I was ten years old when I first heard a girl innocently say that my skin colour wasn't beautiful, or in her words: ugly. She went on to ask me if I showered every day because my skin appeared dark to her. At that time, I didn’t understand what it meant to be a white girl, a brown girl, or "Black and ashy." How does our skin colour transform from being an identity marker into a tool for bullying?

In the taxi heading to work, the voice of Fairouz comes from the radio, advising a woman lover:   

“Return your handkerchief, return it,   

White and the sun is close,   

Tomorrow your beloved will come   

And find that you’ve become black.”   

Fairouz’s advice to use the handkerchief she uses for sun protection to cover her face because she is white, and so her beloved won’t find her black or dark reminded me of the praises that filled our childhood. Those praises that elevated the beauty of white women and their delicacy to the level of deities, making them symbols of grace and purity. This led everyone to believe that white skin was the highest standard of beauty, as if everything else was merely a pale shadow. And that those with darker skin have no share in beauty. Perhaps darker skin might even be considered a curse for those who have it!   

The Magical Solution  

I was ten years old when I first heard a girl innocently say that my skin colour wasn’t beautiful, or in her words: ugly. She asked me if I showered every day because my skin appeared dark to her. At that time, I didn’t understand what it meant to be a white girl, a brown girl, or “black and ashy,” which were all terms I would hear more as the years went by.  

In the neighbourhood where I lived, women—though they never stated it openly—often praised the beauty of some girls playing in front of their homes while ignoring others, subtly indicating that they didn’t fit an unspoken standard of beauty that was silently shared.  

In an innocent moment, my friend Suhad—the most beautiful girl in the neighbourhood, aka “the white one”—whispered to me while we were playing hopscotch that the secret to her radiant skin was that she washed her face with soap twenty times every day. She told me that if I did the same, I would become as white as her. Or even whiter.  

I widened my eyes, trying to comprehend the idea, then rushed home to try this magical beauty recipe. After completing the twenty washes, I ended up with red eyes and a continuous sneeze from the soap that lingered in my nose for days. The laughter of the girls echoed because of how naïve I was, leading to this allegedly funny story being repeated for many years.  

Just a Joke 

Many hypotheses have discussed the physical differences among the inhabitants of Iraq, including skin colour. It is believed that the Sumerians and Akkadians – who settled in the central and southern regions of the Iraqi alluvial plain – had a medium skin tone i.e., brown or wheatish, likely linked to the hot climate and the effects of sunlight on skin pigmentation. In contrast, the Assyrians and Chaldeans are thought to have had lighter skin – white – due to the cooler climate in northern Iraq. 

However, these colour distinctions between regions did not last long, as they blended and mingled with waves of migration from the Arabian Peninsula, the Levant, and Africa, along with invasions from far Asia and Europe. This resulted in some of these groups settling in the country and intermingling with Iraqis, transforming society into a diverse palette of colours.  

Despite the diversity, people couldn’t shake off the stain of discrimination.  ​​The obsession with white skin remained deeply rooted in society, seemingly resistant to any eradication or lessening in importance. During the sanction period in the 1990s, for the lack of knowledge and information, the term “bullying” didn’t mean anything in Iraq, despite the actions being prevalent in society. Discriminatory and demeaning nicknames circulated among friends in the streets, students in schools, and even from parents—terms that were all classified as mere teasing and as so-called jokes. 

But was it truly just teasing? Does anyone who “acquires” one of these labels truly overcome or heal from the feelings of belittlement and discrimination that accompany them, even years later?  

It’s Rooted in the Family 

The UNESCO Institute for Statistics, which focuses on sustainable development data in education, reports that around 250 million children are subjected to bullying worldwide. This means approximately 30 percent of children and adolescents experience bullying in schools at least once a month, with about 32 percent among boys and 28 percent among girls. 

I began to experience this recurring and harmful behaviour at the age of thirteen, a time when girls start to flourish and explore their beauty in that immature way. Some girls began trying whitening products, such as Top Shirley, which were popular at the time. Mothers ensured their daughters used it daily in an attempt to reach a skin tone that would guarantee their acceptance in society, possibly even future marriage. Or at least to avoid the mockery and whispers of others regarding their skin colour. 

At that stage, I fell into a pit of bullying and felt its sting for the first time. I wasn’t spared from the whispers of teenage girls about my skin colour. Some voices rose until one of them said to me, “You’re dark, and a slave. We won’t hang out with you anymore.” The term “slave” here is a discriminatory and racist label still used today against those with dark skin in Iraq. They are often referred to as Afro-Iraqis and many live in Basra, southern Iraq. They have faced significant societal and governmental discrimination for decades due to their skin colour. They are often excluded from high positions, families refuse to marry them, and many of their children struggle to complete their education because of the bullying they endure throughout their school years. 

“Slave” was a new word to my ears. It was a term passed down from the girl’s family to her, directed at me and others like me as a form of insult. I didn’t understand its meaning at the time, but the feeling of being excluded simply for being “different” in skin colour rendered me speechless. It was as if a heavy stone lodged in my throat, forcing me into silence and bringing forth only tears.  

As days went by, new words emerged to describe “non-white” skin colours and features. Family gatherings – especially with my relatives who inherited their mother’s fair skin and their father’s-coloured eyes. He was dark-skinned with bright green eyes, typical of many from the south —were never free from criticism and bullying against those who were “not like them.” They would refer to me as “the dark one” instead of my name, thinking it was a light-hearted joke with no malice, merely a reference to my different colour. The impact of this word was significant. I felt embarrassment and shame. Yet I never dared to respond, even once, to tell them about the cracks their words created and the scars they left on my personality.  

“The Concoction” is the solution 

As I reached adulthood and entered the world of education, the bullying and insults created an involuntary sense of resentment within me. For years, I found myself sitting in a defensive position that became increasingly sharp, transforming me into a new version of myself that differed from my true personality. My responses grew stronger. I replaced my stuttering with quick replies, and the burning in my throat with a steady defiance that matched the words I heard. I began to respond to any compliment or hint about my skin colour by stating that my colour was Sumerian, the colour of the gods. “Have you ever seen gods change their colour for humans?” I would ask. 

It wasn’t as intense during university, or perhaps my sharp responses and seriousness in dealing with everyone made me not as easy target for bullying as I was at a younger age. However, the comments came in the form of so-called beauty advice, much like Fairouz’s advice to a girl to “fold the handkerchief.” 

Some of my classmates would recommend trying one of the whitening products or even a medicinal cream for the skin that had a “magical effect” on skin tone. Some even went to the effort of teaching me tricks to make my skin lighter. 

One of my dark-skinned aunts advised me, considering I was entering a new phase of life as a university student, to buy a “mix” from the local market that was popular at the time. This mix consisted of various medicinal creams used for skin conditions, which were combined by vendors and beauty shops as a magical product to change skin colour, regardless of the harm it caused. 

According to my aunt, “the mix of creams and oils would make my skin so pale it glowed” and she insisted that her neighbour’s face became as radiant as “the moon” because she continued using the mix on her face for a month. She advised me to apply it to my face, hands, and neck as well, so no one would notice the colour difference and discover that the secret behind my “new skin colour” was the mix! 

Yet, there was also flattery and praise for darkness. The first time I heard praise for my skin colour was from a colleague I worked with during my first experience in television. She constantly reminded me that she wished to have a similar skin tone, even nicknaming me “chocolate piece”. 

My skin colour was also a reason for my selection among other applicants for the television job, as my manager told me years later after I left. He saw my skin colour as unique and similar to the typical tone of people across the country. At that time, Iraqi channels hadn’t employed any “dark” reporters. 

Your skin colour might make you a criminal  

From the moment I began to feel content and convinced that my tools for defending my skin colour, brown, were growing and becoming entrenched, the bullying and insults started to fade away little by little. I didn’t expect that the ghost of bullying would stand as a barrier between me and the possibility of a relationship or marriage. 

While I believed that love could overcome the difficulties faced by two people who wish to unite by their own conscious and responsible choice, my in-laws stood like a wall between us. They placed me on a colour chart, such as that which a tailor uses when choosing colours of fabrics that complement each other, excluding those they deem unsuitable or incompatible from their perspective. My colour did not meet the beauty standards they found acceptable for their son, and it was deemed unfitting for someone to be part of their family with “that colour,” fearing that one of their future grandchildren might inherit it. It was as if I carried a plague on my skin that threatened their purity, as if they were warding off an unknown evil from their family. 

Although the marriage took place, their reservations about my colour continued until the moment they saw their first grandchild, who inherited his father’s “white” skin. Then, all the praise for the child revolved around the colour of his skin: “He’s a beautiful little white one, just like his father, a perfect copy”. They expressed gratitude to God for the child resembling his father, clearly implying that the “curse” of my skin colour did not affect their lineage this time, as if I had passed their first test. 

But I often wonder what if I don’t succeed in the next test? Or what wil happenwhen the bullying reaches my family, extending beyond our home. 

Once, while I was carrying my seven-month-old son in a market, a lady approached us, trying to playfully talk with the baby. She praised his softness and innocence, then added, “He’s so cute; thank goodness he looks like his father,” clearly referencing the difference in our skin colours. 

In some cases, your skin colour alone can place you in a classification you never imagined, at times leading to suspicion. Some people believe that skin colour determines character and morals. I felt strange one time when a salesperson at a children’s clothing store was searching for the “mother of the boy” who was fussy and crying. When I told him it was my son, he didn’t believe me. He looked at me and the child with a gaze that seemed to echo disbelief, as if I were lying as the child didn’t look like me at all. The seller continued to watch my every move, busy looking for the real mother, thinking I was trying to kidnap the child. He only relaxed and stepped back when my​​ son called out “Mama” and ran into my arms. 

Last Wish 

I have come to understand myself and the difference in my skin colour, which has played a significant role in shaping my personality. I have made peace with the idea of my difference and aim to be the first line of defence against any bullying my son might face. But can I dream that he will have a future where he can choose a partner without fearing that she – or his kids – will get bullied? I don’t know, but I hope that he and his generation will be free in their differences while being alike in their freedom.