No Christmas for Syrian Christians in Turkey

ISTANBUL — In Samatya, one of Istanbul’s oldest neighborhoods, the tumbling melody of midday prayers cuts through the chatter of a group of Syrian Christian refugees preparing lunch in the hall of a local church.

The onions are chopped, the tomatoes sliced, the cheese grated for the day’s pizza, and a group of young men are waiting patiently on the stairs of a rundown building across the street.

“I could have never imagined to be here for Christmas, if you asked me a couple of years ago,” says Razan Karoni. One of an estimated 5,000 Syrian Christians who have arrived in Turkey since 2011, Karoni fled Damascus with her sister 16 months ago, having grown tired of the daily bombings.

Turkey, she says, was the best option when “no other country in the region respected Syrians.” Although, she adds, nodding at the sound blasting from a nearby minaret, “I’m not very comfortable when prayers is all I hear when I go out.”

While Syria’s Christian community has for the most part declined to take part in their country’s civil war, many of its members have been caught in the crossfire. Those in Turkey find themselves in the same situation as the roughly 3 million other Syrians in the country: trying to get by as they wait for an opportunity to head home or move onward to Europe or elsewhere.

Easy prey

For Naim Leziye, 40, the journey began in 2014, after rebels threatened to kidnap his children for ransom — a common danger for wealthier Christians in Syria, he claims.

The once well-known jeans manufacturer from Aleppo traveled to Istanbul with his wife, his teenage daughters and eight-year-old son. He then paid smugglers €65,000 to bring the rest of his family on a risky sea journey from the Turkish coast to Samos, a tiny Greek resort island, and on to Italy before they finally settled in Stuttgart, Germany. “Somebody had to coordinate the rest of their trip so I stayed behind,” he says.

Twelve of the 386 people who drowned while trying to cross to the Greek islands from Turkey in the first 10 months of 2016 were Syrian Christians.

A year ago, another group of traffickers stole his passport and the rest of his cash, with false promises of a visa to Germany. “When European countries hardened procedures, I had no other option than seeking an alternative solution,” he says, spreading tomato sauce over pizza dough.

“I miss our Christmas celebrations at home,” he says, his beaded crucifix necklace tucked into his shirt. “There’s nothing I can do, though. My hands are tied.”

Twelve of the 386 people who drowned while trying to cross to the Greek islands from Turkey in the first 10 months of 2016 were Syrian Christians, according to the community leaders in Istanbul.

Syrian Christian refugees in Turkey can sometimes face more hardship than their Muslim counterparts because of their reluctance to register with the government refugee agency — a requirement for access to work, health care and education.

Many members of the tight-knit group also refused to stay in government-run camps, including one specifically built for non-Muslims following demands by the Syriac Kadim Foundation and other Christian groups.

“In the camps, ones who favored the regime were harassed by the rebels, and those who supported the rebels were bullied by regime supporters,” says Kenan Gurdal, the deputy head of the Istanbul-based Beyoglu Virgin Mary Syriac Orthodox Church Foundation. “Plus [there was] the fear of being spotted by extremists.”

For most of the refugees, the camp built for Christians was no more appealing. Nor did they want to stay in Mardin, an ancient sandstone city in southern Turkey not far from Syria that has been a traditional Christian heartland.

“We did all we could to persuade them stay in the region and refused to assist them in any way in their flight to Europe,” says Tuma Celik, an active member of the Syriac Christians community, which saw the influx of coreligionists as an opportunity to swell their numbers and revive their society.

Christian refugees were offered free agricultural land, lodgings at the local monastery and homes. But most chose to move on. “With their history full of killings, forced proselytization and persecution, it’s a Syriac’s innate reflex to escape, so almost all refused our offers and left,” says Celik.

Sealed borders

After signing a deal with the EU in March to control the flow of migrants, many Turkish embassies in the region have stopped granting visas to Syrians, says Gurdal, putting another obstacle in the way of those trying to flee the country.

“Many Christians with close relatives in Europe get invitations and qualify for visas,” he says, leaning against a stack of supplies brought in for the refugees. “But because European countries have their consulates here, without a visa to Turkey, they get stuck in Syria. Hundreds of Christians are now desperate in this position.”

Rasha Bernadette, 27, was until recently one of the desperate, shuttling between Lebanon and Syria as she tried to join her new husband who anxiously waited in Sweden. The couple had spent their honeymoon in Turkey in the summer and had no troubles getting visas then.

“I’ve already missed three visa interview dates at the Swedish consulate here because the Turkish embassy in Lebanon wouldn’t grant me a visa,” she says.

Determined not to miss her fourth appointment, she drove to Damascus from Homs, her hometown, took a flight to Kamishli, a Syrian border town, and crossed into Turkey illegally, jumping barbed wire and dodging border guards.

“How can a family with children do what I’ve done?” she says. “They should let us in so that we can leave.”

Religious identities

Contrary to what many Syrian Christians might once have believed, those who managed to cross into Turkey but have no relatives in Europe are no more likely to get visas than their Muslim countrymen.

“They often refer to Europe as a Christian club and expect European nations to be more caring about Christians, but it’s not like that in practice,” Gurdal says.

In Turkey, some Syrian Christians bristle at the government’s pro-Muslim rhetoric, but it’s nothing compared to the violence Christians have suffered at the hands of the Islamic State in Syria and Iraq.

“If I could wish one thing from Santa,” he says, “it would be a visa to Sweden” — Fadi Barkdji

“After the brutality of Islamists they witnessed in Syria and Iraq, they now want to live in Christian communities,” says Turgay Altinisik, a member of the Beyoglu Virgin Mary Syriac Orthodox Church Foundation. “Europe fails to recognize that.”

So far, Australia, Sweden and the U.S. have shown special interest in Christians from Syria and Iraq, Altinisik says, flipping through his notes from a recent meeting with officials at the U.S. consulate in Istanbul.

Five months ago, Australia offered visa interviews for 20 Christian families. Finding it hard to choose, the foundation submitted names of 100 families, leaving it up to Australian immigration authorities to decide. “To our surprise, they accepted them all,” Altinisik says.

The church where the refugees are staying has canceled its holiday celebrations, in recognition of suffering in the region. But for those staying there, Christmas nonetheless means safety.

Fadi Barkdji, 23, left Aleppo a year ago. He points to a modestly decorated artificial Christmas tree pushed into a corner of the hall. “If I could wish one thing from Santa,” he says, “it would be a visa to Sweden.”

Sebnem Arsu is an Istanbul-based journalist who has been covering Turkey and its region for the New York Times, Reuters and Associated Press for over 15 years.