Farhud Memories: Baghdad's 1941 Slaughter of the Jews

Steve Acre witnessed the bravery of his Muslim landlord from a palm tree.

By Sarah Ehrlich, Reporter, Witness/BBC News

1 June 1941, a Nazi-inspired pogrom erupted in Baghdad, bringing to an end more than two millennia of peaceful existence for the city's Jewish minority. Some Jewish children witnessed the bloodshed, and retain vivid memories 70 years later. Heskel Haddad, an 11-year-old boy was finishing a festive meal and preparing to celebrate the Jewish festival of Shavuot, oblivious to the angry mob that was about to take over the city.

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Main Street: In Da Hood

On Easter Monday, as we usually called it back home, I was invited by a good friend over dinner and some drinks, and some talks. While we ate and drank, we talked about a whole lot of stuff including the new arrivals on the book shelves -- Caught Between Hitler & Stalin; From Eve to Dawn: A History of Women; A Constitution of Many Minds: Why the Founding Document Doesn't Mean What It Mean Before; Founders: The People Who Brought You A nation; ICRC Report on the Treatment of Fourteen "High Value Detainees" in CIA Custody; The political Worlds Of Slavery And Freedom; Nazi Germany and the Jews; The Black Death; Engaging The Muslim World; Hitler's Pope; Captives and Countrymen: Barbary Slavery and the American Public; The Irony of American History; Adolf Eichman and many other books that just arrived on the shelves, particularly about the Holocaust. He is disgusted with Nd'Igbo and why nobody is writing with regards to the pogrom.

On Nollywood, we talked about how the New York Film Academy's Film and Acting Conservatory now has locations all around the world except for 'Nigeria.' The New York and Acting Conservatory has locations in United Arab Emirates, Italy, Japan, China, Hong Kong, Korea, Spain, Dubai, England, France, Belgium, Germany, and so on. My buddy stressed on how a location in Abuja or Lagos could help produce better movies to meet up with the standards of the Academy Awards after going through the institute's workshop in filmmaking, acting, producing, screenwriting, documentary, cinematography, editing, cinema studies, music video, musical theater, photography and other movie producing essentials.

After some long discourse, I let him do all the talking and too many issues popped up since I was the one listening while he did the talking.

First, in his monologue, he started with what our women have done ever since they set their foot on the shores of this land reminding me of the current debate going on at BNW Messageboard which is actually getting nasty. On these women who have destroyed our cultural heritage, he blamed Oprah Winfrey and said that the 50ish feminist needs to get a real husband to feel how it's like, and that there are certain values money can't buy. He wondered "how can you spend your lifetime savings, paying your dues in this great country called America and ending up being screwed-up by a woman you brought here." He cited Texas as the mother of all craziness and failed marriages regarding 'our women' who'd lost every sense of purpose, ala, destroying our family values in its entirety. He was so pissed he blamed the 'boys' for starting something they could not finish.

On the talk show hosts, media elites and still blaming Oprah, he really doesn't give a "fuck" about Sean Hannity, the drug addled Rush Limbaugh, Larry Elder, George Stephanopolous, Dianne Sawyer, Charles Gibson, and that there's nothing there but commerce. "Without commerce," he would continue, "all of them ain't worth shit." He is critical of all the talk show hosts and commentators, including Oprah whom he dislikes with a passion.

On the global economy, he blamed a retarded George W. Bush and a "fucked-up" Dick Cheney for screwing-up everybody by fighting a useless war in Iraq and squandering all the surplus bad boy Bill Clinton left in the nation's coffers. He insisted Bush and Cheney should be tried for mass murder.

On President Barack Obama, he said Obama should be very careful, even though he's going on the right direction, that the stinking conservatives are doing everything within their reach to see that the president who is yet to mark a hundred days in office and a whole lot accomplished doesn't succeed. He listed Obama haters -- Rush Limbaugh, Laura Ingraham, Denver's Bob Newman, Bill Cunningham, Chris Baker, Michelle Malkin, and the rest bigots -- as, cough, cough, the airheads who have nothing else to say about the president but trash talking.

On the main subject matter, what we have earlier discussed before my stopping by in da hood to see what was cooking and what the gist was all about, and exactly stuff like that. The gist was Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie's new book, The Thing Around Your Neck, a collection of short stories about what historians describe as the "push factor," the economic and social conditions that compelled us to leave our native land for a better life abroad.

Regarding Adichie and her new book, he paused and scratched his head. He did not scratch his head because of Adichie's book. He was worried Adichie, now 32, and no marriage, might end up sooner or later becoming a hardcore feminist, that at a certain age and a woman not married based on our culture, that she will be scary and that alone turns men off. According to him, early marriage for a woman is evidence of good upbringing and an indication of keeping ones cultural heritage viable and intact. That Adichie can tell all the finest stories out there; and without marriage she has no place in Igbo land, that Igbo tradition from long time ago must be preserved like any other people on Earth, citing the unique culture of the Japanese, the Chinese, the Jews and the Indians.

He said Adichie is now bent on writing books being praised on the literary circle but forgot to realize the dual feminine role of women in our society. He concluded a woman's role is that of mother and nurse, that the moment a woman crosses that line, the sign of failure becomes obvious unless the man in question is crippled.

Boy, I was wondering if this guy was Okay. He brought up the Minnesota incident of Mike Iheme who had murdered his wife in the most brutal way and blamed society for pushing the man against the wall. He talked about other killings and men who have strangled their wives in the Igbo community.

I had to cut in and change the subject before he drags me along with him on domestic violence cases I have never been part of. I decided to review Adichie's new book and he began to listen.

I read Adichie's two previous books, Purple Hibiscus (2003) and Half of a Yellow Sun (2007); and both were good books of narrative politics, life events and storytelling. Adichie's The Thing Around Your Neck is told with familiar names and characters. "Cell One," which is the first story was told in the format of Nollywood casts -- gangs and cults in university campus engaging in all kinds of criminal activities "copycating" American hip-hop and pop culture.

Then follows the northern religious riots against the Christian South and a brief encounter between two females during the fracas; one a medical student of Igbo origin, and the other a trader of Hausa extraction in a mutual order with regards to mankind to resist and overcome the predicaments of tribalism which has led to many deaths. Seriously, an engaging episode where the Hausa market woman relatively indulges the Igbo medical student for a way out of the chaos urging the medical student to do something, begging, "my nipple is burning like pepper." She had shown her nipples to the Igbo medical student in that plea, the plea to stop the violence.

In the case of sojourn to the United States, Adichie enumerated in detail the consequences of culture shock and asks if it's even worth it to embark on such a journey -- especially in a situation the "overclass" Nigerians send their wives abroad to have babies but adjusting to Yakee way of life never becomes easy.

There's also the case of arranged marriages with a Yankee. And it falls out. And sexual favors were denied. And there was anger. And there was the threat to leave on the ground that sex was not part of the deal -- the arranged marriage. And, also, there was the case of Chinaza Udenwa, (The Arrangers of Marriage) who had to change her name to Agatha Bell on the recommendation of her true husband.

Quite some thrilling stories as one reads on. Ending up with no place like home, Adichie concludes by recounting the tale of a boy sent to a missionary school by his mother which eventually turned sour. The woman's granddaughter does the opposite sideling expectations of family and cultural heritage. By the time it was all over she has earned a degree, returned back home and changed her Christian name, Grace, to Ahamefule, and found out the idea of leaving one's country in search for a better life did not add up and was not worth it. There is no place like home. And home has always been the best.

After my narratives on Adichie, he cut in and was becoming erratic. He had a frowned face eager to let off all the stuff in his chest. I knew what was about to happen. I gave him his time. He calmed down, murmured and scratched his head. I found out he was ready to release what had been bothering him. He said, clearing his throat, "are you finished?" I shook my head as a gesture of being done. He began his part of the observations as I questioned.

On Nd'Igbo he said they are -- cough, cough -- finished; that it is too late to start thinking otherwise, that it is up to the newer generation, the ones that do not speak Igbo and have no clue about Igbo culture to take over the mantle of leadership and do whatever they want to do with it; and that it might work since they have no one to favor or anyone to influence them for they have nothing to lose.

On the situations in Nigeria, he said "forget it." He paused and took a deep breath on the ground whenever the country is mentioned he feels like throwing up. He loathes the country for many reasons. A country that is 48-years-old with enormous hunman capital and abundant natural resources yet has nothing to show for its existence since its birth. A country corruption is institutionalized and nothing works except by way of illegal activities.

He spoke with anger regarding Nigeria. That the schools left by the missionaries are vanishing from normal operation. That the industries and infrastructures set up by the "founding fathers" have not been maintained to standard and in some cases left abandoned. That the hospitals are messy with no equipments, questioning the medical errand boys who take credit for doing a wonderful job from their medical missions to save the sick. He said the next fifteen years Nigeria will cease to exist from a whole lot of complications, citing the wrong choice of electing a sick man who coughs persistently and smokes like a chimney, having no time to take responsibility in the affairs of state. I mean, this guy kept talking and talking with bitterness to a point blaming the opportunists who had helped adding insult to injury.


And who are the opportunists when I asked. He paused again and took a deep breath with anger all over his face. The opportunists, according to him, are the errand boys who are here in Diaspora, who use their access as conduits for money laundering and looting of public funds by the "elected" officials, who supposedly should be held accountable for raping the treasury of a people. And that it originated from the fabricated red cap chiefs na eri awoof and that these corrupt "chiefs" have deliberately destroyed all that our forebears left behind.

Boy, this guy never stopped talking. He talked about how bad leadership had made the Naira worth nothing and uncompetitive in the global market economy. He talked about the growing cases of pollution while the civilized world is talking progressively about the green movement. That 'Nigeria' cannot claim to be a democracy when bribery and corruption is still widespread, when government officials and politicians who engage in criminal activities are not prosecuted to the limit of the law, when revenue allocation is not proportionally distributed, and when the power holders are not living up to the creed of a concocted constitution as a result of a failed judiciary.

On the educational system, he said it was a "total failure." That what need is the education when college graduates can't find work or have government assisted programs whereby individuals who feel like running their own businesses can do so under supervisory programs by government regulatory agencies. That, until there is a political revolution or somehow, a radical step, that 'Nigeria' will never be better; and that, to do so (effecting change) "will take men with liver."

He went on to say that a country that tends to forget its past has no history, citing the pogrom in which over two million souls perished, and that up until now, no form of apology has come forth.

Again, citing another era of humankind, he used the Jews as an analogy citing how powerful the Jews has become from the lessons of the Holocaust. That books are published every second about the concentration camps, about Adolf Hitler and his atrocities, about cities in Europe where the deaths were carried out, about Treblinka, about Auschwitz, about Adolf Eichman, about Polish confrontations with Soviet power during the Holocaust, about Nazi rule meaning death to all Jews, and about Anne Frank.

He was bitter and wished Igbo could do something. Nothing was funny, at all. He asked how an infallible and confused bunch of Igbo Diaspora have no legal team to defend its own who's been unjustly incarcerated. And we have "high profle lawyers." And we have "millionaires around the block." And we have "visionaries." And with all that, what do they have to show for it?

It is a tragedy and the saga continues!

Ehirim Files Classic: "The Cultural Order"

by
Ambrose Ehirim

No question, Los Angeles has emerged as a cultural model for cities all around the globe. Take a ride on Crenshaw Boulevard to Leimert Park and you will find out it has become synonymous with the African American cultural community. Hancock Park and La Brea Avenue is an identity of the Synagogues and Jewish cultural and arts centers. East Los Angeles identifies with the Chicano cultural and labor union communities. On Venice Boulevard toward Venice Beach, the samba-playing Brazilians entertain in their usual colorful and flamboyant manner. Where can I identify my own cultural order?

On April 10, 2003, I checked my messages arriving home from the stressful and bumper-to-bumper bottleneck Los Angeles streets and freeways traffic with calls from loved ones, my brother, my niece, my church pastor, my daughter's teacher, Dr. Edmund Ugorji, telemarketers, my childhood buddy Eugene Onyeji, my classmate at college Ardis Hamilton who was at All Progressive Grand Alliance (APGA) launching as my guest, my good friend and renowned journalist Austen Oghuma, community leaders meeting, Los Angeles African American Political Forum and many others too numerous to mention.

I played back the calls. I returned and missed some of them. Among them, the call from Dr. Ugorji of which I left a message. He returned back my call and spoke of my incommunicado, and among other things, delightedly invited me to his house for dinner, the next day. I honored his invitation and told him I would pop up at 7:30 PM, the scheduled day. After my conversations with Dr. Ugorji, I called Oghuma whose fascinating political debate takes us into the night. Debates on why Biafranigeria shouldn't break up, and debates on why I insist Biafranigeria has no business being a "one united nation." And, too, debates on why Olusegun Obasanjo should keep keeping on in leading the nation at its critical era.

However, it was the eve of Mbieri Community Association of Southern California fundraising event and launching of its first almanac that I kept up my word to pay homage to Dr. Ugorji for dinner. On my way, I stopped by Four Seasons Market run by Dozie Ozoemena to check the week's fliers-fundraising events, wake-keeping, launching, naming ceremonies, baby showers, cultural dances, graduations, weddings and the latest in local politics before my final destination of the said evening. At Four Seasons, the fliers and political junkies hung around. It was usual and typical of my expectations as the Zik ekwuo aru ahia mgbede gatherers were at work doing their thing, saying what they don't know and what they do know sometimes, the kind of "tabloid press" you see at the newsstands, and the kind of trash talks you encounter at barbershops..

It was really nothing new to see the loquacious ahia mgbede gatherers, evening market gossipers in their same old ways talking big and rubbing shoulders of what's new in town. Talks like "Nna, inugwo?" Asi na Jerry gburu ozu, oloputara brand new zero-mileage Hummer H2" (Man, have you heard it? It is said Jerry launched a brand new zero-mileage Hummer H2) was the cultural order. One even asked me "what are you driving now, Hummer?" I was not moved knowing the way ndi be anyi, our people operates which is worrisome for the fact that our values and popular culture is being wiped out ever since the "Push Factor" began, the political, economic and socio-cultural conditions that made us flee our native lands in search for a better life.

Nevertheless, in order not to spoil my evening and looking forward to a sound political and intellectual discourse with Dr. Ugorji, I took off to keep up with my appointment as initially planned. Dr. Ugorji, a linguist, and medical director of Los Angeles Department of Health Services is another political junkie. He welcomed me and offered me and seat. He asked "what kind of drink" I would like. "Water or soda will be fine, precisely lemon drink if soda," I said to him. Generous, humorous and frank, he admitted I was a rare gem based on my thought-provoking articles and confidence regarding the way I speak. It was a long debate as we talked into the night while his kids went to bed. It was the eve of the ridiculous and embarassing National Assembly elections of Olusegun Obasanjo's dubious administration. And, all in all, it was the usual Friday evening when the otimkpus, the alarmists gather to make some noise in a series of pepper soup joints around Los Angeles.

Somehow, that evening, I allowed Dr. Ugorji to do all the talking while I sipped my soda listening attentively. He spoke at length his disgust with Achike Udenwa's inept and corrupt administration in Imo State and the many wonders found in the Igbos of the Diaspora and their chieftaincy titles. He talked about the schools we left behind and its deteriorating conditions, and why nobody is doing anything about it since the missionaries and ndiocha, the white people left us alone to figure things out. He talked about secession bid for autonomy by every hamlet in Igboland and how it created a big divide in the Igbo nation. He talked about the scramblers and opportunists erecting mansions and "palaces" on dusty alleys with no street numberings. He complained, too, about the pogrom and civil war comparing the Igbos with the Jews which really caught my attention in all that he was saying.

"Igbos have nothing at all in common with the Jews," I would say. "Nothing at all, no comparison and not even close." First, despite quarrelling among themselves, greed, envy and hatred do not exist in the Jewish nation. Their pop-culture dating back from the Biblical days is still intact and viable. They know Adolph Hitler was evil and "never again" would the most blood soaked event in humankind be allowed to take place. A five year old Jewish kid, growing up learns in the Synagogue, day care centers and faiths in the Torah that "to forget is to proclaim Hitler innocent." Ask a Jewish kid who the father of the modern Jewish state is and he or she will be quick to tell you.

In contrast, the Igbos have quickly forgotten the evisceration of a pregnant woman, the widespread bloodletting, the "Asaba male death march and drowning," Benjamin Adekunle's proclamation of shooting at every moving creature in Igboland and other horrible cases of that nature, finding solace having an affair with a people who never acknowledged what they did was evil and must not be entertained. Just like the Diaspora Jewish kid who has learned about the Holocaust and the state of Israel, its migration and persecution over the years, a Diaspora Igbo kid and second generation immigrant to be exact, ask who the Igbos are or who is Francis Akanu Ibiam and you likely would hear "never heard of him." Or speak Igbo to these lost generations and you will hear "I don't get it, man!"

But ask this kid or a number of Igbo Diaspora kids who Lebron James is. One hundred percent of these kids will be quick to tell you without guessing that he is the number one ranked High School basketball sensation from Akron, Ohio. He will be recognized by all. To a point and so disturbing some Igbo intellectuals do not want their kids to speak Igbo in public. What's all these for?

Ugorji was pissed and admitted exhaustion of all options in Igbo renaissance. "Does it mean we are finished?" I would ask.

"Enyi amaghim," --my friend, I don't know, Ugorji would distressingly respond.

Of course, we are finished and being weary of pointing out that we have no "adversaries" and enemies but ourselves, we who have caused every divide within our kith and kin tailored to the desire of our enemies should be blamed for the present state of the Igbos. I left Ugorji's house with the never-ending excruciating pains I have beared all my life looking at the sorry state of the Igbo nation.

My evening was in order and I looked forward to the very big occasion about to take place the next day. Earlier, Ugorji and I discussed about the big event, Mbieri gala night. He offered me a high table for the upcoming event, and knowing the story of the dog named "Jack" I declined and promised to show up as usual, to observe and report.

On Saturday April 12, 2003, many invitations and fliers sat on my study desk, and many occasions of the cultural order were taking place the same day. There was Onicha Igbo Cultural Association fundraising event, Okwahuman Association of Southern California Special Easter Dance, Eko Club California, Nkwerre Association of Southern California, Amaigbo Cultural Association, Mbieri Community Association of Southern California Fundraising and Launching of its first almanac, South High Car Wash Crusade to raise fund for the football team and many other socio-cultural events. I checked my calendar and had marked Mbieri Community gala as my first point of call in all the cultural order.

Traditional outfit wearing doormen, beautiful looking children rehearsing at the back corner for the occasion's special dance, uniformed Mbieri women cheering on the aisle, the hippies roaming around and cocking eyes at one another, the flowing gowners showing their stuff, Veronica serving her delicious dishes and uniformed Mbieri men tending bar, it looked like one of those Brazilian carnivals and Big Easy's Madigras, populated by men and women who had been invited to the "fundraising event and launching of 1st Mbieri almanac."

I popped up late in the evening and was greeted by one of the occasion's organizers Nze Odunze Igbonagwam who had sold to me one of the event's tickets. Before my arrival, I had called Oghuma to meet me at the ballroom of Hollywood Park Casino in Inglewood, California and collect a ticket I reserved for him sold to me by Dr. Ugorji. Oghuma, however, could not make it to the show due to other special engagements elsewhere in the Los Angeles area.

The evening was all showman and local celeb Solomon Egbuhuo's doing. For the last several years, the one and only MC in Igbo cultural events around the Los Angeles area has organized and mceed occasions to help various communities raise funds for worthy causes despite the widespread scandals of keeping funny books. Egbuhuo, a businessman and promoter of local music ensembles loves showbizness and the attention it gives him.

Noted deejays Ike and Jasper spinned while the folklore musical group Umunna of Los Angeles did their own thing--the Mike Ejeagha akuko na egwu, folklore kind of stuff. It was electric. It was much, much better than the spraying money in your face and high fives of the notorious Coque Brothers.

Meanwhile, I had taken up a seat in the ballroom and had gone to the menu section to help myself with what the caterer Veronica had prepared for the event. I served myself a concoction from Veronica's menu table--rice, fried plantain, anu ewu (goat meat), moi-moi, fried fish, vegetables, kpof-kpof (call it donut if you like), okporoko, (stockfish) and you name it, I had it all. I sat at a corner with a couple of hometown buddies to do justice to my concoction, my own combination. Dealing with my dish and watching what was going on, Los Angeles area renowned MC Egbuho introduced UmuIgbo USA, uniformed and tantalizingly hot to perform for the evening.

As the second generation immigrants were ushered in to perform what has been rehearsed and choreographed for months, UmuIgbo USA arrived on stage in a standing ovation after the president's opening remarks which preceded Nigeria and America national anthem, making me ponder and questioning about Igbo "national" anthem. Perhaps that was beside the point since all that mattered was Mbieri fundraising and launching of its first almanac. The sensational group walked into the ballroom across the cobbled square, through the hallway, and onto the stage. Turning to the crowd, they bowed and sang. All eyes turned on them cheering and saying a new generation has arrived the shores of America. They were marvelous, up and adequate to the occasion.

Then followed formal opening of the floor by the high table coupled with "processional" entry of Nd'Mbieri in the kind of egwu ure, recalling my memories to the days of egwu umu ada and joyous festivities when culture was still intact. After the procession and dance, Umunna of Los Angeles performed live with breaks between songs. Every attendant shimmied to the beat of the band's original folklore, "making people happy and keeping the crowd dancing." Umunna's music gave me a feel for egwu agba ochie, the real vibe in the heydays of egwu onwa, moonlight plays, folklore and highlife music, and not the ridiculous money campaign, spraying money in your face performed by the ilk of Coque Brothers and the changed Stephen Osita Osadebe.

Then again, the president's speech and "launching, launching, launching," the time for charity and kind gestures, donations and vice versa. While donations and pledges were being made, a whole lot of shaking and hugging was going on, men and women snapped pictures while happy little children ran all over the place. It was a good feel of community. It was the feel of culture made whole and not "even the sum of parts" as Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka once put it.

I can't describe how much my spirit was lifted. It looked like my boyhood days when we played the hide and seek game during conventions like this, and our parents will be sneaking out to the porch and everywhere looking for us. I left the ballroom totally satisfied that "culture is not parts, it is a whole and an entity."

"Them changes," and as it happened, I suspended my rock classic freaky behavior listening to Peter Frampton, Boston, Rolling Stones, Uriah Heep, The Allman Brothers Band, Thin Lizzy, Eagles, Aerosmith, AC/DC, The Doors, Beatles, David Bowie, Van Halen, David Lee Roth, U2, Rick Springfield, Journey, Rare Earth, Grand Funk, Pat Benatar, Triumph, Bad Company, ZZ Top, Blue Oyster Cult, Foreigner, Rod Stewart, Genesis, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, Middle of the Road, Men at Work, Bob Miga's Strangers, John Cougar Mellencamp, Bruce Springsteen, Don Henley, Kim Carnes, Bob Seger and dedicated the month of April and May to the music of Paulson Kalu, Celestine Ukwu, Ali Chukwuma, Prince Nico Mbarga, Ikenga Superstars, Eddie Okonta, Ofo, Ozoemena nwa Nsugbe, Harcourt White, Peacocks, Rex Lawson, the old Osadebe, and Bright Chimezie for "culture is not parts, it is a whole."

On my way home, egwu agba ochie, old school became my new cultural order as I flipped Nkengas in London CD with the masterpiece "Asampete Special" entertaining me all the way. "Culture is not parts, not even the sum of parts, it is an entity." I remembered that!

This article was exclusively published at BNW Magazine in April 2003