Nov 10, 2006
An ordinary Iraqi story.
As a corollary to the piece I wrote below, let me tell you a typical Iraqi story. In the early twentieth century, after the defeat of Turkey in the First World War, and at the peak of ongoing pogroms against Armenians, Armenian refugees began fleeing Turkey to adjacent Arab countries for safety. A young woman with two children found herself in Diyarbakr, in what is now southern Turkey. At that time, Iraq, Syria and even Turkey’s borders were tenuous constructs, having only very recently been mapped out at successive international conferences where the British and French held sway. Much later on, in the early 1930’s, Iraq and Syria would exchange Agreements pledging to uphold their part of the new borders, and the new monarchies of Iraq and Saudi Arabia would come to similar terms on their respective frontiers.
But to this young Armenian woman, fleeing the chaotic upheavals of war, any place that offered her haven was home. As it so happened, Diyarbakr abutted on to northern Iraq, then the unregulated borderland for hundreds of tribesmen, who crossed yet un-demarcated frontiers in search of pasture and markets without giving a hoot about state sovereignty, and only changed their roaming habits after being defeated by the RAF’s bombing campaign in the Iraqi desert. Meanwhile, in the ensuing melée of expulsion, flight and massive refugee dislocations so typical of the disastrous aftermath of military defeats, this young woman became separated from her son, then only two or three years old. Try as she might, she was unable to find him, however hard she searched in the teeming population centers hastily set up under International auspices. Disconsolate, she finally moved to Baghdad to live with relatives, still hoping for the eventual recovery of her son.
In the meantime, the little boy had been rescued by several tribesman of the Shammar confederacy, a large and powerful tribe that straddled the frontiers of northern Iraq, most of Saudi Arabia, northern Syria and southern Turkey. The child was taken in by an important Shammar chieftain, if not the paramount shaykh (here my facts get fuzzy) and brought up as a Muslim. After the postwar turmoil died down, and people could more easily move about the country, the mother was able to track down her son and, enlisting the help of several notables, both Christian and Muslim, was able to bring him back with her to Baghdad.
Now here is the crux of the story: the Shammar chief sent several tribesmen to escort the boy and his mother to Baghdad, and to stay with them for awhile. He did this because he wanted the boy to acclimate to his new surroundings and to help him come to terms with his Armenian family after such a long absence. The tribesmen remained until they felt that the boy had assimilated to his new context, and then they left.
The story was told to me by the now-grown son’s daughter, and it illustrates a fundamental principle in Iraqi society. Up till very recently, the fluidity of relations among various sectors of Iraqi communities, ethnicities and sects was such an ordinary occurrence that it hardly caused a ripple in the broader society at large. This example goes some way to show the flexibility of intra-ethnic relations. So there you have it: An Armenian boy, saved from an uncertain fate by Arab tribesmen visiting the local market, brought up as an Arab Muslim with all the anti-urban biases a tribal society could muster, taught the folklore and poetry of the tribes and the customs and traditions of the eponymous founders of the confederacy, was yet re-inserted into his own original family with the help and support of his adoptive clan, to the consternation of virtually no-one!
By the way, the Armenian man in question became a great expert on tribal oral poetry, something that ordinary Iraqi city dwellers find difficult to understand, let alone emulate, and until the last years of his life, kept trying to teach it to his family and friends. For me, that alone is worth the price of admission to his own private history of growing up Iraqi.
But to this young Armenian woman, fleeing the chaotic upheavals of war, any place that offered her haven was home. As it so happened, Diyarbakr abutted on to northern Iraq, then the unregulated borderland for hundreds of tribesmen, who crossed yet un-demarcated frontiers in search of pasture and markets without giving a hoot about state sovereignty, and only changed their roaming habits after being defeated by the RAF’s bombing campaign in the Iraqi desert. Meanwhile, in the ensuing melée of expulsion, flight and massive refugee dislocations so typical of the disastrous aftermath of military defeats, this young woman became separated from her son, then only two or three years old. Try as she might, she was unable to find him, however hard she searched in the teeming population centers hastily set up under International auspices. Disconsolate, she finally moved to Baghdad to live with relatives, still hoping for the eventual recovery of her son.
In the meantime, the little boy had been rescued by several tribesman of the Shammar confederacy, a large and powerful tribe that straddled the frontiers of northern Iraq, most of Saudi Arabia, northern Syria and southern Turkey. The child was taken in by an important Shammar chieftain, if not the paramount shaykh (here my facts get fuzzy) and brought up as a Muslim. After the postwar turmoil died down, and people could more easily move about the country, the mother was able to track down her son and, enlisting the help of several notables, both Christian and Muslim, was able to bring him back with her to Baghdad.
Now here is the crux of the story: the Shammar chief sent several tribesmen to escort the boy and his mother to Baghdad, and to stay with them for awhile. He did this because he wanted the boy to acclimate to his new surroundings and to help him come to terms with his Armenian family after such a long absence. The tribesmen remained until they felt that the boy had assimilated to his new context, and then they left.
The story was told to me by the now-grown son’s daughter, and it illustrates a fundamental principle in Iraqi society. Up till very recently, the fluidity of relations among various sectors of Iraqi communities, ethnicities and sects was such an ordinary occurrence that it hardly caused a ripple in the broader society at large. This example goes some way to show the flexibility of intra-ethnic relations. So there you have it: An Armenian boy, saved from an uncertain fate by Arab tribesmen visiting the local market, brought up as an Arab Muslim with all the anti-urban biases a tribal society could muster, taught the folklore and poetry of the tribes and the customs and traditions of the eponymous founders of the confederacy, was yet re-inserted into his own original family with the help and support of his adoptive clan, to the consternation of virtually no-one!
By the way, the Armenian man in question became a great expert on tribal oral poetry, something that ordinary Iraqi city dwellers find difficult to understand, let alone emulate, and until the last years of his life, kept trying to teach it to his family and friends. For me, that alone is worth the price of admission to his own private history of growing up Iraqi.