Written by: Mariam Talal Said
I did not know that four days could be enough to shake my emotions and reshape my view of my country. When I joined the camp “In Dialogue We Remain and Rise,” I carried many questions with me: How do we coexist? How do we create peace in a country torn by hatred? Today, after meetings with religious figures, tours among sacred thresholds, and dialogues until dawn, I find myself confidently answering: “Iraq is possible.”
In the office of Ayatollah Sayyid Hussein al-Sadr in Kadhimiyah, I felt that dialogue is not just words spoken, but a commitment. Four hours of discussion on “How do we build peace after the war” made me realize that the fear of the other melts away when you sit in front of them and listen. The youth from Sinjar presented an unexpected gift: a rock from Mount Sinjar. They said, “This is not just a stone, but a part of us.” At that moment, I understood that symbols can unite more than speeches.
I stood on the Imams’ Bridge, contemplating the shrines of Imams Kadhim and Jawad on one side, and Imam Abu Hanifa on the opposite side. The scene was a sincere metaphor for Iraq: a diversity competing in beauty. In the Hanafi shrine, we had a dialogue with Sheikh Abdul Sattar Abdul Jabbar, who said: “Moderation is not an option, but the only way.” Here, I discovered that sacred places are not just for prayer, but also for learning.
At the Armenian Genocide monument in the Cathedral of St. Gregory the Illuminator, I felt the weight of history. Bishop Oshakan Kolkoulian spoke about “spiritual peace” as a weapon against hatred. I asked him, “How do we forgive?” He replied, “By acknowledging the pain first.” That tour was a practical lesson that memory can be built to live, not to die.
In Mrs. Nabihah Mahasins’ house, lunch turned into an unannounced workshop. Among plates of masgouf and okra, she asked us, “Do you know why Iraqi cuisine is diverse? Because we learned from our land that diversity is a blessing.” We laughed at the stories of neighbors from all sects and disagreed on the best way to prepare dolma, but we agreed on one thing: “Baghdadis do not ask about their neighbor’s religion when they ask for salt.”
In front of the remnants of the civilization of the land between the rivers, I felt that I was part of a great human chain. The guide told us, “These pieces were made by the early inhabitants of Iraq, and they did not ask about the identity of those who would come after them.” At that moment, I remembered the Sinjar rock and said to myself, “Perhaps civilization is leaving something beautiful for those who are different from you.”
In the closing session, each of us wrote a message to Iraq in our hearts. My message was: “I learned that dialogue is not a debate, but it is giving the other space in your heart before your mind.” Today, I carry with me the rocks of Sinjar, the words of the bishop, Mrs. Nabihah’s okra recipe, and the icon of Imam Abu Hanifa. But most importantly, I carry the certainty that “the knights of dialogue” were not just a camp, but the beginning of a long journey… and I am one of its knights.
