was working in his dead brother's clothing store one day, and called Ms. Dishar to inquire what she wanted him to bring home for dinner. That was the last she heard from him: Qadem was killed that night, she says. A few days later, Ms. Dishar grabbed her 6-year-old daughter and 9-year-old son and moved into a crowded apartment in a safer neighborhood with relatives.
Then she made inquiries through her old Sunni neighbors about selling or renting the big house. But it was too late: A family of new Sunni tenants had already moved in. The neighbors, who were good friends with Ms. Dishar and her late husband, approached the new tenants on her behalf with a quiet suggestion: This house is owned by a widow so perhaps you should consider paying some rent. The tenants flatly declined, saying Shiites were no longer allowed to live in the neighborhood, Ms. Dishar says her Sunni neighbors told her.
Scared, the widow decided not to pursue the house matter. She rented a small place for herself and her two children. Her husband's shop was burned, and she is now struggling to find a job to keep up with her rent of $220 a month. "It's a huge problem for me, because I never had to pay rent before," she says, clutching two tattered yellow folders with death certificates for her husband and brother-in-law.
She's been trying to get compensation from the government, but that would require going back to her old neighborhood to collect signatures in a municipal office. Ms. Dishar is too afraid to return, even for a brief visit. So all her savings and charity money from relatives goes into rent, making it impossible for her to pay for an eye surgery for her daughter, who is almost blind.
Many Iraqis don't wait for tragedy to strike before leaving their homes. Instead, they make quiet inquiries about selling or renting their old houses, so they can move out with at least some money and belongings to start fresh elsewhere. After several of his neighbors received death threats and eviction notices, Mr. al-Juboori decided it was time to go. When his neighbor heard about this, he offered to rent the house. It has a big garden, a garage, a large first floor with two bedrooms a living room and two bathrooms. Mr. al-Juboori had been adding a second floor, which is almost finished now. Then came the telephone warning from his neighbor's wife. Mr. al-Juboori suspects the neighbor coveted the house because it was bigger than his and because his sons' alleged ties to a local Shiite militia gave him clout to attempt a takeover.
But the neighbor's wife, whom Mr. al-Juboori's mother once helped through a bad illness, got wind of the plan and alerted her friend. "The wife didn't forget our kindness, but [the neighbor] forgot," says Mr. al-Juboori who agreed to be identified only by his common tribal last name for security reasons.
Mr. al-Juboori wasn't surprised by the neighbor's plot. A Sunni family just down the street had fled their home and left the keys with their Shiite neighbors, asking them to watch the empty house. Soon afterward, a band of Shiite gunmen approached the caretakers and demanded the keys, according to Mr. al-Juboori and another person familiar with the matter. The Shiite father refused, saying he had promised his Sunni neighbors he'd guard the house. A loud confrontation ensued, and the gunmen shot the man's son in the leg to show they meant business. The father relented and gave up the keys, says Mr. al-Juboori, who is good friends with the wounded son from whom he heard the story.
Tipped off to his own neighbor's plan, Mr. al-Juboori went to a local real-estate agent for help. The man told him there was little he could do because Shiite militiamen had put out word that no one should buy Sunni property. The real-estate agent, a well-connected Shiite, is an old acquaintance of the al-Jubooris, so a few days later he called back with a ploy. He pretended to buy the house from the al-Jubooris, and then rented it to new tenants. He told the Shiite militiamen that he was the owner, and his neighborhood stature shielded him from pressure.
Unbeknownst to anyone, Mr. al-Juboori retained the actual ownership and moved to another neighborhood. He now secretly meets the real-estate agent every month to collect the rent. The agent took a small commission for the first month, but now turns over the rent in full. "He would be in danger if people found out the truth," Mr. al-Juboori says. "He's not doing it for the money, but simply because he's a friend."