I've changed my mind about nationalism  31.12.2009   
By Sazan Mandalawi, opinion

In the colours of multiculturalism that exist in Australia, I had no nationalist sentiments as a Kurd, Iraqi, or Aussie. I would sit on the verge of Kings Park looking over the skyline on Australia Day and watch people with flags and clothes of the Union Jack in red and navy – painting their faces,www.ekurd.netsinging the national anthem, and carrying around little Kangaroo teddies. But I could not grasp the reason behind all the fuss.

While my mother was still at school her family was forcibly displaced to Iran by Saddam Hussein's regime after being accused of not being Iraqi. For my father it was a similar story, spending half his life in the mountains defending his Kurdish identity. As for me, I had to experience life on another continent to finally grasp the feeling of nationalism and realise who I truly was.

In Australia, with my wide, dark eyes, thick uni-brow, and "not so white" skin, it was awkward to avoid the dreaded "And where are you from?" question.

If I said "I am a Kurd" I would receive a blank, clueless look, and if I said "Iraqi" I would have to provide a long story to follow.

I confess, shamefully, that at times I wanted to fit in. But part of me couldn't. Other times, I just wanted to know who I really was on the inside. But something somehow was never right. My Kurdish mother-tongue faded. I did not take up the more western culture – though I could have done so. The only thing connecting me to "home" was my father's incessant stories. What we preached behind our home walls was not what was practised beyond the front door.

Those feelings were long ago; today, while permanently living in Kurdistan region's capital, Erbil (350km north of Baghdad), I have come to appreciate and view things differently. Our nation is still in a struggle politically. But the uniqueness of everyday life back home has persuaded me and allowed me to reconsider my original thoughts. There is indeed something called nationalism – a feeling of connection and a sentiment of loyalty exists within us. It is as though our blood is in the soil we step on.

For a nation that was deprived of speaking its own language, practising its culture and wearing its traditional clothing, and as a nation that is victim to genocide and ethnic cleansing, I feel empathy – a magical bond.

I cannot stand my nation being victimised any more. It irritates me when reckless accusations are made and I feel pain whenever I remember we are still the largest stateless nation in the world. Although,www.ekurd.netwhen the wind flutters the red, white, green and yellow colours, very proud, I begin to shiver. It is as though I see a part of me fluttering in the blue sky.

One cannot reject the veracity of nationalism; it exists, as it seals the empty gap that is often sensed. Everything around me, from the parks, schools and hospitals, makes me content, it as though I have possession over it. We built a house, and I know one day my children will sit on their grandfather's lap in this house.

I planted a tree and remain optimistic that my children may one day play under its shade. I work, and I know I am doing something for people I care about and who are part of me. I have realised I'm prepared to make a sacrifice in return for those who sacrificed something for me to have a day like today. The sense of belonging is a sense of security.

Now, I always say I wish to die knowing that I have left behind something worthy for this nation. A decade earlier, a feeling like this would have never existed inside me.

Copyright, respective author or news agency, Guardian.co.uk

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