From UK Sunday Times(a Murdoch/Fox newspaper)
Love and hate in Baghdad
This is the extraordinary blog of ‘Riverbend’, a young Iraqi woman who lays bare her life in occupied Iraq. It has been long-listed for the Samuel Johnson literary prize
I’m going to set the record straight, once and for all. I don’t hate Americans, contrary to what many people seem to believe. Not because I love Americans, but simply because I don’t hate Americans, like I don’t hate the French, Canadians, Brits, Saudis, etc.
It’s that simple. I was brought up, like millions of Iraqis, to have pride in my own culture and nationality. I was also brought up to respect other cultures, nations and religions. Iraqi people are inquisitive, by nature, and accepting of different values — as long as you do not try to impose those values and beliefs upon them.
Although I hate the American military presence in Iraq, I don’t even hate the American troops . . . or wait, sometimes I do:
I hated them all through the bombing. Every single day and night we had to sit in terror of the next bomb, the next plane, the next explosion. I hated them when I saw the expression of terror, and remembrance, on the faces of my family and friends, as we sat in the dark, praying for our lives.
I hated them on April 11 — a cool, grey day: the day a family friend lost her husband, her son and toddler daughter when a tank hit the family car as they were trying to evacuate the house in Al- Adhamiya district, an area that saw heavy fighting.
I hated them on June 3 when our car was pulled over for some strange reason in the middle of Baghdad and we (three women, a man and a child) were made to get out and stand in a row, while our handbags were rummaged and the car was thoroughly checked by angry, brisk soldiers. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put into words the humiliation of being searched.
On the other hand:
I feel terrible seeing the troops standing in this merciless sun wearing heavy clothes, looking longingly into the air-conditioned interiors of our cars. After all, in the end this is Baghdad, we’re Iraqi — we’ve seen this heat before.
I feel bad seeing them stand around, drinking what can only be lukewarm water after hours in the sun — too afraid to accept any proffered ice water from “strange Iraqis”.
I feel pity watching their confused, frightened expressions as some outraged, jobless father of five shouts at them in a language they can’t even begin to understand. oI get hopeless, seeing them pointing their guns and tanks at everyone because, in their eyes, anyone could be a “terrorist” and almost everyone is an angry, frustrated Iraqi. oI feel sympathy seeing them sitting bored and listless on top of their tanks and in their cars, wishing they were somewhere else.
So now you know. Mixed feelings in a messed-up world.
Someone wrote that I was naive and probably spoilt, etc, and that “not one single American soldier deserves to die for you”. I completely agree. No one deserves to die for me or for anyone else.
This war started out a war on weapons of mass destruction. When those were not found, and proof was flimsy at best, it turned suddenly into a “war against terrorism”. When links couldn’t be made to Al-Qaeda or Osama Bin Laden, it turned into a “liberation”. Call it whatever you want — to me it’s an occupation.
FEMALES can no longer leave their homes alone. Each time I go out, E (my brother) and either a father, uncle, or cousin has to accompany me. It feels like we’ve gone back 50 years since the beginning of the occupation. A woman, or girl, out alone risks anything from insults to abduction. An outing has to be arranged at least an hour beforehand.
I state that I need to buy something or have to visit someone. Two males have to be procured (preferably large) and “safety arrangements” must be made in this total state of lawlessness. And always the question: “But do you have to go out and buy it? Can’t I get it for you?” No you can’t, because the kilo of eggplant I absolutely have to select with my own hands is just an excuse to see the light of day and walk down a street. The situation is incredibly frustrating to females who work or go to college.
Before the war, about 50% of the college students were females, and more than half the workforce was composed of women. Not any more. We are seeing an increase of fundamentalism in Iraq, which is terrifying. Before the war, I would estimate that 55% of females in Baghdad wore a hijab, or headscarf. Although I don’t wear one, I have family and friends who do. The point is that, before, it didn’t really matter. It was “my” business whether I wore one or not — not the business of some fundamentalist on the street.
For those who don’t know, a hijab only covers the hair and neck. The whole face shows and some women even wear it Grace Kelly-style, with a few locks of hair coming out of the front. A burqa on the other hand, like the ones worn in Afghanistan, covers the whole head — hair, face, and all.
I am female and Muslim. Before the occupation I more or less dressed the way I wanted to. I lived in jeans and cotton trousers and comfortable shirts. Now I don’t dare leave the house in trousers. A long skirt and loose shirt (preferably with long sleeves) has become necessary. A girl wearing jeans risks being attacked, abducted, or insulted by fundamentalists who have been . . . liberated!
Fathers and mothers are keeping their daughters stashed safe at home. That’s why you see so few females in the streets (especially after 4pm). Others are making their daughters, wives, and sisters wear a hijab. Not to oppress them, but to protect them. Girls are being made to quit college and school.
My 14-year-old cousin (a straight-A student) is going to have to repeat the year because her parents decided to keep her home ever since the occupation. Why? Because the Supreme Council for the Islamic Revolution in Iraq (Sciri) took over an office next to her school and opened up a special “bureau”.
Men in black turbans (MiBTs as opposed to MiB) and dubious, shady figures dressed in black, head to foot, scan the girls and teachers entering the secondary school. The dark, frowning figures stand ogling, leering and sometimes jeering at the ones not wearing a hijab or whose skirts aren’t long enough. In some areas girls risk being attacked with acid if their clothes aren’t “proper”.
The Sciri (but I prefer “scarey”) was established in 1982 in Tehran. Its main goal is to import the concept of the “Islamic revolution” from Iran to Iraq. In other words, it believes that Iraq should be a theocracy led by Shi’ite mullahs.
The Sciri would like to give the impression that they have the full support of all Shi’ite Muslims in Iraq. The truth is that many Shi’ite Muslims are terrified of them and of the consequences of having them as a ruling power. The whole situation is alarming beyond any description I can give. Christians have also become the victims of extremism, also. Some of them are being threatened, others are being attacked. A few wannabe mullahs came out with a fatwa, or decree, in June that declared all females should wear the hijab and if they didn’t they could be subject to “punishment”.
Another group decreed that not a single girl over the age of 14 could remain unmarried. This order included females of other religions. In the south, female United Nations and Red Cross aides received death threats if they didn’t wear the hijab. This isn’t done in the name of God — it’s done in the name of power.
Liquor stores are being attacked. The owner usually gets a “threat” in the form of a fatwa claiming that if they don’t shut down permanently, there will be consequences. The consequences are usually either a fire or a bomb. Similar threats have been made to hairdressers in some areas in Baghdad.
Don’t blame it on Islam. Every religion has its extremists. In times of chaos and disorder, those extremists flourish. Iraq is full of moderate Muslims who simply believe in “live and let live”. We get along with each other — Sunnis and Shi’ites, Muslims and Christians, and Jews and Sabi’a. We intermarry, we mix and mingle, we live.
Love and hate in Baghdad
This is the extraordinary blog of ‘Riverbend’, a young Iraqi woman who lays bare her life in occupied Iraq. It has been long-listed for the Samuel Johnson literary prize
I’m going to set the record straight, once and for all. I don’t hate Americans, contrary to what many people seem to believe. Not because I love Americans, but simply because I don’t hate Americans, like I don’t hate the French, Canadians, Brits, Saudis, etc.
It’s that simple. I was brought up, like millions of Iraqis, to have pride in my own culture and nationality. I was also brought up to respect other cultures, nations and religions. Iraqi people are inquisitive, by nature, and accepting of different values — as long as you do not try to impose those values and beliefs upon them.
Although I hate the American military presence in Iraq, I don’t even hate the American troops . . . or wait, sometimes I do:
I hated them all through the bombing. Every single day and night we had to sit in terror of the next bomb, the next plane, the next explosion. I hated them when I saw the expression of terror, and remembrance, on the faces of my family and friends, as we sat in the dark, praying for our lives.
I hated them on April 11 — a cool, grey day: the day a family friend lost her husband, her son and toddler daughter when a tank hit the family car as they were trying to evacuate the house in Al- Adhamiya district, an area that saw heavy fighting.
I hated them on June 3 when our car was pulled over for some strange reason in the middle of Baghdad and we (three women, a man and a child) were made to get out and stand in a row, while our handbags were rummaged and the car was thoroughly checked by angry, brisk soldiers. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put into words the humiliation of being searched.
On the other hand:
I feel terrible seeing the troops standing in this merciless sun wearing heavy clothes, looking longingly into the air-conditioned interiors of our cars. After all, in the end this is Baghdad, we’re Iraqi — we’ve seen this heat before.
I feel bad seeing them stand around, drinking what can only be lukewarm water after hours in the sun — too afraid to accept any proffered ice water from “strange Iraqis”.
I feel pity watching their confused, frightened expressions as some outraged, jobless father of five shouts at them in a language they can’t even begin to understand. oI get hopeless, seeing them pointing their guns and tanks at everyone because, in their eyes, anyone could be a “terrorist” and almost everyone is an angry, frustrated Iraqi. oI feel sympathy seeing them sitting bored and listless on top of their tanks and in their cars, wishing they were somewhere else.
So now you know. Mixed feelings in a messed-up world.
Someone wrote that I was naive and probably spoilt, etc, and that “not one single American soldier deserves to die for you”. I completely agree. No one deserves to die for me or for anyone else.
This war started out a war on weapons of mass destruction. When those were not found, and proof was flimsy at best, it turned suddenly into a “war against terrorism”. When links couldn’t be made to Al-Qaeda or Osama Bin Laden, it turned into a “liberation”. Call it whatever you want — to me it’s an occupation.
FEMALES can no longer leave their homes alone. Each time I go out, E (my brother) and either a father, uncle, or cousin has to accompany me. It feels like we’ve gone back 50 years since the beginning of the occupation. A woman, or girl, out alone risks anything from insults to abduction. An outing has to be arranged at least an hour beforehand.
I state that I need to buy something or have to visit someone. Two males have to be procured (preferably large) and “safety arrangements” must be made in this total state of lawlessness. And always the question: “But do you have to go out and buy it? Can’t I get it for you?” No you can’t, because the kilo of eggplant I absolutely have to select with my own hands is just an excuse to see the light of day and walk down a street. The situation is incredibly frustrating to females who work or go to college.
Before the war, about 50% of the college students were females, and more than half the workforce was composed of women. Not any more. We are seeing an increase of fundamentalism in Iraq, which is terrifying. Before the war, I would estimate that 55% of females in Baghdad wore a hijab, or headscarf. Although I don’t wear one, I have family and friends who do. The point is that, before, it didn’t really matter. It was “my” business whether I wore one or not — not the business of some fundamentalist on the street.
For those who don’t know, a hijab only covers the hair and neck. The whole face shows and some women even wear it Grace Kelly-style, with a few locks of hair coming out of the front. A burqa on the other hand, like the ones worn in Afghanistan, covers the whole head — hair, face, and all.
I am female and Muslim. Before the occupation I more or less dressed the way I wanted to. I lived in jeans and cotton trousers and comfortable shirts. Now I don’t dare leave the house in trousers. A long skirt and loose shirt (preferably with long sleeves) has become necessary. A girl wearing jeans risks being attacked, abducted, or insulted by fundamentalists who have been . . . liberated!
Fathers and mothers are keeping their daughters stashed safe at home. That’s why you see so few females in the streets (especially after 4pm). Others are making their daughters, wives, and sisters wear a hijab. Not to oppress them, but to protect them. Girls are being made to quit college and school.
My 14-year-old cousin (a straight-A student) is going to have to repeat the year because her parents decided to keep her home ever since the occupation. Why? Because the Supreme Council for the Islamic Revolution in Iraq (Sciri) took over an office next to her school and opened up a special “bureau”.
Men in black turbans (MiBTs as opposed to MiB) and dubious, shady figures dressed in black, head to foot, scan the girls and teachers entering the secondary school. The dark, frowning figures stand ogling, leering and sometimes jeering at the ones not wearing a hijab or whose skirts aren’t long enough. In some areas girls risk being attacked with acid if their clothes aren’t “proper”.
The Sciri (but I prefer “scarey”) was established in 1982 in Tehran. Its main goal is to import the concept of the “Islamic revolution” from Iran to Iraq. In other words, it believes that Iraq should be a theocracy led by Shi’ite mullahs.
The Sciri would like to give the impression that they have the full support of all Shi’ite Muslims in Iraq. The truth is that many Shi’ite Muslims are terrified of them and of the consequences of having them as a ruling power. The whole situation is alarming beyond any description I can give. Christians have also become the victims of extremism, also. Some of them are being threatened, others are being attacked. A few wannabe mullahs came out with a fatwa, or decree, in June that declared all females should wear the hijab and if they didn’t they could be subject to “punishment”.
Another group decreed that not a single girl over the age of 14 could remain unmarried. This order included females of other religions. In the south, female United Nations and Red Cross aides received death threats if they didn’t wear the hijab. This isn’t done in the name of God — it’s done in the name of power.
Liquor stores are being attacked. The owner usually gets a “threat” in the form of a fatwa claiming that if they don’t shut down permanently, there will be consequences. The consequences are usually either a fire or a bomb. Similar threats have been made to hairdressers in some areas in Baghdad.
Don’t blame it on Islam. Every religion has its extremists. In times of chaos and disorder, those extremists flourish. Iraq is full of moderate Muslims who simply believe in “live and let live”. We get along with each other — Sunnis and Shi’ites, Muslims and Christians, and Jews and Sabi’a. We intermarry, we mix and mingle, we live.
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