Life in Mosul: hard times in Iraq's 'prison city'

ERBIL, Kurdistan Region - When he woke up to leaflets raining from the sky over the occupied Iraqi city of Mosul on July 4, 26-year-old Ahmad’s feelings went from the dread of another bombing raid to the hope of liberation from the grip of the Islamic State, or ISIS.

The leaflets promised residents -- who have been living under ISIS rule since the militants seized Iraq’s second-largest city just over a year ago -- that details of an operation to liberate Mosul would be broadcast soon over a new Iraqi radio station.

“We know the liberation will come with war and violence,” said Ahmad, who spoke to Rudaw from Mosul by phone and email at great personal danger over the course of two days.

“We want to be freed of ISIS, but no one knows what to do or where to start,” he explained.

Ahmad, who wanted only his first name used to protect his identity, said that he and his friends believe those living in the city have meager choices and lack the resources to topple ISIS themselves. 

The lack of communication – being cut off from the rest of the world, including their would-be saviors promising help soon – has made any kind of effort to organize against ISIS impossible.

With closed borders, the mobile phone network out of action inside the city and internet connection extremely restricted by the radicals, Mosul is now the most isolated city in Iraq.

“We are an unorganized lot who want to battle a very organized group,” explained Ahmad. Dropping leaflets, he said, is certainly not enough to organize a population to battle a group that is running Mosul as its capital in Iraq.

“There is a will inside Mosul to help local forces and the coalition to liberate Mosul,” he said. “But people need to be directed.”

For Ahmad and his friends, life under ISIS – or Daesh as the group is known in Arabic -- has been like living in “a large prison, with terror, rules, guns and swords.”

Ahmad, who received his degree in political science from Mosul University two years ago, explained that he is among tens of thousands of young Iraqis who have spent the past year unemployed and in “despair, danger and terror.”

“When you graduate, you prepare yourself to begin a better life,” he lamented. “You want to start your career, think about marrying the one you love. This is how a normal life should be, but things are completely different here.”

Ahmad said that life under ISIS is harder than most people can imagine: shortages of water, fuel and electricity are daily realities. Inside the prison city the extremists have banned even the simplest of pleasures.

Music and art are forbidden subjects in school. For the holy month of Ramadan that ends this week, the militants banned residents from playing board games; women are not allowed to leave their homes before the end of the daily fast at dusk; even prayers for the Eid feast that ends Ramadan have been banned. A few months ago, a directive ordered young men like Ahmad not to shave their beards. 

“It is like hanging between two magnetic forces,” Ahmad explained. “On the one hand there are the simplest of needs, like listening to the music you like. On the other hand you have Daesh pushing you away from everything you want.”
The rules are enforced by the group’s Hathba police that roams the city, picking up offenders for punishment.

Ahmad described what happened to a Christian friend who was stopped by them and picked up for listening to music in his car.

“I was shocked for a moment when I visited him at his home: he was badly beaten and lay in his bed,” Ahmad said. “My friend was so angry and sad. I could feel his anger even though we were all silent, except for his mother, who sat sobbing. Finally, I asked my friend what happened, and he did not say a word. It was his mother who explained: “45 public lashes for listening to a song.”

Leaving the prison city is not an option: in March, the militants warned that anyone caught attempting to leave would be beheaded.

Even the very sick who want to leave for medical treatment must provide a doctor’s certificate stamped by the relevant ISIS authority, and two guarantors who will vouch the person will return.

“In the latest such case the Daesh beheaded a family and a guarantor about two weeks ago after a young man failed to return following a heart operation,” according to Ahmad.

As Ahmad and his friends await liberation, they are keenly aware that promises of imminent plans for an assault by Iraqi forces have been circulating for months.

Months of airstrikes by the US-led coalition appear to have done little to demoralize the terrorists – despite Washington’s claims to the contrary.

In addition, the Iraqi Army has earned a reputation for fleeing than fighting against ISIS – as it did when it virtually surrendered Mosul in June last year.

The Kurdish Peshmerga forces, acknowledged internationally as the most effective force on the ground against ISIS in Iraq, have repeatedly said they would be part of a force to liberate the city, but will not do the fighting for the Iraqi Army.

“We are waiting for Iraqi army and coalition forces to get inside the city. Then we can help them liberate Mosul,” Ahmad said. 

“This of course will not be without sacrificing tens of thousands of lives, but what else can we do? It is too late to escape this prison.”