Sunnis collaborated with the British, who supported the Sunni Arab
monarchists. Shiite insurrectionists heeded the calls of their clergy and
fought a jihad, or holy war, against the British, who crushed them and
reaffirmed their second-class status. Kurdish nationalists unsuccessfully
sought independence, first by diplomatic channels, later by the gun.
Iraq's
post-World War II order was no less divisive. Sunni Arab nationalists forced
their pan-Arab ideology on the diverse country following Britain's departure.
Saddam's Sunni-run government magnified discrimination to the point of mass
killings, with Shiites and Kurds punished not so much for who they were but
for refusing to accept the Baath Party's version of Iraqi identity.
Nonetheless, Saddam's authoritarianism was the glue that held Iraq together
for decades. Now that he is out of power, the nation's troubled identity has
again been cast into flux.
Does the nation continue to bow before the philosophy of Arab nationalism,
or that of Shiite mysticism? Is Iraq's national hero Saddam or the 7th century
Shiite caliph Imam Ali? Or, for that matter, is it the late Kurdish leader
Mustafa Barzani?
A further erosion of Iraqi identity could pave the way for a partitioning
of the country, with unpredictable results.
Kurds, already soured on the idea of Iraq, could bolt the union, taking the
oil-rich city of Kirkuk with them and realising the worst fears of Turkey and
Iran, each with sizeable and restless Kurdish minorities.
Shiites, too, unified by their religious iconography, have begun seriously
talking about setting up a nine-province, oil-rich southern region. That would
leave an angry and resentful Sunni Arab centre and west of the country
determined to continue staging an insurgency that could inflame passions
throughout the Middle East.
Many Sunni Arab nationalists and former Baath Party adherents blame Iran
and the United States for interfering in Iraq's internal affairs and whipping
up sectarian and ethnic passions. The US, they say, started the troubles by
doling out seats on the initial post-invasion Iraqi Governing Council
according to ethnicity and sect rather than who was best qualified. Iran, they
say, has flooded the country with religious imagery and propaganda, bolstering
the fierce sectarianism of the country's Shiite majority to achieve its own
ends.
Regardless of the cause, the very idea of Iraq may be slowly fading,
politicians and common Iraqis acknowledge, often sadly.
Even the Iraqi flag seems to appear only in the posters of politicians
bankrolled by US-funded aid organisations. Government buildings such as the
ministries of education and health are often festooned with posters of bearded
and turbaned Shiite clerics instead of the red, white and black flag of Iraq.
In the Kurdish cities of Irbil and Dahuk, the Iraqi flag is nowhere in
evidence, replaced by the red, white and green flag of the ill-fated Mahabad
republic, the Kurdish state briefly established in northern Iran by rebellious
Kurds aided by the Soviet army in the chaotic aftermath of World War II.
Many also blame politicians and clerics who have courted supporters with
symbols of faith and ethnicity. Iraq remains a religious and tribal society
where codes of honour and loyalty are deeply ingrained.
Some Iraq experts compare the situation with the collapse of the Soviet
Union and the Eastern Bloc. In times of crisis, they say, people tend to seek
out their own kind and stick close to them, just as citizens of former
communist countries sought refuge in religion and ethnicity, catalysts for
wars in Chechnya, Yugoslavia and Tajikistan.
But Iraq's situation is by no means hopeless. In some quarters, Iraqi
national identity remains strong, said Juan Cole, a professor of history and a
leading authority on Shiite Islam at the University of Michigan. He argues
that with the collapse of Baathist-imposed Arab nationalism, Iraqis need to
work out a new identity that includes all Iraqis, just as Canada managed to
accommodate the Quebecois and Britain the Scots.
In the worst-case scenario, questions of Iraqi identity will be resolved on
the streets by the AK-47s each Iraqi household seems to have stashed away. In
the best-case scenario, Iraqi identity will be renegotiated passionately yet
peacefully in courts, classrooms and legislative chambers.
Even Saddam's continuing trial on charges involving the killings of 146
Shiite villagers in 1982, divisive though it is, can serve as such a forum. At
times last month, the trial resembled not so much a legal battle as a
dysfunctional family — a Kurdish judge, a Shiite prosecutor and Sunni Arab
defendants — squabbling at a holiday dinner over traumatic events two decades
ago.
Some Iraqi leaders have taken first steps to avert a break-up of the
country. Under heavy US pressure, they've begun exploring the creation of a
broad-based coalition government that includes Iraq's different segments.
Others have begun publicly acknowledging the divisions within the country and
urging moderation.
With many of the country's tribes and families divided between Sunni and
Shiite, the increasing identification with one or the other inspires revulsion
among some Iraqis even as the divisions deepen.
The politicians "talk in a vocabulary that separates us", says Ali Abdul
Salman, a 25-year-old Oil Ministry worker in Baghdad. "That is horrifying."
Born to a Sunni Arab mother, Shiite father and Kurdish grandmother, Abdul
Salman said he couldn't help but still believe in an Iraqi identity. "We all
carry the same identity card, which says we are all Iraqis. When I leave the
country, what I will carry is my Iraqi passport, and it doesn't say Sunni,
Shiite or Kurd."