Borderlines / ICONOCLAST - Vol. 5, Fall 2018 "HYPHEN" (pg. 10)
Prior to my late high school years, I had accustomed myself to accepting the invisibility of Kurdish people; I simply told others that I was Arabic or Middle Eastern instead of specifically Kurdish. Since learning more about my ethnic background, I’ve grappled with questions of nationalism and belonging as a member of the Kurdish-Iraqi diaspora.
On one hand, I feel resentment towards the establishment of the Sykes-Picot agreement and its implications on Middle Eastern groups’ relations. It scattered the Kurdish with no land to call our own, and it created tensions among diverse groups who had mostly been living peacefully. On the other, I feel uncomfortable when I consider the imperialist implications of borders and their status as a prerequisite to respecting a population.
The Canadian education system does not do justice to Iraq, a country with great potential. I did not learn of the Sykes-Picot agreement until I researched it myself because our ethnocentric schools teach a skewed version of history and current events. I remember questioning my ancient civilizations teacher as to why we did not learn more about the Middle East, which he described as the “cradle of civilization” during Mesopotamian times. His reply was that Ancient Greece and Rome are “more relevant” to us as Canadians. It’s no surprise that many Westerners aren’t aware of the socio-political environment in different Middle Eastern regions, let alone the existence of Kurdish people.
During the summer of 2018, I visited Kurdistan for the first time. I was struck by the lack of Iraqi flags—border politics aside, the Kurdish region is proudly autonomous. I empathize with the Kurdish refusal to acknowledge the Iraqi flag, which Saddam Hussein modified to include the takbīr (the phrase “Allahu akbar”, which means "God is great" in Arabic) in what is allegedly his own handwriting. Hussein committed many atrocities, including a genocide of Kurdish people, under the name of God. Furthermore, I’m against a theist orientation of the country’s symbolism to begin with. Hussein’s legacy is an extremely complicated one, though; even my Kurdish family acknowledges life in Iraq was better during his reign. For all his evils, he was lauded for trying to improve conditions in Iraq and he was wise with its national oil wealth. However, the USA used his human rights violations as an excuse for their imperialist invasions. In turn, the country’s infrastructure was destroyed and it became the perfect breeding ground for ISIS to thrive.
It was fascinating to travel to a place so rich with history that is relevant to my family. Visiting Erbil (Hawler in Kurdish), the capital of Iraqi Kurdistan, was particularly eye-opening – it emblemizes Kurdistan’s status as a rapidly growing haven in the midst of a warzone. While some investors stuck around despite the threat of ISIS taking Mosul nearby and oil prices falling, others abandoned half-finished buildings which stand in stark juxtaposition to well-established neighbourhoods.
Although I knew Kurdistan had been better off than the rest of Iraq during the post-Hussein era, I still had preconceptions of the region based on my experiences in other Middle Eastern countries. Kurdish people’s pride in their region is reflected by their cleanliness and maintenance of green spaces in a dry landscape. Despite the annual snowfall, even their mountain roads are infinitely better maintained than ours in Canada. Meanwhile in the ancient Citadel of Erbil, I felt lost in time in a historical place where I could imagine past lives quite vividly. The textile museum located there provided a snapshot of traditional Kurdish ways of life that are not too far in the past for my parents, who recognized tools on display that were present in their own households.
Amna Suraka in Sulaymaniyah was the former headquarters of the Mukhabarat, Hussein’s intelligence agency, until it was liberated by Kurdish Peshmerga fighters in the early 1990s. Under Hussein's command, Baathist authorities tortured, sexually abused, and executed scores of Kurdish prisoners. Visiting this museum was a chilling and devastating experience as I read disembodied final words and stood on prison cell floors still stained by blood. In the dark upper levels, the sound of silence was a cacophonous one, and I felt ashamed for gasping when I shined my flashlight on a prisoner statue sitting by my feet on the stairs. The outside of the museum is bordered by military tanks and trucks that were used to transport the prisoners, many of whom died during the journey. Close by is a café converted from the mess hall that Baathists used to enjoy, freshly renovated inside but still hauntingly guarded by its original metal doors.
The Al-Anfal memorial includes a hall lined with 180 000 mirror shards that represent the estimated number of Kurds killed by Hussein, and there are 4500 ceiling lights that represent the number of destroyed Kurdish villages. My father, normally talkative, was silent as he looked closely at pictures of the 1991 Kurdish Exodus to locate photos of himself and his family; their own photos were lost due to relocating multiple times. He didn’t end up spotting any, but he recognized one of his old friends. I held back tears while reading messages the prisoners had left behind on the walls, but I broke down when I entered the hall of Peshmerga martyrs in the fight against ISIS. Being confronted by so many faces and names was both overwhelming and infuriating. Amna Suraka commemorates past and present injustice against Kurdish people, but it also highlights their resilience even in the most hopeless situations.
My family has been scattered all over the globe because of the political situation in Iraq. Although I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to travel worldwide to visit them, it is always heartbreaking to part ways and hear someone like my aunt crying over not being able to spend more time with us because of the war. Imperialism sinks its teeth into our narratives in infinitely painful ways, destroying the homeland and then turning away those who seek refuge. To this day, marginalized peoples like the Kurdish strive for any rays of light they can find, whether at the end of a tunnel or outside of a cave like King Mahmud’s hideout. Even when the truth is concealed, enlightenment is within reach for anyone with an internet connection and an open mind. I remain humbled by my privilege growing up white passing in a relatively safe country and inspired by my family and ancestors’ resilience.
