By Judit Neurink
In the Kurdistan Region, guns are often part of the street view. They are visible not only at checkpoints, but also at the gates of government buildings and official compounds. Meanwhile, many people carry concealed handguns, or keep one in their car.
So many times and on so many occasions have I wondered what they need a gun for, when I see men arriving at restaurants with their wives and children and handing over their guns at the door.
“No weapons” stickers are common on many restaurant windows.
I have witnessed a conflict outside a restaurant where men shot at each other, with women screaming and crying. I know of a house in a civilian neighbourhood that is guarded round the clock because armed men had once tried an attempt on the owner’s life. I have lived in an area where gunfire is a regular sound, and all too often I am told that someone was wounded or even killed.
Every year in Kurdistan, many people die of gunshot wounds from illegal guns. The killing of a teacher by his student in Sulaimani, the killing of an entire family by a teenager, a female teacher killed for reasons of honour and killings in tribal feuds are only some examples.
Years of war and violence have certainly left their mark on many Kurds today. Anyone killed in an armed conflict -- no matter the cause -- is often given the title martyr. It is as if getting killed is an honour.
Here, a common phrase goes, “There is not a house in Kurdistan without a gun.”
Officially, to own a gun, you need a permit. An unlicensed weapon can get you a one-year jail term. Yet, many people have unregistered guns, handed down to them by family members, bought in the open markets in the 1990s or acquired after the 2003 US-led invasion of Iraq, when many army depots were looted by people.
Not so long ago I visited a gun market on the outskirts of Erbil. It was under police supervision, but all kinds of weapons were still sold to people who did not have permits. Sulaimani too had its own gun market which got into trouble after a woman who bought a gun there shot a family member.
I have been told that many of these weapons come from old stocks of the two major Kurdish parties, the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK) and the Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP). When they get new guns, the old ones land in the market. Weapons also come from the rest of Iraq, and are also smuggled in from Iran.
Over the years I have heard of new policies to limit gun permits, and of special programs to get the guns off the streets. But nothing seems to be working.
The first change may have to start with the mentality, particularly of macho men or those who think a gun makes a man more attractive to girls.
I am not talking about the guns at the checkpoints or carried by police forces. Kurdistan is a country where the threat of a gun in the hands of a policeman still works, and still is needed to guarantee our security. But that is not the case with the guns that civilians own.
If you compare the statistics of countries where guns are freely available for individuals with a permit (the United States, for instance) and those where guns cannot be owned by private persons, it is very clear the latter are safer. Guns do not add to security when they are in the hands of civilians. When a gun is present, it will be used. Especially in a society like Kurdistan, where not using the gun would be seen as unmanly behaviour.
Police and politicians should persist in trying to get the guns off the streets and out of the houses. But at the same time, we need to make very clear what the presence of guns may lead to. We have to show the Kurdish civilians that they are mistaken if they feel safe with a gun at hand. We need statistics, we need information campaigns, and we need education that should start in the classroom.
Of course, this will not be an easy cause, as it will take years to change a mentality. But the earlier we start, the sooner we will see results. Not doing anything will eventually only help to increase the number of Kurds who die every year of gunshot wounds.
