The Iraqis are coming! The Iraqis are coming! A little lesson in seeing and belonging
It was a warm summer’s afternoon in a pleasant market town in Suffolk. My dad and I were walking the street back to the car after shopping. He was in buoyant mood: to his delight he’d managed to find a small packet of cashew nuts in the local M&S. He often went missing on shopping trips, only to emerge sometime later with a broad grin of child-like pleasure, gleefully clutching some small reminder of home. Later we’d sit expectantly around the kitchen table with outstretched palms, as my father bestowed a few cashews upon each of us, accompanying the ceremony with priest-like utterings in his native tongue, conjuring memories we all felt, but he alone could see.
As we rounded the corner I heard shouting. Outside a pub on the opposite side of the street stood three young men in boisterous mood, pints in hand, enjoying the sunshine, their white T-shirts unable to fully contain their gleaming flesh. Seeing us approach, their leader motioned in our direction. As all three stared he waived a pointing hand at us and cried out as if warning the entire town,
“The Iraqis are coming! The Iraqis are coming!”.
It was 1990 and the time of the first Gulf War. My Indian father with his dark skin, lush black hair and thick Saddam-like moustache cut a striking figure.
I pretended not to see or hear, hoping dad would do the same. But my avoidance was short-lived. A firm tug my elbow, and before I knew it my father - all 5ft 1 and 60 years of him - was striding purposefully towards these three drinking giants, anxious son in tow.
The confrontation was brief.
Once he was close enough to make his presence felt, yet far enough away to avoid aggression, my father paused and looked up at the men, meeting their awkward silence with a broad smile. And with playful charm and seemingly genuine curiosity he asked calmly:
“Gentlemen, having a good afternoon are we?”
Relieved, they raised their glasses to us with a loud cheer, laughed heartily, and a few moments later turned inwards to their own conversation. My father walked on, speechless son in tow.
Once we were safely away I asked him in a state of mild panic, “Why did you do that? Weren’t you angry? Afraid?”
He replied, calmly, “Why should I be angry or afraid? They didn’t know us, and it was important that they saw who we really are. They meant no harm.”
As the modern world grapples with reconciling individual and group identities and age old conflicts, I’ve been reflecting on my father’s little lesson.
It’s all too easy to look at each other through our group conscience: as white, black, middle class, working class, man, woman, straight, gay, country folk, city folk, elderly, young, cis, trans, Israeli, Palestinian - and so the list goes on.
In doing so we affirm our belonging to those like ourselves and we exclude those who are different. We become blind to the individuals within the “other” group, and blind to the individuality within our own group. Behaving in this way, we maintain division. We look, but we fail to see.
My father was not just affirming himself as an individual. He was also showing me that the three white men were individuals too. He was showing me that if we turn away we maintain division, but if we engage with one another we bring understanding.
This is not only relevant for our personal lives, it applies to our professional lives and work culture too.
The renowned German psychotherapist Bert Hellinger put it this way:
“What happens if I look not only at my own family, my own group, my own beliefs, my own language, but also at his or hers, and acknowledge that the other, even though different, is my equal and deserves respect? What if I open a place in my heart for this person, just as he or she is, with all that entails? What happens? I relinquish my superiority, my belief in my own superiority, and give the other a place of equality in my heart. I become richer, more human. But, I lose my exclusive membership of my own group in a certain way. I give up some of my security and I grow.”
Peace and inclusion come when we acknowledge our differences and also value each other equally. Then, we can see each other properly, and with seeing we find a place in our hearts for those who have a different conscience to our own. In this way we can create truly inclusive relationships and work cultures where all have a place.
Then, we can become more human.