“Seven days into his presidency, the world realised he was serious…” Banthology: Stories From Unwanted Nations

Banthology: Stories From Unwanted Nations

Iraqi writer Anoud (not her real name) is one contributor to Comma Press’s new anthology, Banthology: Stories from Unwanted Nations. Here, she explains the real life inspirations behind her short (and harrowing) tale, Storyteller – including Trump’s travel ban on Muslims, and an unexpected interaction with one of Jeremy Deller’s sculptures

When Donald Trump called for a ban on “all Muslims” during his election rally I couldn’t quite decide if I was terrified or amused. It sounded like a spoof headline meant as a joke. Seven days into his presidency, the world realised he was serious.

Shortly after Trump’s statement, Al Qaida used that same speech when they released a video on social media, the first of several that followed by Al Qaida, Al Shabab and Isis. In their video, the screen was split down the middle with the current leader of Al Qaida, Aymen al-Zawahiri, on one side and Trump on the other.  The video was edited as such that every time Trump referred to Muslims as terrorists or called for military actions against, as he generalised, “all Muslims”, al-Zawahiri followed with soundbites where he called “the west” – yes, all of it – the enemy, out to kill Muslims unless Muslims kill them all first. As I watched the video over and over, I kept thinking: ‘Gosh. These two sound so alike they could be cousins.’

“I was not moved by my grandmother’s tears of sympathy as she watched army trucks packed with Iranian POWs, some only teenagers themselves”

Surely anyone with half a brain will know that 1.6 billion Muslims are not collectively out to kill everyone, and that most Muslims are regular folk living their mundane lives just like everyone else on the planet. Not to mention that most victims and enemies of radical Islamic militias are Arabs and/or Muslim. Then I remembered my own experiences of the propaganda machine, growing up in Iraq during the eight-year Iran-Iraq War. Propaganda, like Trump’s and al-Zawahiri’s, can have damaging effects on people’s understanding of other cultures or races, especially on those who’ve not been exposed to anything outside of their immediate community. I know, because I fell for it once.

As a child growing up in Iraq during the eight year Iraq-Iran war, I, like other children my age, was drenched in propaganda. Our school murals, TV shows and even children’s books and magazines were loaded with examples of “evil” Iranians out to destroy Iraq. I was not moved by my grandmother’s tears of sympathy as she watched army trucks packed with Iranian POWs, some only teenagers themselves; her mutterings of “poor boys” and “heaven help their mothers” had no effect on me. When you’re soaked in that much propaganda on a daily basis, and you want to fit into a group, you conform and you take pride in being overzealous. You try to be the first child to climb the side of the truck, to make faces at the captured soldiers or throw pebbles at them, before being scolded to stop. As an adult, I look back at my childhood and I cringe.

“I grew suspicious and weary of everything I was taught. And just like that, I was a new person”

It wasn’t until I left Iraq in my 20s and picked up a copy of National Geographic with a large spread on the Iran-Iraq war that I began to understand the conflict from the other side. Turns out, we did some nasty things to them too. Both sides claim the other started the aggression. Both sides claim to have won the war. Both sides claimed to be good and the other side evil. I grew suspicious and weary of everything I was taught. And just like that, I was a new person.

When Comma asked me to contribute to Banthology, I knew exactly what story I wanted to tell; one that I’ve been carrying with me for a long time. Storyteller is a collage of experiences that have happened to people I knew, with some fiction thrown in for good measure. It was actually triggered by a visit to the Imperial War Museum in London a few years ago.

“This short story is meant to merely give perspective, to place you – the reader – as a fly on wall at a family home in Baghdad”

The last piece I saw as I was about to exit the museum was the Baghdad Car, a piece by Turner prize-winner Jeremy Deller. It was a mangled hunk of metal, the remains of a car bomb that detonated in Baghdad, killing and maiming tens of people. The car was tragic and ugly and yet I felt this affection towards it; like it and I were old friends sharing an inside joke, or an intimate secret that the dozen other people standing around looking at it were oblivious to. I observed the people looking at the car. I looked at their features, their clothes, their mannerisms. They would have stood out in Baghdad as foreigners. I felt smug, then I felt generous. I wanted to tap people on the shoulder and explain what a car bomb ‘really’ felt like. I wanted to tell them that I, like the car, am also from Baghdad. I didn’t of course. That would have been weird. Instead I stood there having a silent conversation with the Baghdad Car. And thus, Storyteller was born.

I didn’t write Storyteller to lecture, advocate, or point fingers at anyone. This short story is meant to merely give perspective, to place you – the reader – as a fly on wall at a family home in Baghdad, where you can peer into their daily lives under war and economic sanctions.

I am not trying to portray Iraqis as the victims, angels or martyrs that some well- intended, left-leaning people imagine us to be. I do sincerely hope that those who believe Trump when he calls us terrorists from “shit-hole countries” would still be curious to meet us, to know us, to stand in our shoes a little. I hope this will impact readers the way leaving Iraq and understanding other narratives impacted me. We are not saints or villains. Like those who survived a Tsunami, a World War or a Holocaust, Storyteller is about ordinary people living extraordinary lives.

If you take nothing else from it, I hope it entertains.

Anoud

Banthology: Stories from Unwanted Nations is available now to buy from Comma Press — online price £9

Commissioned as a direct response to President Trump’s “Muslim ban” of 2017, the anthology explores the emotional and personal impact of all restrictions on movement through new short fiction from the initial countries affected

Posted on 01/03/2018 by thedoublenegative