Sat at home, a notification came through with a beep. The video my eyes would lay upon would offset memories I had long suppressed.
With a swipe I open my messages to find the video that a friend in Baghdad had sent.
The content was expectedly violent. Iraqi police jeering as they beat a shopkeeper of a clothes store in Baghdad’s Karrada district.
He was of a similar age to my brother, early twenties, whose unlawful arrest was the final straw that forced me to flee Iraq and never look back.