Can Iraq Be Saved?Using the Sykes–Picot agreement to explain the Middle East falsely extrapolates from a single moment.
This misuse of history will lead to poor policy.Policymakers, journalists and pundits have struggled to understand the seizure of Mosul by the Islamic State of Iraq and al-Sham (ISIS) on 10 June 2014, the group’s drive south towards Baghdad and the collapse of the Iraqi army in the face of its advance. The way in which this fast-moving crisis is perceived will determine the response of leaders in Iraq, the wider Middle East and across the international system. It will not only shape the initial military response to ISIS but, much more importantly, the formulation of longer-term policies that aim to tackle the underlying causes of the group’s rise and its seizure of territory in both Iraq and Syria.
A common, if surprising, explanation of ISIS’s stunning military success involves reaching back to the Sykes–Picot agreement, a secret bargain negotiated by British diplomat Mark Sykes and his French counterpart François Georges-Picot in May 1916. Across the Arab Middle East, the story of the agreement has become a narrative depicting the perfidious influence of British and French colonial power during and after the First World War. Within the Arab political discourse, ‘Sykes–Picot’ refers to both the conquest of the Middle East by Britain during the war and the covert attempts to retain control over Arab lands in the aftermath of the conflict through the division of the region into separate states. Soon after seizing Mosul, ISIS posted photographs of its fighters demolishing barriers marking the dividing line between Syria and Iraq. Their declaration that they were ‘smashing the Sykes–Picot border’ was made in an attempt to rally wider Arab support for their movement by claiming that they were overturning a historic injustice.1
Given the infamy of the Sykes–Picot agreement, it was no surprise that Lebanese Druze politician Walid Jumblatt declared its demise in June, going so far as to present Hassan Nasrallah, his colleague and the leader of Hizbullah, with a book that explained the genesis of the deal.2 But it is alarming that both academics and senior statesmen have also used the Sykes–Picot narrative in their accounts of the crisis in Syria and Iraq.3 The portrayal of the agreement as a catalyst for a century of Middle Eastern history is empirically and analytically unsustainable. It extrapolates from a brief moment in time, employing a snapshot that does not represent the wider socio-political dynamics that unfolded across the region during and after the First World War. This misuse of history may well lead to weak policy prescriptions.
As outlined in the book that Jumblatt gave to Nasrallah, Sykes and Georges-Picot did indeed reach a secret agreement that would allow the French and the British to divide the Middle East into separate areas of influence in the aftermath of the war.4 This was at the high point of Anglo-French imperial ambition, and of their optimism about how the conflict would end. However, the confidence that underpinned the deal was questioned at the time, with the head of British military intelligence likening its creators to ‘hunters who divided up the skin of the bear before they had killed it’.5
The suppositions on which the agreement rested quickly came under siege from events both on the ground and within the international system. The British government radically changed its policy towards the Middle East twice, first in 1917 and again in 1918.6 Faced with the Russian Revolution and America’s entry into the war, Sykes himself declared that ‘imperialism, annexation, military triumph, prestige, White man’s burdens, have been expunged from the popular political vocabulary, consequently Protectorates, spheres of interest or influence, annexations, bases, etc. have to be consigned to the Diplomatic lumber-room.’7
The post-war settlements that created the majority of states in the Middle East had little connection with the Sykes–Picot agreement. Instead, they were hammered out at a series of multilateral peace conferences and meetings produced by a region and an international order that had been transformed by the war. This shift resulted from an upsurge in Arab nationalism, the emergence of a coherent Turkish state from the wreckage of the Ottoman Empire, the US entry into the conflict, the Russian Revolution and the subsequent dramatic reduction in French and British state power.
The misleading use of the Sykes–Picot agreement to explain the rise of ISIS highlights the inherent dangers of employing historical analogies in analyses of contemporary events.8 The use of the Sykes–Picot narrative may lend commentators a veneer of historical learning, but it also encourages them to see the current crisis in a specific and inaccurate way. Such attempts to understand the politics of the modern Middle East naturally lead to a static view of the societies in the region over the last century. Firstly, they condemn the states that came into being after the First World War as false creations, produced by exogenous machinations that were bound to fail. The policy prescriptions that originate from such an approach are clear: these false states have gained no loyalty from their populations and are thus the source of the problem; they should be replaced with smaller, more coherent units that can gain the allegiance of their citizens. Even a cursory examination of a world map should problematise such an argument. Most of the states that form the international system resulted from imperial conquest and a subsequent struggle for self-determination. Against this background, the post-colonial origins of a state do not in any way nullify its ability to function once the metropole has been driven out.
The second analytical outcome of the Sykes–Picot narrative is, if anything, even more damaging. In negating the validity, legitimacy and influence of Middle Eastern states, it seeks an alternative organising dynamic or principle, primarily the religious identity of the populations that reside in these states. By identifying faith as the key factor in the Middle East, an unchanging ‘essence’ that traces back centuries, proponents of the Sykes–Picot narrative are guilty of ‘primordialisation’. This analysis refuses to register the almost continual transformation that the region has undergone since 1916, and leads to the claim that sub-state communities there are for the most part geographically homogenous, mutually hostile and trapped in artificial, minority-dominated states. It also promotes the view that the civil wars in Iraq and Syria have been unavoidable tragedies stemming from a regional politics that has always been animated by deeply held communal antipathies.9 The narrative therefore allows religion rather than the state to become the focus of analysis and hence policy formation. Today’s Middle East can then be compared to the ‘30 years’ religious war of 17th-century Europe’, and the current crisis explained by ‘rivalries among tribes and religious sects’.10
A sustained and detailed examination of Middle Eastern states, specifically Iraq and Syria, shows that their evolution has been much more complex than the Sykes–Picot narrative would suggest, and that societal attitudes towards the state have developed through several stages. Political identities in the region have been transformed; religion is certainly a major theme, but it has merged with a vibrant nationalism that is tied to, and delineated by, the geographical boundaries of states.
The Iraqi state after regime changeWhen the Sykes–Picot narrative is applied to Iraq, it leads to a very rigid analysis of the country’s problems and hence to a set of misguided policy prescriptions for their resolution. Instead of blaming the exogenous creation of the state and the dominance of pre-state religious identities, such prescriptions should focus on the ways in which Iraq has been weakened since the regime change of 2003, and on methods for reforming the Iraqi state that could sustain the country in the future.
A comparative study of modern states suggests that their sustainability rests not on their indigenous or exogenous creation, but on their ability to fulfil three functions. The first of these concerns the state’s capacity to wield coercion and control the activities of its subjects. Externally, this involves a state’s power to defend its own borders, deploying its armed forces to deter other states from encroaching on, or seizing, its territory. In the post-1945 world, in which the United Nations and international law guarantee de jure, if not de facto, recognition of already demarcated borders, it has become more important for a state to use coercion to control its population, and to maintain a monopoly on the collective employment of violence within its own territory.
The second pillar of a state’s sustainability is its infrastructural power, which is determined by the delivery of government services and rule-making authority through a set of institutions that radiate out from the capital to the population as a whole.11 Measuring coercive and institutional capacity is fairly straightforward, as this is reflected in the degree to which the country experiences violence that is not instigated by the state, and the government’s ability to provide the population with services such as law enforcement, electricity and running water.
However, it is harder to gauge the final pillar of a state’s sustainability: its ideological power, or ability to be perceived as legitimate by the population. To some extent, such legitimacy can also be linked to the capacity to deliver services. As citizens’ day-to-day lives become more dependent on state institutions, they come to see its presence within society as necessary. One aspect of this process involves enrolling students in state schools, where they may be subjected to government propaganda. Another is the prevalence of television sets, which can be used as a medium for promoting state legitimacy.12
This legitimacy is closely linked to the state’s ability to harness, sustain or create a unitary nationalism within its own borders, one that ties the population together and to the ruling elite. In ways that are comparable to the use of schools and television, a state’s existence can be naturalised or ‘flagged’ in the everyday lives of citizens through its institutional presence or references to it in the media.13 Finally, stressing the ideological power at the centre of both state legitimacy and nationalism focuses attention on the state’s role in producing and manipulating ‘a set of foundational myths that define and institutionalize a particular nationalist imaginary’.14
Baghdad’s failure to repel the advance of ISIS is best understood by examining the ways in which the governments that have ruled Iraq since 2003 have systematically undermined each pillar of the state’s sustainability.
The crisis of the Iraqi state was obviously caused, in the first instance, by the collapse of the Iraqi military. The Second Division of the Iraqi army was the first to capitulate during the ISIS offensive in Mosul. The First Division had already lost two brigades as it attempted to counter the group’s pre-Mosul offensive in Fallujah and Ramadi in December 2013. It subsequently lost two more brigades in June and July. Two of the Third Division’s battalions fled the ISIS advance; half of the Fourth Division disappeared, and is believed to have been massacred by the group.15
The reasons for the speedy collapse of the Iraqi army go to the heart of the problems faced by the state as a whole. Firstly, the armed forces have been impaired by widespread corruption in Iraq. Junior officers complain that defence officials demand bribes of $3,000 for a place at the Officer Training Academy, and the price of promotion to general is as high as $30,000. Repaying the costs of gaining promotion leads to the existence of ‘ghost payrolls’ – which supply the names of fictitious soldiers to the Ministry of Defence and have defrauded it of an estimated 25% of its annual wage budget – and the embezzlement of funds earmarked for soldiers’ food and fuel.16 Reports suggest that soldiers in Mosul had to buy their own supplies from local markets and cook the food themselves.17 This level of corruption would have been obvious to front-line soldiers, undermining their ability to fight effectively while sapping their morale and willingness to defend the state.
Beyond corruption, the coherence of the Iraqi army was broken by the direct interference of Nuri al-Maliki during his tenure as prime minister. After his appointment in 2006, Maliki worked successfully to coup-proof the military, tying senior commanders and paramilitary units to him personally and thereby subverting the formal chain of command. The new Iraqi military was built with such haste that the institutionalisation of its political oversight has been fragile. With his own political vulnerability in mind, Maliki exploited this and used the Office of the Prime Minister to cement his grip on the army, special forces and the intelligence services.
Maliki secured control of the Iraqi security forces by creating two extra-constitutional organisations. The first, the Office of the Commander in Chief, was originally envisaged by US advisers as a coordinating forum that the prime minister would chair. But Maliki, quickly realising its potential importance, increased its staff, influence and reach. He moved the organisation into the Office of the Prime Minister and appointed a close ally to run it.18 The Office of the Commander in Chief then began to directly issue orders to battalion leaders, thus circumventing and, in effect, destroying the army’s chain of command.19 The office was also directly involved in the appointment and promotion of senior army staff.20
The second extra-constitutional innovation Maliki deployed to control the security forces entailed the proliferation of Provincial Command Centres. After the adoption of the Baghdad Security Plan in February 2007, the Baghdad Operations Command was created to coordinate all Iraqi forces in the city, including both the police and the military.21 Provincial Command Centres were then set up in unstable areas across south and central Iraq. The facilities brought together the command and control of the police and the army under one general in each province. These generals were chosen and directed from a Baghdad office under Maliki’s control. Thus, the Provincial Command Centres bypassed the Ministry of Defence’s command and control of the army, and gave Maliki the power to appoint and direct the most important leaders in strategically sensitive areas of the country. Unsurprisingly, the generals appointed to run the centres were politically or personally aligned with the prime minister.
The politicisation of the higher reaches of the armed forces had negative effects that were clearly visible during the collapse of the Second Division in Mosul. On 7 June 2014, Lieutenant-General Ali Ghaidan and Lieutenant-General Abboud Qanbar flew into the city to personally oversee the fight against ISIS.22 As the commander of Iraqi ground forces and the commander of joint operations respectively, they had benefited from their close relationship with Maliki. However, as ISIS advanced on the main army base in Mosul, Ghaidan and Qanbar quickly left the city, fleeing to Irbil and then flying back to Baghdad. Reports that they had made their escape disguised as civilians began to circulate soon after, further undermining the rank and file’s commitment to defending the city.
The seizure of Mosul by ISIS exposed the fact that the Iraqi army had been weakened. Meanwhile, the other two pillars of state sustainability have also been continually undermined over the last six years, if not more. The damage that corruption has inflicted on Iraqi institutions has been partly due to the muhasasa system, which has required that the governments of national unity formed in 2005, 2006 and 2010 fulfil sectarian quotas. Cabinet posts, along with the positions of prime minister and president, are allocated in line with a sectarian formula that also takes into account the number of seats that each party wins in elections. The payrolls and budgets of ministries have become the private fiefdoms of the parties to which they are awarded, fostering personal and political corruption, as well as an incoherent approach to governance.
Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index 2013, a survey of 177 countries and territories, ranked Iraq in 171st place.23 The World Bank produced comparable figures for its Worldwide Governance Indicators, allocating Iraq just five points out of a maximum of 100 due to the failings of the country’s anti-corruption institutions.24 Graft of this level directly hinders the state’s reconstruction efforts and capacity to deliver services. Judge Rahim al-Ugaili, the most senior government figure responsible for tackling corruption during 2008–11, identified Baghdad’s contracting process as ‘the father of all corruption issues in Iraq’.25 Contracts have often been awarded to companies run by, or very close to, senior Iraqi politicians. These firms are typically given large cash payments up front, and complaints about their work are ignored due to the protection they receive from patrons in government.
The result of this corruption is abysmal government services, despite the fact that Iraq is an oil-rich country. In 2011 the UN estimated that only 26% of the population was covered by the public-sewerage network. This left 83% of the country’s wastewater untreated. Although two-thirds of Iraqi households rely on the public water supply for their drinking water, surveys conducted in 2012 suggested that as much as 25% of them received only two hours of water per day. Overall, UN figures suggest that 7.6 million people, or around one-quarter of the population, lack access to safe drinking water.26
Electricity has become the main touchstone for Iraqis who seek to judge the capacity of their state and its cause. In August 2011, with temperatures reaching 50°C, Minister of Electricity Ra’ad Shalal al-Ani was forced to resign when it emerged that he had signed contracts for developing Iraq’s electricity industry worth $1.7 billion with two suspect companies from Canada and Germany.27 Nationwide surveys carried out by the Iraqi Knowledge Network in the same year found that the average household received just 7.6 hours of electricity from the national grid each day, with 79% of those surveyed rating electricity delivery as ‘bad’ or ‘very bad’.28
The weakness of power infrastructure has meant that the state has had a minimal institutional presence within Iraqi society, a situation that is widely blamed on corruption. This has led to deep alienation from the state and the widespread perception that it is being run in accordance with the narrow interests of a kleptocracy.
The final pillar of state sustainability, its ideological power, is also absent in Iraq. Opinion polls taken in the years following the regime change of 2003 showed that the Iraqi population had a strong commitment to a unified state and was bound to it by a vibrant nationalism. Surveys carried out in February and May 2004 revealed support for a strong, centralised state with Baghdad as its capital. The Iraqi Centre for Research and Strategic Studies found that 64.7% of Iraqis favoured ‘a politically centralised, unitary state as opposed to a federation’, with 67% saying that they wanted both fiscal and administrative centralisation.
Oxford Research International polls carried out in February, March and June of that year had broadly similar results. In response to the question ‘which structure should Iraq have in the future?’, 79% of respondents chose ‘one unified Iraq with a central government in Baghdad’. Although responses differed according to the ethnic and regional backgrounds of those surveyed, only 12% of Kurds and 3.8% of all Iraqis called for the country to be broken up into separate states.29
But, after the Governing Council was created in 2003, Iraqi politics was organised around the muhasasa system and most parties began to strengthen the support they received by appealing to religious and ethnic identities within their constituencies. As Iraq descended into civil war, the rhetoric used to justify the rise in civilian deaths, population transfers and mass-casualty attacks was infused with sectarian language.30 By 2006, the conflict was framed in aggressively divisive sectarian terms. This language is still used, to varying degrees, by the majority of Iraq’s ruling elite. As a result, the population has been politically mobilised, and Iraqi governments chosen and the civil war understood, using ideologies that deliberately undermine unitary nationalism in favour of sub-state identities. This is not a return to the supposedly dominant religious allegiances that, according to those who favour the Sykes–Picot narrative, have always animated Iraqi politics. Instead, it is the deliberate development or reinvention of sectarian identities by a ruling elite that judges this the best method for rallying an alienated electorate.
Against this background, ISIS’s seizure of Mosul in June and its swift advance across a wide swathe of Iraqi territory was not caused by a century-old legacy of Anglo-French colonialism. It was the direct result of the contemporary flaws within the political system set up after the regime change of 2003.
Reforming the Iraqi stateThe first step in dealing with ISIS will clearly have to involve its military defeat. Nevertheless, the long-term stabilisation of Iraq will require the resolution of the political problems that created the space in which the group has thrived. Although its forerunner, al-Qaeda in Iraq, was defeated militarily by the application of US-led counter-insurgency tactics from 2007 onwards, the ‘surge’ did not tackle the underlying political dynamics that caused the Iraqi civil war, allowing ISIS to rebuild, expand its area of operations and go on to become more powerful than its predecessor.
The replacement of Maliki with new prime minister Haider al-Abadi has the potential to spur much-needed reform of the Iraqi state. However, Abadi will be required to do much more than create another government of national unity that includes a greater number of Sunni politicians. He will need to break with the approach to governing Iraq that has prevailed since 2006, if not earlier, and his first task will be to repair the damage that Maliki inflicted on the state during his eight years in office. This will certainly involve removing the ‘Maliki politburo’, his set of powerful advisers, and the Malikiyoun, his followers who have been placed in influential positions throughout Iraqi institutions.31
But to blame the rise of ISIS solely on mistakes made during Maliki’s tenure would be to severely underestimate the size of the problem that Iraq faces. The corruption eroding the Iraqi state from within is an integral part of a muhasasa system that has, in effect, privatised the Iraqi state. The system has allowed the Iraqi political elite to strip state assets for personal gain and to fund the parties they represent. It has also led to a violent and divisive language becoming the main currency of Iraqi politics. The growth of both sectarianism and corruption are the responsibility of this elite, which has maintained its power since 2003. In order to neutralise the threat from ISIS, stabilise Iraq and create a sustainable future for the country, Abadi will not only have to reform the state but persuade the elite to change. This will require them to work towards unifying a society that they played a central role in dividing, and to exchange their corrupt, secretive approach to governance for a style of leadership that is open and accountable. As a central member of that group, Abadi must recognise the difficulty of the task that he has taken on, and the obstacles that stand in his way.
Link to Notes:
http://www.iiss.org/en/publications/sur ... dodge-d058