Heritage and healing in Syria and Iraq

By Zena Kamash

This book explores what to do with heritage that has been destroyed in conflict. It charts a path through the colonial histories and traumatic wars of Syria and Iraq to examine the projects and responses currently on offer and assess their flaws and limitations, including issues of digital colonialism, technological solutionism, geopolitical manoeuvring, media bias and community exclusion.

Drawing on current research into the psychology and neuroscience of trauma and trauma recovery, and taking inspiration from artists and creative thinkers who challenge the status quo, this book envisages gentler, creative and ethically-driven ways to respond to heritage damaged in conflict that recentre people and their hopes, dreams and needs at the heart of these debates.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Manchester University Press
• Release date: Jun 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9781526140852

Book preview

Heritage and healing in Syria and Iraq

Social Archaeology and Material Worlds

Founding editors: Joshua Pollard and Duncan Sayer

Series editors: Chantal Conneller, Laura McAtackney and Joshua Pollard

Social Archaeology and Material Worlds aims to forefront dynamic and cutting-edge social approaches to archaeology. It brings together volumes about past people, social and material relations and landscape as explored through an archaeological lens. Topics covered may include memory, performance, identity, gender, life course, communities, materiality, landscape and archaeological politics and ethnography. The temporal scope runs from prehistory to the recent past, while the series’ geographical scope is global. Books in this series bring innovative, interpretive approaches to important social questions within archaeology. Interdisciplinary methods which use up-to-date science, history or both, in combination with good theoretical insight, are encouraged. The series aims to publish research monographs and well-focused edited volumes that explore dynamic and complex questions, the why, how and who of archaeological research.

To buy or to find out more about the books currently available in this series, please go to: https://manchesteruniversitypress.co.uk/series/social-archaeology-and-material-worlds/

Heritage and healing in Syria and Iraq

Zena Kamash

MANCHESTER UNIVERSITY PRESS

Copyright © Zena Kamash 2024

The right of Zena Kamash to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Published by Manchester University Press

Oxford Road, Manchester, M13 9PL

www.manchesteruniversitypress.co.uk

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978 1 5261 4083 8 hardback

First published 2024

The publisher has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for any external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Cover image: Michael Rakowitz, Lamassu sculpture in Trafalgar Square. Photo: Zena Kamash

Typeset by Newgen Publishing UK

To my Uncle Tariq: may you rest in peace knowing your home is healing.

Contents

List of figures

List of tables

Acknowledgements

List of abbreviations

Glossary

1Heritage reconstruction in Syria and Iraq: an introduction

2Cultural heritage destruction in Syria and Iraq: narratives and nuance

3Knights in shining armour? Heritage reconstruction projects in Syria and Iraq

4Dismantling the master’s house? Architectural approaches to heritage reconstruction

5Rhetorical reconstruction: heritage reconstruction in the media

6From zombies to ghosts: mortality, memory and trauma

7Embracing ghosts: artistic reflections on conflict and cultural heritage in Syria and Iraq

8Laying ghosts to rest: community projects in Syria and Iraq

Primary sources

References

Index

Figures

1.1Map of the region showing key sites and places mentioned in the book.

2.1Plan of the archaeological site at Tadmor-Palmyra showing main monuments and areas mentioned in the text (base plan by M. L. Watts made available under Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication; labels added by Kamash).

3.1Numbers of heritage reconstruction projects by year (2013–21) for the three case studies: Aleppo, Mosul and Tadmor-Palmyra.

3.2The monumental arch in Tadmor-Palmyra in 2004 (photo: Kamash).

3.3View over the archaeological site of Tadmor-Palmyra from the Citadel in 2004. The monumental arch can be seen at the end of the colonnaded street at the point where the street would have turned towards the Temple of Bel complex (photo: Kamash).

3.4‘A Landscape from Palmyra’ by Fatema Khlif al-Dwesh. The collage shows Tadmor-Palmyra in winter; the tent, child and falcon represent the local Bedouin community. © UNIL-ASA, IULM, InZone, Care-Joran (image reproduced by kind permission of Patrick Michel and the Collart-Palmyre project).

5.1Numbers of news reports by year (2014–21) about heritage reconstruction projects for the three case studies: Aleppo, Mosul and Tadmor-Palmyra.

5.2Categories of detailed text analyses of articles relating to Mosul broken down by articles relating to specific projects, general articles, articles from Western media outlets and articles from non-Western media outlets.

5.3Categories of detailed text analyses of articles relating to Tadmor-Palmyra broken down by articles relating to specific projects, general articles, articles from Western media outlets and articles from non-Western media outlets.

5.4Categories of detailed text analyses of articles relating to Aleppo broken down by articles relating to specific projects, general articles, articles from Western media outlets and articles from non-Western media outlets.

7.1The Destruction of Palmyra (2017) by Deanna Petherbridge. Pen and ink on paper; triptych; each panel measures 1420 x 1220 mm (photography by Stephen White; image reproduced by kind permission of Deanna Petherbridge).

7.2Palmyra – Bel Cella (2016) by Arthur Laidlaw. Laser toner, acrylic primer and etching ink on planning paper; 840 x 590 mm (image reproduced by kind permission of Arthur Laidlaw).

7.3Michael Rakowitz’s lamassu on the Fourth Plinth in Trafalgar Square, London, UK (22 May 2018; photo: Kamash).

7.4Hatra and Mosul: a triptych (2021) by Zena Kamash. Stumpwork (raised) embroidery triptych with elements of goldwork and blackwork (photo: Kamash).

Tables

2.1Monuments deliberately destroyed by Da’esh in the city of Mosul, Iraq (data from Nováçek et al., 2021: 11–19 and chapter 2).

2.2Episodes and waves of destruction and damage at Tadmor-Palmyra from 2012 to November 2017 (data from ASOR CHI Weekly Reports and Burns 2021).

2.3Incidences of looting in pre-war Syria (c. two decades) compared with during the war (four years) (data from ASOR CHI Weekly Reports, 25 and 26 January 2015, which were derived from the Arkansas Team Damage Assessment Statistics; average numbers added by Kamash).

2.4Damage to archaeological sites by construction, military garrisons and bulldozing in pre-war Syria (c. two decades) compared with during the war (four years) (data from ASOR CHI Weekly Reports, 25 and 26 January 2015, which were derived from the Arkansas Team Damage Assessment Statistics; average numbers added by Kamash).

2.5Cumulative damage points per year in Aleppo (data from UNESCO UNITAR, 2018: 30).

2.6Total damage to historic buildings in Aleppo (2013–17) (data from UNESCO UNITAR, 2018: 31 and 135).

2.7Number and percentage of buildings damaged by different categories (data from UNESCO UNITAR, 2018: 35, 59, 85, 97 and 107).

3.1Heritage reconstruction projects analysed in this book.

3.2Examples of projects funded by the ALIPH foundation in Syria and Iraq (data from ALIPH Foundation, n.d.e).

3.3Key events in the Russian involvement in the archaeological site of Tadmor-Palmyra.

3.4Other participants mentioned in the Russian project.

3.5Activities by date for the UNESCO ‘Revive the Spirit of Mosul’ initiative, focusing on the cultural heritage strand (2018–21) (data from UNESCO, n.d.b).

3.6Donors to UNESCO projects in Iraq (2014–21) (data from UNESCO, n.d.b and UNESCO, n.d.a).

4.1Key dates for the architectural competition for al-Nuri Mosque (data from UNESCO, n.d.b).

4.2Statements about goals, aims, critical principles and building regulations across different documents and their fit with the stated evaluation criteria in the architectural competition for al-Nuri Mosque.

4.3Descriptions of how public space was configured in Mosul prior to Da’esh and now from respondents to the survey by competition entry 111/1037830260 (interpretation of positive/neutral/negative made by Kamash).

4.4Summary of the sixteen participatory guidelines given in competition entry 111/1037830260 (numbering added by Kamash).

5.1News by date across the three case studies.

5.2Frequency and range of tech terms used in titles relating to specific projects from Tadmor-Palmyra and Mosul.

8.1Collated responses to the Aleppo Project survey question: ‘What should be the most protected attractions to preserve Aleppo’s heritage?’ (92 respondents provided 141 suggestions).

8.2Collated responses to the Aleppo Project survey question: ‘What are the most important buildings that should be rebuilt first?’ (91 respondents provided 125 suggestions).

8.3Collated responses to the Aleppo Project survey question: ‘What is the most spiritual place for you in Aleppo?’ (1,023 respondents).

Acknowledgements

This book has been shaped in numerous ways by numerous people. I thank the medical team who have held me together over the period this book was written, in particular Catherine Benson, Sharyn Hyde and Sharron Drain-Lowe. Audiences at numerous conferences and seminars have heard parts of the arguments as they were in development and I thank all of them for questions and discussions that have helped to hone my thinking. As well as my family, who offer unwavering support, friends and colleagues provided good counsel as I worked my way through some of the trickier parts of this book, notably: the women of the One Woman Band Club, especially Meg Kissack and Regina Swinford, Jen Baird, Lizzie Brophy, Liz Gloyn, Aditi Nafde, Lucia Nixon, Rubina Raja, Eleanor Robson, Sarah Stansbie and James Went. The editors at Manchester University Press – Meredith Carroll and then Alun Richards – have had unending patience, for which I am grateful. Finally, I would achieve nothing without my husband, Pete Banks.

Abbreviations

Glossary

Arabic art and architectural terms

Other Arabic words

1

Heritage reconstruction in Syria and Iraq: an introduction

Place: the former Martyr’s Square

Time: Sunday, April 26, 1992.

We are inside a car lurching through the Beirut dawn, climbing the trenches toward Martyr’s Square. We turn the radio on to chants of the Easter mass: ‘Hark, ignite a flame from the light that does not go out.’ The sound vanishes into the resounding implosion.

We enter the Square but do not find the Square.

The roar of bulldozers drowns out the faint moan of stone buildings pulverized by dynamite. Like a man taking a bullet in his spine, a building buckles before collapsing in a rumble surrounded by the void. The drone of silence. Dust rises to cover faces and hands. The bulldozer mounts the debris, and the moaning of things dying begins.¹

You might think these words describe a scene from a war. They do not. These words were written by Lebanese novelist Elias Khoury in May 1992, two years after the end of the civil war in Lebanon. They describe not war, but instead the pain and destruction that happened in the name of reconstruction after the war. This book explores a similar context that countries in the Middle East, this time Syria and Iraq, find themselves in thirty years later in 2022. In particular, I am asking: what should we do with heritage destroyed in conflict? My basic answer is to let Syrian and Iraqi people decide, but, as this book will show, that is not as simple as it first appears. This book is an explanation of that simple-seeming response. It travels across our colonial past and into the trauma of war and how we recover.

In this Introduction, I explain why I have written this book, and my writing process, and give an overview of the rest of the book. I also briefly define some terms relating to heritage reconstruction and how I use them in this book. I then move on to reflect on my positionality on key themes that run through the book regarding who heritage reconstruction is for, the limits of heritage reconstruction, heritage preservation and consensus-seeking. I feel this self-reflection is important for readers to understand how and why I make the arguments I do and to demonstrate that I am conscious of where my own biases might lie. I end this chapter with an overview of the histories of colonialism, Orientalism and nationalism as they relate to cultural heritage in Syria and Iraq. This will help readers who are less familiar with this wider context to situate the themes of the rest of the book.

Writing heritage reconstruction in Syria and Iraq

In this section I reflect on my motivations for writing this book and explain some of my – admittedly unconventional – writing methods that derive from the therapeutic nature of this book. I then briefly outline the major themes of the book and discuss some of the ways in which I understand the varied terminology that is used to discuss reconstruction of heritage destroyed during conflict.

Why, then, have I written this book? So many reasons! One of the biggest reasons (other than that I was invited to do so by Manchester University Press) is that this is my own process of catharsis and healing. I am British Iraqi. I have lived with PTSD for many years, which ebbs and flows in its severity. One of my biggest PTSD triggers is conflict in Iraq, which has been the background to most of my life. This is a fact which is true of anyone born with an Iraqi background from at least the late 1970s onwards, with the rise of Saddam Hussein, the Iran–Iraq War and the First and Second Gulf Wars. In the case of the most recent conflict in Iraq – the rise of, and subsequent liberation from, Da’esh (also known as ISIS, ISIL, IS and Islamic State) from 2014 until 2017 – there has also been another layer of trauma for me that centres around the treatment of heritage during and after conflict and, in particular, the numerous competing claims to that heritage: who protects it, who can rebuild it, who makes those choices, whose stories are told through those choices. Some of the events surrounding these claims, counterclaims, propositions and decisions have had very negative effects on me, causing me a range of negative emotions that have been difficult to process: sadness, rage, hopelessness, powerlessness, confusion, despair, to name a few. Some of the processing of these emotions has taken place in therapy; I will always be deeply grateful to the therapists and medical professionals who have supported that part of my recovery. Other parts of that recovery have taken place and are taking place in the pages of this book, in the numerous notebooks that went into it and the talks I have given on the subject. As a consequence, this has not been an easy book to write and has, to some extent, happened in fits and starts, with one large break in 2020 when I had a severe PTSD relapse and needed to take time away from the world for nearly a year. In the way of minds, though, thinking was still taking place, including me realising that this book was not only about healing in a more general sense, but also about my own personal healing; and here I need to thank Sharron Drain-Lowe, in particular, for helping me to reach that realisation during our therapy sessions.

So, why else am I writing this book? When I was initially approached by Meredith Carroll from Manchester University Press, I knew almost instantly that it was my duty to write this book. This felt like a heavy burden to bear, but it was one that I felt compelled to shoulder. There are very few archaeologists with my personal background (indeed, I know of no other British Iraqi archaeologists) and, therefore, very few other people who bring my rather unique perspective. Dacia Viejo-Rose, who views herself as both an insider and outsider in her research into Spain after the civil war, has called this being an ‘objective partisan’ (Viejo-Rose, 2011: xxi). It puts me in an unusual position of being both a trained specialist and a person with lived experience, of being both local and not local, Western and Middle Eastern. Indeed, these are other reasons why this book is one of personal catharsis and healing as it has necessarily forced me to confront this mixed identity, which gives me opportunities such as placing me uniquely to write this book, but it is also often difficult water to navigate. Afua Hirsch has captured this beautifully:

At its best, living with multiple heritage is an asset. It’s a bit like being multilingual. But if speaking languages allows you to swim expertly, expanding the surface of the ocean you can navigate, having multiple cultural identities offers the possibility of full-body immersion, deep-sea diving; an experience that is difficult to pin down, that feels mystical and profound. That’s the best case scenario. But at its worst, having multiple identities can feel like being helplessly adrift, unable to embrace the beauty in any one place, fearful of the water, awkward on land.

(Hirsch, 2018: 137)

One of the anxieties of this sense of duty has been that I might not sufficiently represent the voices of the people of Syria and Iraq. As one of the central tenets of this book is that there is neither a single story nor a single set of experiences, I want to make it clear that I am telling my story here, but it may not be the same story as that of other people from the region. Where I can, I include the voices and views of other people from Syria and Iraq. The possibility of finding a single consensus within this multitude of voices, backgrounds and experiences is nearly impossible, as I discuss at various points throughout the book, so I also write this book as an invitation for other people to share their thoughts in response to mine.

This book has developed since 2018 following the aftermath of Da’esh in Iraq and the waning, though still ongoing at the time of writing, civil war in Syria. Parts of it have been written as talks delivered to a range of audiences, not all of whom have received it kindly. Quite large sections have been written using a mindful journaling technique, setting myself a prompt and then writing freely in response, in a sense an interview with myself and part of the healing process I have just discussed. Of course, much editing and redrafting has also happened to reach the version you are reading today. My hope is that these methods will give you the sense that I am speaking directly to you. I want this book to be the opening of a dialogue, rather than a full-stop conclusion. As such, at the end of each chapter I invite readers to engage in a reflective process for which I have provided some prompts. I hope readers will find this productive in thinking through these issues both on their own and, potentially, also in groups.

As mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, this book is my working-through of the question: what do we do with heritage destroyed and damaged in conflict? It is situated in the contexts of Syria and Iraq with a particular focus on the damage to cultural heritage felt by the people of those countries in the period following 2011, which marks the beginning of the civil war in Syria. I look at three case studies in detail throughout the book: Mosul (Iraq), Aleppo (Syria) and Tadmor-Palmyra (Syria) (Figure 1.1). All three places have experienced significant damage and destruction since 2011, yet each also has its own trajectories, in terms of both the context of the destruction experienced and the solutions proposed from various quarters.

Figure 1.1 Map of the region showing key sites and places mentioned in the book.

The first part of the book (Chapters 2 to 5) lays out the problem as I see it. These chapters focus primarily on built heritage as this has been the main thrust of Western responses to heritage reconstruction; as we will see, this narrow focus is also part of the problem. In Chapter 2 I begin to draw out the distinctive stories of the three main case studies. As well as looking at how narratives of destruction and change have developed relating to the deeper past, this chapter also explores the destruction wreaked since 2011. Chapters 3 and 4 look at a selection of the projects and initiatives that have been proposed by international agencies and institutions as reconstruction solutions. I group these into various categories, across which there are, of course, overlaps: the technological solutionists, like the Institute for Digital Archaeology; state actors, in particular Russia; philanthrophic and religious foundations; and UNESCO, especially the competition to rebuild al-Nuri Mosque in Mosul. I explore the biases and flaws inherent in many of these projects with a focus on the tendency towards digital colonialism and ‘white saviour’ attitudes. Chapter 5 goes on to analyse how these projects manifested in the Western media and to examine the biases towards particular places, especially Tadmor-Palmyra. I explore how the media has manipulated narratives around cultural heritage destruction and the subsequent proposals for heritage reconstruction which often sideline and ignore the people most affected.

In the second part of the book (Chapters 6 to 8), I transition into thinking about alternative solutions that centre more firmly on the people of Syria and Iraq. This sees our discussion shift outwards from built heritage to incorporate different, more creative conceptions of heritage that embrace, for example, ‘dark’ and ‘intangible’ heritages. In Chapter 6 I explore why we might have the knee-jerk reconstruction response explored in the previous chapters and employ metaphors of zombies and ghosts to begin turning our attention to where healing might lie. I use psychological and neuroscientific analyses of the differences between narrative and traumatic memory to put forward my proposition for creative, flexible, multifaceted approaches to reconstruction that fit better with what we know about effective approaches to trauma recovery. In Chapters 7 and 8 I look at a range of case studies of this working in practice. Chapter 7 explores the role of artistic practice, principally through the work of Deanna Petherbridge, Arthur Laidlaw, Michael Rakowitz and Morehshin Allahyari, as well as a brief reflection on my own textile art practice. In numerous ways, the work of these artists presents strong and significant critiques to the accepted modes of heritage reconstruction, as well as opening up spaces for nuanced thinking about heritage in its widest senses. Reflecting on these works gives us the pause we need to start envisaging different, more compassionate futures. In Chapter 8 I explore some of the quiet voices of community-based projects that are also trying to find ways to reach these futures and to shift the focus away from cultural heritage in and for itself to the functions it can play in society, especially healing communities, promoting wellbeing and finding routes to collective efficacy and hope. The projects I examine here all have the agency of frequently unheard and disenfranchised people at their centre, but also take slightly different approaches, reminding us that one solution will not fit all. I end this chapter, and the book, with a set of guiding principles for healing through heritage.

Definitions and terminology

Lots of different words are used to describe the activities and efforts that I will be exploring in this book under the broad heading of ‘heritage reconstruction’, which is my catch-all term for all these other words. This variety of terms can be a little confusing, so it is worth spending some time on them here. These words are often used interchangeably, but there are nuances that I feel can be drawn out usefully. My way of thinking about these terms is that each is subtly different from the original object and from the other types according to its distance from the original object in form and materials, in where it exists (real or virtual) and in its intent and function, which I will try to bring out in these short definitions below. As you will see, some are extremely similar and others further apart. These definitions are not necessarily how other people use these terms, but they are my interpretation of these terms and reflect the ways in which I use them in this book.

Reconstruction. A reconstruction implies to me that very little of the original object or building remains in this version. It is almost entirely new, but mimics the design of the original. The aim of making a reconstruction is to result in something that looks and potentially feels as similar to the original as possible. Reconstructions can exist in both the virtual and real worlds. In real-world versions, reconstructions often try to use similar materials to the original. There is limited scope for creativity and imagination in a reconstruction. The function of a reconstruction is to show how something would have looked at a particular point in the past.

Rebuilding. I use this to mean a structure or object that may have suffered damage, but of which enough remains that it may be put back together again. The technical term for this is anastylosis. The remaining architectural pieces are rebuilt into a standing building, usually, but not always, in the same location as the original. The process is done in such a way that the rebuilt building is thought to reflect the architectural design of the original. This means that part of the process of rebuilding may include the making of reconstructions to model potential rebuilds. Rebuilding can only take place and exist in the real world. Both ‘reconstruction’ and ‘rebuilding’ can also be used in a wider sense to refer to the renewal of the non-heritage built environment, for example, hospitals, schools, homes and transport infrastructure, following conflict or a natural disaster. Hopefully, context will make it clear when this alternative meaning is being utilised in this book. There are also other blurred lines, where it is not clear whether something is a reconstruction or a rebuild or some hybrid of the two. In 1968, for example, the McCulloch Oil Company bought London Bridge and either rebuilt or reconstructed it in the Arizona Desert; some parts of the original bridge were moved and rebuilt, but this was only a tenth of the original bridge and was used as cladding for a new base made in situ in Arizona using modern materials.

Restoration. The act of restoration involves the repair of an existing object or building and returning it (close) to its original condition. A painting, for example, might be restored by removing layers of later varnish and applying glue and paint to any areas of damage. The end result is a building or object that has been stripped back to how it looked at a particular point in time, potentially with new materials added to complete that look.

Resurrection. This is a rather different term, but I include it here because it is used regularly in popular speech to describe reconstruction and rebuilding efforts. Whereas ‘rebuilding’ and ‘reconstruction’ can also be used to refer to the wider built environment, ‘resurrection’ is almost exclusively reserved for heritage buildings. It does not necessarily refer to the process itself and so can either be reconstruction or rebuilding. Rather, it seems to set up an ideological framing for these activities. This term is problematic to me for two main reasons. First, it implies heavily that the original building has died and is being brought back to life through the process of rebuilding or reconstruction. Second, there are strongly religious overtones to this term, which I feel are not always wholly appropriate. These are particularly emotive for Christian believers and could be a means for cultural appropriation.

Recreation (or re-creation). This is my preferred mode of action. What I like about recreation is precisely the creativity that it embodies. It neither implies mimicry of the original nor requires the use of similar or original materials. Like a reconstruction, it can exist in both the real and virtual worlds, but it possesses a flexible power that moves far beyond a reconstruction. It is the stuff of essences, rather than of slavish copying, akin to jazz improvisation. It allows for the telling of more than one story and so may be better placed to handle contexts, like those we will look at in this book, where manifold experiences mean that a single story will not suffice.

Copy. Like a reconstruction, a copy implies mimicry of the original. It may even use an original for a mould from which it replicates. This feels like a more honest term than ‘reconstruction’; it does not try to hide the fact that it is second-hand. In my mind, a copy is often life-sized or close to life-sized and exists in the real world.

(Digital) model. Again, this lives in a similar world to reconstructions. Like copies, models are honest about their nature. Models have existed for centuries and often miniaturise the original. They need not be in the same or similar materials to the original, for example, there are long traditions of model-making in clay, cork and matchsticks. Although the expectation of a model is that it will mimic the appearance of the original, there is the potential for more malleability, flexibility and so creativity in a model. While models have traditionally been physical and often hand-made, they now increasingly exist in the virtual world, where they are often referred to as ‘digital’ or ‘3D’ models.

Replica. Replicas belong in a similar definitional space to copies and models. They are intended to be similar in form to the original, though may differ in size and materials. When I think of a ‘replica’, I imagine an object that exists in the real world, often as something that one might buy in a museum giftshop.

Reconstruction drawing. This book does not deal with this type directly, but some of the creative approaches we look at in Chapters 7 and 8 bring a flavour of this. A reconstruction drawing feels rather different to the kind of built reconstruction described above. First, there is no expectation that the material of the end product itself will be the same or similar to the original; it will be a drawing on paper or on a screen. Of course, what is drawn is expected to resemble the original and so in this way is more limited than a recreation. Like a recreation, however, there is plenty of scope for imagination, as a reconstruction drawing is often used to capture the feel of the past and so can include people, animals and plants that enrich the scene and bring it to life (though not in the sense of ‘resurrection’ discussed above). We could potentially see reconstruction drawings extending into genres like graphic novels and historical films. Historical fiction could also, in a way, belong in this area as some kind of written reconstruction drawing.

On spellings and Arabic terms

There are numerous ways to transliterate Arabic into English, which means that names of people, places and things often have different spellings; for example, al-Nuri Mosque in Mosul can also be written