The leadership of the National Union at the College of Science was among the most aggressive and ill-mannered, and most students harbored intense hatred for the Ba'athists. My enmity with them was not born of the moment but extended its roots to the comprehensive student strike in 1967/1968, that strike that erupted primarily in protest against the "University of Baghdad Law," which students and professors at the time considered restrictive of academic and student freedoms, and it quickly evolved to become a central conflict over democratic freedoms and student unionism.
I was then at the heart of the strike leadership at the College of Science, a strike that was essentially a show of strength by the leftist opposition political forces against the regime before the final rise of the Ba'athists in 1968. I remember well how the Ba'athists were divided then, with a "leftist" faction supporting the strike and a "rightist" one against it, and many of the Ba'athist leaders were among the students I faced with firmness.
My memory is crowded with images of student strikes that ignited the corridors of the College of Science. At that time, we were as one bloc, linking night with day to insist to our colleagues on boycotting lecture halls, filling bulletin boards with slogans reflecting our aspirations and rejection of reality.
In those days, the Ba'athist leadership—including Saddam Hussein and Jaafar Al-Barzanji—would storm the college daily with arrogance, beginning by tearing down our posters and not stopping there but unleashing a barrage of insults and provocations. In a moment of anger and determination, we decided not to stand idly by and resolved to teach them a lesson they would not forget.
We surrounded them at the college entrance as soon as they began tearing down the slogans. Determination filled our hearts, but the scene suddenly veered when one of them pulled out a pistol and fired a shot into the air—a bang that deafened the ears and frightened the crowd, so we retreated to let them leave.
However, what happened next was not in the calculations, and perhaps the most terrifying and astonishing scene in my entire journey occurred: as the "Ba'athists" were about to leave, one of our colleagues followed them with unexpected boldness to the outer door. Before they exited, he drew a pistol he had carefully concealed and aimed it directly at them.
I was standing there, a living witness to that pivotal moment, staring in utter disbelief at what my eyes were seeing... but fate had other plans, as the pistol "jammed" and stopped working in that critical second.
The truth is that we never knew he was carrying a weapon; we were peace-loving students who believed only in words and stance. I later learned that the pistol was an old "rusty" piece he had taken from home without his father's knowledge, to face a fate that would have changed the course of the strike had the bullet been fired.
The Ba'athists, including Saddam, left safely without anyone noticing what had happened in that commotion. This incident remained locked in my chest for many years and remained etched in my consciousness as a witness to the violence of that era. I often wonder: if that bullet had been fired, how would the course of history have changed?
My memory still retains that violent confrontation during the strike, when a battle with chairs broke out between us and the Ba'athists at the college club—a stark expression of the intensity of polarization in those days. That incident and others were among the reasons for the accumulation of thick files against me in security departments, which later made the person responsible for the student affairs office at the Revolutionary Command Council stand as an obstacle to my scientific ambition and prevent my scholarship for years, taking revenge for my activity during the strike days and my stances that did not please them.
I suffered for years with no horizon for a scholarship, and scholarships to Egypt and Bulgaria were offered to me and I refused them, believing that my scientific entitlement was America or Britain.
In 1973, with the announcement of the "National and Progressive Patriotic Front," remnants of scholarships appeared. I applied and was accepted for a scholarship to France, but I did not have an acceptance for study there. I tried to change the destination to America, but they refused with the excuse that "America is our enemy," even though I saw my Ba'athist colleagues leaving for it openly!
The turning point was in a session at the college attended by the party representative for the university, who began boasting about obtaining a scholarship to America. At this point, Dr. Abbas Ahmed Al-Saleh intervened forcefully, saying: "You don't deserve America... America is only for distinguished individuals like Mohamed Ali." Jealousy flared in the party representative's heart, and he decided to take me to the Scholarship Department. After deliberations with the director, he came out to say: "He has been convinced to change the destination, but it is not America—it is Britain." Although it was not my first choice, I was very happy.
I rushed to prepare my scientific papers, and all I lacked was a passport. At the Passport Department, they referred me to "Security," where I met an officer who seemed kind and as if he knew my family. He looked at thick files in front of him regarding my security activity and asked me: "What did you do, my son, to get all these reports?" I feigned innocence and convinced him that I was a peaceful scientific person whose only concern was serving my country. The officer made a brave decision to approve my travel, taking responsibility upon himself.
Upon returning to the Passport Department, and to avoid Ba'athist surveillance of me abroad, I made a naive but necessary move—I chose the surname "Al-Rubeai" instead of "Al-Mayahy." Al-Rubeai is the name of the larger clan of Al-Mayahy. So my name became Mohamed Al-Rubeai instead of Mohamed Ali Fadhel Al-Mayahy, and my journey toward the scientific future began.