Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, February 23, 1991 TAG: 9102230414
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: DWAYNE YANCEY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: COVINGTON LENGTH: Long
Home, you see, was once Iraq.
It still is for his mother and four sisters. Provided they're still alive, something Nauman can't be sure of.
Communications with Baghdad have been sporadic ever since the Iran-Iraq war, which ended in 1988. The last he heard from his family was a year ago, and at that time, his diabetic mother was ill.
"I doubt if she'll survive now," Nauman says. "She's on dialysis and insulin. There's no electricity now and no insulin. They may be dead, for all I know."
He says it all rather matter-of-factly, as if he's gotten used to the idea. "The trouble is, most Iraqis really like the United States," he says.
What can one say to Sam Nauman? There's nothing you can say, really - although that hasn't stopped some of the students he teaches at Jackson River Vocational Center, from saying things. Like whistling like air-raid sirens as he walks down the hall. Like asking him if he's a terrorist. Like saying they want to kill some towel-heads.
Nauman left Iraq at 15 with an urge to see the world. He's now 46; he's lived in Europe and the United States twice as long as he lived in Iraq. He's proud of his American citizenship but anguished to find his adopted country at war with his native country.
"Some people feel you definitely have to take sides," Nauman says. "It's very difficult. It's like a child whose mother and father get a divorce. Do you have to hate one of them? You probably just want to see them get together. That's how I feel."
Since his homeland burst into the news last summer, Nauman has been the focus of attention. Some people expect him to be an expert on Saddam Hussein; the constantly ask him what Saddam will do next, even asking if he knows Saddam personally.
Nauman says he's no different from many other Americans. "I watch CNN. Most of what I know comes from there."
There have been some lighter moments. Sometimes Nauman even cracks jokes about his Iraqi heritage. As he thumbs through a picture book of Iraq to illustrate his point, he turns his head, sets his chin and jokes that his profile matches that of an ancient Babylonian monument.
But the smile passes quickly. "It's depressing," he says.
Nauman is troubled by Americans' enthusiastic reaction to the war - and confused by what patriotism requires during wartime.
"All these people waving the flag - what does it mean? Does it mean we agree with what's happening? Does it mean we love the country? I love the country but that doesn't mean I have to agree with everything the government does." And why do people waving the flag seem so happy?, Nauman wonders. "How can you be happy with people dying?"
The intensity of Americans' reaction also alarms Nauman. "I've been surprised by the venom I've seen. . . . Even people I thought were my friends say, `I think they ought to use nuclear weapons.' If the situation were reversed and the U.S. was being invaded by Iraq, I could understand the hatred, but half don't know where Iraq is. . . . All of a sudden it's like a lynch mob. `Let's bomb 'em, let's nuke 'em.' "
Nauman admits to being a little afraid. He's wary of saying exactly where he lives.
Nauman has never been politically active but his wife, Roanoke Valley artist Sue Roy Nauman, often joins the peace advocates who maintain a vigil on the Roanoke City Market each Friday. When talk about the Mideast comes up, she says, "I have to bite my tongue a lot of times, because of the repercussions."
Nauman also takes pains to clarify his heritage. "People assume that because I'm from Iraq I'm Muslim and an Arab. In fact, I'm Christian and not an Arab," but a member of an ethnic minority descended from the Babylonians.
Perhaps the biggest difficulty Nauman has faced has been in his new job. Nauman has an impressive resume as a semi-conductor engineer (including two master's degrees), and worked for many years for ITT in Roanoke, until he found himself out of work in a job reshuffle.
In December, he started teaching electronics at the vocational school outside Covington. It pays a lot less than what he could earn elsewhere, but the Naumans love Western Virginia and don't want to leave.
Kids are bound to give any new teacher a hard time, and one with an accent really stands out in Alleghany County. "I'm probably the only foreigner they've ever seen," Nauman says. Being an Iraqi didn't help the situation any. "I just picked a bad time."
Some parents grumbled; at least one mother wanted him fired. "There were comments made to the effect that someone of Iraqi descent may not be appropriate," says Alleghany County School Superintendent Mark Pace.
Students asked impertinent questions about his loyalties. "This is not like Red China, where I have to carry Chairman Mao's Little Red Book and bare my soul in front of a People's Court," Nauman says. He just wanted to get on with the business of teaching volts and amps, but some of the students didn't want to let him.
Once a student from another class opened the door to the electronics lab and yelled: "Saddam Hussein! Hey, Saddam."
"If anything, it's laughable," Nauman says. "You see, they're fighting the war through me. I'm the only tangible aspect of the war. I ignore it."
Once, though, Principal B.C. Williams was forced to give some of the students a stern talking-to.
"They've been very immature," Williams says. "They've been overly patriotic . . .. It's like a person landed from outer space. `I've never seen one of those before.' And you're at war. That tends to add up and people have a tendency to be irrational and see what they want to see and hear what they want to hear."
The other day was yellow ribbon day at school. "I wouldn't take one," Nauman says. "The reason I wouldn't take one, I have family there, being bombed by the U.S. military. My mother's probably dead already. What am I supposed to do? Wear a yellow ribbon to spite her? Saddam Hussein isn't my cup of tea, but the Iraqi people haven't done anything."
The pressure to wear a yellow ribbon smacked of the conformity he despised in Iraq, where everyone was expected to display a portrait of the nation's leader in his home - and police often came by to check.
Nevertheless, five students walked out of class, complaining that Nauman didn't have a "definite view" of the war. "It's not that I had said anything anti-American, but that I didn't have a definite view," Nauman says. "That bugged me. It's difficult to have a definite view."
The superintendent and the principal praise Nauman for his cool handling of the rowdy students and say most of the snide comments have stopped, especially now that they've seen him teach.
In fact, Nauman says, the mother who complained the loudest about his hiring called him this week to say she now supports him. Perhaps the improvement in her son's grades had something to do with winning her over, he muses.
But although the school flap may have passed, the war goes on - and with it Sam Nauman's private pain.
by CNB