His life so far in Iraq is tightly constrained. The father of two girls, ages 7 and 10, Rayes says he was interrogated for hours when he landed in Baghdad without an Iraqi ID. His Chaldean Christian family is originally from the north of Iraq, but all of his relatives have emigrated. For now, he's staying with friends of friends in the south of Iraq. Without ID, he can't travel even within the country to apply for the documents he needs.
Adding to the challenges facing deportees is the worsening violence since anti-government protests began raging in Baghdad and the southern provinces in October. Iranian-backed militias that are believed responsible for killing and abducting protesters blame "U.S. agents" for fomenting the protests.
Already in danger of arrest and detention, Iraqis affiliated with the U.S. risk being accused of being U.S. spies. For many deportees, tattoos, American accents and lack of Arabic language skills make them easy targets.
Despite intense pressure on Iraq to accept more deportees, Iraq refused until last year to issue travel documents for Iraqi citizens who refuse deportation. That policy changed with a new Iraqi government last year, according to another foreign ministry official, who asked not to be identified because he was not authorized to speak publicly.
"They tell me I'm not welcome"
Almost two years after he was deported, Naser al-Shimary lives in fear in southern Iraq. He was beaten last year by a group of strangers, and his neighbors were too frightened to help him. Now he sleeps with a kitchen knife next to him for protection. At night, he padlocks himself into the house.
"People refer to me as 'the American,' " he says.
Like Samir Kada and other deportees, Shimary has visible tattoos, uncommon in Iraq. He says mosques refuse to let him in.
"They tell me I'm not welcome because tattoos signify bad character," he says.
He loves his pet dog, but that's caused trouble for him too. People in his neighborhood tell him dogs are religiously unclean and he fears she will be poisoned. "She is all the friends and family I have here," he says.
Shimary, who used to play chess with Jimmy Aldaoud back in the U.S. while they were both in ICE detention, is a U.S.-certified mechanic. But he has struggled to find work in the south and is afraid to take a job in Baghdad or farther north, areas he thinks would be even more dangerous.
Back in the U.S., he had an auto body shop. His partner and son, who recently turned 5, are still there. The two visited him in Baghdad last year, but Shimary believes it's too dangerous in Iraq for them to return. He's hoping to find a way to resettle in another country with his family. For now, he relies on video calls to his son — including one to wish him happy birthday.
"He was like, 'Papa, I saved you a piece of cake. If you want it, you gotta come here and get it,' " he says. Shimary says he laughed, "because I can't show weakness," but says it hurt.
He knows he won't be going back.
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