exiled

Nearly six months after my arrival in the U.S., most of my family has finally joined me in Arizona. Making the trip from Baghdad was my father, who turned 63 in October; my mother, who is 50; and my 16-year-old brother, Anas, who is very eager to discover this big country.

New York, October 13, 2009—Prominent radio journalist Herbin Hoyos Medina left Colombia on Monday after authorities uncovered a supposed plot to kill him, according to local news reports. The Committee to Protect Journalists is concerned about the threats against Hoyos and urges authorities to continue to provide protection and ensure that the journalist can return to Colombia and work without fear of reprisal.    

Most of the Iraqi refugees who recently arrived in America were shocked by the economic situation here. I was prepared. I knew about the difficulties of finding a job in America, and I knew I could count on assistance from the American government through my status as a journalist with The New York Times. Even so, it was surprising to find how hard life could be here.

It's been more than three months since I realized one of my most important dreams by coming to the United States. Still, I never thought that I would come here as a refugee, maybe because my Iraqi dignity and pride simply wouldn't accept such an idea. 

On July 22, Gambian President Yahya Jammeh once again went after journalists in an interview on the country's only state-run television station. The president made a thinly veiled threat toward six independent journalists currently facing "seditious publication" and "criminal defamation" charges in the country: "So they think they can hide behind so-called press freedom and violate the law and get away with it. They got it wrong this time. We are going to prosecute them to the letter," Jammeh said. 

As a child, I never thought about becoming a journalist. I never really felt pulled toward any particular field. I just loved to feel free and try new things, especially when it came to hard work.

On a cold winter evening--Jan. 29, 2004--I was getting ready to start my first night shift as an interpreter for the U.S. Army in Baghdad. It wasn't really that cold, but my whole body was chilled. It was around 6 p.m. but already dark. I was an 18-year-old freshman in the College of Arts studying my favorite language through the English literature program at Baghdad University.

Before the war, I was an artist, a sculptor, and an art teacher in Baghdad. Life wasn't so easy back then and I had to find another job in order to make a better living for myself and my wife and two kids, but even so, life was sweeter than it is now--I didn't have any problems with anyone and the people themselves didn't have a problem with each other. They were trying to live in peace, taking care of their lives and hoping that tomorrow would bring them a better future. Getting rid of Saddam Hussein was their main concern; by having this, people thought that life was going to be better for them, and so did I. 

My intention to remain in my home country, to use my pen to correct injustice, and to champion press freedom was aborted by security threats that forced me and my family into exile. I left behind my beloved country and editorial desk in the hands of perpetrators.  

I am from Afghanistan, but I have lived in exile in Sweden for almost a year and a half. I spent my teenaged life in Pakistan, where I moved in 1997 to escape the savage regime of the Taliban.