Activists see opportunity in crisis-worn Iraq

ERBIL, Kurdistan Region — Billy Williams plays with the top button of his blue denim shirt. He describes the heat in Basra, Iraq, the tremendous humidity. It was 1957, and the British cameraperson was filming Rivers Of Time, a documentary commissioned by the Iraqi Petroleum Company (IPC).

The rivers referenced in the movie title, the Tigris and the Euphrates, run through some of the world’s oldest historical sites – places that Billy read about in the Old Testament. The British-run IPC employed documentary-makers to frame Iraq, the “cradle of civilization,” as the lynchpin of the country’s modernization. Oil, or black gold, was the key to Iraq’s prosperity.

“The idea that oil is black gold hasn’t changed since the 1950s,” explains Salman Khairalla, head of the environmentalist initiative Save the Tigris. The activist cherishes the rivers Williams filmed, Iraqi heritage he has fought to protect. “I wish people thought about the impact of using oil before relying on it,” he adds. His voice is filled with a tirelessness I instinctively recognize, a mix of hope, determination and outrage, the signature of a resilient advocate.

A Steep Slope

Headlines have been ringing the alarm bell for weeks now. Plummeting oil prices, resulting from a price war between Saudi Arabia and Russia, are aggravated by declining demand for oil, courtesy of the coronavirus pandemic. 

Over 90% of Iraq’s economy hinges on oil revenue. The government based its 2020 budget on the assumption that Iraqi crude would sell for $56 a barrel. By early April, global crude prices had already dropped to nearly half that amount.  

Taking a turn for the worse, US oil prices fell below zero on April 20th, ominously signaling the implosion of global demand. It may be impossible for the industry to fully recover. 

Unsurprisingly, these combined dynamics spell economic disaster for any oil-producing country. 

Despite the dual oil crisis and coronavirus shocks, Iraqi activists have remained both ambitious and active. Khairallah and his peers see the eerie situation as a turning point. “It’s the right moment to take on other things,” explains activist Omar Alamree, who hopes the government will take this opportunity to address the crisis by implementing practical plans for economic diversification. 

Rising Above

Oil crisis, lockdown, or not, Khairallah and Alamree say they are still working. When the government restricted movement in March, Khairallah began inviting experts to conduct webinars on the impact of COVID-19 and on Iraq’s economic future. 

Khairallah claims new members have joined online workshops organized by Save the Tigris, and that the environmentalist community keeps growing. Alamree adds that his friends have petitioned the government to grant emergency subsidies to those most affected by the pandemic. In the meantime, they collect donations and distribute goods to struggling Iraqis. 

The young activists have been trying to convince the government to diversify its economy and curb the impact of such shocks for years. Motivated by the determination to protect the natural wealth and resources of his homeland, combined with a desire to see Iraqis prosper from a sustainable economic model, Khairallah has been running workshops, leading campaigns, publishing research, and organizing consultations with government officials for the past decade. 

Iraqi environmentalist groups have advocated for new irrigation systems to boost the agricultural sector, promoting eco-tourism in the Iraqi marshes, and investing in clean energy — anything but oil. Khairallah mentions that his insistence on alternatives has won him the title of “problem-maker” among government officials.

Throughout these initiatives, many of Khairallah’s fellow activists have become close friends. Alamree has the same combination of resolve and indignation in his voice. “I don’t know why no one is talking about these issues,” he urges. In the same breath, he insists he will keep advocating for change. 

Trouble Ahead 

The activists’ resilience throughout an increasingly tumultuous year does not preclude frustration with politicians’ inaction before the crisis. “We tried speaking with the government,” Alamree states blankly, “they said they would try, but they didn’t try.” The young campaigner was also heavily involved in encouraging officials to diversify the economy, in addition to advocating for labour rights in Iraq.

His work’s limitations frustrate him. Despite the widespread popular support that the protests enjoyed, their intensity and sacrifice were met by the political establishment’s indifference. 

Deeply-entrenched corruption and patronage networks help officials secure generous salaries which the oil crisis and lockdown do not compromise, leaving them unresponsive to their constituents’ demands. Alamree predicts that failure to address the current economic disaster will likely result in renewed unrest once the lockdown is lifted.

Iraqi environmental expert Dr. Azzam Alwash maintains that Iraqis will face heightened economic and political insecurity in the coming months, in addition to emphasizing the government’s apathy on the environmental file. “This is going to be a period of uncertainty of tension, and I’m not sure the political class has been listening,” he affirms. 

The Goldman Environmental Prize recipient considers oil to be Iraq’s curse, and explains that the government no longer has the resources to distribute handouts and quell its citizens’ discontent. As third Prime Minister designate Mustafa Kadhimi attempts to form a cabinet, the political future of Iraq is beyond uncertain.

For Khairallah and Alamree, one thing is clear. If the new government, whenever it is established, does nothing to attenuate the dual shocks of the oil and coronavirus catastrophes, it can expect renewed popular unrest. Protestors have been active since October last year. Hundreds were killed and severely injured by security forces. “You can imagine lots of people without work, without money, with a corrupt government,” says Alamree, “if they don’t make any changes, I think it’s going to get bloody again.”

Trouble Now 

Khairallah’s account of the current situation is bleak, at best. “All salaries depend on oil…”. Our WhatsApp call cuts off. “Sorry, we have poor internet here,” he apologizes. I briefly wonder whether to blame our interrupted connection on heightened internet use, with everyone working and playing from home, or on Iraq’s spotty internet infrastructure.

The country’s condition is a far cry from the alluring, modern oil-powered oasis that the IPC film unit sought to sell decades ago. Khairallah laments the looming economic repercussions that the collapse in oil prices will have on Iraqis. “The people have a new saying,” he explains, “they say that bamia soup (Iraq’s staple okra soup) will be more expensive than the oil in Iraq.”

He paints a gloomy and sadly accurate forecast for the months to come. In one way or another, every citizen stands to lose from the oil crisis. Those employed in the public sector – 60% of the population – will have their salaries cut next month, a fact confirmed by prime minister designate Kadhimi in early April. Those working in the private sector, composed largely of small and often informal businesses – taxi drivers, hairdressers, bazaar shopkeepers – depend on daily wages that the lockdown already prevents them from earning.

On top of this, Iraq heavily relies on imports, particularly from neighbors such as Turkey and Iran. The pandemic has slowed the movement of goods and impacted local prices. The cost of Iranian onions has doubled, a particularly concerning observation for someone with no income.

Another Iraq 

Perhaps Billy Williams did not realize, all those years ago, that he was filming a country that would suffer from oil. That violence, corruption, and environmental damage, fuelled by so-called black gold, would pave the way for tremendous human and ecological losses.

A one-year-old shrieks in the background of our conversation, then softly whimpers. Khairallah affectionately calms his hungry toddler – work from home comes with its distractions – and seamlessly continues to describe the devastating effects of Iraq’s latest oil crisis. 

Iraqis like Omar and Salman are confronted with the damage that oil has inflicted on their country. They must choose, every day, not to simply accept it. I mull over their accounts, with all the setbacks and challenges that they describe. The caption on Salman’s Skype daringly states, “another Iraq is possible.”

Edited by Shawn Carrié

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