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.