RETURN TO MOSUL: Out of the ruins, a city struggles to be reborn

By Nawzat Shamdin in Mosul

After years of chaos, the city of Mosul is emerging from the shadows of its past. Once a vibrant cultural hub, the scars of conflict and the devastation brought by the extremist group known as the Islamic State, or IS, are still evident as residents witness the city’s complicated recovery.

As I approached Mosul, a distant column of smoke caught my attention, a reminder of the city’s chaotic history. Ten years ago, I glimpsed similar sights while fleeing the country. The city’s landscape, still pockmarked by gunfire, was a complete contrast to the hope I felt upon returning here.

Since the IS group took control of Mosul in June 2014, the city has undergone significant changes. A taxi driver, my guide for the day, highlighted how the war against IS ended in July 2017 but left behind a city still struggling to heal. Checkpoints and curfews, once commonplace, have disappeared. But war is still here.

“There are still scars here and there,” the taxi driver remarked, pointing to places where historical landmarks once stood.

The Mosque of Prophet Yunus, the oldest mosque in the city, is completely gone. While the driver was chatting, I remembered the story. I always heard as a child about the Prophet Yunus, whose name is associated with Mosul, and about the huge whale that swallowed him. He remained inside the whale’s belly for three days and nights, calling God for help. Until a miracle: He was answered. As a child I didn’t realize that the fiercesome creature would not only swallow this prophet but also our entire city and many of its historical landmarks.

Meeting with locals in the city, I heard more about the ghosts that haunt the city’s recovery. Rami, a childhood friend, who comes from a Christian family, talked about the trauma his community faced during IS’ time in charge. The extremists offered local Christians a grim choice: Pay tax, flee with only the clothes on your back, or face death. Today only about 150 Christians have returned to Mosul. Many churches remain closed.

“The city was once home to 50,000 Christians,” Rami said. “Now we can count the community on our fingers.”

His concerns reflect a broader trend. There’s been an exodus of minorities from a city that has become increasingly unfamiliar and unfriendly to them.

The Shabak community, historically marginalized, has also seen a shift in dynamics. While some have fled to rural areas for safety, others have established armed militias and asserted themselves.

Sadiq, a Shabak friend, emphasized the need for his community to invest in their own power, arguing that past vulnerabilities have led many of his friends and family to a new resolution.

The demographic landscape of Mosul has changed dramatically. The city once boasted a rich ethnic and religious diversity. Even though the IS group is long gone, many former residents, especially Sunni Muslims, have not returned.

A civil activist expressed concerns to me about the impact of these changes, pointing to the rise of Shiite Muslim symbols around the city as a potential source of tension. “There’s a definite fear that Mosul could lose its Sunni identity,” he suggested.

Investigations have revealed troubling practices, such as the appropriation of land by Shiite Muslim militias and alarms have been raised about the potential for demographic manipulation.

As I wandered the streets, I did notice the vibrant restaurant scene that had emerged in the post-war landscape. A local restaurant owner noted the increase in dining establishments, attributing it to a culture of resilience and a collective appetite for normalcy.

“After conflict, people turned to food,” he shrugged, smiling.

In general though, the pace of reconstruction remains slow, with essential infrastructure lagging behind.

Journalists working in Mosul also face increasing restrictions, as the government clamps down on dissent and criticism. Reports of arrests among media workers have led to concerns about freedom of opinion and press in the city.

As I prepared to leave Mosul, the remnants of the nearby fire gave the air a smoky tinge. The distant, imagined flames felt like they symbolized the city’s unresolved, and potentially destructive, issues as well as its hope for rebirth.

Mosul stands at a crossroads as residents strive to rebuild their lives while struggling with dark shadows of the recent past. The path ahead remains uncertain, but the spirit of the city’s people — resilient and hopeful — still shines so brightly amid what was ruined.

This story is published in coordination with Khatt30 website.