Qash’ish’ta, Mak’ri’zan’ta, Rab’ban’ta, M’sham’sha’ni’ta.
Sha’mash’ta.
These are the names my mother gave me.
Among the role of women in Assyria is the role of the priestess.
The priestess devotes her life to the temple. She is a guide, an oracle, a ritualist – and a political strategist. She creates community. She leads public discourse.
A priestess is tasked with direct communion with nature and the divine.
A high priestess in old times was appointed by Kings and Queens and was often from the royal family herself. High priestesses were confidantes of the royal houses in Assyria, often advising on matters of public policy and military strategy. This tradition of sovereigns having a team of oracles and diviners has been continued into modernity, most notably by the British monarch, Queen Elizabeth I and Tsar Nicholas of Russia.
A priestess may have honoured one deity or several. She would have managed a large temple community tasked with training priestesses, making offerings, scribing copies of ancient scriptures, offering guidance to seekers and even, in Ishtar’s temples, baking bread and brewing beer.
Assyrian women were accountants and traders. There is written evidence of the Assyrian businesswoman Ahaha managing the economics of trade in her home town of Ashur.
The political power of the Assyrian priestess lay with conducting large scale festivals and rituals, usually connected to astrological events. As the seasons turned, Assyrian Priestesses led private and public ceremonies to ensure the wellbeing of nature and people. These ceremonies were always accompanied by written hymns or other incantations for prosperity in the land. These narratives were highly influential and often built powerful careers for Priestesses.
Tending to Assyrian Trauma
For modern Assyrian people, being displaced from our ancestral territories is a wound we gracefully tend to. A wound that is still trying to heal. The archetype of the priestess as healer is strong in our people and medicine women still tend to the community free of charge.
Growing up Assyrian, I was privileged to hear my ancestral language spoken. I was sent to a community school to learn how to read and write surit. I grew up eating Assyrian cultural food, witnessing Assyrian cultural practices, and dancing to traditional drums alongside my community at large-scale festival events. I have experienced first-hand Assyrian Indigenous healing practices by an elder from my tribe whom we sadly lost just this year.
In one generation, I have witnessed so many of these cultural practices cease to be practiced. In one generation, Assyrian kids can no longer locate our territories on a map.
Growing up Assyrian in non-dominant cultures comes with a price. Assyrians are unrecognised as the sovereigns of our territories. We have held tightly to our cultural practices nevertheless, often in perilous and extreme conditions. We face not only every day, ‘casual’ racism, but systemic injustices and actual, physical erasure from our country.
This displacement off ancestral territories, coupled with planned and systemic methods to ensure our culture vanishes – are just some ways of how colonialism attempts to get rid of us. Since 2015 we have found ourselves for the first time in history dwelling with more of us off our territories, than on. Most of our labour is geared towards land-rights and supporting refugees. We now find ourselves in the final frontier – cultural reproduction.
Palestinian scholar, the late Edward Said called the domination experienced by those in the SWANA region as cultural imperialism. Cultural imperialism goes one step further than political control, legal dominance and mining the land for resources for foreign consumption. Cultural imperialism is the process whereby Indigenous communities become represented by others – most often ‘experts’ such as academics, scientists, anthropologists and those who have never asked us for consent to represent our cultural stories. In the case of the Assyrians, cultural artefacts have been excavated and live in European museums and entire schools of thought are controlled by non-Assyrian people ironically called “Assyriologists.”
The impact of this cultural erasure for me was that I grew up with a fragmented sense of my own identity. I played out this trauma in various ways. I still struggle with making firm decisions and trusting my own voice. I sometimes feel like I’m an imposter, like I ‘should have’ a PhD before I am allowed to speak.
I also experience the high cost of the emotional fatigue from the labour of always trying to piece the puzzle together. When you are erased from the maps and the history books, the question “Who am I and where do I come from?” becomes a near-impossible task.
Decolonising the Priestess Path
In the year 2019 I created the Assyrian Priestess project online dedicated to my ancestors. I wanted to be part of creating cultural representations of the goddess Ishtar as an Assyrian woman.
So much of the Assyrian goddess Ishtar has been re-presented from a western, academic lens. I wanted to consciously create spaces that were not academic in nature (although still thoroughly researched.) I wanted to embody Ishtar as a part of living Assyrian culture.
The Assyrian goddess Ishtar beckons to be understood from an Indigenous, decolonial context. Ishtar’s sovereignty is not separate from First Nations people’s sovereignty, and I encourage you to begin to understand her in this way. Not just for Assyrians, but for all First Nations cultures grappling with survival across the world.
Meet Mago Contributor Annukina Warda