Resisting the Unleashed Evils of the US- Invasion of Iraq in Amir Al-Azraki’s The Widow (2017)

Resisting the Unleashed Evils of the US- Invasion of Iraq in Amir Al-Azraki’s The Widow (2017)

Thamir R. S. Az-Zubaidy

Amir Al-Azraki’s The Widow (2017) depicts the life of an Iraqi young widow, Nour, from Basra who lived through the US occupation (2003-2011). The play delves into the sociopolitical context of the province during one of the drastic historical junctures of Iraq’s modern history, portraying the clash between the local and foreign narratives about Iraqi women’s rights. The Widow resists both epistemological violence that represents monolithic images of Iraqi women and the patriarchal violence that obscures women’s agency. The figure of Nour, who despite her social fragility as a young widow with a child and later on as an abandoned pregnant woman, is able to (re)create her destiny. Nour is a semi-fictitious character that Al-Azraki developed based on his early experience as a translator for international news agencies (2003-6), her late husband was killed while combating the invading troops, leaving her with a two-year-old daughter, Nour is left alone to endure the hardships of this tragic loss and also the confining societal and patriarchal norms. Arguably, in this play, Al-Azraki critiques the hypocrisy of Arabic patriarchal societies like Iraq by examining the concept of “ghira”, a local term encompassing notions of courage, honor, and men’s responsibility to guard women’s honor (Al-Azraki, 169). Notable examples of this in the play are male protagonists including Samir, a young university lecturer who runs away to Canada after getting Nour pregnant, and Samir’s father, a 65 years old man and the head of an oil company in Basra, who proposes to marry Nour temporarily (outside any legal obligations) under the pretext of protecting her and her daughter. Based on thematic analysis of the play, this paper investigates the role of Iraqi theatre in resisting gender roles in war times by centralising women’s agency in the war story.

Starting from the premise that male literary writers’ works about female characters are often targeted by feminist scholars as either perpetuating stereotyping or failing to present convincing female characterization (Az-Zubaidy, 2024), I argue that despite that fact that The Widow is written by a male playwright, the play depicts details and facts that show the strong side of women like Nour.  Iraqi theatre scholars argued for the specificity of gender when it is depicted by Iraqi male theatremakers. Alyaa Naser and Majeed Midhin argue that male literary figures “own the power and the authority, as well as the voice, to speak of the unspeakable for women, which may not only be acceptable, but rather more comprehensible, since society would rather listen to them, being men, than to women” (2025, 304). Paul Ricoeur’s premise of how employing narration in identity constructing  is able to constitute an identity that is dictated by character itself  rather than being imposed from outside. Ricoeur notes that the plot of any literary work is “an integrating process,” that gets its “dynamic identity” from and “is completed only” in the presence of “the living receiver of the narrated story” such as the reader or the audience (1991, 21). Emphasizing the role of narrative identity, Ricoeur maintains that “it is in this way that we learn to become the narrator and the hero of our own story, without actually becoming the author of our own life.” (32) Ricoeur’s argument finds its resonance in Jane Bacon who, acknowledging the affinity between language and body, proclaims that “in language the body quickly becomes gesture, a metaphor, a personification of personhood” (quoted in Parker-Starbuck & Mock 2011, 229). Thus, once the narrator, and this applies to literary genres including drama, starts narrating a story to the listener, they become the heroes of the constructed identity on stage away from the control or the authority of the author. Accordingly, what the audience watches on stage is the female character who has full control of her story.

The play problematises the rhetoric of “liberating” Iraqi women which was employed prior the American invasion of Iraq in 2003. Lindsey Mantoan posits that one of the major narratives of invading Iraq was “to liberate, or had already liberated, Iraqi women” from the dictator’s patriarchal grip (2018, 105-106). Yet, official reports, amongst those by international institutions, assert that, following the US-invasion of Iraq, women’s rights witnessed ongoing deterioration (Az-Zubaidy, 159). The Widow articulates these tensions between the US narrative and social reality through the exploration of the precarious situation of  widowed women like Nour, the politics of male gaze, as represented by Samir’s father, and the confining societal and patriarchal norms. The US-invasion, as stated in the play, caused the death of Nour’s husband. Instead of ensuring security and peace where liberty and prosperity would thrive, the American invasion turns Iraq into a site of confrontation whose frontlines entail even the domestic spheres, fostering an environment for civil tensions. Such a socio-political landscape threatened the expression of liberal views, restricted women’s freedom and encouraged political violence, both physical and verbal.

Al-Azraki’s play is divided into 18 scenes, and preceded by a prologue that casts light on Noura’s loss of her husband, Hatem, who was killed while defending the country against the invading troops. This violent incident evidenced the fact that Iraqi women received the heavy toll of successive wars since the Iraq-Iran war (1980-1988). In this prologue, which recalls a similar scene in Bernard Shaw’s Arms and the Man, when Raina and Bluntschli met each other for the first time, the stage is overwhelmed with darkness and the sounds of “aircraft, explosion, heavy weapons” (Al-Azraki 2017, 173). Although brief, those four words adequately depict the horrific atmosphere of war, indicating the big number of casualties. Then, the figure of a “heavy-set” soldier, “mainly in silhouette”, appears on stage (173). The lights cast on Nour, who is “veiled in the Iraqi Abaya”. She addresses “the silhouetted figure”, representing her deceased husband, who was killed two years ago, saying:

It has been two years, and I’ve been faithful to your memory, but there is a young man that I like, he teaches at the college where I’m taking night courses again, like you wanted me to. And I think he likes me. I make him nervous. He’s so young. He thinks I’m “an Older Woman.” (Pause.) Would it make you very sad? (173)

In response to her inquiry, Hatem’s “silhouetted figure rises, kisses her on the forehead, and exits”, suggesting his love and also approval of both: her studies and love to Samir, the young teacher (173). Then, the setting changes suddenly to the present time where we see Nour inside the class, a remarkable employment of the technique of heterotopic space. Investing this technique in drama and theatre is important for examining significant issues because beyond the actual locations of performances that members of the audience observe, Joanne Tompkins argues, there are “additional sites that were evoked” to generate a thoughtful understanding of past, present and the future (2014, 58). It is worth noting that in this play, Al-Azraki presents the stage as a medium comprising imagined, as depicted in the prologue, and concrete, as portrayed in scene 1, locations. Accordingly, the employment of this technique conveys the role theatre can play in forming a connection, Tompkins proposes, between “the concrete entity” of the venue, and “an imagined location” that has to “be rendered visible” (179). Through this intersection between the two sites, Al-Azraki opens up the space in his play, I argue, to provide the widow, Nour, with the opportunity to love again, which is often resisted by societal norms.

In scene 1 of the play, Samir appears at the end of a lecture, addressing the audience, as his students, asking them to prepare a play by the Iraqi-American playwright, Heather Ruffo’s Nine Parts of Desire (2006), and express their opinions of her “representation of Iraqi woman” (173). The class's reading of Rafoo establishes a background of Iraqi women’s war experiences offstage. Further, it underscores the impact of war against Iraq on both diasporic playwrights; Rafoo and Al-Azraki. In addition to introducing a feminist approach to the US- invasion, the reference to Raffo’s play serves as an analogy to The Widow as this scene presents Nour, a young woman who can reject social restrictions which will bring her under the tension of the two protective and provocative forces soon. Nour and a male student Ali started a debate about one of Raffo’s character who was portrayed as an Iraqi women who had several  sexual relations:

            NOUR: I think the play is far from being authentic. Who is Amal? […] Like she’s Sinbad?

                      Maybe this is believable for an American audience but for us it’s absurd. She ignores the

                      majority of the Iraq women who suffer unbearable conditions […].

                            .                                          .                                               .

            ALI: I kind of agree with Nour. I think her representation of Iraqi women is too selective. She

                     tries to challenge the stereotypical, orientalist image of the Iraqi woman, but it’s not an

                     accurate portrayal. (179)  

The employment of the ‘play within a play’ technique which triggered the debate about women's rights, sexual freedom and western gender codes opens a fierce debate about religion also. Samir could not control the discussion about women’s freedom of choice and the class ended by accusing him of blasphemy and Nour of being immoral because of his critique of divine texts. Samir confirms his opinion that any text, including the Quran, is subject to free interpretation. Shocked by such a claim, Ali replies that “this is blasphemous. There can be one truthful interpretation of the Quran” (180). When the discussion turns to religious texts, Nour rushes to support Samir, her teacher and lover.

While women’s situation in Basra is described in Nour’s statement “...and now we have many killers. Every day the body of a woman is thrown into the river. Rumours spread: indecent, prostitute, a traitor working for the occupation, honour killings” (176), she decides to approach her ‘young’ and “very attractive” (174) drama teacher, and express her love for him and agrees to marry him under a temporary marriage, mut’ah (1). In Scene 1, Nour tells Samir “I can’t understand you in class because I’m distracted by my feelings towards you.” It is a bold expression of her emotions and sexuality, especially in a place such as the class and by a student to her teacher. At home, she calls her sister Rana and tells her that her professor “tried to be really angry and proper, but I know he likes me, really. Guess what? I think he's a virgin” (174). The above excerpts, loaded with the pronoun “I,” signifies a strong sense of individuality, where Nour believes that she is entitled to approach and choose Samir as her lover. Nour, in this scene, not only resists patriarchal traditions set in Basrah, but also subverts the traditional male gaze. Most significantly, mut’ah marriage was performed in secrecy, and does not provide legal or social support or protection for women which shows Nour’s defying personality in a lawless atmosphere where women’s honor and sexual behaviour can determine the value of their lives as casualties of their traditions or the American troops.

Bold and romantic, Nour resists these practices of violence by creating her own codes. “Is this your first time?” she asks Samir as they are about to have sex, “Have you never had a woman? Don’t worry. Come. Undress me” (177). Ketu H. Katrak notes that female sexuality, which is located within the cultural tradition, is often controlled by confining women, especially widows, within the perception of “guardians of tradition” (2006, 11). In this sense, widowed women are expected to care for their children and sacrifice their sexuality for the sake of motherhood. Katrak observes this as a process of colonizing women “within their bodies,” that they resist by attempting “to transmute the controls of their female bodily spaces from patriarchal hands into their own hands” (2006, 11). Commenting on body representations in Iraqi literature, Hanan Jasim Khammas notes that “female sexuality was a scene for social critique whereas male sexuality represented a claim for subjectivity” (2018, 3). Sexuality is an integral element in power relations and Nour embraces it to support her agency as a young woman. However, her desire is driven by love for Samir. Ironically, when Samir’s father, who is Nour’s manager in the oil company of Basra, proposed a  mut’ah marriage, she refused.

Nour chooses to resist social realities that had been shaped not only by social gender restrictions, but also by political chaos:

“Good people are either silenced or have escaped the country. Meanwhile hypocrites have seized the chance to take power. This used to be a secular society. Now suddenly religion has become fashionable again. Fundamentalism has become mainstream” (178).

Iraqi lives transformed from living under one dictator who silenced them to a shapeless context where Iraqi people had limited choices to survive like fleeing the country. Nour’s sense of her surroundings and the reflections she provides that compares between past and the present reveals a clear side of her identity as an aware woman which I can relate to Ricoeur’s notion of constituting identity. This is further expressed in scene 7, where Nour asserts that she does not “need a sexual partner”, but “a man who can love me, and protect me, and be a safe haven for me and my daughter” (185). However, when the discussion turns to religious texts, Nour rushes to support Samir, her teacher and lover. The discussion in class leads to how heaven and hell are interpreted, where Samir observes that the description of heaven in the Quran was meant to persuade “Arabs who lived in the desert, to make them believe in God and leave their savage manners and pagan beliefs” (180). Nour backs Samir by saying: “adultery or sodomy or even stealing or lying”, are “trivial” issues compared to the eternal punishment in hell (180). Infuriated by this, Ali accuses Nour of “immodest woman”, who always supports her teacher’s “immoral, atheistic ideas” (181).

Yet, Samir is threatened and warned to leave Basrah due to the secular opinions that he expressed in the class. An envelope is pushed under his door, with a letter and a bullet. The final line of the letter discloses that his open opinions about religion and women are unacceptable and he either had to leave or he will be killed, the letter  ends with “And if they do not, then seize them wherever you find them and slay them” (186). This part of the Quran verse asserts that Samir is now considered a renegade. It is evident that fleeing Iraq is the sole option left for him. As Nour is now pregnant with their child, Samir asks help from his mother who suggests that the only solution is that they should get married in the court, but Samir does not have time,  so he decides to leave Nour behind.

Nour is strong, her resistance and resilience occur almost consecutively, and she is far from being vulnerable and submissive. Rather, she asserts her freedom of choice. That is why she refuses when Samir’s father proposes a mut’ah marriage to preserve her honor. Although Nour was punished due to her rejection by being sent to "the farthest location in the desert of Basra, Majnoon oil field” (199), she did not keep silent. An institutional and patriarchal violence against Nour is so evident in the decision of her male manager to confine her to a three- hour destination from Basra. While the manager was trying to shut her mouth “Please! Calm down, and lower your voice” (198),  Nour raised her voice high attracting the attention of the office to his sexual harassment. As daring and fearless as ever, Nour’s voice becomes an expression of defiance and agency, the loud voice confirms that no one has an authority over her choices. Nour’s assertion of individuality and freedom of choice is an instance of resistance in which women, quoting Katrak’s words, attempt “to transmute the controls of their female bodily spaces from patriarchal hands into their own hands” (11). The play begins with the loss of Nour’s husband, Hatem, who died while defending Iraq against the US invasion in 2003, and ends with Samir’s murder shortly after his return to Iraq. He was shot by one of the militia members who threatened him earlier. Samir’s return is meant to compensate for his guilt of forsaking Nour behind, when she was pregnant with their child. During their last meeting, following his return from Canada, Samir tells Nour that he has returned so that they will have a “permanent, public, normal marriage” (203).

Hatem and Samir are both casualties of the US invasion which caused dire impacts not only on Iraqi women, but also children. Through Nour’s storytelling which took place three years post the invasion of Iraq, the play shows that no progress had been achieved regarding Iraqi women’s status. By referring to the three females, Samir’s mother, Nour, and Yasmine, her daughter, I contend that the play underscores the transgenerational trauma encountered by female characters in the play. As Samir’s mother approaches Samir’s body, Nour hugged her, indicating solidarity and understanding of loss and bereavement. The presence of the two women near Samir’s body is another indication that it is no longer an individual traumatic incident. Samir’s mother's reaction to her son’s early unmanly behavior discloses an aspect of female solidarity which was returned when Nour hugged the mother while they both were close to Samir’s dead body.  This solidarity enhances female agency as both Samir’s mother and Nour who belong to different generations were trying to achieve justice and secure women’s rights and safety. This solidarity was also projected through Yasmin, Nour’s daughter, who despite being absent from the stage, resembled the new generation of Iraqi women who will grow up under the complexities of the US- invasion, the transgenerational trauma and the transhistorical political unrest. Perpetuating the neocolonial impacts of this invasion through the emergence of armed groups extends the traumatic experiences of Iraqi people, and that of Iraqi women in particular. However, the image of two women standing together at the final scene signals their courage and resistance, not only to violence, but also to stereotyping of Iraqi women, and confinement to the domestic sphere.

Al-Azraki’s The Widow is a compelling critique of the patriarchal and socio-political forces that operate to marginalize and oppress women in war-torn Iraq. While exploring the volatile environment of their personal experience, the article asserts Iraqi women’s resilience and agency. Nour’s story defied two types of violence; stereotyping and patriarchy. Despite multiple traumatic experiences of a profound psychological trauma due to the loss of her two husbands, Nour achieves her agency, succeeds in supporting herself and her daughter financially, and opposes male characters’ control over her quotidian life, body, and sexuality. Iraqi widows like Nour were able to create their journeys amid destruction and chaos. Nour, and other women who share with her similar stories, humanised war stories by sharing their intimate details, romantic side and sexual desires during times of fire and blood.

Iraqi theatre in the diaspora is connected to the homeland. Portraying Iraqi stories about women who resisted violence and negation under invasion and occupation disrupts dominant narrative and representation of Iraqis as mere casualty figures and numbers. Indeed, theatre is instrumentalised to recreate history and centralise Iraqi voices, experiences and agency to tell their own stories. Telling stories means knowledge and knowledge becomes power and that is what Iraqi theatre is doing–it achieves balance through performing stories of Iraqis, not only about war, destruction and death. Rather, theatre depicts our stories of love, permanence and continuity. It is only in this way, the colonised can defeat colonisers, through storytelling.

Endnotes:

(1)   It is achieved with a certain agreement between a man and a woman for a fixed dowry and duration. Emotional, social, and financial needs are the main reasons for conducting this form of marriage rather than a regular or a long-term commitment. Zena Al Safar notes that Mut’ah is mostly known among Shia Muslims, especially in Iran and Iraq, where they constitute the majority. Al Safar maintains that, in the last four decades, wars and conflicts had negatively influenced the “socioeconomic and security situation” in Iraq and led to “the emergence of temporary marriage in Iraq” (2025, 4-5). During those four decades many Iraqi women were left widowed or divorced (Al Safar 5). As such, their financial, and emotional needs push them to be involved in this form of marriage.

(2)  فَإِن لَّمْ يَعْتَزِلُوكُمْ وَيُلْقُوا إِلَيْكُمُ السَّلَمَ وَيَكُفُّوا أَيْدِيَهُمْ فَخُذُوهُمْ وَاقْتُلُوهُمْ حَيْثُ ثَقِفْتُمُوهُمْ)