By Yusra Adil., political analyst
When the last U.S. troops left Iraq on September 30, Washington celebrated the end of a military presence that had stretched, with interruptions, across more than two decades. Baghdad celebrated the recovery of another chapter of its sovereignty. Tehran, meanwhile, saw the retreat of an adversary. Three capitals, three narratives of victory.
And when everyone claims to have won, the question of who won? becomes the least useful question to ask.
The more important question is this: Who holds the decision-making power in Iraq today?
The departure of foreign troops may close the chapter on occupation, but it opens a far more difficult question about the state itself. To understand that question, one does not need a catalogue of events, but rather a single thread: how did the monopoly of force gradually slip away from the state?
In 2003, the Coalition Provisional Authority dissolved the Iraqi army and dismantled other security institutions. The destruction of the military establishment was more than an administrative decision; it shattered one of the pillars of the state’s monopoly over the use of force.
In 2011, the Americans withdrew for the first time, leaving behind a state that was rebuilding its institutions faster than it was restoring its monopoly over force. Into that gap expanded regional influence.
Then came 2014. When Mosul fell to ISIS, a vast armed mobilization emerged. The Popular Mobilization Forces subsequently became part of the formal state structure, yet the harder question remained unresolved: Where does the state end, and where does parallel armed power begin?
Now, with the Americans leaving for the second time, the same question remains.
We should also remember what Washington said it had come to Iraq to achieve. The official rationale in 2003 was clear: eliminate weapons of mass destruction, fight terrorism, and establish a free Iraq with representative institutions. Yet the weapons that had supposedly set the American military machine in motion did not exist. The terrorism Washington claimed to be fighting was not a pre-existing Iraqi reality; it emerged in the chaos that followed the invasion, with ISIS itself eventually growing out of the conditions created by that war.
As for the promise of a “free Iraq,” it evolved into a sectarian power-sharing system that divided the state among competing political blocs. Elections produced governments, but they did not necessarily produce a unified national decision.
Three declared objectives: the first was based on a false premise, the second produced a devastatingly contrary outcome, and the third remained largely unfulfilled.
Yet the failure of Washington’s declared objectives does not mean that the United States left Iraq empty-handed.
What it did not emphasize publicly proved, in some respects, to be more consequential: oil continued to flow into global markets; Iraq ceased to be a regional military power capable of threatening its neighbors; and its oil revenues continued to pass through the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, accounting for roughly 90 percent of the state’s revenues.
That is why the American departure does not mean American absence.
Washington has ended the coalition’s combat mission, but it has moved toward a security relationship built around training, intelligence, and arms. It retains financial leverage that allows it to exercise influence without having to raise its flag over a military base.
This is the deeper transformation in the American strategy.
Washington has withdrawn from the cost of Iraq without withdrawing from the calculations of Iraq.
It is no longer seeking to manage the Middle East primarily through troops on the ground, but through influence exercised from a distance. What began in Kabul will not necessarily end in Baghdad. The United States is withdrawing from arenas that drain its resources while remaining engaged where stable bases, capable partners, and strategic leverage allow it to operate at lower cost.
Iraq is therefore not the end of the American presence. It is a laboratory for a less expensive and more selective model of influence.
But Iraq itself is neither an empty space waiting to be filled nor a silent arena over which external powers simply take turns competing.
Within Iraq are the ingredients capable of shaping its own trajectory, even if the state has yet to develop the tools necessary to fully control them.
Oil gives the state enormous resources, but rent alone does not create sovereignty. Najaf remains one of the country’s sources of religious and political legitimacy, capable of placing the question of armed power before the authority of the state. The generation of Tishreen moved the question of sovereignty from elite political chambers into the streets.
“We want a homeland” was not merely a slogan. It was a question:
Whose state is it when there are multiple centers of power?
The relationship between Baghdad and Erbil — in security, wealth, and borders — presents another test of the idea of a single national decision. The future of Iraq, therefore, will not be determined solely by external pressure. It will also depend on its ability to transform these competing sources of power into foundations of a functioning state.
That transformation, however, has yet to occur.
These elements are present, but they remain dispersed among centers of power that do not fully converge. The vacuum Iraq should fear, therefore, is not primarily a security vacuum.
It is a sovereignty vacuum.
The question is not whether Iraq can defend itself. It is whether Iraq can decide for itself — whether it can say yes to war and no to war on its own terms, and whether it can make armed power subordinate to political authority rather than a partner in determining it.
Between a state that possesses the basic ingredients of sovereignty and a state that fully exercises them lies the grey zone in which Iraq finds itself today.
This is sovereignty in shades of grey: a state that exists formally, a country with multiple sources of power, and a political system whose monopoly over decision-making remains under constant test.
And so the question confronting Iraq is no longer simply who controls the weapons.
It is something deeper:
Is Iraq a state with armed factions — or armed factions with a state?
Iraq: Sovereignty in Shades of Grey
By Yusra Adil
Political Analyst
When the last U.S. troops left Iraq on September 30, Washington celebrated the end of a military presence that had stretched, with interruptions, across more than two decades. Baghdad celebrated the recovery of another chapter of its sovereignty. Tehran, meanwhile, saw the retreat of an adversary. Three capitals, three narratives of victory.
And when everyone claims to have won, the question of who won? becomes the least useful question to ask.
The more important question is this: Who holds the decision-making power in Iraq today?
The departure of foreign troops may close the chapter on occupation, but it opens a far more difficult question about the state itself. To understand that question, one does not need a catalogue of events, but rather a single thread: how did the monopoly of force gradually slip away from the state?
In 2003, the Coalition Provisional Authority dissolved the Iraqi army and dismantled other security institutions. The destruction of the military establishment was more than an administrative decision; it shattered one of the pillars of the state’s monopoly over the use of force.
In 2011, the Americans withdrew for the first time, leaving behind a state that was rebuilding its institutions faster than it was restoring its monopoly over force. Into that gap expanded regional influence.
Then came 2014. When Mosul fell to ISIS, a vast armed mobilization emerged. The Popular Mobilization Forces subsequently became part of the formal state structure, yet the harder question remained unresolved: Where does the state end, and where does parallel armed power begin?
Now, with the Americans leaving for the second time, the same question remains.
We should also remember what Washington said it had come to Iraq to achieve. The official rationale in 2003 was clear: eliminate weapons of mass destruction, fight terrorism, and establish a free Iraq with representative institutions. Yet the weapons that had supposedly set the American military machine in motion did not exist. The terrorism Washington claimed to be fighting was not a pre-existing Iraqi reality; it emerged in the chaos that followed the invasion, with ISIS itself eventually growing out of the conditions created by that war.
As for the promise of a “free Iraq,” it evolved into a sectarian power-sharing system that divided the state among competing political blocs. Elections produced governments, but they did not necessarily produce a unified national decision.
Three declared objectives: the first was based on a false premise, the second produced a devastatingly contrary outcome, and the third remained largely unfulfilled.
Yet the failure of Washington’s declared objectives does not mean that the United States left Iraq empty-handed.
What it did not emphasize publicly proved, in some respects, to be more consequential: oil continued to flow into global markets; Iraq ceased to be a regional military power capable of threatening its neighbors; and its oil revenues continued to pass through the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, accounting for roughly 90 percent of the state’s revenues.
That is why the American departure does not mean American absence.
Washington has ended the coalition’s combat mission, but it has moved toward a security relationship built around training, intelligence, and arms. It retains financial leverage that allows it to exercise influence without having to raise its flag over a military base.
This is the deeper transformation in the American strategy.
Washington has withdrawn from the cost of Iraq without withdrawing from the calculations of Iraq.
It is no longer seeking to manage the Middle East primarily through troops on the ground, but through influence exercised from a distance. What began in Kabul will not necessarily end in Baghdad. The United States is withdrawing from arenas that drain its resources while remaining engaged where stable bases, capable partners, and strategic leverage allow it to operate at lower cost.
Iraq is therefore not the end of the American presence. It is a laboratory for a less expensive and more selective model of influence.
But Iraq itself is neither an empty space waiting to be filled nor a silent arena over which external powers simply take turns competing.
Within Iraq are the ingredients capable of shaping its own trajectory, even if the state has yet to develop the tools necessary to fully control them.
Oil gives the state enormous resources, but rent alone does not create sovereignty. Najaf remains one of the country’s sources of religious and political legitimacy, capable of placing the question of armed power before the authority of the state. The generation of Tishreen moved the question of sovereignty from elite political chambers into the streets.
“We want a homeland” was not merely a slogan. It was a question:
Whose state is it when there are multiple centers of power?
The relationship between Baghdad and Erbil — in security, wealth, and borders — presents another test of the idea of a single national decision. The future of Iraq, therefore, will not be determined solely by external pressure. It will also depend on its ability to transform these competing sources of power into foundations of a functioning state.
That transformation, however, has yet to occur.
These elements are present, but they remain dispersed among centers of power that do not fully converge. The vacuum Iraq should fear, therefore, is not primarily a security vacuum.
It is a sovereignty vacuum.
The question is not whether Iraq can defend itself. It is whether Iraq can decide for itself — whether it can say yes to war and no to war on its own terms, and whether it can make armed power subordinate to political authority rather than a partner in determining it.
Between a state that possesses the basic ingredients of sovereignty and a state that fully exercises them lies the grey zone in which Iraq finds itself today.
This is sovereignty in shades of grey: a state that exists formally, a country with multiple sources of power, and a political system whose monopoly over decision-making remains under constant test.
And so the question confronting Iraq is no longer simply who controls the weapons.
It is something deeper:
Is Iraq a state with armed factions — or armed factions with a state?
(Associated Medias) - Tutti i diritti sono riservati