Diaries
Commemorating Faleh Abdul Jabbar
Faleh Abdul Jabbar’s work garnered significant attention throughout his life which persisted after his passing. With the exception of Ali al-Wardi, very few Iraqi sociologists have rivalled his impact.
Faleh Abdul Jabbar’s work garnered significant attention throughout his life which persisted after his passing. With the exception of Ali al-Wardi, very few Iraqi sociologists have rivalled his impact.
I belong to the generation that celebrated the war’s conclusion in the summer of 1988. For three consecutive days, the streets teemed with Iraqis singing and dancing in response to the ceasefire announcement. Joyfully, we splashed each other with water on the streets of Baghdad, reviving an ancient Assyrian celebratory tradition. We were a group of strangers brought together by the shared hardships of war and eight long years of closed borders, which had turned Iraq into one giant prison for the millions of us who lived inside.
It was the first year of the occupation. In that atmosphere filled with the smoke of bombings and the fumes of fires, even the healthiest of eyes suffered. What, then, could be expected of eyes as delicate and susceptible as mine? Everything around me seemed to pave the way toward my impending blindness: the doctor’s awkward questions and his clinic’s painful lighting, pollen dust mixed with toxic gases, the sharp blades of knives pointing at me at garage stalls and shops, the harsh sun and its searing rays piercing through layers of my eyes’ aching membranes, the suffocating military color palette wherever I turned… And, finally, there was the school fence, strangled by barbed wire much like our own lives were.
Everything seemed to come to a halt in the period leading up to the US occupation of Iraq in April 2003. Everyday life, educational institutions, and government offices all came to a standstill, almost as if a child had hit the pause button during a particularly terrifying scene in a movie.
These tea gatherings at home, often stigmatised as “ladies chit chats” and a waste of time, are generally the only space for women to talk and support each other. This is where they cry, laugh, joke, and make fun of their problems, each in their own way. How women ease the pains of summer through afternoon gatherings.
My mother used to consider that my clothes were socially unacceptable. Whenever I went through her photo album, I used to ask her, “Why do you comment on the way I dress when you used to wear less conservative clothes, although I dress very modestly compared to the way you used to dress back then?”. “Times have changed”, she would reply. Can women’s respectability be defined by how they dress.
April 28th was an overcast day. Our BBC convoy drove for hours across the border from Jordan. As we entered Baghdad we could smell smoke. Many buildings were set on fire. Strangely, the city didn’t feel chaotic. It was in shock. I hired a local fixer, Muhammed, and for the next six weeks we would drive together around Baghdad, Najaf, Karbala, Falluja, talking to people and collecting stories.