One February evening, in Baghdad’s Green Zone, I found myself ransacking an Iraqi MP’s wardrobe. She had looked me up and down, considering my skirt suit and heels. “You have to dress modestly,” she said, “to meet the Islamic State women.”
It was 2019, and so far my career had revolved around mostly failed efforts to help stabilise Iraq, including attempts to influence US Iraq policy from Washington thinktanks and convening high-profile Iraqi leaders in various absurd peace processes. I had grown up half-Iraqi in the UK during the invasion of Iraq – and I felt duty-bound to help my motherland.
