One thing I was always reluctant to announce, the Ezidi part of me, because the moment people learn this I will be immediately identified as an Ezidi, and the most hateful thing for me is to be labeled. It is not that I am not happy to have Ezidism as a unique part of who I am, but as a multi-identity person I prefer to be this melting pot for so many identities to shape the only one me, a human called Nisan (The writer of this blog). The part as an Ezidi in me is smaller than other parts, but deeper. I was always hushed by almost everyone around me not to be outspoken regarding this side. I never claimed (well after 2008) that I followed anything except my own imagination and mind. I chose another path, a path that celebrates and embrace as having many identities was an ordeal in my family, it destroyed family ties because of religious and ethnic crap.
As if the Syrian genocide is not enough, now the massacre against Ezidis took place in Shingal – Iraq, the place that part of me descended from. We Kurdish Ezidis struggled on many levels, we shared the general oppression in the societies we lived with, we faced a ruthless accusations of betrayal as Kurds, we were never accepted as a real part of our communities, though many of us including me tried so hard, and finally we face religious prosecution. And then the women have their share of gender inequality. Ezidis never harmed anyone, they always peacefully roamed in their mountains, peacefully prayed and worshiped, peacefully lived and died.
After the town of Shingal was raided by ISIS, Ezidi women were taken and sold like slaves! ISIS, a group of psychopath perverts many strongly believe that their leaderships are moved like pawns to terrorize us. ISIS is part of a game to scare us, and our first defense strategy should be courage.
I am angry. My country Syria is in a blood swamp, as a Syrian we faced an unimaginable grievances, and now as an Ezidi my people are slaughtered before my eyes. How many deaths and unjust actions should pass unnoticed and unpunished before my weary eyes? My eyes has a memory of their own. Again, it is always the poor and marginalized that are sacrificed with in the game of war and dominance.
My identity as a Syrian, Kurdish, Ezidi by origin, agnostic by personal belief, secular, woman, translator, reader, storyteller and a universal human most of all, will remain firm as a sample of what I dream my region should be, a hub to celebrate different identities.
I desperately call to help my people the Ezidis as I always desperately called (and worked) to help my people in Syria. I know now that going outside us will not work if we did not come up with our own solution, we must look deep inside.
When I saw the Member of Iraqi Parliament, a Kurdish Ezidi woman collapsed in tears crying to save Ezidis, I was pessimistic as her tears, like mine, will not bring help.
The table is tilted in my region, the game is on, and no one will be saved if we don’t save ourselves somehow by embracing all manifestations and identities of life.