After communism and capitalism, there is asterism.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Iraq: reflecting on Iran

Assuming my dear readers have not been living in a cave for the past couple of weeks, the developments after the recent Iranian elections need no introduction. Here I present, in their own words, the recent comments of Iraqi bloggers on the subject. So much has been said about the elections already, that whether a blogger is pro- or anti- the protests is becoming more irrelevant. But, what is important here is the Iraqi perspective. How, after sanctions, forced regime change, war and destruction do Iraqis respond?

An Open Letter to Iran...
Layla Anwar:
This is from an Iraqi woman.

I will not mess around with words...I know that this is your is not mine.

I have learned that life is too short lived...and I have no time for words.

I will tell you, give it to you the way it is...and the way it is supposed to be.

There is a sense of urgency looming over my head. And am getting quite impatient...

I have swallowed words, paraphrases, sentences, dictionaries...whole and undigested.

Now, excuse me, I have one hell of an indigestion and I need to vomit it all your faces.

Listen to me, and listen well...

I am no beggar of an Arab,

I am no Palestinian either...

These are your pawns, and they love being played around the applause.

I am neither.

I am no pawn and no beggar.

And I also have no time for delicacies,

I have no time for niceties.

I have invented Language, I own it.

I play with it, pull it like a string dangling from a

from a puppet...

There is nothing you can teach me,

nothing you can invent...

I have mastered the Art

The art of deception,

the art of hypocrisy

the art of language...

I have mastered the art,

of sitting on edges

like a humpty dumpty

and I see you now


I know,

you know,

we know...

Leave aside the wordings

kick away the propaganda...

like in a football


I match,

you match ?

No you don't.

I know, I know.

I know and you hate me for knowing.

I know your torturers by names.

I know your hidden agents by their codes.

I know your identities even if you are hiding...

Cover up,

like you cover us up.

Ali, Hassan, Hussein

watch them over

wearing Arabic labels

glued on their chests,

stamped from Al-Hijaz.

I see Darius galloping

in your minds,

minds covered with turbans

of pretence

bowing to yourselves....



to a saint

the saint of your imagination...

I hear echoes...

blasting through cement walls

as thick as your brains

thicker than your brains.

I see colors pouring down hallways,

I see the green

I see the black

I see the red


I see the white

of Death

hovering over...

fluff, fluff

cotton fluff

cloud fluff

word fluff

hovering above

open arms

receiving truths

from dungeons


where Aryans

dark skinned



in the name of


of Zarathustra

in the name...

Whose name was it

do you remember the name?

I have forgotten names

I have erased them,

with chalk

with paint

with black covers...

a thick cloth

A thick cloth

through which you are now


I hear you

I hear you,

But did you hear me

in that dungeon

where you engraved

my name

with the sword

of some Ali

where you chained me

with the rods of

some Hassan and Hussein...

My eyeballs just rolled on

the floor

like some dice of fate

like some dice from a poker


being played

in a sand castle

a castle of turbans

a castle of turbans

and lamenting women


for another prince...

I feel metal drills

drilling secrets in my limbs

touching nerves

with which

I will awaken you....

I push aside thick curtains

black thick curtains

hanging behind bars

hanging behind subterranean


I push them aside

and watch your faces


for freedom...

I cry out to you,

I am Josef in the well

give me your hand.

You do not hear me,

you buried me


Now you are screaming

I hear you screaming


Iraqi Mojo:
As the the death toll in Iran reaches into the dozens and outrages American leaders, the "resistance" in Iraq and other jarab continue to mass murder Iraqis in the numbers we have become accustomed to seeing there, without the outrage expressed by the President. It's as if Iraqi lives are worth less than Iranian lives. It reminds me of the comment by Madeline Albright, about the sanctions being worth the price. Iraqis have always been expendable.

Hey I wish the Iranian people the best too, at least the best that they can possibly get out of the situation they're in right now. But why is it when so many liberals and leftists feel the need to convince the right wingers that Iranians are human beings, it's a portrait they paint as a contrast to all those "special" people that they are surrounded by? Not that I didn't already know that that was how they felt, cause believe me, this is not the first time I ran into this sentiment and it won't be the last.

This really wasn't what I wanted my first post on the aftermath of the Iranian elections to be about, but there it is. If anyone cares though I concur with this guy.

Layla Anwar:
Neda Agha Soltani is the name of the young woman assassinated with a bullet in her heart by the Iranian government Basij Militias. No family funeral was allowed for Neda.
Her family and fiancé were interviewed and the video of her ruthless murder has not ceased circulating across the globe...

All the media outlets have been talking about Neda. That is fine with me. But how come no media outlet has spoken of the thousands of Nedas in Iraq that have been brutally murdered by the Iraqi Shiite Militias trained, armed and funded by Iran ?

Hundreds of Iraqi women have suffered a worst fate than that of Neda, and only in total 3 articles and a couple of videos were circulated in their names. Not even.

Why ?


The whole of Iraq has become a Neda with a bullet in her heart.

And that is more or less it. While Twitter and other blogospheres have been ablaze with comment most other Iraqi bloggers chose to spend their words talking about daily life or Michael Jackson, or Microwave Chocolate Mug Cakes. From a country which will, arguably, be the most affected by any upheaval in Iran, this lack of interest speaks more than all the comment in the world.

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