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Washington: Two years ago, Firas Safar was a successful Baghdad printer, winning contracts with US authorities to produce brochures for aid missions, posters for army units, and several million copies of the new Iraqi constitution.
Today Safar, 31, is a jobless refugee in Takoma Park, Maryland, part of a new wave of professional Iraqis who have received special immigration privileges because, in many cases, their work for US authorities or organisations resulted in threats or violence back home.
For many such as Safar, it has meant trading economic security in Iraq for personal security here.
He, his wife and two small daughters just moved into a tiny apartment. Half-opened suitcases spill off the bed, and toys are jumbled on a donated crib.
Safar's most valuable possession is a laptop computer that contains images of his work in Iraq, images he hopes will win him a new career in the United States.
"I can do many things. I have many ideas," said Safar, restless in his cramped quarters and eager to start over. On his kitchen table is a reminder of the dangers he left behind: an educational comic book he designed and dedicated to his small cousin, who was killed by gunfire in an Iraqi schoolyard.
"That is the sadness of the past," Safar said. "Now the future is here: four people in one room."
Safar has gotten further than many. According to US groups who advocate for their cause, thousands of Iraqis eligible to immigrate have not yet reached the country.
They remain either stranded in Iraq, vulnerable to retaliation from anti-US groups, or elsewhere in the Middle East, waiting out the long and cumbersome approval process.
State Department officials said the delays have stemmed in part from overburdened consular offices in Iraq and nearby countries, and in part from the bottlenecks caused by a need for exhaustive background checks by the Department of Homeland Security, especially for immigrants and refugees from Middle Eastern countries, in an era of heightened terrorism concerns.
"The demand has far exceeded what we initially anticipated," said one State Department official. He also noted that there had been a major change in US policy, which was initially aimed at encouraging skilled Iraqis to remain home and help rebuild their country.
"For a long time, we did not want to open the floodgates," he said.
Last year, however, with the conflict continuing and danger increasing, Congress passed the Iraqi Refugee Crisis Act, which opened up more avenues for eligible Iraqis to immigrate.
Officials said more than 6,800 Iraqis have reached the United States since early last year, and they expect to meet their goal of bringing 12,000 by September.
Under the Act, Iraqis who "believe they are at risk or have experienced serious harm" because of their work for the US government, multinational forces or other US-based organisation qualify to be resettled in the United States with their immediate families. In addition, all Iraqis who have worked with US authorities may also qualify for less-urgent "special immigrant visas" to move to this country.
Similar special immigration privileges were given to groups that supported US efforts, including Cambodians and Laotians who came to the United States after the Vietnam War.
Kirk W. Johnson, a former US aid worker in Iraq who has taken up the refugees' cause, says the government still has not done enough.
He says swifter and more efficient action should have been taken to help Iraqis reach safety, especially those who performed courageous service as interpreters in combat zones or other high-risk jobs.
Johnson, who runs a nonprofit organisation called the List Project, has compiled his own roster of nearly 1,000 eligible Iraqis, only 31 of whom have reached the United States.
Trying to prod officials to put them on a faster track to resettlement, he recently brought new arrivals to Washington to testify before Congress and speak to reporters.
"Many of these people have been threatened or tortured, their relatives have been raped or even killed, all because they helped the United States," Johnson said at a workshop for refugees in DC this month. "They were branded as collaborators, and the stain of collaboration does not evaporate."
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