{"id":4787,"date":"2021-09-15T12:12:49","date_gmt":"2021-09-15T12:12:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/?p=4787"},"modified":"2021-09-15T12:12:49","modified_gmt":"2021-09-15T12:12:49","slug":"flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/","title":{"rendered":"Flagbearer of a Stateless Nation, from “Daughters of Smoke and Fire”"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"
“When the Hope Leaves,” courtesy Kurdish artist Delawer Omar.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The following is excerpted from Chapter 14 in Ava Homa’s Daughters of Smoke and Fire<\/em> and appears in TMR by gracious arrangement with the author.<\/span><\/p>\n

Ava Homa<\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

When his grandpa drew a yogurt mustache above Alan\u2019s lips, the boy dissolved into giggles. Picturing himself with real whiskers thrilled Alan, who thought that facial hair might make up for being shorter than the other boys in his class.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour laughter woke me up, you cheeky monkey!\u201d Uncle Soran, youngest of the six uncles and the only one awake, tousled Alan\u2019s hair as he came onto the patio that opened to the yard. They sat around a nylon cloth spread atop a crimson handmade rug to eat breakfast.<\/p>\n

Alan laughed again. \u201cBapir<\/em>, I want handlebars, please.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a chapped finger, Bapir curled the ends of the yogurt mustache on either side of Alan\u2019s puckered-up lips and planted a dab of the stuff on his nose too. Alan collapsed into laughter.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
Daughters of Smoke and Fire<\/em> is available from Overlook\/Abrams<\/a>.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

That June morning in 1963, Alan decided that Bapir was the most amusing person on earth. Perhaps he was the reason Alan adored older people and loved to listen to their stories of maama rewi<\/em>, the trickster coyotes. It hurt Alan that most people with gray hair weren\u2019t able to read or write, that their backs hurt and their papery hands trembled; his dream was to read stories into a loudspeaker for hundreds of elders while they relaxed in a large meadow filled with purple and red flowers.<\/p>\n

Grandma brought out more nan, the thin, round bread she had baked in the cylindrical clay oven dug into the basement. Alan made his own \u201cbulletproof \u201d sandwich: fresh honeycomb mixed with ghee. \u201cAfter I eat this, I can run faster than the bullets,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOur monkey is growing up, and yet we all treat him as if he is a young child!\u201d Uncle Soran said, making his own bulletproof morsel.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne\u2019s grandchild is always young. That\u2019s just how it is.\u201d Bapir brushed crumbs from his lap. He winked. \u201cIf I were you, Alan, I would make it so I never grew up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGrowing up is a trap,\u201d Grandma agreed, nodding.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I like the future,\u201d Alan said.<\/p>\n

They laughed. Bapir splashed a kiss on Alan\u2019s face. \u201cSomething a six-year-old would say.\u201d<\/p>\n

Still wearing his yogurt mustache, Alan frowned. \u201cI am seven.\u201d<\/p>\n

They cackled.<\/p>\n

Father had come to Sulaimani to publish an article he\u2019d written with Uncle Soran illustrating the suffering of the working class in Kurdistan and the rest of Iraq. Kurds had settled in the Zagros Mountains three hundred years before Christ was born, but now Alan\u2019s people had no country to call their own. When the Western Allies had drawn the map of the Middle East, they had cut Kurdistan into four pieces, dividing it among Iran, Iraq, Turkey, and Syria.<\/p>\n

To visit Bapir with his father, Alan had to ace Kurdish spelling. But Kurdish was not a subject taught at school; Arabic was the only language used there. Father had been trying to teach him and his three brothers to write in their mother tongue, something Alan saw no use for. That morning, Father had skipped breakfast to search the city for a contraband typewriter.<\/p>\n

Across the yard, Grandma was watering the pink roses and white lilies. A pounding on the wooden gate in the cement wall that surrounded their plot of land shattered her concentration. She dropped the hose.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll get it.\u201d Alan ran across the yard to save her the trouble, but before he reached the gate, six men in Iraqi army uniforms, their faces hidden by striped gray scarves, broke the lock and directed their Kalashnikovs at Grandma\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are they?\u201d the shortest one demanded.<\/p>\n

Bapir froze, a morsel still in his open mouth. Alan turned to see Uncle Soran leaping over the wall and clambering onto the neighbor\u2019s roof. Somebody\u2014Grandma\u2014grabbed Alan and backed him toward the house.<\/p>\n

Nestled against her bosom, Alan watched the soldiers invade the house without waiting for an answer. All six uncles were pulled from their beds or hauled from the bathroom, the basement, a closet, and off the roof next door. Alan wiped off his white handlebars with his sleeve and tried to make sense of the chaos, the jerky movements, the incomprehensible noises escaping people\u2019s throats. If only his eyes would give him weapons instead of tears!<\/p>\n

His uncles were dragged by the neck, screaming and struggling, like animals to slaughter. Bapir\u2019s questions and prayers, Grandma\u2019s cries and pleas, the neighbors\u2019 screams and curses\u2014nothing had the slightest effect on the soldiers, who conducted the raid without a reply.<\/p>\n

Alan\u2019s uncles, some still in undershirts, were marched out at gunpoint to army trucks carrying hundreds of Kurdish boys and men between the ages of fourteen and twenty-five. Alan peeled himself from Grandma\u2019s arms and ran to the street. The men were told to squat in the beds of the trucks, to place their hands on their heads, and to shut their mouths. Alan looked back at Bapir, who remained next to his smashed gate, head bowed.<\/p>\n

Along with other children, women, and elderly, Alan chased after the lumbering trucks, their huge rubber tires kicking up clouds of dust as they carted away the men amid the anxious cries of the followers. The older men, unarmed and horrified, searched for weapons and ran up the mountains, asking the Peshmerga<\/em> to come down to the city to face the armed-to-the-teeth soldiers.<\/p>\n

Alan trailed after the truck carrying his uncles as it traveled up the hillside at the city center. His heart had never beaten so fast. The truck finally stopped at the top of the hill, and prisoners were shoved out. On the hard soil, the captives were each given a shovel and ordered to dig.<\/p>\n

\u201cEbn-al-ghahba<\/em>,\u201dspat the soldiers\u2014Son of a whore. The angry bystanders were ordered to stand back. People obeyed the AK-47s.<\/p>\n

Dirt sprayed over the prisoners\u2019 bodies, hair, and eyelashes as their shovels cracked the earth open. Sweat dripped down their faces, and tears ran down over hands that muffled sobs. Alan looked at the pee running down the pants of a boy next to him, at a woman behind him clawing her face and calling out, \u201cGod, God, God,\u201d at an older man shaking uncontrollably, his hand barely holding onto his crutch. Alan did not seem to be in possession of his own frozen body.<\/p>\n

Once the trenches were dug, half of the prisoners were ordered to climb down into the ditches, and the rest were forced to shovel dirt up to their friends\u2019 and relatives\u2019 chins. Bapir had finally made his way to the top of the hill; he had found Alan in the first row of spectators, gnawing his thumbnail as he watched. Alan begged his grandpa to stop the cruelty.<\/p>\n

Bapir hugged him. \u201cThey will be released in a few days, these young men.\u201d He pressed Alan\u2019s head to his chest. \u201cThey will be sent back home, bawanem<\/em>, maybe with blisters and bruises, but they will be all right. Pray for them.\u201d His hands trembled as he squeezed Alan\u2019s. \u201cMay it rain before these men die of thirst.\u201d<\/p>\n

Alan searched through the crowd to find Uncle Soran lifting a pile of dirt with his shovel. Soran\u2019s grip loosened when he looked into the eyes of his brother Hewa, whose name meant \u201chope.\u201d Hewa stood in the hole, waiting to be buried by his closest relative, a man whom he\u2019d play-wrestled as a boy and confided in throughout his life.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo it, Soran,\u201d he said, his eyes shining up from the hole. A bearded soldier dressed in camouflage saw Soran\u2019s hesitation. \u201cKalb, ebn-al-kalb<\/em>!\u201d\u2014Dog, son of a dog\u2014he barked, and swung his Kalashnikov at Soran, the barrel slicing the skin under his left ear.<\/p>\n

Soran growled, almost choking, as he turned. With his shovel, he batted the Kalashnikov away so that the gun hit its owner in the head, cutting his scalp. Alan flinched. Bullets rained from every direction. Soran crumbled. His blood sprayed over Hewa, who was screaming and reaching for the perforated body, pulling him forward, pressing his face to the bleeding cheek of his brother.<\/p>\n

Crying out, Bapir tried to run toward his sons, but dozens of guns pointed at his chest, dozens of hands held him back. The shower of gunfire wouldn\u2019t cease; it struck the hugging siblings, painting them and the soil around them red.<\/p>\n

His uncles, still in each other\u2019s arms, were buried in one hole. Half of the prisoners were still covered up to their chins with dirt. The remaining ninety-five men were sent down into the other trenches, and the soldiers buried them up to their heads. Alan stared at the rows upon rows of human heads, a garden of agony.<\/p>\n

Intoxicated with power, the soldiers kicked the exposed heads of the prisoners, knocked some with the butts of their guns, and jeered at them. At the top of the hill, Bapir sobbed with such force that his wails shook the earth, Alan felt. He clutched Bapir\u2019s hunched shoulders and felt impossibly small.<\/p>\n

A sunburnt man and a neighbor with shrunken features hugged Bapir, then placed the old man\u2019s trembling arms around their shoulders and walked him down the hill.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are my other sons?\u201d Bapir gasped for air.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s get you home,\u201d the neighbors told him.<\/p>\n

Alan wanted to go with his grandpa, but he was afraid to move. If he took a step, the nightmare would become real. He scanned the hill for his other uncles, who were perhaps buried in some distant trench and unable to move. He couldn\u2019t see them. Even Bapir was no longer in sight.<\/p>\n

The hubbub was dying down. The strangers who\u2019d witnessed the scene were bound by their dread, their exchanged looks the only solace they could offer each other. Their heads seemed to move in slow motion, as if everyone were suspended underwater. Alan breathed in the atmosphere of quiet horror, of paused hysteria.<\/p>\n

Suddenly people cried out in terror. From the road below them, several armored tanks were approaching. Gaping in disbelief, Alan staggered back, holding a hand to his mouth. He could neither run away nor slow his hammering heart, which was now threatening to explode. When the panicking crowd pushed forward, guns fired into the air to hold them back.<\/p>\n

The tanks advanced.<\/p>\n

Alan\u2019s mind couldn\u2019t process the scene before him. Screams. Curses. Pleas. The devilish laughter of the soldiers. He felt an invisible piece of himself drop away and melt into the ground. He was not Alan anymore.<\/p>\n

It took an excruciatingly long time for the tanks to pulverize the heads of the prisoners.<\/p>\n

The metallic stench of blood, of crushed human flesh and skulls, the foul odor of death made its way into the spectators\u2019 nostrils and throats. The lucky ones threw up. Alan did not.<\/p>\n

While the giant metal treads ground his family and the other Kurds into nothingness, Alan sucked in shallow and unhelpful breaths.<\/p>\n

\n

Bapir lay in bed at home, tossing in anguish, a hand still on his aching chest. By his bedside his wife shed silent tears. Although they had not witnessed the crushing of their sons, they collapsed that day of broken hearts, one after the other. Someone went to find a doctor.<\/p>\n

Father arrived at his parents\u2019 home oblivious to the tragedy, having taken an unusual road to safeguard his treasure. His typed article was tucked under his shirt. The joy of achievement and hope for his people glowed in his eyes. Then he found his parents on their deathbed. In bits and pieces, the neighbors told him of the massacre, how Ba\u2019ath soldiers\u2014ordered by President Aref and Prime Minister Al-Baker\u2014had punished the Kurds for daring to demand autonomy.<\/p>\n

Father ran to the hill, where bewildered children gathered and clung to each other. Beside them, a group of adults wailed and cried, threw dirt into their hair, and beat their faces in terror.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe British bastards armed Baghdad to kill us. Their tanks, their planes, their goddamn firebombs and mustard gas that killed Iraqis forty years ago are now killing us,\u201d Father said to no one in particular.<\/p>\n

Then he just stared with unseeing eyes at the gory mound of his pulverized people, his brothers.<\/p>\n

Seeing his father\u2019s dazed reaction, Alan finally allowed the sobs he\u2019d held in since he first saw the soldiers to burst forth. Other children followed suit. Tears and snot rolled down the dusty faces of the boys and girls who\u2019d been abandoned by the living and dead alike.<\/p>\n

Alan ran to his father and held on to his leg. \u201cBaba gian<\/em>, Baba!\u201d he cried. It took a couple of moments before his father noticed him and hugged him close.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe will leave Iraq. We won\u2019t live here any longer.\u201d A wild urge to be anywhere but here tugged at Alan\u2019s gut too.<\/p>\n

Some stoic women and a few elderly men tearlessly buried the unidentifiable remains. They laid down uncarved stones in row after row and asked Alan and the other children to pick wildflowers and pink roses from the slope of the hill, placing them in rows too.<\/p>\n

Alan sucked on the blood dripping down his index finger, torn by the rose thorns.<\/p>\n

\u201cAlan!\u201d cried a woman whom Alan did not recognize. Three other boys turned when she called; one ran to her. Alan was a popular name, meaning \u201cflag bearer.\u201d It testified to what was expected of the children of a stateless nation, who had to fight against nonexistence.<\/p>\n

\n
From Daughters of Smoke and Fire<\/em>, a novel \u00a9 2020 Ava Homa, published May 12, <\/span>2020 by The Overlook Press, an imprint of ABRAMS and in Canada by HarperCollins. <\/span>Excerpted with permission of the publisher.<\/span><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The following is excerpted from Chapter 14 in Ava Homa’s Daughters of Smoke and Fire and appears in TMR by gracious arrangement with the author. Ava Homa   When his […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":137,"featured_media":4990,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[16,24,62],"tags":[],"article-category":[],"article-type":[],"coauthors":[1906],"class_list":["post-4787","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-review","category-tmr-13-origins"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nFlagbearer of a Stateless Nation, from "Daughters of Smoke and Fire" - The Markaz Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Flagbearer of a Stateless Nation, from "Daughters of Smoke and Fire"\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"The following is excerpted from Chapter 14 in Ava Homa’s Daughters of Smoke and Fire and appears in TMR by gracious arrangement with the author. Ava Homa   When his […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"The Markaz Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2021-09-15T12:12:49+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/when_the_hope_leaves_by_delawerswiss-d5ot2l6-1-1.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"900\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"675\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Ava Homa\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Ava Homa\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"12 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Omar El Akkad\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/18fbaff88934843cc0acd4fb1e9a861f\"},\"headline\":\"Flagbearer of a Stateless Nation, from “Daughters of Smoke and Fire”\",\"datePublished\":\"2021-09-15T12:12:49+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":2378,\"commentCount\":0,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/09\\\/when_the_hope_leaves_by_delawerswiss-d5ot2l6-1-1.jpg\",\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\",\"Latest Reviews\",\"TMR 13 \u2022 Origins\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/\",\"name\":\"Flagbearer of a Stateless Nation, from \\\"Daughters of Smoke and Fire\\\" - The Markaz Review\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/09\\\/when_the_hope_leaves_by_delawerswiss-d5ot2l6-1-1.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2021-09-15T12:12:49+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/09\\\/when_the_hope_leaves_by_delawerswiss-d5ot2l6-1-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/09\\\/when_the_hope_leaves_by_delawerswiss-d5ot2l6-1-1.jpg\",\"width\":900,\"height\":675},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Flagbearer of a Stateless Nation, from “Daughters of Smoke and Fire”\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/\",\"name\":\"The Markaz Review\",\"description\":\"Literature and Arts from the Center of the World\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"The Markaz Review\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2023\\\/08\\\/cropped-New-2023-TMR-Logo-500-pix.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2023\\\/08\\\/cropped-New-2023-TMR-Logo-500-pix.jpg\",\"width\":473,\"height\":191,\"caption\":\"The Markaz Review\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"}},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/18fbaff88934843cc0acd4fb1e9a861f\",\"name\":\"Omar El Akkad\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/f32fac57fa24dcf4630297be05fd9f25da4738f8d0807a47f8f9326d667190ab?s=96&d=mm&r=g650661f51022e00a36fa491fa1a1ee41\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/f32fac57fa24dcf4630297be05fd9f25da4738f8d0807a47f8f9326d667190ab?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/f32fac57fa24dcf4630297be05fd9f25da4738f8d0807a47f8f9326d667190ab?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Omar El Akkad\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.omarelakkad.com\\\/\"],\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/themarkaz.org\\\/oldmarkaz\\\/author\\\/omarelakkad\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Flagbearer of a Stateless Nation, from \"Daughters of Smoke and Fire\" - The Markaz Review","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Flagbearer of a Stateless Nation, from \"Daughters of Smoke and Fire\"","og_description":"The following is excerpted from Chapter 14 in Ava Homa’s Daughters of Smoke and Fire and appears in TMR by gracious arrangement with the author. Ava Homa   When his […]","og_url":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/","og_site_name":"The Markaz Review","article_published_time":"2021-09-15T12:12:49+00:00","og_image":[{"width":900,"height":675,"url":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/when_the_hope_leaves_by_delawerswiss-d5ot2l6-1-1.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Ava Homa","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Ava Homa","Est. reading time":"12 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/"},"author":{"name":"Omar El Akkad","@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/#\/schema\/person\/18fbaff88934843cc0acd4fb1e9a861f"},"headline":"Flagbearer of a Stateless Nation, from “Daughters of Smoke and Fire”","datePublished":"2021-09-15T12:12:49+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/"},"wordCount":2378,"commentCount":0,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/when_the_hope_leaves_by_delawerswiss-d5ot2l6-1-1.jpg","articleSection":["Fiction","Latest Reviews","TMR 13 \u2022 Origins"],"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"CommentAction","name":"Comment","target":["https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/#respond"]}]},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/","url":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/","name":"Flagbearer of a Stateless Nation, from \"Daughters of Smoke and Fire\" - The Markaz Review","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/when_the_hope_leaves_by_delawerswiss-d5ot2l6-1-1.jpg","datePublished":"2021-09-15T12:12:49+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/when_the_hope_leaves_by_delawerswiss-d5ot2l6-1-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/when_the_hope_leaves_by_delawerswiss-d5ot2l6-1-1.jpg","width":900,"height":675},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/flagbearer-of-a-stateless-nation\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Flagbearer of a Stateless Nation, from “Daughters of Smoke and Fire”"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/#website","url":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/","name":"The Markaz Review","description":"Literature and Arts from the Center of the World","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/#organization","name":"The Markaz Review","url":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/cropped-New-2023-TMR-Logo-500-pix.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/cropped-New-2023-TMR-Logo-500-pix.jpg","width":473,"height":191,"caption":"The Markaz Review"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"}},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/#\/schema\/person\/18fbaff88934843cc0acd4fb1e9a861f","name":"Omar El Akkad","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/f32fac57fa24dcf4630297be05fd9f25da4738f8d0807a47f8f9326d667190ab?s=96&d=mm&r=g650661f51022e00a36fa491fa1a1ee41","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/f32fac57fa24dcf4630297be05fd9f25da4738f8d0807a47f8f9326d667190ab?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/f32fac57fa24dcf4630297be05fd9f25da4738f8d0807a47f8f9326d667190ab?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Omar El Akkad"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.omarelakkad.com\/"],"url":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/author\/omarelakkad\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4787","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/137"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4787"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4787\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4990"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4787"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4787"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4787"},{"taxonomy":"article-category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/article-category?post=4787"},{"taxonomy":"article-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/article-type?post=4787"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/coauthors?post=4787"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}