My Iraqi Identity: A Nostalgic Nostalgia - Part 2

In Part 1 I introduced my neologism of a 'Nostalgic Nostalgia'. I like to think this is the major factor still tying me to my homeland, and the distinguishing variable between myself and my countrymen back home.

This train of thought started last week Sunday. I went with a couple of friends to watch 'Son of Babylon', an Iraqi movie directed by Al-Daradji. The plot followed a grandmother and her 12-year old grandson in search of his father who had disappeared under Saddam Hussein's regime in 1991. For me, the film was a harrowing but important experience. I walked into the screening room with a false understanding of my Iraqi 'pride' and 'patriotism'. I discovered that not only had I totally misunderstood the meaning of these words by patronising them with my blindness, but I walked out totally embarrassed that I had even considered myself a patriot at all.

It is this smoke-screen of Nostalgic Nostalgia that has dazed us second generation Iraqis abroad. We are duped into believing that just 'feeling' patriotic is enough to be Iraqi. We forget that our Self-Realisation of Iraq is an entirely abstract experience inherited from our parents, whilst Iraqis back home actually 'experience' patriotism by generating their own Self-Realisation.

It is this experience which defines whether one has a claim to Iraq. Son of Babylon detailed a journey of two dependants from one mass grave to the next. It was painful to watch a mother looking for her son amongst the piles of bones, still hoping to find a body she could bring home. What was even more painful though, was how useless I felt. I was forcefully coaxed out of the comfort-zone simulated by my nostalgic nostalgia and it wasn't nice. If you were to place me next to this grieving grandmother and then had to identify which of us was Iraqi... the answer would be obvious.

Saddam Hussein's legacy is patented by his inhumanity. His reign had a permanent stamp on the Iraqi people's Self-Realisation. Generations of Iraqis grew up with the cancer that was Saddam's brutality. It would eat away and take over their feelings for Iraq. You wouldn't be an Iraqi if you hadn't experienced Saddam Hussein.

Here I am, a fortunate escapee of Saddam Hussein. It is absolutely pathetic of me to say I am a patriotic Iraqi. This would place me on par with the Iraqis back home who genuinely suffered. Am I really equal in my experience of Iraq as this grandmother? Absolutely not. It is an insult to the people of Iraq to consider myself a patriotic Iraqi. I know nothing of the word.

I'm not saying I haven't suffered under Saddam Hussein's reign. Indeed, my family managed to escape the atrocities and the tyranny. My parents suffered when they were refugees, and worked hard to regain their former position in society. Throughout all this I was an oblivious child.

What I have suffered from is a confused identity. I am like a lion in the London Zoo; I have a primal instinct which I can't exercise because I'm in a strange land. I'm moping about in an environment I wasn't brought up to be in. I have this nostalgic nostalgia as my only foundation for nationality, and I can't apply it. I'm lost. Iraqis in Iraq are growing up with Iraq, whilst I am growing up with outdated, rotting and irrelevant bits of information as my sole source of Iraqiness. This I blame entirely on Saddam Hussein.

I don't think this is enough of an excuse to justify my being Iraqi. As it stands, my nationalistic tendency is patronising and offensive to those that have earned it back home. I have to accept that never in my life will I understand or feel Iraq as they have. I will always be the outsider, pampered and sheltered.

Thus, I have set myself an ultimatum: I either capitulate and assimilate completely into the UK as a British Muslim, or I go to Iraq and live there for some time, contributing to its growth and repair. Maybe by doing the latter I can finally atone for what has actually been a failure of identity. By contributing and living in Iraq... I will finally quench my nostalgic nostalgia and find a purpose for my under-used upbringing. I will finally have a chance at achieving true Self-Realisation.

It would be like... finally finding Home.

My Iraqi Identity: A Nostalgic Nostalgia - Part 1

I am Iraqi. I remind myself that I am. My parents remind me and so do my friends, yet I still waver and doubt how Iraqi I really am.

The only proof of my heritage is that of my inheritance: I am a genetic mash-up of a Baghadi father and Basrawi mother. My parents are also responsible for indoctrinating me with a bias and an inexplicable affinity towards the Tigris and Euphrates. My mother has done an exceptional job at attenuating my taste buds so that they are most accepting of tomato based okra dishes.

All I've done now is make my upbringing and nationality sound like a scene from Aldous Huxley's 'A Brave New World'. I have only stated facts, and I genuinely believe my current status as an 'Iraqi' is all due to my parents' teaching.

The reason why this point is important materialises in what context one is an 'Iraqi'. If I was born and brought up in Iraq, my feelings about this would be different. My parents' indoctrination would be justified, if not necessary for my survival. I would have grown up surrounded by fellow indoctrinatees and students of the Iraqi school of thought.

Another dimension to being an Iraqi is introduced if one was to live there. Not only will I have had an Iraqi education from my parents... I would also have experienced it for myself. I would have been able to form my own memories, opinions and ideas about what Iraq meant to me. Thus becoming an all rounded Iraqi is a two stage process: The Indoctrination stage and the Self-realisation stage.

The latter is what distinguishes outsider Iraqis from those still there. An Iraqi who has spent a little amount of time in Iraq will be considerably more aware as to what this place means to them than someone like myself. This 'yearning' for your homeland, better known as 'حنين' (haneen), is only truly genuine when it has a solid foundation of self-realisation and first-hand exposure. My repertoire of Iraqiness is devoid of any such experiences yet I still have this 'حنين' for my homeland.

I have developed a neologism for this phenomenon: It is a nostalgic nostalgia. When I think of Iraq it is fair to describe this 'حنين' as a nostalgic feeling. Nostalgia for what? A country I have never been to and hence no memories of? You can't be nostalgic to something you haven't experienced!

This is where I disagree. When I remember Iraq and become 'nostalgic', a flurry of emotions accompanied by scenes of Iraq parade through my brain. I see orchards of palm trees banking a stream in which a Hajji is expertly fishing. I see book sellers in Mutanabi street. I see communities living in harmony and security, their doors unlocked and their hospitality celebrated.

You must think I'm talking about another country. Truth is I am. The scenes I have just described typify the Iraq of the 70s. This is the Iraq my parents lauded and longed for in their 30 years abroad, the Iraq which featured heavily in the stories they told me. The 'memories' of Iraq that I have and dream about are in fact my parents'. Hence my 'حنين' for Iraq is based entirely on my parents' nostalgia. My own feelings can be, at best, described as a nostalgic nostalgia.

Click here to read Part 2.