Escape Literature

Books of no literary value, but which transport you out of your humdrum existence, is what you think about when you hear the term "escape literature", but this is not what I am talking about.

I am talking about memoirs written by people who have escaped from one place to another. People who had the misfortune to be in societies under political, social or religious dicatorships of one or another sort, who have escaped to societies free enough that they can write about their experiences and remain alive.

Holocaust books are one obvious category. Books about life under the Soviets, or under Castro are others. Today, the largest group of these books are being written by people who are leaving Islamic societies for western societies.

I have just read three of these books.

"Journey from the Land of No" is Roya Hakakian's story of her childhood and adolescence in Tehran. She is now a journalist in the U.S.

"Between Two Worlds" is Zainab Salbi's story of her childhood and adolescence in Baghdad. She lives in Washington.

"The Oath" is Khassan Baiev's story of his childhood and early adulthood as a physician in Chechnya. He lives in Boston.

These are three impressive individuals whose lives have taken them through extraordinary experiences. They are all still young (I believe each is in his 30s). They all grew up in places that were, for them, quite nice, until bad things started happening.

All three places are Moslem for the most part. Salbi and Baiev are Moslem; Hakakian is Jewish.

All were westernizing the in the late twentieth century. Chechnya as part of the USSR and then the Russian Republic as a commercial and oil center. Tehran under the Shaw, and Baghdad under Baathist leadership. But under the westernizing cover, something else was going on. Islam was having a difficult time adopting to a non-Islamic, secularizing society. The Shah and the Baathists and the Russians could only make these lands safe for westernization by operating brutal dictatorships, feeding resentment and need for change.

In each case, in Iran with Khomenei in 1979, in Iraq with Saddam Hussein, and in Chechnya, where they saw the Baltic States declare their independence upon the break up of the USSR, there was at first great optimism that nationalism and Islam (achieving control by anti-Western actions and words) would lead to a new and better and freer society. No one (at least none of these authors or their family or friends) thought that chaos was just around the corner; yet it was, and not in one place, but in all three.

According to Hakakian, even the Jewish community welcomed the exile of the shah and the entry of the ayatollah. A religious state had to be freer than a state which maintained its power through the thugs of Savak. But, step by step, the state grew narrower and narrower in outlook, diversity was oppressed, and the brutality of the shah was replaced by an equally brutal Islamicist brutality. Hakakian's middle class Jewish family, her father a respected teacher, was torn apart, little by little. A society where Jews were allowed to be Jews, yet associate with Moslems, was no more. Yet, with all of their troubles (and there were many), they got out. As one of her friends told her: "you're lucky, Roya. You're a Jew. Once you leave Iran, you'll get a visa to any country in the world. But where can I go?" And, she continued, "You must go. Go soon. Go and never look back."

Salbi's case was even more unique. Her father was a pilot for the Iraqi airlines, flying international routes. The family spent a month every year at Boeing in Seattle, where he receeived advance training. Her mother was from a family prominent in Baghdad for generations. They knew Saddam Hussein. And then, the unthinkable happened. Saddam asked her father to pilot his private jet. This was an offer you could not turn down, and it destroyed their lives. They lived well. They had advantages. They were given a weekend house on the estate where Saddam had his weekend house. He was a regular presence and guest. They all hated him. They all pretended to love him. They were afraid of everything, and of everyone.

Her mother wanted to leave. Her father said it was impossible. The marriage broke up. Salbi tried to escape into an engagement with a young man of very different background. Someone not of the Iraqi elite. It was a disaster. Then, her mother told her she found her a match, with a man 13 years her senior, from Baghdad, but who lived in Chicago. They were married; her was brutal. She left him. But it got her out of Iraq.

Hakakian became a journalist. Salbi started a non-profit organization to help women brutalized by war, and has spent time in Bosnia, in Afghanistan and, yes, even back in Iraq. They are both extraordinary individuals. And they have told their full stories.

Baiev fought to become a doctor, when there were quotas at Russian medical schools. He became a plastic surgeon, specializing in very difficult cases. He spent much time in Russia, learning (as he had not realized growing up) how much prejudice existed against Chechens. When the war broke out (not once, but twice), he felt he had to stay in and around Grozny to help the war wounded.

His story is grueling. He finally left and was given political asylum here.

These are three unbelievable stories. Yet there are thousands more, undoubtedly, similar to them. And there are millions of others who, like Roya Hakakian's friend, are unable to get out to tell their stories. They must live through these horrible times, or die in them.

There are terrible things happening in this world right now. And we can't seem to do anything (right) about them.