icon caret Arrow Down Arrow Left Arrow Right Arrow Up Line Camera icon set icon set Ellipsis icon set Facebook Favorite Globe Hamburger List Mail Map Marker Map Microphone Minus PDF Play Print RSS Search Share Trash Crisiswatch Alerts and Trends Box - 1080/761 Copy Twitter Video Camera  copyview Youtube
Failing Oversight: Iraq’s Unchecked Government
Failing Oversight: Iraq’s Unchecked Government
Table of Contents
  1. Executive Summary
‘Jihadi bride’ doesn’t fit: we need a new language for female militants
‘Jihadi bride’ doesn’t fit: we need a new language for female militants
Report 113 / Middle East & North Africa

Failing Oversight: Iraq’s Unchecked Government

Spreading corruption threatens to undermine the significant progress Iraq has made toward reducing violence and strengthening state institutions.

  • Share
  • Save
  • Print
  • Download PDF Full Report

Executive Summary

After years of uncertainty, conflict and instability, the Iraqi state appears to be consolidating by reducing violence sufficiently to allow for a semblance of normalcy. Yet in the meantime, it has allowed corruption to become entrenched and spread throughout its institutions. This, in turn, has contributed to a severe decay in public services. Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki’s government has exacerbated the problem by interfering in anti-corruption cases, manipulating investigations for political advantage and intimidating critics to prevent a replication of the type of popular movements that already have brought down three regimes in the region. The government’s credibility in the fight against corruption has eroded as a result, and this, together with troubling authoritarian tendencies, is giving ammunition to the prime minister’s critics. To bolster its faltering legitimacy, Maliki’s government will have to launch a vigorous anti-corruption campaign, improve service delivery and create checks and balances in the state system.

As violence spread following the 2003 U.S. invasion, the state suffered in equal measure to the general population. In an environment of escalating kidnappings, explosions and assassinations, public services were thoroughly devastated. In the wake of the dramatic February 2006 Samarra bombing, entire ministries were empty, as officials dared not travel to work. Longstanding projects were abandoned overnight. Judges and parliamentarians found they had become targets. Oversight agencies, which should have been less exposed to risk because of their lack of direct contact with the general population, were forced to roll back their operations, leaving state institutions without effective safeguards against corruption or abuse. As a result, state output declined dramatically for a number of years, even as the annual budget steadily increased due to elevated oil prices. The state’s paralysis contributed to the proliferation of criminal elements and vested interests throughout the bureaucracy.

By 2009, a combination of factors allowed the state to reassert itself. The U.S. surge (2007-2009) was an important initial factor in improving security, but insofar as institutions were concerned, the rebuilt security forces sufficiently enhanced safety to enable officials to go back to work without protection or assistance from the U.S. military. Today judges are protected by interior ministry forces. The Council of Representatives (parliament) is reliant solely on local police and private contractors for its security. The state has resumed most of its functions.

Despite this improved environment, public services continue to be plagued by severe deficiencies, notably widespread corruption, which spread like a virus throughout state institutions during the years of lawlessness that prevailed until 2008. One of the major causes of this depressing state of affairs is the state’s failing oversight framework, which has allowed successive governments to operate unchecked. The 2005 constitution and the existing legal framework require a number of institutions – the Board of Supreme Audit, the Integrity Commission, the Inspectors General, parliament and the courts – to monitor government operations. Yet, none of these institutions has been able to assert itself in the face of government interference, intransigence and manipulation, a deficient legal framework and ongoing threats of violence.

These factors have caused senior officials to resign, including most notably the head of the Integrity Commission on 9 September 2011. Even civil society organisations – confronted by government intimidation in the form of anonymous threats, arrests of political activists and violence, including police brutality – have proved incapable of placing a check on government. Although the perpetrators have yet to be found, the killing on 9 September 2011 of a prominent journalist and leading organiser of weekly protests against government corruption has contributed to rising fears of the Maliki government’s authoritarian streak.

The current oversight framework was established by the U.S. Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA) in 2004. The CPA enacted a number of ill-considered reforms from the start. It stripped the Board of Supreme Audit, previously Iraq’s only such institution, of significant powers, including the exclusive authority to oversee public procurement and refer suspected corruption cases to the courts. The CPA transferred that authority to the Integrity Commission,
an institution established in 2004 to act as the focal point for all anti-corruption activities. Despite having overcome serious threats to its existence in its early years, the Commission to this day cannot carry out its investigations independently, as a result of staffing problems and restricted access to certain government departments. It has, therefore, been dependent on the Inspectors General, another CPA-established institution that has placed auditors and investigators in all ministries and other state institutions. However, due to a seriously deficient legal and administrative framework, that institution has been incapable of organising its work and remains one of the most underperforming state entities.

The Council of Representatives, the most important body in the new oversight framework as it holds the key to reform in all areas of governance, is perhaps the most ineffective of all. Its inner workings are hopelessly sectarian, and its bylaws are so cumbersome and deficient that it has been incapable of enacting long-overdue legislation designed to repair the damage caused to state institutions since 2003. Moreover, as a result of the delicate political balances struck following both the December 2005 and March 2010 elections, which saw the rise of broad coalition governments deprived of a real parliamentary opposition, the Council has been unable to exercise effective oversight on government, for fear it might upset the political alliances that undergird it.

Meanwhile, the judicial system (in particular the Federal Supreme Court, supposedly the arbiter of all constitutional disputes) has been highly vulnerable to political pressure. It decided a number of high-profile disputes in a way that gave the Maliki government a freer hand to govern as it pleases, unrestrained by institutional checks.

The impact is palpable: billions of dollars have been embezzled from state coffers, owing mostly to gaps in public procurement; parties treat ministries like private bank accounts; and nepotism, bribery and embezzlement thrive. Partly as a result, living standards languish, even paling in comparison with the country’s own recent past. This applies to practically all aspects of life, including the health, education and electricity sectors, all of which underperform despite marked budget increases. Also of great concern has been the deterioration in environmental conditions, especially an alarming increase in dust storms and desertification. Pervasive corruption has impeded the state’s capacity to deal with these problems.

If corruption has taken root, it is not because of a lack of opportunities for reform. Technical experts have excelled in presenting workable proposals, but almost none have been adopted. Because of its deficient framework, and also because of government obstruction, parliament has been unable to pass any of the legislative reforms that have been on the table since at least 2007. These include, among others, a law that would force political parties to disclose their financial interests; rules that would improve the oversight institution’s performance; and a law that would protect the Supreme Court’s independence. The few reforms that have been adopted restate the existing framework’s deficiencies and will not significantly improve the state’s performance. Until these, as well as other, actions are taken, the government will continue to operate unchecked, bringing with it the type of chronic abuse, rampant corruption and growing authoritarianism that is the inevitable result of failing oversight.

Baghdad/Brussels, 26 September 2011

 

‘Jihadi bride’ doesn’t fit: we need a new language for female militants

Originally published in The Guardian

Tabloid sensationalism about Shamima Begum flattens important debates about how much agency these women have.

There are around 150 British women in the world who can be called “jihadi brides” – those who left places such as Luton, Birmingham and Burton upon Trent to migrate to the Islamic State and eventually marry its fighters – and Shamima Begum is one of the youngest. She assumed this status as a minor, and the use of the term “jihadi bride” by journalists and commentators to describe her is appalling, a heaping of further trauma on a groomed child.

Tabloid sensationalism flattens a complicated and necessary debate about agency: whether these women had any; and how much and the extent to which they should be held accountable for the spectacular violence Isis has inflicted, even if they were not directly involved and some of them were crushed by it, too. In trying to get to the bottom of these questions for a forthcoming book, I interviewed more than 20 Isis women.

There is a gentle infantilisation to almost any description of militancy that includes the word ‘bride’, so resonant and feminine.

At the heart of this problem is female militancy itself: the historical and near-universal aversion across so many societies to viewing young women as capable of dreadful violence, and the incentives for powerful governments and militaries to downplay or amplify the nature of female militancy and its implications. One premise underlying the term “jihadi bride” is that the debutante in question holds no valid political grievances, is indoctrinated into accepting grotesque violence as legitimate, and as “just” a wife plays a dangerous but marginal role in the working of the armed group to which she is wed rather than operationally affiliated. “In-house whores for Isis,” as one columnist memorably called them in 2015. The term also tilts toward characterising such women as civilian spouses of jihadist militants, akin to the German wives who held dinner parties for Nazi SS officers, rather than aspirant members who joined first and wed second, or at least concurrently.

There is a gentle infantilisation to almost any description of militancy that includes the word “bride”, so resonant and feminine. Its inclusion is almost antique, from a time when women had hysterics and doctors acting on behalf of the patriarchy had to pacify them with dubious sex therapies or lobotomies. But perhaps in the past this patronising view also served a social function: if militants’ wives were just wives, society could forgive them more easily and, once the fighting was over, they could serve as bridges back to some normalcy. Women could then try to explain what had overtaken their sons and husbands (as Osama bin Laden’s mother has done). As I wrote earlier this year, in Nigeria viewing women who voluntarily joined the Boko Haram insurgency as wives who didn’t commit violence has helped communities grudgingly tolerate their reintegration. Returnee men are often simply slaughtered.

But this inherited thinking has outlived its use, especially in light of the way militant groups themselves play on gender to recruit and swell their ranks. Ignoring women’s agency in this process obscures our understanding of all the ways, meaningful, oblique and direct, that women lent their power and numbers to Isis. Women in the caliphate served as doctors and midwives, language instructors, recruiters and intelligence agents, and morality policewomen who tormented locals.

With the flow of Isis men and women out of the group’s last patch of territory and the prospect of them returning to their countries of origin, there are loud voices now calling for the suspension of “jihadi bride”. But sometimes these reflect social and political forces with their own agendas, such as Sajid Javid’s early bid for the Tory leadership, which was signalled through the stripping of Begum’s status as a British citizen. In the rush to bestow militant women agency, there is a tendency to blaze past any legal and investigative process and hold girls such as Begum just as accountable as those who beheaded civilians. The haste to make her indoctrinated, feeble responses to journalists’ questions appear lucid and defining of her fate is reminiscent of the excesses of the post-9/11 period, when jihadists disappeared into the facility at Guantánamo Bay in a netherworld of lawless, indefinite detainment. Among those who directly suffered under Isis there is an understandable impatience with the attention such women receive, but among some voices from Syria and Iraq, the language about Begum is sometimes dehumanising, making her the focus for both justified rage at what transpired and a target for sectarian or ethnic hate.

Our need for new, measured and more forensic language to characterise female militancy and the agency that underpins it is now clear. Yet we must remain sensitive to the coercion and violence many female Isis members experienced themselves.

It is worth remembering that, after a certain point, it became virtually impossible to leave the caliphate. During the years I spent following the stories of female Isis members, I was in touch with women, or families of women, who were repulsed by what they saw unfolding and tried to escape. Kadiza Sultana, one of the three original Bethnal Green girls, saw she had made a terrible mistake and worked with her family in London to plan her evacuation. She died in an airstrike on the building where she lived, before the collapse of the territorial caliphate gave her a chance to flee.

It is no disrespect to the victims of Isis to hear women such as Begum attempt to explain their motivations. Perhaps not immediately after having a baby, in a fetid IDP camp, but later, in a courtroom – or, better, in a transitional justice hearing, where she could be confronted with the stories of Yazidi women such as Nobel peace prize winner Nadia Murad, the victims of Isis who were faceless at the time, about whose suffering Begum was, and remains, chillingly incurious.

There are legal bases on which to assess criminal accountability, which require investigations and collection of evidence. But we are also struggling to understand, as a society encumbered by loaded terms such as “jihadi bride”, how much blame to accord such women. This requires learning precisely what they did – and what might have been done to them.

The role of women in Isis is one of the most significant questions of the post-Arab spring period, the aftermath of a historic sweeping revolt that women often led and animated. The Syrian Isis woman who met Begum at the Syrian border that dark night in February 2015 and escorted her into Raqqa told me later how surprised she was by the Bethnal Green girls’ submissiveness. The driver snapped at them to cover their hair properly, and they smilingly complied.

This woman, a bookish university student, a Hemingway reader who had gone from demonstrating against Bashar al-Assad to working for Isis at the behest of her family, couldn’t understand what had brought these London girls to the hell that had become her country. They seemed bewitched. She herself was dissimulating each day, biding her time until she could just get out.