"I haven't cried in ten years..."

"We used to have one Saddam, now we have thousands” With a distant look and a soft voice, Mustafa tells me these words on a warm September evening in Baghdad. His words are reminiscent of those of so many Iraqis, who have lost all hope and purpose during the years of conflict and violence that still plague Iraq today.

Violence seems to have become a self-perpetuating social process in Iraq, as the country's history has been marked by a succession of traumatic events. Since the reign of the despot Saddam Hussein, during which it was elevated to the rank of a political virtue, the country seems to be immersed in a genuine ethos of violence that has left a vivid mark on the country's collective memory and still prevents any reconciliation and reconstruction. 

For decades, the war has killed, mutilated, and grieved millions of Iraqis, affecting every aspect of their lives. Today, society finds itself brutalised by this permanent state of war that has lasted for 40 years.

For the younger generations, every in-between period has been one of deprivation, hyper-militarisation, and total loss of future prospects. The imaginary of death and suffering is omnipresent, amplified by the ambient martyrology of the Shiite religion, which places at the heart of its rituals the story of the violent death of Imam Hussein, whose blood soaked the soil of the holy city of Karbala.

And yet, the issue of trauma is a thorny one, with a particularly strong stigma towards anything to do with psychological problems. Mental health issues are seen as an anomaly, a weakness or the work of a 'jinn' that can only be cured by prayer or isolation. With only about twenty recognised psychologists in the whole country, how can the wounds of the past be properly healed ? 

This project attempts to answer this question, suggesting different mechanisms that Iraqis turn to in order to ward off this veritable syllogism of trauma and despair. The revival of religion, art in all its forms, popular uprising with the 2019 revolution, but also the reiteration of violence, seem to be as many mechanisms that stem from this delicate relationship that Iraq has with its brutal past.

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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A blood-stained shirt belonging to a victim of a terrorist attack that left almost 50 people dead in Karrada, Baghdad, in 2010.

© Chloe Sharrock - A flag and a rose, symbol of a death, on the door of a grieved household in Baghdad.
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A flag and a rose, symbol of a death, on the door of a grieved household in Baghdad.

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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Guns belonging to militiamen from Asaib Ahl al-Haq, a pro-Iranian faction of southern Iraq known for killing activists and protesters during the 2019 revolution.

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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Nada, 24. "I’m a Shia muslim who lived in a Sunni neighborhood of Bagdad, happily. But the 2006 civil war broke and we were suddenly forced to leave everything behind. I was brutally unrooted from everything I knew and forced to live in constant fear. After that I shut down completely for years and years. I didn’t talk anymore, I couldn’t sleep, I stoped studying, got bullied at school, became antisocial. It’s only when the 2019 revolution appeared that I felt like having a purpose again. I started drawing, painting on the walls of Baghdad revolutionary imagery, I opened up and started talking again. I discovered that thousands of people my age hoped for the same things in Iraq. But I know that even if I leave the country, wherever I go, I will carry the violence of Iraq with me, always."

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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A man weeps and beats himself during Arbaeen, the biggest Shia celebration in the world commemorating the Death of Imam Hussein. Holy City of Karbala, Iraq.

© Chloe Sharrock - Wound of a militiaman from the 2016 conflict against the Islamic State. Bassorah, Iraq.
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Wound of a militiaman from the 2016 conflict against the Islamic State. Bassorah, Iraq.

© Chloe Sharrock - Healing through faith. Sufi Shrine of Alexanzanah, Baghdad, Iraq.
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Healing through faith. Sufi Shrine of Alexanzanah, Baghdad, Iraq.

© Chloe Sharrock - A Shia woman cries in Abbas Mosque. Karbala, Iraq.
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A Shia woman cries in Abbas Mosque. Karbala, Iraq.

© Chloe Sharrock - Leaflet representing Jesus Christ, distributed in a church in Baghdad.
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Leaflet representing Jesus Christ, distributed in a church in Baghdad.

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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A young kid from a poor suburb of Bassorah plays with his bird. The Iraqi youth has never experienced a period of peace in their lives.

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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Mustafa, 25. "Even if I wanted to live, people here wouldn't let me. We used to have one Saddam, now we have thousands. I can't even write my poetry without being threatened. I've seen relatives, friends, dying in front of me. I don't sleep since I'm 11 years old, I feel like a deadman walking, yet I haven't cried in ten years. I've seen psychologists but they only told me to pray more. So, I know that I will kill myself, I even know how already: hanged on al-Shahada bridge, embraced by the Tigris river below me and the sky of Iraq above me"

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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Mustafa's bed in Karrada, Baghdad. "And so every day, Alone you are left On the edges of the outer chairs, In one of the tired cafes, On the sidewalks, On the baldness of the elderly. And so every day, You will die, Without a friend, Without a family, Without a sound, buried in your own words Words that no one ever reads. All those poems that you kept for yourself, It won’t do you any good now To think about how much you should’ve shown it to someone. And so every day, You will die. A forgotten poet, Unknown from the world." - Poem by Mustafa.

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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F. survived the 2017 coalition-led offensive in the city of Mosul, in northern Iraq, during the war against Daesh. She lives in a refugee camp in Duhok since then. Iraqi Kurdistan.

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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An Shia man in the Iraqi marshes, that were destroyed at 90% by Saddam Hussein in 1991 in order to dislodge and fight the Shia muslims rebelling against his regime hiding there.

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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A verse of a poem by Iraqi poet Muthaffar al-Nawab tattooed on the chest of a youth from the 2019 protests: "My Lord, the pus has reached my throat"

© Chloe Sharrock - A picture of Fatima's boyfriend on his death bed, after being fatally shot during the 2019 protests in Baghdad, Iraq.
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A picture of Fatima's boyfriend on his death bed, after being fatally shot during the 2019 protests in Baghdad, Iraq.

© Chloe Sharrock - Risperidone is an antipsychotic used to treat mental/mood disorders such as schizophrenia, or bipolar ity. Bassorah, Iraq.
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Risperidone is an antipsychotic used to treat mental/mood disorders such as schizophrenia, or bipolar ity. Bassorah, Iraq.

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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Brother Louis Elkisse, 53. "I was born Christian, in Qaraqosh. I fought for eight years during the Iran-Iraq war. I saw my community being slaughtered and my house burnt down in my birth town by Daesh in 2014. I’ve also been wounded three times during terrorist attacks against the Christian community in this church. The last time was in 2010, Al-Qaeda entered the church and killed more than 45 people, including two priests. But I will never leave Iraq. If we leave, then they would win."

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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Brother Louis' bible, with a bullet from the 2010 attack that pierced it. The shots left him severely wounded and he lost definitely the hearing of his left ear.

© Chloe Sharrock - Image from the "I haven't cried in ten years..." photography project
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In October 2010, an attack by Al-Qaeda at Our Lady Of Salvation church left 45 faithfuls dead, including two priests. Baghdad, Iraq.

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