This was a very powerful and well-documented piece by Nicholas Al-Jeloo, I decided to post it here, with his permission
Remembering Khabur, 6 years on
Yesterday was the date on which, in 2015, ISIS terrorists invaded the 35 Assyrian villages along the Khabur River (in Syria's al-Hasakah province) and took some 250 of their inhabitants captive (including some of my own relatives). Some died while trying to defend their homes or flee, and three more were murdered on camera while in captivity by the criminals. This was the most traumatic event suffered in the history of Assyrians in the modern state of Syria.
The Khabur villages were established by some 12,800 refugees fleeing Iraq's genocidal massacre of its Assyrians in 1933. They themselves had already been made refugees from their ancestral lands in Hakkari and Urmia in 1915, 1918 and again in 1924. In Syria's Jazirah region, however, these menaced people found a long-sought-after peace and prosperity as they built (from scratch) a system of villages and an agricultural infrastructure based on their former homelands, on the banks of what was then a mighty river.
When I first visited Khabur in 2002, there were still more than 10,000 Assyrians living in its villages which, at their height, had been home to more than double that figure. Despite the population drain toward the diaspora, these villages (except one which had been abandoned sold in its entirety) were vibrant and abuzz with rural Assyrian life, and especially during the feast days and weddings throughout the spring to autumn months.
Khabur was a cultural hub and a final stronghold of contiguous Assyrian settlement within their traditional lands of northern Mesopotamia. Moreover, It was the only place in the homeland where I still had a significant number of my extended family members (even though my parents were born in Iraq). Visiting my relatives in Tell-Goran and other villages, and spending "Shahra d-Mar Zaya" with them, were highlights of my life on the five lengthy visits I made to the area between 2002 and 2010.
The Syrian civil war, which began in 2011, and the tragic events of 23 February 2015, have since put an end to that way of life. Of the 3,000 Assyrians who had remained in their villages before ISIS attacked, only 300 remain, cooped up in the main town of Tell-Tamr. The rest are in the cities or have fled for permanent exile in the diaspora. The paradise which was one our Khabur is now no more.
The villages are now controlled by Kurdish terrorists from the YPG, who are using them for their own purposes. In some of them, they have settled Kurdish refugees from Afrin, while others they are using as military bases and training grounds. Our Tell-Goran is now the base of an Armenian terrorist brigade aligned with the Kurds, and they have been holding yearly commemorations of their "genocide" in our church since 2019. What's more, they have been publicizing these on Kurdish media in order to provoke the Turkish military, less than 50 km away.
Right now, I am in Mardin, Turkey, which is 80 km away (as the crow flies) from Khabur - and less than a 100 km drive via Şenyurt/al-Dirbasiyah. If there was no conflict, and the borders were open, I could potentially be there in less than 1 hour 45 minutes. But I can't. There actually is a war, and the area is controlled by Kurdish nationalist terrorists who cooperated with the ISIS Islamist terrorists to oust my people from their lands and change the local demography.
From the roof of the 4th century Mar Hormizd Chaldean Catholic Church, where I am staying, I can clearly see the crests of the 'Abd al-Aziz mountains (which lie to the south of the Khabur villages) and Mount Kawkab (to the east of al-Hasakah) in the distance. It's so near, yet so, so far. As much as my heart yearns to be there to embrace my remaining relatives and friends whom I haven't seen in nearly 11 years, alas, I can't.
I am waiting for peace to come to Syria, and justice to return, as well as the rule of law, and the end of Kurdish nationalist and Islamist terrorism. Hopefully then, it will be safe for the wounded children of the Khabur to return from the diaspora, rebuild their homes and forge a better future on the lands of their forebears.
Let us never forget Khabur!
* This post was inspired by one yesterday, written by
Enana Hermez
.
Photo 1: Map showing the distance from Mardin to Khabur.
Photo 2: Me standing by the Khabur River at Tell-Goran in August 2007
Remembering Khabur, 6 years on
Yesterday was the date on which, in 2015, ISIS terrorists invaded the 35 Assyrian villages along the Khabur River (in Syria's al-Hasakah province) and took some 250 of their inhabitants captive (including some of my own relatives). Some died while trying to defend their homes or flee, and three more were murdered on camera while in captivity by the criminals. This was the most traumatic event suffered in the history of Assyrians in the modern state of Syria.
The Khabur villages were established by some 12,800 refugees fleeing Iraq's genocidal massacre of its Assyrians in 1933. They themselves had already been made refugees from their ancestral lands in Hakkari and Urmia in 1915, 1918 and again in 1924. In Syria's Jazirah region, however, these menaced people found a long-sought-after peace and prosperity as they built (from scratch) a system of villages and an agricultural infrastructure based on their former homelands, on the banks of what was then a mighty river.
When I first visited Khabur in 2002, there were still more than 10,000 Assyrians living in its villages which, at their height, had been home to more than double that figure. Despite the population drain toward the diaspora, these villages (except one which had been abandoned sold in its entirety) were vibrant and abuzz with rural Assyrian life, and especially during the feast days and weddings throughout the spring to autumn months.
Khabur was a cultural hub and a final stronghold of contiguous Assyrian settlement within their traditional lands of northern Mesopotamia. Moreover, It was the only place in the homeland where I still had a significant number of my extended family members (even though my parents were born in Iraq). Visiting my relatives in Tell-Goran and other villages, and spending "Shahra d-Mar Zaya" with them, were highlights of my life on the five lengthy visits I made to the area between 2002 and 2010.
The Syrian civil war, which began in 2011, and the tragic events of 23 February 2015, have since put an end to that way of life. Of the 3,000 Assyrians who had remained in their villages before ISIS attacked, only 300 remain, cooped up in the main town of Tell-Tamr. The rest are in the cities or have fled for permanent exile in the diaspora. The paradise which was one our Khabur is now no more.
The villages are now controlled by Kurdish terrorists from the YPG, who are using them for their own purposes. In some of them, they have settled Kurdish refugees from Afrin, while others they are using as military bases and training grounds. Our Tell-Goran is now the base of an Armenian terrorist brigade aligned with the Kurds, and they have been holding yearly commemorations of their "genocide" in our church since 2019. What's more, they have been publicizing these on Kurdish media in order to provoke the Turkish military, less than 50 km away.
Right now, I am in Mardin, Turkey, which is 80 km away (as the crow flies) from Khabur - and less than a 100 km drive via Şenyurt/al-Dirbasiyah. If there was no conflict, and the borders were open, I could potentially be there in less than 1 hour 45 minutes. But I can't. There actually is a war, and the area is controlled by Kurdish nationalist terrorists who cooperated with the ISIS Islamist terrorists to oust my people from their lands and change the local demography.
From the roof of the 4th century Mar Hormizd Chaldean Catholic Church, where I am staying, I can clearly see the crests of the 'Abd al-Aziz mountains (which lie to the south of the Khabur villages) and Mount Kawkab (to the east of al-Hasakah) in the distance. It's so near, yet so, so far. As much as my heart yearns to be there to embrace my remaining relatives and friends whom I haven't seen in nearly 11 years, alas, I can't.
I am waiting for peace to come to Syria, and justice to return, as well as the rule of law, and the end of Kurdish nationalist and Islamist terrorism. Hopefully then, it will be safe for the wounded children of the Khabur to return from the diaspora, rebuild their homes and forge a better future on the lands of their forebears.
Let us never forget Khabur!
* This post was inspired by one yesterday, written by
Enana Hermez
.
Photo 1: Map showing the distance from Mardin to Khabur.
Photo 2: Me standing by the Khabur River at Tell-Goran in August 2007
