it has been almost two months to the day since I started this little venture, mostly as somewhere to publish what I was writing, since it wasn’t getting picked up by any of the publications I was submitting them to. I assumed that I would just write whatever I wrote, and post it here, and it would just sit in quiet anonymity, adding their own voice to the screaming mess that is the internet.

instead, I find that people have been reading.

not in huge numbers - I’m certainly not going to make any money out of this thing just yet - but there have been over 1,500 individual views of this little blog.

and I just wanted to say thank you.

What are the characteristics of society and politics and the evolution of political institutions in one of the following countries or regions in the Middle East?

IRAN

Iran has seen major changes to its government and indeed to wider society over the course of the twentieth century. The overthrow of the Qajar dynasty in 1921, Shah Pahlavi’s White Revolution and the Islamic Revolution have all had a tremendous impact on the political structure of the nation, but no less significantly led to widespread change in the everyday life of the people. Throughout this period the unique aspects of Iran are of constant importance – its fierce nationalist character, its geopolitical position between the Middle East and Asia, the value of its oil and its position as the only non-Arab Muslim state – and it is often the case that foreign powers, rather than Iranians, have huge sway over the direction of the nation.

The rule of the first Shah, Reza Khan, was marked both by this nationalism and by foreign intervention. During his sixteen-year reign the Trans-Iranian Railway was built, connecting Tehran to the Persian Gulf and Caspian Sea. Furthermore, the University of Tehran was established as the centrepiece of a modern education system. It was also Reza Khan who established the use of the term “Iran” as the official name of the country, separating the new nation from its past connections to the Greek, Roman and British Empires. However, in one of the first clear instances of foreign interests trumping Iranian interests, the north-south line of the Railway that was constructed largely benefited the British, who used this line heavily to move troops through Iran to the subcontinent. Perhaps ironically, Britain and Russia invaded Iran during World War II in order to exploit the capacity of the Trans-Iranian Railway.
Further foreign intervention was evident in the removal of Prime Minister Mossadeq. By the time of his election in 1951 Iran had become the second-highest producer of oil in the world, but there was increasing dissatisfaction with how little Iran was receiving from the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company. Mossadeq’s plan was to nationalise the AIOC, and combat “poverty, disease and backwardness” among the Iranian people, and refused the British any involvement at all in the new system. In response, Britain placed an embargo on Iranian oil, and worked with the US to depose Mossadeq in 1953.

The rule of Reza Khan’s son, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, was dominated by the White Revolution, a large-scale series of social, economic and land reforms. The land reforms were perhaps the most revolutionary, as the government bought land from the traditional landed elites and resold it to peasants below the market value. Over a twelve-year period, the percentage of land occupied by its owner increased from twenty-six to seventy-eight percent, benefiting an estimated twelve million Iranian peasants. The White Revolution also saw the creation of the literacy corps, where instead of completing their military service in their army, high school-educated Iranians could work towards educating the illiterate two-thirds of the population.
The period of the White Revolution, and more generally the rule of the Shah, was characterised by increased alliances to the West, especially with the US. During this period Tehran became the Middle Eastern headquarters of the CIA, and a huge number of US military advisers, technicians and strategists were often present in the country, and were granted what amounted to complete diplomatic immunity. Within Iran this was seen as another piece of evidence that the Shah cared more about the opinions of foreign dignitaries than about Iranians, a sentiment underlined by inviting scores of foreign dignitaries to the celebrations at Persepolis, commemorating 2,500 years of continuous Iranian monarchy while much of the land was suffering from severe drought and famine.

The defining characteristic of the 1979 revolution was that it was an Islamic Revolution, a clear departure from the Shah and his father, who had in some ways attempted to secularise Iran – most notably during the Women’s Awakening (1936-41). Khomeini formed his Provisional Revolutionary Government on February 4, 1979, declaring that it was God’s government and a revolt against it was a revolt against God. Despite the seemingly autocratic nature of this declaration, it must be said that both the new “Islamic Republic” and the 1979 constitution for this republic were overwhelming supported in referenda, both receiving support from 98% of the population, with supposed high voter turnout. This contrasts greatly with the rule of the Shah who, although granting women the right to vote, never really presented the people of Iran with a great deal upon which to exercise said right.
The 1979 constitution institutionalised the role of the religious ‘ulama, establishing the velayat-e faqih and the power of veto of the Council of Guardians. This Rule of the Jurists was unprecedented, and unsurprisingly attracted heavy criticism, especially the position of rahbar – the supreme jurist who was owed the allegiance of all others. Many suggested that this blend of the religious and political was incompatible with Shi’ism, revering the rahbar in a manner that was usually reserved for the Prophet.

It is this blend of religious and political that has been one of the two most significant aspects to come out of the period of Iran with Khomeini as leader. That current President Ahmadinejad is the first Iranian president to come from a non-religious background clearly shows that there is an expectation, or at very least a general acceptance of religious leaders as political leaders – something that would be greatly unprecedented, and perhaps slightly worrying, for many other nations.
The second significant social change that came out of this period was the engagement of women in the social, educational and political process. While many may argue that the Revolution was a backwards step for women’s rights – especially in regards to segregation of the sexes, inheritance and other areas of the civil code – there can be no question that the number of women involved in anti-Shah demonstrations spurred increasing involvement. Further to this, the enormous number of Iranian men killed during the Iran-Iraq war of 1980-88 (estimated as high as one million) led to many women entering the workforce and the public sphere in great numbers, with a strong push for women’s education. In the 1996 Consultative Assembly elections, fourteen women were elected and the percentage of total enrolments at primary, secondary and tertiary levels were equal between men and women in 2007/8.

Iran’s history has been violent, turgid and deeply, deeply complex. Autocratic leaders and lame duck parliaments have been overthrown in revolutions and replaced  by more autocratic leaders and lame duck parliaments, and in nearly all of these “regime changes” there has been significant international involvement from the US, Britain, Russia and other Middle Eastern countries. And every time it seems as though Iran is headed towards reformation – the idealism of the White Revolution, the early days of Khomeini, Mohammad Khatami’s Dialogue of Civilisations – something happens that leads to a closing of ranks, borders and minds. However, there is no question that due to Iran’s immense size, increasingly significant geopolitical location, population and oil wealth, it will remain a major power, potential threat and incredibly important actor on the world stage.

What are the characteristics of society and politics and the evolution of political institutions in one of the following countries or regions in the Middle East?

LEBANON

Lebanon is almost unique among the nations of the Middle East, as it is one of the only nations established as a result of lobbying and politicking by an indigenous group – the Maronite Christians of Mount Lebanon – rather than by colonial decree. However, despite their strength on Mount Lebanon, the Maronites did not constitute a majority in the country that was eventually formed throughout its own supposed historical and cultural extensions. Instead, the Maronites were merely the largest minority among several others in a new nation markedly divided by ethnicity and religion. Despite early attempts to nullify this sectarian division, the Civil War revealed the extent to which they remained, and today Lebanon faces many of the same issues as other middle eastern nations; namely sectarian divisions, uncertainty as to their position in the world, and of course, the Israel question.

Lebanon’s past must be examined through the policy of confessionalism, the system of proportional representation for the major religious sects in parliament, the civil service, the judiciary and the military. Initially it was designed (at the instigation of the French) to give the non-Maronite Muslims some share in the government of Lebanon. However, the terms agreed to in the National Pact of 1943 constitutionally guaranteed the continued supremacy of the Maronites, according representation on a proportional scale, based on the 1932 Census. As a result, the Maronites were accorded 30 seats out of the parliament’s 90, with Sunnis receiving 20 seats; Shia 19; Greek Orthodox 11; Greek Catholic 6; Druze 6; Armenian Orthodox 4; and other minorities 4.
However, far from bridging sectarian divides, the National Pact constitutionally reinforced them. Although it did preclude bitter sectarian battles over each and every parliamentary seat, it entrenched the notion that one’s religious affiliation was the primary marker of one’s identity rather than, for example, their Lebanese nationalism. A further problem created by this conciliatory system was that people were given positions based on their religious sect, not necessarily on the basis of their ability. The ensuing administrative inefficiency is impossible to quantify, but potentially very high. The greatest problem with this system, however, is that it forever tied representation to the information gleaned from a national Census. And, as a result, all the Maronite presidents of Lebanon had to do to ensure their continued supremacy was simply to fail to conduct a census. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there has been no official Census since 1932.

This unresponsiveness to demographic shifts proved to be a huge problem for Lebanon’s government, and indeed one of the major catalysts of the civil war. The main demand of the coalition of Muslim opposition groups known as the Lebanese National Movement was the taking of a new Census and a more representative structure for the nation’s civil institutions. Ironically, the Lebanese military was unable to prevent war as the army was recruited on sectarian proportions, and proved incapable of operating once religious sects began forming their own militia.
The civil war itself, in reality a succession of wars over nearly thirty years, ending only in 1991, was a microcosm of the complexity of Lebanon, not only internally but externally as well. The conflict began as a dispute over sectarian representation in government, a very Lebanese issue, but various stages of the fighting saw Iraqi and Libyan support for Sunni militia groups, Syrian and Israeli support for Christian militia, UN Security Council Resolutions and significant involvement by the United States and the PLO. Nothing so explicitly shows the many influences and stakeholders in Lebanon as does this catalogue of the major players during the civil war years.

Despite the hundreds of thousands killed, crippled and displaced, perhaps the most significant outcome of the civil war was the establishment of Hizballah as a major force both within Lebanon and in the context of the Israeli question. Inspired by Khomeini’s Islamic resurgence in Iran, Hizballah has been both a blessing and a curse for Lebanon, but both good and ill stem from the fact that Hizballah has become stronger than the Lebanese government in almost all conceivable areas.
Firstly, Hizballah is far better positioned to attack and expel Israel from Lebanon, largely due to the fact that its military wing, Al-Muqawama al-Islamiyya (”The Islamic Resistance”) is not a national army, and furthermore is armed with long-range missiles, anti-tank missiles, anti-aircraft weapons and surface-to-air missiles. It has also been estimated that Hizballah has a standing army of one thousand full-time soldiers, with perhaps as many as six to ten thousand volunteers. As such, it is possible for Hizballah to attack Israel without incurring sanctions from the UN, NATO or EU, and is largely able to operate without fear of military retribution from these bodies. If any of these bodies were to attack Hizballah, or Al-Muqawama al-Islamiyya, it would be seen as a gross violation of Lebanon’s national sovereignty and as proof of anti-Arab sentiment in Europe and the US. Furthermore, it is impossible for any body or nation to attempt to wipe Hizballah out, as the civilian casualties could be enormous. It is estimated that during the 2006 war, one thousand of the 1,200 Lebanese killed were civilians, not Hizballah fighters.
Secondly, Hizballah is not just a military power. According to the UN Office for the Co-Ordination of Humanitarian Affairs report Lebanon: The many hands and faces of Hezbollah, it boasts an extensive social development program including four hospitals, twelve clinics, twelve schools, two agricultural centres, an environmental department and a welfare office. These social and health programs are estimated to be worth hundreds of millions of dollars every year, money that Hizballah claims comes from donations from Lebanese people. However, both Syria and Iran are suspected of significant financial support to Hizballah
Furthermore, Hizballah are rapidly becoming a significant political party in their own right. Since 1989 there has been a noticeable adoption of a “political jihad” that resulted in their winning eight seats in the 1992 elections, fourteen in the 2005 elections, and gaining control of 21% of all municipalities in the municipal elections in 2004. Currently, following the most recent clashes and the Doha agreement, the opposition parties have been granted a “blocking third” in the Lebanese cabinet, making it possible for Hizballah members to veto any government decisions.

Arguably the most important issue facing Lebanon today is the position and influence of Hizballah. That Israel, the US, UK, Canada and Australia all officially consider Hizballah a terrorist organisation, having them play a greater and greater role in Lebanese parliament could be a step in the wrong direction. However, if Hizballah do devote their energies to Lebanese government, and begin to behave like actors within the system rather than separate from it, it could be greatly beneficial. There is no question that they are an imposing military force, especially given the weak, factitious nature of the Lebanese army, and they are undoubtedly a social force, often more able than the Lebanese government to respond to crises. However, if Hizballah are to truly become a part of the system, there is no way that they can continue to receive funding from Iran and Syria, and their military will become a great deal more accountable. Despite the continued conflict over proportional representation, Lebanon’s internal situation, as well as its position in the Arab world, the Middle East and the international community could well be resting on the shoulders of Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah.

I miss you my boy. This long-distance thing blows. I’m in a weird, introspective mood and I would love nothing more than to drive over to Kingsford, walk to that park around the corner and sit and talk and smoke for a couple of hours

But you’re not in Kingsford.

And I’ve quit smoking (10 days and counting).

And the story I have to tell would take too long. There are too many characters, too many explanations, too many qualifications. And you would rush to conclusions the way you always do, and I’d have to walk you back from taking someone’s kneecaps, and you still wouldn’t be convinced.

(And my iTunes just started playing Steely Dan. Who I realise now I really don’t like. Yet I would go to that gig 3 times over just to see you and your dad sitting side by side, tapping your feet and hitting your thigh with your hand in a wonderful, appreciative, jolly-good-show Hercu-les-Hercu-les kind of way).

(And three Fleetwood Mac songs have come up when I’ve been skipping through tracks, looking for a song I can’t identify. And I immediately think of you, and of a Double Bay cafe, and tears in a pair of eyes and “i wanna be with you everywhere” on the radio).

(And I finally settle on Augie March, and I remember going to see them at The Metro with you last year. And you hadn’t seen them before, and were terribly impressed).

And now I’ve lost the train of thought that I was running with before the music-related brackets. Which seems oddly suitable, since you’d always stop me and ask if I’d heard this band, and I would have, because we’d have both read the same Rolling Stone article about them and instantly downloaded their album.

(And now my - and, apparently, my mother’s - favourite piece of classical music has come on. Beethoven’s 132nd Opus, from his String Quartet no.15 in A Minor. And I want to play it to you, because I think you’d get it. And you wouldn’t like the middle part quite as much, and we’d both agree it was the start and the end where it was at. That it was the cello (we think) that really makes the piece. And then I’d follow that by mentioning that Byron plays cello, and then we’d be back on the loop that we left half an hour ago, as if it was the most natural thing in the world).

And you’d laugh at Byron, now that we’re back there, and say that you wanted to kill yourself after seeing his Horatio. And then we’d launch into how cool our Hamlet was, and talk about theatre, and high school, and SUDS, and VCA (would you have gone to VCA in this daydream? I think so).

And I would drag the conversation back to what I really want to talk about, which is why I feel so great a lot of the time, but as though there’s a deep ocean of melancholy just beneath the surface. Which you’d recognise, but wouldn’t remember from where (and then in ten minutes would realise). And we’d talk about why I felt like I did, and I’d spill everything, and make it sound much worse than it is. At least, I’d make it sound much worse than I think it is. Maybe it is bad and I’m just being stoic. There’s that Brutus again.

And I’d have to go, or you’d have to go, and so we’d rapidly tie up all the loose ends, but not with enough conviction to really think it’s all solved, but we’d both know that I’d call you in a couple of days to report on progress.

And I doubt that anything profound would change, although I’d feel better for talking about it with you.

But you’re not in Kingsford.

How does Simon Armitage’s poetry ask us to think about the relationship between the local and the universal?

Simon Armitage’s poetry is inescapably inclusive, as it constantly pulls back from the specific scene to the universal theme. If the purpose of poetry is, as Hamlet once said, to hold the mirror up to nature, then Armitage’s enviable quality is his ability to make one thing reflect another, and to encourage his readers to recognise themselves in his poetry. Through his use of topoi, a starting point, Armitage’s poetry radiates outwards. Drawing more and more people in as he expands out. And it is these leaps, these juxtapositions and the enormous scope of his work that forces his readers to think about the connection between their small, local world and the grand, universal narrative that surrounds them.

The most obvious leap from local to universal occurs in the poem ‘Zoom!’ where, in the space of 29 lines Armitage takes the reader from house to black hole back to the supermarket, making our world and all the facets of our lives seem almost ridiculous in their minutiae. He zooms away from the banks, the football teams, the highways and the hemispheres with a mixture of inevitability (“before we know it it is out of our hands”) and amusement (“oblivious to the Planning Acts”), perfectly encapsulating many people’s response to the notion of the sheer size of the universe around us. And once he has made his point about our galaxy being “smaller and smoother than a billiard ball but weighing more than Saturn”, Armitage brings us, quite literally, crashing back to earth, to the street or the supermarket queue. It is an extraordinary poem which “cambers arrogantly” through the entirety of human existence and history in order to show the absolute tiny-ness of our world. It is this depth of perspective, this “zoom”, that so brilliantly contrasts the local with the universal, and this perspective is such that, inevitably, the reader must at least come to terms with when reading this poem.

This sort of perspective is common to many of Armitage’s poems, but never more so than in “Out Of The Blue”. Indeed, it could be argued that this poem displays the same sort of arrogance as was exhibited in ‘Zoom!’, attempting as it does to squeeze the most significant event of a generation into the experience of one man, “ninety floors up” in the World Trade Centre. However, Armitage is not trying to define the experience, nor is he trying to share the experience with his audience. 9/11 was the most documented event in the history of the world, and more hours and pages have been expended chronicling, documenting and analysing it than could ever possibly be counted. So, aware that his audience will inevitably be all too aware of the sequence of events, Armitage does not attempt to document them.
Instead, Armitage forces his audience to come away from the universal and focus on the individual. He ignores the reams of newspaper and piles of news reels, and instead presents a haunting, individual experience of the day. It is his focus on the little things, the personal touches, that forces his audience to ignore the cultural baggage and approach the work with new eyes. This focus on the minutiae is both terrifyingly immediate and reassuringly human, and Armitage manages to evoke intense emotion without ever seeming exploitative or callous. The image of a Pepsi Max jumping out of its cup as the first plane hits the neighbouring tower, or the lamps, coats, chairs flying past the protagonists’ window all force the audience to move beyond their memory of the planes smashing into the buildings, and instead focus on this smaller, miniature, largely discounted history.
Perhaps Armitage’s most effective weapon in the constant focus on the personal and local is the paraphernalia on the protagonist’s desk. However, at the same time as being intensely personal, these items are universal through recognition – the cricket ball, the map of the London Underground, the St George cross – these are universal and ubiquitous images of Britain, as synonymous with the country as if Armitage had placed the Queen in the very same room. However, this event was not a British one but rather a global one, and so we have the universally recognisable wedding photos, and the picture drawn by the child.
But perhaps the most effective tool Armitage utilises to extrapolate the local into the universal is his protagonist’s language and tone. Parts 6,7, 9 and 10 especially are almost detached in their descriptions, echoing the astonishing sense of disbelief and awe felt by all those watching the towers from the outside. And rather than attempting to describe a feeling that he could not possibly know, Armitage instead endows his protagonist with the same feelings thoughts that many of us possessed at the time – that sense that we were watching the trailer for the next Die Hard film, and that, eventually, someone would surely “they’ll wind back the film, / call back the plane”.

Simon Armitage constantly takes small, local, recognisable images and vignettes and mercilessly extrapolates them, stretching them to the very bounds of human experience, and indeed of our inverse. However, this never seems forced, but rather the most natural thing in the world to examine the minutiae of our lives through the grandness of the universe. By expanding the local occurrence to the universal setting, much like the two young boys in ‘The Shout!’, Armitage constantly walks his readers further and further back, but all the while making sure that they can still hear him.

HOW DOES NEIL BARTLETT’S NOVEL, SKIN LANE, CONTRIBUTE TO OUR UNDERSTANDING OF A HISTORY OF GAY LIFE IN BRITAIN?

Neil Bartlett’s novel Skin Lane is not a novel about gay life. It is not a novel about gay history. And it is not a novel about gay culture. In fact, Bartlett’s protagonist Mr F is almost constantly living outside history and culture, ignoring or failing to understand the events reported in The Evening Standard.  Instead of making assumptions of or drawing conclusions about social movements or government legislation, the novel focuses on one man’s routines, neuroses and nightmares, and also his profession. Quite tellingly the novel never once uses the words “gay”, “queer” or “homosexual”, but makes thinly veiled references comparing the fur trade to gay life. However, it is not homosexuality that is explained via reference to the fur trade, but rather the fur trade is explained and revealed to us via allusions to homosexuality. Bartlett assumes a certain knowingness of the reader, and exploits this to highlight the low profile, the secrecy and the close-knit community of the fur trade. However, while Skin Lane does not increase our knowledge of life as a gay man in London in 1967, it does contribute to an appreciation of unknown histories, of those who don’t fit the grand historical narratives, and makes clear that then, as now, lived people struggling to know, describe and understand themselves.

It is inevitable that Bartlett’s 21st-century audience is going to be unfamiliar with the fur trade, and the simple fact is that this is a world that we as readers are not really involved with. Instead, it is a world that the author knows intimately and has access to, but we only become included when the author includes us. It is his descriptions, his voice, his direct addresses to the audience that tell us most about where we are, who we are dealing with and the environment in which this story takes place. Indeed, so complete is the author’s access to this world that he refers to actual historical evidence in his descriptions, such as the photograph taken in 1962. Our knowledge of the atmosphere of the world in which the entire British Fur Trade seems to operate is, of necessity, constructed by Bartlett, who calls it “a secret one”, one which “few outsiders had any idea of the outlandish transactions and transformations that made up its daily business” (p.32). We, the readers, assume the role of the outsiders, and it is Bartlett’s place to make us familiar with the goings on of Skin Lane.
The way he does this is often by alluding to things that readers would have knowledge of, or at the very least a sort of cultural awareness of. It is with this knowing wink that Bartlett describes the door of Mr. Schneider’s building:

Looking at that door, at the top of its flight of dark steps, I get the distinct impression that, as with certain other highly specialised businesses that the City still considers are best conducted well out of sight, it was expected that anyone who needed to seek out the services on offer on the Lane would already be in the trade; in the know. If they were a customer, they would certainly have been given directions – if not a personal recommendation. I’m sure you know the sort of thing. (p.33)

We do, indeed, know the sort of thing. But what is interesting is that, in the 21st century, these highly specialised businesses are not conducted nearly so out of sight, and thus Bartlett’s allusion to them is made all the more explicit.

The knowingness of the reader contrasts greatly with the general failure and indeed reluctance of Mr F to know much that is going on around him. However, it is more than simply a failure to know; instead, it is a failure to identify. Bartlett points out that, if Mr F had paid more attention to his Evening Standard on a particular July afternoon, he would have known to use “we” instead of “I” and would know that he was not suffering alone. Although on that particular day Mr F shares the experience of reading the lead article on page 12 and looking around the train to make sure no one had noticed a change in his face, he immediately decides that this story is not about him.
The most revealing thing about this passage is that Mr F has already decided that, really, the story is about him. Part One of the novel ends with Mr F speaking of his love “for the very first time”, and it would not be unrealistic of the reader to assume that this, finally, was Mr F realising that he is gay. However, this episode on the train could not show more clearly that Mr F feels his love is entirely his own, and none of anyone else’s business, thank you very much. In speaking his love, Mr F does not realise that he is gay – he realises that he is in love with Beauty.
Here, as throughout the novel, Mr F and Bartlett both consciously reject classification and labels when describing emotions and sexuality. Indeed, not once is Mr F’s lusting after Beauty attributed to sexuality. It is just another fact, much like Bartlett’s use of historical artefacts and his pedantry for the correct street names and descriptions of the part of London that concerns the story.

Bartlett’s historical accuracy with place names, and his assertion that he is personally in possession of Mr F’s books, letters, clothes and furniture, underlines this separation between what is immutable fact and what is conjecture. The street names have labels, the fur trade has very specific names and practices, but Mr F’s love and sexuality do not. They are not definable, they are not able to be lumped together under a general umbrella that might be used to “explain” his behaviour. Instead, Bartlett makes it abundantly clear that while there are things that can be known beyond doubt, there are other things that can never be known, and only really guessed at. As Bartlett himself says, people will look back and agree that everyone knew that exciting things were afoot in London in 1967, and that the excitement and “hubbub” could not possibly be mistaken for anything else. But the fact is that you can never truly know what each individual is thinking, feeling or doing. And, in reality, as Bartlett declares at the end of the novel, you never really know anything about anybody, other than the story you were told.

if there are those of you that are unlucky enough to have not been reading Annabel Crabb in the Sydney Morning Herald over the last 18 months or so, you are really missing out.

This woman has risen to be one of the most consistently clever, brilliant, intelligent, insightful and witty journalists at the SMH and in Australia.

Here is her latest article.

Enjoy.

Guilty of grievous oratory harm

What are the characteristics of society and politics and the evolution of political institutions in one of the following countries or regions in the Middle East?

IRAQ

Iraq’s history, society and politics have been marked by five main competing forces – colonialism, oil, religious sectarianism, ethnicity and the military. All of these have significantly influenced the Iraqi nation ever since its formation under mandate in 1920, and even today we see these five issues as paramount to future Iraqi society.

Despite the war-time promises of self-determination made to their Arab allies, after the creation of Iraq by mandate in 1920 the British set about establishing Iraqi political structures that would continue to give the British a significant element of control. Firstly, the British established the monarchy, and installed Amir Faisal as king. Faisal was a calculated appointment – he could trace his descent from the family of the Prophet, his ancestors had held political authority in Mecca and Medina since the tenth century, and he could claim leadership of the Arab emancipation movement due to his role in the 1916 revolt against the Turks – but was reliant on British support due to the cultivation of tribal allegiances.[1] As Mark Lewis describes it:

a major goal of the British policy was to keep the monarchy stronger than any one tribe but weaker than a coalition of tribes so that British power would ultimately be decisive in arbitrating disputes between the two.[2]

The institutionalisation of Faisal’s dependence on Britain came with the creation of the both constitution and the 1922 Anglo-Iraqi treaty. Although the constitution gave the monarchy considerable powers, the Treaty made the monarchy beholden to Britain in several regards – Faisal was obliged to consider all British advice on fiscal policy for as long as Iraq was in debt to Britain, British officials were to be appointed to specific posts in eighteen government departments, and Iraq was required to pay half the cost of supporting these officials.[3] William Cleveland argues, however, that the British recognised the inherent dangers in Faisal’s government being seen as a puppet of the British, and thus allowed Iraq “an increased degree of autonomy in the administration of its internal affairs.”[4] So much so that, by the final treaty in 1930, Iraq was to gain full independence within two years, Britain was bound to come to Iraq’s defence in case of war. However, the treaty also ensured the continuing influence of the British in the Iraqi army: any Iraqi military personnel trained abroad had to be trained in Britain, any foreign military instructors in Iraq had to be British, all the arms for the Iraqi army had to be supplied exclusively by Britain, and Britain had the right to maintain two air bases in Iraq.[5] While many Iraqi nationalists argued that this was “an impediment to Iraq’s real independence”[6], Faisal regarded the 1930 treaty as “the corner-stone for protecting Iraq’s independence, and…the basis of an extended Anglo-Arab friendship.”[7]

Despite Britain’s attempts to give Faisal’s monarchy at least a shred of legitimacy, there was no ignoring the fact that oil was becoming increasingly important in European affairs.  “This”, Cleveland suggests, “produced a contradiction in British policy”[8], simultaneously trying to promote the appearance of an independent Iraq and extract a favourable oil concession from the same government they had only recently installed. The ensuing lease negotiated a 75-year lease for the Iraqi Petroleum Company (IPC), and while it provided for the payment of royalties the lease specifically excluded Iraq from even partial ownership of the company.

Throughout Iraq’s history, oil has been a major focus of both internal revolutions and external threats. By 1952 new pipelines to Lebanon and Syria increased government oil revenues to US $112 million, but corruption among government officials, the inflation caused by the oil boom and the relatively low number of Iraqis employed by oil companies contributed to the widespread dissatisfaction with the government of the day. This was underlined following the 1958 revolution when the monarchy was overthrown and, following Abd al Karim Qasim’s ascent to power, Public Law 80 was passed, dispossessing the IPC of 99.5 per cent of its concession area and dramatically increasing oil revenues to the government.[9]

Although both have had other catalysts, both Gulf Wars have, fundamentally, been about securing America’s oil supply. Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait in August 1990 was sparked by Saddam Hussein’s claims that, firstly, Kuwait had stolen Iraqi oil from the Rumaila oilfields, and secondly that it had flooded the international oil market, causing prices to fall. The West’s immediate response to the invasion was based on concern that, should Kuwait fall, Saudi Arabia was next, and thus 40 per cent of the world’s oil reserves would be in Hussein’s possession. And although the ongoing Iraq War was supposedly based on weapons of mass destruction, numerous White House reports had emphasised the increasing importance of foreign oil to US oil consumption.[10] Michael Klare writes:

Growing worries about the stability of Saudi Arabia…heightened by revelations of Saudi extremists’ involvement in the September 11 terror attacks, have prompted US strategists to seek a backup should future instability lead to a drop in Saudi oil production, which could trigger a global recession. Some strategists have proposed Russia as a backup, others the Caspian Sea states of Azerbaijan and Kazakhstan. But only one country has the capacity to substantially increase oil production in the event of a Saudi collapse: Iraq. With proven reserves of 112 billion barrels of oil (compared with 49 billion for Russia and 15 billion for the Caspian states), Iraq alone can serve as a backup for Saudi Arabia. At the same time, control over Iraqi oil would allow US leaders to more easily ignore Saudi demands for US action on behalf of the Palestinians and would weaken OPEC’s control over oil prices.[11]

Klare’s argument clearly shows that not only has Iraqi oil been formative in the creation and the ongoing internal conflicts within Iraq, but it has also significantly influenced US policy not only in relation to Iraq, but as concerns oil supply the world over.

Indeed, the reason for this may not just be attributable to America’s voracious energy needs, but by the oil producing nations themselves. The 1973 oil crisis was chiefly caused by the Organisation of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) raising oil prices by 70 per cent and cutting production by 25 per cent. In addition to this, OPEC once again highlighted the geopolitical significant of oil supplies by banning oil sales to both the US and the Netherlands, due to their support of Israel. The resulting inflation, unemployment and even recession in many Western countries could only have served to reinforce their vulnerability to foreign oil, and the need to have a dependable supply.

   One of the more significant clashes throughout Iraq’s history has been that of sectarianism, but also ethnicity. Both have played an important part in the internal evolution of Iraq, but perhaps more importantly have had vital roles in relation to foreign policy and international relations.

Despite comprising a vast majority of Iraq’s Arab population, perhaps as much as 65%, Shi’as “have been both politically impotent and economically depressed”[12]. Here, once again, we see Iraq’s history of colonialism casting long shadows even today, although in this case it is not European, but rather Ottoman imperialism. However, this is not the result of a calculated and systematic repression, but rather an accident of history and necessity. During the reign of the Ottomans, they favoured their Sunni ideological brethren for positions of administration and governance. Then, once the Ottoman Empire collapsed and the new Iraq was being formed, King Faisal really had no choice but to choose experienced administrators as government officials, and thus Iraq’s bureaucracy for much of its history has been Sunni-dominated. Perhaps the clearest manifestation of this is that, of the five men who shared the premiership of Iraq thirteen times between them from 1921 to 1941, all were Sunnis with experience in the Ottoman regime.

Issues of sectarianism have also been important factors in Iraqi foreign policy, most significantly in relation to Iran. One of the great fears following Khomeini’s revolution in 1979 was that an increasingly Shi’a Iran might inspire uprising from Iraq’s suppressed Shi’a majority. As Hourani states, “the Iraqi regime faced a double challenge, as a secular nationalist government and as one dominated by Sunni Muslims”.[13] While Iraq’s invasion of Iran was a successful pre-emptive move against Shi’a resurgence as it did not split Iraqi society, “to some extent it split the Arab world”[14] as Syria supported Iran while most other Arab states gave military or financial support to Iraq. Here we can see clearly how sectarianism is not only a huge concern within Iraq, but is an issue of such magnitude that it was worthy of fighting a war in order to avoid any manifestation of it.

But perhaps even more complicated than the sectarian divisions of Iraq are those divisions in ethnicity, specifically in regards to the Kurdish peoples of northern Iraq. There are areas of Iraq, Iran and Turkey that are predominantly Kurdish in their ethnicity, and are arguably the largest nationalist bloc in the world without their own state. This is largely because, throughout history, the Kurds have never banded together to form an independent political entity, and thus have been ruled by Armenians, Persians, Byzantines, Turks and Arabs.[15] Perhaps the strongest push for an autonomous Kurdish state took place during the decline of the Ottoman Empire with the establishment of several Kurdish newspapers and societies. Although these were shut down by the Ottomans, Kurdish appeals to Britain for autonomy proved successful with the declaration of the Treaty of Sevres, wherein the Allies recognised the right of both the Kurds and the Armenians to form their own independent states. However, Mustafa Kemal’s ascension to power in Turkey saw Turkish reclamation of the Kurdish regions in its east. Furthermore, Mosul’s importance as a source of oil led to Britain including it as part of Iraq under the 1920 mandate.

Once again, as with much Iraqi history, the military has played an important role in regards to the Kurds, most obviously apparent in 1964-65. Iranian-supported Kurdish attacks in the north of Iraq prompted Iraq’s Prime Minister Bazzaz to propose a comprehensive peace settlement with the Kurds, including; predominant use of the Kurdish language in Kurdish areas, Kurdish administration of their educational, health and municipal institutions, and proportional representation in national and provincial governments. The acceptance of these terms by Mustafa Barzani, a Kurdish leader, suggested that the conflict was over. However, the army, who feared the potential damage to the armed forces if Bazzaz, a civilian, remained prime minister, strongly denounced any and all reconciliation with the Kurds, leading to President Arif asking for Bazzaz’s resignation.[16]

Interestingly, Mark Lewis argues that the entrance of the military into Iraqi politics came about following the massacre of Assyrians at a village called Simel in 1933. This massacre was ordered by a Kurdish general, Bakr Sidqi, and set precedence for military intervention “that would be followed throughout the 1950s and the 1960s.”[17] Perhaps, in a cruel twist of fate, were it not for the actions of a Kurdish general in 1933, the Kurds would have attained statehood thirty years later.

However, the greatest tragedy for the Kurds in Iraq centres on Saddam Hussein and the remarkable, monstrous shift in his treatment of Kurdish people during the course of his reign. Beginning in 1969, when Hussein was vice-chairman of the Ba’ath Party, “the party continued its efforts to win over the Kurdish people by gradually granting the Kurds a number of political rights and adopting measures aimed at encouraging reconciliation.”[18] These included:

“the establishment of the Kurdish new year Nawruz as a national holiday; the teaching of the Kurdish language in all Iraqi schools and universities; the establishment of a new university in Sulaymaniyya; the establishment of a Dohuk province (an old Kurdish demand for the establishment of a Kurdish province in Mosul province); the publication of Kurdish books and periodicals; the creation of an Academy for Kurdish Culture within the Ministry of Information; the elaboration of a departmental law based on the principle of decentralisation; an increase in the number of Kurdish programs on Kirkuk television; the granting of an amnesty to all civilians who participated in the fighting in the Kurdish area.”[19]

And indeed much of this agenda was adapted in the March 1970 Manifesto, including:

“recognition of Kurdish as the official language in those areas where Kurds constitute a majority. Kurdish and Arabic would be taught together in all schools; participation of Kurds in government, including the appointment of Kurds to key posts in the state; furtherance of Kurdish education and culture; requirement that officials in the Kurdish area speak Kurdish; right to establish Kurdish student, youth, women’s, and teacher’s organisations; economic development of the Kurdish area; return of Kurds to their villages or financial compensation; agrarian reform; amendment of the constitution to read “the Iraqi people consist of two main nationalities: the Arab and Kurdish nationalities”; return of the clandestine radio stations and heavy weapons to the government; appointment of a Kurdish vice-president; amendment of provincial laws in accordance with this declaration; formation of a Kurdish area with self-government.”[20]

Furthermore, within one month of the agreement a nine-man high commission, chaired by Saddam Hussein, was created to carry out the implementation of this agreement. A 1970 amendment to the provisional constitution declared that “all citizens are equal before the law”[21], the Kurdish language would exist side-by-side with Arabic, and the “Iraqi people are composed of two main nationalities, Arab and Kurdish.”[22]

However, all moves towards Kurdish nationalism ceased following this declaration, and 1974 saw renewed fighting. The Algerian Agreement between Iran and Iraq led to a cessation of the shah’s support for the Kurdish resistance, which led to the forced relocation of nearly 250,000 Kurds to the southern parts of Iraq. Furthermore, Ba’ath Party officials forced Arabs to move to northern regions, diluting the Kurdish presence even more.[23] And the drastic turnaround in Hussein’s policy could not be more morbidly underlined than with his use of chemical and biological weapons against Kurdish towns, such as at Halabja in the 1987 Anfal campaign,[24] allegedly killing 5,000 men, women and children within 30 minutes.

Mark Lewis offers a general explanation as to the primacy of the army throughout Iraqi history, stating that “in Iraq, as in much of the developing world, the military establishment has been the best organised institution in an otherwise weak political system.”[25] This organisation came, at the very beginning, from the British, who established the Iraqi army at the Cairo Conference of 1921, and since its inception the army has been responsible for close to a dozen coups. Including the 1936 Bakr Sidi coup, the 1941 coup led by Rashid Ali, the 1948 Wathbah uprising, the 1963 bloodless coup that installed Arif into power, and of course the 1968 coup that established the Ba’ath party in office. And we have already seen how important the army was in relation to the answering of the Kurdish question, especially in 1964-65. Furthermore, the Sunni minority that has so often held political power in Iraq has usually tried to keep all leadership positions in the army occupied by Sunnis, with the rank and file comprising mostly Shi’a. Thus we can see that the Iraqi military has always been a microcosm of Iraqi society, full of sectarian and ethnic divisions, controlled by power-hungry leaders, and seemingly haunted by the long shadow of British colonialism. Although the military has not been a factor in every aspect of Iraq’s social and political history, countless Iraqi leaders come from military backgrounds, and the frequency of coups meant that, at time, the army became the arbiter of Iraqi politics. The absolute power of the army, especially in regards to the early period of the monarchy, is perhaps explained by Lewis, who argues, “while Iraq’s body politic crumbled under immense political and economic pressure throughout the monarchic period, the military gained increased power and influence.”[26]

One of the greatest examples of the importance of the military can be found in the rise and rule of Saddam Hussein. Despite international opposition from the US, UN, Britain, Saudi Arabia, Egypt and Syria, until the US-led invasion in 2003 there emerged not a single serious Iraqi opposition leader ready to challenge Saddam’s leadership. Hourani argues that this is because Saddam enjoys ‘asabiyya – a corporate spirit oriented towards obtaining and keeping power – largely based around the dominance of his al-Bu Nasr clan and the large numbers of Tikiritis who remain loyal to him. It was from this region that a “significant part of the officer corps had been recruited”[27] prior to the 1968 revolution that installed Hussein and Hasan al-Bakri to power. It was this same ‘asabiyya, specifically within the Republic Guard, that upheld Saddam’s power following Kurdish and Shi’a uprisings in 1991.

The history, society and politics of Iraq are all remarkably complex, interwoven as they are with the history of world wars, cold wars and colonialism to name but a few. At various moments sectarian and ethnic divisions have been paramount; at others, the military has been ascendant; and at yet others oil and geopolitics have been irresistible forces. There is perhaps no country in the world whose past, present and future is as difficult to analyse or predict, as it is impossible to know which of these competing forces will next achieve supremacy, no matter how temporary it may be.

Bibliography

1.      Amatzia Baram, Culture, History and Ideology in the Formation of Ba’thist Iraq, 1968-89 (St Martin’s Press: New York), 1991

2.      William L. Cleveland. A history of the modern Middle East (Westview Press: Boulder), 1994.

3.      Edmund Ghareeb, The Kurdish Question in Iraq (Syracuse University Press: Syracuse, New York), 1981

4.      Albert Hourani, A History of the Arab Peoples (Belknap, Harvard University Press: Cambridge, Massachusetts), 2002

5.      Abbas Kelidar (ed.), The Integration of Modern Iraq (Croom Helm: London), 1979

6.      Michael T. Klare, “Oiling the Wheels of War”, The Nation, October 7, 2002

7.      Helen Chapin Metz (ed.), Iraq: a country study (Library of Congress: Washington), 1990

8.      Benjamin Shwadran, The Power Struggle in Iraq (Council For Middle Eastern Affairs Press: New York), 1960

9.      Mohammad A. Tarbush, The role of the military in politics: A case study of Iraq to 1941 (Keegan Paul International: London), 1982