The Iraqi Displaced No One Wants

Around 1.6 million Iraqis remain displaced two years after the country declared the ISIS group defeated | AFP
Around 1.6 million Iraqis remain displaced two years after the country declared the ISIS group defeated | AFP
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The Iraqi Displaced No One Wants

Around 1.6 million Iraqis remain displaced two years after the country declared the ISIS group defeated | AFP
Around 1.6 million Iraqis remain displaced two years after the country declared the ISIS group defeated | AFP

Accused of links with the ISIS group, hundreds of Iraqi families have been evicted from displacement camps only to find their hometowns and tribes angrily refusing their return.

Left in limbo, they represent the complex legacy of the ISIS sweep across Iraq, which is keen to move on two years after ousting the jihadists but apparently unable to reconcile its traumatized communities.

In Samarra, a tribal area north of Baghdad, Sheikh Adnan al-Bazzi said there is "no way" ISIS-affiliated families would be allowed back to their areas of origin.

"The tribes, the families of those killed or wounded, those who lost their homes or were displaced, who have nothing -- they can't accept the relatives of IS," said Bazzi.

ISIS killed one of his brothers, an uncle and a cousin and Bazzi himself was wounded when the militants blew up his home, not once but twice.

And the threat isn't over, he told AFP.

With IS sleeper cells still conducting hit-and-run attacks in the desert territory around Samarra, Bazzi said that resettling families with alleged IS ties could prove dangerous.

"There are terrorists still attacking military patrols, so how can you bring their families back?" he said, dressed in the traditional white robe and headdress of Iraq's powerful clans.

- Grenade attacks -

Tribes wield considerable influence in Iraq, where they often disregard government institutions to resolve disputes based on close-knitted traditions and religious custom.

When ISIS rampaged across Iraq in 2014, the family clans that make up the tribes had to choose sides: some backing the jihadists while others took up arms alongside government forces to fight them.

The war against the militants forced tens of thousands of people to flee their homes and move into displacement camps, including in the northern Nineveh province where ISIS had its bastion.

Two years after Iraq declared ISIS defeated, the government is determined to shut down displacement camps across the country which are home to around 1.6 million Iraqis.

In August, authorities bussed more than 2,000 displaced from camps to their home provinces of Salaheddin, Anbar, and Kirkuk, sparking concern from the United Nations and rights groups.

The UN said the returns could put families in danger and rights watchdogs said the transfers are at best poorly coordinated or forced, and at worst expose returnees to threats of violence in their home communities.

Earlier this month, three hand grenades were thrown into the Basateen camp in Salaheddin province, a day after the arrival of 150 displaced families from Nineveh.

The following day it was hit by two more grenades.

And on Sunday armed men wounded two soldiers guarding the camp, a security official said.

Protests have also erupted outside camps against the government's bid to return displaced families to their homes, and in one case when families were transferred to their hometown of Haditha in Anbar it turned ugly.

"It was clear from the moment they arrived there that they were at risk of being killed," said Belkis Wille, Iraq researcher at Human Rights Watch.

"Police then took them to a school about three kilometers (two miles) away from Haditha and there was a grenade attack on them there," she said.

- Families stuck in 'purgatory' -

HRW has urged authorities to allow displaced Iraqis to make their own decisions on returning home and not to "collectively punish" alleged ISIS-linked families.

"This system has put these families in a purgatory that prevents them from returning home, imprisons them in camps, and forces them to endure dire conditions that portend bleak futures for their children," said Wille.

According to ISIS expert Hisham al-Hashemi, around 371,000 displaced are believed to have ties to the jihadist group and less than half will probably be unable to return home "due to local and tribal rejection".

"No one can stop tribal vengeance. The state can't post a cop at every family's door to protect them," Hashemi said.

In some regions, however, women who have denounced ISIS-affiliated husbands have been able to reconcile with their tribes and return home.

But for some displaced, returning home is simply not an option no matter how hard they try to deny any links to ISIS.

Such is the case of Umm Haydar, 41, who fled her hometown of Ishaqi south of Samarra in 2015 with her children after ISIS militants abducted her husband.

"When we say we want to go back home, they tell us that we're ISIS and that they don't want us back," she told AFP.

Umm Haydar lives in an abandoned school and says she is running low on money to feed her four children.

"I can't sign them up for school or obtain any official documents. Each time they tell me 'you're displaced.'"



To Get Their Own Cash, People in Gaza Must Pay Middlemen a 40% Cut

A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)
A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)
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To Get Their Own Cash, People in Gaza Must Pay Middlemen a 40% Cut

A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)
A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)

Cash is the lifeblood of the Gaza Strip’s shattered economy, and like all other necessities in this war-torn territory — food, fuel, medicine — it is in extremely short supply.

With nearly every bank branch and ATM inoperable, people have become reliant on an unrestrained network of powerful cash brokers to get money for daily expenses and commissions on those transactions have soared to about 40%.

"The people are crying blood because of this," said Ayman al-Dahdouh, a school director living in Gaza City. "It’s suffocating us, starving us."

At a time of surging inflation, high unemployment and dwindling savings, the scarcity of cash has magnified the financial squeeze on families — some of whom have begun to sell their possessions to buy essential goods.

The cash that is available has even lost some of its luster. Palestinians use the Israeli currency, the shekel, for most transactions. Yet with Israel no longer resupplying the territory with newly printed bank notes, merchants are increasingly reluctant to accept frayed bills.

Gaza’s punishing cash crunch has several root causes, experts say.

To curtail Hamas’ ability to purchase weapons and pay its fighters, Israel stopped allowing cash to enter Gaza at the start of the war. Around the same time, many wealthy families in Gaza withdrew their money from banks and then fled the territory. And rising fears about Gaza’s financial system prompted foreign businesses selling goods into the territory to demand cash payments.

As Gaza’s money supply dwindled and civilians’ desperation mounted, cash brokers' commissions — around 5% at the start of the war — skyrocketed.

Someone needing cash transfers money electronically to a broker and moments later is handed a fraction of that amount in bills. Many brokers openly advertise their services, while others are more secretive. Some grocers and retailers have also begun exchanging cash for their customers.

"If I need $60, I need to transfer $100," said Mohammed Basheer al-Farra, who lives in southern Gaza after being displaced from Khan Younis. "This is the only way we can buy essentials, like flour and sugar. We lose nearly half of our money just to be able to spend it."

In 2024, inflation in Gaza surged by 230%, according to the World Bank. It dropped slightly during the ceasefire that began in January, only to shoot up again after Israel backed out of the truce in March.

Cash touches every aspect of life in Gaza

About 80% of people in Gaza were unemployed at the end of 2024, according to the World Bank, and the figure is likely higher now. Those with jobs are mostly paid by direct deposits into their bank accounts.

But "when you want to buy vegetables, food, water, medication -- if you want to take transportation, or you need a blanket, or anything — you must use cash," al-Dahdouh said.

Shahid Ajjour’s family has been living off of savings for two years after the pharmacy and another business they owned were ruined by the war.

"We had to sell everything just to get cash," said Ajjour, who sold her gold to buy flour and canned beans. The family of eight spends the equivalent of $12 every two days on flour; before the war, that cost less than $4.

Sugar is very expensive, costing the equivalent of $80-$100 per kilogram (2.2 pounds), multiple people said; before the war, that cost less than $2.

Gasoline is about $25 a liter, or roughly $95 a gallon, when paying the lower, cash price.

Bills are worn and unusable

The bills in Gaza are tattered after 21 months of war.

Money is so fragile, it feels as if it is going to melt in your hands, said Mohammed al-Awini, who lives in a tent camp in southern Gaza.

Small business owners said they were under pressure to ask customers for undamaged cash because their suppliers demand pristine bills from them.

Thaeir Suhwayl, a flour merchant in Deir al-Balah, said his suppliers recently demanded he pay them only with brand new 200-shekel ($60) bank notes, which he said are rare. Most civilians pay him with 20-shekel ($6) notes that are often in poor condition.

On a recent visit to the market, Ajjour transferred the shekel equivalent of around $100 to a cash broker and received around $50 in return. But when she tried to buy some household supplies from a merchant, she was turned away because the bills weren’t in good condition.

"So the worth of your $50 is zero in the end," she said.

This problem has given rise to a new business in Gaza: money repair. It costs between 3 and 10 shekels ($1-$3) to mend old bank notes. But even cash repaired with tape or other means is sometimes rejected.

People are at the mercy of cash brokers

After most of the banks closed in the early days of the war, those with large reserves of cash suddenly had immense power.

"People are at their mercy," said Mahmoud Aqel, who has been displaced from his home in southern Gaza. "No one can stop them."

The war makes it impossible to regulate market prices and exchange rates, said Dalia Alazzeh, an expert in finance and accounting at the University of the West of Scotland. "Nobody can physically monitor what’s happening," Alazzeh said.

A year ago, the Palestine Monetary Authority, the equivalent of a central bank for Gaza and the West Bank, sought to ease the crisis by introducing a digital payment system known as Iburaq. It attracted half a million users, or a quarter of the population, according to the World Bank, but was ultimately undermined by merchants insisting on cash.

Israel sought to ramp up financial pressure on Hamas earlier this year by tightening the distribution of humanitarian aid, which it said was routinely siphoned off by militants and then resold.

Experts said it is unclear if the cash brokers’ activities benefit Hamas, as some Israeli analysts claim.

The war has made it more difficult to determine who is behind all sorts of economic activity in the territory, said Omar Shabaan, director of Palthink for Strategic Studies, a Gaza-based think tank.

"It's a dark place now. You don't know who is bringing cigarettes into Gaza," he said, giving just one example. "It's like a mafia."

These same deep-pocketed traders are likely the ones running cash brokerages, and selling basic foodstuffs, he said. "They benefit by imposing these commissions," he said.

Once families run out of cash, they are forced to turn to humanitarian aid.

Al-Farra said that is what prompted him to begin seeking food at an aid distribution center, where it is common for Palestinians to jostle over one other for sacks of flour and boxes of pasta.

"This is the only way I can feed my family," he said.