Fifteen Years After My First Vote, Iraq Still Waits for Democracy
Iraq still holds elections, but authority lies elsewhere. For many voters, participation has become less an expression of faith in government than a refusal to give up.
In 2010, I cast my first vote in Iraq’s national elections. I voted for Ayad Allawi, the secular candidate who promised to break the stranglehold of sectarianism and reclaim Iraq’s sovereignty from the chaos that followed Saddam Hussein’s fall. That year, Allawi’s coalition actually won the most seats in parliament. And yet, he lost. The post-election maneuvering that returned Nouri al-Maliki to power taught me my first hard lesson in Iraqi democracy: in Iraq, victory at the ballot box does not necessarily translate to power.
That moment shattered much of my faith in the political process. But it did not extinguish the conviction that Iraq’s future cannot be outsourced, not to Tehran, not to any of its neighbors, and not to the networks of militias and party bosses who profit from our paralysis. Fifteen years later, as Iraq prepares for yet another election, the question is no longer whether Iraqis believe in democracy. It is whether democracy still believes in them.
The parliamentary elections are marketed as a democratic ritual, but the substance of power lies elsewhere. In an interview with journalist Imad al-Din Adib titled “Who Rules Iraq?” several Iraqis spoke bluntly about their disillusionment. “Every candidate wants office for the benefits, not for service,” one man said. Another added, “We have seen their programs. They have none.”
This sentiment captures the essence of Iraq’s modern predicament. The institutions exist: elections, a parliament, ministries, a judiciary, yet they function more as stages than as legitimate engines of governance. The actors change, but the script remains written in the language of factional loyalty and external influence.
Behind the scenes, Iran’s tentacles reach beyond its borders. Through a complex web of militias, political proxies, and economic networks, Tehran exerts decisive leverage over the country’s security and decision-making. The Quds Force (one of five branches of Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps) does not need to occupy Baghdad to rule it; influence has replaced invasion as the currency of control.
In another recent discussion, “Can Iraq and Iran Part Ways?” one analyst summed up the dilemma with brutal clarity: “Iran does not see Iraq as an equal. It sees it as strategic depth.” That statement echoes across Iraqi life, from the appointment of ministers to the distribution of contracts to the intimidation of journalists.
Iran’s presence in Iraq began as a security alliance in the war against ISIS, but it has metastasized into something more enduring. Iranian-backed militias now control checkpoints, border crossings, and entire neighborhoods. Their leaders wear suits instead of fatigues, sit in parliament, and negotiate cabinet positions.
And yet, Iran’s dominance is not absolute. The Iraqi public, especially the younger generation, increasingly sees Tehran not as a protector but as a parasite. Protests that erupted in 2019 under the slogan “Nureed Watan,” meaning “We want a country,” were driven by anger at a political order shaped more by foreign agendas than by public will.
The populist cleric Muqtada al-Sadr captures this tension better than anyone. In a segment from “From the Last Episode,” al-Sadr warned that “selling the homeland,” meaning surrendering sovereignty, is the ultimate betrayal. But his own movement has at times empowered the very system he condemns. He mobilizes nationalist rhetoric, yet his fighters, too, have benefited from the same sectarian spoils that keep the country divided.
Al-Sadr’s shifts between confrontation and compromise reflect Iraq’s broader dilemma—a country torn between the desire for autonomy and the fear of instability. Each election becomes a test of how far people can push for change without risking collapse.
The people no longer believe their leaders represent them, and the leaders no longer pretend to care. Turnout in elections has steadily declined, and trust in institutions hovers near zero. The state has become an arena for negotiating power, not a framework for delivering justice.
In Who Rules Iraq?, one interviewee put it plainly: “We have a parliament, but no sovereignty.” That line captures a national tragedy, a republic whose form survives while its substance has been hollowed out.
But legitimacy can also be rebuilt. Iraq’s civil society and youth movements continue to push back, showing that Iran’s influence may be entrenched, but it isn’t absolute.
Iraq’s challenge is not to sever ties with Iran; geography and history make that impossible, but to redefine the relationship. Iraq must live with Iran as a neighbor, not as a master. That requires political courage, institutional integrity, and international support that strengthens Iraqi sovereignty rather than outsourcing it to another patron.
Foreign policymakers often treat Iraq as a footnote to Iran policy, a terrain on which to balance sanctions, energy interests, and counterterrorism priorities. But Iraq is its own actor. Ignoring that reality only empowers the militias and their sponsors. The international community should invest not in personalities or parties but in the infrastructure of independence, education, economic opportunity, and a functioning state that answers to its citizens, not its neighbors.
When I voted in 2010, I believed the ballot was our weapon against tyranny. Fifteen years later, I see it as a way of holding on—not to power, but to the idea that change is still possible. Voting in Iraq today is not an endorsement of the system; it is a protest against conceding what has the potential to be a thriving nation.
The next election will not produce a miracle. It will likely reproduce many of the same faces, slogans, and disappointments. But somewhere within that ritual lies a generation that refuses to let its country remain a satellite state.
Democracy in Iraq is precarious, distorted, and repeatedly betrayed. But it still exists, and that alone is worth defending. Iraq’s only real choice is perseverance.
Because while Iran’s influence may be entrenched, it is not eternal. And as long as Iraqis continue to demand a country —a real one —the promise of 2010 is not entirely lost.
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