OUR LIFE IN PIECES
Objects and Stories from Iraqis in Exile

An exhibition held at the DIORAMA GALLERY, London, March 2003

Introduction workshops and talks held on-line documentation of a selection of the objects, stories and images

Graduation 1943 Queen Alia College, Baghdad

Returning to Iraq
There, I saw that things had really changed. And so had people. Even my mother had changed. She seemed exhausted. She used to be so talkative, now she hardly spoke. One time when I kept asking questions, she said, “what are you asking me about, my daughter? What I’ve seen in the long years that you’ve been away isn’t possible to talk about. It was like being in the centre of Hell. I can’t possibly describe to you the things that happened or the pain - in words.” She begged me, “please, please, stop asking me questions”.

And when I asked her about these things which she’d placed in my suitcase, she said, “these are the most precious things I have to give you now, my darling daughter. Put them in your room or in front of your writing table. They will protect you in the absence of your family and your loved ones. And also from the loneliness of separation.”
Yasmin Al Jawahiri, left Iraq in 1975 and now researching the impact of economic sanctions on women.

Introduction
There are thousands of Iraqi exiles in the UK. They reflect the rich cultural diversity of Iraq: Arabs, Kurds, Assyrians, Mandaeans, Turkomans, Muslims, Jews, Christians. Some left Iraq 40 or 50 years ago, others very recently.

Sometimes it seems, however, that the only Iraqi who exists is Saddam Hussein. And other Iraqis, when their existence is acknowledged, are often characterised in simplistic, reductive categories, which come nowhere near to describing the reality of their lives.

That is why we decided to mount this exhibition: to try and convey something about the lives and culture of ordinary Iraqis, who often feel they have been silenced and their experience counts for nothing.

We issued an invitation to Iraqis in exile to contribute objects which held a particular meaning for them: repositories of personal, familial and social memory and history; emblems, talismans, anything they wanted to exhibit which had some connection with Iraq. The invitation was published in Arabic language newspapers, read out on the radio and left in community centres.

Initially, women seemed more willing to contribute objects and write their personal accounts than men, who often said they hadn’t brought anything with them. We also had to work hard to gain people’s trust. The painful recent history of the country has left Iraqis very wary. Once this barrier was crossed, however, they became intrigued and enthusiastic and, up to the opening of the exhibition, people were still contacting us, wanting to bring in their objects and stories. In the end, we had about 75 exhibits.

We decided against a selection process or any externally imposed thematic principle and this collection of objects is a random one where people are speaking only for themselves. And yet, we feel that this exhibition finally conjures up a strong sense of place and the individual experience and history of some of its people.

Some exhibits have been chosen because they express a connection to family or childhood. Others embody moments in the country’s political or cultural history, which have been significant for the object’s owner and helped to form part of his or her identity.

Some people contributed thoughts, such as the card saying this exhibition should be called ‘Fear’. And several men chose to display their military service books, probably the most important document Iraqi men possess. All men are called up aged 18 and if a man fails to do his military service he will be imprisoned and, in times of war, executed.

The reasons people chose to participate were varied, but in all the objects and their stories you sense something of the way we all construct a sense of identity out of the fragments of memory and experience.

See the 3 page article about the exhbition in The Guardian, 28 March 2003