I am writing from my desk in Nashville, Tennessee, where I work as an intern editor for Fair Observer, among other roles. I also study radicalization and psychology with an undergraduate degree in psychology and a master’s degree in terrorism, security and radical-right extremism. 

Recently, I experienced something that made me question what it truly means to be an academic. When I say “academic,” I am also talking about researchers and scientists because, by definition, we are all supposed to focus on facts, figures or data. This forms the core of my identity; everything I do, or at least I hope, is based on data, even the difficult or scary aspects. 

I exist in the spaces between, never entirely in one but shaped by all. Dramatic as hell, but hear me out: I’m fully Kurdish, yet I was born in an Arab city and raised in America. Not Kurdish enough, not Arab enough, not American enough. I’ve recently discovered, with the discourse around a certain Texan singer who made a country album, that I am also southern. The South was the only America that I knew when I came here, and it is the only type of American I know how to be. Having a guideline, based on facts, figures and evidence, is the only form of clarity I have. However, in my still-developing career, I am learning it might not be as clear for others.

Author’s Photo, with grandfather in Baghdad

Alternative facts are not for academics, and reality does not change for us without data and proof. So, we have to be honest with ourselves; genocide is genocide, no matter how you dress it up. It seems now, 20 months later, we are coming to accept what we already knew? I’ve known climate change is an issue, even when politicians tried to erase it. The Congolese are suffering for iPhones, and Israel is committing genocide; no amount of denial would change that. But maybe it is my experiences and the pursuit of truth that I have clung to for so long that makes these things clear to me and not to others.  

Early life in Baghdad

I was a child in Baghdad under Saddam during the Anfal campaign, where 186,000 Kurds were ethnically cleansed over several decades. The goal was to Arabize the entire country because, as my dad hates to remind people, Iraq is not an Arab country; millions speak and identify as Kurdish, even if we had to hide it. I learned to speak Kurdish and Arabic simultaneously, and even today, I still struggle to distinguish between the two. 

This was followed by the US invasion in 2007, which led us to move to the US, right before the recession. When we moved, I did not speak English. Ironic, since now English is my strongest language. However, moving from Baghdad didn’t bother me since I am Kurdish and my connection is to Kurdistan, even though I have never lived there. My childhood memories were all in Iraq.

Looking back, I see that I moved around often in my formative years, but I don’t have much attachment, and none of it made much sense. I don’t have sentimental feelings for a childhood toy or a place that I call home. We lived in Baghdad because of the danger in Kurdistan at the hands of the Iraqi government, and moved to the US because of the war started by the US. 

As far back as I can think, I would get confused at the nuance of life, what’s right is right and what’s wrong is wrong. The grey area is nonexistent in the scientific method, so we were technically lying, but it was for safety, so it wasn’t bad. When I was in college, the distinction between soft and hard sciences was not a concern; I learned every psychological concept through research. If the data says you’re wrong, you’re wrong; that rigidity was the only form of stability for me. Of course, real life is complex and humans are multifaceted, but the logic is there.

Now, it’s not surprising that I ended up working in research on radicalization, given the fundamentals of academia: honesty, trust, fairness, respect, responsibility, all that good stuff and the type of research I do. 

I never intended to work in the field of radicalization; I was supposed to be a dentist, according to my mom. Instead, I studied psychology with the full belief of going to medical school, but I shifted to forensic psychology, which then led to terrorism, and eventually radicalization. The switch was natural because I became obsessed with the idea that radicalization is a psychological identity problem, and I still believe that. 

I had all the environmental factors that would produce an extremely violent person, which I am not, so it should shock no one that I study radicalization. Because of this mentality, I struggle with delusion. Nothing will change Kurdistan’s participation in the Armenian genocide during World War I when the Ottoman Empire targeted Armenians, and some Kurdish groups became involved, driven by local conflicts, survival needs or alliances with Ottoman forces. So why are we in denial about it? Logical, right?

From my perspective, no matter what the issue is, context matters, but, for lack of a better word, truth hurts. The difficulty lies in discussing sensitive topics and navigating people’s feelings; however, subjective opinions cannot alter objective reality in academia. 

So, now I am left in an odd spot. Do I accept that not all think the way I do and allow it to affect my science, or do I lessen my opportunities and stand on my thinking? I am having to make this kind of decision more often, and I keep coming back to the sanctity of science. How I’d rather be John Yudkin, die getting laughed at, but be proven right after my death than to contribute to a false narrative.

There was once a time when academics didn’t care about feelings, only facts, and I am finding today’s world to have infected even the more sacred of categories. So what do we do, dear reader? The inner child of mine is begging to stop this; that child had nothing left to hold on to other than the scientific method, which she desperately clung to. At the time, I didn’t think of it that way; instead, I was confused by the nuance between truth and lies.

So, when I do have a clear guideline, based on facts, figures and evidence, I cannot state it accordingly because it might be upsetting, and indicate intellectual failure, especially in today’s world. This is where we have to get political; if we don’t hold ourselves to the standard of truth, then who will? In a way, I am confused. Random people letting their feelings determine their reality is not unusual, but academics? 

I am struggling to grasp that concept, and, dramatically, I am having an identity crisis: if not a scientist, then what am I? Who is left to not question reality with? It is a relief, indescribable, to walk into a room of academics, knowing I am free to speak truthfully without repercussion, and here we are, on the cusp of losing the sacred objectivity of research. 

I beg of you, dear reader, don’t deny reality for comfort, because if there is a way to fall to destruction, it is to ignore our flaws. I still desperately hold on to this logic, even if I am holding on so tight that it burns my hands, because I have nothing left to hold onto.

Sincerely yours,

Tara Yarwais, MA