Haseeb, 31 years old, from Iraq

I’m a journalist and reporter. I left Iraq when I was 25 because of the ongoing conflict between Sunni and Shia Muslims. From 2006 to 2014, the militia killed my uncles one by one. The last one was murdered in 2014, during Ramadan. They caught him outside the mosque and tortured him by pulling his fingernails out.

In 2015, we received a letter from the militia. It stated that, because we are Sunni, we had to leave our home within a month. My uncles had received the same letters before they were killed. My father, being a deeply religious man, believed that everything happens as it's meant to. He told us we were born in this house, and we would die in it.

After a month, the militia opened fire outside our house. My father reported it to the police, but they did nothing. The militia was too powerful. At the time, I was working offshore for an oil company. I immediately called a friend, who managed to bring me my passport and a ticket to Turkey. I knew I had to leave Iraq after seeing what had happened to my family.

I spent six months in Turkey. I had money because of the good salary from the oil company, but eventually, I became homeless. The situation in Turkey was dire—there was no work and no hope. Many people were also trying to escape, but the dangers were immense. Smugglers would rob people, even harvesting organs in some cases.

We traveled in a lorry, packed with maybe 300 people. When we reached the shore, the smugglers told us we had no choice but to get on the boat—or they would kill us. They crammed 40 of us into a boat meant for only 20 people. As we set off, I thought to myself, "I am going to die." There was no turning back. Seven boats left the shore that day, and two capsized. I saw children thrown into the water, but I couldn’t help. I just felt like I was waiting for my time.

After we reached Greece, the smugglers divided us into groups. We began our journey towards Hungary, but the Hungarian police were relentless. They sent dogs after us and sometimes even shot at us. Along the way, I witnessed many people dying. Somehow, we made it through Hungary, Bulgaria, and Austria. Finally, I arrived in Norway and applied for asylum, staying there from 2015 to 2018. I went through the asylum interview, explained my story, and showed evidence, but my claim was denied.

I had no choice but to leave Norway and went to Belgium to apply again. After three months, I was allowed to work, so I found a job in a warehouse. I had my own flat and paid taxes, but life wasn’t easy.

A year later, I had another asylum interview. This time, I submitted a CD with evidence. They claimed they couldn’t open it because it might contain a virus. I was stressed and questioned them. I think the judge misunderstood, thinking I was mocking him. I offered to bring my laptop the next day, but they refused. They gave me a negative asylum decision. I lost my job and became homeless again.

Living on the streets was brutal. I had no access to water, so I drank from a hose outside a building under construction. One day, a man passed by and asked what I was doing. He said he had empty rooms in the building and would try to arrange papers for me to work with him in construction. He offered me a job paying 70 euros a day, but I only received 20 euros a week. I worked 12 hours a day and was given just two sandwiches for meals. I had to sleep on the floor, using my jacket as a blanket. There was no shower, only the hose outside.

Three months later, I left the job along with three other men. We ended up sleeping in a park, where many others were also staying. When we heard about a group heading to France, we decided to join them. Eventually, I found myself in Dunkirk, planning to get to the UK. My friend and I followed a family that had arranged to be smuggled. At the shore, the French police tried to catch the smugglers. I was hit twice, and while running, I saw them tase a child. After four attempts, I finally managed to get on a boat and set off.

In the UK, everyone’s experience is different. Many arrive thinking their struggles are over, but the Home Office takes a long time to decide on cases. For me, it’s been two years, but for some, it can take up to five years.

I had a girlfriend back in Iraq who had hoped to come to the UK too. I arrived in the UK on the 16th of August, and just three days later, I received the devastating news that she had been killed on the 19th of August. I learned about it through Facebook, where posts started circulating. She was a doctor, an activist, and she attended protests.

After her death, I made a choice to seek revenge—not through violence, but by writing about the militias and the Iraqi government. Now, I have the freedom to speak out. I’m not a criminal; I can’t even hold a knife. I don’t want to hurt anyone. My weapon is my words.