Mountain villagers live with dangers from decades-old landmine threat

D. Morrow

2 October 2014

Choman

The road between Rawanduz and Choman – high in the eastern mountains, winding its way to Kurdistan’s Iranian border – is as spectacular as it is dangerous. It’s not because of Western fears of Iran or PKK strongholds, and Da’esh is nowhere near this quiet pocket of the country. There is something else here that villagers are threatened by on a daily basis: the lasting legacy of landmines. 

Villagers have been farming the upper slopes of Iraq’s highest mountain, Holgard, for generations. But since the Iran-Iraq War their livelihood has become significantly more dangerous. That’s because anti-personnel (AP) landmines left behind, scattered over the fields and slopes of these quiet mountains, do not follow the same rules of war as treaties or ceasefires. The cool, windy slopes of this particular mountain were mined in the 1980s by Iran and Iraq soldiers, and thirty years later their presence is still a constant source of danger to the people living here.

At the end of September, the villagers here are starting to begin their plans to move down into the valley where they will spend the winter. They live in makeshift shelters during the summer months on the side of the mountain, usually simple wooden frames that are tightly tied with tarps and blankets. The nights are cold up here. Even though it is the end of the season, the last of the summer’s tomatoes still wind across the ground, giving the odd impression that certain swathes of the mountainside have turned bright red. 

This area is currently being cleared of landmines in order to create a protected national park. Demining teams have been working up here for over a year now, and despite their efficiency, that have only begun to make a dent in the threat. People here have been clearing bits and pieces of the land on their own though for almost two decades, since their return in the late 90s post-war. Some of the tomato fields they return to year after year sit in the middle of massive mine fields, and nothing but a general knowledge of the area keeps them safe. Every spring though, the ground changes with melting snow, and new dangers emerge.

The landmine threat may not be as current or television-worthy as the violence happening on Kurdistan’s Syrian border, but it is a daily threat to people living up here in the mountains – and indeed, across the whole country. And with the majority of the country’s resources going towards facing and fighting Da’esh, it’s important to remember that danger doesn’t end with war, but that its legacy can affect civilians for generations after.