BATO

I was young and musically talented. I wanted to be a great artist. One of my relatives had a band in Baghdad and he taught me how to play all sorts of music including Western songs. I became a fine guitar player.

Years later, I returned to Kirkuk to set up a band with some friends. We played in various clubs. One of the musicians in the band was a relative of mine who helped set up these events. I would accompany him during his visits to various other relatives. He would ask me to wait outside the homes we visited with my guitar. He told me that whenever I saw a stranger, I should start playing and singing. I was happy doing that.

He was a member of the Assyrian Democratic Movement, which was an illegal group. I didn’t know this at the time.

During these years, the Iraq/Iran war was at its peak. Everyone was afraid of their shadow. The intelligence agents were always looking for the slightest hint of anything to investigate.

One day, we were at a gathering of the Assyrian National Club in Kirkuk to commemorate one of the national holidays. My relative said, “I want you to sing a song. I want to find out if you’re ready to know what’s going on.”

He asked me to sing an Assyrian patriotic song which was forbidden by the Iraqi government. I was young. I sang the song.

From that moment on, my suffering began. Suddenly, I became part of the movement without really understanding what was happening.

One day when I was playing and singing I saw someone sitting at a table, watching me. After the show ended, the manager of the hall called me over and said, “Can you please come to the office?”

When I went in I saw eight people sitting there. It was one o’clock in the morning. They started questioning me and asked for my identification card. I was carrying a card from the Kurdish Militia, who cooperated with the regime.

Then they blindfolded me and took me into their car. They took me into a really small room and took off the blindfold. I opened my eyes but I couldn’t see anything because the room was so dark. I was very scared.

After ten minutes, I heard voices. It sounded as if they came from within a cave. Many hours later they took me into a long narrow room. There were lots of prisoners there. No one was talking to each other. I sat in that room for nine days without anybody questioning me.

They called my name. They blindfolded me again and took me to an interrogation room. They started beating me very hard and torturing me.

Then, they took me to a room where there was only a backgammon set and chairs. After an hour, someone came into the room. He was holding papers and pens. He didn’t say anything.

“Are you Baya”?

“Yes.”

He started to beat me and insult me. He hit my stomach and I started vomiting. I fell to the ground.

He ordered me to stand up and sit in the chair. He gave me a cigarette and asked me to tell him the story of my life with especially accurate details about my family.

After I finished he said, “We know you have two handicapped brothers and a handicapped sister. We don’t want anything from you except assistance. Help us by telling us the names of those who oppose the government in Kirkuk. If you give us these names, we’ll take you back home.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You know what we want. We’ve arrested a lot of people. We can bring them here in front of you. Then, you can tell us their names to confirm their participation in groups that oppose the government.”

I knew this was false. All the important members had fled the country.

“At your shows, what sort of songs do you sing?”

“Ballads, national songs, and other songs.”

“No, there were times when you sang some special songs.”

“I don’t get involved in politics.”

Then, he brought over a tape recorder and a cassette.

“Isn’t this your voice?”

I was very surprised.

“Yes, that’s my voice.” Then, I explained, “The words of the song are about the city of Mosul and its culture. One of our singers sang that song outside the country. I bought the cassette at an official music store in Kirkuk. The cassette entered Iraq through the customs checkpoints. It can be found everywhere. The audience always asks me to sing certain songs. I have to respond to their requests. I’m not interested in politics.”

“Iraq is our country. How can we allow strangers to come here and destroy it?”

Our conversation went on like this for hours.

Then, I was blindfolded and taken back to the same room. I was in that room for nineteen days without another interrogation.

During that time I wondered about many things. My family didn’t know where I was. I was in a lot of trouble and very scared.

So, I prayed and kept my faith in Christ.

Then, I was blindfolded and handcuffed, and put into a car and taken to the Security Directorate. When we entered the building, they took off my blindfold and I found myself standing in big room. The people who brought me over handed them an envelope with a red seal which was used by security and intelligence agents.

A soldier ordered me to stand in one corner of the room. Then, some guards came to take me away. They gave me a severe beating with bamboo sticks. They were swearing as they beat me. It was very painful and blood was pouring out of my back. They pushed me into the office and I fell onto the floor.

The officer ordered me to stand up. Then, he told a guard to fetch him cold water. The officer poured the water over my body. It was winter and I started shivering. Then, the officer ordered the guard to torture me, “Beat him while he is still wet.”

This made the beating especially cruel. The guard hit me with the bamboo and with his hands until I lost consciousness.

I woke up in a room with perhaps a hundred people. It was difficult to sit down and many had to sleep standing up. After four days, I was summoned to appear before an investigating officer.

“It appears you had a false identification card from a Kurdish National Defense regiment.”

They brought me back to the cell and later transferred me to a base near Sulaimaniya and forced me to become a soldier.

Eventually, I received permission to visit my home in Kirkuk. When I reached the house, I knocked on the gate. When my father saw me, he fell to ground. I helped him stand up and he started crying, “We thought they’d killed you.”

A short while later my father died.

For years I have lived with fear, anxiety, and worries. For a long time, I couldn’t sleep at night.

Eventually, I started singing and strumming the guitar again. I began playing here and there.

Sometimes, I think about how I played guitar outside that house whenever people came by. And, then I realize that we are now a people with a future.