Iraq’s young voters ponder how to effect meaningful change

As election day unfolds Sunday, many young Iraqis still feel alienated from the political process and skeptical about meaningful change happening via the ballot box. (AFP/File Photo)
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Updated 10 October 2021
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Iraq’s young voters ponder how to effect meaningful change

  • Young people want change but are unsure whether existing political order can meet their needs
  • They took to the streets in large numbers in 2019 demanding the removal of the post-2003 elite

BAGHDAD, Iraq / BOGOTA, Colombia: Eighteen years since the US-led invasion of Iraq toppled the Baathist dictatorship of Saddam Hussein, a whole generation has come of age knowing only the system of parliamentary democracy built in its place.

But as election day unfolds today, many young Iraqis still feel alienated from the political process and skeptical about meaningful change happening via the ballot box.

In 2003, as part of its de-Baathification strategy, the Coalition Provisional Authority teamed up with Iraqi oppositionists, many of whom had spent decades in exile, to build the vital institutions of state almost from scratch.

However, the system they built, modeled on the West’s own time-honored institutions, was alien to many Iraqis who had for centuries conducted their affairs along tribal and religious lines and were divided along sectarian lines.

Mourtatha Al-Makhsousi, a 27-year-old unemployed graduate from the eastern Iraqi city of Kut, told Arab News: “In 2003, the Iraqi opposition was working to change the regime, but they did not address it well and they failed to analyze the consequences of the changes. As a result, we have a fragile system here.

“Here in Iraq people did not know about democracy and parliamentary systems. Moreover, we are a tribal and religious community with social contradictions that cannot be controlled by a parliamentary system.

“Therefore, it required a religious appeal in the Iraqi constitution and parliament for people to vote. I suppose a majority of Iraqis still do not know how it works or how power is distributed.”

Foreign powers, armed groups, and corrupt individuals soon took advantage of the situation and the billions of dollars in aid money lavished on the country, fashioning a system that was, for the most part, democratic in name only.




Iraqis chant slogans as they rally at Fardous square in central Baghdad, on October 1, 2021, demanding justice for demonstrators killed during the October 2020 anti-government protests, ahead of the October 10 parliamentary elections. (AFP)

Rana, a 24-year-old law graduate, also from Kut, said: “We were told there would be democracy and change. On the contrary. We had one corrupt face; now we have many corrupt faces.

“Since the invasion and until now, we have not seen real change. It is like a mafia controlling the government. They are just a group of gangsters working for their own interests, from the 2003 government until the current one.”

Former Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri Al-Maliki’s State of Law coalition, which maintained close ties with Iran, came to dominate national affairs in the years after 2003, leaving Iraq’s once pre-eminent Sunni minority and long-persecuted Kurds feeling excluded.


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A sectarian civil war soon enveloped the country from 2006 to 2008, followed in 2014 by the emergence of Daesh, an Al-Qaeda splinter group that went on to conquer a third of Iraq’s territory in the predominantly Sunni northwest.

Once the Iraqi security forces had reclaimed these territories in 2017 with extensive coalition air support, the country set about the gargantuan task of reconstruction and resettling millions of displaced households.

The May 2018 election was post-war Iraq’s first democratic test. But with a record low turnout, and widespread allegations of fraud, Shiite militia leaders moved almost seamlessly from the battlefields into the corridors of power, together with the followers of firebrand Shiite cleric Muqtada Al-Sadr.

And, after months of back-room wrangling, the victors chose the mild-mannered technocrat Adel Abdul-Mahdi to form a new government.

However, slow progress on reconstruction and resettlement, rising unemployment, and rolling power outages soon stoked public anger and, by October 2019, tens of thousands of young Iraqis had taken to the streets nationwide demanding the removal of the post-2003 elite.

A violent crackdown by security forces and pro-government militias left hundreds of protesters dead and thousands injured. Although it eventually secured Abdul-Mahdi’s resignation, the movement soon fizzled out with the onset of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19) pandemic.




A youth draped in an Iraqi national flag flashes the victory gesture while standing before a statue of 19th century Iraqi cleric and poet Mohamed Said Al-Habboubi. (AFP/File Photo)

Rana added: “During the occupation period, people could not speak up and instead bottled up their frustrations. The grievances accumulated over the years until people could no longer hold it in. They came out on the streets in anger over the lack of services, reconstruction, security, and other injustices.

“The Iraqi youth became aware and more educated, so they came out with the revolution of October 2019. They stood against injustice and asked for the rights that have been stolen under the cover of democracy and by Islamic political parties.”

In May 2020, Mustafa Al-Kadhimi, Iraq’s former intelligence chief, was appointed the new prime minister for the period until the national elections scheduled for the following year.

Without a clearly defined political leadership heading the movement, Iraq’s young protesters were not able to translate their energy and idealism into an electoral force capable of making their demands a reality.




Children play in front of a large poster of Iraq's populist Shiite cleric Moqtada Sadr, in Sadr City, east of the capital Baghdad, on July 15, 2021. (AFP/File Photo)

The handful of young revolutionaries who have chosen to run as independent candidates in the Oct. 10 election stand little chance of success against the well-oiled machinery of Iraq’s establishment parties.

Zahraa Ali, a 31-year-old freelance journalist from Fallujah in western Iraq, said: “It is not easy to be involved in the democratic process here in Iraq. If you are, you will face many issues.

“If you participate in the election, they will definitely create an issue for you. The political leaders and parties that rule Iraq treat it like a dictatorship. They are imposing their will on us.”

Ali and other local activists have organized workshops to help educate Iraqis of voting age on the democratic process, their rights, and what is at stake in Sunday’s election. “In terms of change and development, it can only be achieved by Iraq’s young people,” she added.

Nevertheless, few among Iraq’s youth hold out much hope of dislodging the post-2003 order and its powerful militia-backed parties any time soon.

Zainab Jabar, a 24-year-old unemployed graduate from Basra, said: “I boycotted the last election, and I will not participate in this one either. We already know the result, so what is the point of taking part?”




Officials of Iraq's electoral commission undergo a polling day simulation to test run its systems ahead of the upcoming parliamentary elections. (AFP/File Photo)

Jabar was among the thousands of young people who joined the protests in Iraq’s southern city of Basra in 2019. Despite its huge oil riches, Basra remains one of Iraq’s most deprived provinces, blighted by crime, poverty, and decaying infrastructure.

“We will need 50 to 100 years to change and remove the powerful political parties in Iraq. We want the change that we demanded in our revolution in October 2019. It did not happen as we hoped,” Jabar added.

Karar Al-Duaikheil, a law student from Basra, said: “Basra is the worst city in Iraq. It is dead in terms of services, construction, education, and employment, and there are militias and uncontrolled weapons on the streets. Moreover, it suffers from killings, kidnappings, threats, and arbitrary arrests.

“Unfortunately, Basra residents do not choose the candidates they want but the ones chosen by Al-Maliki, Al-Sadr, Ammar (Al-Hakim) and other political players. None of them are clean or good people.

“In addition, tribal leaders play a significant role here. They are getting stronger, with more weapons and money. Young people do not want to select a candidate who works for his party rather than for Basra.”

Al-Makhsousi pointed out that it would take time for Iraq’s democracy to fully mature and meet the needs and expectations of its young voters.




A campaign poster is seen in the Iraqi capital Baghdad on September 14, 2021, ahead of the upcoming parliamentary elections. (AFP/File Photo)

“We need more time to shape this democracy with our culture and community. We are still learning. This democracy divided us into states, regions, neighborhoods, and groups in our country.

“Wherever you go, you need a special security permit. It feels like you are not in your own country. It is as if you do not belong to it. We do not have an Iraqi nation.

“We boycotted the election in 2018. The result was very bad, and we had a regime without anything. For the upcoming election, I will be participating in order to change something, step by step.”

To this end, young people such as Al-Makhsousi have the full backing of the prime minister. In a recent tweet, Al-Kadhimi said: “Iraq counts on its youth for reform. With their persistence on a better future, the elections will be a true national triumph.

“Vote for those who preserve Iraq’s unity, sovereignty, and unique national identity. Oct. 10 is the opportunity for change.”


‘People are suffering in a way you can’t even imagine’: Al Arabiya journalist recounts Sudan devastation

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‘People are suffering in a way you can’t even imagine’: Al Arabiya journalist recounts Sudan devastation

  • Al Arabiya anchor Layal Alekhtiar’s journey through Sudan exposes the brutal reality behind the headlines
  • Millions are displaced, aid deliveries blocked, and camps are filled with traumatized women and children

RIYADH: Al Arabiya anchor Layal Alekhtiar arrived in Sudan expecting to interview the de facto president. What she encountered along the way, over six harrowing days on the ground, reshaped her understanding of violence, survival, and the limits of language itself.

Speaking to Arab News after her return, Alekhtiar described what she witnessed not as collateral damage or the fog of war, but as something far more deliberate and systematic: a “gender-ethnic genocide.”

What she saw was a campaign of targeted killings of men and the mass rape of women that has shattered entire communities and displaced millions. “People are suffering, suffering in a way you cannot imagine,” Alekhtiar told Arab News.

“Firstly, I am speaking about the displaced people in the refugee camps. Fifty percent of the women who had arrived there had been raped. These are the women I encountered in the camps.

“For them (the militias), this is something they have to do to the women before allowing them to exit the war zone that they are in.

“Some of the women are much older, some of them are young girls, very young girls, 13, 14, 15, 16, and they have children who they don’t even know who the father is because they were raped by three or four, multiple masked men.”

Since the conflict erupted in April 2023, the civil war in Sudan — driven by a power struggle between the Sudanese Armed Forces and the Rapid Support Forces — has displaced millions and left a trail of murder and sexual violence in its wake.

Alekhtiar does not believe placing further sanctions on Sudan is necessarily the solution. (Supplied)

Men are killed before reaching aid sites while women and girls are often raped so violently they require surgery. Mothers are found dead, still clutching their children. Pregnancies from gang rape are widespread.

This was not abstract reporting for Alekhtiar. It was what she saw.

She travelled to Port Sudan on Dec. 2 to interview Abdel Fattah Al-Burhan, the head of the Sudanese Armed Forces and Sudan’s de facto president.

However, at the request of his office, the interview was to take place in Khartoum — a city without functioning airport infrastructure and retaken from the RSF only in March.

With a small team — a videographer, producer and driver — Alekhtiar undertook the gruelling 12-hour drive from Port Sudan to the capital.

“Looking from one area to another area, you see the difference, you see the depression, you see it on the faces, you see it on the street, you see it everywhere, and you see the effect of the war,” she said.

The destruction was physical as well as psychological. “We saw so many cars and even RSF trucks that were scorched and burned on the side of the road.”

What unsettled her most was not only the scale of the devastation, but the fact that it was inflicted by Sudanese on Sudanese.

“What I have heard from them, there is no way someone can be a human being and can do that. No way. It’s impossible,” she said.

“And the way the city, the way Khartoum is destroyed, no way a person in their own country would do something like this. It’s crazy.”

Along the journey, Alekhtiar spoke to locals wherever she could, asking what they wanted from a war that had consumed their lives.

“They don’t want war. Definitely, they want peace. All of them want that. But at the same time they will not accept being under the leadership of the RSF. For them, there’s no way. And this is something I have heard from all of the people I have spoken to. I did not hear otherwise.”

From outside Sudan, the conflict is often reduced to brief news alerts. Alekhtiar says those accounts fall far short. When asked whether the coverage reflects reality on the ground, she replied without hesitation: “No, not at all, not at all.”

Nearly everyone she met had lost everything — homes destroyed, savings wiped out when banks were looted and burned. According to UNHCR, nearly 13 million people have been forced from their homes, including 8.6 million internally displaced.

Alekhtiar does not believe placing further sanctions on Sudan is necessarily the solution. (Supplied)

On the road from Port Sudan to Khartoum, the scale of death was impossible to ignore. Alekhtiar recalls seeing clouds of flies everywhere, drawn by bodies buried hastily or not at all along the route.

During her six days in the country, her team stopped in Al-Dabbah, where UNHCR tents shelter displaced civilians. What she saw there still stays with her. “I want to emphasize one thing and it is very alarming,” she said.

“What I was witnessing in the camps was only women and children; there were no men. The only men I saw were very old in age. It’s a genocide. They are killing all men. They cannot go out.

“What we saw in the videos, it was real,” she said, referring to the graphic footage of atrocities circulating on social media. “It’s not true that it was one video and the reality is different than that. No, it was real.

“It’s a gender-ethnic issue. It is really a genocide. I’m not just using the word genocide for the sake of using the word. This is actually a genocide.”

Life in the camps was defined by scarcity. There were no spare clothes, almost no supplies, and most people slept directly on the ground. The UN was scrambling to respond, Alekhtiar said, but had never anticipated displacement on this scale.

She watched buses arrive packed with women, screaming babies in their arms. When she asked why the infants were crying, the answer was devastatingly simple.

“Because they are hungry … they are breastfeeding and we cannot feed them because we have not eaten,” they told her. The women’s bodies, starved and exhausted, could no longer produce milk.

UN staff told Alekhtiar they lacked resources as funding was insufficient. RSF fighters were also blocking the main roads, preventing aid from reaching those who needed it most.

Alekhtiar wished she had more time in the camps because this — bearing witness and amplifying suffering — is the core purpose of journalism, she said.

What the women told her there continues to haunt her. Rape survivors said they were treated as slaves, stripped of humanity by their attackers. “They need help, on a psychological level, human level, all levels,” Alekhtiar said.

“These women, I don’t know how they will live later. Some of them cannot talk. They are sitting and looking at me; they cannot talk. Some of them keep crying all day long. Some of them don’t go out of the tent.

“Some of them have kids with them. They don’t know who these kids are, because they found them on their way, and they took them, because they were children alone.

“One woman told me she took a child from his mother’s arms who was murdered, and the child doesn’t speak, even at his age of 3 years, he stopped being able to speak. So many stories, so many stories.

“The problem is the war is still ongoing, and they will come from other cities in their millions. We are not talking about tens or hundreds of thousands. We are talking about millions.”

Alekhtiar does not believe placing further sanctions on Sudan is necessarily the solution.

Alekhtiar does not believe placing further sanctions on Sudan is necessarily the solution. (Supplied)

“The international community, countries, right now are announcing sanctions on Sudan, but that’s not enough,” she said.

“What people need there is support, humanitarian support, and they need real support from the whole world to stop this war because it’s not a normal war.

“A whole race is being killed. Being killed because they want to change the identity of one region. It’s a genocide.”

International sanctions have targeted individuals accused of mass killings and systematic sexual violence. The UK has sanctioned senior RSF commanders over abuses in El-Fasher.

The US, meanwhile, has sanctioned the Sudanese Armed Forces over the use of chlorine gas, a chemical weapon that can cause fatal respiratory damage.

Asked about her own experience in the field, Alekhtiar said the availability of clean water was among the biggest challenges she faced.

“Showering was not an option,” she said, as most water came out black, contaminated, its contents unknown.

She barely ate, overwhelmed by what she was witnessing.

“I was crying all the time there, to be honest. I was sick for two days when I arrived back,” she said.

“After you leave, you become grateful for what you have when you see the suffering of others. They changed my whole perspective on life. It changed me a lot.”