History, Profiles, Reviews, Occasional Meanderings
The sectarian gulf in the Persian Gulf, and the United States
January 11, 2015Posted by on
Note: I have yet to update the citations, they will follow shortly InshaAllah.
2015 Copyright etc
The rapid rise of the fanatical Islamic State in 2014 to control a broad, oil-rich region in the heart of the north-central Jazira has provoked serious shifts. A weakened Iraqi regime largely propped up by Iran and the United States has seen a change of face, with the suave Haider Abadi replacing his divisive predecessor Nouri Maliki, even as many Maliki-age policies continue unabated. Iraqi Kurdistan, practically independent, has expanded to engulf its prize of Kirkuk, the oil-rich northern town long coveted by Kurds, Arabs and Turkmen. An effort to reconcile publicly with Iran, long a sparring partner who shares a number of common enemies, by the United States has come just as a number of fiercely anti-Iran Iraqi Sunnis have gathered under the Islamic State’s banner.
This last development has been especially surprising considering the short-lived but much-publicized American thaw with sections of the predominantly Sunni Iraqi insurgents in 2006-08, which has been credited with marginalizing Al-Qaeda in Mesopotamia—the Islamic State’s previous title. Even Sunni Arab leaders “vetted” by the United States, including longtime Iraqi deputy leader Tariq Hashimi—hounded into a Turkish exile as soon as the Americans officially withdrew from Iraq in 2011—and Riyad Asaad, the founder and former commander of the Free Syria Army, have publicly claimed that the Islamic State, despite its well-known fanaticism and moral absolutism, is a better option than having to live under a purportedly sectarian, Iranian-controlled Iraqi state. In return, conservative American hawks like John McCain have asserted that the 2011 American withdrawal exposed the Sunnis to a vindictive Shia regime.
McCain’s line of reasoning is typical of the mentality that marked American beltway talk in 2007-08, when the much-celebrated but highly dubious general David Petraeus successfully called for a “surge” that was mildly successful in the short term but hailed by a virtual industry of sycophantic hangers-on in the press as a roaring success that rescued the American occupation from the brink of failure. The logic behind the “surge” tried to reconcile both leftist critiques of the war and rightist support by arguing that, while the rightists had been correct to remove Saddam Hussein’s Baathist regime, they handled the subsequent occupation badly and alienated Iraqis partly because of insufficient troop levels, an argument that had been posed prior to the war by ostensible critic, the army’s deputy leader Eric Shinseki. The invocation of Shinseki and the idea that Iraqis wanted the Americans to stay—also pushed by largely unrepresentative Iraqi puppets whose very positions depended on American support and who thereby had a very clear but undeclared vested interest in their stance—convinced liberals that the surge was the correct path, and its myth endured so long that it was subsequently transferred, completely unsuccessfully, to Afghanistan.
McCain and other hawks argue that the Americans did not sufficiently guard against Iranian intrigue to assure the Sunni Arabs, who then went over to join the Islamic State. There is some truth here, but highly manipulated and selective. It is certainly true that Iranian influence in the Iraqi government, particularly epitomized by the utterly callous Badr Corps that dominated the interior ministry, was a bane for most Sunni Arabs. But the idea that American surges could somehow help amend the situation is also highly questionable. History shows not that America was a safeguard versus sectarianism in the Iraqi regime, but to the contrary that the Americans pioneered and fostered sectarianism, under the guise of counterinsurgency, as much as Iran.
Rewind to 2003. When the American army, abetted significantly by the British army, invaded Iraq, law and order broke down completely. This was particularly exacerbated by the ignorant, stubborn American viceroy Paul Bremer III, a Bush lackey who immediately fired the entire half-a-million-man Iraqi army in a provocative move that saw the insurgency arise. Over the next year Bremer outsourced security and military operations to a number of callous and unaccountable mercenary conglomerates like Blackwater, who operated far more thuggishly than the official army and were widely resented. Meanwhile, the blanket privatization of Iraq’s long-state-dominated economy saw infrastructure collapse. By the time he scurried out of Iraq in the summer of 2004, Bremer had managed to alienate nearly everybody both in Iraq and large segments of the United States regime.
Initially dismissed as Baathist “deadenders” by the hawkish American defence minister Donald Rumsfeld, the insurgency was actually dominated by a mishmash of mostly but not exclusively Sunnis, many of them sidelined by the occupation, many of them former army men and many of them Islamists of various stripes from both within and without Iraq. By late 2003 the public focus had shifted from the shrinking Baath role to the founder of what would become the Islamic State, a shadowy Jordanian militant named Abu Musab Nazzal-Zarqawi. A lifelong troublemaker who had taken advantage of Jordanian ruler Abdallah II’s amnesty in 1999 to travel to Afghanistan, Nazzal had in fact been turned down by Al-Qaeda’s leadership, which suspected him as a Jordanian mole and were also unsympathetic to his virulent hatred of Shias. Like many conservative Sunnis, Osama bin Laden and Ayman Zawahiri considered Shias a deviant misguided sect, but they did not share Nazzal’s fanatical hatred of Shias; they had contacts with Iran like Mustafa Hamid, for instance, and their primary focus was to attack the United States. By contrast, Nazzal’s ideology focused overwhelmingly on purging what he considered a cowardly, treacherous fifth column from the Muslim world.
Banished to the western Afghan town of Herat, Nazzal escaped after a brief struggle when the United States invaded, and—apparently via Iran, ironically—entered northern Iraq, where a small but ferocious Islamist Kurd militia called Ansar-ul-Islam, which had cordial informal relations with Al-Qaeda but no operational coordination, was fighting on the eastern border against the secular Kurd parties that had set up an autonomous, pro-Western region there. Though Ansar-ul-Islam welcomed support, they—even more so than Al-Qaeda—had cordial relations by necessity if nothing else with an Iranian state just across the border, and fairly soon Nazzal and a coterie of like-minded militants had formed a separate militia that was virtually unknown outside their small circle.
More than anything, it was media coverage and official American policy that sent this tiny militia catapulting into stardom. In his Feb 2003 address to the United Nations Security Council, American state minister Colin Powell erroneously marked out Abu Musab Nazzal as the missing link between Iraq’s Baath regime and Al-Qaeda, neither of which had actually accepted Nazzal at the time. Nonetheless, Nazzal’s profile shot up as a result and he soon displayed a talent for headline-seizing stunts that has carried on to his successors in the current Islamic State. A series of bombs in Baghdad, one of which killed the capable ambassador United Nations ambassador Sergio Vieiro, late in the 2003 summer were claimed by Nazzal. In 2004, Nazzal abducted an American journalist, Nicholas Berg, in Mosul—nothing new in itself, except that Nazzal gruesomely decapitated him on tape in another trademark of the Islamic State. The American army and the media, thirsty for an identifiable and sinister enemy, quickly latched onto Nazzal as their target.
Throughout 2004 and 2005, a dizzying number of captured Iraqi insurgents—ranging from Ansar-ul-Islam and Ansar-ul-Sunnah to Islamic Army of Iraq and Army of Muhammad (may Allah bestow peace and blessings on His prophet)—were captured and publicly identified by the occupation as “lieutenants of Zarqawi”. For the occupation and its shaky client regime, the attribution to Zarqawi aimed at both Iraqi and American audiences: firstly, it could discredit the entire Iraqi insurgency as a product of foreign sectarian fanatics, and secondly, it could point to the apparent domination of brutal fanatics as a sign that Iraq was, no matter the existence of “weapons of mass destructions”, now a major arena in the “war on terror”.
Many insurgents would themselves express surprise and even doubt at the apparent preponderance of Zarqawi. A Baathist leader, Majid Qaoud, scoffed, “Does it not occur to you that he might be a convenient invention? The embodiment of evil, one of those things of which the Americans are so fond?” Qaoud, a sheikh from the insurgent hotbed of Rimadi, declared, “Neither I nor my relatives have ever seen this al-Zarqawi fellow.” Even years later, Sahwa leaders—Sunni tribesmen who switched sides—would pose the question to their new American patrons, though in more discreet, roundabout matter. As late as 2005, the Shia dissident leader Muqtada Sadr proclaimed that Zarqawi was an American fiction designed to sow roots in the insurgency.
There is no evidence to credence these claims, but it is certainly true that nearly every move the Americans made in the early years of the insurgency benefited Abu Musab Nazzal, and that the idea of the murderous Jordanian leader’s domination of . Even as they cracked down on separate Islamists and tribesmen in Mosul, Rimadi, Fallujah and Samarra, the Americans officially claimed that the majority of their targets were Zarqawi’s men.
In the summer of 2004, the situation was especially stark. A broad coalition of insurgents seized the town of Fallujah; their official leaders were Abdullah Jannabi, Zafar Ubaidi and Omar Hadid: Abdullah and Zafar were local Islamic preachers while Hadid shared a strikingly similar background—petty criminal turned born-again Muslim and influential Islamist commander—but no concrete links of any sort with Abu Musab Nazzal-Zarqawi. There was an important supporter of Nazzal—Omar Jumaa, a severe ideologue who had helped found the tiny militia—in Fallujah, but this was not unusual in the pell-mell early years of the insurgency, and at any rate an airstrike would take out Jumaa in Sept 2004.
On its own, the American army had few qualms about attacking Fallujah. But they also faced another public crisis further south: the town of Najaf, one of the most important sites for Shias, had been taken over by Muqtada Sadr. While most Shia clerics like Abdul-Aziz Hakim and Ali Sistani had prudently tried not to appear overly sympathetic to the United States that had bombarded their oppressor out of power, Sadr was unusual in that—as a scruffy, angry young man whose apparent courage and dedication inspired hundreds of followers—he was totally opposed to the occupation, and he had an important sympathizer in the regime, national security advisor Mowaffak Rubaie.
In that early stage, too, Sadr expressed solidarity with his “Sunni brothers”—a line he would later withdraw when sectarianism grew rampant—and at least some Sunni insurgents sympathized with him. Unnamed secularists declared in a 2004 interview, “Contrary to what you imagine in the West, there is no fratricide war in Iraq…the young Shiite leader Muqtada al-Sadr…is, likely ourselves, in favour of the unity of the Iraqi people….We support him from a tactical and a logisticial perspective.” Nor was this an exclusively secularist perspective. Two other notable Sunni Islamists of the ultraorthodox Sunni Salafist school, which is often very suspicious of Shias, Najamuddin Krakar—formerly head of the Ansar-ul-Islam Kurds but then in Norway—and Mahdi Sumaidai, a Mosul Islamic preacher, also avowed their solidarity with Shias who rebelled. The top American commander in Iraq at the time, Ricardo Sanchez, believed, “There is a linkage that may be occurring at the lowest levels between the Sunni and the Shia. We have to work very hard to ensure that it remains at the lowest level.” Quite contrary to official rhetoric that branded America as a bulwark against sectarianism, in 2004 it utterly suited the Americans to drive a wedge between at least the dissident sections of Iraq’s Sunni and Shia communities. Not only was it desirable, at the time the survival of the American enterprise in Iraq depended on it.
The Americans did withstand the 2004 crisis; influential cleric Ali Sistani persuaded Muqtada Sadr to back off from a potentially devastating confrontation, and the army then turned its focus fully on the Sunni-majority insurgency. Fallujah was flattened in the winter of 2004, while the revolts in Rimadi, Mosul and especially Samarra were also forcibly crushed. At the end of 2004, Al-Qaeda’s leadership in South Asia—desperate for a proxy on the ground in the most publicized war versus the Americans—swallowed their pride and accepted Abu Musab Nazzal as their viceroy in Iraq; a major turnaround for the once ragtag outcast, whose militia would henceforth be known as Al-Qaeda in Mesopotamia and, posthumously, as Islamic State in Iraq. By 2006 what began as an insurgency had evolved into a vicious sectarian civil war that gave the resourceful, media-savvy American commander David Petraeus a solid casus belle to remain in Iraq in the unlikely role of arbiter. By this time, a solidly pro-Iranian Islamist party, the Daawah party, had come into power, and the pro-American Daawah contender Adel Mahdi-Muntafiqi narrowly beaten by the decidedly more lukewarm Ibrahim Jaafari as the candidate for premier. Sectarianism in the security services, which the Daawah Partys political ally the Supreme Council for Islamic Revolution in Iraqs military arm the Badr Corps controlled, was rife and sectarian cleansing had begun. In 2006-07, the intrepid American reporter Martin Smith compiled a report for PBS on the militias’ dominance in the Iraqi security services; he gave the Badr commander assigned to interior minister, Bayan Jabr, an especially tough grill. There was also a more sympathetic interview with Jabr’s predecessor Faleh Naqib, who claimed—correctly—that Jabr had overseen the targeting of the security services towards the Sunni population. In essence, the blame for Shia sectarianism was placed entirely on Iran.
But there is a gaping hole in this argument, and that is to ignore entirely the precedent set by the Americans long before Daawah took over. Certainly Bayan Jabr deserves no sympathy; as interior minister he oversaw and whitewashed blatantly sectarian and abusive persecution of Sunnis who, despite his insistence of non-partisanship, were classified and persecuted as “terrorists” with minimal accountability (tellingly, Jabr also cited American conduct in its “war on terror” as a precedent). But he had simply followed, and Iranified, a process that the Americans and their favoured candidate, Falah Naqib—the same man who now accused Jabr—had set in motion in 2004-05.
Naqib, interior minister from mid-2004 to early 2005, belonged to an officially secular party that—unlike the early occupation—incorporated Iraqi, often Sunni Arab, military men who had fled under Saddam Hussein’s rule. The party leader was a secular Shia, formerly Baathist, named Ayad Allawi. Less infamous than his notoriously corrupt and treacherous cousin Ahmed Chalabi—who had charmed the neoconservatives in the American regime as well as the American media into the invasion of Iraq but who also had close ties with their official enemy in Iran’s regime—Allawi, unlike Chalabi, remained an asset to the CIA, who found his claims against Saddam Hussein’s regime less exaggerated than Chalabi’s fanciful, shameless lies. After the utter failure of Chalabi and Paul Bremer had propelled Iraq into disaster, Allawi, with a significant Sunni constituency as well, became the new favourite candidate to lead Iraq and took over as interim premier to succeed Bremer in the summer of 2004.
Importantly, Ayad Allawi’s conscious image was as that of a strongman who could do what was required to return Iraq to stability. In Jul 2004, the premier was widely reported to have personally shot a string of captured prisoners in Baghdad’s Amiriah police station; interior minister Faleh Naqib, also attendant, congratulated Allawi and the local sheriff, Raad Abdullah, ordered his officers not to report the matter. But rather than hurt him, the idea of a tough sheriff appealed to both many Iraqi citizens (the leakers indeed saw Allawi’s action as entirely justified and a positive indication) and, especially, to a flustered American occupation. Iraqis had suffered under the widespread abuse and torture of Paul Bremer and Ricardo Sanchez’s regime, and they would suffer under the same under the pro-Iranian regimes of Ibrahim Jaafari and Nouri Maliki. In between, however, was an oft-overlooked period under Ayad Allawi that connected both of these.
Given a license to kill, Falah Naqib employed his uncle, a thuggish former army commander named Adnan Thabit, as leader of a new homegrown police commando division. Thabit also belonged to the corps of officers who had been imprisoned for attempting to dislodge Saddam Hussein in the 1990s, and apparently he suffered torture and brutality there. This would further translate into his leadership of this gendarmerie.
Officially, the police commandos were portrayed as a positive development: an indigenous unit that, with American support, could retrieve security for Iraqis. David Petraeus, one of the few early American commanders who had tried to coopt Sunni Arabs with mixed success, enthusiastically promoted the commandos, who assisted the American army over the autumn of 2004 in their assaults on Mosul and Samarra. The commandos’ operations occurred under the eye of Jim Coffman, a lieutenant of Petraeus, and a shadowy figure named Jim Steele. A ruthless efficient commander who had headed America’s “drug wars” in Latin America by employing merciless government militias to smash the anti-American guerrillas, Steele’s focus on human intelligence revolved largely around the coercion of information out of captives via cruel methods, including systemic torture.
Jim Steele’s role has since been critiqued extensively in a 2013 documentary, Searching for Steele, produced by Mona Mahmood, from which much of this section stems. At the time, however, the United States regime—whose vicious vice-president Dick Cheney and defence minister Donald Rumsfeld both personally knew and patronized Steele—enthusiastically promoted the programme and enthusiastic press coverage was nearly exclusively effusive—the exception being a journalist named Peter Maas who presented a more balanced, holistic and critical analysis that was largely lost at the time.
From the American army, David Petraeus and Jim Coffman both uttered paeans to the “brotherhood of the close fight” that had grown between the Iraqi commandos and their American handlers. Another shadowy paramilitary long fostered by the CIA, called the Scorpion Unit, also operated with impunity. The Americans could not, after the 2003-04 Abu Ghraib torture scandal, personally torture prisoners: they could, however, watch as Iraqi clients did the dirty work for them and plausibly deny contact later, as at least Petraeus has successfully done. Armed with a conglomerate of admirers such as Tom Ricks, Linda Robinson and his future mistress Paula Broadwell—as well as adoring journalists like Michael Gordon and John Burns of the New York Times, Petraeus would progress to build a self-image as an imaginative commander who could gel with the natives and rescue America from the precipice. What was essentially an outsource of abuse to unaccountable local clients became portrayed as a bond between the Americans and Iraqis.
Though officially non-confessional at the time, and led by token Sunnis like Falah Naqib and Adnan Thabit, the American-backed commandos would lay the ground that would be exploited and enhanced by Iran-backed militias. With the campaign against Muqtada Sadr having reached détente, the commandos’ debut in the autumn of 2004 at Samarra and Mosul was organized exclusively versus Sunnis; like Bayan Jabr, Thabit justified his actions versus “the terrorists”, for whom “all kinds of means” were needed to force out confessions. The neoconservatives in the American regime, always sympathetic to the idea that Arabs understood only force, warmed to a missive related by their counterterrorism czar in Baghdad, Hank Crumpton, entitled “Fight Terror with Terror”, which quoted Thabit as explaining the necessity of impunity for his forces thus: “It is necessary that their forces be feared, as this was what was required in Iraqi society to command respect.”
Indeed, despite its official non-sectarianism, the police commando division focused nearly entirely on Sunni Arabs in a way that would be replicated by the Iran-backed force shortly afterward. There were direct links: one of the most feared Shia sectarian militias, the Wolf Brigade, morphed from a battalion in the commandos and clearly shared the systemic sadism. Even the hardhearted Jim Steele viewed the Wolf Brigade commander, Abu Walid Qurashi, as a thug; Abu Walid would quickly transfer from American-backed fealty to Iranian-backed fealty and he would serve as an especially prominent paramilitary commander under Nouri Maliki before he was captured and executed by Islamic State at Mosul in 2014. Thabits top officer, Rasheed Fulaih, was a close coordinate of the Shia militias and remains an influential officer now leader of an army division in the conflict.
Most striking was an attempt to win “hearts and minds” by giving the triumphant commandos their own special television programme, regularly broadcast in 2004-05; according to a glowing History Channel report (Insurgency and Counterinsurgency), “Terrorists in the Grip of Justice” became Iraq’s most popular programme. A brainchild of Mosul sheriff Ahmed Khalaf, another Sunni Arab with little compunction about crushing other Sunnis, the programme featured blindfolded prisoners from 2004 raids who were forced to confess to crimes they may or may not have committed. An aged captive, wheezing creakily with age and clearly in considerable pain, confessed to the unlikely charge of having killed thirty people. Another prisoner was accused of homosexuality with his purported accomplices on the hallowed grounds of a masjid, an utterly merciless accusation; asked if he had any shame for his crimes, the prisoner seems to have thought the matter over for a few seconds—a confession would destroy his reputation, as well as that of the insurgency that he may or may not have supported, but his captors had him by the throat—before reluctantly answering in the affirmative. More unlikely information would follow; another insurgent commander, a former army officer turned Islamist leader Muayyad Nasiri, publicly confessed to having received support from nearly every conceivable enemy: Iran, Al-Qaeda, Abu Musab Nazzal-Zarqawi, Syria, Baath, most of them almost certainly untrue. It was the sort of forced “justice” that had been rife in Baath-age Iraq and indeed a tactic employed by Saddam Hussein against his opponents: now it was rife, indeed approved, under an apparently democratic regime.
Within months, when the Iran-friendly Shia Daawah Party won an election overwhelmingly boycotted by Sunni Arabs, the process pioneered under Falah Naqib would now go overwhelmingly to Shia militias, particularly in the powerful Badr Corps but also homegrown sectarian vigilantes. To many Iraqi Sunnis, long suspicious of Persian designs both real and imagined, this confirmed American-Iranian collusion. The insurgency took on a more sectarian role increasingly dominated by Abu Musab Nazzal-Zarqawi’s Al-Qaeda in Mesopotamia, especially because in 2005-06 most of his Islamist competitors had been wiped out by the occupation.
And as bizarre as Sunni suspicions of a joint Iranian-American conspiracy may seem considering the longtime political sabre-rattling between the United States and Iran, on the subject of Iraq they were not far wrong. In Iraq, Iran and the United States may have vied for control. But when it came to Sunni areas in the north and west, it was simply a competition for which country could control the persecution.
By 2006, Al-Qaeda in Mesopotamia had enough dominance in the insurgency to spread into the urban centres formerly controlled by other Islamists. AQI’s wanton brutality and their attempt to break the back of a traditional tribal structure that they incorrectly accused of incompatibility with Islamic shariah soon alienated enough Sunni tribesmen for the Americans to find an opening; in 2006-07, Petraeus and his lieutenants, such as John Allen and Jim Kelly, began to entice Anbari sheikhs onto their side long enough to present a case to extend an overwhelmingly unpopular war as the unlikely “saviours” of Sunnis and defenders against nefarious sectarianism. AQI continued, wittingly or otherwise, to play into their hands: in Feb 2006, the AQI commander Haitham Badri bombed the Shia Askari shrine at Samarra, triggering a year of ferocious sectarian warfare that provided the Americans with an ideal casus belle to remain in Iraq. So complete was the myth that ironically, formerly powerful career hawks like the ruthless American defence minister Donald Rumsfeld, now advocating a quick withdrawal, were brushed aside in the urge for this “surge”.
If Abu Musab Nazzal-Zarqawi had been credited for the Sunni insurgency, on the Shia part—rather than indict an increasingly vicious government, both America and Iran found a convenient scapegoat in the hotheaded upstart Muqtada Sadr. Sadr, a largely indigenous dissident leader who received minor and strictly qualified support from Iran, was blamed entirely for the sectarian mess on the Shias’ part; the Americans would, incorrectly, point him out as an Iran plant and the cause of Sunni resentment, pointing to the fact that his militia—increasingly slipping out of his control and into the Iranian sphere—was increasingly resented. Iran, for its part, played up accusations of Sadr, ensuring that the United States would reactively entrench the Daawah-led government of Nouri Maliki and play into its hands; they also cultivated extreme defectors from Sadr’s militia like the Khazali brothers Laith, Qais and Ali, responsible for mass sectarian cleansing against Sunnis. So complete was the deception that in 2008, when the Badr Corps and Maliki regime drove Sadr out of Basra, the Americans officially celebrated what they thought was a blow to Iran’s domination in Iraq. In actual fact, it was quite the opposite.
By 2010, a mixture of American collusion and Sahwa collusion had provided Nouri Maliki’s regime with enough respite to swing fully into the Iranian orbit. In the towns, where Maliki had indirectly overseen a sectarian cleanse to drive Sunnis into Sahwa-controlled tribelands, urban Sahwa commanders like Raad Hassan and Adil Mashhadani were suddenly arrested—in fairness, quite a few of them had unsavoury backgrounds, though no more than their arresters—and in some cases executed. The Americans, now committed to a withdrawal, mounted a few symbolic protests, but it was hardly an unavoidable scenario.
It had, after all, been American intervention that had rescued Maliki from an election he had lost (ironically, against a party now headed by former American client Ayad Allawi and allied with longtime American irritant Muqtada Sadr), and the Americans were still trying to woo the regime into their corner rather than the Iranians. Indignant Sahwa leaders, feeling betrayed, would soon rejoin the insurgency, this time willing to tolerate an Islamic State that had gradually grown more discreet after Abu Musab Nazzal-Zarqawi was slain in 2006, and that under its latest leader—Abu Dua Badri-Baghdadi, who would later declare himself caliph—would focus entirely on non-Sunnis and “apostates” rather than Iraqi Sunni competitors. Opponents of the Islamic State in Iraq—both secularist Kurds and Shia Arabs—would increasingly grow hostile to Sunni Arabs as inevitable “terrorists”, and even now both sets are, backed by both Iran’s military support and American airpower, fulfilling an agenda against Sunni Arabs that serves only to drive them into the Islamic State’s camp. In Syria, meanwhile, the Islamic State followed its Iraqi model—infiltrating and initially supporting the insurgency before, like a parasite, expanding to annex and actively fight it.
These concerning developments make it more necessary than ever to understand and duly learn from history, rather than the self-serving narratives promoted by various sides. Neither sectarian extremism nor polarization are inevitable; both have fairly recent roots. Authoritarianism and brutality, often sanctioned from abroad, have threatened to rip the region asunder. And it is not only Iran but, as this article hopes to show, the United States whose military adventures in Iraq have brought the situation to such a critical point