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Outside the Studio: Lessons Learned in Kurdistan
Suzanne and her colleagues from the English-language newspaper in the Kurdistan region.
We asked Suzanne DeRouen if she wanted to share what she was working on with her colleagues as a follow-up to our interview with her earlier this month. She stated, " I had to put down my lesson plans and pick up my heart instead." Here's what followed:
Lessons Learned in Kurdistan
by Suzanne DeRouen
If you’ve been to the northern Iraqi region of Kurdistan as a member of the military, I am humbled by your service. If you’ve been as part of a nongovernmental organization, I have great admiration for your commitment to helping others. Or, if—like me—you went there because you had business to conduct, then I ask you: What did you learn? I won’t ask you what you did there, but I will ask what you learned, because northern Iraqis, who are Kurdish, have something to teach all of us--not so much about journalism or business, but about living to the fullest day to day. They imparted more wisdom to me than I could ever have given back.
While working part-time as a copy editor at Demand Studios, I commit a lot of my time to working as the Senior U.S. Editor for the Kurdistan Democratic Party of northern Iraq. If you aren’t familiar with Kurdistan Region’s government, here’s a brief breakdown: Iraq is led by two separate governments—the central government based in Baghdad, and the Kurdistan Regional Government in Erbil. Kurdistan Region is autonomous. It borders Syria to the west, Iran to the east, and Turkey to the north. It is not an Arab-dominated society as is the rest of the country; rather, Assyrians, Turkmen, Chaldeans, Armenians, Arabs, and Kurds--but mostly Kurds--live together peacefully.
As a long-time editor and lover of words and the free press, the older I got the more I felt that I had to put my efforts into something that mattered. My many years in New York City working for an educational publishing company (think Harry Potter!) were some of the best, most meaningful years of my career, but I needed more out of life—something combined with an edge. Now I edit not only the first and only English-language newspaper printed in Erbil, the capital of Iraq’s Kurdistan Region, but I also edit academic books about genocide and the plight of the Kurdish people in general. My first completed project, a 287-page book entitled “Kurds, Genocide, Annihilation and the Stance of International Law,” is probably my pride and joy.
After over three years of working on the Iraq job while stateside, I finally took my boss up on his offer to travel to Erbil to work with the young writers and live in their shoes for awhile. I packed up many of my trusty journalism sources, including my AP and the timeless Elements of Style, and I even threw in laminated grammar cheat sheets. I laid out lesson plans. With the best of intentions, I left Louisiana for Iraq—sure I could make a difference in the lives of young journalists there.
One of the first lessons I learned (not taught) was that I needn’t pull out any of lesson plans I had diligently prepared. Disappointment was my initial reaction. Why? It didn’t make sense.
I tried to help my esteemed colleagues understand that it was imperative to learn from their mistakes if they wanted to improve at all. In all my years with them, they continue to make the same mistakes over and over again, week after week. I even covered some of AP’s basic rules. You name it. But still, they just didn’t care about it.
I explained to them that if I made one mistake in my job in the United States I would be called to task for it. If I made two I’d be on probation. But if I made three after being told not to, then I’d probably be fired. Their response? “Well that would never happen here. We aren’t like that.” Indeed they aren’t. Their priorities are most likely the opposite of ours.
Slowly, I came to understand why my colleagues weren’t too concerned. Unlike in the U.S., they aren’t looking to get ahead in their careers. There is no almighty dollar for which to slave away. In working as young journalists for the government, they are sometimes paid—but more often than not they aren’t paid or they are forced to wait months for small salaries. On the other hand, the government gives every Kurd a stipend regardless of whether he or she works, so there is no need to improve in whatever it is they do for a living. The people rely on the government to take care of basic services, and there are few long-term career paths to take.
Here’s what you might not know. During the reign of the previous regime, hundreds of thousands of Kurds were gassed during the Anfal genocide campaign in the 1980s. So today, what matters most to Kurds is staying alive. They are the largest stateless-nation peoples in the world. Their Diaspora reaches all of the bordering countries and continues into Europe and even parts of the United States. While in Iraq, I often felt ridiculous for even trying to get them to understand their mistakes, because in the big scheme of things and the history of their lives, these mistakes mean nothing. They only try to stay alive. Anything else, like a job writing for a government paper, is simply a gift to them. It’s not about improving their skills, although their boss would like to think differently.
But that’s not to say that these young Kurds don’t care about their destinies. They are all well-educated, some with master’s degrees in literature or English, one with a doctorate in political science, one currently earning his master’s in business administration, and still another currently studying for a bachelor’s degree in international studies. In Kurdistan in particular, education matters. The Kurds see education as their key to freedom and security. Their textbooks are mostly current, while textbooks in Baghdad and elsewhere below the no-fly zone can be 30 years behind.
So I arrived with my heart intent on helping to improve lives, but instead I learned that they were more concerned with the words they choose to write than the style rules that were universally followed.
Their focus is on family. Instead of long hours spent teaching them what my 25 or so years in journalism have taught me, I let them teach me how to relax. I learned the value of gathering extended family for mountain picnics. I also came to like the two-hour lunches we had every Thursday—just me and the guys.
The guys I work with are true gentlemen—but they aren’t too concerned about serial commas or possessives. I do think they understand the need to name their sources when they can—but even that’s a tricky issue to discuss as freedom of the press is barely a concept there, even if it is being addressed fully. Let’s not even mention that there are often three ways to spell one name of a city or person, depending on who is speaking it or writing it. It was up to me to learn to let go of the stringent rules I’ve had ingrained in me over the years. It was up to me to loosen up and understand--after over three years on this job--that I needed to be happy when my salary arrived weeks or even months late and stop complaining about it. I learned to be much more humble and appreciative of the plight of my colleagues. Toward the end of my stay, I stopped trying to teach and became a part of the fabric of their society. I was just another coworker and my heart would remain in Kurdistan long after I left.
There is one young Kurdish writer of whom I am particularly protective, however. I cannot mention his name, but he hasn’t learned anything over the years. At times his writing gets worse, and then surprisingly one day it will be better. I asked him straight up why he didn’t even try to learn. His three-word response broke my heart: “I cannot concentrate,” he said. I cannot imagine what he has seen in his life that makes it hard for him to learn or concentrate. That was a lesson for me. You cannot push people who have seen so much death and destruction and for whom survival is a daily chore. You can, however, try to understand them and see all sides of the equation. And so I did.
Back home now and at Demand Studios, I know I cannot make a single mistake. I know I cannot allow myself to ever get distracted on the job. But I also know what’s important in life. My lesson plans in Iraq were cut short, but life lessons learned while there cut deep and strong.
Do you have a story about something you are a part of? Please let us know by emailing editorialteam@demandstudios.com with "Outside the Studio" in the subject line.
