VOICES FROM IRAQ
By Ginny NiCarthy
III: MAYSAM, A WOMAN OF TWO WORLDS
In some respects, university graduate student Maysam has one foot firmly placed in Middle East culture, and the other tiptoeing into that of the West. For our interview, she wore a fashionably tailored gray jacket and skirt -- not what you'd call a "power suit," but maybe a "serious" suit, with collar detail suggesting a finely developed aesthetic, neither obviously West nor East. Her elegant scarf added a graceful touch. She is twenty-four years old, with regular features, pearly skin and dark eyes. She is writing her masters' thesis on images of women in the plays of Pinter and Becket, and complained about not being able to get needed books.
"When I was writing my thesis," she said, "I found a lot of books on the Internet, and I thought, 'I need these books.' But the prices were $40 dollars! Oh, my God, I cannot buy it. I found a book called 'The women's Place in Pinter's Plays.' I can't get it, even if I have someone outside the country bring it in. I cannot pay this."
Thamir, our team's government minder, had reluctantly given permission for me to accept an invitation to the university, so long as I was accompanied by our driver Yassim, and without Yassim's help I would never have found the English department. We were misdirected twice by a guard at the university gate, and finally entered the campus through a jumble of trash, discarded chairs and other items, piled outside a one-story building. We made our way across a small square of grass, up a flight of stairs, finally arriving at the professor's office. After visiting his class, I was left in the care of his graduate student Maysam.
Maysam speaks excellent English, and throughout the interview she sat straight in her chair, hands at rest, never fiddling with the scarf that stayed obediently in place. When she spoke of the United States, her poise would ruffle for a few moments, as emotionally laden words spilled out, to describe the sufferings of others, and her own frustrations.
"I just want this embargo to go, because for twelve years we have been hurt a lot. It is terrible for the Iraqis, for the children and the young, even for the young who are healthy. I have things to do, I am an ambitious woman, but because of these terrible things about the war, I am stuck. I can't do this; can't do that. I want to start on a higher degree, but there is a problem of getting books. New books. The books I've used in my thesis are from 1960, or something. Why? Most of the books I want are published in the U.K. or the U.S. But we can't get them. Why? I'm a specialist in modern drama. I'm supposed to write about the 80s and 90s, but I'm writing about the 60s and 70s, and I think it is about the embargo."
I asked, "Is there a feminist women's rights movement?"
"Of course. Since the war, twenty years ago. There's a lot of emphasis on women, they are just like men, they have to work, they have to be educated. They need opportunities to do all these things. They are ambitious and educated. Women started to have an open mind, to want to be something, to help men, because life is difficult. Many have big families, and men cannot do the whole thing alone."
Maysam says many women agree with her that it is important to "have a good education, so we can work and get a good job." Though some men accept the changes in women's roles as normal, others do not, "because they have those traditional thoughts that women stay at home and take care of the babies." Maysam would like to start work on her PhD next year. She is the oldest of seven children, and her mother is at home, "taking care of the babies," but she approves of her daughter's ambitions. Her father is proud of her, as well. When Maysam told me her father is an army officer, that gave me pause. But she said he is retired.
"Good," I said, and we exchanged a smile. At that moment, I was thinking only of a young woman's fear that her father would lose his life, not about heinous acts her father may have committed as a military man in the service of Saddam Hussein.
"Others in my family," she quickly added, "are not retired. And even if I knew no one in the army, we are living in this time, we are the generation of the war."
When I asked about domestic abuse of women, I was given an answer similar to the ones provided by her professor Saad, his wife, Lamia and Anisa, of the Women's Federation. "Our men are different because of our religion: men should respect women, and women should be gentle; men should take care of her, be responsible for her, this is the message. Even if a man wanted to beat her, he would stop, because maybe he is afraid of God."
When questioned further, Maysan admitted, as had others I had questioned, "There are a few people, a few cases, but generally speaking no." Then she went a step farther. "If a woman is terrible, and a man can't stand her and she is doing terrible things to him, I give him the right to beat her. There are a lot of terrible women, and it is not good, the way she talks to him and doesn't listen."
Perhaps my expression of dismay betrayed me. In any case, she backed off from that punitive stance. "But even if she is terrible she can't fight with him, so men should not beat her because it will cause her a lot of harm, because she is weaker than he is. Abuse harms the heart and the soul as much as the body."
Seeking a broader perspective and perhaps more knowledge about battering of women, I asked about radical feminist groups, and Maysam said, enthusiastically, "There is a Women's Union. Very famous for calling for women's rights. The only one in Iraq. You can meet them. Most of the women are part of the union." She said anyone could tell me how to reach the group, but she was hazy about how to find them. She may have had in mind the Women's Federation, which I already knew about.
On the question of women's freedom throughout the world, Maysam said, "In Europe they have relations, not marriage, here we don't have it, because it is forbidden. In this country, one who rapes will be punished... We have such a case every few years, but we don't hear about it much here, as in the U.S. Maybe because, here, women do not go out alone, do not go far away from their families. That's why our religion protects women, and when she does go away, she takes a member of her family. So we don't have so many cases."
"So when you hear about liberated women, how do you feel?"
"Women can get their rights all over the world and that's fine; I feel happy for all women. We want to do something useful for our country. For these rights, to get them, to improve our country, to help people. I am a university teacher, I can teach students something I know, and they will remember it as something useful. A few years ago, that wouldn't happen, but this is useful for the country. So women have to get their rights."
When I asked what message I might deliver to Americans, Maysam responded at length:
"We hope war won't happen, because we can't stand it any more, war after war. We don't have time to think about our future. I talk about myself, but I am a symbol of others. Just like people in U.S. and U.K., we have something to do. If we have war after war, all we think of is whether we can live or whether we will die."
"I decided to work for a PhD, but I don't know if I will even be alive." At this thought, Maysam burst out with a sudden inexplicable laugh, which seemed to startle her as much as me, and which ended as quickly as it began. As she talked about the threat from the United States, her anger intensified, and once again her words tumbled out too fast, at times, for her mind to keep up.
"If there is more war, all my ambition will be stopped. My home will be stopped. We are hurting. People in Iraq don't know why America is doing it, it's like a game or something -- for twelve years, the embargo. It's not just in Baghdad. All over, we're being attacked. And no one says stop. Why, I don't know. We have enough sick people we should take care of, I've lost two uncles, one from cancer, one from trouble with his heart, because of lack of good care for them as patients. My aunt has only one baby, and it came into this world in a very difficult way, and she almost lost it. I think we breathe something in the air, because of chemical weapons. We get used to breathing these things, they are in everything."
In contrast to her rather prim posture, which never wavered, Maysam's emotions kept bubbling to the surface, along with her rising voice. "America calls for Human Rights. They take care of the dogs, and not people. I can't understand this contradiction. We are people just like them, and we have the same rights. Is it because of the oil? This is our oil. We would not go and take your oil. God gives each country something special. Do we have to buy the oil and give all the money to America? And we continue being poorer and poorer. And America is richer and richer. Can they sleep well at night?
"They don't want us to defend our country. They don't want us to have any weapons. Why? Because when they come, they don't want us to fight them. They want everyone to surrender. Is this freedom? How can we give up our dreams, our future? We will have no future at all. Why do they come to us, why don't they go to Israel? They are killing people, they have weapons, chemicals, and bombs. So why these sanctions only on us, and forgetting about all the other countries? Iraqis are very proud of their country. We have a spine, we are not arrogant, but we are human. We have the right to have our country; to be safe to live in peace. How many bridges and roads have been destroyed in the war? We had to rebuild everything, and now they want to destroy it all again. The Security Council we hope will not give Bush what he wants. But they will do it just like that. They don't need anyone's permission.
"This is not a way of life. Is this one of the films in America? Is this a film for them, just like those films in Hollywood? They are the ones who are superior? They are the ones who will save the world? They really are the aliens from Mars or somewhere. They are talking about themselves. So tell them to just go home. Take care of your business. Don't put your nose in other people's business. This is what is taught by God, by Jesus, by all the prophets. So for God's sake, if you believe in God, let us live in peace so our children will live without any fear tomorrow."
Maysam had worked herself up, and was close to tears. So was I. Suddenly, she stopped, her anger spent. The room was silent. She looked surprised at her tirade, but she did not apologize.
"I will deliver your message," I said.
As I prepared to leave, we put out our hands to shake, but then tentatively, carefully, we embraced. I photographed Maysam, and when Yassim emerged from his corner, he was enlisted to take a picture of us together.
The photo I took of Maysam alone is good and clear. The photo taken by Yassim of the two of us, standing, eyes welling, arms around each other's waist, is blurred almost beyond recognition.
[2,056 words]
Posted on February 2, 2003.