The Artists of Sulaymaniyah Found a Home. Can They Keep It?
Against a backdrop of economic crisis and fading state support, Sulaymaniyah’s artists have turned a derelict tobacco factory into Kurdistan’s most vibrant cultural refuge
At first glance, the tobacco factory in Sulaymaniyah looks derelict, its austere façade faded with time. There’s little sign of the scene that thrives here, but inside, it’s a different story. Five years ago, local artists secured an unlikely bid to transform the 1950s site into a creative hub. Their vision was to preserve the old industrial complex and revive Sulaymaniyah’s reputation as the cultural capital of Kurdistan.
“Many big business owners wanted the building so we had to fight for it,” says Rebeen Hamarafiq, who was among the artists and intellectuals that banded together in 2019 to have the factory officially transferred from the Kurdistan Regional Government’s Ministry of Industry to the Ministry of Culture.
“There is a huge capacity for culture in Sulaymaniyah, but creatives don’t have any support,” he says. “Someone needs to help the younger generation, otherwise it will become like any other commercial city in Iraq with no heritage.”
Sulaymaniyah is the second-largest city in Kurdistan, situated in a valley cradled by the Zagros Mountains. Artists, writers, and musicians have long found inspiration here, forging a vibrant creative scene that continues to define the city today.
The association dates back to its founding in 1784 by Ibrahim Pasha Baban, who named the new city after his father, Sulaiman Pasha. It soon developed into a major center for culture and commerce, giving rise to artistic and political movements. But whilst creatives are still drawn to the city, many struggle to launch their careers in an economic climate that is starving the arts.
“There is less and less money for cultural projects. People are mentally exhausted. There is not enough money for living,” says Hamarafiq.
The economic crisis in Kurdistan is partly driven by disagreements in the oil sector amid strained relations between the Kurdistan Regional Government and the federal government in Baghdad. Years of unpaid public-sector salaries have caused a slowdown in spending, leaving little money for cultural pursuits.
Foreign funding trickled through during the height of the refugee crisis, when people fled to the Kurdistan region to escape ISIS in Syria and Iraq, but that has dried up in recent years as global attention shifted to other wars. Now, many of the city’s galleries, theatres, and cinemas have closed, mirroring a decline in cultural venues across Iraq, where decades of economic and political upheaval have hollowed out the sector.
Ahmed Hasan remembers a thriving cinema scene in Sulaymaniyah, when families used to go every week. These days, there are just two cinemas left in the city. “We need to recreate the culture of cinema here,” says Hasan, who runs Fullmoon Cinema at the Culture Factory with screenings held on bean bags under the night sky. “A lot of young people in Suli work in this field…we bring them together to discuss how we can further develop the industry,” he says.
Locals like illustrator Lana al Jaf cherish the Culture Factory as one of the few independent cultural spaces left in Sulaymaniyah. “I know a bunch of artists and other people who use that wonderful place,” she says. “Whenever I go there, a storm of artistic inspiration hits me. I feel hopeful for the future because it represents the people of Suli - humble and simple yet full of creativity and culture.”
Between 40 and 50 groups work on different projects inside the building, utilizing its cavernous halls, echoing corridors, and sealed chambers for art exhibitions, film screenings, civil society meetings, fashion design, chess workshops, 3D printing, music rehearsals, and other activities. There’s even a sports department where they offer yoga sessions and the largest climbing wall in Iraq, not to mention a cozy café serving some of the best coffee in town.
“The Culture Factory is a living example of how industrial heritage can be transformed into a place that nurtures creativity and civil society,” says Bnwar Abdulrahman, who hosts trainings, workshops, and community engagement activities as an environmental activist with Waterkeepers Iraq. “Many young people rely on it as a starting point for their artistic, cultural, and social projects.”
The factory footprint is vast, spanning more than 70,000 square metres in central Sulaymaniyah, so it’s no surprise that commercial groups are vying for entry. This makes Hamarafiq wary, knowing they could lose control if businesses with bigger budgets secure a foothold at the factory. “It’s not just about guarding the tobacco factory, it’s about guarding the cultural identity of the city,” he says.
There’s a sense of responsibility towards people who have found their way here—a duty to preserve space for free expression away from the public eye. “The Culture Factory is like a shelter for the outcasts of society, for those who don't fit in, who aren't welcomed elsewhere if they want to be themselves, says Kavi Othman Ali.
She and her team at the Cultural Heritage Organization use their office at the factory to develop projects that preserve and promote cultural heritage through technologies like Augmented Reality and Virtual Reality. “If the factory were taken over by large businesses, neither NGOs like ourselves nor the creative spirits would be able to thrive the way we do now,” she adds.
The factory has a history of championing progress. This was one of the first places in Kurdistan to employ women alongside men, providing employment for nearly 2,500 people in the 1950s. It became the second-largest industry in the city’s history, until the persecution of Kurdish communities by former Iraqi President Saddam Hussein destroyed tobacco farming in northern Iraq.
In 2003, the factory closed, and the site sat empty. Left unsupervised, the abandoned buildings fell into disrepair. That is, until Hamarafiq and his friends realised that a relic of the city’s industrial heritage could be the key to restoring its cultural credentials.
“It’s about what culture can do for the city,” he says. “If we let this vanish, then the next generation won’t belong here at all.”
He worries about funds. “Electricity alone costs a fortune; it takes a lot of fundraising to keep it all going.” But this is just the start. There’s a master plan for the cultural future of the factory with functions for every building. But that’s for the next group of artists, he says. In the meantime, they will protect it from developers, making sure this remains a place where creativity can thrive.
Because where else can artists and intellectuals come together in Sulaymaniyah, sharing ideas, learning new skills, and uniting behind common goals? It’s not often that culture triumphs over commerce in Kurdistan, and this founding legacy has empowered the factory’s community to pursue their passions and fight for the city’s identity as a place to voice ideas, celebrate creativity, and harness the power of art.
Middle East Uncovered is powered by Ideas Beyond Borders. The views expressed in Middle East Uncovered are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of Ideas Beyond Borders.