Unravelling the knots of oppression one tangle at a time- Part two

"Dear team, I am thinking in creating an alternative training in Kurdistan of Iraq....." .On the 10th of December, 2013 I received this email from our team's support co-ordinator, Milena R.  My initial reaction was , "that sounds great but there is no way on earth that this will happen in the time frame she is thinking of (February 2014). That is just not the way CPT works."

I arrived back in Sulaimani on 23 January and the interviewing of potential trainees started soon afterward. By early February the training was a surety for four trainees and with team mate Lukasz and I being put into the position of being trainers. This was a huge surprise for me. I trained with CPT in August 2010. The trainers seemed to be some sort of a mystery to me. They appeared to have knowledge and experience way beyond anything I could imagine to attain.

Adriana, Parwen, Juliane, Mohammed, Gosia,

Annika, Lukasz, Kathy

 

        

 

 

 Talking about moving out of comfort zones, an important

discussion for trainers and trainees alike.

 But, all of a sudden , beginning on 22 February, 2014, I was a trainer. I marvelled at the trust put in us. Lukasz and I provided the total input for the first 10 days. It was exciting to dig into the training manuals, something we both had not really done since our own time of learning. We found that we intuitively were using a lot of the information in our day to day work on the Iraqi Kurdistan team. Thus we were able to teach and facilitate sessions to help the four trainees to learn it too.

On day 12 Adriana, from Colombia,  joined the team. . She brought with her experience of being a regular trainer in the Chicago month- long trainings, as well as having facilitated the sessions on Undoing Oppressions. This is a regular and important part of the CPT trainings: Undoing racism, sexism and heterosexism as well as a day to think about how to be an ally.

For this training I had the unusual position of being the only one who had English as my first language. We had two Kurdish speakers, one Polish speaker, one German speaker and then on the training team: one Spanish , one Czech and a Swedish speaker . We had to often think how to work with vocabulary that was difficult to explain and/or understand in languages other than English. We had to break down concepts into smaller parts so all would be able to grasp what was being discussed.

We began to look at  undoing oppressions and how our cultures have taught us well who is more important or intelligent or worthy. I thought about the concept of "undoing" and immediately pictured my knitting. Often as I create a pair of socks the yarn becomes very tangled and knotty. If I just tug on the wool and don't take the time to undo it, the tangle just becomes even more entrenched and more difficult to work with. The only way to be able to knit with the wool is to start at the beginning and undo one tangle at a time.  Adriana added that undoing oppressions also has someone at the end that you have untangled working at remaking the mess again so you have to go back and untangle one knot at a time over and over again.

This was a session on learning about sexism. Here we each introduced a woman who was important to us and drew a representative picture.  Then we divided into gender groups and the women wrote about how sexism affects us in our lives and the men wrote about how sexism tells them that they are more worthy.  After this session, Juliane thought of taking our statements and placing them over our photos.



 

 

As the training went on we realised that no one of the team had any video making skills. So I stretched myself again to learn the rudimentary skills so I could put together a video of our time together. I am pretty pleased with my first attempt. 

After the training we all evaluated the five weeks. A quote from the written evaluation is ,
"Having trainers from the field was a big success: Knowledge coming from the people
who do the work on the field has a different weight and becomes more alive to
trainees by virtue of being based on recent life experience. Also, training
empowered the field CPTers to transmit their knowledge in ways that served as
markers of learned experience, at the same time that helped them revisit that
learning in ways that will most likely improve the quality of their future work."

Green and Blue and Yellow and Brown: Election in Iraqi Kurdistan

Election fever has hit in Iraqi Kurdistan and Iraq as a whole. Last September 21 another election was held. That one was for Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) parliament and many seats changed hands. The results showed that the people in this half of IK were discontented with the existing leaders and the Gorran/Change list gained many new seats. BUT that was 6 months ago and in reality the change has not happened. Government decisions are still on hold because a new government has not been formed yet. The old guard have not let go of their positions. And the people wait.



Traditionally (since the civil war in 1994) the KDP (Kurdish Democratic Party-yellow) has controlled the northern part of Iraqi Kurdistan. The PUK (Kurdish Union Party- green) has controlled the south.



Into this situation comes another election. This one is for the Iraqi government as well as Kurdish municipal and regional governerate positions. We have not heard of any deaths yet in the campaign process, but I am surprised that this has not happened. The campaign was legally opened a month before the election and immediately the region became awash with colours: green, blue, yellow and brown. Every night on the main street here in Sulaimani the men, young and old. drive their cars packed with male supporters and flags, up and down the street. The testosterone oozes from the traffic jam and the young men hang from the windows screaming and yelling. This increases when they see a car with a different colour of flag. They release fireworks from the open windows as they drive along and often the sound of the "bang" changes when they shoot guns into the air..

In the main city square- Maidan Sara

This is the reason that I won't be able to give you any photos of the night life. I would rather stay close to home when the men start driving. Last election a bystander woman was killed by a stray bullet.

Thoughts on observing all this election fever:

-I know that the flags and pennants use a lot of resources to make and they are already creating a lot of rubbish and pollution. But I inwardly like seeing them wave in the breeze and add colour to the city.
-I really don't see how the flags and pennants and signs would ever really encourage anyone to change their minds in who they would vote for.
-I am quite glad that the elections in Canada do not include shooting into the air (with pistols and Kalashnikovs).
-But because I like seeing the flags and pennants, here are some photos:

There are a few Islamist Union party flags also

This is outside my bedroom window, looking at the school gate



Looking toward Mosgowti Ibrahim



Unravelling the knots of colonialsim and racism one tangle at a time- Part One

The woman shed tears of remembering and grief as she courageously shared with strangers and supporters the intimate details of the abuse laid on her as a tiny girl by adults who professed to be Christian. As her 15 minutes allotted to her wound down she said, (paraphrased),It is not good that this is the last TRC gathering. When this is done then the government can say that they have done their work and all is finished. But it is not. Our pain is still here. There is still work to be done.

Last week, in Iraqi Kurdistan,  I watched the live streaming of the Alberta National Event of the Canadian Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) . These conversations have happened across Canada at various venues for the last 4 years. It has been a time for the indigenous people of Canada to tell their stories of what churches, with the blessing of the government, laid on them for over one hundred years in  residential and day schools.. This TRC in Edmonton, Alberta is to be the last official time for people, indigenous and non-indigenous to come together to tell the stories and to listen to  the stories and to commit to continue to work on undoing the racism and colonialism that was central to the actions.

I was not able to be at this gathering, although I did have  the privilege in June 2010 to attend the first TRC in Winnipeg, Manitoba. However, I felt a little like a part of me was there.

In December 2013 I was at a meeting of the Winnipeg Branch of the Student Christian Movement. This group is committed to working on standing in solidarity with our indigenous brothers and sisters.  That morning my friend Brad Langendoen came up with a proposal. He had a dream of walking from Winnipeg to the Edmonton TRC. He was inspired by  the 1600 kilometer journey that several  Cree teens  hiked  between Quebec and Ottawa last year, drawing public attention to justice issues. He envisioned this walk to be a time of reflection , lament and connection with the land for the walkers from Christian backgrounds. Over the next weeks, as we discussed this plan we realised that the logistics of walking that distance did not seem possible so the walk was narrowed down to 520 kilometers.

On March 8th 3 walkers set out from a midway point between Winnipeg and Edmonton. One of these walkers was my son-in-law Laurens Thiessen van Esch.  One more person joined them after a few days and others walked for a short time during the 3 week trek over the Canadian prairies on into the hills of Alberta.

Two of the walkers; Laurens Thiessen van Esch and Ann Heinrichs

 

The 4 walkers on the flat prairie highway.

 





Even though I was on team with Christian Peacemaker Teams Iraqi Kurdistan while the TRC was happening, I did feel somewhat jealous.  If I had been in Canada, I would have gladly joined them in the walk. But I was not, so I did take on the limited challenge of fasting from lunch for a week. I did feel the hunger pangs a little bit. Some thoughts I had when they set in:

-I  thought about the children who experienced much harsher hunger pangs for weeks and months on end in the schools that did not give them enough food to survive

- I thought about the children who ran away to try to get home and how hungry they must have been.

- I thought about the hunger pangs of those who are homeless due to the situation of generational trauma from the residential schools and/ or who do not have enough money for all the basic needs. And I had the privilege of making the choice to skip a meal.

 

In his proposal Brad, L continued, "Although the primary outcome of this trip might be to hear and honour Residential School survivors, I believe a trip like this would undoubtably have a transformative affect on each of the walkers – though to what affect remains to be seen. For Christians, this walk provides an opportunity to contemplate a responsibility we have to our collective history as we quite literally take some significant steps towards truth and reconciliation."

 

The formal TRC gatherings are over, the Honour Walk by four walkers is over. But the work is not done. We need to continue to do the hard work of unravelling the knots of colonialsm and racism one tangle at a time.

 

 

During the TRC the walkers and other supporters had the opportunity to offer an expression of reconciliation. They offered a quilt and a copy of the book, "Buffalo Shout, Salmon Cry" to be placed into the bentwood box.

(Photos taken gratefully from the Honour Walk website)

"Let's Go Fly A Kite"... in Chamchamal

 This past weekend my friend, Ann, and I headed to the bazaar area of the town of Chamchamal.  She had heard that there was an ancient ruin on top of a tall hill (filled with remnants of ancient civilizations). I asked the father of this family about the age of the ruins and he said, "zor, zor, zor con/ very, very, very old". He also said it was older than the much more famous Citadel in the capital city Hawler. But the real beauty of the Friday afternoon was the Spring sunshine and wild flowers and the children flying their kite. (In case you don't know, if you click on a photo it will take you to larger versions of all the pictures.)

To wear the dress or to not wear the dress, that is the question.....

When one works in the activist world the topic of  cultural appropriation comes up sometimes. This is about people taking on things from other cultures because they look cool or neat. Often things or objects are taken from minority cultures by dominant cultures and are used in inappropriate ways without regard to the feelings of the people who usually use them.
 
I do think about this. I know for certain that it will never be appropriate for me to have an Aboriginal Jingle dress made for myself and to wear it in a healing dance no matter how beautiful I think that they are.

So, when  I came to Iraqi Kurdistan and fell in love with the beautiful fabrics in the bazaar and the traditional jili kurdi that are made from the cloth,  I was cautious about thinking about having a dress made for me.

I  Googled  cultural appropriation and found an article by Jarune Uwuwjaren called The Difference Between Cultural Exchange and Cultural Appropriation. here She states, "That’s what cultural exchange can look like – engaging with a culture as a respectful and humble guest, invitation only."

Even before I read her article I knew that things were OK here with my Kurdish friends and me.  The first time I went to my friend Nishtiman's house for the Nawroz picnic the whole family invited me to wear an extra dress they had. It was my first experience with wearing the elaborate dress that Kurdish women delight in wearing. I did get extra attention due to my sneakers I wore on my feet. High heels are much more usual attire, but my size 10 feet did not fit any of the sister's shoes.

Since then I have attended weddings dressed in my usual skirt and blouse and have been told politely that wearing a Kurdish dress would be so much nicer. And last year my friend Gul and her daughter Nishtiman gave me a gift of some cloth to create a dress for myself. I did need to find the shiny fabric for the bloomer type underwear as well as other cloth for the long over coat. But Nishtiman introduced me to her seamstress who quickly  sewed  these for me in time for this year's Nawroz celebration.

That does not  include the beautiful green dress and shiny vest that Hershu, the wife of our team mate, had waiting for me when I returned to Sulaimani this time. So this Nawroz I had two dresses to choose from and one to lend to a team mate.

The final clincher for me was when a group of us visited with relatives of our Kurdish friend Rezhyar. His grandmother sat with us at the picnic and looked at two visitors who did not have Kurdish clothes. She said, "if only I had known you were coming and that you did not have jili kurdi. I would have brought you some so you could have some too".

I believe that we show respect and honour for the Kurdish culture by wearing the clothes that they love to wear.

 

What can a teacher do when his salary is two weeks late,,,,?

When I first arrived back in Iraqi Kurdistan our friend, team mate,  translator, driver, and all round good guy, Mohammed, told me that all the teachers in Iraqi Kurdistan had not received their salary. They are usually paid once a month, but the government told them that there was not money in the banks to pay them. This seems very strange in a region full of oil but the day of payment was already 2 weeks late.

So, the teacher's union declared that the all must strike- or as they call it, a boycott. They were to abandon their classrooms in order to show the authorities what they would lose if the teachers were not there. The catch in this plan is that the students were not to stay home. They came to the school anyway.

Mohammed was not comfortable with the idea of his Grade 4 students sitting in the classroom unsupervised. So he went to his school on the appointed day. But, on entering the room he told the children to put away their books. They were going to have a conversation about striking and boycotting and how people can raise their voices to be heard by the authorities.

He used an example to inform his students, "imagine your parents hired a painter to paint your house. He works all day and then at the end of the day your parents do not pay him. Maybe he comes for 2 or 3 days and they still do not pay him. What do you think he will do?"

Then he spoke of the situation with the teachers. The teachers come to the school every day and teach their classes. Their salary is due on the 24th of the month. When the government does not give them their money, how do you think this affects the life of the city ? Maybe one of your parents is a teacher. How does this affect your family? How does affect how much you can buy at the bazaar? How does affect the life of the sellers at the bazaar?

The questions of his young students were very wise: "If you do this as a teacher, what happens if the doctors do this?" Is it possible for us students to join you in the boycott"? Mohamed's answer to the latter was that this boycott was for teachers, not a mission for children.  The students had to listen to their parents advice on this matter. But he also told them to talk with their parents about the discussion.

After the 3 classes he teaches went home Mohamed was reprimanded by the head master of the school.  The Principal asked how he could speak of such things to children. Mohamed defended his decision to have the discussions. He said that they would hear the news of the dilemma on  the TV and they might listen to conversations by the adults in their lives. As he had said to the students, maybe they would be directly affected by the lack of salary. It was not something to avoid, they needed to be able to talk about it  and express their worries and questions.

Three days later the news came that the salaries were available to be picked up. However, as I write this post it is 4 March. The 24th of February has long passed and the salaries for this month have again not been paid.

 

Hanging out, karaoke and dancing up a storm

Last Friday on our day off the team was invited to a weekly event at the nearest Syrian refugee camp to Sulaimani. Usually a movie is shown to the children, but when we arrived at the camp we were told that there was no electricity so a new plan was formed. The teacher went out a found a large karaoke speaker with rechargeable battery. It came with two cordless microphones so immediately the children were encouraged to sit on the carpet in the large tent that was the school room. Then one by one they came up to share their talents whether that was singing a long song about Syria or making animal noises. I gave a rendition of the song, "I'm a Little Tea pot" along with the actions. Beebo our friend from Bagdahd, translated it  into Arabic so they could know what the crazy lady was doing!

Because Beebo was speaking Arabic to the group I assumed that I had no way of speaking or understanding. It took me awhile to remember  that most of the people there are Syrian Kurds who speak Kurmanji Kurdish dialect  So we did (sort of*) have common language.

*many of the words are different or said differently and of course, my Sorani Kurdish skills are not that great. But it was better than nothing!

 

The tent that is the school room during week days. It is covered with a huge blue tarp to prevent the heavy winter rains from leaking through.

 

Gosia  (with the mike) is our CPT intern from Poland. She sang a childhood Polish song.

 

 

After many children had stood with the mike and shared their talent the dancing started. But it soon became very warm in the tent so the dancers headed outside to enjoy the sun and blue sky.

 

 

The little girl started out being very shy, but Gosia won her over.

 

 

The dancing moved from modern jumping type ...



 

to quite accomplished Kurdish dancing.

 

One boy who spoke very good English looked at me and then at this little girl and said, "Your faces look just the same." So I had to have a photo taken to see if he was right.

 

Then, if a person gets tired of dancing, there is always plenty of dirt and sand to dig in.

 

This was one of the drawings decorating the walls of the school tent. Two days earlier the region had experienced torrential rainfall for two days. This is a fine rendition of what life in the camp would have been like on those days.

 

 

A picture of a small part of the camp. Every few tents have toilet to share with water tanks on the room. There are also water stations where tanks are filled by water trucks.

 

 

Two days after we visited the camp the "resh ba- black wind" began. I was out walking on the first day of the wind and at times I could hardly stand up. The next day the temperature dropped which along with the wind made the air very cold. I could imagine how uncomfortable it was in those tents with the cold air moving through the cracks and the wind whipping the tarps all around.