Why did a Halabja genocide survivor commit suicide?

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I was heartbroken when I learned that Kawa Hamaamin Salih, a survivor of the Halabja chemical attack and a former refugee in the Iranian camps who has endured the pain of Nugra Salman prison, committed suicide in a Halabja park, hanging himself from a tree. Looking at the photograph, it was, for me, not just heart-wrenching news, but an enduring image of the mocking value of Kurdish life under Kurdish rule.

In his last moments, Kawa left behind a letter:

My End

When there are no bits of tranquility in life, when I have never lived as a human being, when I was not given my human rights as I deserve, why should I own this life?

Therefore, life has no meaning for me anymore other than grief and pain. Down with the KDP and the PUK. I have only one regret: I couldn't see your humiliation and end, as I am sure that day will come; however, I do not know when.

Finally, I call you, people. Please, take care of my children, so that they will not get lost. I cannot resist a life full of grief and pain. Working is no longer a joy.

God be with you.

Signed,

Kawa Hamaamin Salih

As a friend once wrote me: when life is worthless, what is the value in news of death? Although I still do not know enough about the details of Kawa's death, I know a lot about his life.

We tried very much to get this survivor out of a state of merely surviving, but those in power do not care about the lives of the people.

Towards the end of 2009, I met him as an unfortunate young man in a terrible situation of homelessness, but not just homeless in his country but within his family too.

Back then, Kawa said, he used to sleep in the mosques or under a blanket on the streets of Sulaimani. Occasionally, he was able to afford the 3,000 Iraqi dinars ($2.50) for a room at the Shakar Hotel or the 2,500 dinars to sleep in its lobby. As you can see in the picture, his clothing was full of holes and tears.

No young person deserves that life.

When I met him, he had come to the office of the General Directorate of Martyrs to beg for 25,000 to 30,000 dinars, so that he could buy food and supplies to celebrate Eid. When he started talking about himself, I said: “Please, come into my office to talk more.”

I asked him: “If you are assisted, what jobs can you do?”

He replied: “I can do any job. I used to push an arabana, a cart in the bazaar, but my eyes are badly affected by the smoke from the attack. If I can make some money, I can even do handheld selling.”

The same day, I gave him money for clothes, a shower, and some food. I told him to come back the next day with clean clothes and new shoes. “When you come back, we will have more to talk about,” I said.

He went, but did not come back the next day. I thought: “maybe he is not going to do what he promised.” But, he came back the day after and he had done exactly what I had asked him to do.

With help of my friend Falah Muradkhan, we gave him 100,000 dinars ($84) and I said: “This is a loan and you need to give me back 25,000 dinars each month.” For the next three months, he brought back 25,000 dinars each time and, every time, I would say: “Fine, keep the loan, but carry on working.”

As he used to say, he had gone through serious change and was eventually asked to open a tea house on the road. He needed 300,000 dinars to do this and, with the help of German charity WAD and Falah, the funds were raised.

Every time we tried to get the Halabja Provincial Council to give him permission to open the tea house, it didn't work because of the place where he wanted to open the shop. But later, he told me he had opened it and my friend Dilawar Haidar and I went to have a tea at his place.

From then on, Kawa kept saying: “I am doing fine and my life has changed.”

One day, he said: “I have learned what you taught me and I will do exactly the same and help those in need to get back to work and prevent people from begging.”

This was a reference to our first meeting, when I did not let him go and ask for money from the general directorate. “Keep away from begging,” I told him and that was why he kept repeating this. Him saying that keeps running through my mind today.

When it was time to get married, he said he needed 700,000 dinars and that he had 500,000, but owed me 200,000. Jokingly, I said: “Well, don't worry about paying me any interest!”

Then, more seriously: “What you owe me is my present for your marriage and I will give you another 200,000, so that is the 700,000.”

He replied: “I have no father anymore, but you have become my father.”

Kawa got married. When I told Falah Muradkhan the news, he said: “Well, I will take care of the home furnishings. It is good timing, as it is time to change the furniture at my organisation and I will send him what is worth sending.” He did that and sent a pickup full of furniture to him.

I regret that I never followed up on Kawa’s invitation to come for tea at his house.

Kawa and I did not always get on so easily though. Sometimes we argued. He did not stick to any particular job: one day he was pushing an arabana, another day he was doing motorcycle deliveries, another day he would say again that he had no money.

Once, when he was interviewed by a TV channel as someone who was destitute, we had a fierce argument. But then, in the evening, he called me to say: “You are right.” I said: “Well, I was just about to call you and say that I only want what is best for you.”

The story of this man and his family is heartbreaking and complicated. They are all survivors of the Halabja chemical attack. His mother died on that evening in 1988 and his father was an injured survivor who died in 2008.

All his brothers and sisters were in some way affected by the chemical weapons. One of his brothers became separated on the day of the attack and was later discovered living as a refugee in Austria. The brother once came back to Halabja for a visit, but he could not speak Kurdish anymore. He had to communicate with his brothers and sisters in sign language.

Omer Muhamad is a writer and activist focusing on the Anfal and genocide.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and or those quoted and do not necessarily reflect those of NRT.