Ky explores what draws us together and what separates us, culturally and geographically, in the final part of this conversational series with her Iraqi neighbor. Ky describes their conversations as between “an infidel and a terrorist” because of their perceived opposing viewpoints. But as the conversation quickly reveals, we have more in common than what separates us. In an age where many forms of media seek to create “others”, hosting cross-cultural conversations is a vital bridge for people. Read part one, part two, and part three here.
This continuation of the interview explores how the shared weight of history can either anchor us in the past or serve as a foundation for a more empathetic future. This article explores parallels that inspire equality and growth. It also explain how conflicts in the past have changed the way we react and our willingness to tolerate “the other” between the two cultures, in the past and the present day.
Setting the Foundation for a More Empathic Future
Kyea: Sadat, thank you for sitting down with me. You’ve built such a vibrant life here as a business owner, but I know your journey started in a very different world — a village in Iraq. How did that childhood shape the man I see today?
Sadat: It’s a pleasure, Kyea. You know, village life in Iraq is not like the cities. In the city, there is a bit more noise, more masks. But in the village, life is transparent and very controlled. I grew up as a “son of the village” — respected, expected to be dominant, to hold the line of our traditions. There is a certain pride in that, but it is a heavy coat to wear for a young boy.
Kyea: That “heavy coat” often comes with witnessing things that are hard to process. You’ve mentioned to me before that a specific moment of violence changed your trajectory. Are you comfortable sharing that?
Sadat: (Nods slowly) It is a serious memory, but one I must keep close to stay humble. As a child, I witnessed a stoning. The community had labeled this woman as “lost” and “dishonorable.” At the time, I believed what I was told because the village does not bend; we were taught that to protect the culture, you must punish the outlier.
But as I watched, I didn’t see a monster. I saw a human being. I realized later she wasn’t what they painted her to be. That was the first crack in my foundation. I realized that my “dominance” as a male was built on the silence and suffering of others. It changed my perspective from wanting to rule my environment to wanting to understand it.
Kyea: That’s a profound shift. It’s interesting because, in America, we often think we are so different from Iraq, but we also struggle with being “set in our ways.” Both cultures can be incredibly rigid—whether it’s political divides here or tribal ones there. How do you see that reflected in our growth as a global society?
Sadat: You are right. Iraq has changed very little in some ways because the fear of losing identity makes people unwilling to bend. But I see the same in the US. When we refuse to consider another’s perspective, we stop growing. On a personal level, if I hadn’t let that experience in the village break my pride, I wouldn’t be the father I am today. I wouldn’t know how to lead with compassion instead of a fist.
Kyea: I love that. It suggests that peace doesn’t come from everyone agreeing, but from how we handle the disagreement. In my life, I’ve learned that I don’t have to change your mind to respect your soul.
Sadat: Exactly! As an immigrant and a father, I tell my children: “It is okay to disagree.” In my old life, a disagreement was a threat to the order. Now, I see it as an invitation to talk. If we move from a motivation of “being right” to a motivation of “equality,” the violence of the past loses its power over the future.
Kyea: That is the hope, isn’t it? That by having these honest, non-judgmental conversations, we can show the next generation that humility is actually a greater strength than dominance.
Sadat: Yes. Peace begins when we look at the person we were told to hate and instead ask them their name. It’s a long road, Kyea, but as I look at my business and my family, I see that the bend in the road is not the end of the road—it’s just where we grow.
Kyea: You mentioned how both Iraq and the U.S. can be “set in their ways.” When you look at the parallels between our cultures—even with all our differences—where do you see that common ground that could actually inspire growth?
Sadat: It is in our shared sense of pride and protection. Both cultures value “strength” and “honor” deeply. In my village, honor was keeping the tradition at any cost. In America, I see a similar pride in “liberty” or “way of life.” The parallel is that we both tend to view the “other” through a lens of fear when we feel our values are threatened. We both have this habit of simplifying complex people into “good” or “evil” to make ourselves feel secure.
Kyea: That simplifies the world, but it also shrinks it. How has the conflict of the last few decades—the wars and the tension—changed the way we actually tolerate one another today?
Sadat: Conflict creates “corrosive memories” that outlive the actual fighting. For many Iraqis, the “American” they know is only the soldier with a gun; for many Americans, the “Iraqi” they know is only what they see on the news. This has made us more reactive. We are quicker to judge and slower to trust because we are protecting old wounds. But that same pain has also created a new generation that is tired of the cycle.
Kyea: I’ve noticed that too. There’s a certain “war fatigue” that, strangely enough, makes people more willing to listen because the old way of reacting hasn’t brought peace. It’s like we’ve reached a point where we realize that tolerance isn’t just “putting up” with someone—it’s acknowledging their right to exist and be different without it being a threat to us.
Sadat: Exactly. In the past, my village saw difference as a virus. In the present day, being a business owner here, I see that difference is actually the fuel for growth. The willingness to tolerate the “other” begins when you realize that your security doesn’t come from everyone being the same, but from everyone being respected.
Kyea: It’s moving from a defensive posture to a curious one. If we can admit that our “chronic misperceptions” of each other have cost us too much—in lives and in spirit—then we can finally start to choose equality over dominance.
Sadat: Yes. The past taught us how to fight; the present must teach us how to walk together. We have to be willing to “right-size” our approach—to stop looking for enemies and start looking for partners in things like education and shared future goals. That is where the growth happens.
Kyea: It’s powerful to hear you bridge those two worlds, Sadat. I’ll be honest—growing up in America, I was often taught to see the Middle East through a lens of “rescue” or “conflict,” never truly as a place of shared humanity or intellectual equality. Listening to you, I realize my own cultural rigidity was a form of blindness. I’m learning that my perspective isn’t the “standard”; it’s just one story among many.
Sadat: That realization is the first step toward true equality. In my business here, I apply this every day. In the village, as a “dominant” male, my word was law. But now, as a CEO and a father, I intentionally hire people from backgrounds I was once told to fear. I don’t lead by demand; I lead by listening. When a disagreement happens in my shop, I don’t see it as a challenge to my authority, but as a chance to see a blind spot I might have.
Kyea: That’s a huge shift from the “controlled” life you described. It’s like you’re replacing the old model of dominance with a model of partnership. For me, this conversation is stripping away the “us vs. them” narrative that politics often feeds us. It makes me want to advocate for a version of American culture that is more humble—one that admits we don’t have all the answers and that we can learn about resilience and community from Iraq.
Sadat: And I learn about individual agency and reinvention from you. We are both outgrowing the “old ways” of our countries. When I look at my daughter, I don’t want her to see a “victimized” woman like the one in the village; I want her to see a world where her voice is equal to mine. That is the new motivation.
Kyea: It’s a beautiful cycle. We acknowledge the violence of the past not to stay angry, but to ensure we never return to it. By choosing consideration over control, we’re essentially drafting a new contract for the next generation.
Sadat: Exactly. Peace is not the absence of disagreement; it is the presence of justice and curiosity during that disagreement. If we can do that here, in this room, then there is hope for the world outside it.
Should we conclude the interview with a final message of hope for future generations, or would you like to dive deeper into how they plan to practically implement these ideas in their local communities?
Kyea: As we wrap up, Sadat, I’m struck by how our conversation has moved from the heavy silence of a village stoning to the vibrant noise of a shared future. What is the one message of hope you want to leave for the next generation—both in Iraq and here in America?
Sadat: My hope is that they realize peace is not merely a distant goal, but the means by which we arrive at that goal. For the children in Iraq, I want them to know that while the past was written in stone and rigid tradition, the future can be written in dialogue and education. I hope they understand that they do not have to be “dominant” to be respected; they only need to be compassionate.
Kyea: And for the children here, I hope they see that diversity is a strength, and that true peace isn’t just the absence of conflict—it’s the presence of justice and equality. We must teach them early that it’s okay to disagree, but it’s never okay to dehumanize.
Sadat: Exactly. Every small action of consideration, multiplied by a generation, creates a great change. We are planting seeds today that we may never see bloom, but we plant them so our children can finally walk in a world where the power of love overcomes the love of power.
Kyea: That is a beautiful place to end. Peace begins with a single honest conversation. Thank you, Sadat, for having this one with me.
Sadat: Thank you, Kyea. Let us keep talking, it is these conversations that wisper of peace and bring me great hope for all of our futures.
