If you tend to be one of those who "bad mouth" our Iraqi Liberation, keep small events like this in mind.
Descending on D.C. From All Over America, and Thrilled to Be Iraqi
By Nora Boustany
Washington Post
Friday, February 13, 2004; Page A24
Many arrived an hour early. Iraqi exiles from different corners of America filled the hallway outside the Park Hyatt ballroom. Wide-eyed, silent, hands folded, dressed to the nines, they appeared to have a touch of stage fright about finally coming together as Iraqis.
The notion of a collective identity, normally a cause for comfort, had been a source of dread. Some say they had secretly longed for it but feared the tactics of a Baghdad government that terrorized rather than protected them. But this time, no spooks posing as diplomats roamed the buffet reception to welcome Iraqi Americans and Iraqis estranged from their country.
To celebrate the Eid al-Adha feast commemorating the end of the pilgrimage to Mecca, and to relaunch consular and other services in Washington, Iraq's ambassador-designate, Rend Rahim Francke, and the Iraqi interests section invited about 400 Iraqi expats last Saturday to turn the page to a new era.
Elderly, middle-aged and young men, some in thick glasses and dull suits, others donning silk ties and gold pins, and ladies in pastel ensembles, cocktail dresses, glittering gowns or traditional embroidered caftans stood in line as ushers sorted out plastic name cards.
They came from Michigan, California, Texas, Florida and elsewhere. American accents mixed with guttural Iraqi expressions as young men compared notes about digital cameras, school and family. The ambassador, petite and agile, glided around in a cream shantung silk dress and jacket, still unnoticed, fretting over last-minute preparations.
"This is the best event ever," said a smiling Siham Kubba. "I know four other families here. This is the first time I've done something like this in my life. We used to be scared to come to our embassy; we avoided it like the plague."
Kubba, 60, had flown in from Detroit with 21 others -- all of whom paid their own way -- to meet up with her daughter Zina, 37, who came from El Paso. Since Kubba, a civil engineer and mother of four, left Iraq in 1973, she has worked in Kuwait, Jordan and the United States. They were all staying at a hotel on Dupont Circle, next to the old embassy at 1801 P St. NW.
In the background, Khalil Hassan played a black piano. "It's incredible," he said, looking up. "To see Iraqis everywhere, out in the open, walking the streets, to feel the joy of this gathering, to cuss Saddam if we like, knowing there will be no snitches among us."
Hassan, who came to the United States 27 years ago, described coming from St. Louis to the embassy in Washington in 1980 to have his transcript stamped. "I calculated, I screened my facial expressions, practicing in front of a mirror to observe how I looked and sounded, what phrases to use, so no one could infer from my appearance or intonations how I felt about the regime," he recalled.
The doors opened and the crowds flooded into the reception room, shy and expectant. Waiters served soft drinks and juices and tended to a half-dozen tables where they later carved roast lamb and served baked red snapper with tamarind sauce, stuffed vine leaves, hummus and rice. Potted white orchids and modest bamboo arrangements suggested Iraq's lush marshes and reeds.
"I don't know one Iraqi who has lost his love for Iraq, his pride or his affection for it," said Francke as she took the podium. A hush fell over the crowd as solemn faces looked up at her. A cynical chuckle rumbled across the ballroom as she mocked past practices at Iraqi embassies, when Iraqis were encouraged to spy and inform on their friends.
"Have you noticed? Look at the walls, there is not one picture of a zaim, a leader. This concept of a supreme leader cult is dead," said Nazar Haidar, jubilantly offering a card that said Iraq Media Center, Director. He said he had been part of the opposition in the southern Iraqi city of Karbala.
"In the past, embassies were dens for killers and kidnappers," said Haidar, 45, a Washington resident, who said he left Iraq at age 21. At age 24 he demonstrated outside the Iraqi Embassy. "I am a Shiite Muslim, my friend Hamid is a Christian," he said of a young man standing next to him.
Bernadette Najar, an education specialist at Wayne State University in Detroit, was chatting about what needed to be done to revamp education systems in Iraq. "I do feel happy inside," she said. "Coming here is one way of trying to heal all the injuries, the deep wounds. Seeing Iraqis celebrating for once, seeing a woman as ambassador. We are not nervous to be here, but overjoyed."
Ali Shaikly, 25, the son of a Shiite Muslim mother and a Sunni father, was born and raised in Southern California. He sees himself as an American and would like to settle here, but as a George Washington University law student who also has a master's degree from the Georgetown University school of foreign service, he said he wants to contribute to rebuilding Iraq. "I would like to help build the legal system in Iraq with a regulatory mechanism for law enforcement," he said. "Judicial standards there have not always been ideal."
When Francke stepped down to mingle, she was mobbed by well-wishers. Issam Fattouh, an Iraqi Christian who owns a grocery store in San Diego, was beaming as he fought his way to have a picture taken with the ambassador. "This event is one of a kind," he said. "We used to dream of such an occasion, and now it has come true."
But in a sobering reminder of the problems in their homeland, a man went up to the microphone to announce a memorial service the next day for the Kurds killed in suicide bombings in Irbil earlier in the week.
© 2004 The Washington Post Company |
