The End of Simko

Simko had established himself in Iraq and gained power and influence there. One day a British colonel arrived from Baghdad with word that the commander of the British forces wished to meet him. Simko accepted the invitation. He wanted to take his men, but was told that two close companions would be enough. He therefore set out in the officer’s car with Ahmad Ara and his confidant Ferzan.

During the journey Ahmad Ara was overcome by suspicion. “The English catch the rabbit with a motorcar,” he said. “They are doing the same to us—we are delivering ourselves into captivity.” He demanded that they stop, but Simko thought he had lost his mind. Ahmad did not wait: he drew his pistol, shot the British officer travelling with them, and forced the stunned driver to turn back and return them to their tribe.

When they reached their people, Simko announced that they must leave at once. They headed for the Turkish frontier and sought asylum. Later Simko chose to return to Iran. He restored his control in the north, rallied the local tribal chiefs—including Kora Korey and his own Abduyi tribe—and stationed his men in the areas allotted to them. Each day he rode out among the tribes, ensuring that his own was the best organised and most powerful.

The lands assigned to him were Kurdish districts. On a formal visit to a village with a small Iranian garrison, the post commander invited him to dine. Simko remarked that the state was wasting money there: why keep all those “children”—the soldiers—in the village when his own men were already present?¹ The officer answered politely, but the contemptuous expression displeased him, and a plan began to form in his mind.

The post stood outside the village, reached by a road between walls. The officer ordered his twenty soldiers to take concealed positions above and wait for his signal. If he fell back, their first target was to be Simko. At the same time he wrote to Simko that a senior Iranian officer would arrive for an inspection the following day and wished to meet him, inviting Simko to join the party that would receive the visitor.

Simko agreed and arrived at noon with some 140 mounted tribal leaders. On the road an Iranian horseman emerged from a cloud of dust carrying a letter addressed to him. Since Simko could not read, he asked the captain to read it aloud. The senior officer apologised: his car had broken down, he had been forced to remain in Tabriz, and the meeting was postponed until three the next afternoon. The letter was signed “Amir Lashkar”—army commander.²

Feigning embarrassment, the captain invited Simko and his party back to the post for tea and rest. Simko accepted. As the riders entered the street leading to the post, the captain lingered behind on some pretext. The gate had been kept closed to allay suspicion; when the party reached it, the nineteen soldiers on the roof opened fire together.

According to the testimony, ninety-five of Simko’s men were hit. Simko, his eldest son, and most of his companions failed to escape. The soldiers severed his head, while a few of his followers got away and reached Tabriz.³ The Iranian government celebrated the death of the man it regarded as one of its greatest afflictions. The captain was promoted, and the tribes under Simko’s authority dispersed.

When I heard of his death, I reflected on all that had happened to us. I remembered the saying: one who harms another ultimately harms himself. Just as Simko had plotted to kill Mar Shimun, so others plotted against him and killed him.

In my view, Mar Shimun had meant no harm. When the Russians entered Başkale and the surrounding region and villagers fled into Iran, he helped the poor and the refugees. He gave monthly allowances to Muslims, Jews, and Christians without distinction; every week the needy went to Khosrowa to receive their share.

His given name was Benjamin; Mar Shimun was his religious title. I had seen him myself: a man of medium height, with black hair and a beard suited to his office. His people revered him and guarded his life under arms. I heard that he also had supporters in America and that their money enabled him to distribute those allowances.

Had Simko not killed Mar Shimun, I thought, perhaps we would not have suffered the calamities that befell us, and so many members of our community would not have died. In my eyes, responsibility for the bloodshed and our suffering lay with Simko and with the treacherous manner in which he murdered Mar Shimun.