HE would wander the streets of occupied Mosul by day,
chatting with shopkeepers and militant Islamic State (IS) fighters,
visiting friends who worked at the hospital, swapping scraps of
information. He grew out his hair and his beard and wore the shortened
trousers required by the extremists. He forced himself to witness the
beheadings and stoning, so he could hear killers call out the names of
the condemned and their supposed crimes.
By night, anonymously from his darkened room, Mosul Eye told the world what was happening. If caught, he too would be killed.
But after more than three years, his double life grew too heavy to bear. He missed his name.
His
secrets consumed him, sapped energy he’d rather use for his doctoral
dissertation and for helping Mosul rebuild. In an interview he agonised
over how to end the anonymity that plagues him. He made his decision.
Mosul Eye is Omar Mohammed, historian, scholar, blogger. He is 31.
The
revelation of his identity is for his thousands of readers and
followers, for all his volunteers in Mosul who have been inspired by a
man they have never seen. But above all, it is for the brother who died
in the final battle and for his grieving mother.
“I can’t
be anonymous anymore. This is to say that I defeated IS. You can see me
now, and you can know me now,” he said in the interview.
Upon
learning this week the truth about “her Omar”, his mother wept with joy
and told him: “I knew there was something going on with you.”
Mohammed
first posted about the IS under his own Facebook account, in the first
few days after its fighters swept into Mosul, but a friend told him he
risked being killed. So in those first days he made himself a promise:
trust no one, document everything.
A newly minted teacher with a reputation for secular ideas, he had lost his university job. He found another calling.
“My
job as a historian requires an unbiased approach which I am going to
adhere to and keep my personal opinion to myself,” he wrote on that
first day, June 18, 2014.
Mosul Eye became one of the
outside world’s main sources of news about the IS fighters, their
atrocities and their transformation of the city into a grotesque shadow
of itself.
During Friday sermons, Mohammed feigned
enthusiasm. He collected propaganda to post online later. He drank tea
at the hospital, fishing for information.
Much of what he
collected went on the blog. Other details he kept in his computer, for
fear of giving away his identity. Someday, he promised, he would write
history with them.
The most sensitive details initially
came from two old friends: a doctor and a high school dropout who had
joined an IS intelligence unit.
Mohammed’s information
sometimes included photos of the fighters and commanders, complete with
biographies surreptitiously pieced together during the course of his
normal life that of an out-of-work scholar living at home.
“I
used the two characters, the two personalities to serve each other,” he
said. He expanded into a Facebook page and a Twitter feed to parcel out
information at a time when little news was escaping.
Intelligence agencies made contact as well and he rebuffed them.
“I
am not a spy or a journalist,” he would say. “I tell them this: if you
want the information, it’s published and it’s public for free. Take it.”
In March 2015, his catalogue of horrors got to him.
“I
was super ready to die,” Mohammed said. He cut his hair short, shaved
his beard and pulled on a bright red sweater. His closest friend joined
him.
They drove to the banks of the Tigris blasting
forbidden music. They shared a carafe of tea. Heedless of people
picnicking nearby, Mohammed lit a cigarette banned by IS. Somehow,
incredibly, he wasn’t caught. “At that moment I felt like I was given a
new life.”
He resumed what he had taken to calling his duty. He grew out his hair and beard, put the shortened trousers back on.
He
tested out different voices, Christian, Muslim. Sometimes he indicated
he was gone, other times that he was still in the city.
Finally, after leaving Mosul a thousand times in his mind, he decided it was time to get out.
“I think I deserve life, deserve to be alive.”
A
smuggler agreed to sneak him out for $1,000. Mohammed left the next
day, the contents of his computer transferred overnight to a hard-drive
that he packed with him.
No one gave him a second look during the two days and some 500 kilometres it took to reach Turkey.
