A feature article by Finlay. H. Hamilton (Y12)
Few have had more reasons to be silent; most have had less courage to speak. In sharing her striking story of horror and survival – one that seems so extraordinary in its abject inhumanity, and yet remains all-too pervasive – to the hall of high-schoolers, Nobel Peace Prize laureate Nadia Murad was a stirring tour de force. Surviving genocide, sexual slavery and displacement only to emerge luculently outspoken and determined to see an end to the same heinous crimes she endured, Nadia is a demonstration that hope and power can be fought for from the most Stygian of circumstances.
Before the Storm
Reflecting on her childhood in northern Iraq, eleven short years ago, Nadia remembers wanting more than anything to open a small beauty salon in her village. Like most people who come to realise incredible things, Nadia didn’t start on a path of activism until much later; as she put it, “this is not the life I had imagined for myself”. And how could it have been? For the events that brought her to us began in such an inconceivably dire and horrific way that nothing could have presaged them.
Despite being a member of the minority ethnoreligious Yazidi group, Nadia’s mother taught her and her ten other siblings to live in peace with even the most hostile of neighbours surrounding them. Nadia was the first – and ultimately last, at least for many years – of her family to attend school, and at the time (as now, in memory), her single mother was a continual source of love, support and inspiration. She “made everything fun” and constantly taught valuable lessons, subverting their poverty, which was not uncommon in the area, with her joy and wisdom. Even though she separated from Nadia’s father, her mother was determined to raise all eleven of her children, and never let them disparage him, respecting his decision. Her mother was everything to Nadia, but she would tragically not survive what was to come.
Alongside memories of her mother, Nadia cherishes those of her siblings; with them, “every moment was a special one”. Nadia’s brothers worked hard to send her to school, for which she is deeply grateful. Particularly, in her talk Nadia pointed towards recollections of moments lying out on the rooftop (a common occurrence in the region) surrounded by her family. Looking into the sky from this vantage point, they all felt the world was so much bigger than their village, Kocho. They would be told stories until midnight and “would connect so much with one another”, and even with their neighbours on the rooftops around them. It was impossible to know that some of these same people would later turn on them.
Part of the macabre episode that was to ensue represents a failure of the greatest kind by the international community. After the US invasion of Iraq, the UN was present in most parts of the country, but Nadia could not claim to have once met them, and never even learned about them as they didn’t go to most communities. Even with the clear signs of what ISIS was planning, the international institutions – which were well aware at this stage – didn’t lend their help in time, and didn’t talk publicly about the events until actively pressed. What is more, in a cruel twist of fate, it would not be until Nadia’s own initiative that the international world would push for investigations into the terrible crimes. And even then she struggled to have governments listen – not even being invited by her home country Iraq – until receiving the Nobel Prize. All this is to say that Nadia’s life has been dedicated to campaigning for the right mechanisms to ensure such an atrocity as the one she endured can never again be allowed to occur.
Horror and Escape
For at the age of 19, Nadia was swept up in a maelstrom of what can only be described as evil of the basest kind: the genocide of Yazidi people, and the systemic kidnap and rape of wives and children, carried out by the Islamic State group. I would be remiss to try and offer what would only be an inadequate description of this terrible nadir, but instead point you towards Nadia’s 2017 autobiography The Last Girl: My Story of Captivity, and My Fight Against the Islamic State, and the as-of-yet untitled book she is in the process of writing. This latter she described to us as a work of unequivocal courage that intends to be “very straightforward” about the horrors endured by the Yazidi people, and in particular provide a detailed account of her personal experience with rape as a weapon of war.
Against all odds, however, Nadia was able to escape through an unlocked door, and eventually made it to a refugee camp. Of course, these camps can never provide even the smallest simulacrum of home, and according to Nadia, “it is simply not possible to build a community in the camps”. Rather, Nadia told of a terrible inertia people experienced: “life is meaningless without having a purpose, and no one in the camps had a purpose. All we had was a hope that tomorrow would be better, but never any long-term vision”. It was infinitely challenging “to feel displaced in my own country, (…) a stranger while home was just an hour away but we couldn’t go back”. Additionally, she couldn’t remember anyone she knew going to school properly in the camps; there was no privacy and thus no place to feel comfortable, especially for study. Even therapies didn’t help most. The palliatives offered just couldn’t match the lived realities of the people there.
What I still struggle to fathom is how anyone could speak out so boldly after such a traumatic experience. But Nadia, who attended professional therapy briefly in Germany, but discovered it was not for her, “found healing in purpose” – and that purpose was sharing her story. Nadia “always believed personal stories have power” and achieved dignity in the act of sharing, which is ultimately the first step towards shifting the discourse of stigma and blame away from the survivors and to the perpetrators.
At one point, Nadia told us frankly and without any appearance of trying to be ingratiating, such an extraordinarily humbling thing that it almost struck me that the privilege of hearing her account first-hand was wasted on the likes of us: “it took me 10 years of telling my story over and over again, sometimes to just get food or clothing. All of that was a process to make it here, to speak in front of you, to share my story.” In all honesty, it seemed to be true – she spoke with such a passion, even lachrymose at times, but also with such candid conviction that it was hard to believe she was speaking to a lucky group of teenagers, and not the UN General assembly.
But she was not always able to be so confident, articulate and outspoken in her deliverance. When Nadia first shared her story to a broader audience, it was to a European news group covering the experiences of refugees in the camp she was occupying. At that time, her brother refused to allow her face to be shown because they had so many family members still in captivity, and had neighbours in ISIS who could have recognised them and taken vindictive action on relatives and acquaintances. Nevertheless, after the interview she didn’t feel comfortable. Not because she feared for her life, but because she was convinced that her goal would not be satisfied to the truest extent without sharing her experience with her face revealed. Regardless of whether it was brave or foolhardy – and she certainly did receive threats from ISIS – her grit, courage and determination are undoubtedly meritorious.
Why She Keeps Going
Eventually making her way out of the refugee camp, Nadia moved to Germany as part of a refugee programme offered by the state of Baden-Württemberg. At the age of 22 she felt like she was on an entirely different planet to her own, but was so grateful to the government for facilitating her entry. Even so, she underscored in her talk that “there are millions who didn’t have the chance to go to Germany and need a better opportunity to go home and rebuild their lives” – something she is working to ameliorate as part of her charity work, on which I will briefly expand later. Besides the obvious language barrier, another difficulty for Nadia and her relatives in this new home was the practice of their culture; the Yazidi religion and way of life “is so connected to the land” that practicing it anywhere else “doesn’t resonate in the same way”.
Part of her motivation to push forward even from this new vantage point of relative safety, in which she could have sought to move on, was “the guilt of surviving and the responsibility to share”. Unlike the rest of her family, and most others, Nadia would continue to publicly recall her horrifying account with the aim of preventing, to whatever extent she possibly could, its repetition. While this is her belief, Nadia also emphasises the importance of respecting survivors’ decisions not to share their stories given the deep stigma and mental scars. They certainly can’t be viewed as cowards: some are deeply traumatised; others want to protect their career, their futures; a few are trying to protect their children from trauma; and as Nadia put it, “every time you share a story like that you are not the same person after” and “you can’t go back”. In any case, it is absolutely imperative that we start to “listen to them when (and if) they do (share)”.
Another source of strength and motivation for Nadia has been her partnership with her Yazidi husband, whom she met outside Iraq during her time as a refugee. When she was first kidnapped, Nadia recalls wishing she were “killed like the men”. After being refused even that most basic of dignities, she “didn’t know [she] could still love and have a life”. That is why when she met her husband-to-be, she was “surprised there was something in her that wanted to take and give love”; Nadia reminded us that “sometimes you forget your heart can still love and give no matter what”. Since then, her husband has inspired her to go to university and supported her in the recounting of her gruelling tale. For Nadia, it is so important to be around people “who don’t just see me as a story but recognise my full humanity”.
Looking to the Future
Going forward, Nadia is continuing to share her experiences and informing herself and others on the nature and history of rape as a weapon of war because “education is the first step to helping others; if you don’t know about them, then it’s hard to help”. As part of these efforts, she has met with religious leaders to underscore the fact that “no religion stands for rape, genocide, and displacement”.
Alongside this work, Nadia is also leading her organisation Nadia’s Initiative that “advocates for survivors of sexual violence and aims to rebuild communities in crisis”, explaining that you “can’t let society blame survivors” and “cannot destigmatise rape without supporting survivors and sharing their stories”. According to Nadia, it is also important to remember that “survivors refuse to be victims”, so we should not label them as such.
Explaining how to carry out the difficult task of healing in these deeply damaged areas, Nadia emphasised that the first step is to “listen” and “have the communities in the discussion” because “a mistake that so many people make is not knowing where to start; but when you go and listen, and not just to one group” then you “understand that justice, closure and reconciliation take so many different forms that need to be listened to”. Additionally, addressing world leaders, she pointed out that “there is no lack of evidence, but a lack of political will”, and gave the salient reminder that “there will be a time when people will look back and they will judge world leaders based on what they do now about these issues”. This is exactly why Nadia had been at the centre of the movement that pushed for the UN investigation into the crimes against the Yazidi people in Iraq.
After the de-mining carried out with Nadia’s Initiative and its partners, Nadia and many others have been able to return. “For the first time I feel like life is back in Sinjar,” she says, smiling, “people celebrated the religious holiday and more than 200,000 are back.” But they are still scared to rebuild and invest because of security concerns and the impunity of many former ISIS members. At least, Nadia noted, the needs have changed: people are no longer desperate for the basic amenities, asking for “water, then food, then education, then farming equipment”; now there is a strong desire for security and normalcy – the foundations for the long journey at rebuilding their lives.
If you enjoyed this article, make sure to read the excellent follow-up by Ella Edwards on The Untold Story of Rape as a War Crime.
An enormous thank you to Nadia Murad for coming to speak to us, and to Mr. Deighan for facilitating.
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