The divisions that define Iraq today did not emerge naturally. They were constructed, deliberately, systematically, and they continue to have long-term consequences that continue to shape the country’s political and social reality.
Before 2003, the narrative presented to both global and local audiences was clear: Iraq was a state where Shiites and Kurds were systematically oppressed. This framing was used to justify intervention, alongside other claims, most notably the allegations surrounding weapons of mass destruction.
Yet the reality was more complex.
The Ba’ath Party itself included a significant number of Shiite members, and Kurdish regions, while contested, had achieved a level of autonomy that remains difficult to replicate in neighbouring states such as Turkey, Syria, or Iran.
This is not to suggest that the previous government was without fault. There were serious actions taken against political opponents, activists were pursued, families were targeted, and many were forced into exile, often to Iran. The aftermath of the 1991 uprising, which followed the Iraqi Army’s withdrawal from Kuwait, resulted in widespread violence and loss of life.
However, the nature of that uprising remains a matter of contention.
It did not emerge purely as a spontaneous domestic movement. Armed groups, many with clear links to Iran, entered Iraq during a moment of state weakness. Among them were formations such as the Badr Brigades and elements affiliated with Hezbollah. These groups operated within the chaos, presenting the situation as a popular uprising while advancing their own objectives.
What followed was not simply rebellion, but fragmentation. Violence spread across southern provinces, accompanied by looting and institutional collapse. The situation only stabilised after intervention from the Iraqi Republican Guards, which put a quick end to the movement. Many were killed, and many fled back to Iran and neighbouring countries, including Saudi Arabia.
This period remains deeply divisive in Iraqi memory. For some, it represents a legitimate uprising against state authority. For others, it marks the early use of externally backed militias to destabilise the country under the cover of popular revolt.
In many ways, this moment can be seen as an early turning point, marking the beginning of a more defined and lasting division between Sunni and Shiite Arab populations.
Western media largely maintained the same narrative in the years leading up to the invasion. The impact of sanctions throughout the 1990s, years that saw widespread hardship and the loss of hundreds of thousands of lives, was rarely presented with the same urgency or visibility. Their consequences remained, for the most part, in the background of public discourse.
By the time the decision to invade was made, the justification had already been established in the minds of many.
What followed was not simply regime change. It was the restructuring of Iraq’s identity.
The Beginning of Sectarian Fracture
In the early days of the war, messaging played a critical role. Reports circulated that Ali Al-Sistani had instructed his followers not to resist American forces. The effect was immediate: it introduced suspicion and raised questions about how religious authority might influence the course of the conflict.
The Iraqi government contested this claim at the time, but it was later echoed and reinforced through other channels, giving it wider credibility.
It is a moment many Iraqis remember clearly, watching events unfold in real time, as narratives formed and perceptions began to shift alongside the war itself.
For many Sunnis, this raised a question: could religious authority shape the outcome of conflict, and if so, whose side was it on?
It also prompted deeper unease. Why did such figures hold this level of influence? Why were large segments of the Shiite population willing to follow these directives? And why was Ali Al-Sistani given such prominence in the media at that specific moment?
These questions were not abstract; they went to the core of trust, power, and representation in a rapidly changing Iraq.
This moment marked the beginning of a deeper fracture.
The CPA and the Institutionalisation of Division
After the fall of the state, the Coalition Provisional Authority took control. Its decisions reshaped Iraq fundamentally.
The dismantling of the Ba’ath Party and the introduction of a political system based on sectarian and ethnic quotas, Muhasasa Ta’ifia, were not administrative choices. They were structural transformations.
For the first time in Iraq’s modern history, identity was formalised politically as: Shiite, Sunni, and Kurd.
This was not how Iraq had functioned before. But once embedded into governance, it quickly translated into competition, exclusion, and eventually violence.
Previously, there was a widely understood boundary: if individuals and their families stayed away from political activity, they were largely left alone. The state’s relationship with society, while often harsh, was not structured around constant sectarian competition at the societal level.
After 2003, this changed entirely. Division became embedded in the system itself, and politics turned into a struggle over identity—who controls what, and on whose behalf.
Questions of majority and minority moved to the forefront, becoming the defining lens through which power was understood and distributed. Merit, competence, and loyalty to the country were pushed aside, replaced by affiliation and sectarian alignment.
The Dissolution of the Iraqi Army
One of the most consequential decisions taken after 2003 was the disbanding of the Iraqi Army. It immediately left hundreds of thousands without employment, men trained in security and organisation, now watching their country unravel.
This was not simply the removal of a military force. It was the destruction of one of the few national institutions with a long history and deep roots in the hearts and minds of Iraqis, one that was capable of maintaining order. In its place emerged a fragmented security landscape, quickly filled by militias.
These groups were not neutral. Many were ideologically driven, sectarian in orientation, and connected to external actors, particularly Iran. Some had previously fought against Iraq during the Iran–Iraq War, raising further questions about loyalty and long-term intent.
The result was immediate: a large segment of the population was alienated from the new political order. Hundreds of thousands were not just unemployed, but effectively excluded.
This is often described as a mistake. But the scale, timing, and consequences of the decision suggest otherwise. It removed power from the only institution capable of stabilising the country at a moment of extreme vulnerability.
Political Engineering and the Rise of Sectarian Power
The formation of the Iraqi Governing Council and subsequent interim governments formalised this new order.
The Iraqi Governing Council, established by the Coalition Provisional Authority, was presented as a step toward representative governance. In reality, it held limited power and marked the formal introduction of a sectarian political framework.
From the outset, the direction was clear. Power was distributed along ethnic and sectarian lines, embedding division into the foundations of the new system. Rather than fostering national cohesion, this structure encouraged competition, each group positioning itself to secure influence and resources.
The result was a political environment defined less by governance and more by rivalry, where progress was secondary to maintaining balance between factions.
The individuals selected to lead this process were largely drawn from groups that identified themselves as the Iraqi opposition, many of whom had spent years outside the country. Within Iraq, however, they were often unknown to the broader population, and their intentions were not always clear.
Over time, even some within these circles distanced themselves, citing internal divisions, corruption, and conflicting external allegiances.
The Iraqi interim government was subsequently formed, replacing the Coalition Provisional Authority, with Iyad Allawi appointed as Prime Minister.
Despite this political transition, resistance never ceased. Various groups and factions emerged during this period, some composed of local fighters, others formed from elements of the former Iraqi Army after its dissolution, as well as remnants of the Ba’ath Party. These groups continued to carry out operations against both coalition forces and the newly established Iraqi state.
Key flashpoints, such as the battles in Fallujah and the uprising led by Muqtada al-Sadr, who represented a segment of the Shiite population, highlighted the scale and complexity of the conflict.
All of these movements were met with the full force of the U.S. military, alongside the newly formed Iraqi security forces. In practice, many of these forces were heavily influenced, or directly shaped, by militia groups, often driven by sectarian loyalties and, in many cases, aligned with Iran.
During these transitions, it became increasingly clear to many Iraqis where the country was heading. The language and messaging of the emerging political class reinforced division, framing Iraq primarily in terms of Shiite, Sunni, and Kurdish identities, and in doing so, deepening the very fractures that would come to define the post-2003 state.
Then came Ibrahim Al-Jaafari, a senior figure within the Da’wah Party, a movement long associated with close ties to Iran.
During this period, patterns of exclusion became increasingly visible. Across government institutions, the military, and key ministerial positions, representation was not evenly distributed. Large segments of the Sunni population found themselves marginalised from positions of influence and authority.
This was not just a political imbalance; it had wider consequences. It pushed entire communities further away from the newly formed Iraqi state, weakening any sense of inclusion and reinforcing the perception that the system was not designed to represent them.
For the Sunni population in particular, this translated into systematic exclusion from political office, from the military, and from meaningful participation in decision-making.
In contrast to the earlier period under Iyad Allawi, who was often viewed as less overtly sectarian and who confronted resistance movements across both Sunni and Shiite fronts, the approach under Ibrahim Al-Jaafari marked a shift.
Exclusion became more pronounced, and the tone of political messaging increasingly reflected division. Narratives began to emerge, both in political discourse and across media channels, framing the situation in terms of historical grievance, particularly the idea of Shiite retribution for centuries of Sunni rule.
These messages were not isolated. They were repeated and reinforced through a growing network of media outlets, many of which were aligned with political parties and militias. Over time, this reintroduced and amplified historical sectarian narratives, embedding them into contemporary political discourse.
This environment would later be further intensified under Nouri al-Maliki.
De-Ba’athification as a Tool of Control
What began as a policy to remove elements of the former regime evolved into a mechanism of repression.
The de-Ba’athification process became: a justification for mass arrests, a tool for silencing opposition, and a label applied broadly to dissent.
Over time, the term “Ba’athist” itself began to shift in meaning. It was no longer used strictly in its political sense but increasingly became associated with Sunni identity, reinforced through media narratives, political rhetoric, and the application of these policies on the ground.
Entire areas were targeted. Displacement, detention, and collective punishment became widespread. While Shiites were also affected in cases where individuals opposed the system, the primary focus of these measures fell on Sunni areas.
The language of “terrorism” replaced political disagreement. Opposition was no longer debated; it was categorised and criminalised.
Although the de-Ba’athification framework was initially introduced under U.S. authority, it was quickly adopted and expanded by factions within the new political system and their affiliated militias. It was used to justify the detention of tens of thousands of civilians, often without a clear legal basis, to this day.
In practice, this created a blanket approach. Entire communities were treated with suspicion, and accusations alone were often sufficient to justify arrest or exclusion. Labelling individuals as “Ba’athists” or “terrorists” became a common method of silencing dissent, a pattern that, in many ways, continues to this day.
Forced displacement and demographic shifts were also used as tools of control. Populations were pushed out of certain areas to consolidate influence, a practice carried out by multiple actors, including militia groups aligned with political factions as well as Kurdish forces in the north.
The Maliki Era: Consolidation Through Division
The tenure of Nouri al-Maliki marked a critical phase in the consolidation of this system.
Under Maliki, power became increasingly centralised within a sectarian political bloc. Rival political figures, particularly Sunni leaders, were arrested or sidelined, while key security institutions were bypassed or reshaped to serve executive control.
His administration was repeatedly accused of enabling militia activity while simultaneously developing parallel security structures.
Extrajudicial mechanisms became a defining feature of this period. Units reporting directly to the Prime Minister’s office, often referred to as “detention squads”, operated outside formal legal frameworks. Allegations surrounding these units included arbitrary detention, political targeting, and a near-total absence of judicial oversight.
At the same time, state institutions—particularly the Ministry of Interior- became heavily infiltrated by militia groups. Operating under official cover, these forces were widely linked to kidnappings, enforced disappearances, and sectarian killings.
The Saddam Trial
The trial and execution of Saddam Hussein further reinforced sectarian perceptions.
The process was widely viewed as politicised. Judges were replaced under pressure, legal procedures were bypassed, and the timing of the execution coincided with a major religious holiday, Eid Al-Adha, a period traditionally associated in the region with pardons and acts of clemency.
Subsequent attempts to frame the timing as coincidental, including arguments over the difference in the exact day of Eid between Sunni and Shiite communities, further angered the public.
A leaked mobile phone video from the execution further intensified these perceptions. The footage showed guards, reportedly linked to figures within Nouri al-Maliki’s circle or allied militias, taunting Saddam Hussein as he stood on the gallows, chanting the name of Muqtada al-Sadr.
The imagery and tone of the video reinforced the view that the execution was not conducted as a neutral act of justice, but as a moment charged with sectarian symbolism.
Rather than serving as a moment of national closure, the execution deepened divisions and reinforced the view that the process was driven as much by sectarian symbolism as by justice.
In the years since, this perception has had lasting consequences. For many, Saddam Hussein came to be viewed less through the totality of his rule and more through the way his final moments were presented as, a hero.
At the same time, the continued failures of governance and the persistence of division under the post-2003 political system led many Iraqis to reassess that period. As disillusionment grew, so too did a sense of regret among segments of the population, with more voices openly expressing support for Saddam’s legacy.
This sentiment continues to surface, reflecting less a unified historical judgment and more a reaction to the realities that followed.
This outcome was not incidental. The manner in which the execution was conducted and communicated further entrenched division rather than resolving it.
From Civil Conflict to Structural Stagnation
By the early 2010s, the consequences were clear: sectarian identity had replaced national identity, political competition had become zero-sum, and institutions had lost neutrality.
These dynamics contributed directly to instability, including the conditions that allowed extremist groups such as ISIS to emerge and expand.
Tishreen: Rejection of the System
In 2019, a new generation challenged this entire structure.
The Tishreen Movement was not sectarian; it was a rejection of sectarianism itself.
Its central demand, “We want a homeland,” captured a clear shift: away from identity-based politics and toward citizenship, sovereignty, and a functioning state. Young Iraqis took to the streets across the country, openly rejecting the political system, its leading figures, and the external influences, particularly Iran and the United States, that they saw as sustaining it.
This was not a symbolic protest. It was a direct challenge to the foundations of the post-2003 order. Many of those who participated understood the risks and continued regardless.
The response was violent. Thousands were killed, thousands injured, and activists were systematically targeted through assassinations, intimidation, and forced disappearances.
The Reality Today: Division Without Conviction
What is striking today is that, at the societal level—particularly in cities like Baghdad, many Iraqis have moved beyond sectarian thinking. Over time, it has become increasingly clear to large segments of the population how sectarian divisions were used by political actors to maintain power.
There is now a broader awareness of how these divisions were created and sustained, and a growing rejection of the narratives that once defined public life.
The system, however, has not evolved in the same way. It continues to rely on these divisions, and without them, its structure would struggle to sustain itself.
In rural areas and economically vulnerable regions, sectarian narratives remain more persistent, reinforced by poverty, dependency on political networks, continued elite messaging, and lower levels of access to education.
Division, in this context, is not incidental. It serves a clear function: it sustains the political class.
Fear as the Final Constraint
The most powerful force sustaining the current system is not ideology; it is fear.
For many Shiites, there is a fear of instability or the possibility of revenge. For many Sunnis, the concern remains repression and collective punishment. For Kurds, the risk is the loss of autonomy and what they have been able to gain in the past 23 years.
This mutual fear creates paralysis. It limits the space for collective action and helps explain why meaningful change from within Iraq has remained so difficult to achieve.
What Comes Next
Change in Iraq is inevitable, but its source matters.
External intervention has already reshaped the country once, with lasting consequences. Any future transformation must come from within, driven by those who have lived through its realities.
The central challenge is not political reform alone. It is the dismantling of a system built on division, and the reconstruction of a shared national identity.
That requires rejecting sectarian frameworks, reasserting institutional neutrality, and replacing external allegiance with national interest.
It will not be easy. But both regional shifts and growing awareness within Iraq suggest that change is not a question of if, but when. Developments across the region, including shifting balances of power, point toward a period of transition.
This time, however, change must come from within, without repeating the mistakes of the past.
Closing Note
Nothing about Iraq’s post-2003 trajectory appears accidental.
The structures, the decisions, and the outcomes point in one direction:
Division was not a byproduct. It was the design.
And until that design is confronted, Iraq will remain constrained by it.