Berivan Dosky
by Berivan Dosky
In 2003, I dreamed that once Saddam’s Ba’athist regime had tumbled, we could at last live in peace. Today, I wonder if the Ba’athist culture of despotism, repression and violence can ever be expelled.
I thought that the people of Iraq could leave the atrocities behind, that we would learn from our mistakes, and that no authority would again treat anyone like a second-class citizen. I wanted my children never to fear the experiences that their parents and grandparents and others went through.
As a Kurd, I dreamed that no one would be oppressed merely for their ethnicity, and that none would again face chemical bombardment, genocide and exodus, or be denied their culture, language and history. I dreamed that the Kurds would no longer stay in the dark and unjust chapters of history. As a woman, I dreamed of justice and equality, though I knew that the Kurdish women of this generation would pay a heavy price for equality. I dreamed that Kurdish women, who have borne stigmas of inferiority twice over, and the consequences of war, too, would finally be recognised as equal.
Everything I dreamed of seemed simple and normal – not much to ask for – but 10 years later, all of it still seems far from coming true. The system in Iraq has gone from autocratic order to unpredictable disorder; a lack of trust and the pursuit of power have created a state without rules, just dangerous games.
The new Iraqi constitution recognised Kurdistan as an autonomous region, with a degree of control over its own resources, but without a framework for co-ordination — leaving co-operation between the federal centre (Baghdad) and the federal region (Kurdistan) almost unrecognisable as such. Each side defines federalism according to its interests; each abides by a few articles of the constitution and disregards the rest as it sees fit.
The Kurds tried to share power and rebuild with other groups, but misinterpretations of the constitution, misunderstandings, and bad intentions created serious disputes between the two sides of the federal arrangement. At first, Kurds attributed these troubles to the methods of the first prime minister, Ibrahim Al Jaafari; they started forming new alliances to force him to step down.
Corruption and a lack of transparency have become the norm in Iraq. The Corruption Index for 2010 places Iraq fifth place among most corrupt countries in the world. Without constitutional protection for the federal region from Baghdad or the international community, though, these advances face real danger. Even foreign bodies interfere: Neighbouring countries such as Turkey and Iran cross the border illegally on an almost daily basis. Baghdad and the rest of the world watch without a word of condemnation, let alone intervention.
This is bad enough, but the condition of women has become a disaster in the postwar era. Violence towards women throughout Iraq covers a wide range of practices, including honour killings, family pressure to commit suicide, forced marriages and domestic violence. Strict gender roles make women a repository of the “honour” of the family, community, nation and so on. This is used to prevent them from being able to make decisions for themselves and others. Deviations from gender roles are often punished by the victims’ own inner circles.
There are no accurate statistics for violence against women in Iraq, making it difficult to deal with the problem. Despite limited data, all agree that violence is widespread. Some analysts claim, with reference to Unifem, that there are at least 400 honour killings a year; but most such killings, suicides and other acts against women go unreported. After natural causes, honour killings are thought to be one of the leading causes of death for women in Kurdistan. The Guardian
by Berivan Dosky
In 2003, I dreamed that once Saddam’s Ba’athist regime had tumbled, we could at last live in peace. Today, I wonder if the Ba’athist culture of despotism, repression and violence can ever be expelled.
I thought that the people of Iraq could leave the atrocities behind, that we would learn from our mistakes, and that no authority would again treat anyone like a second-class citizen. I wanted my children never to fear the experiences that their parents and grandparents and others went through.
As a Kurd, I dreamed that no one would be oppressed merely for their ethnicity, and that none would again face chemical bombardment, genocide and exodus, or be denied their culture, language and history. I dreamed that the Kurds would no longer stay in the dark and unjust chapters of history. As a woman, I dreamed of justice and equality, though I knew that the Kurdish women of this generation would pay a heavy price for equality. I dreamed that Kurdish women, who have borne stigmas of inferiority twice over, and the consequences of war, too, would finally be recognised as equal.
Everything I dreamed of seemed simple and normal – not much to ask for – but 10 years later, all of it still seems far from coming true. The system in Iraq has gone from autocratic order to unpredictable disorder; a lack of trust and the pursuit of power have created a state without rules, just dangerous games.
The new Iraqi constitution recognised Kurdistan as an autonomous region, with a degree of control over its own resources, but without a framework for co-ordination — leaving co-operation between the federal centre (Baghdad) and the federal region (Kurdistan) almost unrecognisable as such. Each side defines federalism according to its interests; each abides by a few articles of the constitution and disregards the rest as it sees fit.
The Kurds tried to share power and rebuild with other groups, but misinterpretations of the constitution, misunderstandings, and bad intentions created serious disputes between the two sides of the federal arrangement. At first, Kurds attributed these troubles to the methods of the first prime minister, Ibrahim Al Jaafari; they started forming new alliances to force him to step down.
Corruption and a lack of transparency have become the norm in Iraq. The Corruption Index for 2010 places Iraq fifth place among most corrupt countries in the world. Without constitutional protection for the federal region from Baghdad or the international community, though, these advances face real danger. Even foreign bodies interfere: Neighbouring countries such as Turkey and Iran cross the border illegally on an almost daily basis. Baghdad and the rest of the world watch without a word of condemnation, let alone intervention.
This is bad enough, but the condition of women has become a disaster in the postwar era. Violence towards women throughout Iraq covers a wide range of practices, including honour killings, family pressure to commit suicide, forced marriages and domestic violence. Strict gender roles make women a repository of the “honour” of the family, community, nation and so on. This is used to prevent them from being able to make decisions for themselves and others. Deviations from gender roles are often punished by the victims’ own inner circles.
There are no accurate statistics for violence against women in Iraq, making it difficult to deal with the problem. Despite limited data, all agree that violence is widespread. Some analysts claim, with reference to Unifem, that there are at least 400 honour killings a year; but most such killings, suicides and other acts against women go unreported. After natural causes, honour killings are thought to be one of the leading causes of death for women in Kurdistan. The Guardian
