Policing Iraq: Legitimacy, Democracy, and Empire in a Developing State 9780520975972

Citation preview

Policing Iraq

Policing Iraq Legitimacy, Democracy, and Empire in a Developing State

Jesse s. G. Wozniak

University of California Press

University of California Press Oakland, California © 2021 by Jesse S. G. Wozniak Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Wozniak, Jesse S. G., 1982– author. Title: Policing Iraq : legitimacy, democracy, and empire in a developing state / Jesse S. G. Wozniak. Description: Oakland, California : University of California Press, [2021] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020037086 (print) | LCCN 2020037087 (ebook) | ISBN 9780520355705 (cloth) | ISBN 9780520355712 (paperback) | ISBN 9780520975972 (ebook) ¨ ikûmetî Herêmî Kurdistan-ʹÊraq. Subjects: LCSH: Kurdistān (Iraq). H | Police—Iraq—History—21st century. Classification: LCC HV8242.55 W68 2021 (print) | LCC HV8242.55 (ebook) | DDC 363.209567/2—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020037086 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020037087 Manufactured in the United States of America 30 29 28 27 26 25 24 23 22 21 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Mom and Dad “I am who I am because somebody loved me.”

Contents

Acknowledgments

viii

1.

kurds, Criminal JustiCe, and state leGitimaCy

1

2.

the FaCe oF the state: hoW PoliCe are Central to modern GovernanCe

18

“ninety-nine PerCent oF our Problems are due to the budGet”: the loFty exPeCtations and dismal reality oF reConstruCtion

48

“nothinG on hoW to investiGate, nothinG on hoW to talk to or deal With PeoPle”: the Cultural PerFormanCe oF PoliCinG

72

“iF you have no deGree, you Can Work here”: QualiFiCations, Consent, and CoerCion

97

“the laW is in one valley, but reality is in a diFFerent valley”: tribes, PolitiCal Parties, and Governments ComPete For Control

121

PoliCe, state makinG, and imPerialism

146

Appendix: On Conducting Conflict Research

169

Notes

191

3.

4.

5. 6.

7.

References Index

209 231

Acknowledgments

A few years back I was teaching a qualitative methods course, and when discussing issues surrounding access and how to actually get a major research project going, the students asked if I had any advice from my own experience. I struggled to come up with any concrete recommendations. As with so much of my life, this project came about by me stumbling backward into good fortune. The best I could come up with for them was to be lucky enough to meet a bunch of great people who help you for no other reason than they’re great people. I’m fortunate enough to have a long list of great people to thank. My undergraduate mentors Kent Sandstrom and Steven Muzzatti deserve a great deal of praise or condemnation for sending me on this career path. Joshua Page, Ron Aminzade, and Theresa Gowan provided great mentorship and extensive notes on early portions of this project, and Chris Uggen was central as both my PhD advisor and continued cheerleader in the years since. Gabrielle Ferrales is owed a world of thanks not only for her continued mentorship and critical notes on the manuscript but also for first introducing me to the research contacts that got this project off the ground and then later helping to design research materials and provide tireless assistance (and enthusiasm!) in the research project. There is simply no way this project would have happened without Gab. Wenjie Liao similarly contributed to the research design of work that didn’t make it directly into this book but greatly informed my understanding. Sincere thanks to Maura Roessner and Madison Wetzell of UC Press for their belief in the manuscript, invaluable assistance in putting the book together, and polite patience with my incessant inquiries. This project would have never begun without the kind assistance of Daniel Rothenberg, Kari Kammel, Kandy Christensen, and Kurdistan viii

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Dayole from the International Human Rights Law Institute in Sulaymaniyah. Special thanks to Shamal Hussein and Hiwa Sadiq for their invaluable translation assistance and friendship, and to Hardy for driving me where I needed to go. Many thanks to the wonderful friends I gained in Suly—Dr. Farhad, Alex, Lukacs, Nwenar, Ramyar, Kamaran, and Luke. Most special thanks to Dr. Anwer Jaff, whose invaluable connections have been absolutely essential to my research, and whose friendship, insights, and hospitality I will never be able to repay. A similar debt of gratitude is owed to the many police, judges, and lawyers who volunteered their time and assistance. And, of course, a hearty thank you to the Kurdish people, whose kindness and hospitality remains simply overwhelming. A portion of this project was funded in part by the West Virginia Humanities Council and in even smaller, though much more meaningful, part by the members of Graduate Student Workers United. No major funding agencies provided any assistance for the research contained in this book, as it was deemed “unlikely to be completed,” in the words of one such rejection. The only major source of funding for this research was provided by Josephine Poplar Wozniak, a light to this world who is sorely missed. While she likely couldn’t have envisioned how I would end up using the government savings bonds she sent me as an infant, I hope I’ve made her proud. The entirety of this manuscript was written with a smelly old dog snoring loudly at my feet, who moved on to that great farm up north shortly after the book was completed and will be forever missed. Finally, if you’ve read this far, you’re assuredly one of my parents, so, hi Mom! Hi Dad!

Iraq TURKEY Zakho

Dohuk

Rabia

Kurdistan Region (claimed boundary)

Mosul Dam

Sinjar

Mosul

Tal Afar

Gwer

Qaiyarah Qaiyarah air base

Sharqat

NINEWA

Zawiyah Baiji Refiner y

SYRIA

SALAH

Rawa

Syrian rebel control

Walid

JORDAN

Trebil

Qaim

Hawija

Daquq

Baiji

Kurdistan Region (recognized boundary)

Halabja

Tuz Khurmatu Sulaiman Beg

Jalula Khanaqin Udhaim Lake Sadia Tharthar Baquba Karma Taji

Haditha Baghdadi Hit

Baghdad

Saqlawiya

Fallujah

ANBAR

Abu Ghraib

Karbala Nukhayb

IRAN

DIYALA

Ramadi

Rutbah

Slemani

Kirkuk

Tikrit A L - D I N Samarra

Anah

Akashat

Erbil

Makhmur

Najaf

T ig ri s

Hillah

Kut

Diwaniyah Eup

h ra

Amarah

tes

Nasiriyah

Basra

Approximate Territorial Control

IT

Situation as known Sep. 5, 2016

A

"Islamic State" (ISIS) & allies

KU

W

Kurdistan Peshmerga Iraqi government & allies

Mixed or unclear control

SAUDI ARABIA

Map 1. Islamic State territorial control at the organization’s peak. Base map by Koen Adams of onestopmap.com, with territorial control by Evan Centanni and Djordje Djukic. All rights reserved.

Persian Gulf

TURKEY

Zakho Dohuk

SYRIA

Sinjar

IRAN

Hewler (Erbil)

Tal Afar

Mosul

Ranya Makhmur

Slemani (Sulaymaniyah)

Kirkuk Hawija

Halabja

Tikrit

Iraqi Kurdistan

Khanaqin

Territorial control as of July 30, 2017

Kurdistan Region Recognized territory Claimed and controlled (disputed)

Claimed but not controlled

Control by unrecognized armed groups

IRAN Baquba

Baghdad

"Islamic State" (formerly ISIS/ISIL) Other Kurdish-affiliated forces

Map 2. Kurdish territorial control at the time of the 2017 independence referendum. Graphic by Evan Centanni and Djordje Djukic, incorporating base map by Koen Adams of onestopmap.com. All rights reserved.

1. Kurds, Criminal Justice, and State Legitimacy

WelCome to south kurdistan Sulaymaniyah is known as the intellectual and cultural capital of the Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG), the semiautonomous region of Northern Iraq. Upon arrival, you leave the heavily fortified airport and turn east down ‫( سليم‬Salim, a street) and head into town. Immediately you pass the gleaming new classrooms and office buildings of the American University of Iraq in Sulaymaniyah, one of many expensive US projects in the area. Continuing a few kilometers down the freshly paved four-lane road, you enter Suly proper. In the distance, towering over the city, you can see the ‫( شاري جوان‬Shari Jwan, Grand Millennium hotel), modeled after ‫( برج العرب‬Burj Al Arab), the famous sailboat skyscraper of Dubai. The smooth blacktop takes you past a number of gleaming high-rises and beautiful storefronts selling the latest fashions and technologies, until you arrive at the historical bazaar in the center of the city. Were you to take Salim from the airport to the bazaar and back (as is a typical route for visiting politicians and dignitaries), you’d believe Suly is an incredibly prosperous city, free from the economic and political strife of the rest of the nation, a sure sign the reconstruction is delivering a prosperous new future to at least this corner of Iraq. And to some extent, you’d be correct; Suly has a relatively prosperous economy and is much more secure and stable than most of the nation. But step out of the car and wander around the corner, down any side street off Salim, and suddenly you’re confronted with a very different view. You quickly see that the gleaming façades of the stores and hotels are quite literally that; while the front side facing Salim is shiny and new, the other three sides of the building are likely drab, crumbling concrete that looks 1

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Kurds, Criminal Justice, and State Legitimacy

ready to topple at any time. The roads stop being wide with fresh, smooth pavement and instead become narrow, neglected pathways marked by sizable potholes. Leaving the car and wandering the neighborhoods of the city quickly demonstrates the largess of Suly to be in many ways a Potemkin village of progress, a shiny façade masking a region and a nation embroiled by civil war, unemployment, financial crisis, and shortages of basic necessities. In many ways, the projected extravagance of Salim serves as an apt metaphor for the reconstruction of the Iraqi criminal justice system. On paper, police training is a compact-yet-thorough introduction to the various important roles these men and women will be tasked with fulfilling. A quick drive-by view of the training process in action looks impressive, as rows of police march in unison, their stiff limbs swinging with military precision. Extravagant new courthouses and dozens of station houses appear to be the new government in action throughout the city. Yet step out of the metaphorical car, and these are revealed to be a façade as misleadingly flimsy as those on Salim. This book is about stepping out of the car and exploring what happens behind the glistening façade. Previous scholars have examined the historical development of criminal justice systems and police forces1 and established the importance of criminal justice reform to ensuring the stability of emerging democracies.2 Yet few, if any, existing works examine the development of these as they occur, with some even arguing that to do so would be impossible.3 This work serves to demonstrate that it is possible to directly observe things like the training of police or the operation of criminal trials, and that doing so provides insights impossible to gain in any other way, allowing us to examine the unstable reality behind the shiny façade.

Why Criminal JustiCe? Why the PoliCe? Police are known as the sole group in democratic society with a legitimate monopoly on the use of force, and as such, they occupy a central role in the construction and maintenance of social order. The police are the front lines of the state, as it is in confrontations and negotiations with the police—not the court system or the legislature—where constitutional rights are truly maintained or denied.4 Indeed, there is an old Iraqi saying that roughly translates to “laws are merely ink on paper,” neatly capturing the central argument of this book; while such things as the constitution or the legal code are obviously important to understanding the nature

Kurds, Criminal Justice, and State Legitimacy

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of a state, no other group has the immediacy and material impact of the police. After all, few other governmental agents are “more active, numerous, or potentially intimidating than police officers.”5 As such, an understanding of the police and wider criminal justice system tells us a great deal not only about how a society is organized, managed, and policed—in both the narrow and broad definitions of that term—but about how a state wields and reproduces its power. However, existing scholarly works on the subject leave unanswered a wide range of questions regarding how emerging police forces make personnel and strategy decisions, who and what influences their goals and missions, and how the interplay between the development of the police, the wider criminal justice system, and the state is affected by immediate material concerns and external ideological influences. I argue the lack of attention to police is a major oversight, as the constitution of a police force—especially in a newly reemerging state—is an important window for understanding both the particular state and the modern nation-state in general. The state’s assertion of sovereign power over matters of law and order has been an integral marker of modernity,6 and the police “show in concrete terms for whom and in what matter governmental power will be used.”7 The criminal justice system has long been employed for “little bursts of state-making,”8 as states have used the criminalization of large swaths of behavior to expand their power to control normative order. While many scholars are looking at this expansion of the carceral state and penality in shaping a vision of a society and establishing power relations and normative order,9 most works have been confined to studies of the prison and its aftereffects,10 and nearly all of these studies have focused on Western nations.11 As such, examining the recreation of a police force in a newly reemerging state grants important and unique insight into how that state is being designed to function. The modern state functions for the provision of general peaceable operating conditions, and it also has a powerfully originative role in creating social norms and relations of production.12 Although for the sake of legitimacy the state must allow some level of conflict and opposition, only certain conflicts are deemed legitimate forms of dissent,13 with much of this definitional work performed by the criminal justice system, police in particular. By studying the way order is defined and implemented, we are able to understand not only narrow questions of postconflict and democratic policing but larger questions of how the modern state defines itself. Police are responsible for fulfilling a wide variety of functions, both

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practical and symbolic. While these functions can be filled by a number of actors and agents (and indeed, currently are filled by a wide variety of nonpolice actors in Iraq), only the police are able to bring these various roles together in the legitimated manner required by the modern state.14 I use legitimated not to refer to the feelings of those involved or the moral stature of the codes being enforced but “merely to the correspondence between the uses of force and the rules which specify when it can and should be used.”15 Because of the immediacy of crime and the recent experience of exploding crime rates in Iraq, these policing functions are particularly important for state legitimacy; indeed, it is difficult to imagine an already stable, developed state maintaining legitimacy for long with its policing functions filled by a multitude of distinct, unconnected, and often hostile private interests. Because the police can and do touch on so many aspects of civil society and the lives of citizens, they become an integral way of consolidating and maintaining state power. As contemporary Iraq vividly demonstrates, without a rationalized police force filling the manifest goals of crime control and public order maintenance, along with the latent goals of state consolidation and legitimacy building, it becomes a nigh-impossible task to construct a legitimate state. Beyond the sociological and theoretical implications of this work, the stakes are obviously high for the Iraqi state and the Iraqi people. The success or failure of the reconstruction project is quite literally a life or death situation, and its implications for the region are similarly grand. The federalist democracy favored by the international community requires not only stability but consensus between multiple ethnic, religious, and cultural groups.16 Central to this federalist project are the twin needs of the state for legitimacy and effectiveness,17 and the police are central to establishing and maintaining both of these. In a nation being reconstructed in the shadow of a totalitarian dictatorship, it is especially the case that police are the most visible sign of the state for most people, as in the recent past police were directly used to carry out government control and repression in the most material of ways. As such, the Iraqi populace is uniquely conditioned to think of police as the face of government. Therefore, how legitimate the police are perceived as and how they are received serves as an excellent proxy for attitudes toward the state in general, and it can be meaningfully argued that the legitimacy of the police and how they are viewed determines in large part whether people view the state as legitimate or not. It is important to remember that Saddam Hussein’s police, while cor-

Kurds, Criminal Justice, and State Legitimacy

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rupt and brutal, were successful in controlling interpersonal street crime; prior to the invasion, Iraq had one of the lowest crime rates in the world.18 After the invasion, this oppressive order was replaced by a lawless anarchy of rampant crime and looting. Much of this stemmed from two simultaneous, disastrously mistaken assumptions on the part of the coalition; the first was in the assumption that simply overthrowing Saddam would win the support of a majority of the populace, despite there being considerable evidence to suggest this was unlikely to occur,19 and the second was the more direct mistake of assuming the existing Iraqi police would remain at their posts and continue to provide crime control while the coalition focused on battling the insurgency and reconstructing the state. Neither of these came to pass—the popularity of the coalition never reached levels anywhere near the assumption of the invasion’s architects, and the members of the previous police force quickly abandoned their posts, with some choosing to simply fold back into civil society and many others joining the insurgency. The similarly disastrous de-Ba’athification process (in which all security officials associated with Saddam’s party were dismissed en masse) made roughly eight percent of the nation’s labor force idle overnight. Of course, these newly unemployed persons were not a cross section of Iraqi society, but instead precisely those most likely to join the insurgency, something which undoubtedly exacerbated the already chaotic conditions.20 Compounding the problem of keeping order, coalition forces were directly instructed not to intervene in what were deemed law and order situations, leaving the nation without a police force for at least the first year and a half of the invasion. This complete vacuum of social control lead to the looting of multiple government ministries and theft of millions of dollars in ancient antiquities, alongside a street crime rate that went from one of the lowest in the world to one of the highest almost overnight. Beyond the obvious problems brought on by a dysfunctional criminal justice system largely incapable of providing crime control or justice, the lack of formal social control combined with drastically reduced state expenditures leaves a major vacuum waiting to be filled by anyone who can deliver what is normally expected of the state. In this case, the major power and service vacuums across the nation of Iraq were eventually filled by the Islamic State (IS),21 who run a “parallel administration” of their form of government,22 replete with taxes, schools, the provision of necessities, and even their own form of criminal justice. While the rise of IS is due to a wide variety of factors, which will be discussed later in the book, a central facet of their rise to power came through providing the mate-

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rial necessities, security, and safety that the Iraqi state is either unable or unwilling to provide.23

iraQ Postinvasion Although it is not possible to give any sort of thorough summation of Iraqi sociopolitical history in this space, to understand the context in which the police force and criminal justice system are being reconstructed, one needs to understand two pervasive aspects of contemporary Iraqi life: an anomic feeling of lawlessness and a profound distrust of the government. Because of its existence as a pariah state cut off from the rest of the world under Saddam Hussein, Iraq “was like a cage for so long,” according to Ali, a young professor at the local university.24 This was especially true in the KRG, which—even before gaining semi-autonomy in 1991—was always a low priority for the central government, when it wasn’t simply cut out of most state activities. Although the methods and tactics they used would be endorsed by very few, the police under Saddam were able to maintain an incredibly low level of index-one crimes, or what are often called “street crimes,” such as robbery, burglary, and assault. One of the few things most Iraqis will give credit to Saddam for was the impressive level of crime control. Obviously there was rampant political, economic, and government crime, yet even among Kurds there exists a begrudging respect for Saddam’s crime-control efforts. As such, throughout Iraq people became accustomed to a virtually crimefree environment on the streets of their cities. However, with the inattention to police and crime control postinvasion, the crime rate skyrocketed, and many Iraqis began to experience street crime for the first time in their lives.25 So in addition to the general chaos and fear associated with living in an occupied nation, Iraqis also had to deal with the sudden onset of high crime rates and the realization that little was being done to combat them. It is difficult to overstate the dramatic changes the invasion brought to the lives of average Iraqis. In addition to the rampant crime, unemployment and food scarcity levels exploded in postinvasion Iraq, as over a decade of international sanctions had left many Iraqis almost entirely dependent on the Hussein government for basic necessities. As a result of the invasion, the Iraqi people quickly went from living under a strictly regimented dictatorial government, in which interpersonal crime was almost unheard of and most necessities came directly from the state, to an anarchic, stateless existence in which criminal predation runs rampant and basic necessities are often scarce and difficult to secure.

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The perception of lawlessness and chaos is further fueled by the widespread corruption affecting nearly every aspect of Iraqi life. Although it is one of the largest energy-producing regions in the world, power is a scarce luxury in Iraq. On a typical day government power runs for two to three hours at most, with the rest of the time left to be filled by a personal or neighborhood generator if one is lucky enough to afford access to such things. Several days in a row, even weeks at a time, without power are not uncommon at all. Everyone you speak with is quick to blame this on government corruption, a perception exacerbated by the twin sights of kilometers-long lines for rationed gas at the pump next to similarly extensive lines of oil trucks heading for the border, where oil is sold illegally for higher prices. Corruption is a barely hidden secret; most everyone I met, including politicians and public officials, complained to me about the rampant corruption, which mostly takes the form of bribes or nepotistic rewards for family members and political allies. As one local politician put it, the KRG is often like the Old West when it comes to the rule of law, noting “we have many Jesse James’s running around our nation.” Unfortunately, the police are no more immune to these sorts of corruption than are any other institutions. There were a great deal of stories about corruption at the academy and station houses, including experiences with so-called ghost payrolls, students who did not have to go through training before becoming police due to their family connections, and other nepotism and corruption being offered as the answer for why some people were able to climb the organizational ladder despite not possessing the necessary credentials or experience. Some of these stories were especially telling about the role of corruption in current-day Iraq. One senior trainer at the academy relayed a story to me about the several months he spent in prison under Saddam, a time during which he was repeatedly and brutally tortured. He noted with bitter anger that the man who tortured him was not only never punished but remains a high-level prison official and is even responsible in part for producing the guidelines Iraqi prisons are to follow on the proper treatment of inmates. The phenomenon of well-connected individuals skipping police training and yet receiving high initial ranks had gotten so out of hand that the Ministry of the Interior had to issue a decree declaring that police of all ranks must attend at least one academy course. Such lawlessness and corruption bear heavily on everyone throughout Iraq, most of whom—especially the Kurds—express severe distrust of the central government.26 This is hardly surprising given that forty-plus years

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of dictatorial rule gave way to a decade-plus civil war and a government that enriches itself and its members while much of the nation goes without basic necessities. This is true even more so for the younger generations. As a local legal expert explained over tea one afternoon, the older generations are less agitated “because they don’t know any better. They say ‘at least the Ba’ath party is not taking our sons away and killing them,’ but the younger generations are getting angry.” This prediction turned out to be quite prescient, as a few weeks after this discussion, Suly was gripped by massive anticorruption demonstrations, which were heavily orchestrated and attended by college students and unemployed young adults.

the krG and the Goi While again there is not nearly sufficient space to fully detail the relationship between the Kurdish people and the Iraqi state, a basic understanding of the fraught relationship between the two is essential for understanding any aspect of Kurdish society or government. A constant feature of this relationship has been the oft-extreme antipathy between the two parties, with the best of times resembling more of a ceasefire than cooperation and the worst of times including outright war and ethnic cleansing. This is true whether we are talking about individual Kurds, Kurdish political parties, or the semi-independent KRG, and whether we are referencing their feelings toward the existence of an Iraqi state as such, their inclusion within such a state, or specifically the current Government of Iraq (GOI). This antipathy between Kurds and the Arab governments of the region significantly predates the creation of the Iraqi state, with Kurdish rebellions against the political dictates of Baghdad stretching back to at least 1772,27 but most recently it came to the fore after the formal ascension of Saddam Hussein to the presidency of Iraq in 1979. During his time in power, Saddam launched multiple campaigns against the Kurdish people, such as his Arabization program which sought to destabilize Kurdish solidarity and communities, especially in oil-rich areas like Kirkuk, through the forced deportation of Kurds from their homes and the building of large tracts of low-cost housing for Arab Iraqis moving in from “the south,” as Kurds generically refer to the rest of the nation. This disrupted Kurdish communities in a multitude of ways while also undermining their moral and political arguments of sovereignty over Kurdish territories. The ongoing impact of the Arabization program is readily evident in the dual names of Kurdish cities on most maps; while referred to exclusively by their

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Arabic names in official government documents, most Kurds refer to these places by their traditional Kurdish names. As such, many maps will list both names, such as the city where I do most of my research appearing as both the Arabic Sulaymaniyah and the Kurdish Slemani, or the capital city of the KRG being listed as both the Arabic Erbil and the Kurdish Hewler. The most devastating anti-Kurd actions taken by the Hussein government formed the genocidal Anfal campaign, which took place over several years during the late 1980s. The term literally translates to “the spoils,” referring to Koranic text detailing the spoils of war. The Anfal campaign involved a number of military actions directed at civilian populations, most notoriously the poisonous gas attacks on the Kurdish town of Halabja, which killed somewhere between three thousand and five thousand civilians.28 Additionally, there were wide swaths of the Kurdish region in which large numbers of citizens were detained in camps, with most adultage males murdered and dumped into mass graves. The Human Rights Watch report on the Anfal campaign noted that a central purpose of the campaign was to exterminate all military-service-age men in rural Iraqi Kurdistan.29 A reason for the focus on rural Kurdistan, especially its mountainous regions, is that these are the strongholds of the ‫( البشمركة‬Peshmerga, “those who face death”), the Kurdish revolutionary forces who waged independence campaigns and defended Kurdish territory from the Iraqi government. Peshmerga fighters were often based in the harsh and craggy mountains of Kurdistan, as a combination of difficult terrain and superior indigenous knowledge of the geography made the mountains a safe haven for both resistance fighters and civilians fleeing the Iraqi police or military. Indeed, so important are these mountains to this isolated and beleaguered people that an old Kurdish adage holds, “The Kurdish people’s only friends are the mountains.” Yet even when Kurds were not being subject to ethnic cleansing, they were treated at best as second-class citizens by the Hussein government. This occurred in ways both severe and mundane, and most everyone over the age of thirty has plenty of stories of both. The detention, torture, execution and/or disappearance of friends and family is simply a fact of life for several generations of Kurdish Iraqis. Many have their own stories of having been detained and tortured, such as a police trainer at the academy who removed his boots during our interview to show how his feet had become deformed after being hung by them for weeks while being tortured, or a friend who gave me a tour of the infamous Red Prison (a prison in Suly that Saddam used to detain and torture political dissidents), blithely

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noting the room where he had been tortured, which was next to the room where his father had been executed. Even in the small matters of everyday existence that did not carry such heavy consequences of life and death, Kurdish Iraqis would be abused and denigrated by the Iraqi government. I heard many stories of how any time a Kurdish person had to deal with government officials, they could expect to be ordered to the back of the line multiple times, while almost certainly being berated or belittled by the staff and regularly just denied service. What would otherwise be a short drive from one city to the next would often end up taking all day, as Kurds were detained at checkpoints for little reason other than being Kurdish. Although the list of offenses committed by the Iraqi state against the Kurdish people could fill volumes, this should suffice to illustrate why the Kurds of Iraq place such little trust and faith in the central government. Despite the ouster of Saddam Hussein and the formal recognition of Kurdish rights in the federal constitution, the relationship between Kurds and the central government has improved little. While the violence has greatly decreased, many of my friends and research respondents still report being denied certain government services or being detained for significant periods for no apparent reason outside of the KRG. Even more pressing, many of the criminal justice officials I spoke with for this project felt there was little coordination or even basic information sharing between the KRG and the GOI, and many were quite happy to keep it that way. Although the federal system of government requires at least a minimal form of cooperation and the maintenance of a certain level of a working relationship, even sharing a common enemy and facing a threat as great as the Islamic State has done little to improve the working relationship between the two governments. According to media reports and my own respondents, the coordination in the fight against IS has largely been restricted to shared knowledge of troop positioning and movements so as to avoid friendly fire.30 Otherwise, the two have been fighting as essentially separate nations, despite their ostensibly shared federal government and presumed shared interest in defeating the organization. Practically this has not had a terribly large effect, as GOI forces continue to have significant operational deficits and little to offer in such a fight, and thus in a certain sense Peshmerga forces were always going to have to shoulder the burden of defeating IS. Yet the inability to meaningfully come together in the face of such an existential threat to the continued existence of both speaks volumes about the relationship between the KRG and the GOI.

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liFe in the krG The KRG is the portion of traditionally Kurdish lands that fall within the borders of Iraq. It is known to many Kurds as South Kurdistan, given that it represents the southern area of Kurdish lands, with East Kurdistan falling in Syria, North Kurdistan in Eastern Turkey, and West Kurdistan within Iran. It is also sometimes known as Free Kurdistan due to its status as the closest thing to an independent Kurdish state in existence. The KRG has been in a limbo of semi-independence since the conclusion of the first Gulf War in 1991. The region maintains a fair bit of independence yet is subordinate to the federal government in a number of important ways. The boundaries of this relationship are quite malleable, with both sides regularly testing them, as Kurds continue to push for becoming an independent state and the GOI regularly seeks to limit the powers granted to the regional government and even to dissolve the KRG. It is unquestionably clear that the vast majority of Kurds favor independence from Iraq, as every referendum held on the question of seceding from the nation has garnered “yes” votes in the 80–90 percent range.31 Yet a variety of factors makes such independence incredibly unlikely in the near future, or even within the next generation, for reasons including the region’s limited industrialization and the hostile foreign powers surrounding it, the inevitable dispute over oil-rich Kirkuk, and probably most importantly the Kurds being central to the American project in Iraq.32 Furthermore, Kurds have been able to achieve some fairly impressive concessions from the federal government, which of course would immediately dissolve upon independence. While these various factors mean Kurdistan offers only a partial glimpse into Iraq as a nation, they also make the KRG essentially a best case scenario for the prospects of the reconstruction project: the region is relatively safe, stable, and prosperous, and Kurds—far more than any other group within Iraq—hold the most positive views of Americans and the coalition. As such, the reconstruction process has gone much more smoothly in the KRG than elsewhere in the nation.33 Simply put, nowhere in Iraq provides a better opportunity for America and its coalition partners to successfully implement the policies, practices, and institutions they want. Yet despite the important differences, there is much the KRG shares with wider Iraq in terms of its present situation and the challenges it faces. Like the rest of the nation, unemployment is a major problem throughout the KRG. While concrete numbers are hard to come by, most estimates put

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the national unemployment rate around twenty to twenty-five percent,34 and much nongovernment employment is patchwork and insufficient. There has been little postinvasion improvement in areas as disparate as education, utilities services, and medical care. While the KRG is largely shielded from the civil war gripping the rest of the nation, there are historical tensions between the two main political parties of the region: the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan, historically led by the family of former Iraqi president Jalal Talabani, and the Kurdistan Democratic Party, historically led by the family of KRG president Mahmoud Barzani. The two parties have long had a contentious relationship, and the relative power vacuum left by the deposing of Saddam Hussein has increased interparty tensions as the two jockey for control of the region as well as attempt to hold off new challengers, such as the Gorran (Change) party. Further increasing the current instability in the KRG, the region has been experiencing a prolonged economic depression, or as most simply refer to it, “the crisis.” Although multifaceted in nature, much of the economic downturn can be attributed to the rise and expansion of the IS, which seized oil fields that were major sources of revenue for the KRG, causing oil prices to plummet,35 and drained quite a bit of state funds through the protracted military campaign to quell the organization. While in the times of my early visits the KRG was relatively prosperous, especially compared the rest of Iraq, by the time of my most recent visits, government spending had been crippled. Power outages became even more frequent and lasted longer, construction projects sat in limbo, and government salaries were slashed to a fraction of their previous levels, prompting regular mass demonstrations and strikes.36 A great example of the KRG’s changing fortunes is the new campus of the University of Sulaimani. Built during the boom times, it is a highly impressive campus, with deluxe dormitories and posh lecture halls. Yet its grandeur is belayed by the current crisis conditions, as trash is piled up all over campus due to the university’s budget levels necessitating them canceling their trash collection. The beautiful new office buildings have rare electricity and spotty internet connection. The faculty have fared even worse, as their salaries have been reduced to a quarter of what they were only a few years ago. According to one faculty member I spoke with, while he had earned US$4,500 a month as of 2015, he now only receives US$700 a month. Classes are regularly disrupted by the fact that faculty often have to strike for weeks or months at a time to receive any salary at all.

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Life in Sulaymaniyah Most of my research takes place in and around the city of Sulaymaniyah. Nestled high in the ‫( أسمر‬Azmar) mountains and surrounded on three sides by steep and craggy mountain cliffs, Suly was long a seat of antiSaddam resistance and gained a reputation as a strategic and political safe haven for rebels. Today Suly is the seat of the Sulaymaniyah governate, one of the three principalities of the KRG. It is one of the most urbanized cities in Iraq, and though physically not terribly large, estimates put its population well above the one million mark. Although the majority of the population are Kurds with generational ties to the region, there is a sizeable minority of displaced individuals from the more active conflict zones in the south, from Syria and parts of Turkey, as well as a growing Chinese immigrant population.37 Despite the current financial and political instability of the region and nation, Suly is a lively and modern city. It is home to the University of Sulaimani, the largest and oldest university in the region, multiple museums, an international airport, a large media presence, and a vibrant arts scene. Prior to the recession, oil revenues allowed for some largesse in social and infrastructural spending, and Suly is certainly far more developed than the smaller towns and rural areas in the region.38 Yet emblematic of a nation torn between future aspirations and a contentious present, many neighborhoods are made up of crumbling shacks with tarps for roofs, and even the most expensive, modernized neighborhoods rarely experience a full day of continuous electricity. In many ways, Suly is like any other large city, with streets jammed with both vehicular and pedestrian traffic and with the noise and general chaos that accompany such things. The heart of the city is the bazaar, the old market. Even though Suly has many Western-style stores and even two large, multistory malls (one of which features an indoor ice-skating rink), the best shopping takes place in the tiny stalls and carts of the bazaar. Here people from all walks of life haggle over the price of everything, including clothing, produce, cigarettes, and the latest electronics. Smells of every kind assault the senses—the irresistible aromas of kebab and shawarma shops and the far less enjoyable odors emanating from dozens of chickens piled on top of each other in tiny cages, waiting to be slaughtered for a fresh evening dinner. Yet the bazaar is far more than commerce, serving just as important a social function as an economic one. Neighbors and friends meet for food, old men who seemingly live at the chaikhanas (tea shops) talk politics and

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the latest gossip all day long to anyone who will listen, and young people in their finest wander the markets under dizzying areas of lights in the evening. No one can be in a hurry in the market, both because the sheer number of people and cars makes it all but impossible to walk more than a few feet without stopping and because of the premium Kurdish people put on personal relationships and social interaction. In stark contrast to American interaction patterns, a simple wave or hello will never suffice when seeing even a minor acquaintance; rather, a discussion of everyone’s extended family, the weather, local and international politics, and a number of other topics will require at least several minutes. This kind of interaction is emblematic of the incredibly welcoming nature of most Kurdish people. Stemming in large part from their history as oft-persecuted nomads,39 Kurds place a great deal of importance on welcoming all, especially strangers. This is true in nearly every situation: when in a chaikhana by myself, I would quickly be invited to another table to join in their conversation; when walking home from the store, multiple people would stop and offer me a ride the rest of the way; and the number of meals I was welcomed to is beyond enumeration. When traveling for data collection, people I had just met would gladly welcome me into their homes to stay the night. The experience is well summed up by the chorus of a popular Kurdish dance song that holds, “You always have a friend in Sulaymaniyah.”

data ColleCtion This book draws from data collected in multiple trips to the KRG from 2011 to 2017. My fieldwork primarily consists of what is termed “ethnographic discourse analysis,”40 an approach that looks at discourse as being embodied not only in texts but also in various forms of everyday practice. This style of data collection centers on being embedded in the day-to-day life of individuals, gaining an understanding of their routines, thoughts and feelings, and ideas about the world. In this way, we can observe how the much larger concepts of social, political, and economic forces actually look on the ground level and how, in turn, these micro-level actions and ideas shape those macro-level concepts. The centerpiece of my ethnographic data is my time at the police training academy, during which I observed the training of two cohorts of roughly 130 students total, as well as three rapid-training courses of six to eight students apiece. Typically, I would attend academy courses four days a week (Monday through Thursday) for the entirety of the “theoretical”

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training each day, usually between two and three hours. (Recruits also undergo physical training each morning, consisting of basic calisthenics.) While training would occasionally take place in one of the many classrooms on the academy campus, the vast majority was conducted on a large concrete courtyard immediately next to the entrance of the academy. Students would stand or sit in a three-quarter square, with the instructor leading the lesson at the open end of the square. The academy staff was incredibly welcoming and open in allowing my observation, and this study never would have happened without their cooperation. However, observational data for this project came in many forms beyond my time at the academy, including spending time in courthouses and courtrooms with judges and lawyers as they went about their duties and long afternoons in local police stations discussing local conditions and police practices, and observing the responses of state and private security forces to public order situations, the ordinary day-to-day type as well as major public demonstrations. In addition to this more formal data gathering, I also spent a significant amount of time with police, judges, and lawyers outside of their official duties, in chaikhanas, kebab shops, and their homes, discussing everything from food to pop culture to political ideals. Beyond my ethnographic observations, data for this project came primarily from three other sources. First, I completed ninety interviews with criminal justice officials throughout the KRG, in both major urban centers and small rural towns and villages. Interview respondents include students and trainers at the police academy, front-line police officers, police chiefs and other supervisory personnel, judges of first instance, Court of Cassation judges, and Supreme Court members. Although a small number of respondents refused to be recorded due to fears of reprisal, most were happy to be recorded and offered the use of their names as well. The majority of respondents expressed quite a bit of enthusiasm about the possibility of being interviewed and were excited to share their story. Second, I conducted two rounds of qualitative surveys of police officers and judges, consisting of open-ended questions based on those that had proven to be the most informative in interviews. While not allowing for the same depth or clarity as in-person interviews, these written surveys allowed for greatly expanding my research participant base during limited time in the field. Finally, I also drew from a large number of written documents, including such things as government publications, syllabi from the academy, human rights reports, news articles from local and international media outlets, and private correspondence with various criminal justice officials.

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All of the research was conducted with the assistance of interpreters and translators. This was due to the technical nature of some questions as well as the need to conduct interviews in the local Kurdish dialect of Sorani. This particular dialect is only spoken in this region of the nation, and there are scant English-to-Sorani texts, computer programs, or most any other way of learning the language. Through all the time I’ve spent in the KRG I have become functional in Sorani, but the complexity of the information being collected necessitated the use of professional assistance. To ensure accuracy, my interpreters, translators, and I regularly discussed the nature and purpose of the research questions and instruments, and randomly selected audio recordings and written materials were doublechecked by a second interpreter or translator.

summary oF ChaPters The central argument of this book is that the criminal justice system, especially the police, are central to how the modern nation-state defines itself and the extent to which it does or does not enjoy legitimacy in the eyes of its citizens, an essential aspect of establishing a democratic government. In the chapters that follow, this argument is built through an understanding of the historical and contemporary roles of the police, using the unique case of the reconstruction of Iraq to illustrate how these weighty theoretical manners play out in day-to-day reality. Chapter 2 offers a brief recounting of the major developments in the history of policing, paying special attention to how they have become the most concrete representatives of government in a constitutional democracy, playing a central role in the shaping and disciplining of the citizenry, as well as a brief outline of the history of policing within the Iraqi state. This is paired with an overview of relevant theories of state power, emphasizing a Gramscian notion of the line police represent between consent and coercion in the state formation process. Chapter 3 traces the reconstruction process in Iraq, highlighting the many ways the heady expectations of the architects of the invasion gave way to the harsh realities of occupying and reconstructing a foreign nation. Special emphasis is given to how the neoliberal model favored by the Bush administration was contextually inappropriate and directly contributed to the myriad problems plaguing the Iraqi state. Chapter 4 dives into the daily routine of life at an Iraqi police training academy, demonstrating how superficial concerns of appearance and selfpresentation have come to dominate the curriculum to the direct deficit of

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meaningful training regarding actual police work. I argue the process is better understood as a form of “cultural performance” designed to project a legitimacy neither the state nor police yet enjoy. Chapter 5 focuses on the voices of Iraqi police themselves, an important constituency often left out of discussions of the nation. Here it is revealed the majority of police joined the force simply out of need for some meager form of income, with few of them expressing any interest in remaining on the job in the face of nearly any other employment opportunity. While most report an idealistic view of policing, their actual behavior toward the citizens of Iraq belies their lofty rhetoric. Chapter 6 centers on questions of legal indeterminacy in the KRG, examining how legal actors attempt to carry out their duties in the absence of a constitution and other official sources that are theoretically supposed to be guiding them, as well as the contentious relationship with the central government and how that further exacerbates indeterminacy. Finally, chapter 7 closes the book by arguing that the findings of this study are best understood by placing them within the long history of America’s attempts to create an informal empire through the construction of nominally independent client states. The process is compared to the British occupation of the region in 1914, which lead to the creation of the Iraqi state. The drastic difference between the public proclamations of what the British empire was attempting to create in Iraq and what actually happened and the eerily numerous parallels between that occupation and the current American-led occupation demonstrate that in the case of Iraq, history repeats itself first as tragedy and then not as farce but as even greater tragedy.

2. The Face of the State How Police Are Central to Modern Governance

Police are arguably the most powerful government actors in a democratic society, as their decisions to arrest or not arrest and on which laws to prioritize, as well as their vested power to use lethal force, means they have the ability to intervene in the lives of citizens to an extent few others can match. Enforcing the law means enforcing a multitude of oft-unpopular and occasionally contradictory mandates that are destined to provoke resistance; as such, police regularly have to choose between which laws to enforce and which to ignore for the sake of public order. The ideal of impartial enforcement of all laws is simply impossible in reality, as police constantly must make choices about which laws to enforce and how to enforce them.1 Punishment is inherently a political question, and the definition of what behavior is deemed legal and acceptable and what is deemed illegal and unacceptable is obviously going to be strongly influenced by those who hold the most power.2 Legal rules and their enforcement not only uphold and legitimate the status quo but can have a powerfully originative role as well, producing classifications for a multiplicity of actions and actively shaping how we understand the relation of the individual to society.3 As Èmile Durkheim argues, the law is less about which behaviors are most dangerous or in need of regulation and more about acting as a reflection of existing social relations and serving to reproduce existing forms of social solidarity and preserve society as it is.4 Law enforcement policies and priorities are nearly always set by and represent the “interests of the power centers in the community,”5 yet these interests typically come to be defined as the interests of all, making those who break the law or 18

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even oppose these interests seen as wanting to undermine the state and social order.6 The police are integral to the state’s assertion of sovereignty over law and social order, a fundamental basis of the establishment of legitimate democratic rule and the modern nation-state.7 On a more practical level, police contribute to the social order and security necessary for day-to-day life. This is especially the case in state reconstruction scenarios like Iraq, as police play a central role in providing social stability,8 constituting the “key component that connects the democratic framework to ensure sustainable development, democracy, peace, and security.”9 As such, there has been a growing recognition that “the public security apparatus is critical to domestic and regional stability, as well as to deeper democratization.”10 This central role of policing to successful state construction stems from the two fundamental needs of the modern democratic state: legitimacy, in the eyes of citizens and other nations, and effectiveness, in terms of services rendered.11 Importantly in postconflict nations, legitimacy has been found to be highly dependent on the effective delivery of services, especially safety and security.12 This is not to discount the important role legitimacy and public trust play in state reconstruction; policing is highly dependent on public support, as their ability to investigate crimes and locate and apprehend suspects rests on information supplied by members of the public.13 Thus, even if police have the capacity to provide effective services, they are unable to do so without at least some level of legitimacy. This is an especially germane consideration in postconflict environments, as police were often integral to the abuses of the prior regime, leaving the population especially wary of police actions.14 In this chapter, I highlight signpost developments in Western policing, building on work demonstrating that “one of the signatory claims of the modern state was its assumption of primary responsibility for crime control and punishment,”15 with the police having become a primary mechanism for achieving this. The police are central to our very concept of the modern state, which has major implications for efforts of Western actors to reconstruct police forces in their image. This is even more of a challenge in a state like Iraq, which has since its founding explicitly used the police as a political tool of repression. Finally, I build the case for why the state maintains a position as a central arbiter of power relations, which, combined with the importance of the police to the modern state and its ability to express power, means that how police act and operate can reveal a substantial amount about how a state is being designed to operate and how power relations will be enacted within that state.

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From Private to PubliC: a very QuiCk history oF Western PoliCinG It is difficult to pinpoint when “police” first developed; groups filling what we would recognize as policing functions have existed for centuries,16 and forms of organized social control have existed throughout the world in a variety of forms. Most relevant to this discussion is the development of policing in western Europe, as the reconstruction of Iraq’s police has been primarily based on American policing schemes, which themselves were largely derived from the British system. Before the advent of capitalism, the feudal mode of production in Europe called for extractive and extensive relations; with the vast majority of labor to be performed not requiring much specialized skill or knowledge, the ruling class relied on having a large, undifferentiated mass of workers to exploit. The nature of feudal work meant that if subjects were overworked, they were easily replaced by any of the many others on the estate. Feudal rulers cared little about the lives or habits of their subjects, and as long as peasants were not stealing from or beheading them, there wasn’t any great need for social order or general crime control. As such, systems of control carried out by paid mercenaries that punished the peasantry collectively were more than sufficient.17 However, as capitalism took hold of Europe, interest in human capital increased. Workers were no longer seen as interchangeable, finished products ready to be exploited, but rather resources themselves, capable of being cultivated to become better, more proficient, and more profitable.18 With this new mode of production, exploitation became developmental and intensive. Because workers now required training and capital investment, the new capitalist ruling class became greatly interested in monitoring and controlling these workers well beyond threats of basic theft or political rebellion.19 The growth of capitalism also invested states with significantly greater fiscal power, which in turn allowed them to intervene in social affairs at an unprecedented level. Chief among these new interventions was the assertion of the state’s sovereign power to enforce law and maintain order.20 Due in large part to the developing capitalist economy’s growing need for orderly and predictable conditions, most of Continental Europe had established some form of government police by the dawn of the seventeenth century. However because of widespread popular resistance, the British Parliament had considered and rejected instituting a police force a half-dozen times throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

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As a result, nearly all forms of social control in England before the nineteenth century were private. During this period, prosecutions were entirely funded by the plaintiff, and private protection societies, in which members pooled their money to fund prosecutions, rose to fill the void.21 Suspects were apprehended by notoriously corrupt “thief takers” and other mercenaries, who were typically paid either by the arrest or in a portion of the stolen goods recovered, leading them to either participate in thefts themselves or to not be particularly discriminating in who they arrested.22 Unsurprisingly, mercenaries hired by social and economic elites who were strongly incentivized to make more-or-less indiscriminate arrests failed at providing social order.23 At the same time, using the military to quell social disorder was becoming less and less acceptable to the public, both due to growing ideals of personal liberties as well as growing distaste for the violent tactics they employed.24 These twin problems were solved by Sir Robert Peel, who finally persuaded Parliament to allow him to create a professional police force in 1829. Peel took great pains to distinguish his police from the military, including in uniforms, weaponry, and most importantly, answering to the public not the king or monied interests.25 That this new force was to be a democratic, public force is evident in perhaps Peel’s most famous proclamation that “police are the public and that the public are the police, the police being only members of the public who are paid to give full-time attention to duties which are incumbent on every citizen.”26 Peel’s London Metropolitan Police Force is regarded as the first modern democratic police force, and its deliberate separation from the military is often posited as a watershed moment in the progress of civil liberties and democratic governance.27 Indeed, it is now generally seen as common sense that the two are separate, with the military focused on warfare and foreign threats, while police are focused on public order, service delivery, and enforcing the law.28 It is further assumed these very different mandates in turn should produce very different organizations with very different operating styles. While the military may be focused on the violent repression of subjects, police in a democratic nation should theoretically be an organization much slower to violence and more concerned with dispute resolution, and most centrally, should be serving citizens, not fighting enemies. Of course this separation between the police and military in either function or form was never as neat as the conventional story suggests.29 Peel was a military official who developed the idea for the Metropolitan Police while conducting military patrols in Northern Ireland, and po-

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lice have always had elements of paramilitary organization.30 The Metropolitan Police were formed at a time when the dawn of industry had drawn thousands of people from their farms and into the streets of London. When there proved to be not enough work for the masses of new arrivals, political and economic elites feared these crowds of dispossessed workers would overrun the city with vice, crime, and threats of revolution. So afraid of this newly developing class were the city’s bourgeoisie that the Metropolitan Police were given the specific mission to protect society against “the ‘dangerous classes’ and political agitation.”31 The emphasis on the public nature of the force was less about police meeting Peel’s ideal as model citizens and more about distinguishing them from their private predecessors and formally establishing the provision of order and crime control as the sole province of the state. The envisioned “public” the police are tasked with serving has always been a narrow slice of the actual populace; despite Peel’s proclamations of responsiveness to public concern, only 20 percent of the English population was allowed to vote at the time, and his “vision of order so appealing to business and property owners could easily look like repression to those on the other end of the constable’s truncheon.”32 It was shortly after this period that police forces were first established in the United States, with many of them directly modeled on the English form of public constabularies. US police forces similarly shared their origins in fears of urban unrest, and much like their English counterparts, were a response to industrialization and the growth of cities that signaled a breakdown in traditional methods of social control. To that end, most of the arrests of these young American police forces were not for dangerous or violent behavior but for controlling the “dangerous classes” by arresting them for vagrancy, loitering, and other crimes of public order.33 Like their English counterparts, early American police were paid by a series of differing fees based on the services provided, having the practical effect of turning their attention away from crime in general and concentrating on their better paying functions serving economic elites.34 Low pay led to high levels of turnover and low levels of recruits, drawing only those who had few other options for gainful employment. Early American police had a reputation for brutality and corruption, as well as being more beholden to a particular political party than to abstract ideals of the law or constitution.35 As such, these police were highly unpopular to Americans across the political and economic spectrum,36 although as they became institutionalized and their focus further narrowed to the behaviors of the

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poor and foreign-born, the complaints of the middle class about the police “shifted from oppressiveness to inefficiency.”37 Obviously American policing has grown and changed significantly since this period, but I leave this truncated history here for two reasons: the first is that a full summation of the history of Western policing is impossible in this space, but this should give a feel for why we think of policing as a public issue and a government mandate. The second is that this stage of American policing—in which the police were viewed as brutal and corrupt political lackeys who lacked the education or skills to get better work, did little to fight crime or keep public order, and were viewed by much of the populace as a menace—is more or less the stage the Iraqi police currently occupy in their development.

international PoliCe reConstruCtion In the past three decades, international coalitions attempted to reconstruct police forces in over a dozen different nations around the world, and the United States alone has led six major nation-building projects during this period, Iraq being the fifth such project in a majority-Muslim nation. While the results of these attempts are mixed at best, they have left us with a wealth of scholarly materials concerning both the theoretical and practical aspects of police reconstruction.38 Yet in this long line of literature outlining best practices, many scholars and practitioners have often proceeded without asking for whom such policies are best. As policing scholar Graham Ellison notes, a “willingness to conform to the principles of democratic policing in post-authoritarian and transitional states is important as an end in itself,”39 not simply to meet reform benchmarks of ending human rights abuses or providing certain levels of security and order but because effective and impartial policing is fundamental to the establishment and maintenance of democratic freedoms.40 A central insight of the academic literature on police reconstruction is that the sorts of factors many tend to assume would be central, such as crime rates and levels of violence, actually have little effect on the process of establishing a police force or the central characteristics of that force. Rather, it is larger questions of politics and state formation—factors such as a transformation in the organization of political power, prolonged violent resistance to government, and the erosion of former bases of community authority—that most impact the shape and nature of an emerging force.41

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Most existing literature on police reconstruction can be placed into one of two camps, which I term the classical/neoliberal and the reflexive.42 The former approach is most often employed in practice, emphasizing a technocratic nuts-and-bolts approach, while the latter has developed in reaction to the problems of the classical/neoliberal model, instead emphasizing flexibility built on direct and sustained coordination with local actors. While this newer model marks a clear improvement over its predecessor, both suffer a number of flaws. In this section I offer a brief sketch of each model, with an emphasis on their limitations.

The Classical/Neoliberal Model This most widely employed model views police reconstruction as a largely technical enterprise. Typically one part of a wider package of neoliberal reforms, it posits that reconstruction is largely a matter of Western advisors training nascent police forces in Western methods of crime control and organization. The work of prominent international police reconstruction expert David Bayley fits neatly within this paradigm, identifying four pivotal reforms for democratic forces, arguing police must be accountable to law rather than a particular government; must protect human rights, especially minority political rights; must be accountable to persons outside of the force who are specifically charged with and empowered to regulate police activity; and finally, must give top operational priority to the needs of private citizens.43 While I will discuss the problems with neoliberal reconstruction programs in much greater depth in the following chapter, it’s important to note that a central problem of this approach is that in practice transnational police reconstruction often suffers from a “one size fits all” approach that doesn’t grapple with the many complexities unique to each situation.44 When police training is instituted as part of a larger program of neoliberal restructuring resting on stark political and economic liberalization, the result is a program that ignores important variance in local conditions, such as previous forms of government or current levels of violence.45 Critics of the classical/neoliberal model charge that it far too often prioritizes the needs and desires of the sponsoring state at the direct expense of the state under reconstruction. One striking example of this failure to consider contextual issues beyond technical and organizational issues is the level of recruits typically attracted by these restructured forces. As will be discussed in chapter 4, the importance of well-qualified, educated, and trained recruits is a staple of the literature on police reconstruction. Yet in practice, reconstruction

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efforts often focus on immediate quantity over long-term quality, as the general chaos of postconflict situations and the urgent need for crime control lead to recycling officers from the old regime and accepting recruits well below official standards. This is a reoccurring pattern despite the well-documented fact that a rush to have officers on the street as soon as possible leads to significant problems with corruption, brutality, and police who are unable or unwilling to perform the functions necessary to maintain democratic order.46 Another problematic aspect of the classical/neoliberal model is the assumption new recruits identify with the new government and see policing as a legitimate institution.47 It would arguably be more effective to assume just the opposite, as typically the reason a police force is undergoing reconstruction is due to the state’s emergence from a totalitarian, dictatorial, or otherwise illegitimate government few citizens trusted. There is also significant evidence that many recruits in postconflict situations don’t see the police force itself as a legitimate institution.48 This has the potential to create major problems, as perceptions of self-legitimacy are crucial for effective police performance.49 These perceptions, fueled in large part by how strongly individual officers identify with the organization, greatly dictate officer behavior; those with a weaker sense of their own legitimacy are more sensitive to provocations and more likely to use force, while those who view the force and themselves as legitimate express more support for procedurally just policing and the rights of suspects.50 A lack of self-legitimacy also contributes to the high rates of personnel turnover and desertion experienced by these forces.51 The question of how members of the police view the new government is important both because they occupy such a unique position in regard to the state and because developing a national identity is a fundamental necessity of the reconstruction project. The tenuous loyalty of police matters not only for how this affects their performance but also for the insights granted into the attempt to build a legitimate state. Police are not a random sampling of the population but rather a group of individuals who have specifically chosen to align themselves with the state (albeit rather tenuously for many of them). If the state cannot successfully establish legitimacy with those who are paid to be its representatives and enforce its dictates, it seems highly unlikely it will be able to sway the greater public to its side. Viewing the state as legitimate and the loyalty that view builds within officers is something that needs to be a centerpiece of police reconstruction programs rather than something that can simply be assumed.

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The Reflexive Turn Moving beyond the classical/neoliberal model of police reconstruction, a growing number of scholars advocate what I term a reflexive model.52 This model calls for a far more context-driven approach to police reconstruction, with an emphasis on incorporating local knowledge and priorities, arguing police reconstruction efforts should emphasize “greater emancipation from structural violence, indigenous autonomy in determining peacebuilding priorities, and the idea of the ‘everyday’ as a focal point.”53 This model recognizes that police reconstruction has to be nested within a much larger set of reforms, and that it is not enough to simply build new institutions and expect them to be functional or legitimate, as “overthrowing a dictatorship, however repressive or violent, is not enough to establish legitimacy for a reform process.”54 In place of Bayley’s guidelines, Goldsmith and Dinnen propose a different four-point process that neatly encapsulates the spirit of the reflexive model.55 First, they argue that any attempt to create a new force must be preceded by a serious study of the setting through consultation of local populations and utilization of local expertise. Second, such efforts should be approached with a proper degree of reflexivity and humility about tasks and objectives, especially in light of how actions may be perceived locally. Third, reform efforts must be flexible and adaptive, deferring to local knowledge to develop appropriate measures. Finally, all involved must acknowledge the inherently political nature of policing and attempt reforms not simply limited to organizational improvement but grounded in a broader set of democratic political relations. The reflexive model of police reconstruction represents a clear improvement over its classical/neoliberal predecessor. Yet even this much improved model still ignores at least one incredibly central concern of police reconstruction that the subject of this book makes painfully clear—newly reconstructed police forces require significant levels of material support. Although there is growing recognition that economic needs must be part of reconstruction programs generally,56 this has not yet found its way into the scholarship or practice of police reconstruction. Although scholars have established that funding and access to resources is a key component for insurgent groups,57 these studies remain confined to rebel and terror organizations, with “no corresponding literature on, quite literally, the other side,”58 namely that of police and state security forces. This lack of attention to proper funding and resource levels is important

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for how it affects police loyalty and retention, as well as for how it directly affects police capacity and capabilities. As many observers have argued, the failure to fund the Iraqi police force at anywhere approaching necessary levels was likely an intentional policy choice to prevent the kinds of policies centered on indigenous knowledge that the reflexive model calls for.59 While I explore this point in much more detail later on, suffice it to say here that even if there are no ulterior motives in underfunding police reconstruction efforts, such monetary shortfalls present a major impediment. A central problem of ignoring proper funding is that there will nearly always be a time gap between dismantling a regime and its security forces and the introduction of new substitutes, and the resulting law enforcement vacuum will “be filled by nonstate policing agencies that will only disappear when the state develops the capacity to cope with the problems.”60 These kinds of nonstate policing agencies arising to fill these law enforcement gaps are often incredibly dangerous actors, such as the Islamic State, who have used the security vacuum in many parts of the nation to deliver the crime control and order that Iraqi police cannot.61 The same process can be observed in Afghanistan, as the lack of protection from police, or the danger posed by the police themselves, is a central reason for citizens tolerating Taliban activity in their area.62 Accounting for the inevitable security gap is of the utmost importance, as often the difference between a successful and disastrous reconstruction program is timing; while postconflict Uganda was able to avoid extended problems through the expedited introduction of a new policing regime, Sierra Leone was slow in rolling out a new force and was besotted with violent nonstate actors filling that function.63 Many of these problems in implementation speak to a fundamental difficulty of police reform efforts, which are often marked by a wide gulf between what the reform process is designed to achieve and what actually happens in implementation. The work of Graham Ellison on the police reform process in Northern Ireland is especially instructive in this regard. Northern Ireland followed many of the proscriptions of the reflexive model and is widely regarded as one of the few instances where police reform has had a lasting impact, often invoked as a template for the establishment of democratic policing. Yet the process of creating and instilling these reforms “can only be described as torturous,”64 taking well over a decade for meaningful reforms to take hold, with the reforms that do exist remaining hampered by wider political constraints.

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Police Militarization and Reconstruction Another significant problem with both the theory and practice of police reconstruction is how little either grapple with the problems of police militarization, or worse, wholeheartedly embrace it. As discussed, separating policing functions from the military and vesting those tasks in a civilian authority was a watershed moment in the development of Western democracies. Yet in reconstruction situations there will almost inevitably be a strong tendency toward militarizing the police, as the conditions that have necessitated a reconstruction effort typically mean the legitimate state is quite weak and open to violent challengers, thus strongly incentivizing a militarized police force to assist in counterinsurgency efforts. While the full history of the movement back toward the militarization of police in the United States and elsewhere is outside the scope of this book,65 a brief discussion of some major developments is necessary for understanding the police reconstruction efforts in Iraq. In the United States, the turn toward militarized police accelerated after the Cold War, as with no outlet for military aggression abroad, the ideals and goals of military dominance were focused inward.66 Using “counterinsurgency” techniques developed during the Vietnam War; Special Weapons and Tactics (SWAT) units began to appear in the late 1960s, largely as a response to the civil unrest of the time.67 More properly termed Police Paramilitary Units (PPUs), these units utilize “the application of (quasi-) military training, equipment, philosophy, and organization”68 to policing and public order. While ostensibly existing to police major public order disturbances, many PPUs shifted into proactive warrant serving, searches, and even patrol, becoming a routinized feature of policing.69 A central problem of paramilitary units is that they have the effect of not just facilitating but propagating increased use of violence by the police, leading to the employment of much harsher strategies of repression.70 To put the issue bluntly, attempting to police a democratic society with a military model is bound to fail. On the theoretical level, the mandates of the two institutions are simply incompatible; while a military is oriented around dominating and pacifying a foreign population with the use of deadly force at the forefront, democratic policing is supposed to be about protecting and serving a domestic population, with lethal force reserved for only when it proves to be absolutely necessary. On a personnel level, a military requires strict discipline and adherence to official orders delivered downward through the hierarchy regardless of how the individual soldier

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may feel about them, while police training and strategizing is based on a high level of discretion for those lowest in rank, who are expected to draw from their own experience as much as official policy when dealing with the varied tasks they face.71 The military model of policing tends to completely ignore the social, political, and economic dimensions of crime control,72 and the move away from militaristic models has proven to be a “crucial” reform in past success.73 Research confirms that police trained in human relations and nonviolent conflict resolution perform markedly better than those in militarized units.74 Training for militarized police typically focuses exclusively on combat tactics, rarely if ever discussing pertinent legal issues or alternative peacekeeping tactics.75 As Goldstein notes, “it is ironic there is so inverse a relationship between the diverse array of tasks the police are expected to perform and the extremely limited methods formally available to them,”76 and such an inverse is only heightened with a militarized force. Despite the many problems inherent in militarized police forces, the reconstruction of Iraqi police was taken from civilian command and placed under the direct control of the US military, a historical first.77 Whereas previous police reconstruction efforts of the United States were conducted under the joint coordination of the Departments of State and Justice, the reconstruction of the Iraqi police was placed under the auspices of the Department of Defense. The problems associated with the shift to the Department of Defense are again both practical and theoretical. Practically speaking, the military has neither the capacity for institution-building nor requisite knowledge of proper policing practices, as evidenced by Major General Joseph Peterson, who headed initial US efforts to rebuild the force and openly admitted to having no experience in either institution-building or policing.78 On the theoretical level, again the two models are incompatible even in the best of circumstances. In the case of Iraq, this is even more so, as Saddam’s police had long been an arm of his military and used extreme levels of force to carry out his dictates. In the effort to democratize a nation, continuing to house the police under the authority of the military is counterproductive in terms of delivering crime control and public order, but especially in terms of the larger message sent to the civilian public. The coalition’s own report on police progress found them better trained in counterinsurgency tactics than civilian policing,79 despite the scholarly consensus that using “officers as second-tier soldiers works against every principle of democratic policing.”80

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Yet, as will be discussed in Chapter 4, police in Iraq were designed to be “second-tier soldiers” from the start. Indeed, a central criticism of this entirely unprecedented move to place the police reconstruction project under the auspices of the Department of Defense was that military trainers and personnel would be unlikely to develop a democratic police force but would instead create an auxiliary force of “little solders.”81 Police in Iraq serve under the Ministry of the Interior (MOI), a government unit that is somewhat of a cross between the US Departments of Justice and Defense. The MOI oversees police, border security, and military forces responsible for national security and counterinsurgency work. Outside of a few specialized units, nearly everyone employed by the MOI wears the same uniform; high-ranking officials wear a camouflage of blue, black, and grey while lower-ranking personnel wear an all-khaki uniform. Even on the purely symbolic level of appearance it is difficult to distinguish police and soldiers within Iraq. It is also important to place this police reconstruction effort in the context of previous US-led efforts, as “police training . . . [has] been a central component of American nation-building strategies since the late 19th century.”82 Police development has traditionally not been used to target criminal behavior or provide public order but rather to develop elaborate intelligence networks oriented toward countersubversion to create the internal security and order necessary for the implementation of neoliberal development programs. Such police aid and training programs have long prioritized surveillance targeting subversives, ignoring abuses as long as economic and political interests are protected.83 Thus, instead of instilling democratic police forces, these programs effectively served to modernize the repressive apparatus in client states, with training programs in which “order and security came to trump civil liberties,”84 a process observable in US policing interventions around the globe.85 Although discussed more in-depth below, this militaristic training program only begins to make sense when viewed in light of US attempts to develop client states. While there have been extensive writings on both the necessary and ideal components of democratic police reform, the reconstruction effort in Iraq features few if any of these. However, if one were to create a quick taxonomy of the features desired for creating an obedient client state, a heavily armed police force predominantly occupied with repelling external enemies and forcefully suppressing internal dissent would be high on the list. Unfortunately, Iraqi police are much closer to fitting that description than they are to a democratic police force.

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PoliCinG Within the iraQi state Under the rule of Saddam Hussein, Iraq had become an increasingly isolated state in the years preceding the American-led invasion. The existence of Iraq as a pariah state pushed it to assume a central role in the lives of Iraqi citizens, with over half the prewar population employed by the state and the rest dependent on it for basic supplies under the United Nation’s Oil-for-Food program. At the peak of Iraq’s militarization in the 1990s, slightly over 5 percent of the entire population was employed as state security forces.86 Hussein used this dependence to his advantage, continually cycling staff in top positions to maintain loyalty, as well as using intertribal factions to his advantage. The result was a corrupt, repressive, and ill-disciplined police force.87 Today’s reimagined Iraqi police force still suffers from this perception of repressive corruption, with steady majorities of Iraqi opinion-poll respondents indicating they do not trust the police.88 It remains unknown how many police officers are currently serving in Iraq, but estimates put the number somewhere between 200,000 and 250,000 individuals. There are several reasons why there’s no reliable number of police within either the KRG or wider Iraq. For one, the bulk of government records are still kept by hand on paper, which makes aggregating data about personnel spread throughout the nation quite difficult. Only an estimated two-thirds of Iraqi police were trained by coalition forces, and the coalition retains investigatory insight over an even smaller percentage.89 Further complicating any count is the existence of “ghost payrolls,” the name given to the practice of corrupt officials registering nonexistent persons as officers to receive their stipends of money and weapons.90 The confusion over how many police actually exist is best demonstrated by an amusing if slightly alarming conversation I had with a highranking official in the MOI. I happened to be at the MOI headquarters for unrelated reasons, but as is a common experience in Kurdistan, one of my friends knew someone who knew someone who knew this official, which was enough to be granted an audience. As I scrambled to come up with questions for an interview I hadn’t known was going to occur, the first thing that came to my mind was asking how many police exist in the KRG. After all, if anyone would know, I figured it had to be this high-ranking official in the MOI explicitly charged with overseeing the police. Yet rather than the simple question I thought it would be, the question was received almost as an insult. The official stared at me with a look of

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bewilderment before telling me it was impossible to know such a thing, saying it in such a way that it sounded as if it was an absurd question to ask. Then, as if to drive home how ludicrous the question was, he made a series of phone calls to various other officials within the MOI and among police leadership. After about fifteen minutes of calls, he summed it up saying “See? Nobody knows. How would we know such a thing?!?” It is difficult to determine how much of this confusion is due to the inherent difficulties in making such a count and how much is due to the many documented issues with the MOI. A coalition report issued in 2006 labeled the MOI a “dysfunctional” ministry in name only, citing it as a “serious obstacle” to meaningful police reform.91 Both the KRG MOI and the GOI MOI have been accused of ignoring significant human rights abuses as officials seem more concerned with consolidating political power than providing meaningful oversight of security forces.92 Because of its control of the police, the MOI has long been a fought-over political prize, with police “a primary mechanism for political groupings to augment their local power, to impose a particular version of social morality on the population, and to secure funds and weapons for supporters.”93 The position of the police as a political prize to be captured is neither a new nor recent development, but has been a central feature of the Iraqi state since its inception. While there is no existing published work on the history of Iraqi policing, a number of my respondents, especially those at the College of Police, had a special interest in the history of the organization and were able to give me a broad overview of the important developments. Although I’m not able to fully corroborate these accounts, they are by far the most comprehensive history of Iraqi policing I’ve been able to find and are generally supported by the few sources that touch on the subject.94 Based on these accounts, the history of Iraqi policing is roughly divided into five eras. The first runs from 1921 (when the first Iraqi police force was established) to 1958, when the Hashemite monarchy was overthrown by the Iraqi Army. This second period runs from the 1958 coup to 1968, when the Ba’ath party overthrew the sitting government, paving the way for the eventual rise of Saddam Hussein. The third period covers the unchallenged period of Ba’ath rule until the 1991 American-led invasion, followed by the granting of semi-autonomy to the KRG and the imposition of harsh military and economic sanctions against Iraq. The fourth period covers the interim years between American invasions (1991–2003), with the final period covering the time from the invasion until the present. Little has been recorded about the first two periods of Iraqi police his-

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tory. As Iraq was a British mandate until 1932, much like their American counterparts, early Iraqi police were modeled on the British. Even though Iraq became officially independent in 1932, the British forced the Hashemite monarchy on Iraq and intervened militarily for decades afterward to protect their economic interests.95 The British also supported the rural, traditional leaders of the nation over the growing urban populations who strongly supported nationalist movements. Although the colonial era of Iraq will be discussed much more in chapter 7, suffice it to say here that the British had significant interests in preventing the Iraqi police from having any real sort of power. As such, police did not really develop into a meaningful force until the Ba’athist coup of 1968, ushering in what Dr. Sallah, a professor at the College of Police, refers to as the “golden era” of Iraqi policing. “Golden” not because this was a great time for Iraq or its people but because the new, strongly centralized government gave a great deal of power and latitude to police. Police were well provided for in terms of personnel and resources and were given the ability to determine their own policies, procedures, priorities, etc., and as Dr. Sallah puts it, “No party would interfere with the working of the police.” Although obviously the Ba’ath party intervened in policing, this statement was clearly meant as a contrast to the current situation in which political parties regularly press police to work toward their own ends. It was also during this period that the Baghdad College of Police was founded. For a time it was one of the most respected in the region, with police coming from a wide range of nearby states to learn and train. Despite its implicit association with Saddam Hussein and the Ba’ath party, it is clearly still a revered institution, as several police I met spoke of graduating from the college as a mark of high honor and something that sets them apart from others who have not received nearly as rigorous a training. After the 1991 invasion and Kurdish uprising, police from the KRG could still graduate from the Baghdad College, but according to Dr. Sallah they were only “so-called police” because they had no independent power. More importantly, the many new political parties that arose in the KRG after it was granted semi-autonomy would often use the police to political ends, or involve them in clearly political disputes. Atop this, because of the harsh sanctions and the sudden lack of a powerful central figure to assist them, the police began to experience significant problems, especially with bribery. Finally, policing within both the KRG and wider Iraq was once again upended with the US-led invasion of 2003. As mentioned, police were ig-

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nored for the first year to a year and a half after the invasion, chiefly due to a mistaken assumption that the previous police force would remain on duty. Yet even when this failed to materialize, policing remained largely an afterthought. While the State Department had advocated sending thousands of police trainers in an effort similar to previous interventions, then-president Bush rejected the idea of sending any more than a token amount of police advisors.96 When this had a predictably deleterious effect on the size and readiness of the force, 2006 was dubbed the “Year of the Police” in Iraq, and a massive push was made to stabilize the young force.97 While this new emphasis on policing provided some gains, it was far from a cure-all. The postinvasion era of Iraqi policing is marked by repeated instances of this type of momentary effort to improve or expand the force. One prominent example of this is the on-and-off efforts of American forces to integrate existing nonstate actors into the policing function. Referred to alternately as Concerned Local Citizens (CLCs), Sons of Iraq, or Awakening Councils, these groups are often comprised of former insurgents who have soured on the aims or tactics of the insurgency. The goal behind the creation of the roughly 90,000 CLCs was to deputize, fund, and work closely with the community to enhance security and soften tribal divisions. However, the policy of paying US$360 per month to members of CLCs in exchange for their ongoing cooperation led to exactly the conflicts the United States was seeking to avoid, as tribal chieftains fought with one another to get as big a share as they could of the millions budgeted for CLCs. While this money was meant to be spent on ensuring the safety and security of Iraq through infrastructural improvement and community organizing, data indicate that much of the money went toward purchasing weaponry as a result of the little-to-no oversight attached to the disbursement of these funds.98 While the Defense Department has “ludicrously” compared CLCs to neighborhood watch groups, 99 detractors argue CLCs are not an honest attempt to integrate the public into policing matters but rather another example of sacrificing long-term goals in exchange for politically popular short-term gains.100 The history of Iraqi policing postinvasion is filled with these sorts of short-term solutions based on wildly optimistic timelines and thought processes. For instance, following the “surge” of troops in the last two years of Bush’s presidency, civilian deaths tolls throughout Iraq dropped significantly, and the increased stability allowed for improved screening and vetting processes for recruits and improved training for existing police. While it is difficult to measure what effect this had on the capabilities of the police, it did improve the public’s perception of their abilities and

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legitimacy.101 Yet much of this progress was tainted by the fact that many of the new recruits drawn in during this period were former Sunni insurgents essentially paid by American forces to put their fighting experience to use for the fledgling state, a questionable policy at best.102 Similarly, Obama had campaigned for US presidency on a promise to bring home all but a small advisory force of troops within sixteen months of taking office,103 but as so many before it, this plan was based on an overly optimistic assumption of when Iraqi police and military would be ready to assume the nation’s security responsibilities.104 While there are many more programs that could be mentioned here, these serve as a good representation of the problems plaguing the many attempts of the United States to improve the police in Iraq, as nearly all of them feature this combination of wishful thinking and questionable spending. Even within the KRG, where the reconstruction process has gone far more smoothly than elsewhere and state security forces are significantly more effective, progress has been halting, uneven, and plagued by a number of problems. While the various issues affecting the Kurdish police will be explored in much more depth throughout the book, it is important to note that despite their advantageous conditions, police within the KRG are displaying many of the same problematic behaviors as police throughout the rest of the nation. Kurdish police have been repeatedly accused of brutality and torture,105 to the point where the United Nations Committee Against Torture has specifically voiced concerns about the tactics of police within the KRG.106

GramsCi, iraQ , and state PoWer Leaving the State Behind To fully understand why police reconstruction is so important, it’s necessary to understand why the nation-state remains central to the organization and expression of power relations. In the past few decades, many social scientists and theorists have been moving away from understandings of power emphasizing the role of the nation-state,107 instead favoring explanations that center a number of different actors and institutions as embedded in networks and relationships that traverse nations. These scholars view developments such as the increasing globalization of the economy and the power of nonstate institutions like the World Trade Organization (WTO) and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) as the death-knell of state-centered theory, instead arguing power is enmeshed in interactions and within individuals themselves.

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I argue that such a move away from the nation-state is premature at best, and the invasion of Iraq, overthrowing of Saddam Hussein, and ongoing efforts to establish a US-approved form of neoliberal government demonstrate the many shortcomings of these theories. Whether it is the significant amount of personnel and resources the United States has dedicated to this effort, the resistance of other major world powers to the invasion of Iraq, the violent resistance experienced by the coalition, the failure of the nascent government to establish legitimacy, or the attempts of other actors to build a rival state, it is difficult to make sense of these processes without a theory that centers the state in our understandings of power relations. Although obviously the role of the state changes over time, a central argument of this book is that the modern state remains incredibly important to the organization and operation of power arrangements, as it serves as a central repository of legitimacy and leadership. The theories and theorists rejecting the central role of the state encompass a wide variety of positions and ideologies; while far too numerous to fully recount here, they include prominent thinkers such as Foucault,108 whose work emphasizes that the state is but one of many forms of power that is not an entity that can be held by individuals or a class but a relationship encoded within discourses and institutions, operating as largely consensual functions of knowledge. Similarly, Deleuze and Guattari argue an international “metastate” is taking the place of the nation-state that is withering away,109 while Hardt and Negri see a new form of global sovereignty that is “a decentered and deterritorializing apparatus.”110 William Robinson similarly argues globalization represents a new epoch in world capitalism, a qualitatively new stage of world power marked by the appearance of a transnational capitalist class not bound by traditional geographical markers or national identities.111 Much of this theorizing points to contemporary neoliberal globalization as illustrative of this change, as these debates “most often revolved around the notion that the nation-state was being hollowed out, or forced to surrender much of its sovereignty to the new transnational wave.”112 Given these great changes in how social scientists conceive of the changing nature of power relations in our world, the invasion and reconstruction of Iraq serves as a prime test case for theories of the operation of power in the twenty-first century, as it highlights “one of the principal contradictions of capitalism—the contradiction between the global scope of capitalist economic forces and the more spatially and politically limited boundaries of the nation-state.”113 The invasion and reconstruction of Iraq demonstrate that the notion of the nation-state as a central locus of power

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has suffered too hasty a burial, as there is little way to explain what has happened in Iraq without understanding the role of the state in securing consent and legitimacy.

Marxist and Neo-Marxist Theories of the State In arguing for the continued relevance of the nation-state as a locus of power, I draw heavily from the Marxist tradition, specifically that of the Italian philosopher Antonio Gramsci. Before outlining the contributions of Gramsci, I offer here a quick sketch of two major strands of theorizing about the state within the Marxist tradition. Ironically, although Marxist theory has long privileged the role of the state in the organization of structures of power, there are a paucity of explanations as to how the state establishes and maintains its central role in power relations. Of all the many actors and institutions in Marx’s various schemata, the state is among the least developed. Although there is his well-known assertion that the executive branch of the modern state is but a committee for managing the affairs of the bourgeoisie,114 this should properly be viewed as a polemic, with Marx typically taking a more nuanced stance on the nature of the state in capitalist society.115 Yet it is true that many Marxist thinkers do fall into an “instrumentalist”116 view of the state; that is, the state as consciously manipulated by the dominant economic class. As such, much Marxian work simply views the state as a static creation, responding to the needs of capital with little development as to how this is done. This strand of theorizing the state as ruled by bureaucratic elites was most famously advanced by C. Wright Mills in his study of the “power elite,” those who “insofar as the national events are decided . . . are those who decide them.”117 His work has been updated most notably by G. William Domhoff, who painstakingly demonstrates that the “upper-class network is nation-wide in its scope and surprisingly dense.”118 Domhoff argues other theorists, notably those in what has been termed the “stateautonomy” school discussed below, do not look deeply enough at the powerful role of dominant class interests. He demonstrates the interconnections of this elite class by showing how over 90 percent of the top eight hundred executives come from the same social network and how they use ostensibly nonpartisan think tanks to create a political party of the upper class and ensure the compliance of the government.119 While it is difficult to argue with Domhoff’s data on the interconnectivity of the top levels of government and business, there exists simply too much tension and infighting among varying factions of the ruling class,

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as well as at least some political representation of oppressed classes, to write off the state as wholly owned and operated by a single group. As such, a different school of Marxist thought directly challenges these strict instrumentalist theories. This loose collection of theorists are described by the label “relative state autonomy,” the idea that while the state ultimately does serve the interests of capitalists, it is not as simple as the bourgeoisie consciously using the state toward its own ends. Rather, relative autonomists see the state as independent of (though highly influenced by) capitalists, with its own set of prerogatives and sources of power. This autonomy does not mean the state and capitalism operate in separate spheres; it is better understood as an arrangement in which the range of “rational” ideas to be pursued by the state is inherently bound by what is considered rational in capitalist production. Witness how political policy positions that directly challenge the interests of capitalists—such as free college tuition, nationalizing of industries, or even socialized medicine—are quickly labeled “impossible” or “irrational.” The idea is that politicians and government bureaucracies are not directly controlled by capitalists and their representatives but that the interests of economic elites are “a necessary but not sufficient condition for the realization of interests of any other group.”120 To bolster their claim, state-autonomy theorists note that the bourgeoisie is not all powerful and that often the state acts against their immediate interests. These theorists draw their lineage to Marx’s original works as well, noting Marx himself distinguished between the state apparatus and state power, as well as between the dominant economic class and the class that governs politically.121 Citing Marx’s analysis of Louis Napoleon’s coup d’état, they argue that while the state apparatus is of a class nature, the differing levels of decision making and diverse centers of power within the state and the regularity of intrastate conflict dispel simplistic notions of direct capitalist rule.122 This school of thought argues not only that the state is relatively autonomous but that the autonomy of the state is crucial for the maintenance of capitalist hegemony. Indeed, in this view the state is an important safety mechanism for bourgeois property relations, and meaningful participation of the working class in capitalist democracy reduces political activities to material interests—without which “parties become movements”123 and blocked reforms give way to more serious political action. Here the modern capitalist state should be thought of as the compromise between the working class and the bourgeoisie; workers are not dupes nor forced against their will but are active agents in supporting a capitalist compro-

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mise that denies them political power but promises increasing standards of living as long as capital prospers. This is similar to Gramsci’s notion of hegemony discussed below, where there is not a clear-cut ruling class but rather a “historical bloc.” Within this bloc there will always be strata of the dominated classes who grant consent to the state because of their free participation in the liberal capitalist political process, and thus they form a part of the state managerial apparatus. The police themselves are a great example of how relative state autonomy operates and actually better serves the interests of a ruling bloc. The private policing schemes of earlier eras were too obviously of a class character; it is, after all, fairly difficult to convince someone that mercenaries employed by the wealthy are acting in the interests of all. Public police, on the other hand, enforce laws that putatively apply to all and will at least occasionally arrest members of the ruling strata that find themselves on the wrong side of the law. Thus, even though public police have always been of a class nature and continue to disproportionately focus on the behaviors of the poor and working class while ignoring much elite criminality,124 their class character is much more hidden and their enforcement of the law is more plausibly sold to the public as legitimately in the interests of all. The invasion of Iraq presents a unique opportunity to examine the applicability of both Marxist and postmodernist/poststructuralist conceptions of power, as the reconstruction has provided an ideal opportunity for the architects of the invasion to enact their neoliberal vision of nearly stateless governance, an experiment that has failed disastrously.125 The state has not withered away or been replaced by transnational networks— it is still centrally important for our understanding of hegemony and power, for it continues to intervene “in virtually all aspects of everyday life.”126 Indeed, the idea of “statelessness” has gained prominence with extremely little in the way of empirical evidence to support such an assertion, and transnational capitalism may actually require stronger states to ensure a host of “rights” from copyright protection to basic property law.127 Of course, such laws do not require all states to be strong, but the fact remains that even dominant international nonstate institutions such as the WTO and the IMF act in accordance with, and often depend on, the ideological and military support of powerful states.128

Gramsci on Hegemony and the State Producing his most famous work while inside a fascist prison in Mussolini’s Italy, the aptly titled Prison Notebooks, Gramsci was con-

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cerned with why a nation like Italy had succumbed to fascism when orthodox Marxist thought would have predicted it to be ripe for a socialist revolution. As such, his work pushes back against much of the economic determinism of early Marxism, as well as tries to answer the everrelevant question of why people support a government that may not be in their best interests. Although he did not coin the term, he is probably most famous for popularizing the concept of hegemony, the term for how the ideas of a ruling class (or would-be ruling class) come to be seen not just as legitimate but simply the way things are. His work greatly clarifies how the relatively autonomous state consolidates and wields its power and how it is able to make its power seem both natural and inevitable. Gramsci identifies two methods through which social reproduction and state hegemony are achieved. The first is through what he termed the “spontaneous consent” of the masses. This type of consent is “caused by the prestige (and consequent confidence) that the dominant group enjoys because of its position and function in the world of production.”129 In other words, there is often an implicit tautological understanding of those in positions of power—they’re in charge because they are obviously supposed to be; otherwise they wouldn’t be in charge. Of course, it’s not entirely this simple, as spontaneous consent is dependent on at least some forms of material concessions delivered through the state and an at least putatively free and open political process. The second mechanism for achieving social reproduction and state hegemony is “the apparatus of state coercive power which ‘legally’ enforces discipline on those groups who do not ‘consent’ either actively or passively.”130 In other words, the police, courts, and other institutions of social control that step in whenever hegemony is threatened, whether it be directly, such as in the case of radical social movements, or indirectly, as when people commit crimes that disrupt the peaceable working order required for the smooth functioning of capitalism. But simply because coercion prefers to operate out of sight, it must not be assumed it is not there. On the contrary, in class society, it is always present. As Lenin noted, the state itself is an organ of class rule, a “special organization of force”131 to be used in the suppression of one class by another. Gramsci argues that coercion takes one of three forms of social warfare, what he terms wars of maneuver, wars of position, and underground warfare. Wars of maneuver are the open battles of literal warfare, wars of position are fought on ideological terrain, and underground warfare is the stockpiling of weapons and training of guerilla soldiers. While once wars of maneuver were sufficient for gaining control of a state, modern power

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arrangements, with their characteristic dispersion of both the production and distribution of power, require long-term wars of position, the building of a new hegemony. Gramsci argues wars of position take generations and demand enormous sacrifices of many people due to how hegemonic power structures operate through so many channels in a multitude of places and relationships. In capitalist democracies, force is rarely the first option, as ruling elites strive to control the war of position and achieve broad-ranging societal “consent” to existing social relations. Gramsci calls the superstructures of civil society (religion, ideology, etc.) the “trench systems of modern warfare,”132 perfectly illustrating the notion of consent prior to coercion. For as long as it is the realm of politics and debate that decide issues, coercion is neither desirable nor necessary. When things are going well for the ruling bloc, this is the way force tends to operate; during “normal” times, coercion appears as voluntary conformity, and no institution is seen as performing a coercive function, not even the explicitly repressive (e.g., the police). Yet as appealing as the notion of consent may be, it must always be backed by a strong coercive force, ensuring the reproduction of the existing social order. This is why the breakdown of consent is not sufficient for the breakdown of capitalism, as coercion can hold society together until such times as either consent can be regained or an alternative political form can be established.133 This idea traces its roots back to Marx’s Capital, in which he demonstrates how workers need to be disciplined into the capitalist system with great “extra-economic” force to see capitalism as natural, necessary, and inevitable. Although he argues such force will taper off as society becomes capitalistic throughout, as indeed it clearly has, coercion nevertheless remains necessary for capitalism to function. To successfully maintain order, even the most stable and developed capitalist states must exert force externally (via the army) and internally (via policing). This theme of violence as endemic to the capitalist state is summed up in Gramsci’s classic formula of the state as “hegemony protected by the armor of coercion.”134 That is to say, the very operating order of capitalism, the “day-to-day routines of a parliamentary democracy,” are fundamentally built on coercion and are “themselves constituted by a silent, absent force which gives them their currency: the monopoly of legitimate violence by the State.”135 To prevent having to rely solely on coercive violence, the hegemony of a ruling class must be born of material bases; that is, if a government is not going to be a totalitarian police state, it must incorporate at least some

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of the interests of the dominated classes.136 When hegemony is to be born of anything other than direct and sustained force, it must be created through a state that delivers the core functions of security, welfare, and representation.137 Hegemony is not just the positioning of the dominant group’s perspective as natural and universal but is specifically achieved through “exclusivity, social construction, and closure.”138 That is to say, the law and legal system play a central role in the creation and maintenance of hegemony, as a central marker of the modern state is its ability to declare the boundaries of law and a monopoly on the use of force to enforce those boundaries through the police and wider legal system. The importance of such an exclusive and hegemonic system to the creation of stability and a general peaceable order is strongly demonstrated by the lack of such a system in contemporary Iraq and the rise of nonstate actors delivering these functions. Gramsci is principally concerned with how these various forms and mechanisms of power become subsumed under the activities of the state. The existence of the political as such “suggests an indeterminate relationship between social reproduction and consent”;139 consent must be actively constructed and reproduced. Gramsci argues this reproduction of consent is achieved throughout the state, as the state is synonymous with “a directive class” that itself is “equivalent to the creation of a Weltanschauung,”140 or hegemonic world view. This hegemony is born of leadership by a social class or bloc of allied classes, and it is both expressed through and realized in the state, making the state “both the underlying premise and the precipitate of the unity of the ruling class(es), a bloc whose power rests on a combination of coercive force and intellectual-moral leadership.”141 In his discussion of the state and civil society, Gramsci argues that a social group must be hegemonic before it is able to govern.142 This hegemony is achieved by creating “intellectual and ethical unity”143 through an ideological struggle in first the field of ethics and then later in the field of politics. Yet power relations need constant attention and reproduction in order for them to be successful. All sides in the struggle for state power are constantly contending with the hegemonies of other groups and attempting to resolve various crises in favor of their own hegemonies.144 Because all social forms always have at least marginal possibilities for further development in myriad ways, it is necessary for the dominant force to preserve order by a constant policing of counter-hegemonic forces. Importantly, none of this is to imply the necessity of any particular form of state; rather that because the state is a mode of class formation and organization, “the unification into a historic bloc of different social

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strata around a leading class takes place by way of the state.”145 That is to say, the state is the name we give to that social formation that allows for not only the development of a hegemonic order but for order of any kind. The state itself can be seen as generative of society through the “moral architectures”146 employed by state agents to understand both their work and the role of citizens within their state. As such, the state plays an important educational role, with law operating not simply as repression but also as direction and leadership by approving of specific modes of life as “legal” and approved by the state.147 Gramsci argues the state is central to this process of direction and leadership, seeing it as both educative and formative, seeking to adapt civilization to the “necessities of continuous development of the economic apparatus of production.”148

Legitimacy, Imperialism, and Why the State Continues to Matter The experience of contemporary Iraq serves as a prime example of Gramsci’s arguments regarding the importance of the state in establishing legitimacy. State reconstruction is a difficult and perilous process which rarely results in a new stable and democratic state. The few existing successful examples of state reconstruction are the “tiger” states of East Asia, and their success has been predicated on a strongly interventionist state that places a high level of importance on the development of the national economy, not to mention state security forces capable of producing the stability and social order necessary for a functional economy.149 These cases also demonstrate the strong need to transnationalize our theories of the state, as the nation-state has “become a central locus of political community around the globe, providing a key source of political belonging and identification in the modern world.”150 Of central importance to my argument is the idea that “core states have served as agents of the internationalization of capital, not its passive victims”;151 that is, neoliberal globalization does not reflect a superseding of the nation-state but rather a reorganization of state power arrangements. This is not to flatly reject theories of emerging nonstate power networks but rather to build on the work of those who argue the “statecapitalist tension must be revised, debated anew, because it is the missing link in the larger process of explaining imperialism.”152 Without an understanding of the central role the state plays in contemporary power relations, it is incredibly difficult to understand why the United States has poured so much energy and resources into the Iraqi state or why a group such as IS seeks to not simply disrupt existing governments, but to build their own state.

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In opposition to those scholars who have argued states are being displaced by a network of transnational corporations, others have countered that territoriality is not a property of the “state” in abstract but rather the capitalist state specifically. As such, in our global capitalist system, “there is no ‘space’ outside of the nation-state in which power can reside.”153 It is not that territoriality is a fixed and immutable system but rather, in the absence of “alternative spatial and institutional organizations of power,” we cannot reject the central role of the state. Politics remain tied to democratic legitimacy, which continues to be organized within nation-states, suggesting “the postnational age has yet to arrive.”154 One can point to the struggles the European Union has had in attempting to enforce reductions of social welfare programs, or the passage of Brexit, or the victory of the strongly nativist Trump as demonstrations of the still-powerful positions of states and the concept of state autonomy. Indeed, even incredibly powerful nonstate institutions such as the IMF and WTO remain heavily reliant on at least a few nations, as top officials are appointed by national governments, policy proposals are developed and discussed by economic ministers of national governments, and the majority of their funds are provided by a small collection of economicallypowerful nations.155 The decisions undertaken by these nonstate organizations are grounded in the interests of those states, and it is “inconceivable” these organizations would “take steps that directly contravened the will of the ruling circles”156 of the nation-states that fund them and provide their leadership. Until such organizations acquire both governmental powers and some measure of popular democratic legitimacy, they will by definition remain bound to the desires of powerful nations.157 Similarly, while Robinson argues that nation-states are in the process of being captured by transnational capitalist forces and are more and more orienting their actions to serve the interests of global, rather than local, accumulation processes,158 such an argument ignores a significant amount of empirical evidence to the contrary. Global liberal economic order can only rest on strong states with enforcement capacities, as Iraq and other weak states are attracting neither foreign investment nor international firms.159 Furthermore, the invasion of Iraq, with the reluctance or outright refusal of many major states to participate, points strongly to an enduring intercapitalist rivalry far more so than a connected, consensual transnational capitalist class. This will remain the case for the foreseeable future, as transnational regimes and institutions will only receive the support of nation-states “to the extent that they are consistent with national interests.”160 The inva-

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sion of Iraq lays bare this process; witness how the United States initially sought the approval of the United Nations for the invasion, only to reject the role of the United Nations when support was not forthcoming. This also helps explain why nations such as France, Germany, and Russia so strongly opposed the invasion, as the neoliberal openings of the new Iraq were available only to firms with strong ties to coalition members, thus shutting out the economic interests of these competing states.161 While the direct goal of the invasion was the establishment of an obedient client state, the broader target included “advanced capitalist competitors as well as countries likely to emerge as competitors in the near future.”162 Another significant problem with theories rejecting the state as an important locus of power is that they fail to account for how neoliberal globalization both depends on and is an expression of state power. Theories that emphasize the consensual nature of neoliberalism have greatly minimized or outright ignored the central role of coercion and militarism in the history of capitalism broadly as well as in the recent push toward instilling neoliberal policies around the globe, and they fail to explain why, when neoliberalism has “not succeeded through political or economic means, the United States appears to be willing to impose it by force.”163 While the neoliberal focus on deregulation and free markets has led many to erroneously see it as simply anti-statist, this involves a highly selective reading of the actual, existing neoliberal agenda. For although neoliberalism eschews regulation and the provision of social services, in many other ways it embraces state intervention, especially in terms of the use of force as delivered through the police and military.164 Despite the focus on its anti-state proclamations, neoliberal restructuring has “regularly marched arm-in-arm—particularly in the Global South—with militarization or the maintenance of a strong police state.”165 The invasion of Iraq serves as a prime example of this, as it “reflects the inability of neoliberalism to suppress intercapitalist rivalry and secure a global consensus for the continued expansion of capital.”166 Much of this expansion has been conducted through the formation of client states, as Iraq is but the latest in a string of US interventions attempting to stabilize the region and install friendly governments. In the case of Iraq, the United States “cut out the middlemen,”167 as multinational nonstate organizations such as the IMF were largely relegated to the sidelines. And this is to say nothing of the great pains the United States has gone through to give Iraq the appearance of an independent, fully functioning, democratic state, a move that is again difficult to explain with theories rejecting the role of the state. Furthermore, the failure of the state-building process and the

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inability of the Iraqi state to provide necessary welfare, security, and representation has opened the door for violent nonstate actors to gain power through filling the void left by the absence of a legitimate state.168 This central role of the state in organizing power relations and maintaining legitimacy helps situate the final concept fundamental to understanding the reconstruction of the Iraqi police, which is the operation of empire in the twenty-first century. Although empire takes myriad forms, this project draws from David Harvey’s conception of “capitalist imperialism,” a view that highlights contemporary imperial aggression as a mixture of “the politics of state and empire” on the one hand and “the molecular processes of capital accumulation” on the other. 169 Much like the view of the state as relatively autonomous, a conception of capitalist imperialism views the imperial project not as directly dictated by the desires of capital (indeed, the designs of state and territory remain incredibly important) but as a process that operates within the constraints of capitalism and serves to broaden trade and capital accumulation. However, as Julian Go argues, empire is better thought of as a series of “imperial functions,” those sets of “relations and forms involving multiple tactics, policies, practices, and modalities of power.”170 One of the most prominent tactics is the establishment of client states, states that are formally their own political entities but in practice are oriented toward serving the economic, political, and/or military needs of an imperial sponsor. The major difference is that while nation-states invoke citizenship and political participation, empires involve subjects and dependence. A client state is in that category of pseudo-independent nations whose populace is viewed and treated largely as imperial subjects, not citizens of a sovereign nation. Much of what is presented in this book only begins to make sense when placed in the context of an imperial project. While this will be discussed much more in-depth in chapter 7, here it is enough to note that the United States is currently experiencing a significant decline, with other nations such as Russia and China acting as growing challengers to the US position as world hegemon. Fading empires often display a marked increase in their imperial ambitions as a way to stave off decline,171 but in the current geopolitical environment, direct imperial control of sovereign nations is unappealing for a number of reasons, including international law, resource management, and domestic political will. As a result, the United States has instead favored a more informal approach to empire, leaving client states to be nominally independent while dependent on US power and influence.172

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As such, this book builds on Gramsci’s argument that the state is “the entire complex of practical and theoretical activities with which the ruling class not only justifies and maintains its dominance, but manages to win the active consent of those over whom it rules.”173 While recognizing that the state is but one of many institutions within contemporary social formations, it alone is “charged with overall responsibility for maintaining the cohesion of the class-divided social formation of which it is but a part.”174 Gramsci further argues that it is impossible to govern without the consent of the governed, and this principle “extends to all actions demanding sacrifice,”175 such as submitting to the demands of neoliberal austerity. Neither the coalition nor the Iraqi government are successfully enacting this form of leadership, as evidenced by the negative opinions of the majority of Iraqis toward both.176 None of this is to suggest a static view of the state but rather a resistance to “the idealistic and erroneous impression that expansion of nongovernmental regimes implies that the state is no longer necessary.”177 Such theorizing fails to understand the central role the state continues to play in organizing and maintaining power structures, as the state is the mechanism for combining material structures and political superstructures into a leading class to justify and maintain dominance while winning the active consent of those over whom it rules.178 Globalization and the rise of nongovernmental forces do not portend a new form of power in which the state is irrelevant but rather reflect the class contradictions within national power blocs shaped by neoliberalism and neoimperialism. At their base, these phenomena are inextricably linked to the nation-state and work in its service; for although the state is only one institutionalized social formation among many, it is uniquely charged with maintaining the cohesion of class-divided social formations. This unique role of the state in securing hegemony and popular legitimacy explains why it retains a central role in contemporary power relations, and the central role police have played in the development of the state itself and the unique character of contemporary power relations makes them an ideal organization for understanding how a state operates. Before getting to how this process actually looks on the ground, the next chapter examines the ideology guiding the reconstruction of Iraq, a particularly extreme version of market-based neoliberalism that calls for as weak and limited a state as possible. The many failures of this ideological effort demonstrate the continued importance of the state while vividly illustrating how the reconstruction of the Iraqi police was all but doomed from the start.

3. “Ninety-Nine Percent of Our Problems Are Due to the Budget” The Lofty Expectations and Dismal Reality of Reconstruction

In the previous chapter, I detail problems with the neoliberal approach to police reconstruction. Yet it is impossible to fully understand the problems encountered in the reconstruction of the police in the KRG without an understanding of how the invasion and reconstruction were guided by a strict adherence to neoliberalism as both economic theory and political philosophy. In this chapter I lay out the neoliberal assumptions of the invasion’s architects and why neoliberalism serves as such a poor model for state reconstruction, especially for states like Iraq where the government had been the primary employer and direct source of most people’s basic necessities. The forced introduction of neoliberal austerity presents a number of significant problems not only for state institutions like the police but also for the wider society, drastically undercutting state legitimacy and producing a situation in which the rise of violent nonstate actors like the Islamic State was almost inevitable.

ideoloGiCal exPeCtations and neoliberal reality A constantly repeating theme of the reconstruction has been the gulf between what the architects of the invasion proclaimed would happen and the actual ensuing events.1 While many readers no doubt remember the sunny prognostications of the Bush administration and major American media outlets, it is worthwhile to highlight how publicly optimistic military and political leaders were about their plans to topple Saddam and create a democratic Iraqi state. The invasion was sold to the American public as a quick and easy affair; the then secretary of defense Donald Rumsfeld publicly proclaimed the war would take “five days or five weeks or five months, but it certainly isn’t going to last any longer than that.”2 48

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Not only would such an invasion be a swift triumph for America but, according to the then vice president Dick Cheney, US forces would “be greeted as liberators.”3 Of course one could argue these sunny prognostications were simply part and parcel of the larger effort to sell the invasion to a skeptical public. There is undoubtedly some truth to this, as the Bush administration was quite deliberate in how they presented their rationale for war, hiring elite advertising firms to help shape their messaging.4 Even the timing of their argument for war was carefully planned; as George W. Bush’s chief of staff Andrew Card would later note, the push for the invasion needed to begin in September because “from a marketing point of view, you don’t introduce new products in August.”5 Yet the clear lack of plans for everything—including responses to armed resistance, widespread looting, the refusal of Saddam’s security forces to provide policing for the occupation, and a wide variety of other foreseeable circumstances—suggests those planning the invasion either truly believed their optimistic projections, didn’t care about the possibility they could be wrong, or some combination of the two. There’s little need to detail all the various ways these predictions did not pan out, as the reader is no doubt familiar with the fact that the invasion was neither welcome nor swift and instead stretched to an open-ended quagmire ending hundreds of thousands of lives and costing trillions of dollars. While it does appear true that the Bush administration had littleto-no plans for postinvasion stability or the construction of a legitimate government, they clearly had a very detailed plan for Iraq’s state and economy, namely the forceful introduction of austere neoliberalism to labor and capital markets.6 Writing shortly after the invasion, The Economist called the proposed neoliberal reforms a “wish list” that foreign developers “dream of for developing markets” and cheerfully noted that “if it all works out, Iraq will be a capitalist’s dream.”7 This aspect of the invasion was extremely successful, as Iraq’s economy is now one of the most open and unregulated in the world.

Defining Neoliberalism The term neoliberalism is invoked to describe a number of political and economic ideologies and can be applied to a variety of different policies and actions. My intent here is not to offer a definitive conception of the term8 but rather to lay out some of the central premises common to definitions of neoliberalism, as well as those aspects more specific to the Bush administration’s particular neoliberal vision.

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As the prefix implies, neoliberalism is a revival of the core concepts of economic liberalism, a philosophy centered on the absolute freedom of economic markets. The central assumption of liberal economic theory is that peace and freedom will arise from unfettered markets, as a capitalism freed from constraints is best suited to supplying people with the goods and services they need.9 The theory is that economic, political, and even social relations are best organized through “formally free choices of formally free and rational actors who seek to advance their own material or ideal interests.”10 For proponents of liberal economic order, any state regulation is inherently suspect; while allowing that occasionally such government “interference” may be necessary, ultimately the theory holds that unfettered free markets will solve human problems far better than any form of political action. Neoliberalism traces its roots to the economic theories of Milton Friedman and his colleagues at the University of Chicago who developed what is essentially an extreme form of liberal economics. While far too expansive to be completely summarized here, their theory is marked by an emphasis on private property rights, individual liberty, free markets, and free trade. Importantly, this emphasis on free trade and free markets means a strong aversion to state intervention within the economy due to the belief the state cannot possibly possess enough information to second-guess market signals.11 To put it succinctly, Friedman’s neoliberal philosophy argues the state exists to “supply the police and the soldiers” but otherwise should be as limited as possible.12 While it is largely true that neoliberalism sees an extremely limited role of the state, it is a mistake to read it as simply anti-statist, for it does envision a large role for the state in supplying security and creating markets. Where markets do not exist, because those functions were supplied by state enterprises (as in preinvasion Iraq) or because there simply was not already an existing market, neoliberalism sees the role of the state as creating a market there, by force if necessary. In theory, the state would intervene to create and stabilize a market and then after this brief transitional period should retreat to its proper, minimalist role in which it serves only to secure the conditions for the continued expansion of capital.13 Of course in reality the state often has to make a much more forceful intervention than these prosaic accounts assume, as “while Friedman’s economic model is capable of being partially imposed under democracy, authoritarian conditions are required for the implementation of its true vision.”14 Perhaps the quintessential example of government force being used

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to implement neoliberalism is the case of Chile under Augusto Pinochet. Pinochet’s Chile is widely regarded as the first nationwide neoliberal experiment and was only made possible due to the bloody, US-assisted coup that saw Pinochet oust the democratically elected socialist government of Salvador Allende.15 The policies of the violently repressive Pinochet government were devised by a group of Chilean economists, known as the Chicago Boys, who had studied under Friedman at the University of Chicago.16 Chile is notable as the first experiment of national neoliberalism, setting the pattern for future forced impositions of neoliberal austerity. Notably, while the principles of neoliberalism highlight freedom and cast state intervention as a form of totalitarianism, Chile’s neoliberal reforms were enacted by a brutal dictator who ignored most all human and civil liberties. The imposition of neoliberalism in Chile did not lead to widespread prosperity but rather extreme wealth for a few and massive increases in poverty and unemployment.17 The idea that the invasion of Iraq was motived principally, or at the very least guided by, the imposition of neoliberalism is difficult to argue. Nearly every policy, law, or general reform instituted by the United States in Iraq can be traced back to Friedman’s work.18 Those who were sent to Iraq on behalf of the Bush administration were “carefully vetted for their ideological purity,”19 and a central reason early attempts at instituting Iraqi governments were so unsuccessful is that the hand-picked members of these governments were not chosen because they had a mandate or popular support but because they were willing to implement the neoliberal reforms demanded by their US advisors.20 While it can be easily argued these types of forced neoliberal reforms are a poor model for state reconstruction in any situation,21 an understanding of Iraqi governance before the invasion and the disastrous changes wrought by these reforms on the lives of Iraqis makes plain why so many have rejected these reforms and the presence of the United States generally.

the Problem With neoliberal state buildinG In the previous chapter I argue the state is central to power relations throughout the world, and this was especially true of Iraq under Saddam Hussein. Iraq is an artificial state in the truest sense of the word, being created through the drawing of arbitrary borderlines grouping together disparate peoples with little shared history or identity. As such, the consolidation of the state has been a central priority for its various rulers, but few were anywhere near as successful in their efforts as Hussein.

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He accomplished this in a number of ways, notably the masterful playing of tribal and clan loyalties against one another, carefully rewarding and punishing groups so as to ensure enough widespread support to stay in power while not allowing any particular group to consolidate enough power of their own to seriously challenge his reign.22 A principal method Saddam used for maintaining power was the provision of public goods; to put it in the Gramscian terms introduced in the previous chapter, Saddam maintained hegemony through incorporating the material needs of the Iraqi people. The Ba’ath party invested heavily in infrastructure, pouring large sums of money into developing and updating the nation’s industrial and agricultural programs, as well as social spending focused on improving the lives of working-class and impoverished Iraqis, building heavily subsidized housing, and instituting free health care and universal education. While not at all minimizing the numerous violations of human and civil rights under the Hussein regime, there can be little argument that there were significant socioeconomic improvements from Ba’ath party spending.23 Indeed, prior to the first Gulf War, Iraq had one of the most educated and prosperous populations in the Middle East.24 This also helps illustrate how a successful hegemonic ruling bloc, such as that run by Hussein, maintains power by incorporating enough concerns of the dominated classes to balance the needs for consent and coercion. While there was plenty of overt coercion during Hussein’s regime, the ability to maintain power for as long as he did without being toppled by popular resistance or having his ruling bloc fractured by infighting came in large part through his careful delivery of material goods to the various tribes and clans throughout Iraq.25 Even among Kurds there is a somewhat begrudging respect for several practices of the Hussein regime. In addition to low crime rates, several of my Kurdish respondents also praised the police under Saddam for enforcing price controls. Nwenar, a trainer at the academy, noted “they had done bad, [but] what they did well was that they controlled the prices in the market. They didn’t let anyone sell things for a higher price than the other shops.” Many others noted the widespread education efforts, pointing to the number of schools throughout the nation and the high levels of literacy in even the rural “tribal” areas. That Saddam’s efforts centered around material goods delivered through the state to gain consent is not a coincidence, as the delivery of public goods is a central raison d’être of the state. As Andreas Wimmer demonstrates in great detail, the delivery of public goods is one of the central factors distinguishing successful states from those that fall apart.26 When a government successfully provides public goods, citizens are far

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more likely to comply with bureaucratic rules and legal prescriptions “in democracies and non-democracies alike.”27 This argument is bolstered by the work of others demonstrating that the few successful cases of state reconstruction were predicted on highly interventionist states centered on developing the national economy to better distribute public goods.28 Ironically, the decade-plus of crippling economic sanctions following the first Gulf War, enacted to weaken the Hussein regime, made the Iraqi populace more dependent on the government than at any other point in the nation’s history. Iraq’s economy was already reeling, having had little time to recover from the lengthy and disastrous war with Iran before the further ruptures incited by the war with America. These self-inflicted wounds were greatly exacerbated by the drastic sanctions imposed on Iraq following their defeat in the Gulf War, and the combined effects of these various shocks to Iraq’s economy had basically wiped out what was once a thriving economy with a relatively large middle class. As a result, by the time of the second American invasion in 2003, over half of the Iraqi population was employed by the state, and most of the rest were dependent on it for basic supplies delivered through the United Nation’s Oil-for-Food program.29 This outsized role of the state in the lives of the Iraqi people ended immediately with the invasion. The invasion was marked by a reliance on a “shock and awe” campaign, a military strategy that involves attacking a nation with such overwhelming force and ferocity that both the government and the populace will be so cowed and intimidated they will comply with the demands of the invading army.30 The shock and awe campaign was an integral feature of what Naomi Klein terms the “shock doctrine,” the use of “moments of collective trauma to engage in radical social and economic engineering.”31 While the populace is overwhelmed by the usage of force and the simple task of staying alive through a cacophony of daily disasters, the economy can be fully privatized and a new government installed before anyone really understands what is happening. Again, it is hard to overstate how suddenly the invasion changed the lives of the vast majority of Iraqis, going almost overnight from a tightly controlled police state to the anarchic chaos of no functioning government or economy. Not only were interpersonal crime rates skyrocketing, but looting was becoming epidemic throughout the nation, and by the time coalition forces had established some control of Baghdad, all government buildings save the Ministry of Oil had been ransacked, looted, and literally burned to the ground.32 This postinvasion chaos is often framed as a mistake of the coalition or a failure of planning, but should more rightfully

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be seen as an integral aspect of the forced imposition of neoliberalism. Organized looting was facilitated by not only the absence of state security forces but also the idleness of so many factories and facilities, intentionally made so by the Coalition since they were state run and therefore wholly incompatible with neoliberalism. Indeed, so complete was the desire for privatization that the few remaining operational state-owned firms were explicitly prohibited from participating in the repair of any of the damaged facilities.33 In this way, US officials were largely fine with the looting as it fit perfectly into the neoliberal desire to strip down and dismantle state enterprises; it was simply looters doing the work for them.34 As has happened nearly everywhere economic shock therapy has been implemented,35 incomes plunged and poverty soared in postinvasion Iraq. Real estate prices quintupled in the first two years after the invasion,36 and roughly 5 million Iraqis found themselves living below the poverty line, compared to less than 150,000 under the Hussein regime.37 These economic shocks were compounded by the decision to quickly implement the process of de-Ba’athification, in which every member of the Ba’ath party was summarily dismissed from government positions. While this kind of policy appears to make sense in the abstract—the Ba’ath party was Saddam’s party, and it certainly makes sense to not want any Saddam loyalists to remain in power—in practice it overlooks a number of important facets. Centrally, membership in the Ba’ath party was required for advancement in any government job, and government employment was by far the most common type of work in preinvasion Iraq. As such, many were Ba’athists in name only, having no loyalty or affection for Saddam or his government but rather simply doing what they had to in order to get ahead. De-Ba’athification also had a number of much more concrete impacts on the Iraqi public. For one, it left roughly 8 percent of the labor force idle, with a significant number of those affected being trained soldiers, police, and other security forces.38 Not only did all of these forces lose their jobs, but many had been led to believe they would keep their jobs and be integrated into the new Iraqi forces, leaving them enraged when the De-Ba’athification order was announced. Once again, almost literally overnight “well-trained officers flooded into the resistance.”39 Beyond supplying the resistance with both trained personnel and weaponry, the policy led to a brain drain in Iraqi institutions, as Ba’ath party membership had been required to gain any technical or skilled position. As such, nearly all government aid programs were instantaneously severed, compounding the skyrocketing unemployment rate with removal of services for the poor and unemployed.40

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But again, this general chaos was more feature than bug, as a central goal of the neoliberal reforms was to dismantle Iraq’s state enterprises. Indeed, the reforms were centered on four key provisions. The first was removing protections granting Iraqis privileged access to labor and markets, allowing investors in all fields, save oil, to be allowed 100 percent ownership of Iraqi assets and equal legal standing with local firms.41 Second, foreign banks would for the first time since the rise of Saddam be allowed to establish operations within Iraq, or to purchase equity stakes in Iraqi firms. Third, both income and corporate tax rates would be capped at 15 percent (though in practice much goes completely untaxed), with tariffs reduced to a universal 5 percent on everything that isn’t deemed a humanitarian import (e.g., food and medicine). Fourth and finally, all stateowned enterprises, again save for oil, were to be privatized.

Making a State without the State The difficulty of establishing a state while rigidly adhering to an ideology that calls for “free” markets unencumbered by any form of state interference is self-evident; after all, if one sees the state as inherently predatory, one is unlikely to be very effective at building states.42 Indeed, while a bevy of postconflict states have provided the opportunity for proponents of neoliberalism and shock therapy to enact their programs, these efforts have uniformly failed.43 The experience of former Soviet nations throughout Eastern Europe provides an instructive example, where the imposition of sweeping neoliberal reforms has not resulted in improved economies or expanded liberties but rather widespread inflation, unemployment, and a collapse in investments so complete that per capita incomes in many of these nations have yet to recover to even their pre-reform levels.44 Many of the problems encountered by neoliberal reformers trace back to their fundamental mistake of not recognizing the central importance of the state and state legitimacy to organizing power relations. The removal of a dictator or the imposition of democracy is not nearly enough to create an effective or legitimate state;45 rather, a state needs to fill a variety of functions. What these exact functions entail depend on whom exactly you ask—some argue the state needs to provide public goods, allow for the flourishing of voluntary organizations, and develop linguistic homogeneity,46 while others argue that a state must provide security, welfare, and representation.47 While there is great debate to be had about what exactly a legitimate state must provide to be successful, I borrow the parsimonious summary of Call, who argues that in

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the end successful states thrive because they offer both legitimacy and effectiveness.48 These needs are even more central in rebuilding a nation, as the transparent and effective delivery of economic goods and political rights are paramount to the legitimation of new political regimes.49 While research in Western nations has demonstrated legitimacy to be a strong factor in how citizens evaluate their government, a growing body of research has demonstrated the opposite to be true in developing and postconflict nations. That is, while legitimacy is certainly desired, the ability of the government to supply energy, provide access to food and clean drinking water, and maintain some semblance of peace and order are far more important to whether or not citizens develop allegiance to that state.50 A state will only achieve stability when it becomes an attractive enough trade partner for its citizens; otherwise they will get those functions elsewhere. Without a baseline level of effectiveness, there are simply no salient motivations for sub-state groups such as clans, tribes, or militias to shift either their allegiance or greater identity to the national level.51 In short “people will comply [with the state] when it is in their interest to comply and will fail to do so when it is not.”52 Much of the reason states enduring imposed neoliberalism fail to develop basic effectiveness or political legitimacy is that neoliberal state building is really not about the state in question. Rather the “endgame” of these neoliberal reforms is market access, and any number of unsavory and antidemocratic practices are routinely allowed or even encouraged as long as they foster greater market access.53 The actual record of neoliberalism in stimulating economic growth in postconflict and developing nations is quite poor, but it “has succeeded remarkably well in restoring class power.”54 While neoliberal reforms are predicated on the notion that removing state regulations will attract foreign investment and international firms, this has rarely been the case in reality.55 Instead, these types of reforms nearly always end up privileging the civil and political participation of the very narrow segment of the citizenry that benefits from neoliberalism, directly undermining the popularity of the reforms with the very people they are supposed to be helping.56 The invasion and reconstruction of Iraq serves as a prime example of the many shortcomings of the neoliberal reform model. Although the United States initially enjoyed some support throughout the nation for deposing Saddam Hussein, this was quickly undercut by their support for politicians with little-to-no popular support, ranging from their early support for Achmad Chalabi and the largely discredited Iraqi National Congress

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to their continued support for politicians such as former prime minister Nouri al-Maliki, who never enjoyed any serious level of legitimacy among the Iraqi people and who has been accused of dictatorial ambitions himself.57 The consistent efforts of the United States to install leaders with no meaningful public support were not mistakes but rather clearly part of the effort to build a state that would be dependent on the United States economically, militarily, and politically.58 From its beginning, the reconstruction has relied heavily on private and foreign contractors, to the point where even if Iraqis were placed in charge of the various operations of government and the economy, they would be unable to function without continued US funding and logistics. Many significant public works projects, including oil pipelines and electrical plants, were built with proprietary parts only available from a select number of Western suppliers, and in many instances, no Iraqi citizens were trained in the technical aspects of operating or maintaining these facilities.59 Similarly, policies instituted by the United States and the CPA heavily favored the interests of foreign investors over the Iraqi people; the Energy Infrastructure Planning Group consistently prioritized the production of crude oil for export over electricity generation or the supply of refined fuels to the Iraqi public.60 As Greg Muttitt argues, the reconstruction acted as a “hollowing out” of the Iraqi state, such that “the desires and opinions of Iraqis would be unattainable and the parliament and even the government in crucial respects irrelevant.”61 Similarly, US and coalition forces at best allowed rampant corruption to flourish with little resistance, though there is significant evidence to argue corruption was actively encouraged.62 Regardless, corruption quickly became a fact of life throughout Iraq, with the nation now ranking as one of the most corrupt in the world by nearly every metric.63 Despite the trillions of dollars spent on reconstruction, there are continued shortages of power, water, and other basic necessities. Widespread corruption is obviously a problem in and of itself, but it becomes even more so a problem in the attempt to reconstruct a nation. For one, corruption leads to citizens losing faith in state institutions and turning to nonstate organizations to meet their basic needs. Yet it is not just citizens who lose faith in institutions but the government as well; throughout Iraq, neither citizens nor the government trust the banking system, leading to an exclusively cash-based economy. This strict reliance on cash creates a number of ancillary problems, including difficulty in disbursing international funds, a lack of credit and loan systems, and the fact that most every citizen has their entire life savings either somewhere in

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their home or on their person, providing myriad targets for easy criminal predation. Finally, that these many neoliberal reforms are designed to benefit the United States and its coalition partners, quite often at the direct expense of the Iraqi people, is something that is not lost on the citizens of Iraq. From the founding of the nation, political power has been drawn from sources other than the citizenry, and the “state has acted as an imposition on society.”64 The promise of democracy has often been dangled to the Iraqi people, only for it to be taken away at any hint that it might not produce the outcomes political and economic elites desire.65 Many of the people I’ve spoken with throughout my time in Kurdistan categorized this as just another chapter in a long history of being exploited for the gains of others. Often when the power would go out, which would be several times a day, someone would make a joke about the fact that Iraq must not produce enough energy. The irony of a peoples sitting on top of some of the largest energy reserves in the world still not having regular access to electricity over a decade after a world power was to have brought them neoliberal prosperity is almost a perfect metaphor for how the Iraqi state has once again been designed to serve anyone but the Iraqi people.

Why neoliberalism is bad For PoliCinG Problems Created for the Police One of the most telling aspects of how the neoliberal vision of the invasion’s architects has starved state institutions of the necessary funding to achieve even basic effectiveness came through a research question I thought had nothing to do with financial issues at all. In my first visit to the training academy in 2011, conflict was still raging, and much of the surrounding regions were very active war zones. Given the unstable nature of the state and surrounding conditions in combination with the precarious position of police officers, I was interested in what police themselves saw as the biggest problem facing the police force. The answers I received centered on a perspective largely ignored in both popular and academic accounts of democratic police reconstruction. Tellingly, the subject that dominated the answers to this question was financial; specifically, most respondents were highly concerned with the low level of pay and inadequate equipment and support. As with many subjects, respondents here drew comparisons between themselves and police in the south, but this time, they were on the short end of the stick, believing themselves to receive much less in compensation

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than their southern counterparts. Dukon expressed a common sentiment in saying the biggest problem he faces is “the cost of life, in terms of salary. There’s a big difference between the police here and the police in southern Iraq.” Hardi agreed, noting “the most prominent problem is the salary. The salary here is different from the south. Those in the south get more than here.” Although no respondent actually expressed how much they believed police in the south to be earning, they were very forthcoming with their own finances. Kemman explained, “New police here earn 500,000 dinars (US$428.95) per month. They have to give 200,000 (US$171.58) for the rent, and that’s a problem.” To put this starting salary of police in full perspective, during this same period I was renting an unfurnished apartment in the Rizgary quarter of Suly. It’s important to note that “unfurnished” means literally that—the apartment had a sink in the kitchen and a sink, toilet, and shower in the bathroom, and that was it. No refrigerator, no stove or range, no microwave, literally no appliances of any kind. The apartment was, however, part of a block that had access to a private generator, which allowed for significantly shorter periods without electricity, though it was still incredibly rare to go an entire day with uninterrupted power. For this apartment, I was paying US$500 per month, or roughly 117 percent of the monthly salary of a starting police officer, aptly illustrating the miniscule compensation level of police. Many at the academy highlighted the difficult nature of policing as a compounding burden of their low levels of pay. Harman, a high-ranking commander at the academy, requested my assistance in righting this problem, imploring, “If you are going to meet our minister or anyone else in a higher position, tell them that the police position is too hard and that police are always devoting their lives to protect our country and defend people’s rights. . . . If you see them, tell them to increase our salary. Because our salary is not even enough to rent a house and to bring up our children. . . . We are going to give our blood to protect our country and our hearts to protect and serve our country and make it safe everywhere. If we are going to die, let our children have good accommodations and a good life.” Kumar agreed, saying “there are no guarantees in our offices here. For example, if someone is going to become handicapped or lose their three fingers or any part of his or her body, maybe the government will not provide you with enough and will not give you your salary until you are going to finish fifteen to twenty years of service.” In a similar vein, many felt that the low pay and lack of general financial support made their jobs much more difficult than they would otherwise

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be. Soran argued, “The government ignores the police. The government should fully support police and should fully provide for police in order to not have police thinking of another job. . . . The government causes the police’s duty to be slow and passive, not active” because they do not have enough equipment. Ramyar agreed, “There are no necessary things. Police will not be provided with enough things. Yet at the same time, they will be asked to be regulated persons and to follow their regulations.” Several trainers and students even explicitly noted they would work harder and perform their duties more fully if they were paid more. Majid, a student near graduation at the academy, summed it up, “The salary will be a problem for police. If they are going to increase our salary, maybe I’ll be more ready to serve and assist and defend your rights. If you run out of money, maybe you do not like to do anything and you hate everything and you are always fed up with everything. If the salary will be more, later on there is no need for you to do anything else or pay attention to another job or anything else. At that time you are going to sacrifice yourself and devote your life for protecting people.” Yet the lack of funding experienced by the police goes far beyond pay levels. Despite being one of the most expensive Coalition projects undertaken in the region,66 academy dorms, facilities, and equipment offer healthy support to the claims of underfunding. The buildings housing the higher ranking officers are simple one-story constructions of corrugated sheet metal, and while a few offices have threadbare rugs covering the floor, most are floored with simple tiles in various states of disrepair. The classrooms are similar buildings, but often not in quite as good a state as the offices. Many have at least a working fan or air conditioner, but all feature mostly broken wooden desks and warped walls, both often covered in graffiti presumably etched by bored students during the times they are left to wait on their instructor for a significant period of time. The dormitories share a similar aesthetic, with rows of metal bunk beds periodically separated by metal footlockers. Although there were often complaints about the smell that tends to accumulate when a large number of young men share a living space, the students saved their true anger for the rest of the amenities at the academy. A common complaint was that the food served in the academy cafeteria was making the students sick, and that requests for better food fell on deaf ears. More telling about the budgetary situation, however, is that recruits were advised to bring their own drinking water. During one of the question-and-answer sessions between classes, a recruit stood in a formal stance to deliver an impassioned speech to the instructor about it being the academy’s right to assign duties and

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expectations to the students but that it is the student’s right to be given adequate drinking water and sanitary bathrooms. The instructor dutifully replied that he would forward the request, but all in attendance clearly believed it was unlikely to achieve anything. The academy’s budget constraints are similarly readily evident in the fact that both students’ and trainers’ uniforms are far from uniform. It was clear to me that cold-weather clothing is not standard issue; during the winter months, trainers would cover their uniforms with hats and jackets of their own, sometimes producing quite an amusing picture depending on that particular trainer’s sense of style. Student uniforms especially pointed to budgetary shortfalls and generally gave the impression that these were both widely shared and recycled over several generations. Uniforms came in a variety of shades in the beige/tan range, most were fraying at the seams, and many were missing buttons, clasps, and in the case of a few particularly unlucky students, the zippers on their fly. Most boots showed signs of significant wear and tear, with soles in danger of coming completely off at any moment or toes peeking out through holes in them. In the final training course I observed, several students were still wearing their own shoes while waiting on a pair of boots, and it was clear that female recruits were unlikely to ever get a pair of boots in their size. In the early weeks of this particular course, new boots arrived on a few occasions, prompting strong and vociferous arguments from students as to why they were the most deserving recipient of a new pair. Perhaps more concerning, however, is how these budget problems extend to training supplies, as important equipment is often either unavailable or only existed in such small quantities as to become a serious impediment to lessons. For instance, I learned that there were roughly twenty-four practice guns for the academy. During large classes, students would divide into three groups, and each would have eight guns with which to practice their salutes, firing stance, etc. There were even fewer handcuffs, so many times students simply practiced arresting and cuffing each other by miming guns and handcuffs. Possibly the most concerning example of budget constraints negatively affecting the training process happened on the shooting range. When American advisors (and their funding) were intimately involved in the process, all students were required to fire at least three-hundred bullets from both the AK and the Glock they were to be issued once on duty. Yet with dwindling financial support, students could only fire ten bullets from their pistol and fifteen from the rifle. These numbers serve as both a minimum and a maximum for the students on the firing range; while they were

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required to shoot that many bullets to graduate from training, even those experiencing a great amount of difficulty were not allowed to shoot any more, as there simply wasn’t room in the budget for more bullets. After the first time I witnessed a less-than-stellar performance on the shooting range, I asked the instructor responsible for arms training why they even bothered with such a small amount of practice, and he nonchalantly agreed that the students were not prepared by this training, he just wanted them to be familiar with the sound and feel of shooting a gun. These budgetary issues run far beyond the training academy and are experienced by police at all levels. In visiting a wide range of police stations, from large departments in major cities to one-room precincts in small rural villages, I observed that it was common for the station to have no power. When asking the same question six years after I had asked it at the academy, of what the biggest problem is facing police today, police throughout the region pointed to the same problem; once again it was not the fighting that continued to plague the nation, nor was it the Islamic State, who at that point were at the peak of their power. Rather it was again the lack of money, manifesting itself in shortages of basic equipment and a lack of personnel. Multiple station directors (roughly the equivalent to an American chief of police in the smaller towns, or a captain of a precinct in the major cities) complained that they did not have enough people on staff to conduct proper investigations. The economic crisis the KRG experienced in 2014 greatly exacerbated the financial issues of the police. Lieutenant Jamal, a high-ranking officer in a major city, explained that as a result of budget cuts, his station has only one police vehicle and is allotted enough money for only 14 liters (3.7 gallons) of gasoline a week. The practical effect of this, he explained, is that the majority of times when police respond to an emergency or head out to conduct an investigation, they either have to use their own vehicle, or as is much more common because so few of them own vehicles, they have to hire a taxi to get to the scene of the crime. Similar to the complaints at the academy, police throughout the region complained of not having enough basic equipment, forcing officers to share everything, including radios and weapons. Similar to their own lack of personnel, police regularly complained of a lack of judges for them to turn cases over to. An important difference between police in the KRG and American police is that police rarely arrest someone without a judicial warrant—unless the arrest is made when the suspect is in the act of committing the crime, police have to submit their evidence to a judge (typically located within the station house) for ap-

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proval before they actually arrest the person in question. As Commander Aso, a higher up in the investigative unit of a major city police department, put it, “We are in severe need of increasing the number of judges.” When the cases begin to pile up on the judge’s desk and the turn around on them reviewing the case gets longer and longer, the police simply have to wait until they can make their arrests. An example from a friend of mine illustrates this problem nicely: one afternoon over tea while discussing the many issues plaguing the criminal justice system, he told me the story of when his brother’s car had been stolen a few months prior. The car was stolen on a Thursday afternoon, and when his brother realized what had happened, he immediately went to the police. The police took his statement and turned it over to the court, notifying him they wouldn’t be able to act without the court’s permission. Being a majority-Muslim nation, the work week is Sunday through Thursday, due to Friday being the Holy Day. As such, the case would not be able to be reviewed until Sunday, at which point the car was long gone. As my friend explained, his brother’s worry was not simply about recovering his stolen car but that stolen cars are a favorite of terror groups. Had his vehicle been used in a bombing, all of the evidence would have pointed back to him, with only an unreviewed police report in his defense. According to most respondents, this anecdote is pretty much par for the course. The great majority of judges I spoke with complained of unreasonable workloads and a desperate need for more judges. According to Judge Latif, who sits on the Court of Cassation (the equivalent of the American appellate court), by international standards the KRG should have somewhere around one thousand judges on the bench, as opposed to the roughly three hundred who are currently serving. Much like his police counterparts, Judge Latif placed the problem squarely on a lack of finances, telling me, “The budget has crippled us. Ninety-nine percent of our problems are due to the budget.” This was a common complaint of judges at every level. Judge Berham, who works as a first appearances judge in a police station in a major city, explained that every morning when she arrives, the first thing she does is separate files into two piles—one comprised of those cases that must be dealt with that day, and the other comprised of what she calls her “homework,” those cases she goes through after hours on her own time. She went on to explain that her personal time at home is getting lesser and lesser, as even though her office has judges that work the night shift to help process cases, she often has to come in on nights and weekends to hear cases in addition to the giant stack of files she takes home every night. Having

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to take work home with them was a common complaint among judges. When asked how many cases they see through, every judge estimated their caseloads as being in the hundreds per year.

Problems Created by the Police The extreme budgetary issues faced by police are concerning for the obvious problems a lack of personnel and equipment lead to but also for the serious repercussions this can have on the state writ large. As discussed above, the central needs of a democratic state are legitimacy and effectiveness. The Iraqi state is far from achieving legitimacy among its population, but for the most part that is to be expected, as governmental legitimacy takes generations to build even under the best circumstances.67 However, effectiveness of institutions is something the state can much more directly control, and while similarly not happening overnight, is something that can be achieved in a reasonable time frame with the proper commitment of funding and resources. Yet as it currently stands, the police not only will have a difficult time achieving legitimacy but will be hard-pressed to achieve even basic effectiveness, whether measured in terms of crime control or public order maintenance. Unsurprisingly, the material deprivations experienced by police have sparked serious issues with corruption, leading to a majority of the Iraqi public viewing the police as a corrupt and untrustworthy force.68 There have been repeated investigations into officers at every level throughout the nation, often centering on the misappropriation of funds, and the force remains unable to consistently pay salaries or procure necessary equipment, leaving police to make up the gap through extortion, bribery, and other extralegal activities.69 This widespread corruption is a barely contained secret among the police I spoke with, and many were extremely forthright in their complaints about corruption and the toll it takes on both them and the larger institution. While corruption takes many forms, the majority of complaints among the police I spoke with centered on the nepotistic, politicized nature of personnel decisions and the existence of what are commonly referred to as “ghost payrolls.” The term refers to the practice of corrupt station managers and other higher ranking officials who create fictitious officers in their employ as a way to collect their salary and weaponry; sometimes these are no show positions given as a reward to friends or family members, and sometimes these are simply people who do not exist, ghosts who form only on payday. Birhat, one of the longest tenured trainers at the academy, explained, “Managers of some police stations will allow one or three of

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[their employees] to go home and work at home for themselves, and at the time of collecting salaries, they come in and collect their salaries and that is it.” Ghost payrolls happen throughout Kurdish society; according to official numbers, a little over 1,000 people have retired from the government with the rank of Minister, Deputy Minister, or General Director, despite the KRG only having six governmental cabinets.70 Many respondents expressed deep frustration with the interference of the major political parties, who often treat police positions as rewards for loyalty and deploy the force as their own private security. Sirwan, a young officer at the academy, spoke of his distrust of the main parties and his fear that by not supporting them he’ll be punished. He noted, “This part of Suly belongs to the PUK [Patriotic Union of Kurdistan]. But I will not go to that office. I only became police to get a job.” He went on to discuss how he is one of several police who sympathized with the anticorruption demonstrations taking place,71 but that he understands this is a taboo topic for a vulnerable young officer. He explained, “It has been nearly two months now the demonstrators have not been answered by the government. As police, I agree with their rights and I am them. If I say that I’m referring to the Change list,72 later on they are going to take my pay and maybe dismiss me. I do not dare to say this.” Similarly, many spoke of how unqualified individuals were able to rise through the ranks or escape punishment or dismissal because of their connection to higher ranking officials. As one survey respondent explained, “I completed university and would like to be an officer but I do not have wasta, while there are people who carry primary school certificate but are now commissioned officers, because they are related to [a high-ranking official] and all we do is pull our own cart.” Yet another survey respondent complained, “There are members among us that have never attended training exercises because they have wasta.” This was actually somewhat of a common complaint, and something I witnessed myself. In the first training course I observed, there was one student who was habitually late or on some days just didn’t show up, and after enough questions from the other students about why he was allowed to do so, one trainer finally just shrugged and offered that he probably was related to someone important. Many respondents used the Arabic term wasta (‫ )واسْ طة‬to explain their circumstances, especially when discussing corruption issues. While the term has no direct English translation, it roughly means gains achieved outside of official channels due to personal connections. It represents a space somewhere between purely legal means and what a Western audience would think of as corruption; while wasta may involve illicit transfers

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of money or favors, it is better understood as something more akin to nepotism or the kind of advantages (both legal and otherwise) one can accrue by knowing the “right” people. Often the word is translated as something like “connections,” but because the concept carries so much more meaning than can be reduced to a single English word, I employ the original term rather than a translation. A perfect example of how wasta works in practice is my own experience in dealing with the residency bureaucracy in the KRG. In an experience quite akin to the American DMV, a visit to the residency office is a byzantine affair of bouncing from one bureaucrat to another, all of whom seem to need a form you’ve not heard of or insist you should be speaking with someone else. When I needed to extend my visa during a lengthier stay, I had spent all morning at the residency office, having spoken to at least a half-dozen different people, and eventually was told in no uncertain terms that the most they could extend my visa would be for another two weeks. Having been planning on being there for several more months, I tried to appeal to their sense of hospitality, but while quite apologetic, multiple residency office officials informed me there was simply nothing they could do. While I try always to avoid using wasta myself, there are times such as this when there is truly no other way. So I called on a friend of mine who is a member of a very prominent Kurdish family. Within minutes of his arrival at the residency office, we were whisked away to the office of the director, where we enjoyed tea and sweets. After about a half hour of pleasant chatting with the director, one of his assistants appeared with all of my paperwork ready to go, approving me for a stay even longer than the time frame I’d asked for, along with assurances that should I need more time I can just call the director. This, to me, is the essence of wasta: the ability to go from an impossible situation to getting exactly what you need because of whom you know. The employment of wasta and connections is by far the most common form of corruption cited by those I spoke with. Firas, a young student, spoke from being on the protected side of corruption and wasta, saying, “I myself am a relative of a manager of this academy. If I do anything wrong or bad, maybe everyone wants to report me, but it’s useless because of my relationship with the manager.” Corruption, especially among police, is seen as so rampant many felt it would be pointless to try to fight it. Berham argued not only that it is impossible to stop corruption but that the corruption of higher ranking officials inspires corruption below, “For example, my bosses. They are always going to do a lot of corruption, and we look at them and what they do, so let me do it like they do it. It

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has been left from them for us. They have done much corruption, so the smaller ones will do it, too.” Yet this isn’t just a problem of finances, for as Rizagr, the assistant to the academy director, pointed out, corruption and ghost payrolls significantly weaken police operations. He argued, “There are many police that are so-called police, they are only going to take their salaries, that’s it. But practically, when the government needs police, there aren’t enough.” He also identified a serious impediment for fighting such corruption, as much of this happens “because they are a relative or friends with the manager. Or maybe he is friends with the person above his manager, so if the manager writes anything bad about him, the manager will be a loser at that time. If that person will not come here daily and will not work very well and will not be regular to his office time, the manager will let him do so. If he writes anything on him, maybe it will not be beneficial to him. So he is going to hold his tongue so he will not be thrown away by the wind.” In fairness, it must be noted that such nepotism and corruption is by no means unique to the police, but rather it is a pervasive problem in nearly all facets of contemporary life within both the KRG and wider Iraq.73 However, while this context makes corruption within the police understandable, it remains a serious impediment to the development of democracy. Corruption has an especially corrosive effect on police, impairing the agency’s credibility in enforcing the law and rendering the formal control structure ineffective.74 While corruption is always problematic in policing, here it is of particular concern because of the transition to democracy and the key role police play in that transition. Most notably, corruption is absolutely fatal to notions of legitimacy, which is especially damaging when the state is attempting to unite disparate groups of people with considerable skepticism toward both the state and the shared identity they would need to embrace for the reconstruction process to be successful. Without legitimacy in this process, “there are no motivations for sub-state groups to shift allegiance and salience of identity to the national level,”75 a process that can already be observed in the fact that most Iraqis turn to private militias or tribal ties when confronted with crime, rather than the police.76 Corruption is especially problematic in the criminal justice system, as lapses of credibility in this area create an especially disastrous impression on the public of the ability of the state to act in a legitimate, democratic manner.77 It also pushes the public to place their faith in the abilities of nonstate actors such as militias, most of whom are decidedly not working toward the goal of a stable, democratic state.

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someone has to be the state Perhaps the most devastating outcome of the neoliberal insistence on a weak and incredibly limited state is that such a model ignores the fundamental fact that those core governmental functions have to come from somewhere; if they are not coming from a legitimate state, they will of necessity be supplied by nonstate actors. Of course, this is partially by design, as the neoliberal philosophy holds the free market will supply a solution. The problem is that “there is nothing in the nature of a market that confines transactions to those that are socially desirable.”78 This is especially the case in the more rural areas of Iraq, as the limited reach of the weak Iraqi state has created large swaths of what are essentially “no man’s land” where there is no meaningful government presence in terms of delivering social welfare or the provision of even the most basic security.79 This is crucial because having the basic security to go about one’s daily life is a prerequisite for both general social welfare and meaningful political participation.80 Yet there will almost inevitably be a time gap between the dismantling of a regime and the successful implementation of new security forces. This law-enforcement vacuum that develops will nearly always be filled by nonstate actors that will only step down when the state has developed the capacity to effectively deliver security to its citizens. While it is perfectly reasonable to fear the resurrection of state repression from newly developed state security forces, far too often reconstruction efforts ignore the danger of state neglect of security needs. When state reconstruction is being guided by a philosophy opposed to a strong state, the problem of the security vacuum is compounded, as weak states leave a prime opportunity for criminal organizations to provide safety and security in exchange for money, support, compliance, and safe havens for conducting their illicit activities.81 Many of the militias that eventually became part of the Islamic State originally developed to help restore some semblance of security in the large stretches of the nation with no functioning government.82 Although US and coalition officials often dismissed these groups as foreign interlopers or Hussein loyalists, the prodigious numbers of people involved and their strong ties to local populations indicates many of these militias arose organically.83 Indeed, had the Iraqi government been able to provide meaningful security and basic social welfare to the people living in these regions, militias like those that eventually came to comprise IS “would have been deprived of both [their] mission and many of [their] newfound followers.”84

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Although these groups formed to provide security and order in these vast lawless regions, nearly all of them were explicitly opposed to the new Iraqi state being built by the United States and its coalition partners. In an attempt to coopt these groups toward their own ends, the coalition offered them funding and logistical support in exchange for pledging loyalty toward the new Iraqi state.85 Yet rather than successfully bringing about stability through absorbing these militias into the effort to create a legitimate state, the sudden availability of money and weapons instead both exacerbated sectarian tensions and further destabilized the nation,86 which fueled anger toward the fledgling state for failing to provide security and stability while increasing support for various violent nonstate organizations such as the Islamic State. Of course, it would be a vast oversimplification to say the Islamic State developed solely because of the anemic government and its ineffective police force. One factor that cannot be overlooked is how greatly the invasion exacerbated sectarian religious clashes. While differing religious identities have long existed within Iraq, prior to the invasion very little of Iraqi society was organized around such lines. However, US and coalition insistence on staffing governmental positions and allocating resources along sectarian lines have greatly incentivized sectarian conflict.87 These types of policies created a self-fulfilling prophecy of a society dominated by sectarian identities and have “forced a newly sectarian political reality” on Iraq that pits Sunni against Shi’a.88 IS has taken advantage of this sectarian reality, especially anger toward the Shi’a-dominated government of the new Iraq, by establishing itself in Sunni-dominated areas. Despite the heavy-handed and brutal tactics of the group, for many Iraqis they were still “preferable to Maliki’s Shia-dominated government forces.”89 But despite the obviously multifaceted nature of the rise of IS, the lack of an effective state presence in so much of the nation combined with a lack of meaningful security has been central to the rise of the organization. The ability of IS to grow almost overnight from a small offshoot of Al Qaeda to an organization controlling large portions of Iraq and Syria, with a budget estimated to be around US$2 billion at its peak,90 is strikingly similar to how the Taliban exploited a lack of security and government resources throughout Afghanistan to build their organization.91 These groups run a “parallel administration”92 in areas where the government is weak or nonexistent, essentially acting as their own government by providing security, basic necessities, and other governmental services in exchange for compliance. The Islamic State is far from the first group to use the lack of an ef-

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fective or legitimate government in Iraq to build significant power; the infamous Mahdi army serves as another great example of how the governmental vacuum in these areas, especially the lack of any meaningful form of personal security, allows these organizations to “deliver locally what would resemble a state’s core functions”93 of security and welfare. In contrast to more traditional revolutionary movements that respond to a certain pattern of state actions,94 the Islamic State grew as a response to the functional absence of the state. While most Western observers understandably focus on the violence and despotism of the group, they too often overlook the important humanitarian objectives of the group.95 For while many recruits were brought to IS because of its ideology, many joined for the same sorts of nonideological reasons people join gangs in major American cities where the government is similarly functionally absent and the police are either absent or predatory. IS offers substantial salaries in the midst of widespread unemployment, as well as conferring status on those who join, status unavailable through any conventional manner.96 IS based their operation in those parts of Iraq and Syria in which “all authority was predatory and nothing was safe.”97 In place of violent anarchy, IS offered certainty and reliability. Again, while no one would discount the significant levels of violence and coercion employed by IS in their rise to power, it is similarly foolish to discount the level of statelike services provided by the organization. The Islamic State provided both the crime control and stability Iraqi police either could not or would not98 and public services, access to clean drinking water, basic necessities, and even living stipends to those within the areas it controlled.99 The ability of groups like IS to run a parallel administration and be seen as a legitimate alternative to the internationally recognized state stems from the fact that claims to legitimate rule are not a one-time event that can be assumed after the creation of a state “but are ongoing, as authorities attempt ‘to establish and cultivate’ legitimacy.”100 That is, the establishment of legitimacy is a continual process, one that is central to both resolving conflict and suppressing violent challenges to the state. Such legitimacy is so central to the ongoing existence of a state that Gramsci argues states cannot continue to exist without establishing and maintaining it, either through earning the consent of the masses by providing governmental services or through the continuous violent coercion of those who will not comply.101 While the exact form taken by the Islamic State is unique, its function is largely in line with prior militia groups within Iraq and is quite similar to the functions filled by gangs and other similar nonstate actors through-

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out the world.102 These groups arise wherever the legitimate government is not filling it central functions of effectively delivering public goods in a legitimate way, and they draw their power from their ability to provide the services the legitimate government either can’t or won’t. The need to fill these functions is even greater in states undergoing reconstruction, as the “transparent and effective delivery” of public safety and other political goods is essential for legitimizing a new government.103 This can very quickly become a self-reinforcing cycle in either direction; should a new government distribute goods and services effectively and without favor to its citizens, people are more likely to shift their allegiance to the new government, which helps stabilize and legitimize the new government, which in turn allows it to more successfully serve its citizens. On the contrary, when the government fails to provide its core responsibilities, this incentivizes its citizens to turn to nonstate actors for these needs, which further erodes faith in the government, which increases the difficulty the state has in providing for citizens and legitimizing itself. Seen in this light, the rise of IS was a rather predictable outcome of the neoliberal insistence on a weak state specifically designed to provide little for its citizens. People’s basic needs of security, access to food and water, and other necessities don’t simply disappear because an economic ideology has no place for them. Rather, given the nature of needs, these must be met somewhere, and most often they will be delivered by nonstate actors who use their ability to fill this governmental void to further their own cause. As it currently stands, neither the central government of Iraq nor the KRG are adequately meeting the basic needs of their people. As such, even though it appears IS has been reduced to a rather marginal actor in the region, at least compared to how powerful it was at its peak, it is largely a matter of time until another group arises to fill the void.

4. “Nothing on How to Investigate, Nothing on How to Talk to or Deal with People” The Cultural Performance of Policing

When police forces experience difficulty, a common refrain is a need for more training. Whether in the United States or around the world, more and/or better training is offered as a way to address problems such as ineffectiveness and corruption to brutality. Yet despite this recurring call, there is surprisingly little scientific research on police training; while there is plenty written on what police training should look like or include, there is extremely little on what police training actually looks like, especially in non-Western contexts.1 This is a major blind spot, leaving us with little collective knowledge of exactly what in and how police are trained in postconflict and reconstruction scenarios. Training obviously affects police performance on the job, but what is emphasized and what is ignored in police training can reveal so much about the priorities of the force and the state that oversees it. As Gramsci explains, every state “tends to create and maintain a certain type of civilization,” doing so through its ability to “eliminate certain customs and to disseminate others,” and, most importantly, “the law will be its instrument for this purpose.”2 The training of police within the KRG and wider Iraq is designed not so much to produce competent police capable of maintaining order and providing services in a constitutional democracy but more to give police the appearance of legitimacy. Police are taught virtually nothing applicable to democratic policing, but instead they spend the majority of their time on self-presentational activities such as marching and saluting. The little practical training police receive focuses exclusively on the violent repression of subjects, but for the most part, the process produces undertrained and indifferent officers ill-suited to the task at hand. 72

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PoliCe traininG as Cultural PerFormanCe The modern state not only functions for the provision of peaceable operating conditions through the monopolization of legitimate violence but plays a powerfully originative role in creating social norms and relations of production. Prominent scholar of punishment David Garland has catalogued in great detail how modern penality is best thought of as a “cultural performance,” less about the immediate issues of crime and disorder than about expressing “a definite sense of how social relationships are (and should be) constituted in that particular society.”3 Most importantly, Garland demonstrates how penality helps to create society, noting that within “every penal relation and every exercise of penal power there is a conception of social authority, of the (criminal) person, and of the nature of community or social order that punishment protects and tries to recreate.”4 Similarly, Gramsci argues that crises such as the one Iraq is currently experiencing “create a terrain more favorable to the dissemination of certain modes of thought, and certain ways of posing and resolving questions involving the entire subsequent development of national life.”5 These new modes of thought are often projected through cultural performance, a process serving to “create and generate fundamental values and beliefs.”6 The cultural performance of policing and punishment is intended to “manipulate symbolic forms as a means of educating and reassuring their public audiences.”7 This is not to suggest that it is a literal performance in the sense of police and other criminal justice actors pretending to act in a certain way but rather that there is a clear and identifiable message, intended or not, that comes through their actions and speech.8 Policing and punishment are not simply matters of responding to crime and disorder but rather complex performances designed to send a message to not only those who might break the law but wider society as well, broadcasting how those in charge of these processes want society to look and operate.9 Importantly, while those in power are strongly interested in avoiding the direct use of force and coercion, the “capacity to use coercion has to be made visible through constant symbolic efforts by the power holder.”10 This understanding of the cultural performance of punishment and the need to symbolically display power helps explain an Iraqi police training process that appears to have incredibly little to do with policing. Many of the current problems with Iraqi police stem from how the US and coalition forces instituted their training program, a program focusing far more on a cultural performance of legitimacy than on producing quali-

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fied, capable police. Police training in the KRG and wider Iraq has been a top-down process that seems to have willfully ignored both previous scholarship on best practices and local traditions and knowledge. Beyond the technical problems this approach brings, it also begs the question of for whom this police force and state are being reconstructed. Garland argues that “it’s not criminal conduct that determines policy, but how elites view ‘the crime problem.’”11 Very few of the practices and ideologies of training make sense as a response to the realities of crime in the KRG or wider Iraq; they only begin to make sense when viewed through the lens of a cultural performance of legitimacy masking the establishment of a subordinate client state. The vast majority of police training time at the academy is dedicated to self-presentational matters having little to do with democratic policing. Indeed what is not said and done is far more telling than the actual instruction that transpires. It’s not the case that training omits a few key lessons or is lacking the proper theoretical orientation, but rather that it ignores nearly all of our collective knowledge about the fundamentals of policing and institution-building. This is the case despite the fact there is voluminous academic and practitioner knowledge readily available,12 and the United States itself has extensive experience in police reconstruction. Rather than a training process focusing on the types of behaviors and tactics police would need to successfully produce social order in a constitutional democracy, the training process in Iraq is designed to produce police who give the appearance of legitimacy, while what little meaningful training they receive focuses on tactics of violent repression. What makes the performance of legitimacy so central to this case is that this is a top-down, elite-driven process that involves virtually no input from local actors and ignores nearly all local culture and customs. The police need to be able to project legitimacy to the Iraqi public, but they also need to be able to project legitimacy to the American public to secure political support for the massive expenditures required in empire. Similarly, given a world community intensely skeptical of the motivations of the United States in invading Iraq, the police play an integral part in giving the new Iraqi state the appearance of legitimacy, thus legitimating the larger imperial project. The process of police training operates quite similarly to the symbolic development of constitutions in the client states of imperial powers; such constitutions are rapidly established not to build a structure of democratic governance but to establish the stability needed for imperial interests and to project the legitimacy of the client state to the wider world.13 There

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are strong ideological visions of how a modern democratic state should look and operate; among the most prominent of these visions is that a state should be politically independent and sovereign, which requires a functioning government with strong institutions. This is why police are so important to the imperial state-building process, as well as why they take on the peculiar form described below: the police need to be able to perform legitimacy and effectiveness to allow the United States to plausibly claim Iraq is a sovereign, democratic state. Yet at the same time, the police need to function as a force to keep internal stability, hence what little practical training they receive centers around the violent suppression of subjects.

daily routines and the ProCess oF CreatinG PoliCe Life at the Lead Training Academy Observations of the training process were conducted at the Police Lead Training Academy located a few kilometers outside of Suly. The academy was formed to put new police recruits from all fields through basic training, operating in conjunction with Sulaymaniyah’s College of Police, which is responsible for training senior officers. Both the academy and the college are located inside of a sprawling compound that also houses multiple court houses, a Joint Coordination Center (a dual crime-control project of the American and Iraqi governments), athletic fields, military training centers, a specialized border-patrol training center, and multiple prisons of various security levels. After passing through security and ID check at the entrance to the compound, it’s about a four-kilometer drive to the academy itself, where like many buildings in the region, you’re first greeted by an armed guard next to a spike-covered rolling bar at the entrance. After stating your business, the bar is rolled away and you proceed to a small overhang next to a oneroom security guard building. After another ID check, a large drop-bar is raised, and you continue on the main road running through the academy grounds. Immediately beyond the gate is a large, rectangular concrete yard where the vast majority of training takes place. There are eight parallel lines running around the edge of the court to aid in keeping formation during marching drills, as well as nine large painted circles in the middle of the court to practice lining up properly. At the front of the court is a small shaded observation area topped with the flags of the United States, the KRG, and Iraq. Following the road past the training court, you pass a number of one-story buildings housing offices and classrooms. Beyond

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these are the barracks where students and staff stay while at the academy, as well as the mess hall, the barbershop, the recreation center, and other various buildings. Founded in 2003 by American forces, the academy is one of six regional training centers in Iraq and has trained roughly one-fifth of all Iraqi police. While originally taking in recruits from throughout the nation, it has become almost exclusively Kurdish as other regions have become stable enough to host their own training facilities. Similarly, while training was originally conducted by American advisors, all training and general operation of the facility are now in the hands of the KRG. That the training center is an American project is obvious to even the most casual observer. Many offices have an American flag proudly displayed alongside the Kurdish and Iraqi flags, English-language paraphernalia and training guides cover classroom and office walls, and several academy buildings are named after Americans. On a more substantive level, the training content, practices, and policies were established by American advisors, and the majority of the staff were trained by coalition forces. Even questions from students as to why certain acts are performed in a certain manner are often met with the simple answer “because the Americans do it that way.” The influence is also notable in the paranoid worldview of the training process that treats recruits as fundamentally untrustworthy. For example, on the shooting range, if a recruit has a problem with their gun, they are to raise their hand and a trainer will come to them and help them figure it out. If they turn around without being told to do so while holding their firearm, it is made quite clear they will be shot. As one trainer explained to me, although they have no reason to suspect any of their recruits, this policy is a hold-over from when Americans were operating the academy and feared recruits may be insurgents using the training process to get close enough to launch an attack.

The Training Process On paper, the training process is a short but intense period of preparation. Courses are to run several hours a day for forty-five days, during which time recruits are taught the important basics of policing. These forty-five days are typically spread out over nine weeks (students are allowed to go home most Fridays and Saturdays), and each day is to follow a standard schedule; students rise at six o’clock and have breakfast, convene at seven for physical calisthenics, then have a short break before nine o’clock uniform inspection, then philosophical and practical training until noon, an

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hour for lunch, and a return to training activities at one o’clock until the academy (like most government ministries) closes at three. Each week of the course is designed to center on a different lesson; for example, the fourth week of the general course is to focus on basic traffic policing, “behavior information” (how to treat suspects), and human rights. The lived reality of training, however, rarely matches these ideals, whether in terms of time, duration, or content. According to multiple trainers, the forty-five-day threshold is more of a goal than a rigidly-enforced benchmark, and most see this as a woefully limited amount of time. The actual amount of time spent on training in any given day suffered many of the same limitations. The day is usually broken up into several forty-five- to fifty-minute blocks dedicated to specific lessons, with a ten to fifteen minute break between each lesson. In practice, lessons actually did begin around nine and would usually last until eleven-thirty or noon, leaving little time for individual attention to student progress. A problem compounded by the fact that one trainer is usually responsible for delivering lessons to somewhere between thirty and fifty students, sometimes as many as a hundred. While the academy theoretically resumes operations after lunch, in practice everyone either uses the hours after lunch to nap or simply leaves for the day. Far from meaning the trainers and students are lazy or irresponsible, what this working schedule demonstrates is but one of the many instances of the reconstruction ignoring local tradition and practice. As is common in desert locales, the traditional Iraqi working day starts very early in the morning, with a long break in the middle of the day when the weather is most unbearable, and then a resumption of work after the heat has broken. Yet in a recurring theme, the American advisors who established the working order of the academy were either ignorant of the traditional working schedule or chose to ignore it and assume it would not be a problem to dramatically alter long-established practices. Beyond simple issues of time, clearly the importation of foreign training materials contributed to the difficulties in effectively delivering training. Lieutenant Dukon explained that while he feels the American curriculum would be good for American police, they’ve had to modify it repeatedly to be appropriate for local conditions and suitable to the culture. He further explained that because of these cultural discrepancies, much of what students practice there is never actually employed by police, and the information “doesn’t get transferred outside of the academy.” Of course not all such discrepancies can be explained by cultural differences. I had copies of the syllabi supposedly being employed so could see

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that the day’s lessons rarely if ever match the syllabus. In fact, the entire process often has a random feel about it, as if trainers are teaching simply whatever they feel would be good to teach that day. More than once I asked about this discrepancy, and the response was that today’s subject is not on the syllabus but it’s important for the students to know. Similarly, asking what tomorrow’s lesson would be or what the theme of the next week was often met with several different answers from several different trainers. Some of the randomness undoubtedly stems from the budget issues discussed in the previous chapter. In one course, the visit to the shooting range was postponed multiple times because the academy was waiting on a shipment of bullets. Or when the lessons were centered on how to sweep a vehicle, trainers were usually only able to muster up the two trucks necessary for one group of students to practice, leaving the other groups to scramble for something to do that day. At other times, the lack of equipment simply led to classes being cancelled for the day. Yet possibly the most telling moment on the randomness of the training schedule was somewhat early in my visit when I was trying to get a feel for the normal operating hours of the academy. When I asked a group of students what time classes finished for the day, most did not know, and several got into an animated debate about the exact time.

The General Training Atmosphere Much to my surprise, the general atmosphere at the academy is jovial and much looser than I had expected. Both students and trainers regularly make jokes and horse around with the equipment and each other. A favorite quip of the trainers when explaining a simple procedure is to note that “it’s not building a plane.” Because the academy sits only a few kilometers from the airport, when students are having trouble with some of the simpler tasks, trainers are fond of pointing to one of the many planes going by overhead and sarcastically delivering some variation of “oh look, it’s that plane you’re trying to build.” Another favorite line of jokes for trainers centers on ogling women, such as during a lesson on formation marching when recruits are told to line up by subtly looking out of the corner of their eye at the person next to them, much like they might do if a pretty lady walked by. Another factor contributing to this loose atmosphere is that the academy, as is common in many ministries throughout the region,14 clearly employs far more people than they actually have work for. A common sight throughout the academy is officers standing around conversing over

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a cup of chai, whether in an office or huddled around one of the many small open firepits set up for that purpose. It is also a regular occurrence for other trainers to wander by to observe a course for a few minutes and maybe have a bit of a discussion with the instructor leading the lesson, congregating in the shade to chat. The loose atmosphere is not limited to horseplay and making jokes but is also a part of the lessons. In addition to the fact that such levity is a welcome break from the usually monotonous training activities, students are encouraged to ask any and all questions they might have, whether during the lesson or during the informal question-and-answer sessions that typically occupy the breaks between lessons. As Lieutenant Hawa, a high-ranking trainer, explained to me, the loose atmosphere comes from the fact that trainers treat students “as our children” and aim to be “very soft with them” to make sure they learn the material. Students are typically afforded a fairly large degree of latitude, regularly talking out of turn, often several at once. Even when they are ordered to be quiet, the silence usually only lasts a few minutes before students are chatting among themselves again during the lesson or asking repeated questions of the instructor. Students also spend plenty of time laughing at and mocking the mistakes of their fellow students. Although they are occasionally warned to respect their colleagues and not laugh at them, students (and many trainers) do little to hide their amusement at the constant mistakes of some. They also have fun with the training activities; when practicing arrests, many students handle their handcuffed counterparts quite roughly, and the “suspects” return the favor by trying to escape and embarrass their would-be captor. Some courses even have a bona fide class clown, such as the one who always bows with an exaggerated flourish and refers to the instructors as Korra (Your Majesty), as well as regularly reporting the failing of his classmates, while always making sure to report that he himself has performed the task efficiently and admirably. Of course, it is not all fun and games, and certain lessons are treated much more seriously than others. A few trainers do actually enforce the military discipline that is often discussed but rarely applied, making students stand at attention to address them, punishing those who speak out of turn, and otherwise operating in a manner most people would probably expect of someone training police. But these trainers are definitely the exception to the rule, and they are occasionally cited by other trainers as evidence of how gentle and understanding they themselves are and how much the students should appreciate that approach.

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Military Mission Creep Despite the loose and jovial nature of so much of the training, the imprint of the US military that founded the training center is unmistakable. As discussed in chapter 2, a major criticism of placing the reconstruction of the police under the auspices of the Department of Defense was that instead of creating a democratic police force they would simply create an auxiliary army. Rather than focus on criminal investigation, community relations, or other core aspects of policing, most of the military’s approach has centered on force generation and narrow questions of equipment and capacity.15 From my first moment at the academy, this militarized influence was readily evident, including in their appearance, how they discuss their responsibilities, and what behaviors are emphasized and which are ignored. It’s not just that police are both armed and dressed identically to the soldiers who also train at the compound but also that military matters dominate the discourse at the academy. Instructors regularly demand that the students perform actions with “military discipline” and in the “proper military style.” The idea that this is military training is often used to explain certain processes or justify certain actions to students, such as when one student was having difficulty performing the day’s training and was berated by a trainer saying “This is the military! You must do everything— training, punishment. If you can’t do it, you shouldn’t be here!” Similarly, constant references to war and terrorism contribute to the militaristic nature of training. When learning how to diagnose and fix a jam in one’s rifle, an instructor noted several times that this must be learned thoroughly so it can be quickly done, because in war you don’t have much time. The discrepancy between what students are taught about using lethal violence and their experience on the shooting range is another great example. When I asked the instructor in charge of the range why students aim at the head and chest when they are taught in lessons to only shoot beneath the waist, he responded that this is “training for war,” and as such, doesn’t follow the normal rules. The terms suspect, criminal, and terrorist are all used interchangeably, and most discussions on how to identify criminals and criminal behaviors are dominated by concerns of terrorism. The military influence is also readily evident in much of the training, with some lessons so explicitly militaristic as to make me occasionally doubt I was watching police training. For instance, one lesson centered on how to move about unseen in hostile territory. Students were taught to

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use mud to camouflage their faces, to stick twigs in their packs to blend in with the foliage, to crawl on the ground while carrying their rifle beneath them so as not to be detected, even how to hide from an oncoming enemy tank. Between the tactics taught and the constant reference to enemy combatants, the entire lesson had the unmistakable feel of basic training for armed forces. In addition to the full training courses, there were also a number of “rapid courses” during my time at the academy. These courses last only a week, taking place during emergency situations when more police are needed. In theory, after the emergency situation is resolved, those who graduated from the rapid course will join the next full course being delivered. In practice, rapid course graduates I spoke with either sat in for a few lessons with a full course, or simply never received any more training. More concerning than the inadequate training time are the problematic militaristic assumptions the rapid courses are built on. The instructor of the rapid courses insisted the students receive several weeks’ worth of training per day (though they spent the same amount of time in training per day as did those in the full course) but did grant that they only focus on the “most significant points.” However, in this case, “most significant points” is defined as saluting, marching, and weaponry. Setting aside whether one can learn these adequately in a week, this points to a very problematic understanding of what constitutes the key components of policing. While it is almost inevitable that there would be some overlap between policing and anti-insurgency programs in postconflict reconstruction programs, training should be designed to move police away from filling this function. While it is often acknowledged that policing is a fundamentally impossible task in even the best situations,16 this is even more so the case in contemporary Iraq. What the police are being asked to accomplish—establish a stable, orderly society—is a task the US armed forces have been unable to accomplish with far more training, personnel, weaponry, and resources. Even beyond the well-documented and central importance of divorcing police and military functions, this case demonstrates quite forcefully why the police are ill-suited for such military operations on both a practical and theoretical level. Whereas the practical inability of police to accomplish these tasks is fairly self-evident, a Gramscian understanding of political warfare explains the fallacy of asking police to fulfill military roles. In a traditional military war (a war of maneuver in Gramsci’s parlance), to achieve victory it is enough that one side of the conflict simply proves they would

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win were the war fought to its conclusion. However, “political struggle is enormously more complex,”17 as it is in political struggle (or a war of position) that one must win the “hearts and minds” of those they seek to govern. Unlike a military struggle in which an army seeks to pacify its enemies, the police must be involved in a political struggle in which they build legitimacy with a public they are supposed to serve. As Gramsci notes, “Force can be employed against enemies, but not against a part of one’s own side which one wants to assimilate rapidly, and whose ‘goodwill’ and enthusiasm one needs.”18 For the Iraqi state to ever gain legitimacy, let alone become a functioning democracy, the police simply must be involved in a war of position, not maneuver. The use of police in wars of maneuver leads to a multitude of problems, most notably a loss of legitimacy for the police (and to a great extent, the state), as the nakedly coercive nature of the force becomes too readily evident. There is little reason to believe things will be any different in this case. Much to the contrary, employing police in a war of maneuver necessarily implies they will be molded into a politically repressive force concerned with questions of pacification and dominance rather than a dispassionate force concerned with questions of rights and procedural fairness.

meChanisms For CreatinG leGitimaCy Training Lectures, Rules, and Protocol “What are police? Police are an armed force for protecting people’s rights and the human rights articles, preventing crime, enforcing laws, investigating crime, and keeping the general safety of the people.” So began the lecture on “police behavior,” one of the very few to explicitly discuss the nature and roles of police beyond basic occupational techniques. The lecture focused on the morals of police, who are “dedicated to service of the community and people in an honest way, far away from personal interest.” Emblematic of much of the training process, this was putatively about issues surrounding corruption, but all of the information delivered in the lecture could be summed up as corruption is bad and should be avoided. There was no actual discussion of what corruption looks like, how one might get entangled in corruption, or what one should do if they witness corruption. The trainers clearly recognize the perceptual problem police currently have. During a welcome speech to new students, the director of the academy told them it is their duty to change the culture of public mistrust of

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the police. And this did filter its way into lessons, as trainers often spoke of the need to respect suspects. For example, Lieutenant Hawa repeatedly told the students, “You have no right to make accusations. You do not know for sure if these are criminals or not, we have only a lead.” Other trainers gave similar instructions, telling students, “The duty of police is a holy duty” and as such they should “treat people as respectfully and peacefully as you can.” There was also repeated mention of the human rights articles and how respecting these means respecting the rights of all people and acting with restraint. However, rarely were human rights discussed in any more depth than simply saying students should respect human rights. Even within the few lessons that took place in the classroom and not out in the yard, most of the training focused on a few narrow aspects of policing, completely ignoring the complex mix of rights and responsibilities inherent in policing a democratic society. For instance, in discussing how to treat suspects, there was much information on how to physically subdue and transport them, but no information on the suspect’s rights or any of the larger implications of arrest and detention. Rather, the discussion centered on the importance of being forceful and completely in control in all interactions. There were also a few lessons on the rules for and duties of police, but these were similarly presented in a context-free and largely perfunctory manner. For example, during one lecture (read directly from a training manual), the students were told the duties of police as defined by the Ministry of the Interior. These duties are (in order) working for national security, working for the law above all else, and knowing your role (e.g., traffic police should know all applicable traffic laws). In another lecture, students were told the three rules of policing are to always be ready for an emergency, to hasten to the scene of a crime, and to react quickly to any situation that presents itself. While both of these are fine guidelines for behavior, they were both simply listed during a lecture, with no further discussion or even examples to elucidate what these vague guidelines mean for actual day-to-day police work. All other discussions of practical policing matters were similarly sparse. These lessons usually only took collectively a day or two of training time and were often just read directly from a training manual. The lecture on fingerprinting, which got by far the most time of any practical police matter in the classroom, serves as a great example. This lecture lasted approximately fifteen minutes and consisted only of a short history on why fingerprinting is used as a means of identification, followed by an explanation of how to fingerprint someone (with no demonstration), and

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that is the extent of the students’ training on fingerprinting. This same lecture also featured a discussion of types of evidence that was similarly brief and inconsequential. The instructor asked the students what kinds of evidence there are and together they compiled a long list of the various types of evidence. This ad hoc approach to educating students on the rights of the accused and the basic aspects of performing their job serves as yet another example of the shallowness of instruction as well as a particularly concerning example of students leaving the academy at best unprepared for the job and at worst actively misinformed about the behaviors expected of them and the actual working order of the police. Here we once again see a classic dilemma of the policing world drawn into especially sharp relief. It is well documented that after training, police in America generally find little of what they were taught seems to apply to the situations they confront, and that they are often without guidance in deciding what to do in any given situation. In fact, scholars have argued that many training programs “not only fail to supply the [proper] orientation, they actually deceive the recruit by providing an inaccurate picture of what he can expect on the job.”19 This is evidently a problem within any police force but especially within a newly reconstructed force with a corrupt and repressive history.

Marching, Saluting, and Presentation of Self Much as scholars have argued observation of the daily routines of police grant the “most accurate indication of the choices made from among competing objectives,”20 the observation of training similarly gives unparalleled insight as to what has been deemed necessary for police to know. Ultimately, discussions at the academy concerning duties, rights, and legal issues are exceptions to the norm, as the vast majority of training time is dedicated to presentational matters, most of which have little application to policing a constitutional democracy. Here again, the story is really about what I did not observe, as nearly all other aspects of policing were left completely ignored. This is especially salient because research has demonstrated that ignoring the important support functions police perform significantly negatively affects reconstruction efforts and the forces they produce.21 The prime example of the dedication to presentational matters over substantive at the academy is the inordinate amount of time spent on formation marching. Formation marching regularly takes up two to three weeks of any given course, accounting for roughly one-third of all training time. The marching style taught is a stiff, very militaristic affair, and every

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aspect of it has a highly choreographed routine. To march in the proper style, one starts with the left foot, raising the knee up to waist level (as trainers often remind students, no one has ever died from lifting their leg too high), and swings the opposite arm straight up, moving it only at the shoulder. Coming to a stop, one ends with the right foot, bringing it down sharply to create a satisfying thud. Closely following marching in terms of time and focus are saluting and presenting arms. Weapons etiquette covers topics such as how to properly carry a rifle while marching, how to perform dress presentation of arms, how to bend over and pick up the rifle while on the firing range, and how the gun figures into a multitude of salutes. In terms of salutations, students learn how to properly greet superiors of all ranks (with proper foot and hand placement), how much of a salute to perform for various individuals (a full salute is reserved for only those “in the military field”), when superiors are required to return your salute, and even extensively detailed explanations on whom to greet first when encountering several superiors at once. First you are to greet whoever is the highest rank; if two or more people share the highest rank, then you are to salute the one with the higher degree first; and if they both have advanced degrees, you are to first salute the one with the degree most closely related to the legal field. There are even multiple lessons on the proper way for students to fold their hands while at rest. Rifles also have their own protocol for handling. When being presented for inspection or while standing at attention, the butt of the gun is to be held at the waist with the barrel no more than a hand’s width away from the face. At rest, the rifle butt is rested on the ground and students are to hold the barrel of the gun immediately below the sight. Setting down the rifle is an even bigger production, as students must take a carefully choreographed step backward, bend at the knees, and set the rifle down behind them such that the sight is even with their toes. All of these are to be done without ever looking at the rifle itself. Even sitting during lessons follows a proscribed pattern of, at the instructor’s command, jumping into the air and landing in a cross-legged sitting position while shouting “Yek! Do!” (One! Two!) for jumping and landing, respectively. The quest for “military precision” in presentational matters means they are taught and practiced ad nauseum. (One day, all three hours were spent on opening and closing ranks, which literally consists of taking two steps forward or backward.) Most of this involves painstaking step-by-step instruction and repetition, breaking the motion down into two to four steps, with instructors barking a number for each movement. In each new posi-

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tion, the students freeze as trainers walk up and down the rows, correcting mistakes and fixing students’ posture. Such practice is most often done in small groups of four to eight, while the rest of the students are to watch their fellow classmates and learn from their practice. However, more often students use the time they are not in the small group receiving instruction to watch the students being punished or to chat with their friends. That students quickly stop paying attention when they themselves are not practicing the movements is not at all surprising given the immense amount of time devoted to halting and repetitious practice of basic movements taking place on an asphalt court under the scorching desert sun. It would not be long on such days before it was quite easy to register a mix of boredom and frustration among the students. Although sometimes the tedious nature of the repetition was obviously being utilized for punishment (such as when students were forced to repeat a movement until the one among them who was incorrect figured it out), it is clear these were drilled so often because of their central importance to the curriculum. As Bhedar, a tactics trainer, pointed out to the students, “We did not know this from birth, we learned it from listening to our trainers,” and implored them to ask him to repeat a lesson if they didn’t understand, offering to “repeat it a thousand times” if necessary. Though one can argue the relative merits of spending multiple days learning to form straight lines, the time given for repeated practice of some movements is fairly perplexing. For instance, there are multiple lesson periods devoted to proper firing range protocol, a skill the students use only once and for a very short amount of time. This is a point felt keenly by some students and staff. One trainer complained to me that training focuses far too much on saluting and marching, arguing it squeezes out more practical lessons and could really be taught in a day or two. A student training to become a traffic officer echoed these concerns, saying he felt little in the course was applicable to him and that they taught him “nothing on how to investigate accidents, nothing on how to talk to or deal with people.” This sense of constant repetition also comes from many lessons receiving multiple days of training time. Often movements are broken down into their constituent parts, and each new lesson slowly adds a bit to the motion, until after several days of practice, the students have the whole movement down. For instance, picking up an AK, getting into firing stance, setting the rifle down, and walking away takes up multiple days of training. First the students repeatedly practice walking up to the rifle and bending over to pick it up as the instructors count off the steps involved.

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After this skill is satisfactorily mastered, shouldering and aiming the gun is added, with many, many stops for correction. Then, after several hours of practice, setting the rifle down is added in, etc. While this exhaustive repetition of marching, saluting, and presenting arms makes little sense from the perspective of attempting to establish a legitimate democratic police force, an emphasis on these symbolic displays does make sense when considering the context in which the police are operating. Given the task ahead and the resources available, it is highly unlikely the police will be able to establish even basic effectiveness in the near future. As such, the coalition and the Iraqi state are instead gambling on creating the appearance of legitimacy. For if one has no hope of creating a legitimate police force under the given circumstances, does it not make sense to essentially fake it? That is, given such a short window in which to impart the most important lessons of policing, clearly the decision has been made (consciously or not) to focus on how police appear rather than on how they actually perform their job. While police may not be a professional and regimented force, the training process is designed to make them look that way. It is also clear that this symbolic militarism of heavily armed, fatigueclad police marching in unison is one that strives to generate fear—in both potential criminals and the wider society. In and of itself this is not particularly surprising; police the world over tend to rely on some level on projecting a feared image, and it makes sense as something a force of questionable strength and legitimacy might turn to in order to enhance their image. However, generating fear in the public is a “delicate business,” as “it forces police to be as concerned about their image as they are about their capacity,”22 a claim that plainly applies here. The problem is the illusion of capacity and the fear it inspires is fairly easily shattered, making this an incredibly precarious approach to take.

Sweeping Cars and Houses Of the small handful of subjects that dominate instruction time, the sweeping of a car or house for “militants” and their subsequent handcuffing are the most complex processes students are taught and the only activities that can even generously be labeled actual police work. Yet it is telling that even these are much more akin to counterterrorist military tactics than the actions of a democratic police force. Pulling over and sweeping a vehicle requires a platoon of nine police, each with a specific duty, so, as with marching and saluting, this scenario is practiced repeatedly. Two students are volunteered to be the “terrorists,”

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who will be pulled over; two other students take the role of driver and commander in the cab of the police truck; and seven more students pile in back. The student riding in the passenger seat takes the role of commander and shouts orders at the suspects and the other police. After ordering the suspects to stop, the seven students in the back of the truck quickly pile out and man the perimeter, each responsible for surveying a certain portion of the action. The two students in the cab stand behind their opened doors with their pistols drawn. At this point, the commander orders the suspect driving the car to turn off his car, put his keys on the roof, open the door, and begin backing slowly toward the police truck. When the suspect is far enough away from his own vehicle, he is ordered to stop, lift his collar up and untuck his shirt and slowly spin around, so it can be confirmed he’s not carrying any weapons. After this process, he is instructed to again start backing toward the police truck (suspects are made to walk backward so they cannot identify the officers arresting them and take revenge later), and the driver approaches and handcuffs them. The handcuffing process is similarly quite involved. After the suspect has performed all the commands shouted at him, he is told to put his hands together at the wrist behind his back. The driver of the truck slowly approaches the suspect with his gun drawn, only holstering it once he has grabbed the thumbs of the suspect. Once the suspect is cuffed, the driver gives him a thorough pat down that starts with the driver putting his right leg between the suspects’ legs and leaning him back, so he is less able to resist. The driver then puts his right hand over the suspect’s face, pushing up on the suspect’s nose with the area of the hand between the thumb and forefinger, pushing his head to the side so the driver can run his other hand down the length of the suspects’ body to feel for weapons and contraband. The process is then repeated for the other side of the suspect’s body, and the whole process is repeated again for any additional suspects being arrested. Sweeping a house is an even more involved scenario. The idea is to take the house by surprise with a quick strike of military precision that the students are told should take no more than five to ten minutes. Again the process involves a group of nine police, two inside the cab and the rest riding in the back of the truck. Except in this scenario, the truck stops far away from the house in order to preserve the element of surprise. After the engine is cut, the officers pile out and form a single-file line in which each person’s rifle is held the opposite way of the person in front of them in order to maintain security in every direction. As the police arrive at the house, every person involved in this operation has a specific duty to perform. Four of the group take up position at

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each external corner of the building to set a perimeter. Of the five who go inside, the commander is in charge of visually sweeping each room, with one officer responsible for watching the commander’s back. Another officer is to watch the windows, both for possible escape attempts and for outside interference, while the two remaining officers are there to physically make the arrests. Although the components of this process (e.g., forming a line, quietly getting out of the truck, and establishing a perimeter) were practiced quite a bit when I was observing, students never had a chance to practice the whole process, as the storage shed used for this exercise was being used for other purposes, such as by the Peshmerga who occasionally share the academy, or was inaccessible, as in one instance when it was locked and no one could find a key. As such, even though multiple trainers spoke at length about how difficult and dangerous sweeping a house is, each time set aside to practice the process ended up being a theoretical demonstration of what they should do, usually explained with a room drawn on the ground and a discussion of where people should go and what they should do in various possible situations. Again, it’s not entirely inappropriate that police would learn some basics of antiterror work. In a nation emerging from an extended civil war attempting to transition to a constitutional democracy, lines between military and police jurisdictions necessarily blur to some extent. However there are compelling reasons, both practical and theoretical, why such jurisdictional blurring should not only not be promoted in this manner but also should be assiduously avoided, or the very least, should be working to move away from such overlap. While such antiterror methods could be part of a much larger package of police tactics taught to recruits, it’s incredibly problematic when they are the only police tactics taught at the academy. As Garland reminds us, “The institutions of state power play a key role in organizing ruling-class power, in subduing political opposition, and in promoting social policies,”23 and policing is key among state institutions in securing power. The Iraqi state currently does not have a particularly strong or legitimate government, and multiple groups with significant weapons caches and popular support are vying to either control the state or create their own. Yet whether the current government is able to remain in power or if the state is captured by one or more of the many opposition groups, whoever is controlling the Iraqi state will inherit a police force that is trained to march, shoot, and capture terrorists/subversives. Thus, even in the best case scenario of those in power remaining true to the ideals of constitutional democracy, their police force will be ill-suited to protect the rights of their citizens. Should a group less inclined toward constitutional

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democracy capture the state, they will find themselves with a police force readily adapted to political repression.

Weapons Training Similar to matters of self-presentation, firearms training takes up a great deal of time, focused more on proper protocol than on practical police uses. Probably the most practical firearms training students receive is disassembling and cleaning their weapons. Several days of training are dedicated to dismantling firearms and learning their parts, how to fix jams, how to clean them, and how to reassemble them. Here instructors often employ a participatory, Socratic style of instruction (as opposed to their usual lectures), stopping often to quiz students on various components and regularly having students lead the process and explain the parts of the weapon and the steps involved in the tasks to their classmates. There is a great deal of attention paid to proper holding of the guns, especially the AK, which is involved in a number of salutes and marches. Lessons including how to properly remove the pistol from its holster, how to shoulder the rifle, and even what to do with a gun while transitioning from at-ease to at-attention all receive hours of practice time. Instructors are especially insistent on students learning to hold their weapons securely. During practice times various trainers walk up and down the lines of students, randomly trying to snatch their guns away and heavily punishing those whose weapons they were able to take. Sometimes trainers get clever about doing this, such as when one slyly sidled up to a student and asked to look at his gun for a moment. When the student handed his weapon over, he was immediately berated by the trainer for surrendering his weapon to someone with no authority to take it. Most of the time devoted to weapons training concerns the firing range, which receives several days of lessons. While students actually spend very little time on the range itself, what unfolds there is indicative of the entire training process. The range is a simple grass field, surrounded on three sides by a hill of about ten feet high. There is a small concrete pad with a simple corrugated metal roof for trainers to observe the students from and firing lines of ten meters for the pistol and sixteen meters for the rifle. At the other end of the range are the targets, plywood squares fastened to four-by-four posts. Before each round of students, a trainer staples fresh paper targets onto the plywood squares, a silhouette of a torso with a black circle in the chest area for the more nuanced shooting of the pistol and simply an outline for AK practice.

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The firing range experience most emblematic of the entire training process occurred when the first class I observed had their day on the range. Like most training exercises, students cycled through eight to ten at a time, and after they fired all their shots, a trainer went through the targets and examined how close students were with their shots, giving a checkmark to those who passed and a big X on the targets of those that failed. After sixteen students had cycled through the pistol portion, only one had managed to hit the black circle in the center of the target. “No one was a success,” the trainer in charge disappointedly exclaimed as he was removing the pistol targets to be replaced by the AK targets. This group of students did better during the AK portion (possibly because of the lower threshold of only needing to hit the target), with only one student failing. This incident is a great example of the problems plaguing the training process—all students failed the pistol test and one failed the AK test, with the rest passing but few doing well. Yet there were neither the resources nor the time for correction or more instruction. Instead, immediately after finishing on the range, students were marched to an office building where they each signed their name to an official document verifying they had met the shooting requirement for the pistol and rifle. Only hours later this same group of students, none of whom were able to hit a target from ten meters away with their pistol, graduated from the academy, were issued weapons, and were sent to join the security forces policing the demonstrations in the city center.

FailinG to Gain leGitimaCy General Inability or Refusal to Perform the Task at Hand Policing in the KRG has the lowest educational requirements and pay of any government position, and as will be discussed in the next chapter, it is often a job of last resort. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this leads to most students (and many trainers) treating the job as one would treat any low-paying, menial job; that is, disinterestedly putting in the minimal amount of effort required to remain employed. This is another clear indication of how the police are failing to legitimize: not only are they failing to produce a disciplined force of well-trained police, they are failing to instill a sense of the legitimacy even within their own ranks. This is not simply a problem of apathy or disinterest in the students but of the training itself; it would be hard to imagine such a training process producing police sufficiently competent to operate in the best of possible circumstances, let alone an environment as challenging as contemporary Iraq.

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While this disinterested attitude manifests in a variety of ways, it is perhaps most evident in how students pay minimal attention to lessons and repeatedly make the same mistakes. Sometimes students are simply not even trying to appear as if they were putting effort into their training. For instance, gun range practice takes a very long time between loading the guns, having them inspected, firing the shots, having the guns inspected again, and critiquing the shots fired, leaving the bulk of students with nothing to do but lounge in the grass near the range. During my observation, ostensibly to give them something to do, trainers ordered idle students to complete a nearby, generic multipurpose obstacle course of the kind typically associated with basic training in the armed forces—a wall to climb over, a balance beam, a rope to swing across a mud pit, etc. Although a few students dutifully completed the course, the majority didn’t even attempt to appear as if they were trying. Instead, most simply walked around for a bit and maybe tried some of the easier obstacles before wandering back to sit in the grass and chat with their friends. Even seemingly simple tasks cause a great deal of trouble for many students. Despite the significant amount of time spent on marching and saluting, student movements are often quite tentative and feature many mistakes, even toward the end of a course. In one emblematic example, the director of the academy came out to the court to inspect the students at the end of the first week of learning basic salutes. Even though they were relatively simple motions, and the students had worked on nothing else that week, he was so dismayed at the lack of progress that he told them they all got zeroes for their knowledge on salutes and threatened them with repeating the course. These mistakes were certainly not from a lack of practice time. What struck me the most about the repetitious practice is how little good it seemed to be doing; after three or four consecutive days of practicing parade-style left turns, for instance, many students showed no improvement, whether measured in terms of how crisp and coordinated the actions were or in terms of how many punishments were doled out by training staff. My first day at the academy came near the end of the first week of learning basic marching patterns. Despite this being the third consecutive day these students had been practicing the same simple set of motions, there were many mistakes. Even more surprising to me at the time was how easily I, as someone with no particular knowledge regarding marching in formation, could see the mistakes being made and could perform the tasks easily. At the time I thought this to be something quite odd, but I soon realized it was standard operating order at the academy.

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It was also evident students were not particularly paying attention by how often they would make the exact mistakes their classmates had just been punished for moments earlier. Often when punishing a student, trainers would say “please learn from their mistakes” or “use your brain and learn from watching the others.” Yet such warnings clearly went unheeded. An incident from pistol training illustrates this well. Students had been taught how to properly hold the pistol in one hand and strongly cock it with the other. After a lengthy explanation and demonstration of how this was done, students were lined up nine at a time, with the trainer walking down the line watching each one attempt to hold and cock their gun in the proper fashion. Despite being a fairly simple process, multiple students in each group made the same mistake they had just seen their colleagues punished for. In several cases the trainer even stopped the exercise and demonstrated the proper technique again before continuing on down the line, yet even this failed to improve most students’ performance. In fairness to the students, it is not uncommon for them to receive different, sometimes contradictory, instructions from different trainers (or simply not taught something they were later expected to know). For instance, protocol on when and whether police are allowed to shoot someone. Students are told multiple times they are never allowed to shoot to kill, but occasionally this is amended to say it is OK to do so if their lives are in danger. They are also told they are only allowed to shoot at people below the waist (to minimize the risk of death), but the targets on the shooting range are an outline of a torso with a target centered over the heart. Still other times they are told there is warfare on the streets and there are no rules in war, and thus they shouldn’t wait to shoot anyone they happen upon, because “terrorists will take the time of a pause to attack.” Official policy on the treatment of suspects is similarly hard to parse. At some points in time, students are told to be “hard” with suspects, to dominate them physically, to command them forcefully and be ready to back up those commands with physical force. Yet at other times students are told to be “soft” with suspects, to respect their rights and the fact they may be innocent, and to treat them as they themselves would like to be treated. Even as someone who took copious notes during the training process, I would be hard pressed to put together a coherent summation of how students are trained to deal with suspects. Other discrepancies in lessons were more subtle (such as which person is the point person for forming lines—usually the left-most person, but a few instructors insisted it should be the right-most), yet different enough as to make it genuinely difficult to know what the correct action is supposed to be.

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The training process itself makes for both a difficult and uninviting atmosphere in which to learn. While the lack of interest in the job, the minimal effort put in, and the indifferent nature with which most lessons are received are all quite understandable given the circumstances, they raise rather disturbing implications for how these police will perform outside of the academy. Inculcating an attitude of apathy and indifference in a large number of academy students does not bode well for their future performance in actual police work. If students are either unwilling or unable to perform the relatively simplistic tasks asked of them at the academy, on what basis can we expect them to be able to handle the much more complex, chaotic, and demanding tasks required of police in a constitutional democracy? Especially when what little training does get through to students is largely irrelevant to the realities of police work.

Leaving the Academy Unprepared for the Job Simply put, the training process leaves recruits woefully unprepared for policing a constitutional democracy, a fact that is not lost on students or trainers. I found that the lack of student progress was most evident in the frequently frustrated outbursts of trainers. Sometimes this took a humorous bent, such as the trainer who offered to speak in Arabic, asking if it was the students’ inability to understand Kurdish that was preventing them from receiving the lesson properly. And, on the gun range when a student was having difficulty lining up his shot, an instructor chided him by saying, “Tomorrow, when you face the enemy, you’ll have to ask him to stop and line up for you.” And when a student was having trouble keeping the correct pace in marching, a trainer pulled him aside and physically moved his legs for him, while shouting “Chap! Ras!” (Left! Right!) on each movement in an attempt to “teach him which leg is right and which is left.” Another common invective from the trainers was to ask a student if they had been gassed, a reference to the weaponized gasses used against the Kurds by the Ba’ath party that would lead to a lack of muscle control and an inability to concentrate. One student who had a particular penchant for being absent-minded and not paying attention earned the nickname Abu Chaka, which translates to “Father of Mistakes.” Yet as humorous as this sometimes was, the frustration among trainers was plainly evident and was usually expressed in a much more direct fashion. During an exercise on shouldering the rifle correctly that was being repeated for the third hour that day because students were having so much difficulty, one student in particular was repeatedly singled out for his inability to follow commands. The third or fourth time he was singled

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out, the trainer giving the lesson struck him sharply on the thigh with a baton (hard enough that the student was still wincing several hours later), saying “I swear to Allah I’ll break your leg! You’ve been getting this lesson since early morning!” A different student who was having extensive trouble breaking down and putting back together his Glock was pulled from the lesson while the trainer wearily shouted, “All of Kurdistan cannot teach you this!” Even after a lesson in which the students performed competently, the instructor was quick to point out they should not be proud of themselves for doing well, as this was the third time they had received that lesson. Students, however, repeatedly highlighted the many times they were being criticized for not knowing information they were never taught. These situations typically centered on a particular move, such as how to expand their standard formation for morning inspections or how to make a proper about-face. Trainers varied in their response to such student complaints; in one incident, they were told their previous trainer should apologize to them for not teaching them properly, while in another a trainer angrily told the students they should not have been so lazy and should have asked their teacher for more information, even going so far as to scold “may Allah blind you all” for their laziness. The true blame for this lack of knowledge lies somewhere between these competing claims. While students were correct in noting the insufficient instruction they received on a number of topics, few among them were particularly ideal students. During the few days in the training process that took place in the classroom and focused on the “theoretical” aspects of policing, no students took notes of any kind—this despite the extensive amount of information written on the chalkboard that students were explicitly told they would be responsible for remembering. Both students and trainers found much lacking in the process and the curriculum, with the biggest problem cited being a lack of time to teach all the necessary information, forcing tough decisions about how to spend the limited training period. One of the most common complaints in this vein was the amount of time spent out on the training court instead of in the classroom. A senior trainer explained that he feels most of the mistakes made are mental, and that these mental mistakes come from the students being forced to receive instruction while sitting on an asphalt slab in the hot sun for several hours after going through physical training. He further criticized the notion that during these lessons the students should sit in proper military fashion since it leads them to focus so much on sitting properly (to avoid punishment) that they can’t pay attention. He said he

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has complained multiple times to his superiors to no avail, and “this is why the students are always waiting for twelve o’clock” instead of listening to their instructors. The lack of time was especially evident in the many trainer exhortations to practice these new skills at home. When learning how to properly present and shoulder arms, the students were told to practice at home over the weekend with their family’s rifle, or failing that, a broom handle. Sometimes these calls for outside study were a means for covering information there simply wasn’t time for, such as when students were told they should familiarize themselves with computers and the internet because technological crimes are likely to be the way of the future. It was a regular feature of lessons for instructors to note that each point they were discussing really needed its own lesson but that this quick explanation would have to suffice for now. The problems with the training process were regularly remarked on by those I interviewed outside of the academy as well. The assistant director of emergency police in a major city complained that the training leaves recruits so ill-equipped for police work they have to be retrained upon starting the job. Similarly, the director of investigative police in a different city complained that many police graduate training yet lack basic knowledge he considers fundamental to the job. The director of a police office in Suly complained about a lack of education regarding basic police tactics, explaining that many cases are ruined because the officers arriving on the scene aren’t aware they are not supposed to disturb the crime scene and don’t know how to properly collect evidence. It is hardly surprising that such a short, haphazard, and underfunded training process is not producing competent officers, especially since it focuses largely on self-presentational matters to the detriment of most any meaningful education in the many varied functions police will be expected to fill. Taken altogether, marching, saluting, and presenting arms account for roughly two-thirds of all training time, despite these being skills that have little relevance to democratic policing. This raises questions of how much this force was ever intended to be local police organically tailored to the specific needs of the new federalism. The significant failures of US and coalition forces to adapt the training process to local needs and conditions forces us to consider the notion that the United States never had a fully realized democracy in mind. Rather, the many problems and inconsistencies make far more sense viewed not as failures in the state-reconstruction process, but instead successes in creating a weak and dependent client state.

5. “If You Have No Degree, You Can Work Here” Qualifications, Consent, and Coercion

A central component of any police reconstruction project is a concerted effort to differentiate the new democratic force from its predecessor;1 almost by definition, if a force is undergoing a reconstruction effort, it is due to some fundamental flaw in its previous organization and activity. This is very much the case in Iraq, where police under the Hussein regime were well-known for their corruption and brutality.2 This chapter explores how police themselves believe the force can and should move away from their predecessors, while also examining how and why these good intentions have not translated into reality.

Who do the PoliCe Want to Join their ranks? Who Shouldn’t Join the Police Given the multitudinous reports regarding the corruption and abuses associated with the police, I was interested in what, if anything, disqualifies one from joining. Beyond official guidelines, I wanted to build a typography of whom trainers and students thought would be well suited for police work, contrasted with those whom they would not want to join. As it turns out, academy trainers and recruits alike put a premium on a potential applicant’s physical and moral fiber and their ability to dominate suspects but remained conspicuously silent on the many other qualities necessary for competent, democratic police work. By far the most common response regarding what makes one unfit for police service centered on the moral standing of the individual. Sirwan offered a representative response in arguing one is not qualified if they are without good morals, “They are not fit to be police. The police should have good morals, because police are working in so many different offices and 97

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so many people will go to those offices. So people should have good morals and treat people well.” What constitutes good morals differed among respondents, but most based their judgment on reputation or criminal history. Hardi gave a few examples of those morally unfit for policing, such as “Those who are always fighting, maybe they will have a bad reputation among people. And those who are having bad friends. And those who are always standing in front of the cinemas or something like that. Those who are always falling in love in a silly way.” Hawler simply stated, “Criminals and thieves should not join the police.” Zara extended this argument a bit further, focusing on things that may indicate past criminality. He believes anyone with visible tattoos should not be allowed to join the police, “Maybe they have done that in the prison or the jail, so those kind of people, it will not be possible to police. Maybe those have been imprisoned before, so they might have a bad reputation.” The other moral failing most often cited was sympathizing with extremists, or lacking patriotism. Jalal felt police should turn down “those who do not agree with our country and those who do not agree with our parties and our government.” Closely following moral defects, physical imperfections, even seemingly minor ones, were also a major source of concern regarding potential recruits. Hawa explained that police “should not be handicapped. If he’s the best boxer in the world, but he only has one finger, he should not be accepted to be police. He has no right to become police.” Other various physical problems held up as disqualifying conditions included being blind, deaf, missing limbs, or not being big enough to physically control another person. Many answers also centered on mental illness and disabilities as major disqualifiers for police. Mahmoud explained, “If he or she has a short cut in their body, or with mental disease [they should] not be allowed to be police. He or she should be perfect.”

Who Should Join the Police While often the answer given as to who should join the police was simply the inverse of those disqualifying conditions, the specific attributes desired paint a fuller picture of what recruits and trainers feel are the most important attributes for police. Indeed, it turns out that when asked the question in the positive sense, the answers took on a very different tenor than when asked in the negative. Although high moral standing was still a common answer, when discussing the qualities police should have, the answers centered much more on the importance of being welleducated and physically strong.

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Students and trainers alike believe police should have high levels of education, and most respondents spoke in lofty terms about the education police should have. Many made comments similar to Ali, who argued police “must be very clever, must be prepared for everything. He’s completely different from normal people, because, for example, when he’s in the checkpoint he’s going to meet people who are mad, people who are clever, who are lazy, rich people, poor people . . . therefore he has to have a good behavior with all of these sorts of people.” Closely following this desire for high levels of education, respondents also expressed a strong preference for physically gifted candidates. Numerous respondents answered in pretty much the exact words of Kamaran, who held that any potential police recruit “in terms of his or her body, they should be perfect.” Hiwa extended this demand for perfection, arguing, “That person who wants to be police should be complete and perfect in every aspect of his life, even his body.” Hardi believed that in order for police to “complete all the lessons and all the training that is taught here,” they should “be young, not old, not older than [30].” Majid shared this ideal of youth, arguing new police should be selected from those “who have not gotten married so far. Those are better than the others. Those who are single, without babies and families, so they will pay attention while they are training.” These qualities viewed as most desirous for police recruits speak volumes to the message police personnel are receiving regarding their role and the functions they are asked to fulfill. Perhaps unsurprisingly, these ideals are quite similar to those favored in American policing, where personnel are recruited and trained around a myth of police as solely dedicated to crime-fighting, while steadfastly ignoring the other aspects of the job that actually constitute the bulk of police work.3 This is a problem, as police in a democratic society should more properly be conceived of as a municipal government agency that houses a wide variety of functions, and any sort of meaningful democratic reform will be impossible until the multiple objectives of police are openly recognized and accepted.4 These desired recruit qualities further speak to the powerfully originative role police play (and will continue to play) in the shaping of this young democratic state. Again similar to American police training, in which “technical subjects are emphasized over basic principles of law, democracy, and human relations,”5 this focus on the physical requirements and aspects of the job sends a clear message of what is considered “real” policing and serves to marginalize the myriad other activities police will be called on to perform. As such, while one could envision a wide range of

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functions and duties for police in a young democracy, or even more simply a wider range of criminal activities for the police to concern themselves with, police are instead being molded into a very narrow view of crime, in which the behaviors of the poor and working class come under intense scrutiny of the police, while the criminality of the wealthy and powerful (such as the rampant corruption discussed elsewhere) are met with, at best, token attention.

Who Actually Joins the Police Although interview respondents gave a clear picture of whom they would and would not like to join the force, it was clear that few met these exacting standards. Respondents themselves complained of two things lowering the overall qualification levels of the police; the first being those who have joined the police for the wrong reasons, while the second, and much more common complaint, was those without sufficient education. As Soran summed it up, “There is no difference between the one who has a bachelor degree. Even if you have no degree you can work here.” When Chamal was asked about the biggest problems facing police, he immediately identified the low level of education. When pressed on this and asked if he felt most police were not sufficiently educated, he replied, “Yes, unfortunately. Alas.” Later in the interview he was asked if students ever fail the training process, and he noted with some resignation, “No one has failed here, but most of them will not understand.” Bhedar similarly lamented the lack of education among Iraqi police, “I will not hide with you, here in our system there are many wrongs in establishing police, because they are going to establish someone who is uneducated, so maybe that person will not treat people perfectly, like the educated person.” Berham went further, lamenting, “Here, those who are not having a good literacy or education are becoming police. It’s vice-versa in other countries. There, those who have a good qualification can become police. For example, if you look at traffic police, he’s going to ask you for your license in such a way that you are going to want to kick him or hit him because he has no [education].” Complaints of the low level of education among the police were not limited to the academy, as police I spoke to throughout the region complained of uneducated officers. One high-ranking officer in a major city complained to me that his officers lack basic understanding of police practices he believes shouldn’t even require training, giving the example that many don’t know they aren’t supposed to disturb a crime scene before an investigation has taken place. Further testifying to the low levels of education on the force, while in-person interviews

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were never a problem, survey distribution was occasionally difficult as many low-ranking officers lacked sufficient literacy to read and answer the questions. When asked about whether there was a need for more police in the region, Nwenar felt it to be a quality not a quantity problem, arguing that increasing the numbers of police “may not be logical. . . . Make them educated, make them learn every rule of every human rights article. . . . For example, to send ten police to arrest one criminal or one person, if they are not fully educated and not aware of the human rights articles, they are going to curse them, or all of them are going to shoot him or do something like that.” The idea that less-educated colleagues are responsible for instances of excessive uses of force was fairly common among respondents, such as the director of a small rural police station who himself was a college graduate. He explained that he understands the need for restraint, and that is “a difference between me and my colleagues—they don’t have much education. I don’t believe in violence.” Many also identified people who do not truly want to be police as another major problem. When asked why a student might fail, Lawk argued it is those who don’t want to be police, “They are unwillingly coming, that’s why they fail.” A great number of respondents felt that accepting applicants from the ranks of the impoverished and those desperate for work causes many problems. In response to a survey question asking students who would make for bad police officers, many answered similarly to the student who argued, “The person who is compelled to join the police lines or under the influence of poverty cannot succeed.” Others correspondingly argued that the police should not accept “people who dislike but are compelled to take the job” or “the person who is obliged to work, but hates the job,” and many even singled out themselves, such as the student who said those who shouldn’t join the police are “those who are obliged to do the job just like I am.”

Why do PeoPle Join the PoliCe? I Really Need a Job Perfectly illustrating the concerns that too many recruits sign up for the “wrong” reasons, by far the most commonly stated reason for joining the police is a simple need for a job. Given the high rates of unemployment, it is unsurprising that a strong majority of those I interviewed had experienced extended unemployment themselves, pushing them into policing. Bhedar, a trainer at the academy, explained this is due to “the ratio of

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unemployment in the civilian ministries. In the Ministry of the Interior, there is more opportunity to be employed. Many graduated students are coming here, and I’ve asked them why, and they say it’s because of the joblessness and unemployment.” Another trainer, Ali, echoed Bhedar’s comments, arguing the primary reason Kurds join the force is “because of poverty, or because they do not have any other certificate to be employed in any other institution, therefore they are obliged to become police. It is the best chance to be employed, to be police or Peshmerga or something like that.” Here we see one of the major challenges of attempting to reconstruct a police force after decades of dictatorial rule, in combination with the neoliberal restrictions on government spending, as being a police officer here is neither prestigious nor prosperous, making it a frankly unappealing job. This stands in stark contrast to the experience of police in America and other established democracies, where the job is typically well compensated and largely respected, and many officers grew up dreaming of becoming a member of the police.6 This could not be further from the truth in Kurdistan or wider Iraq, as the police enjoy little support from the public and many members of the force have no desire to be police or remain on the job in the face of most any other employment opportunity. That policing is a last resort or stop-gap measure for most students and trainers is plainly evident in how openly many speak of wanting a different career or turning to policing only when all other options were exhausted. As government work is by far the most stable and easiest to access form of employment,7 most people’s stories centered around their inability to get into a different, better paying ministry. Kemman noted, “Most people nowadays are going to graduate from the university, but maybe they do not have any opportunity in the other ministries to be employed. So because of the lack of opportunity, they decide to become police.” Koren agreed, “I have many friends who have graduated from university and then came to be established here because it will be easier to be established here rather than the civilian ministries.” This view of policing as simply a means for making money was especially evident in response to many questions that weren’t directly about motivations for joining. This is exemplified by what Majid had to say about who should and shouldn’t join the force. According to him, the only people with no need to join the police are “rich people, because they don’t need this salary. Now that I am police, I have a salary that helps me rent my house and provide for my living expenses. There’s no reason for rich

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people to get up and work at six in the morning like me.” Or as one survey respondent put it in response to whether he would recommend policing to others as a career, “No, because those who enjoy good living quality do not ever need to be a policeman,” while another respondent noted, “If the person has a certificate [degree], I will not accept him; but I will help the person who does not have certificate to get the job, because the police job is the only thing left for us.” It’s not just the difficulty of finding a different job that persuaded many to join but the perception that finding any other line of work would be practically impossible due to widespread corruption and lack of available work. Kumar complained, “The only way for many to be employed is to become police because there are no guarantees in the companies for those who are not related to someone.” Or as one representative survey response put it, “If you have a certificate but no wasta support then you are nothing.”8 Another survey respondent agreed, “I have low income. I have a certificate but no wasta, and therefore I joined the police.” Similarly, more than one interview respondent clearly felt their only other option for employment would be in the illicit economy, which typically means becoming a part of the smuggling trade, a practice flourishing in the region due to the difficult-to-monitor terrain and to the near absence of government outside of major urban areas. Nwenar discussed his decision to become a police officer to escape unemployment, “There was a high ratio of unemployment. So . . . I have chosen this field. It is unlike smuggling or something else, because they are always doing things against the law and against the rules of our country.” Furthermore, many students and trainers were perfectly clear that they not only did not want to be police but were actively searching for other opportunities. One student, Sirwan, complained of all they were asked to do, “I would like to be more free in this age and doing more things by myself, not being regulated by the police field. The style of hair and other things . . . I can’t do those here.” A trainer, Peywan, spoke of joining the police because he found his construction job too difficult. But again, police work is seen as a way station rather than a profession. “I couldn’t continue on in that difficult job, so I gave it up, but not forever. I am now here to be police, but sometimes I will do that other job.” Others simply made no effort to hide their contempt for the work, such as Berham who said, “It’s not my interest to be police. It’s just for the sake of making a living . . . I do not consider myself police.” Although the number is too small to draw any generalized conclusions,

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interviews with academy students were especially revealing of how they regarded the job simply as the best option at the moment. Specifically, I asked if they would recommend joining the police to others. Of those who said they would, most responded rather tepidly, such as Rubaad, who paused to think about it and replied, “Yeah, it’s ok. It’s not too bad.” But others wished they could impart what they have learned about policing to prevent others from making the same mistake. On whether he would encourage people he knows to become police, Sirwan emphatically answered, “No. Never. Never, never. I would never like anyone else to be police. I would like them to prolong their study, and through getting a good certificate, maybe he or she can provide for their life in a good way.” With the greater cover of anonymity provided by the written survey, students were much more loquacious in explaining how simple economics pushed them into policing. Several noted they could not find work, even with a college degree, and turned to policing as a last resort, such as the student who joined because “when I completed my studies, I could not find employment. I was compelled by life to accept the police job.” Many noted that not only did they feel forced into joining the police but they resented the job. One student wrote, “I am the son of a martyr and never wanted to be a policeman, but I was obliged to become a policeman and am looking forward to the date when I resign.” Another student agreed, “I hate the police job, but for life support I joined its forces.” Yet another went even further, “I finished institute studies; because I did not know wasta, I could not get employed. I would have chosen death if I had had any options. I am obliged to choose policing because it is better than nothing.” Even those who saw policing as a fundamental social good often expressed feeling forced into it, such as the student who wrote, “Though the police job is sacred, I am never happy with it. I dislike it. Poverty and lack of job opportunities in other directorates motivated me to join the police.” Beyond choosing it simply because it is one of the few jobs available, people choose policing because of its relative safety and because of the low educational requirements (the lowest of all government ministries). Berham provided a common response, “I had no time to complete my studies, so I had given up on school and went to be a worker for some time. Later on I saw a major who asked me if I’d like to be employed here, and I said ‘OK, it’s better than being a worker.’” Others were quick to point to the low education requirement when explaining why one would be compelled to join the police, such as Chamal, who related a story of how policing was a common bit of advice to the unemployed, “Those who were jobless, people said to them ‘go be police,’ and they would be received.”

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To Defend Our Nation and Our People Although it was by far the most common reason given (indeed, there was no interview in which it was not mentioned), money was not the sole motivating factor in the decision to join the police. Several of those interviewed noted that for their experience and education level, policing is a relatively nice job; the KRG is not nearly as dangerous as elsewhere in Iraq, and policing is far less dangerous than the military. This attitude is best summed up by Shar, a young student at the academy. When asked if he would encourage others he knew to become police themselves, he noted that “there isn’t really much danger in the police field” and that he would “explain to them it’s not too heavy . . . it’s good to be police.” Still others seemed to be simply resigned to their fate, as was Dilsad who originally signed on temporarily but now has “become accustomed to the job.” However, by far the most common nonmonetary reason for joining the police stemmed from a desire to protect Kurdistan and their people. For instance, Ramyar noted, “I became police for the sake of serving and protecting our people’s rights so no one and none of our neighbors can interfere with our people’s affairs or violate them.” Two things are notable about this seemingly more noble desire to join the police force—it was nearly always accompanied by (and typically subordinate to) a need for employment, and it was usually expressed as either a desire to serve the KRG, or as a desire to protect the region from outside interference. Hawa is a good example of this, both in how he puts pay first in his list of motivations and in his concern for the potential actions of enemies. When asked why one would want to become police, he answered, “Two things—we want to be paid, because of the cost of living. The other is to serve and protect our country from enemies.” Several respondents called policing a “holy profession,” with Harman best representing this end of the spectrum in saying, “I’m always ready to sacrifice myself according to our people and country and our soil.” While some recruits may come to the job with this attitude already,9 and the idea of patriotic defense of the nation is used in recruiting efforts,10 many recruits adopt this attitude from a training process that continually highlights militaristic tactics and an ideology of defending the nation. While this line of reasoning for joining the police certainly comes across as more noble than simply joining for a paycheck, it is similarly problematic, as it is specifically and intentionally not the job of police to defend the nation from outside forces. As discussed in chapter 2, the separation of police and military forces was a watershed moment in the historical

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development of democratic policing, and this is even more so the case in a nation struggling to develop a legitimate democratic government. That this has become the attitude of students and trainers is not surprising given the militaristic nature and content of training, but the fact that the US-instituted curriculum and US-educated trainers reinforce rather than contradict this notion again forces questions as to the intentions of the training process. This desire to protect against “outsiders” is significant in revealing whom these police see themselves as and whom they see themselves as serving. Iraq as a nation is still a very weak federation; although Iraqis of all walks of life are likely to view themselves as Iraqis,11 it is far from clear this means they identify with the Iraqi state. Among interview respondents, a majority identified as some mix of Kurdish and Iraqi. While an incredibly complex question to answer, it was clear that to the extent Kurdish police identify with the Iraqi state, it is more because they recognize current political reality than because they seem themselves as true and full members of the Iraqi political body. This question of identity is important because this may affect their performance as police in various ways and also because police are not a random sampling of the population but rather a group of individuals who have chosen to align themselves with the state (albeit rather tenuously in many cases) in becoming state actors representing a state institution. Yet within this group, there is only a weak connection to the state, and many of them grant little legitimacy to the central government.

seParatinG From the Past Views on Saddam’s Police Distinguishing themselves from their brutal and corrupt predecessors remains a major challenge for police throughout Iraq. Surprisingly, many Kurdish police were willing to begrudgingly admit that Saddam’s force did perform some aspects of the job well, but all clearly pride themselves on being a more professional and democratic force than that which proceeded them. Specifically, through respecting the rights of citizens and building a force of volunteers, they hope to replace the image of police as violent thugs with one of a restrained, respectful force. Given the brutal legacy of Saddam, especially his violent campaigns against the Kurds, I was surprised by the nuance many respondents took when discussing past policing regimes. While even those who found some positives in Saddam’s police nearly always made sure to condemn them

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as well, many noted that not all of the police were corrupt, and that many were forced into their servitude. Hiwa is a good example of this attitude, noting, “At that time, when someone had his or her home robbed by someone, the police came to you and were going to search and investigate the stealing. So in that case they would help you. But generally, they are going to threaten you, and hit you by their hand and by their baton. Generally, they were a suppressive organization.” Soran similarly claimed, “If you are going to say all of them are bad and incorrect, I don’t think so. Because at that time if there was no police, maybe people would like to commit crimes and steal things. Of course they had done something good.” Others offered that the force was at least professionalized, such as Sefin who argued, “Maybe they did something well. At that time, there was no nepotism or giving someone higher rank or making them a higher rank. It’s unlike that here.” Kamaran offered even more tepid praise of the previous force, “The best thing they did toward us was to speak honestly or open with us at the checkpoint when they asked for our ID. They were good to us, but that’s it. Nothing else.” Finally, several respondents pointed to the fact that some of those police are still serving as a sign they weren’t all corrupt, such as Ramyar who argued there were a fair number of police who were “good and excellent to people, especially Kurdish police. They are still working in our government right now, those police, because they were good and excellent at that time.” Surprisingly, a few respondents carried a fairly romanticized view of policing under Saddam, although this mostly stemmed from a perception that police at that time had more power and earned a better salary. Nazdar, a trainer, noted that one of the biggest differences between police under Saddam and police postinvasion was that “at that time, the salary of police under Saddam Hussein was enough for them. They got a high salary, but it is not enough for us today.” Similarly, Berham talked about how police now face regular salary shortages, “I would like to raise this complaint to those above me, because they did not give us that amount of money. I asked my friend to go with me to demonstrate in front of the governate’s office in order to be given our full salary, but my friend didn’t dare to do so.” Student survey responses similarly complained of salary levels, but they focused more on the influence of wasta and corruption. One student argued that while in the past it was not difficult to rise through the ranks of police, “Today you need a higher certificate in addition to wasta” to get ahead. Another said that while Saddam’s police were “lawful with rights and tasks,” today’s police are run by “wasta, bribery, and corruption.” Finally, a few complained that in the transition to democracy, police have

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lost their privileged position in society, such as the student who argued, “At the time of Saddam, police got more respect . . . whoever pointed at the police would have his fingers cut off. But now, you have to question yourself.” This begrudging respect of the previous force’s ability to make the trains run on time, so to speak, may offer another clue as to why the training process takes on the symbolic militaristic form described in the preceding chapter. While obviously due in large part to the influence of the Department of Defense, the militaristic model may be intended to signify certain ideas about the professionalism and capabilities of the new police. For although it is only anecdotal evidence, many members of the public I spoke with shared this same mix of hatred toward Saddam’s police and yet begrudging respect for their ability to control crime. With the current force largely incapable of crime control, it makes sense that it would borrow certain elements from the previous regime (a highly militarized presentation oriented around displays of strength and discipline) while adopting a rhetoric of human rights and democracy that distances itself from the unpopular elements of that previous force. As such, the current Iraqi police can be seen as attempting to borrow the image of the success of its predecessor while simultaneously rejecting its unsavory aspects. Yet despite this begrudging respect and nuanced understanding from these respondents, most saw nothing good at all about the Saddam’s police. Many responded similarly to Firas, who simply said police at that time were “totally corrupted and totally bad. They didn’t do anything useful for Kurds.” This theme of dismissing the previous force due to their unequal treatment was common in many responses. Kemman noted, “As a Kurd, when I went to any office, they always made me late and entered the Arab ones before the Kurdish ones. My grandfather and three uncles were martyred by that regime.” Similarly Hardi said about these previous police, “Whatever they wanted to do, they did for the interest of the Ba’ath party.” Many were content to simply disparage the police under Saddam. Even those like Majid who were willing to concede the possibility of them having done something well were still ready to condemn. He calls those police “totally corrupt. Maybe they have done something good or something positive, but they have also done hard and bad things.” Awdil agrees, “They were not police during that period, they were criminals.” Jalal argued that police under Saddam “attacked innocent people and criminal people equally together. They were going to burn wet and dry together.” But this perspective was best summed up by Ali, “They haven’t done anything

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good at all. They deserve [us] to talk about their badness forever. It is not enough to talk about their badness for two minutes.”

How They Differ from Saddam’s Police Respondents spoke at great length explaining what differentiated them from the previous force. The most common difference cited could be categorized as respect—for the public, for the law, and for human rights. Mohammed noted, “The first difference is that now if police are going to arrest a suspect, they are going to practice all human rights articles, not violate the criminal’s rights. They consider him a person and a human being.” Dilsad believes a lack of respect caused the rift between the police and the public, something only now being overcome because “they were practicing Saddam Hussein’s principals and laws, they were not practicing human rights. Now we are practicing human rights and . . . police now are mixing with the people and visiting with each other.” Respondents also emphasized that an important difference between themselves and their predecessors is that they serve all of society under the direction of law. As Rizgar, an academy trainer, explained, “There are many differences, but the biggest is that they were dictators. All of them were working for their own interests and their own party, they were not working for the whole community or the whole society. But right now police are unlike at that time. Police now work for all the people equally.” Bedad felt listening is the biggest difference between the two forces, “Police at that time were doing violence against people and would not listen to you. . . . But right now police are going to listen to people or have a discussion with the people.” Peywan also saw this as the defining difference, “At that time, there was no use for speaking with police. Police would not speak with you in a calm way. . . . But now police are not like that, there is more freedom of speech now.” Harman explained, “Saddam Hussein was going to punish you without listening to you and without investigation. . . . But right now, us police, we are going to protect the rights of suspects and listen to the suspect carefully.” It was clear that, for most respondents, a major aspect of demonstrating respect stems from being nonviolent, or at least far slower to violence than the previous force. Rubaad remembers, “At the time of Saddam Hussein, police were going to answer people with bullets. But now the police discuss with people.” It was also clear this aversion to violence was not only good policing practice but a way to separate themselves from their predecessors. As Nazdar explained, “I’m always going to teach my students they should treat people peacefully and in a very calm way. Police should try to make

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more beautiful those bad clothes that had been left by Saddam Hussein’s regime.” For many, the point was so obvious it did not require elaboration. Mohammed simply replied that the biggest difference between the two is “there is no hitting people anymore,” while Polan similarly noted, “At that time, police were going to kill people, but so far here, right now, there is no more killing like that.” Similarly, many respondents pointed to the fear Saddam’s police evoked, arguing the new force, with its emphasis on respect and human rights, has changed that fear to gratitude. As Ramyar explains, “At that time, if I was police, then everyone would be afraid of me and everyone would run and hide themselves from the police. But now, everybody from the young to the old and the ugly to the beautiful are going to give the police a flower, and it is a sign of peace, you know, and a sign of good and excellent police here.” Many focused on the importance of a change in outward appearance as well, such as Harman who recited a laundry list of changes police have gone through, highlighting, “We have changed our clothes, even, because they had worn a kind of bad clothes and everyone was afraid of them. And now . . . we have changed our clothes into these nice ones.” There was an anecdote shared by a variety of respondents to demonstrate the fear of the old regime. According to the story, Saddam’s police were so feared they were used to scare children into complying with their parents’ wishes. Ali compares it to other nations to show how ludicrous those police were, “In Europe and America, people say when they leave home, they advise their children that when we’re not present, your second parents are the police. During the Ba’ath regime . . . parents told their children, when they wanted the children to sleep and they did not sleep, they would say ‘we’re going to call the police on you’ in order to frighten them.” These ideas of what separates the current force from the previous regime are notable for how they illustrate the police attempting to project an image of legitimacy to the public and for how they highlight the shallowness of the police training process and the vast discrepancy that exists between official training and actual practice. While respondents regularly spoke of their respect for the rights of the accused and their high esteem for human rights, few could identify how these concepts should actually inform practice. Rather, the terms bore the unmistakable mark of public relations buzzwords; they were nearly meaningless phrases that everyone involved clearly knew were important but few actually knew what they meant. Similarly, the description of a disciplined force slow to use violence would be a great development, but as evidence demonstrates, is far from the lived reality of Iraqi policing.

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the Clash oF rhetoriC and reality While much can be learned from the day-to-day reality of policing, there is often value in examining what happens when the status quo is breached in a significant way. Such “trouble cases” serve to highlight the subtle rules and norms that are often hidden in daily life, as “it is at these moments of trouble that the systems of law that regulate social life are laid bare, raised into the domain of the explicit.”12 Here I will discuss two such problem cases that demonstrate the gulf between the professed ideals of police in the KRG and their actual practice on the ground.

Police Response to Public Demonstrations My first extended stay in Suly coincided with the Middle East Spring,13 the wave of uprisings across the region that saw sustained protest and demonstrations, notably leading to the exile of former president Mubarak in Egypt. Iraq was no exception to the spreading discontent, and cities across the nation experienced intermittent demonstrations and anti-government activity. However, no city in the nation matched Suly in terms of size, intensity, or duration. Until a brutal government crackdown ended them, the demonstrations drew thousands of people daily for a period of roughly three months. The direct impetus for the unrest started on Thursday, February 18, when a small group of demonstrators marched on the local offices of the Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP) demanding increased social services and an end to the rampant political corruption of the region. As is often the case, the exact series of events that transpired varies depending on the source, but what is agreed upon is that KDP security forces opened fire (either in an attempt to disperse the crowd or with lethal intent, depending on whom you ask) with the end result being dozens wounded and several people dead, including a fifteen-year-old boy. After news of this incident spread, a major demonstration was organized for Saturday, February 20, as local residents demanded an apology and criminal sanctions for whomever was responsible for the order to fire, as well as a renewed call for an end to corruption. After these demonstrations were again met with gunfire, the movement grew dramatically. Coincidentally, anticorruption activists in the south had already been organizing a national Day of Rage similar to those in Egypt and Syria for the Friday of the following week (February 26), hoping to spark the same type of mass movements gripping those and other nations. Although occasionally featuring marches, the demonstrations in Suly

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largely took place in the center square of the market, a place both physically and symbolically in the center of the city. Following the example of Egypt and elsewhere, the center square was rechristened ‫ آزدی‬Square, with Azadi meaning freedom and Square said in English. The demonstrators themselves were unarmed and peaceful, and represented a wide swath of local society. Indicating their support for the reforms called for by demonstrators, students at the local university initially held their own solidarity demonstrations, and later announced a boycott of afternoon classes so they could attend the daily speeches that typically began after the midday prayers and would often last until sundown. As an indication of the historical importance of these demonstrations, multiple prominent artists and scholars living abroad came back to support the cause and were often featured speakers, their impassioned pleas for change booming from the make-shift public address system, bouncing off the walls of the shops throughout the bazaar. Although the demonstrations were largely fueled by the initial violence they encountered, for great stretches of time there was little violence or unrest. However, these peaceful periods were tempered by the presence of multitudes of security personnel and a few periods of intensely repressive violence. From the beginning, demonstrators were met by an enormous security presence, consisting of local and national police, Asayish, military, Peshmerga, and private security forces. An emergency situation was declared and all activity at the training academy was suspended as all qualified officers were pulled from training and sent to police the demonstrations. All of the roads leading to Azadi Square and much of the surrounding area were blocked off by police and military vehicles, and the KRG declared the first curfew in the region since Saddam had been deposed.14 This serves as a prime example of the context in which Iraqi police are operating. Not only do the police not yet have a monopoly on the legitimate use of force in domestic affairs, situations like this vividly demonstrate exactly how far from that ideal they are. As discussed in chapter 2, the multitude of roles police play in such a situation, ranging from communication to conflict resolution to crowd control, are roles that only police are fully capable of fulfilling in a legitimate constitutional democracy. All the other actors and agencies listed above have neither the institutional capacity nor mandate to act in accordance with established law and precedent. The fact that such an event like this is clearly not considered the sole province of police shows how little capacity and legitimacy they possess. The first few weeks of the demonstrations featured regular clashes with

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security forces, leaving hundreds injured and at least ten dead. Security forces regularly opened fire on demonstrators during this period, and the area of Azadi Square behind the speaker’s platform became a sort of triage center, as injured demonstrators were rushed there to be treated free from interference by security forces. Local nurses lead a volunteer crew in basic first aid, though the number of injured persons and the severity of their wounds often outpaced the capacities of this makeshift brigade. Because of this violence, the demonstrations were marked by informal zones of relative safety. In the very center, nearest to the speaker’s stage, were those with elderly relatives or young children, those with disabilities, and other more vulnerable people. Outside of this inner circle were the majority of demonstrators, as well as those who simply came to the bazaar to see what was happening. At the very edge of the demonstrations were mostly young men and current and former Peshmerga members, who most directly interacted and sparred with security personnel, and who were typically the victims of their aggression. Despite the strong warnings from my friends that I should not venture to the outside of the demonstration, curiosity got the better of me and after a few days of observation from the protected inner circle, I took up a place on the fringes of the gathering. In what I first thought was a bit of gallows humor, a local journalist friend of mine explained to me how to understand the different sound of a gun being fired in the air as a warning and that of one being leveled to fire at the crowd. I quickly learned that while there is indeed a great difference between the sounds, it’s largely unnecessary to know, because by the time the guns are being leveled to fire directly at you, the crowd will have begun to run. At that point, there is as much danger of being trampled by the fleeing crowd as there is being struck by bullets. The levels of violence employed are especially notable not only as violations of international human rights law, but also because such tactics are banned by domestic law as well. At the academy, the demonstrations often came up during question and answer sessions, with most questions centering on whether the response from security forces was proper. According to the trainers, not only should police have acted with more restraint, it was illegal for security forces to be using slingshots and marbles on the demonstrators, and that shooting at them with guns is completely forbidden. The students were urged to show much more restraint should they be in that position, even if they are yelled at or pelted with rocks. Yet again, however, this rhetoric of restraint was belied by the actions of police. An incident I observed at the academy serves as a good illus-

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tration of both the numbers of security forces deployed, as well as the cavalier attitude many of them seemed to have toward the demonstrators. As I arrived at the academy one morning in late April, most of the training staff were being loaded onto a large, tour bus type vehicle and seemed to be having quite a good time—smiling, laughing, waving farewell to each other, etc. Thinking they were heading somewhere fun, I asked the first lieutenant I came across what the occasion was, and he replied with a laugh, “Oh, we’re going to the bazaar to crack some heads and then we’ll be back.” The early days of the demonstrations were also marked by a great deal of confusion and questionable events, such as a loud explosion that took place near the speaker’s platform the first week. Security forces claimed it was a faulty generator that had exploded, while demonstrators claimed to have seen concussion grenades deployed by police. However, the incredibly thin presence of international and nonstate controlled media makes it difficult to know what exactly happened in such situations. The fear that the situation could quickly turn far more violent lead to most all international staff of NGOs being evacuated from the region, many of whom did not return until months later after the demonstrations were finally quelled. After the initial flurry, things calmed down considerably for an extended period. For the most part, the demonstrations were free from violence and tension as security forces and protestors reached a tenuous peace agreement while political leaders convened conferences attempting to address demonstrator concerns. Although calm, the presence of security forces was readily evident, as they ringed Azadi Square and snipers were often visible on the taller buildings in the market. By the time political leadership decided to end the demonstrations, security presence in Azadi Square had reached saturation levels. The crackdown began with a proclamation criminalizing all unlicensed demonstrations,15 and was quickly followed by a massive increase in security forces. Local television reports put the number of security forces at 10,000, and while there is no way to verify this number, there were so many on the streets they ran out of proper equipment, forcing many to be armed with lengths of PVC pipe instead of batons and slingshots with marbles in place of the rubber-bullet guns. By the time the square began to thin out in observance of the nighttime curfew, the city center would be littered with marbles and spent bullet casings, as well the occasional pool of blood from a demonstrator struck by marble, baton, PVC pipe, or bullet. Ending the demonstrations initially took the form of banning sleeping in Azadi Square (dozens of demonstrators had been camping there to keep

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a continual presence), which turned into a ban on being there after sundown. Every night at dusk, scores of military trucks loaded with security personnel would stream into the market and anyone unlucky or unwise enough to have not vacated the area could expect arrest, beatings, or both. This gradually became a ban on any form of gathering at the square after security forces were able to finally clear the square of demonstrators completely. At this point it ironically looked like the security forces themselves were demonstrating, as the thousands of protestors were replaced by hundreds of heavily armed security personnel physically occupying all available space in the square. By now, the various leaders of the demonstrations had either fled the region or were staying in a constantly rotating set of houses out of fear for their lives, and any group of men teenaged or older that wandered too close to the square could expect a forceful reaction from the security forces; dozens of men claiming they were only in the market to shop were beaten and arrested. Checkpoints were resurrected around Suly and police and military officials refused to allow anyone who did not live in the city to enter, with several military camps established just outside the city limits. In one of the most bitter ironies of the demonstrations, security forces were patrolling the outskirts of the town on Malik Mahmud road. Known as the 60 Meter Road during the Hussein era, it circles the entire city, and when occupied by military vehicles, effectively shuts it off from the outside world. The road had been specifically designed by the Hussein regime as a way to contain the citizens of Suly, known for their anti-Saddam resistance. The idea that he had been ousted only for the new regime to employ his literal avenues of repression was an irony not lost on the demonstrators, and was repeatedly referenced throughout speeches and conversations at the demonstrations. One of the most notable aspects of the government response to the demonstrations is the deal brokered between Massoud Barzani, thenpresident of the KRG, and the central government. In order to quell dissent, Barzani is accused of trading political favors for more military and police to bolster numbers.16 This is important not only as a demonstration of the massive security response to the demonstrations but because it marks the first time GOI security forces were voluntarily invited into the KRG, which was seen as incredibly insulting to the majority of Kurds who view the non-interference of the GOI as one of the most tangible benefits of the occupation. This and other such moves to so violently put down the demonstrations drew widespread criticism from within Iraq as well as from international media and human rights organizations.17

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“Fight Them Back with the Law of the Jungle” Police demonstrate a similarly contradictory attitude toward the use of torture, with nearly everyone I spoke to condemning its use in the abstract, but many willing to allow or even endorse its use in some cases, especially for those suspected of being members of the Islamic State. Once again, I found officers in 2017 were just as likely as officers had been in 2011 to explain to me that excessive force such as torture was illegal and forbidden, and that while it may happen occasionally, its use was fading to insignificance. Baban, a mid-level officer in a rural department, explains, “We are allowed to use force when capturing and arresting people, but we don’t support the torture of arrested people to get confessions. This is illegal. Successful inquiry officers should be able to get confessions without torture.” Sharwa, another mid-level officer in a different department, similarly argues that torture is “about to get to the end and we can hardly find such kind of means to be used in the inquiry . . . generally torture has been controlled, restricted.” However, when it comes to IS, more than a few officers directly advocated the use of torture and other extra-legal means of force in investigating the organization. But rather than simple retribution, most framed their acceptance of torturing suspected IS members as due to the perception only torture will get them to talk. Karwan, a deputy director of a police department, explains that in the case of IS, the use of torture “will be normal. I think there should be torture for them throughout the inquiry because most of those people are trained and have been tortured before as a process of training. So they have been prepared for such a kind of situation.” Bewan, a mid-level officer, makes the same argument, “Those people, they are trained, they will not be giving any information, except when tortured. And they will not tell you who are the others, who are supporting them, where he has come from, and what would be the plans and the next thing . . . so they will not be giving you any information without torture.” Xebat, a colonel in charge of several units, justifies the torture of IS by arguing they are “a group that would not submit to any kind of law, they don’t respect any kind of law, so you need to struggle against them and fight them back with the law of the jungle.” He goes on to argue, “Working on a legal basis with those people would not be a positive choice.” Indeed, he feels not only that torture of IS members is acceptable, but that all members of the organization should be summarily executed, as a prison sentence would only delay their inevitable next attack. He likens them to a deadly contagion, explaining that if you put a member of IS in prison, “you

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will be putting a virus-like human being in the prison and they will spread their ideas, even in prison. And finally, their destination is to be free, to be released into the community! So they finally will be released, and they are viruses! You will be keeping them alive and safe for another time in the future, another generation, so they will be spoiling and infecting the next generation when they come alive again!” It’s quite likely this approval of torture extends well beyond just those suspected of being a part of the Islamic State, as one director of a local police station complained to me that the torture of in-custody suspects is so rampant he has to plead with the men under him to stop, “Even if someone comes in holding a gun with bloody hands and confesses to killing their father, I tell them ‘Do not torture him!’” Similarly, Azmar, a member of the Supreme Court, explains, “I hate crime, but so often I cannot believe their testimony due to torture,” adding that in his estimation, “Eighty percent of people who confess to terrorism have been tortured.” This is clearly not a problem limited solely to those I spoke with, as both media and human rights reports make clear that the torture of in-custody suspects is a routine occurrence throughout the KRG and wider Iraq.18 Yet in all of the training sessions I attended and all of the training materials I’ve read, the violent repression of the demonstrations and the widespread torture of those in custody being in direct conflict with the ideals of restraint and the laws of the KRG and Iraq were rarely addressed, and then only in the most superficial of manners. The behavior of police and their continual use of excessive force and extra-legal means of interrogation can be traced to this fact; although police are acting inappropriately, it can’t be said they are contradicting what they learn, as they receive precious little training or education on the subject. While police actions at the demonstrations and support for the use of torture are just two of the many examples of official rhetoric not being reflected in reality, they are quite telling. It has long been documented that police training in America features a hidden curriculum that teaches recruits to ignore and even reject the high-minded principles of rights and liberties espoused in the official curriculum.19 This is a powerful example of how that same process is operating in Iraq. The police themselves recognize restraint and nonviolence are keys to legitimacy; indeed, many spoke eloquently of how such restraint is key to gaining the public’s trust. However, violent repression of demonstrations and the outright advocacy of torture for suspected members of IS sends a clear message that this adherence to non-violence is largely empty rhetoric. It appears Iraqi police training is well on its way to joining its American counterpart in produc-

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ing a strong sense of cynicism on the force, essentially teaching young officers to reject official institutional doctrines regarding appropriate use of force and the rights of the accused. The heavy-handed tactics employed by police damage the legitimacy of official police doctrines, but more importantly, they threaten the fundamental basis of the police’s legitimacy with the public. Though the public may not be aware that these actions of police and other security forces are illegal under both international and domestic law, it is clear much of the public feel these actions to be completely inappropriate and guided by political, not legal, concerns.20 This is especially important not only for the prospects of legitimacy for the force, but the larger state as well, as Gramsci reminds us “Lapses in the administration of justice make an especially disastrous effect on the public: the hegemonic apparatus is more sensitive in this area, to which arbitrary actions on the part of the police” are especially notable.21

From Conscription of Force to Laissez-Faire Conscription The final major difference respondents identified between the two forces is the change from a force of obligation to a force composed of individuals who choose to be police. Majid notes, “Under Saddam Hussein’s regime, there was nothing good about being police. Here it is your option to be police, but at that time, they were obliged to be police. And I pray that situation will never come back.” Similarly, Kajaw explains at that time “that person would be police forever. Police at that time couldn’t resign, it was obligatory. But now I know that if my salary is not good enough . . . I can resign and no one will be an obstacle for me.” Beyond not being able to leave the profession, many respondents further highlighted how the previous police were forced to carry out the whims and dictates of Saddam regardless of their own feelings. Hardi explains that now “if police will be ordered [by someone] above themselves, for example, to kill someone, it is up to police to kill them or not. It is his own right to think of the problem and if the order has come to kill that person and that person is innocent, the police cannot kill that person. But at the time of Saddam Hussein, the police were going to kill that person even if he or she was innocent. So police now have a right of freedom.” Indeed, most of the arguments as to why the force was better now centered on the freedom of thought and action police feel they have now compared to police under the previous regime. For instance, Polan, a trainer, argued that the previous police were “oppressed by Saddam himself. And he obliged them to do everything. But now police are free to do everything and are not obliged, and it’s more optional and democratic.” Similarly,

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many student survey respondents identified this new-found freedom, arguing the biggest difference between the two forces was “the difference of being compelled to be a police member and your own choice,” or that “today police members are free to quit whenever they wish while the old time police were not free.” While a move from a force of obligation to one of volunteers would be a positive development, one is forced to consider again how accurately this rhetoric reflects reality. Given the almost-exclusively monetary reasons most cited as why they joined, it seems the freedom from forced conscription has instead been replaced by a form of economic conscription. As several students noted in their surveys, the difference between Saddam’s police and the police as they are now is that “in the past, our people were forced to be police and now, for living expenses, they are obliged to do so” or “today people join the police for life support, but at Saddam’s time it was compulsory.” Security forces comprised of putative volunteers who have been effectively forced to join due to economic necessity has long been a feature of capitalist societies. Writing over a century ago, Connolly argued, “Economic conscription” existed to force “men into the army by depriving them of the means of earning a livelihood,” and that conditions of high unemployment and resource shortages of the likes Iraq is currently experiencing “compel these men to enlist—or starve.”22 While there is surprisingly little research on how this process affects police recruitment,23 there is a well-developed literature on the effects of conscription on military forces that can help us understand this process. A central finding of this research is that economic conscription has disastrous effects on the qualifications of recruits and their ability or willingness to perform the job. Conscripted forces have significantly higher turnover rates, which cause a number of problems, ranging from personnel having “less training and lower motivation,”24 being more likely to use force indiscriminately, showing less respect for human rights, and creating much greater incentive for corruption and other illegal activities.25 This frequent turnover further leads to higher expenditures on training new recruits to replace those who leave, lowering recruitment standards to fill the constant vacancies, and personnel significantly underprepared for the roles they need to fulfill.26 The fact that police forces throughout the nation are experiencing nearly all of the problems predicted by the literature on economic conscription—high turnover rates, acceptance of poor recruits, underprepared personnel, incentivized corruption, a reliance on brute force and disrespect for human rights—supports the argument Iraqi police have shifted from

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a force of direct conscription to a form of laissez-faire conscription. Here, much like so many other aspects of this reconstruction effort guided by a narrowly-dogmatic neoliberal vision, those in charge of police reconstruction attempted to let the market dictate who would be a qualified police recruit. However, again similar to so many other aspects of the reconstruction, the market supplied a solution hardly better or even much different than the problem they were trying to solve. It is obvious the need to differentiate the current force from their predecessors has been an emphasis in training throughout the reconstruction; nearly every police officer I have spoken with had specific, concrete ideas about how this should be achieved. Most responses center on the recruitment of well-educated personnel and being less reliant on the use of physical force, instead favoring a restrained approach centered on respectful dialogue with the public. Yet despite these commendable ideals, the current force is plagued by many of the same issues as its predecessor. The public behavior of the police toward political demonstrators and criminal suspects, as well as the explicit support of many police for torture and other extra-legal means of interrogation and detention, forcefully demonstrates how the rhetorical commitment to respect human rights and restrained use of force has had little impact on the actual behaviors of police. Furthermore, instead of being highly qualified individuals dedicated to democratic justice, most police recruits join out of a desperate need for employment, and many do not meet the already lax required qualifications. Given these factors, it is difficult to come to the conclusion this is a truly a volunteer force.27 Despite technically being composed of volunteers, it is clear the forced conscription of the Hussein era has simply been replaced by a form of economic conscription. While the method of conscription has changed, the results have largely been the same. This also helps us understand why the police forces in both the KRG and wider Iraq can’t seem to get any better. Even in a well-established, stable, democratic nation such as the United States, where police enjoy a great deal of legitimacy with the public, employ qualified recruits, and enjoy substantial resources, they have an incredibly difficult time fulfilling all the roles asked of them. That a force hardly a decade-and-a-half old staffed by a significant percentage of personnel who joined only out of economic desperation is unable to fulfill hardly any of the roles asked of it should not surprise anyone. As such, while police clearly understand both the need to differentiate themselves from their predecessors and how the force could go about doing so, the end result is a police force whose attitudes and behaviors are alarmingly similar to their Hussein-era counterparts.

6. “The Law Is in One Valley, but Reality Is in a Different Valley” Tribes, Political Parties, and Governments Compete for Control

The preceding chapters highlighted a recurring split between rhetoric and reality within the training and operation of the KRG’s criminal legal system. While some might be tempted to blame this on the skills or aptitudes of the personnel or the weaknesses in their institutions, the reality of the situation is significantly more complex. The conditions in which Kurdish police and judges find themselves operating would prove incredibly daunting for even the most well-trained and experienced legal actors. Once again, the absence of a legitimated state exercising hegemonic leadership looms large; police and judges within the KRG operate on behalf of a government without clearly defined powers or even borders, one that is perpetually on the brink of war with the federal government that the KRG is technically subordinate to. Between the ongoing fighting of the KRG and GOI and the historical lack of popular legitimacy for Iraqi government institutions, nonstate organizations such as tribes and parties draw significantly more loyalty than government institutions, and they regularly intervene in or undermine the official legal system. Yet even if they were not in direct competition with these other groups for legitimacy and jurisdiction, police and judges in the KRG would still face a legal code with no constitutional basis constructed from a patchwork of different traditions and customs. The challenges presented by the activities of the Islamic State bring all of these problems into sharp relief, as no one within the KRG, wider Iraq, or among the world community seems to know which laws apply to the organization and its members, who is responsible for investigating and prosecuting their crimes, and how anyone could resolve the jurisdictional questions posed by a criminal organization operating out of its own self-declared nation in territories seized from multiple governments. 121

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the nebulous nature oF semi-autonomy The position of the Kurdish people within the Iraqi state has been a continually contested question since the founding of the nation, as successive Iraqi governments have long wavered between recognizing the diversity of its various ethnic enclaves and identifying as an Arab nation.1 The Kurdish people remain the “world’s largest nation without a state,”2 and despite decades of state repression and genocide, Kurdish culture has “maintained its distinctiveness and integrity”3 as Kurds continue to fight for an independent state. Indeed, Kurds have been rebelling against governments in Baghdad long before there was any notion of the unified territories known as the Iraqi state.4 Yet it was the creation of the Iraqi state by British forces in the aftermath of the first world war, in which a large portion of traditionally Kurdish lands were swept into the new nation, when the modern battles over self-determination and governance within the KRG began to take shape. Shortly after the nation’s founding, an agreement between the British and the newly installed Iraqi government recognized the rights of the Kurdish people to autonomy, but this agreement was quickly scuttled. The British were sympathetic to Kurdish arguments but viewed Kurdish areas (particularly oil-rich Kirkuk) as too economically important to allow them to fully separate from the new nation, while the central Iraqi government feared any compromise on Kurdish self-rule would lay the groundwork for secession.5 This mix of broken promises, a vacillating central government, and a world community willing to abandon them in favor of other geopolitical concerns quickly became a pattern for Iraqi Kurds. So much did this pattern repeat itself that it is fair to conclude the “twentieth century was a graveyard for Kurdish aspirations.” 6 Following the overthrow of the monarchy and establishment of a republic in 1958, the interim constitution declared that Arabs and Kurds were partners in the new Iraqi state, but this agreement quickly fell apart.7 Similarly, shortly after gaining full control of the Ba’ath party, Saddam reached an agreement with the Kurds regarding their autonomy. Formally issued in 1970, this proclamation granted a fair amount of autonomy to Kurds in majority Kurdish areas, recognized the use of Kurdish as a formal language in these areas, and called for a census to resolve the status of disputed territories.8 However, soon after this proclamation, a combination of rising oil revenues allowing for a massive expansion of the army and police as well as continued Kurdish insistence on retaining oil-rich Mosul and Kirkuk led Saddam to abandon the agreements,

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yet again reinforcing Kurdish mistrust and suspicion toward the central state.9 The closest the Kurds of Iraq have come to gaining their own nation was the official recognition of Kurdistan as a semi-autonomous region and the creation of the Kurdistan Regional Government following the 1991 Gulf War. That the KRG could officially exist without the direct interference of the Hussein regime is largely due to the no-fly zone maintained by US forces, serving as a prime example of how foreign support has been essential to the KRG’s survival.10 The origin of the US-enforced safe zone for Kurdistan in turn serves as a prime example of the dense mix of geopolitical concerns that have driven major world players to either care or not care about the fate of the Kurds. While the safe zone was established in part because of the role the Kurds played in the Gulf War (and their opposition to Saddam more generally), it also served as a key US compromise with Turkey in exchange for continuing US bases in the nation, as the existence of the KRG meant Iraqi refugees could resettle there instead of Turkey, freeing it up to focus on suppressing its own rebellious Kurdish population.11 In addition, the oil-rich and traditionally Kurdish city of Kirkuk was specifically excluded from the no-fly zone due to fears of the Bush administration that its oil revenues would allow the Kurds to establish a fully independent state.12 The 1990s marked a rough period of transition for the Kurds of Iraq, as the existence of the KRG granted them meaningful political and cultural rights for the first time in decades, but at the cost of extreme economic hardships. The KRG suffered under the weight of a double embargo, as much of the world embargoed Iraq and the Hussein regime, who in turn internally embargoed the KRG, forcibly closing many of the KRG’s borders and drastically limiting their ability to trade with other nations.13 This economic devastation exacerbated the problems of an already deeply wounded Kurdistan, as the Anfal campaign of the late 1980s killed thousands of Kurds, destroyed much Kurdish industry, and resulted in an estimated million internally displaced people who had been forced off their land.14 Further limiting the ability of the nascent Kurdish region to grow was the profligate use of landmines by the Hussein regime. An estimated total of ten million landmines were buried within the KRG, killing thousands of people since the end of the Gulf War and continuing to provide a significant impediment to the development of agriculture.15 The 2003 invasion did little to settle the question of Kurdish independence or self-rule. While the constitution holds Iraq to be a federal “multi-ethnic, multi-religious, and multi-sect country,”16 the Kurdish

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people strongly argued for independence, and many throughout the south objected that the new constitution gave too many concessions to the Kurdish region and paved the way for secession. Article 140 of Iraq’s federal constitution calls for both a general census of the Kurdish region (the last census of Iraq occurred in 1997 but did not include the KRG17) and a “referendum in Kirkuk and other disputed territories to determine the will of their citizens”18 as to whether they should be considered Arab or Kurdish territories, setting a deadline of December 31, 2007 for these to be completed. Although neither the census nor the federal referenda ever took place, the first independence referendum in the KRG garnered a 99-percent vote in favor of seceding from Iraq.19 It is undeniably clear the majority of Kurds still favor independence, as every subsequent vote on the matter of secession has produced overwhelming majorities in favor of leaving the Iraqi state. Yet Kurdish independence was strongly opposed by both the Bush20 and Obama21 administrations, and these areas remaining part of the Iraqi state continues to be official US policy.22 As a result, the KRG as a political entity and many Kurds themselves ironically became somewhat strong supporters of federalism in Iraq; because independence is currently unlikely, they have attempted to act as a more-or-less unified Kurdish bloc in federal politics as a way to protect their interests in the postinvasion state.23 While many remain highly distrustful or outright antagonistic toward the central government, there is also a certain sense of attempting to get the best deal possible out of an otherwise undesired situation. Further complicating the relationship, it remains an open and highly contested question as to how much of Iraq’s territory the KRG actually controls. While there is very much an undisputed KRG and an undisputed Iraq, there “has long been a more fluid border running through those territories on the ground.”24 Indeed, the entire southern border of the KRG remains undefined and under dispute, as the constitution refers to “disputed territories” but does not actually define them, leaving “a tangled web of administrative and security arrangements that sit atop poorly defined administrative boundaries amid a toxic legacy of mistrust.”25 It is important to note that the disputed territories are not empty territories but rather are filled with thousands of soldiers who “renegotiate the boundary regularly on the ground.”26 Each side has used various battles to enter and claim the other’s territories; most recently as Iraqi army units proved incapable of defeating the Islamic State, the KRG used their superior Peshmerga forces to clear IS out of significant areas and then claim those liberated areas for

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themselves, increasing the amount of land under KRG control by up to 40 percent.27 However, these territorial gains were short-lived. In September of 2017, the president of the KRG, Masoud Barzani, called for another independence referendum, a move strongly opposed by both Baghdad and Washington. The referendum again returned a lopsided vote strongly in favor of independence, and in combination with the expansion of KRG territory in the fight against IS, authorities in the central government reached a breaking point, arguing the vote was tantamount to a declaration of war.28 No longer in a position of weakness due to the near-total defeat of IS and knowing world powers would not intervene on the side of the Kurds, the central government quickly struck back, launching a surprise offensive against the Peshmerga, retaking Kirkuk and a significant portion of the lands the KRG had claimed following their defeat of IS forces.29 This proved to be a serious setback for the KRG in many ways, as they not only lost a significant amount of land, but more importantly, lost control of many of their oil fields and arable farmland, two lynchpins of their autonomy and hopes of independence.30 The disastrous fallout of the independence referendum was a key factor in Barzani’s decision to finally step down from the presidency, while the Supreme Federal Court of Iraq invalidated the vote and declared no province could secede.31 The relationship between the KRG and the central government continues to be one of contestation, with little reason to believe any of these lingering issues will be resolved in the near future. This is perhaps best illustrated by the ongoing fights over how and where Kurdish oil can be sold; while nominally part of the federal government and therefore part of Iraq’s overall oil output, oil produced in the Kurdish region has been a central aspect of the fight between the KRG and GOI. The Kurds began signing international oil contracts of their own without the central government, and in retaliation, in 2014 the central government successfully negotiated an injunction against Kurdish oil being sold in the United States and suspended disbursement of the 17 percent of federal oil revenues due to the KRG under Iraq’s constitution.32 While the disruptions of oil production and transport posed by IS forced compromises between the KRG and GOI, the Kurds continue to occasionally withhold their oil output and seek their own international distribution contracts.33 Kurdish pursuit of oil contracts independent of the central government is about far more than economics, as it also ensures powerful international actors have a stake in the continued existence of the KRG. As former president

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Barzani explained, “if ExxonMobil came, it would be equal to ten American military divisions. They will defend the area if their interests are there.”34

On Working with the Central Government Far from uniting the Kurds and the central government in the face of such a significant threat, the fissures caused by IS have created yet another battleground between the two entities. According to media and human rights reports, the extent of coordination between the KRG and GOI in the fight against IS has largely been limited to the sharing of troop positions and movements so as to avoid friendly fire.35 The coordination between police, courts, and the legal systems of the two appears similarly limited; mirroring the confusion over which laws apply to IS, as discussed below, respondents evinced similar confusion over how much, if any, coordination existed between the two legal systems. Yet regardless of how much coordination they perceived as existing, the majority of those I spoke with made it clear they neither needed nor particularly wanted assistance from the central government. As Shamal, a high-ranking officer in a rural department, put it, “There is no coordination or relationship between us police and Iraqi police. I personally, which is something that would not be nice to say, but I have to confess that I’m not ready to shoot one bullet” in defense of the central government. According to Daraz, an appeals court judge, there is a committee that is supposed to coordinate legal cooperation between the two governments in cases that cross each other’s jurisdictions or involve parties from both regions. It exists for “submitting cases that they want to see referred to Baghdad, and we want them to refer some cases to us.” However, he quickly added that while “the committee is there, it’s not going well. It’s not active.” Tosin, a midlevel judge, similarly explained, “The governments don’t get along, so the connection is not so great. There is some coordination, but still there are barriers and problems.” Still others felt whatever coordination exists is on a personal rather than institutional level, such as Lazgin, a judge who explained, “As governments, we don’t have any relationship with each other. But it’s a personal case; when I go to there, the Iraqi court, so then I will have a look at the Supreme Court decisions, the appeal court decisions, and just like a personal experience, I hope to make use of the things that they’ve done and look at it. But there’s no vital relationship between us.” Similarly, Dilgash, the chief of police in a large city, notes that while in general police across the nation have the same objective of fighting crime and terrorism, “there is very little coordination. There is some on the personal level, but not on the institutional level.”

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However, the few respondents who spoke of these personal relationships and informal means of coordination were a distinct minority, as most respondents reported there being no coordination between the legal systems of the two governments, and furthermore many reported a refusal to work with the central government were any such coordination attempted. Baban, a high-ranking police officer in a small town, offered a representative comment, plainly noting that “in terms of relationships among police stations and GOI police and courts, there is no good relationship.” Though he explained they do have a representative in Baghdad, “Even when we raise cases through the hierarchy there, often they will sit on the case and do nothing for a long while. If we sent a notice to arrest a Baghdad resident, they wouldn’t do it.” However, he explained the matter works both ways, “It’s the same for us. If they send a notice to arrest a Kurdish citizen, we wouldn’t do it.” In some instances, this lack of cooperation between the two is born of jurisdictional issues. Beyond the already murky demarcation of where GOI jurisdiction ends and KRG jurisdiction begins, the superior abilities of Kurdish forces in the fight against IS has meant they are battling the organization well outside of the KRG’s borders. As such, although crimes committed by IS members may be happening within GOI territories, their victims are often Kurds. Azmar, a member of the KRG’s Supreme Court, gave this example, “Some IS members were arrested in Mosul that were killing Kurdish Peshmerga and Asayish forces, and torturing them, and [committing] suicidal bombs against them, so although Mosul was belonging to the center, the IS members arrested in Mosul were treated according to the KRG legal system. So we were trying them and not giving them back to Baghdad.” He noted that in cases like this, the central government has “asked us ‘why do you try them in Kurdistan? We are viable to try them.’” He said the KRG gave a “crystal clear answer: because they are people that want to harm our Kurdish people, and the Kurdish forces have arrested them, and they are right now in Kurdistan, we have the right to try them.” Given the complex nature of handling IS cases, Azmar reported that the central government accepted this line of reasoning and “didn’t give any kind of objection, actually.” Beyond these jurisdictional issues, respondents spoke of a lack of desire on both sides in establishing a good working relationship due to the longheld animosity between the GOI and KRG. Bafran explained that while “supposedly Iraq is a federal country,” the relationship between the two “seems like two different countries. . . . Sometimes they may not submit to each other; they may not take into consideration what the other party

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would say.” He feels this comes from both parties, and that ethnic tensions and government fighting prevent whatever official systems are supposed to be in effect. As he sees it, the relationship is “a kind of conflict where they don’t go back to the legal texts. It’s not based on the legal system. It’s based on a kind of ‘I’m going to treat you the way you treat me.’” He went on to explain that the central government legal system won’t work with their Kurdish counterparts, “In the constitution both the Kurdish language and Arabic language are the formal languages of Iraqi people,”36 yet if they are working with the central government and send anything in Kurdish, “they will send it back to you and say we will work only in the Arabic language.” Finally, another common response from those I spoke with centered on the problems with the central government’s legal system. Roazj, a midlevel judge in a major city, believes it imprudent to involve the central government, due to his perception that their legal system is even more beholden to outside forces than is the KRGs. He explained, “The Iraqi Court does not have such a kind of power and authority to implement things fairly. Why? Because the militias have got something to do with that, and the threats they receive have something to do with that, and the interference by the political parties and figures has got something to do with that. So as far as I know, they cannot implement their role appropriately.” Jawtyar, a police chief in a major city, similarly argued, “Justice does not go well in southern Iraq. Because there is a kind of religious sectarian tension there between Sunni and Shiite. Now they’ve got powerful people among police and among judges and courts, so they may do something which is fake, which is not real, and take this innocent person and do something harmful to him without being accused of anything.” He goes on to give an example of a case of mistaken identity, where an innocent person with the same name as a criminal suspect had been mistakenly arrested. The arrested man’s family came to his station and “was telling us please keep him here, don’t send him back, because of the name and because he is Sunni, he might have been just tortured badly or even poisoned in the prison there while he’s innocent.” He explained they refused to hand over this person to the central government because “in the middle and southern regions of Iraq, there’s no strong justice system.”

the PoWer oF nonstate orGanizations Due to these many overlapping and undefined jurisdictions, rather than thinking of Iraq as a failed state, it’s better to conceive of it as a web of

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“complex sovereigntyscapes”37 still being negotiated. While this is true of the relationship between the KRG and the central government, the existence of multiple overlapping and oft-competing “sovereigntyscapes” is just as true of the internal politics of the KRG. Deriving from both the traditional political and familial structures of the region and the particular experience of being a persecuted ethnic group with highly contested political recognition, or none at all, political power and representation among the Kurdish people has long lain with nonstate organizations, which continue to hold significant sway despite the official recognition of the Kurds as full political participants in the federal Iraq and the recognition of the Kurdish government. In many ways the power of these nonstate organizations arises from the same conditions that led to the rise of IS, as described in chapter 3; when the government is neither effective nor legitimate, people rely on nonstate organizations to fill those gaps. While their goals and aims are quite different, they similarly function to undermine the official government.

Tribes Undoubtedly the most prominent nonstate organization drawing the loyalty and allegiance of people throughout Iraq is the tribe. This is true for Kurds and Arabs alike, and the tribal traditions of the region have strongly shaped the political structure of what eventually became the Iraqi nation. The lands that now comprise Iraq represented one of the further edges of the Ottoman empire and therefore were not subject to as much direct control, which allowed for tribes to continue to exert control over very large swaths of area outside of the major cities.38 Successive Iraqi ruling regimes found it useful to allow tribes to maintain a certain level of power as a way to either consolidate their own rule through clientelist relations or as a counterbalance to other powers that might threaten them. The British authorities who founded the Iraqi state were careful to construct a government that would not be too powerful and therefore able to operate against British interests (discussed in detail in the following chapter). One way to ensure the Iraqi government would never become too strong would be to incorporate existing nonstate organizations like tribes into existing power arrangements; allowing tribal leaders to continue to wield significant power throughout the countryside would be essential to preventing the young nation’s king from consolidating too much power.39 Indeed, the initial Iraqi constitution of 1925 officially excluded rural areas from the purview of national law, leaving Iraq to be quite literally governed by different sets of laws within the city and countryside.40

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Saddam Hussein similarly carefully orchestrated state spending and political organization to include or exclude various tribes as a way to extend clientelist relationships dependent on the regime while undermining potential challengers to his dictatorship.41 Similarly, the US-led occupying authority strategically advanced or blocked the role of tribes within power-sharing arrangements in a manner similar to their British predecessors, again to prevent any single group from becoming powerful enough to meaningfully challenge American interests in the fledgling nation.42 Tribal influence and loyalty are thus not simply holdovers from the past but rather continuations of a central mechanism for the continuation of patron-client relations,43 to the point where in both Kurdistan and wider Iraq, “the community is not one of citizens, but of family and clan members, fellow tribesmen.”44 The existence of two separate sets of laws for the city and rural areas officially ended with the 1958 constitution, and tribes have no officially recognized powers today. The drafted but never ratified constitution of the KRG contains no mention of tribes at all, and there is only one mention of them in the federal Iraqi constitution, marking them as an important part of civil society but explicitly prohibiting any tribal traditions that “are in contradiction with human rights.”45 Yet it remains simply a fact that tribes organize much of Kurdish and Iraqi life, especially outside of the cities where the official government largely does not exist. Indeed, most research participants used the terms rural and tribal interchangeably, and it was clear that for many judges and police officers in rural areas tribes would have to be consulted in most affairs. According to Bewan, an officer in a rural station, in many cases people won’t even seek out the official criminal justice system, as “always tribal is the first one. In the countryside, the tribe is more powerful than law.” While there is considerable difference of opinion about whether this influence of the tribe is a positive or negative, most everyone that I interviewed agreed tribes were at least as—if not more—influential than the official legal system. This is not something isolated within the KRG or wider Iraq, as informal means of dealing with criminal and civil offenses have long been features of legal systems throughout the world, at alternating times condemned or condoned by official actors.46 This is a point not lost on those I spoke with; for instance, Tosin told of taking a training course in England that highlighted how each community has a set of norms and ethics that they expect the formal legal system to respect. He explained how sometimes the intervention of powerful community members, such as sheiks and tribal leaders, is helpful because they command

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more respect than the official legal system and are able to get people to accept the judgments he and others hand down, but this can be equally problematic when these powerful community members disagree with judicial rulings, ultimately concluding that “in all societies there are some good norms and bad norms.” While the intervention of tribes into the criminal justice system takes myriad forms, officially judges are allowed to accept tribal reconciliation for certain cases. Essentially an informal, community-based method of settling disagreements, tribal reconciliation draws from much older forms of dispute resolution, allowing a sheik or tribal leader to essentially act as a judge, with their ruling respected by the official criminal justice system. Theoretically, there are limits to this practice; tribal reconciliation must be agreed to by all parties and is only officially allowed for a variety of smaller criminal and civil cases. However, in reality tribal reconciliation is often preferred to the formal legal system and occurs even in major cases. According to an appeals court judge I spoke with, a number of courts will accept tribal reconciliation for matters as serious as murder; while not officially allowed, judges will simply accept the results of reconciliation and then report there isn’t sufficient evidence for a trial so they can dismiss the case without further review. Other times, tribal reconciliation is specifically used to circumvent the formal criminal justice system. As Bafran explained, “When people think they’re not backed up by the law and the legal system . . . some people—especially some high-ranked community members that have some position or affiliation with powerful figures—would appeal to sheiks, the tribal power, or something like that” to ensure a favorable outcome. According to the police chief of a small town in an area he describes as “very tribal,” police work is often hampered by its public nature. He explains that often people will file a claim only to have an older relative come by shortly after and withdraw it, saying they will handle it themselves, preferring the facesaving privacy of tribal reconciliation to a public investigation and trial. In other cases, some will abuse the public nature of the official legal system, filing false claims against the actually aggrieved party. That is, those who have committed a crime will file a baseless claim against the victim, offering to drop their false claim if the victim agrees to tribal reconciliation instead of pursuit of a legal case. Sometimes the interference of powerful community members takes on a much more direct and blatant nature. During an interview with a police chief in a midsize city, we were interrupted by a frustrated officer telling the chief he was being berated and abused by a suspect he had just

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arrested who has powerful family members. The suspect was so confident that nothing would happen to him, he had no problem causing all sorts of trouble for the arresting officers and those who were attempting to question him. While the chief assured the officer that he would talk to the suspect and “let him know what the law is,” as well as “show the law” to anyone who supported the suspect in his quest to escape punishment, the chief did confide that such interference is relatively common and that although he fights it, there’s only so much he can do. As such, a significant number of police and judges I spoke with strongly opposed tribal reconciliation and other forms of extra-legal criminal justice. Some, such as Dilgash simply hold that “it should be against the law. The right way to handle things is through the law and the courts.” Similarly, Xebat feels that tribal reconciliation happening without the legal system’s involvement is a “terrible action.” Perhaps unsurprisingly, judges seem to be the harshest critic of this process, which essentially usurps their position. As Azmar explained to me, cases need to be “referred to the courts and to be solved in the courts because what’s the role of courts if not solving these problems?” Similarly, Kavan, a retired judge who served on a wide variety of courts throughout his career, argued, “I’m against having double standards. Either have the legal system active and working and effective, or go to the social ways, of communities solving the problems. I do not like such kind of mix between them. It may happen sometimes in specific, certain occurrences or exceptions that social reconciliation may lead to some good consequences, but basically, as a basic principle, the law should be respected by all and appealed to by all groups.” He later went on to argue that allowing the community to take the law into its own hands often causes bigger problems, giving the example of a disputed land claim, “Sometimes you may find a group of people fighting over a small piece of land, and finally three people will be killed for that. So why do you do that? Go take the path of law and you will end the problem much easier. There are a great number of weapons that are widespread that lead to a lot of problems. The weapons need to be in the hands of the legal system only.” Yet a significant number of police and judges I spoke with either saw tribal intervention into legal matters as a good in and of itself, or at the very least, potential to be helpful. For instance, Sharwa, a midlevel officer in a midsize city, argued, “As reality and as my own opinion, we cannot solve all the problems, because the law will not be able to solve all problems.” He argued tribal reconciliation is often better because it leads to a meaningful resolution rather than simply an official ruling that may not please either party. He goes on to note, “For example, recently the side of a problem that

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had a complaint came to me and simply and easily forgave the person and took back the complaint. And when the person, the suspect, was released, they killed him in revenge. So here, the law has worked well because we’ve done whatever we could do, but since they had not reconciled outside of the law, the problem had not ended from the roots. So when the person got out, was released, the problem got more complicated and led to another murder.” Several other respondents similarly reported that if the tribe does not feel like the official punishment handed down was sufficient, they will wait until the offender is released and take their revenge on him anyway. Still others saw tribal reconciliation as essentially filling in the cracks of an official legal system that is often slow, unresponsive, or corrupt. Baban explained, “I think only 10–20 percent of people will report cases to the police and courts because they feel the courts are crippled and won’t respect their rights.” He argued this stems from both the widespread availability of weapons allowing for people to easily take lethal vengeance themselves, as well as the significant time it can take for cases to go through the official legal system, offering that he had personally witnessed a case filed seven years prior that still had not been resolved. Similarly, Shorash, a judge of first appearances, argued tribal involvement is both good and often necessary due to the corruption of the official legal system, noting that the outcome of legal decisions are often “related to the social backgrounds of people.” As such, he argued it is natural that when “the legal institution does not appropriately perform its job, people will try to find solutions outside the court or outside the legal system.”

Political Parties The other major nonstate organization central to understanding the power relations and social organization of both Iraq in general and the KRG specifically are the political parties. Throughout Iraq the lines between party and state institution are incredibly blurry,47 and this is especially the case within the KRG, where real political power has always been in party infrastructure and not the actual government.48 While there are numerous examples of the outsized role of the party in both power relations and daily life, a most telling example is that many cities and villages throughout the KRG have erected a series of placards on the road leading into their town, about 3 feet by 5 feet apiece, each displaying the picture of someone who was martyred in the fight against the Islamic State. Every placard is color-coded to indicate which party the deceased belonged to, party affiliation following even into death. In the KRG, two political parties dominate: the Kurdistan Democratic

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Party (KDP), led by former KRG president Masoud Barzani, and the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK), led by former Iraqi president Jalal Talabani for many years until his death in 2017. The two parties have had an oft-contentious relationship since the KRG achieved semi-independence; in 1994, only two years after the first competitive multiparty elections in the history of Iraqi Kurdistan, tension between the two erupted in a civil war, leading to an effective split of the KRG, with the KDP controlling the western half of the region and the PUK controlling the east. A peace agreement between the two was brokered by the United States in 1998 to settle major political differences and reunify the region, but the settlement was never truly enacted for a variety of reasons, not the least of which being the 2003 invasion dramatically altering the political landscape of the nation.49 The significant threats and opportunities faced by the Kurds in the overthrow of the Ba’ath regime essentially forced the two major parties to work together to create a unified front to advance Kurdish interests in post-Saddam federal Iraq. The PUK and KDP exert a massive influence on nearly all aspects of life within the KRG, something interview respondents and study participants spoke of at great length. For instance, when asked about the possibility of discrimination on the basis of ethnicity or gender, the vast majority of police and judges alike denied the existence of any such phenomenon. However, many would volunteer that discrimination exists, it’s just that it’s based on party affiliation. As Shamal explained, “I can tell you frankly that law is not sovereign in this country, especially not sovereign for authoritative politicians.” According to Sherko, a defense lawyer in a major city, the most important aspect to being appointed as a judge or rising through the ranks of the police is loyalty to a political party or a particular politician, a reason most such officials are not qualified for their position. Xebat, a very high ranking police official, explained, “The root of discrimination here is that, when there is affiliation—for example, with a highly ranked politician or military figure who put me there because I am affiliated to them—I’m close to him. So he has put me there, so I have to arrest the people that he dislikes and leave the people that he likes. So at that time, I have to obey him to keep staying in my position because my interest is in the position, you know?” A number of respondents, ranging from students at the academy to high-level police officials to long-tenured judges, expressed frustration that the best and often only way to move up the hierarchy is to ally oneself with one of the two major political parties, regardless of how one actually feels about them. Expressing support for any other political party can

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cause serious problems for those working in the legal system. For example, Lazgin told me of one case during the last election period when police officers who supported the Gorran party would be reassigned to faraway posts at a moment’s notice, as “they were sending them to a district far from Suly for political reasons. And they were not able to go there, to afford to get there, so they were being disciplined for being absentees. So their files were raised to our court [for official punishments], and we did not look at them, and we did not sentence them . . . because we said ‘there is a kind of political hatred that motivated those people to raise files against them.’ We regarded that as something that is going outside the law, that is illegal.” That these officers were punished for supporting the Gorran party is unsurprising given that it has been the only realistic challenger to the duopoly of the PUK and KDP. Running on a platform of anticorruption, limiting political interference in the judiciary, and ending the de facto twoparty rule of the region, ‫( بزووتنەوەی گۆڕان‬Bizûtinewey Gorran, Change Movement), often just known as Gorran (Change), managed to win a small number of seats in the 2009 elections50 and then won the secondmost seats in the Kurdish parliament (behind only the KDP) in the 2013 elections.51 The challenges posed by Gorran (and the growing dissatisfaction with the two major parties, which they represent) came to a head in 2015 when they, along with the PUK52 and a few other smaller parties, agreed to pass a series of laws designed to reign in the president’s power. While these encompassed a number of reforms, they generally revolved around making the president more accountable to Parliament and reducing the president’s ability to order the arrest of dissidents and otherwise quell dissent and demonstrations. While the changes to the constitution would have allowed Barzani to remain president, he would have seen his expansive powers restricted significantly. Most notably, in addition to losing the ability to bar demonstrations and imprison dissidents, he would have lost the ability to personally negotiate oil contracts with foreign nations without the oversight of Parliament. President Barzani and the KDP refused these changes and accused Gorran of inciting political violence, using this as a pretext for barring Yousif Mohammed, Speaker of Parliament and member of Gorran, from entering Erbil to serve his term and suspending all Gorran ministers from their posts, appointing KDP members in their place.53 As a consequence, Parliament was disbanded from 2015 through late 2017.54 At the same time, the presidency of Barzani, which had already been extended by Parliament past the limits imposed by Kurdish law,55 expired and could not be renewed since Parliament was disbanded. Combined with the heavy

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role he played in organizing and promoting the 2017 independent referendum, Barzani left office, leaving the presidency vacant for two years. His nephew Nechirvan Barzani was appointed president in 2019 after the KDP-dominated parliamentary elections, held due to a PUK boycott.56 Gorran is unable to provide much of an electoral challenge either, as it has recently experienced significant infighting and lost a significant number of its seats in Parliament. A new party called ‫( نواي نوي‬Naway Nwe, New Generation Movement) has arisen to take the anticorruption mantle from Gorran, but it has only gained eight seats in the Kurdish parliament, leaving it a relatively minor player in KRG politics at the moment. As such, despite the PUK boycott of the 2019 elections, the continued de facto twoparty rule of the PUK and KDP is likely to continue into the foreseeable future. That there is no serious challenger to the power of the KDP and PUK is essential for understanding the criminal legal system in the KRG. Much in the way tribal reconciliation is theoretically supposed to be only involved in a small minority of cases but practically speaking is often a replacement for the formal legal system, parties are similarly supposed to have little direct say in the operation of the legal system beyond their role in electing the politicians who appoint criminal justice officials. Yet once again, in actual practice, parties have an outsized effect on who rises through the ranks and who does and does not face legal consequences for their actions. While at a chaikhana with friends one day we ended up sitting next to a few midlevel police officials, and as so often happens, we joined our tables and conversation quickly turned to politics and corruption. One of the officers complained of how powerful government officials constantly interfere with their work, such as when they want to arrest someone who is politically connected only to be told they’re not allowed to do so. When one of my friends protested that surely this kind of direct interference can’t actually happen, the officer immediately explained that it happens often, and indeed directly, telling us of a number of times various politicians explicitly told him his officers weren’t allowed to arrest a particular person. Similarly, Judge Daraz explained that the idea that a powerful and respected figure can circumvent state rulings is seen as both common and obvious, and as such “we know sometimes some political figures would interfere with [legal proceedings], for the sake of hiding some suspects.” Daraz went on to boast that he is one of the few judges who resists interference from the parties, proudly proclaiming “I’ve signed so many decisions that big political figures disagree with.” However, he made it clear that he views himself as an exception, arguing that in other places,

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especially the capital city of Erbil, “judges are different. This is not my loyalty to the region, it is an unfortunate reality everyone recognizes.” In Erbil, he explained, “if a judge calls for a politician to come to court, the judge would be arrested!” Yet the interference of the parties into the criminal justice system goes well beyond such direct intervention, according to many I spoke with, as party affiliation or support of a particular politician is often central to being appointed to a judgeship or high-ranking police position. As such, many police and judges alike have been quick to acknowledge that many criminal justice actors aren’t qualified for their position, as their appointment was based on nepotism rather than qualifications. As the president of a major city’s criminal court put it, “less than 30 percent of our judges are truly fit for the job.” Azmar, the Supreme Court judge, ruefully noted that “there are some judges with a high position that, were it up to me, would not even be a judge for one day.” In a discussion with Sherko, the defense lawyer mentioned above, he argued that as a result of political interference in appointments, many judges know very little about how the constitution or the federal system works, telling me the story of a client of his who runs a laundry service and was arrested on charges of providing material support for IS by doing their laundry. He was arrested under federal Iraqi law but then tried under KRG laws, which the lawyer argued is a violation of both the federal order and the penal code itself, trying the man under the wrong statute. He summed up the state of the judiciary with “we have many judges here that if they had a tomato cart, I would not buy tomatoes from them, because they lack such judgment they cannot even judge a good tomato!”

leGal indeterminaCy What Is the Source of Laws? The influence of tribes, parties, and other nonstate actors would cause a significant amount of strain in even the most well-established states with long-tenured legal systems. In the KRG, the problems caused by these external influences are dramatically heightened due to the significant lack of clarity regarding many key legal issues. There is a long line of literature based on studies of the legal systems within America and other advanced democracies that demonstrates that even within these highly developed systems, legal doctrine remains highly indeterminate.57 That is, in everything such as how laws are written and the great latitude given to criminal justice actors in their interpretation and implementation of

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those laws, democratic legal systems allow criminal justice actors to justify almost any specific outcome in any particular case.58 This opens the door for the decisions and actions of criminal justice actors at every level to be highly influenced by fears, prejudices, power relations, and all other manner of conscious and unconscious biases. Given this is the case within long-established democracies with centuries-old constitutions and highly developed legal systems, such indeterminacy is dramatically heightened within a young democracy whose rules, laws, and practices are still emerging. A central factor contributing to the high levels of legal indeterminacy within the KRG is that it lacks a formal constitution. While one has been drafted and approved by the Kurdish parliament, it has yet to be voted on in the public referendum that would give final approval and thereby enter it into force.59 While the KRG is in some ways subject to the federal constitution of Iraq, its semi-independent status means that, other than in a few specific instances, Kurdish territory is governed by Kurdish laws. Yet without an official constitution, there is technically no formal basis on which legal decisions are made. As explained by a law professor at University of Sulaimani, the absence of a constitution means Kurds are utilizing what he terms orphan law. He argues that a major problem with the KRG’s criminal justice system—drawing from a mixture of the Iraqi constitution, the proposed but never ratified Kurdish constitution, and other various traditions—is that legal actors often pick and choose which set of laws they want to employ and which they don’t depending on their preferred outcome. Although there is no clear, agreed upon set of texts from which Kurdish criminal justice actors are to justify their decision-making, unlike American and other common law systems, the KRG employs a legal code system, meaning they are restricted to the legal code and are not to employ precedent in their decisions. As Shorash explained, in a comment echoed by many others, “there is no crime and there is no punishment without the written legal text.” Similarly, Judge Latif, a high-ranking judge in a major city, railed against this expectation, explaining “we do not create laws, we are not legislators, we just implement law. We hate that.” He lamented that because of this, “what I would like to do and what the law forces me to do are so often far apart.” However, while again noting that judges are supposed to strictly follow the legal code rather than rely on precedent, he explained, “But we all follow previous decisions, this is reality,” noting that the law in practice is often quite different than what they are technically supposed to do, as “the law is in one valley, but reality is in a different valley.”

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Which Laws Apply? This milieu of competing interests, ill-defined federalism and semiautonomy, and political pressures leading to the appointment of unqualified officials would make for difficult operating conditions in even the best of times. The explosive rise of the Islamic State greatly exacerbated this indeterminacy; the group’s almost gleeful savagery and medieval tortures and executions provoked widespread revulsion and terror, and the attempt of IS to build their own independent nation with land seized from Iraq and Syria directly challenged the sovereignty and authority of the KRG and the GOI. While other major terror organizations have sought to destabilize existing states, IS was the first to actually attempt to build their own sovereign state.60 As such, they posed a significant challenge not only to the KRG’s professed commitment to universal human rights and respectful handling of criminal suspects but also to the very categories of how we conceive of crime and punishment. Should IS members be treated as criminals, terrorists, or some heretofore legally undefined category of defendant? The question of how to deal with members of the Islamic State is not limited to the KRG or wider Iraq but rather a question much of the world is having difficulty in answering. While it is difficult to accurately gauge how many people emigrated from other nations to IS-controlled areas, estimates range from five thousand to ten thousand on the low end61 and up to a hundred thousand on the high end.62 Iraq and the KRG have asserted their authority to try IS members even when they were apprehended outside of Iraq, arguing that the battle against IS stretched across national lines, so it’s impossible to distinguish IS members based in Syria from those based in Iraq.63 Although other nations have voiced concerns about the KRG and GOI’s handling of IS members, especially their hasty trials and subsequent executions,64 the international community is largely unwilling to bring IS members back to their home nations to be tried or to establish international tribunals to deal with the organization.65 So disinclined to deal with the fraught legal questions surrounding IS, European governments such as France are allowing Rojava to try their IS-affiliated citizens even though it has no recognized government.66 As such, the KRG and GOI are left to parse through these many thorny questions on their own. Further compounding the difficulties within the KRG is an absence of laws designed to deal with cases like those presented by IS members. The region actually had a fairly robust set of antiterror laws, but they had

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a sunset provision requiring them to be renewed every two years. The last time the law was due for renewal was shortly after Parliament had been disbanded, so the law expired and has yet to be renewed. The Shura Council, a governmental advisory board on legal matters, has argued the law should still be applied despite its lapsing, but their rulings have no legal mandate.67 This means that technically the KRG has no distinct laws governing the arrest, sentencing, imprisonment, or general handling of those suspected of committing terror acts. This has left quite a bit of confusion for those within the criminal justice system, as it remains entirely unclear how they should handle cases involving IS members. Should they, as the Shura Council recommends, simply continue to apply the lapsed terror laws? Should they, in the absence of those terror laws, employ the laws laid out in the federal constitution? Or are they forced to treat terrorism cases the same as any other criminal trial, relying on whichever existing Kurdish laws could be applicable? There are no clear answer to these questions, nor is there really any existing body that could satisfactorily answer them. Unsurprisingly, this has resulted in a wide variety of opinions among criminal justice actors over which laws are applicable and how IS members should be treated. There is a clear consensus among everyone I spoke with that the lapsed set of laws governing terror cases were helpful and are sorely missed, especially with the wave of IS-related cases coming in the near future. Many shared an attitude similar to Lazgin, who explained, “There were so many details and articles and measures that were required to be met in the terrorist law before. That was feasible for handling Daesh cases, but right now people will try to treat those cases, and they cannot do so appropriately because they do not have a feasible legal system in hand.” Similarly, Daraz lamented the law’s lapsing and proclaimed, “There is a need for a new article or law, because their [IS’s] acts are described as terrorist acts and we had that law, but now don’t.” Police as well lamented the missing terror laws, with several speaking of them similarly to Shamal, who explained, “I believe there should be separate laws for IS cases and terrorist cases . . . because I think the laws that had been enacted before in the Kurdish parliament were really important. But unfortunately it was supposed to be extended, but since the Parliament is inactive, it’s not been extended.” While there was widespread agreement that the lapsed laws are sorely missed, there was clear confusion about which laws apply in their stead. The most common answer to this question was that the KRG is now forced to rely on the federal Iraqi penal code. Lazgin explained that because the

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Kurdish law lapsed, “we make our decision on the basis of another old Iraqi law, which is Article 156, which partially touched upon this kind of case. It says that whenever someone is acting against the security of the people of the country, you have the right to deal with them in this way.” Several others, both police and judges alike, agreed the most reasonable replacement for the lapsed KRG laws would be Article 156 of the Iraqi penal code, which holds that any person who “willfully commits an act with intent to violate the independence of the country or its unity or the security of its territory . . . is punishable by death.”68 However, many of these respondents also pointed out a number of shortcomings with Article 156, notably that it is clearly designed to cover acts of conventional warfare, and its applicability to terror cases in general or IS cases specifically is fairly questionable. Yet even more concerning to respondents is that Article 156, as is much of the current federal code, was drafted and passed in 1969 by the singleparty Ba’athist legislature. Bewan aptly summed up these concerns by noting that the penal code is “old and heavily influenced by Saddam Hussein. He is a dictator!” Others seemed to be either committed to continuing to use the lapsed antiterror laws or, perhaps, unaware they had lapsed at all. When asked about the existence of special laws for dealing with IS, Roazj explained, “We’ve got in Kurdistan the law of terror and terrorism. So we judge them according to the criminal law of terrorism, which is a specific set of laws for terrorism.” While he acknowledged that it is “not a permanent law, it’s temporary” he was clearly operating under the assumption it was still in force, as he went on to explain that it is temporary because once terrorist activities end “then the law will be deactivated.” Sharwa similarly seemed to believe the terror laws were still in effect, explaining to me that “we’ve got a set of laws for terror, terroristic acts, which is the antiterror law.” Still others argued that the KRG was left to cobble together a response to IS from existing Kurdish law. Tosin, a judge who formerly served in specialized courts that deal with threats to national security, felt constrained by this, noting that neither KRG nor Iraqi law explicitly covers crimes against humanity, and neither are signatories to the international conventions that outline such crimes. As such, he lamented that they can use only “local laws,” which he feels aren’t sufficient at all to respond to the threats posed by IS. Similarly Rabar, a high-ranking judge in a major city, explains that due to the law being lapsed, “we are right now applying the criminal laws. We have got another law that is enacted by the Kurdish parliament . . . [but] it’s not comprehensive. It does not cover all the cases, only explosions and bombs and things like that.”

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Ongoing Training (Or Lack Thereof) Typically the suggested solution for a young criminal justice system experiencing such drastic confusion over a critically important question is legal training at the hands of international experts. This has very much been the US approach in Iraq since then- president Bush laid out his “National Strategy for Victory in Iraq,”69 which highlighted the training of police and judges in democratic norms and rule of law as a means to a stable and democratic Iraq. Such ongoing training, the president argued, would help the criminal justice system “earn the confidence of the local population,” which would “make it easier for local leaders and residents to accelerate reconstruction.”70 Yet as with so many other aspects of the reconstruction, a combination of a lack of adequate funds and institutional corruption means that what little training exists is not making its way to those who need it. Every criminal justice actor I spoke with expressed a desire for more international training, often bringing it up themselves before I broached the subject. Many people made complaints similar to Lazgin, who lamented, “We were supposed to see a lot of training courses, especially abroad,” but because of a lack of funding brought on by the 2014 crisis, “none of the court members like us here have seen any such training courses. Same in Erbil as well.” Daraz similarly complained that “this is one of our shortcomings or weak points: we have never seen training.” He was especially concerned about the state of knowledge surrounding international law “because if there is an international law, international is above our domestic laws. We must be applying these. But we do not have any idea about international law.” Funding is not so limited that no one can go abroad to receive training, as a select number of police and judges do regularly travel to training seminars elsewhere in the Middle East, in Europe, and in the United States. However, wasta and corruption mean those who do get such training tend to be those who have connections rather than those who need the training. Shamal gave a representative summary of this perspective, as he explained that while this “may be something not nice to say about your country,” he has to “confess that the international training courses would not be given as a chance to people like us who are not affiliated, are not close to some military bosses or politically important people. It will not be given to some people that would not be flattering them.” He believes this is especially problematic due to the fact that in his estimation, internal training courses are largely useless, only covering things that “are very basic things that we

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learned from our undergraduate topics.” Not only are they simplistic in the material covered, but they are also “only held for a couple of days or for a week, and most of the time each day . . . well, a couple of hours will be given to refreshment and eating and drinking, and then an hour will be given to the organization to say something briefly.” The idea that international training courses operate principally as a reward for connected individuals was a common theme among both police and judges. Karwan, the deputy director of a police station on the outskirts of a major city, believes that he hasn’t been to any international training courses because police officials will only send “close people that are affiliated with them personally.” Nidger, the director of a rural police station, told a story of colleagues he’s seen “sent abroad for training six times, but these are people who are flattering to high officials, even though we have the same rank. There should be a lottery for making these decision so all have a chance, but instead it goes to those who open and pour the wine for those above them.” He blamed this on the decision making of the ministry, complaining, “If I recommend someone to be sent, they won’t listen and instead send someone who has been multiple times.” Similarly, Pejan, an inquiry judge, also attributed his never seeing international training to the fact that “they send people abroad that go there just for their own pleasure. I’ve been a judge for sixteen years, I haven’t taken one-month leave from the job, and I haven’t seen any international training course.” In some cases, the employment of international training opportunities as a reward for politically connected figures means the training goes to people who have no use for it. Roazj explained, “Most of the time when training courses are held, they allocate the training courses for judges . . . basically, theoretically, on paper. But practically, they take someone from the agricultural department instead of a judge. They take someone from the municipal government instead of a judge.” As a result, when these people come back from their international training courses, “they bring nothing because they cannot implement what they have taken in their own field.” Instead, the “only thing” they’ve actually gotten out of their training is that “they have been in a five-star hotel for a period of time and they were having fun.”

leGal indeterminaCy in a Weak state While the existence of advanced training opportunities as largely a reward for the politically well-connected is a concerning state of affairs, even universal access to the best training programs available would do

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little to address the difficulties faced by Kurdish legal actors. Rather, the many problems highlighted in this chapter stem from the lack of a legitimated state operating with hegemonic leadership. Despite the fact that independence from outside influences is a cornerstone of the scholarly literature on democratic criminal justice systems,71 tribes and political parties continue to play a central role in the operation of the legal system within the KRG and wider Iraq. What we see here is the active struggle for hegemony among a number of social groups within both the KRG and the Iraqi nation; while tribes, parties, and the official government jockey for control within Kurdish territory, Kurds and the central government jockey for control of territory and peoples within the larger state. All of which serve as a prime example of how in the absence of a legitimate government providing effective services there is little motivation for people to shift allegiances and loyalties to the state, leaving little way to resolve these many disputes.72 Further exacerbating this indeterminacy is the lack of formal bases for legal decision making, as the KRG’s roles and responsibilities remain poorly defined within the federal constitution while the region lacks a formal constitution of its own. Here again Gramsci’s work on the centrality of the state to power relations is especially informative; any group seeking to successfully govern must achieve hegemony both ideologically and politically,73 and yet no such hegemony exists within the KRG. A central feature of the hegemonic state is its ability to achieve exclusivity and social closure74 through declaring a monopoly on the ability to seize, arrest, try, and punish those who violate the social compact. Until there is a legitimated hegemonic government providing the core functions of the state, powerful nonstate groups will compete with and undermine the criminal justice system, continuing to perpetuate the problems highlighted in this chapter. While this undermining of the formal legal system is an evident problem, the criminal, political, and existential problems posed by how to properly adjudicate and punish members of the Islamic State highlight the many fundamental fissures within the governments of the KRG and Iraq. As the world community has largely left them to decide for themselves, and domestic law provides little guidance on how to handle these thorny issues, there is clearly great uncertainty over what can or should be done to captured IS members, as well as great uncertainty as to who is even qualified to answer these questions. While this chapter speaks to some of the immediate causes of this predicament, to truly understand why

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neither the KRG nor the central Iraqi government has been able to build a legitimate and effective enough criminal justice system to try to tackle such weighty issues, these issues must be placed in a much longer history of oscillating world interference in and indifference to the internal politics of the Iraqi nation. This is the subject of the final chapter.

7. Police, State Making, and Imperialism Our armies do not come into your cities and lands as conquerors or enemies, but as liberators.

—lieutenant General sir stanley maude, proclamation issued to the inhabitants of Baghdad, March 19, 1917

I sent American troops to Iraq to defend our security, not to stay as an occupying power. I sent American troops to Iraq to make its people free. —President GeorGe W. bush, address to US Army War College on US strategy in Iraq, Carlisle, Pennsylvania, May 24, 2004

A central argument of this book is that police are integral to our conception of the modern state in ways both practical and theoretical. In the practical sense, police are the most direct experience of government for many people. This is evident in places like Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, where the police were used to directly carry out dictatorial commands but is just as much the case in well-established constitutional democracies like the United States, where each year roughly one out every five citizens has face-to-face contact with the police.1 The modern democratic state famously has a monopoly on the legitimate use of force, and the police are its certified representatives wielding this legitimated force. Police are where the rubber meets the road in terms of a significant amount of government power, as which laws the police choose to emphasize and which they choose to ignore (to say nothing of how they enforce these laws) has a far greater impact on how the law functions than do the actual statutes themselves. The police are also central to the ability of the state to garner legitimacy and establish hegemony as a primary repository of social, political, and physical power. This perspective builds off the work of Gramsci, who argues the state is how a ruling class both consolidates and, much more importantly, legitimizes its control through “a combination of coercive force and intellectual-moral leadership.”2 However, state legitimacy is not a static phenomenon; it must be actively constructed and reproduced. 146

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While the ruling classes of some states survive by outright repression, democratic states vastly prefer securing hegemony through the consent of the governed. Yet even within states that principally earn their legitimacy through consent, there will always be a need for coercive power to enforce discipline on those groups who do not consent to state rule. In the modern state, the police are centrally responsible for this line between consent and coercion. For the police occupy much more than just a narrow law-enforcement role; while this is part of their mandate and dominates public perception of them, democratic police actually spend the majority of their time on order maintenance and social service tasks, filling a wide variety of roles.3 The ability of police to fulfill these many functions in a fair and legitimate manner is a central factor in the strength of a democracy and the quality of life enjoyed by its citizens.4 The failure on behalf of those leading the reconstruction of Iraq to recognize the importance of the many varied roles played by police in a constitutional democracy, and the subsequent fragmentation of these roles to a wide variety of public and private actors, has played a major part in the rise of violent nonstate actors like the Islamic State, who have exploited their ability to provide what the state and police currently cannot. Ignoring the many service and order maintenance functions police fill is but one of a litany of well-established practices ignored by the United States and coalition authorities. Despite the extensive experience of the United States with police reconstruction in postconflict and developing nations, those responsible for police training in the new Iraqi state ignored nearly all prior knowledge on the subject. Instead, they have opted for creating the appearance of a legitimate police force, with training focusing almost exclusively on self-presentational matters to the detriment of nearly anything police-related. While this “cultural performance” of policing may assuage short-terms concerns of police capacity, the lack of knowledge regarding policing practices as well as the human and civil rights guaranteed to the populace by the new constitution means the police as constituted are very unlikely to become the type of force needed for a democratic state, something confirmed by ongoing, widespread documentation of corruption and brutality.5 This lack of relevant police training is in no small part due to the unprecedented decision to place the reconstruction of the police under the auspices of the Department of Defense. Treating police as part of the military not only departs from the long history of democratic societies moving to divorce the two but contradicts the scholarly consensus that treating the

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police as part of the military “works against every principle of democratic policing.”6 The DoD’s approach to policing focused on force generation and questions of equipment and capacity over the core aspects of policing, and the coalition’s own initial report on the status of Iraqi police forces found them “better trained in counterinsurgency tactics than civilian policing.”7 Although being led by the Department of Defense is unprecedented, the arming of a police force to act as a counterinsurgency force is not. The United States has long used police training and reconstruction programs to advance nation-building strategies that favor American geopolitical concerns over those of the nation they are supposedly helping. These programs have often minimized or outright ignored crime control, order maintenance, and social service functions in favor of developing intelligence networks oriented toward countersubversion programs to create the internal security and order necessary to implement larger political and economic plans. As such, rather than establishing democratic order or respect for human and civil rights, these police reconstruction programs have served to modernize the repressive apparatus in nations that have served the interests of the United States.8 All of these points taken together—the importance of the police to a legitimate democratic state, the rejection of both best practices and scientific knowledge on the subject, the training regimen that eschews nearly all police functions in favor of a symbolic performance of legitimacy, the long-standing history of the United States using police training to their own ends rather than to assist the nation in question—strongly support the notion that the United States never had a fully formed democratic state in mind in the reconstruction of Iraq. Rather, these all bear clear signs of a client state being developed to serve the neoimperial interests of the United States.9 But while one can build this case from our theoretical understanding of the nature of empire and client states, it’s far more informative to compare what the United States is doing in Iraq to when a previous world power attempted to extend their control over the region through the creation of a weak client state in three former provinces of the Ottoman empire that would soon come to be known as Iraq.

history rePeats itselF Karl Marx once wrote “world-historic facts and personages appear, so to speak, twice” appearing “the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce.”10 When comparing the US-led invasion of 2003 to the British-led invasion of 1914, it’s difficult to argue with Marx’s pronouncement that

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the “facts and personages” here occurred twice. Indeed, were it not for the massive toll of human lives lost, the many more scarred and maimed, and the devastating social and political ramifications for the Iraqi people and much of the surrounding region, the absurd overlap of nearly every aspect of the two invasions would almost be humorous. In the real politik motivations of access to energy sources and the creation of a geopolitical bulwark against rivals sold to a skeptical public under the banner of liberating a people and bringing democracy to the region, the strong denials of empire accompanied by the unmistakable acts of empire, the boastful predictions that the invasion would be a short and easy affair that would pay for itself only for it to balloon into a decade-plus of occupation and counterinsurgency operations requiring massive expenditures, the creation of a façade of a democratic state masking a weak imperial client creating ripe conditions for the rise of despotic forces, there are extensive parallels between the two invasions that reveal much about American motivations in invading Iraq and overthrowing Saddam Hussein. The parallels also explain why things have unfolded as they have and leave us with rather ominous clues about the future of the nation.

The British Invasion—Why At the dawn of the twentieth century, the British empire was still formidable yet clearly waning. Specifically, the British faced a three-pronged threat to their global dominance due to their declining hegemonic influence on the world’s economy, the rise of other nation-states with the potential to challenge them economically or militarily, and increasing pushback from those on the periphery.11 These threats caused the British state to intensify its imperial ambitions, with a centerpiece of this renewed imperialism being the decision in 1914 to invade three provinces of the rapidly crumbling Ottoman empire, namely Basra, Baghdad, and Mosul. The British intended to unite these provinces into a single state to gain a foothold in the region and began to envision “a vast Middle-East zone of power exercised through Arab puppet states.”12 As the first of these clients, the new Iraqi state would serve as a bulwark against the ambitions of other states, most notably the rising power of Germany and the United States, as well as offer control over the vast deposits of oil underneath it and provide strategic geographical footholds, sitting as it did along major trading routes to India and passages to the Suez canal.13 Importantly, Britain did not intensify its imperial excursions while it was the unquestioned hegemon of the world, but only as its hegemony began to decline. Such a decline does not mean the British weren’t militar-

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ily and politically dominant, just that they were no longer the unipolar economic power of the world.14 Preceding their burst of imperial activity in the early twentieth century was the “long depression” of the late 1800s, which required the British to find new outlets for their capital and goods beyond domestic markets. Simultaneously, anticolonial revolutions and freeing trade markets in the periphery further threatened the British economy. The growing power of their economic and military rivals throughout the world jeopardized British security and future potential economic opportunities, necessitating military intervention to secure world markets. Despite Britain’s imperial ambitions, the idea of direct colonization of foreign territories was becoming less palatable to the world community in the aftermath of the first World War. Public opinion had begun to turn against colonialism, and the principle of self-determination had “become the touchstone for the post-war territorial organization”15 as more and more nations were achieving independence and being strongly encouraged to establish democratic governments. As the legitimacy of direct imperial control began to wane, Britain could no longer justify imperial expansion with simplistic notions of “civilizing” the racialized other but instead had to shift and adapt themselves to the newly prevailing notions of self-determination and the spread of democratic governance.16 The politically palatable solution the British arrived at was to cast their invasion as one of mercy and assistance, bringing “democracy” to a beleaguered region dominated by repressive monarchies and other forms of unrepresentative government.17 The British government strenuously denied any oil-based motivation for the invasion,18 instead arguing their motivation was liberation of the people in these territories, the rights of national self-determination, and a desire to rid the world of oppressive governments. With their own citizens increasingly questioning the economic and political benefits of invading and controlling Mesopotamia, British leaders explained that self-determination of the new Iraq would provide stability to the region, inspire gratitude toward the British liberators, and grant them the international legitimacy to keep a long-term presence in the region.19 They further assuaged potential concerns of their citizens noting that not only would Iraq become a “model of development and democracy” but that it would also provide a “substantial return” on their investment.20 The theme of this being an act of courageous generosity on the part of the British through risking their own safety to provide freedom and democracy to the oppressed people of Iraq is perhaps best found in the 1917 proclamation of Lieutenant General Sir Stanley Maude,21 issued to

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the inhabitants of Baghdad shortly after British forces had occupied the city, the speech from which the quote leading this chapter is drawn. The proclamation sets out the public justifications for the invasion of the three provinces that would soon form the nation of Iraq. Maude tells the people of Baghdad that “the British Government cannot remain indifferent as to what takes place in your country now or in the future,” contrasting the benevolence of the British against those nations that might exploit the people of Iraq. Yet while Maude explains that the “commercial prosperity” of the people of Iraq, as well as their “safety from oppression and invasion,” will always remain “a matter of the closest concern to the British Government,” he assures them that they are “not to understand that it is the wish of the British Government to impose upon you alien institutions.”

The British Invasion—How The cheerful proclamations of liberation and the institution of democracy and political autonomy were quickly undermined by the actual actions of British officials, who established a government that appeared independent yet remained loyal to the desires of the British. Britain had to walk a fine line, constructing a government comprised of the new nation’s own inhabitants, but one that would allow the British to veto undesirable policies and decisions of the Iraqi government.22 Despite repeatedly denying interest in Iraq’s oil reserves, one of the earliest actions of the newly elected British-backed politicians was to sign an accord turning over control of the nation’s oil rights to foreign entities for the entirety of the twentieth century.23 In the political realm, one of their first moves was to install King Faisal, whom they believed would be palatable enough to a majority of Iraqis while remaining loyal to the British.24 To ensure the continued compliance of the Iraqi government, political representatives at all levels were assigned British “advisors” whose views were expected to be taken into careful consideration.25 Of course many politicians needed little advice on what to do, as most came to office in elections tightly controlled by the British occupying forces to ensure their chosen candidates would win.26 The British similarly held repeated referendums on their policies and government, again always carefully calculated to have the correct outcome, such as the first public referendum that returned “an impossible 96 per cent endorsement”27 of the new government. Beyond the electoral realm, the British also established a number of councils with the mission of “training” the Iraqis in the way of self-government.28 These clandestine interventions were necessary as Britain tried to balance an outward image of building an independent

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democratic state while maintaining their exclusive access to resources and continued political control. A similar balancing act was thrust upon all those who occupied office in Iraq, as they had to carefully balance the wishes of the people of Iraq against those of their British benefactors, an act that became increasingly difficult during the many times those two sets of ideas clashed. This fell especially hard on the British-appointed King Faisal, who had to walk a “high-wire act”29 between appeasing the British without appearing to be their pawn and thus losing the support of the actual citizens of Iraq. He also had to attempt to balance internal power relations between the Arab majority and the unified Kurdish minority, as Kirkuk and Sulaymaniyah, the two Kurdish provinces, both voted against accepting King Faisal in the referendums and largely did not want to be part of this new nation.30 While treaties signed at the dissolution of the Ottoman empire called for the creation of an independent Kurdish state, the British nixed such plans on a fear that Kurds would try to claim the oil-rich Kirkuk region for their own.31 The attaching of the Mosul Vilayet (essentially the Kurdish portion of what is now Iraq) to the fledgling nation was intended to balance some of these important considerations. Kurds being largely Sunni, the British hoped the inclusion of a predominantly Sunni population to Iraq would provide a demographic balance to the largely Shi’a Arabs of the other provinces.32 Shi’a clergy had been at the forefront of resistance to the British occupation, and it was hoped the Sunni populations would be more accepting of their rule and tamper down anti-British sentiment as well as provide potential indigenous collaborators.33 Just as importantly, the inclusion of the Mosul Vilayet meant the inclusion of the enormous oil reserves found within its borders. Perhaps unsurprisingly, most Iraqis did not see their new nation as being truly independent nor did many give any legitimacy to a government widely perceived to have been hand-picked by the British against the wishes of Iraqis. The rapidly growing discontent of the Iraqi population turned to violent resistance, and what the British had initially touted as a swift military campaign ballooned into a massive counterinsurgency operation, as the prospect of easy military success had simply been uncritically accepted by those planning the invasion.34 The Iraqi revolution of 1920 forced the British to dramatically increase troop levels and resulted in the deaths of thousands of British and Iraqis, as well as costing the British state exponentially more money than expected. The British had so severely underestimated the resistance their armed forces would face

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and the amount of personnel and resources it would take to occupy and reconstruct a nation that many scholars argue the British never actually had a postinvasion plan at all.35 In the face of a prolonged and unexpected resistance, the British turned to attempts to “bomb Iraqi society into submission”36 through repeated aerial bombardments resulting in the deaths of thousands of civilians and the razing of entire cities. While these massive bombing campaigns were enough to suppress the insurgency, after nearly a decade of sustained military occupation, the British had still only been able to establish minimal law and order in major urban centers, with basically no authority or even presence throughout the rest of the nation. Because their newly created political system did not derive from local practices or traditions, few Iraqis granted legitimacy to the new government. As such, the state began with “a weak foothold in society, unable to effectively represent or mobilize its citizens.”37 Unable to garner the consent of the Iraqi people while facing increasing pushback from their own citizens tiring of the lost lives and massive expenditures, the British decided to disengage from direct intervention into the Iraqi state while maintaining indirect control of the nation through economic, military, and political manipulation. This had the result of leaving behind a “quasi-state” that had an “appearance of a juridical de jure state but was in fact an unstable façade.”38

The British Invasion—Consequences While creating the façade of an independent nation papered over a weak and dependent client state allowed the British the political cover to disengage from their nation-building effort, it proved disastrous for the young nation, securing the strategic interests of the British in the short term by “fatefully distorting the country’s long-term political development.”39 Despite the many years the British spent fighting in the three provinces they would assemble into what is now Iraq, the actual building of the state was a rather hasty and poorly thought-out endeavor.40 This created a host of problems for the fledgling nation, but perhaps the most devastating long-standing problem is a continuing lack of legitimacy, as from its beginning the Iraqi people have been strongly conditioned to view the state with a great deal of suspicion if not outright distrust. The British invasion and occupation of Iraq was only the first of several times the prospect of representative democracy was floated to the people of Iraq only to be taken away while an indifferent international community looked on.41 From its inception, the Iraqi government has

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drawn its power not from a mandate of its citizens but rather through the support of external powers or despotic repression. Regardless of the form any particular Iraqi government has taken, the state has always “acted as an imposition on society.”42 To weaken nationalist resistance, the British carefully bribed and cajoled different tribes, sects, and other groups to pit them against one another and ensure no coalition emerged with the power to challenge them. The actions of the British occupiers throughout the first several years of the Iraqi state’s existence initiated the long-lasting split between the state and society in Iraq as “British imperial power could only operate by subverting the state institutions it had created.”43 Of course, this mattered quite little to the British, who were able to effectively rule Iraq through the 1920s and then continue to maintain military bases and a privileged position as a supplier of military hardware and funds until the 1958 revolution.44 But for Iraq it meant a state that fundamentally denied indigenous sovereignty and ruled with no legitimacy. This had very obvious immediate material consequences, as the British faced extreme difficulties recruiting or retaining local Iraqis on the nation’s new police force, leading to significant problems with crime and violence, further eroding any possibility of public trust in the state.45 But the lack of state legitimacy also paved the way for much more significant problems, as it completely undermined the possibility of using legal parliamentary avenues for change, resulting in a succession of violent coups that eventually culminated in the victory of the ruthless Ba’ath party. As such, a fairly straight line can be drawn from British informal rule undermining the legitimacy of the new state to the rule of the nation by a number of despots.

The US Invasion—Why For those who lived through the 2003 US-led invasion of Iraq, this abbreviated summary of the British experience in Mesopotamia likely sounds incredibly familiar. The United States at the dawn of the twenty-first century shared a number of key similarities with the British of a century earlier; while still unquestionably a dominant superpower, the United States was facing a similar three-pronged threat to its global dominance in the form of declining hegemonic influence on the world’s economy, the rise of other nation-states with the ability to challenge them economically and militarily, and increasing pushback from those on the world periphery.46 This pushed the United States to intensify its imperial ambitions, with many within American media and government even explicitly calling for the revival of imperialism.47 Many of these calls for US interventions around the world echoed the long informal policy of US “open door

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imperialism”48 of military interventions designed to forcefully “open” the economies of recalcitrant nations to the markets and capital flows of US businesses.49 Similar to the British a century earlier, while the United States was still unquestionably one of the most powerful economies of the world at the beginning of the twenty-first century, the rise of the EU, a growing postSoviet Russia, and a rapidly expanding Chinese economy all threatened its position as unipolar hegemon. Preceding the burst of imperial activity that culminated in the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, the United States had experienced the bursting of the 1990s economic bubble.50 Prior to this, the “third wave” of democratization of the 1970s and 1980s involved the overthrow of a number of US-backed dictatorships, threatening their privileged access to a number of markets. One of the earlier actions in this most recent imperial wave was the first US invasion of Iraq, the 1991 Gulf War, which was an intervention not to open Iraq’s oil to the US but to prevent Iraq from gaining access to Kuwait’s oil, thus giving them effective dominance of the world’s oil supply and markets. At the same time, the dissolution of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War presented a number of challenges to the US’s position of dominance politically, militarily, and economically. Not only could much of western Europe now compete economically with the US, the lack of a Soviet threat meant they no longer relied on American military protection either.51 The end of the Cold War also meant there was no outlet for the “permanent warfare” state that had been central to the United States both politically and economically since the end of the second World War.52 The War on Terror served to provide both political cover for the long-standing neocon desire to invade Iraq as well as provide a new suitable subject for an enduring warfare economy.53 As such, America’s aims in invading Iraq were much the same as their British counterparts nearly a century earlier. Access to Iraq’s oil to directly benefit the US economy as well as prevent the emergence of an oil hegemon was a clear centerpiece of the invasion, with Iraq’s oil fields already carved out into parcels claimed by American oil companies well before the invasion began.54 Once America had taken over the Iraqi state and installed their own government, they immediately prioritized the production of crude oil for export over electricity generation or the supply of usable refined fuels to the Iraqi population.55 Beyond oil access, Iraq served important geopolitical functions, allowing the United States to build permanent military bases within the region while, through the overthrow of Saddam, sending a message to other governments throughout the Middle

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East about America’s willingness to intervene militarily.56 Long-term American influence in Iraq would establish a bulwark against European economic consolidation in the region and serve as a buffer against the growing influence of Russia and China.57 Despite America’s imperial ambitions, the direct colonization of foreign territories was even less palatable to the world community in 2003 than it was when Britain was attempting to expand its empire into Iraq. Any state the United States built would have to at least project the appearance of political independence in a way that both satisfied enough of the larger world and the domestic electorate of the United States as both legitimate and in their best interests. Despite the near century between their imperial endeavors into Iraq, US leaders settled on the same arguments the British had relied on—utilizing “the same language of Oriental backwardness and the need for Western dominance,”58 proclaiming they would liberate an oppressed people and bring them democracy, while also proclaiming this new democratic state would be a beacon to the rest of this beleaguered and oppressed region. Once again, the invading nation strongly downplayed any oil-related motivations, instead focusing on how their forces would be greeted as liberators by a grateful population happy to now have democracy.59 Echoing Lieutenant General Maude’s proclamation, the National Security Council issued a document outlining the US’s motivations and ambitions titled the “National Strategy for Victory in Iraq.”60 While it does occasionally nod at the intense neoliberal restructuring of Iraq’s economy through euphemisms about the need for economic “reforms,” the vast majority of the document paints the invasion as an act of courageous generosity on part of the United States through risking their own safety to provide freedom and democracy to oppressed peoples. These claims were aimed at audiences both domestic and foreign; to the rest of the world, the NSC strategy document proclaimed that “a free and prosperous Iraq is in the economic interest of everybody, including Iraq’s neighbors and the greater Middle East. A flourishing Iraq can spur economic activity and reform in one of the world’s most vital regions.”61 To domestic audiences, the document explains that “the fate of the greater Middle East—which will have a profound and lasting impact on American security—hangs in the balance”62 as well as reminding them that “helping the people of Iraq is the morally right thing to do—America does not abandon its friends in the face of adversity.”63 Once again, those leading the invasion strenuously denied any talk of empire or political or economic domination of Iraq. In a speech to

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the National Endowment for Democracy, then-president Bush declared, “We are mindful that modernization is not the same as Westernization. Representative governments in the Middle East will reflect their own cultures. They will not, and should not, look like us.”64 In yet other speeches during the early years of the war, Bush similarly explained that “the United States has no intention of determining the precise form of Iraq’s new government. That choice belongs to the Iraqi people”65 and that through the power-sharing agreements they had signed with the nascent Iraqi government, “the coalition will demonstrate that we have no interest in occupation.”66 The Bush administration further assuaged the concerns of American citizens by letting them know that the war would essentially pay for itself, such as when then-deputy secretary of defense Paul Wolfowitz told a House subcommittee, “There’s a lot of money to pay for this. It doesn’t have to be US taxpayer money. We are dealing with a country that can really finance its own reconstruction, and relatively soon.”67

The US Invasion—How Once again, the cheerful proclamations of liberation and the institution of democracy and political autonomy were quickly undermined by the actual actions of US and coalition officials, who rapidly moved to establish a government that appeared independent yet remained loyal to the desires of the US. In a direct echo of their British counterparts, the United States had to walk a fine line in constructing a government from the newly liberated Iraq’s own inhabitants and one that would allow them to veto undesirable policies and decisions of the Iraqi government.68 The United States knew that if a national political challenger emerged and won popular support, it would erode their ability to control Iraq’s future. As such, in the early going a “considerable part of the Coalition’s work within Iraq was to prevent the emergence of such a challenger.”69 The United States instituted the Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA) to directly control Iraq for the first several years postinvasion and then transitioned to highly controlled elections to ensure their favored candidates would populate the new Iraqi government.70 Despite repeatedly denying interest in Iraq’s oil reserves, one of the earliest actions of the new Iraqi government was to turn over control of the nation’s oil rights to foreign entities.71 To ensure the continued loyalty of politicians, the United States instituted widespread training programs designed to ensure that leadership in all branches of politics, security, and government adopted US positions and disseminated these ideologies to those within their institutions.72 Yet

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once again these new Iraqi officials faced a delicate balancing act in having to at least appear to represent the wishes of the Iraqi people while serving the goals of the US sponsors, an act that became increasingly difficult during the many times those two sets of ideals clashed. This fell especially hard on the new prime minister, Nouri al-Maliki, who would occasionally take public issue with some American policy or action as a way of demonstrating his independence, while more often than not relenting to American interests in the end.73 So similar were the fundamental disagreements between American officials and the Iraqi populace that Iraqi officials encountered “the same political dynamic Prime Minister al-Sa’dun and others faced under the British occupation in the 1920s.”74 Officials of the newly liberated Iraq not only had to balance the wishes of the United States against those of the Iraqi populace but also had to attempt to balance internal power relations between the Arab majority and a fairly well-unified Kurdish minority. While generally supportive of the invasion due to their long suffering under the Hussein regime, the Kurds were once again quite wary of their inclusion within the Iraqi state, agitating for their ability to secede and form their own independent state.75 Article 140 of the Iraqi constitution called for a referendum on Kirkuk and other territories disputed between the KRG and GOI and to resolve the status of Kurdish territories, even establishing a deadline of December 31, 2007 for these processes to be completed, but such referenda have yet to come. The US solution for resolving the tensions between Kurds and Arabs, as well as attempting to address the tensions between various other important identity groups within Iraq, was to base political representation on ethnicity and religious sects, attempting to get proper proportional governmental representation of Shi’a, Sunni, and Kurds.76 Instead of fomenting equality, such efforts have largely just enshrined ethnosectarian representation, essentially institutionalizing such divisions.77 Once again, most Iraqis did not see the new nation as being truly independent nor did many give any legitimacy to a government widely perceived to have been hand-picked by the United States against the wishes of Iraqis. The lack of a legitimate representational government fueled the violent insurgency against the US and coalition forces, and what the Bush administration had initially touted as a swift military campaign ballooned into a massive counterinsurgency operation, as the prospect of easy military success had simply been uncritically accepted by those planning the invasion.78 The United States so dramatically underestimated the amount of resources and personnel the invasion and reconstruction would take that many believe they never actually had a postinvasion plan at all.79

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In the face of a prolonged and unexpected resistance, the United States turned to a troop surge and massive uses of force resulting in deaths of hundreds of thousands of civilians.80 While the surge and other military actions were eventually enough to suppress the insurgency to manageable levels, the United States still had been able to establish only minimal law and order in major urban centers with basically no authority or even presence throughout the rest of the nation. Unlike successful postconflict occupation governments in Germany and Japan, the Iraqi government was constructed without the monetary, organizational, or personnel resources to take the activist role necessary for constructing a fundamentally different style of government.81 Unable to garner the consent of the Iraqi people while facing increasing pushback from their own citizens tiring of the lost lives and massive expenditures required to remain in Iraq, the United States decided to disengage from most direct intervention in Iraq while maintaining indirect control of the national through economic, military, and political manipulation, once again leaving behind a “quasi-state” whose appearance of juridical independence masks an unstable façade.

The US Invasion—Consequences While once again the creation of the façade of a legitimate state in Iraq has allowed the foreign occupier to save face and disengage from direct nation-building efforts, the actions of the imperial state have proven disastrous for the Iraqi people. The new Iraq has essentially been designed to be unable to stand on its own; many major aspects of Iraq’s infrastructure literally can’t operate without American parts or the direct support of Western corporations.82 Beyond leaving Iraq in a state of dependency, this also has made most reconstruction projects obvious targets for an insurgency that could legitimately portray nearly any governmental project as dominated by foreign interests.83 Yet what is again the most devastating outcome of the hasty creation of the new Iraqi government is a lack of legitimacy, as most Iraqis of all walks of life continue to view the state with a great deal of suspicion and often outright distrust. Once again the Iraqi state found itself with a government not drawing its power from a mandate of its own citizens but rather through its reliance on a world power. The lack of legitimacy doesn’t terribly inconvenience the United States, which still stands to benefit significantly from oil production agreements and the ongoing construction of permanent military bases in Iraq.84 However, the consequences are once again quite dire for the Iraqi people; as detailed throughout this book, the lack of state

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legitimacy is again making it incredibly difficult to recruit or retain local Iraqis for the nation’s new police force, leading to significant problems with crime and violence,85 which in turn further erode what little support there is for the government. Yet even more troubling is the process laid out in chapter 3, as the lack of government legitimacy and effectiveness has paved the way for the Islamic State and other violent nonstate organizations to fill the governmental vacuum. Similar to how the British imperial excursion into Iraq created the conditions that directly culminated in the despotic rule of Saddam Hussein, the American imperial excursion into Iraq directly culminated in the rise of the IS.

a nation on the brink (aGain) There are, of course, a number of important differences between the US and British invasions of Iraq, as colonialism and empire constantly reinvent themselves as the structure of global capitalism shifts and changes.86 One obvious difference is that the British were attempting to create a completely new nation out of a disparate set of peoples, while the Americans were focused on dismantling and reconstructing the government of a nation that, for all of its many internal tensions, was already recognized by the world community and its own population as one nation.87 Possibly the most important difference was the changing political ecology faced by the two world powers, as the British invasion of Iraq was more akin to a traditional understanding of empire, while the US invasion was more in the vein of indirect, informal imperialism.88 Yet that these two invasions separated by nearly a century in time share such striking similarities tells us a great deal about the nature of the state; namely, in both scenarios the difficulties faced by these nations in securing their long-term interests through the construction of a stable Iraqi state stem in large part from the lack of a legitimated state exercising hegemonic leadership. At the most basic level, an effectively functioning state needs to produce both effective state organizations and legitimacy for its actions.89 A Gramscian perspective explains why both attempts at creating an Iraqi state have failed, as no social group or historical bloc can maintain a legitimate government without achieving hegemony. This hegemony must be born of both material and ideological bases, as while the “intellectual and ethical unity”90 of the state requires an ideological struggle to adapt the masses to the needs of the ruling bloc, it is nigh impossible to undertake this ideological struggle without addressing the material needs of the citi-

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zenry. That is to say, it is not enough to attempt to simply convince people a government is legitimate so they should submit to its rule, but rather the government must effectively provide for people in a meaningful manner if that ideological persuasion is to have any effect. Importantly, the achievement of hegemonic rule is not a static phenomenon but rather something that requires continual attention and reproduction. All sides of a political struggle are constantly competing for the loyalties of other groups and attempting to resolve the various crises of economy and politics in favor of their own hegemony.91 Because all social forms always have at least marginal possibilities for further development in myriad ways, it is necessary for any class or bloc that hopes to maintain hegemony to preserve order by a constant policing of counterhegemonic forces. This is true both in the specific sense of carefully policing challenges to the prevailing order as well as in the larger sense of providing legitimate and effective government that earns the support of the masses and reduces the possibility of others to syphon away support from the state. It may be tempting for those sympathetic to the architects of the invasion and reconstruction to charge that I am writing from the comfort of hindsight, and that while the efforts of the United States and coalition partners are easy to criticize now, they were doing the best they could with the resources they had. Yet the totality of the evidence presented in this book places the burden of proof squarely on those leading these efforts to explain how they ever believed any of their actions would lead to a stable, independent, democratic nation. Rather, the evidence points strongly toward the invasion and reconstruction being dominated by a ruthless neoliberal ideology intent on remaking Iraqi state and society to serve US and coalition interests with little concern for how this would affect the Iraqi people. Chief among these concerns was building not an independent, democratic Iraq but rather a weak and ineffectual client state that would be unable to interfere with US economic and political interests. Yet what those leading the invasion and reconstruction failed to consider about this approach is that a weak state is just as open to manipulation from others. Shortly before the invasion began, Tariq Aziz, one of Saddam Hussein’s top advisors, was quoted as saying, “The US can overthrow Saddam Hussein. You can destroy the Ba’ath party and secular Arab nationalism. [But] America will open a Pandora’s box that it will never be able to close.”92 It is fairly difficult to argue Aziz was not correct about this point; a human rights lawyer I spoke with in Suly explained, “Once we had one Saddam to deal with. Now we have dozens,” a sentiment echoed

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by a number of my respondents. In the absence of Hussein’s despotic hegemony, a wide variety of parallel administrations are simultaneously attempting to fill the power void. Possibly the principal beneficiary of the weak Iraqi state is one of the United States’ chief political antagonists, as intelligence documents leaked to The Intercept and The New York Times reveal Iran has carefully coopted many of Iraq’s leaders and “infiltrated every aspect of Iraq’s political, economic, and religious life.”93 Many within Iraq, most notably Shi’a populations persecuted under both Saddam and Sunni-led IS, have often looked to Iran for aid or protection, but the influence of Iran has grown exponentially as they are able in many places to fill the governmental void left by the absence of Saddam and the weak state created by the US.94 So vast is their growing power within the Iraqi state that the US Army’s study group on the invasion concludes “an emboldened and expansionist Iran appears to be the only victor. Iraq, the traditional regional counterbalance for Iran, is at best emasculated, and at worst has key elements of its government acting as proxies for Iranian interests.”95 Not surprisingly, the tasks assigned to Iranian intelligence ministry operatives within Iraq revealed by these leaked documents are quite similar to those of US operatives: their main goals are to keep Iraq from falling apart or descending into sectarian warfare and to prevent an independent Kurdistan that might inspire the Kurds of other nations to rebel.96 Similarly, Iran’s attempts to fashion Iraq into its own client state are meeting largely the same roadblocks as US efforts have. In addition to alternately supporting and opposing the KRG’s political ambitious when it does and does not suit them, Iranian forces have caused mass resentment due to their heavy-handed use of oft-indiscriminate violence. Iran’s famed Revolutionary Guards have been accused of “treating entire Sunni communities as enemies, trapping them in an impossible choice between religious extremists and a hostile Iraqi government.”97 The attempt of Iran to similarly mold Iraq into a client state of theirs was a major catalyst for the massive demonstrations that erupted throughout the south in the fall of 2019, with protestors burning Iranian flags and setting fire to the Iranian embassy in Najaf.98 However, the demonstrations were about far more than just the interference of the Iranian governments. It is clear from reports that a significant factor motivating the demonstrators is the ongoing government corruption and a continuing lack of jobs and services,99 as despite growing oil revenues and the end of major battles against IS, people throughout the nation feel “not enough money is being put into jobs programs or improving services to make people feel a

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significant difference in their daily lives.”100 While complex in their varied origins, it is clear these demonstrations serve as a concrete example of how a lack of effective government directly fuels that government’s lack of legitimacy. Most germane to this book has been the response of police and state security forces to the uprising, as over four hundred people have been killed and thousands injured as police regularly open fire on the crowds.101 Humans rights groups have widely condemned the government’s response, with Amnesty International describing the situation as “bloodbath” in which many neighborhoods “more closely resemble a warzone than city streets,” while noting this type of police and state security response “has become all too familiar across Iraq.”102 Echoing the central argument of chapter 5, a report in The New York Times on the violence notes Iraq has “state security forces trained to deal with terrorism but at a loss for less lethal ways to control crowds.”103 In many ways, this recent outbreak of open rebellion against the central government, especially the massive displays of state violence it has been met with, is a reflection of many of the key arguments in this book. As the Iraqi state has been unable to secure legitimacy and hegemony, the spontaneous consent typically relied on by democratic governments is not forthcoming, and as such, the Iraqi government has had to call forth the apparatus of state power in a significant way. Here we also see the impact of a neoliberal training regimen that leaves police both underfunded and undertrained. Although my research is confined to the KRG, this book demonstrates how police—in what is essentially Iraq’s best case scenario of low levels of violence, high levels of ethnic and religious solidarity, and relative prosperity—are marred by corruption and abuses of force, while struggling to achieve basic levels of effectiveness or legitimacy. These problems can only be exacerbated by the significantly more dangerous and chaotic conditions in the south. Indeed, the failures of the police training and reconstruction program are endemic to the causes and perpetuation of the demonstrations on multiple levels. On the larger level, there is little doubt the endemic corruption and abuses of the police force have played heavily in the causes of these most recent demonstrations. As police are such central representatives of the government, their lack of legitimacy significantly impacts how the citizenry view the government as a whole. On a more concrete level, police receive only the most superficial lessons on human and civil rights, and what little they are taught of actual practices centers on paramilitary style anti-insurgency tactics. Much like the response of police and state security

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to the 2011 demonstrations in Suly, it should hardly be surprising that officers going through the training program as it exists would react in such a violent manner. Indeed, once again the question would be better framed as one of how anyone could expect a police force built by this reconstruction program to effectively handle such situations. The Kurdish government is experiencing many of the same issues that sparked the protests in the south and began to see its own series of largescale demonstrations shortly after those in Baghdad.104 Meanwhile, the fallout over the most recent independence referendum continues to be a sore point between the two governments. The central government had resumed paying the Kurds their constitutional share of national oil revenue, but the KRG continued withholding their share of oil owed to the Iraqi national oil company over lingering disputes, causing the central government to once again suspend payments.105 Meanwhile there has been no resolution of the borders of Kurdish territory, and the two governments continue to argue over significant stretches of land and engage in occasional direct battles for the control of territory. A concerning outcome of the continuing struggle between the KRG and GOI over territory has been a growing resurgence of IS; once thought of as largely defeated and inoperable, there is evidence the organization has been reestablishing itself in remote mountainous areas while the two governments are busy with one another.106 According to central government reports, over eighty civilians were killed by IS in the first four months of 2020, and KRG officials have openly decried the “security vacuum” allowing the organization to regroup while accusing the central government of refusing to seriously discuss a coordinated response with KRG security forces.107 Once again IS is attempting to capitalize on the absence of legitimate government in these areas, offering the promise of jobs, security, and other basic governmental services, especially in Sunni areas where the population feels most neglected by the government.108 While the number of IS-affiliated persons in Iraq remains a fraction of what existed at the peak of the organization, they find themselves in a very similar situation as existed when they first formed in the early 2010s, with “small groups of determined fighters taking over land and imposing their rule.”109 While it’s entirely unclear at this point whether IS will successfully regroup or if these moves are simply the extinction burst of a dying organization, what’s far more concerning is that the Iraqi state once again provides fertile ground for the rise of such an organization. The conditions that IS capitalized on to build their caliphate were marked by a weak and ineffectual government that was neither effectively providing the services

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expected of a government nor legitimizing itself with the population. Police played a central role in these conditions, as they both failed to offer basic security on a day-to-day level, as well failed to act and perform in such a manner as to be seen as legitimate by the citizens of the nation. As such, people throughout Iraq continue to turn to nonstate organizations to have these needs met, providing fertile ground for expansionist-minded organizations.

Is There Reason for Hope? It is customary for this type of book to end on a hopeful note, highlighting those things that are improving or laying out a theoretical groundwork for how things will be better in the future. Unfortunately, that is rather difficult in this case; when a world power intentionally destroys a nation so they may plunder its resources and mold it into a pliable client state to further their own geopolitical interests, the historical record offers few reasons for optimism. The reconstruction of the police force serves as a microcosm of the reconstruction writ large; the training police receive is woefully inadequate and inappropriate for policing a democratic state, while a neoliberal aversion to state spending has left them facing dire budget constraints that actively hamper their ability to perform policing services. Their lack of effectiveness means they have been able to garner little legitimacy among the citizenry, who regularly turn to nonstate organizations for policing services or simply take matters into their own hands. As this essential government agency is unable to fulfill its duties or gain the respect of its constituents, it further hampers the legitimacy and effectiveness of the already beleaguered governments in the Iraqi state. The sliver of good news is that there is absolutely nothing inevitable about the current state of affairs, and the problems plaguing the KRG and wider Iraq do not stem from primordial antagonisms that can be neither understood nor rectified. Rather, the vast majority of these problems stem from easily understood causes, and while the remedies are not necessarily easy to enact, they are similarly fairly easy to identify. At a very base level, a successful state needs to provide for its citizens.110 While obviously building and maintaining a state is a complex task, if that state does not effectively provide public resources and develop at least a certain level of legitimacy among its citizens, all other efforts are essentially building a shiny façade on the front of a crumbling building. Fortunately there have been places where this has been effectively accomplished, and there are plenty of lessons on how it could be done in

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Iraq were it to be honestly tried. Andreas Wimmer111 provides a great example in comparing two postcolonial African states in Botswana, which successfully built a legitimate state, and Somalia, where the state fully collapsed. Despite having disparate peoples speaking a number of different languages, Botswana was able to successfully unite its population through the effective provision of public goods. In building their state from scratch, care was taken to ensure that public goods were distributed effectively but also equitably, a central reason ethnicity did not become politicized in Botswana as it had in many other postcolonial African nations. Furthermore, the new government recognized and formally worked with preexisting political infrastructure and intentionally built the state “upon, not against, the Tswana kingdoms.”112 Wimmer contrasts Botswana with the experience of Somalia, where a legacy of clan-based relationships was not subordinated to the state and public goods become distributed along clan lines, which intensified internal divisions. Without the meaningful provision of public goods, there became little reason for Somali citizens to transfer their allegiances or loyalties to the state. It is nigh impossible to lay out a clear roadmap for how to fix the myriad problems plaguing the KRG and the wider Iraqi state, yet there are a number of concrete steps which would begin to address these problems in a meaningful way. To being with, police throughout the nation at all levels need to receive thorough, meaningful training from qualified advisors committed to developing a democratic police force. While the record of international police assistance is far from perfect, there are a number of examples where international intervention has markedly improved policing regimes and helped to facilitate the development and maintenance of democratic governance.113 As it currently stands, many police throughout Iraq have had effectively no applicable police training; what’s worse, the training they have experienced is full of lessons diametrically opposed to the skillsets and ideals required for police in a constitutional democracy. The implementation of a training program that actually imparts relevant police skills would almost assuredly drastically improve the situation. Similarly, the simple introduction of adequate funding has the potential to address a number of issues currently plaguing the force throughout the KRG and the rest of Iraq. A significant amount of the corruption identified by my research participants stemmed from the extremely low pay of most police officers. Problems such as ghost payrolls, extortion, bribery and the like would not simply disappear were police to be paid a living wage, but it is quite likely a living wage would significantly reduce the level of these types of behavior. It is also clear the current levels of drastic underfund-

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ing dramatically impact the ability of the police to actually discharge their duties; station houses without electricity and necessary equipment, such as vehicles and radios, are obvious impediments to even basic levels of effectiveness. The good news is that the police do not need to become a model democratic force; while that is obviously a worthy long-term goal, the achievement of relatively basic levels of effective police service would dramatically improve conditions within both the KRG and GOI. There is research to demonstrate that in postconflict rebuilding of nations such as Iraq, the effectiveness of state security forces is of paramount importance to meeting the needs of citizens.114 That is, the ability to trust in public networks and trade, as well as simply go about your day secure in your person, are paramount concerns for people who have experienced the dictatorial repression and chaotic anarchy of protracted civil war. Getting the police up to a modest baseline of reasonable crime control and public order maintenance would go a long way toward establishing legitimacy of both the force and the larger government. Improving the police and wider criminal justice system will likely also require recognizing some of the nonstate entities currently wielding far more power than the official state. As it is clear parties and tribes will continue to have significant influence, it seems that, similar to Botswana, the KRG and GOI should look for ways to formalize the position of these groups and meaningfully introduce these groups into publicly accountable government arrangements. As it stands, they currently act as unaccountable workarounds for formal state arrangements, and no state, especially not a fragile state still emerging from civil war, can function when it is continually being undermined by more powerful organizations. Bringing these groups, especially tribal organizations, into the formal government would also begin the process of effectively extending the state into the areas where IS and other violent nonstate organizations have found success through supplying what an effective and legitimate government would. Unfortunately, there are significant hurdles in the way of making any substantial improvements; for one, successful criminal justice and state reconstruction are difficult tasks with even the best of plans and the most committed of personnel. More concerning in this case is that the international community appears to have little desire in meaningfully aiding the KRG and GOI in becoming truly sustainable, legitimate democratic governments, and the United States (and increasingly Iran) are actively opposed to this happening. The Kurdish experience with the United States

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offers a glimpse of the likely future of the nation as a whole; while the United States has often supported the Kurds, it has unquestionably been because they served as useful political tools for advancing US interests, first through their opposition to Saddam Hussein and later through their support for the invasion and occupation. However, the United States has also been quick to discard the Kurds when it is convenient to do so, even when knowing their lack of support would lead to disaster for their Kurdish allies.115 While a strong Kurdistan is in the interest of the US, with their relatively healthy economy and capable security forces that could defeat a group like IS, a Kurdistan that is too strong poses significant problems for US interests, and as such, the United States has continually opposed their independence and sought to weaken their ability to grow their economy large enough for secession to be realistic. Similarly, while the United States undoubtedly would like to see Iraq become a stable nation for a wide variety of reasons, an Iraq that could capably stand on its own and develop its own interests may be at odds with US geopolitical strategy and is something those leading the reconstruction have very carefully sought to prevent. As such, questions of how to “fix” the reconstruction of the police or the reconstruction as a whole are largely missing the point; the development of a brutal, repressive police force that has little-to-no knowledge of human or civil rights is not a mistake of a training and reconstruction program gone awry but rather the very outcome the process was designed to produce. Properly understood, the reconstruction of the police force has been quite successful. Until and unless the highly unlikely scenario the United States and its coalition partners pay reparations and leave the Iraqi people to actually begin the arduous process of constructing a truly independent democratic state, there is little reason to believe much of any of the problems highlighted in this book will significantly change.

aPPendix

On Conducting Conflict Research

Passing through the third and final checkpoint to enter the heavily fortified Iraqi police training academy my first day in the field, I couldn’t help but marvel at how I had actually ended up there. Long fascinated with how police came to be as they are, but recognizing I’m not cut out for years of digging through musty old archives, my PhD advisor suggested instead of studying it historically, I find a new force under construction to watch the process as it unfolded. We quickly realized this meant pretty much only Iraq or Afghanistan; so having a few tenuous connections to Iraq, I began a three-year quest to get a first-row seat to the training of the new Iraqi police force. Having now spent over a decade of my life traveling to the KRG and spending countless hours with police, judges, political activists, and dissidents, I’ve come to embrace a much less rigid and formal view of my own field of study, which I loosely term gonzo sociology.1 Gonzo sociology draws its name from the practice known as gonzo journalism, most strongly associated with the works of Hunter Thompson.2 Gonzo rose to prominence in the 1970s as part of “new journalism,” a reaction against what were seen as the overly staid practices of the field. Although never gaining a formalized ideology or methodology, gonzo journalism relies heavily on first-hand narratives and the ethnographic immersion of the journalist, with significantly less concern for the detached style and reliance on third-party verification of traditional journalistic practices.3 The exact origin of the term gonzo is unknown, and although there are a wide variety of claims to its creation, it has always stood to mean “brash, importunate, and flamboyant.”4 One biographer of Thompson claims it be a corruption of the word gonzeaux, a French-Canadian term meaning 169

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“shining path,” while another Thompson biographer claims it to be an expression South Boston Irish once used to describe the last person standing after a night of intense drinking.5 I employ the term as somewhat of a synthesis of these two definitions; while I don’t claim gonzo sociology to necessarily be a shining path, a return to more participatory research would do the field well. Similarly, a gonzo approach to sociological research doesn’t mean one has to be the last person standing at the end of the night, but it does require them to go to the pub (figuratively speaking, although gonzo researchers will likely see their share of literal pub visits as well). From its inception, gonzo journalism emphasized not simply being a passive observer, but instead a fully immersed participant.6 In a similar vein, gonzo sociology seeks to rejuvenate the wild, immersive side of the discipline, to “combine the art of the journalistic endeavor with the method and theory of the academy,” rejecting notions of a privileged vantage point and instead emphasizing a participatory dimension.7 The aim is to revive an alternative to the domination of sociology by narrow, conservative research questions in which “individualism and creativity become subordinate to efficiency.”8 Perfectly capturing the gonzo spirit, Mills argued such focused, circumspect studies are fine for “those who are not able to handle the complexities of big problems” and for “highly formal men who do not care what they study so long as it appears to be orderly. All these types have a right to do as they please or as they must; they have no right to impose in the name of science such narrow limits on others.”9 Although Mills lodged his complaint over sixty years ago, sociology is in many ways still dominated by “highly formal” scholars who view quantitative studies as the “real science” of the field.10 While concerned with conducting high-quality scientific research, gonzo sociology eschews narrow methodological constraints and is instead to be measured by the “integrity of its concerns and not in the division of its labor.”11 The rigor of gonzo research stems from not rigid procedure and replicability but a reflexivity12 that produces novel research demonstrating a breadth of knowledge, possessing face and construct validity.13 Chief among the proscriptions of gonzo sociology is reclaiming the ethnographic imperative to get out there and do it. Specifically, to those places sociologists often fear to tread—the messy, complicated, and even dangerous areas of the world that hold so much as yet untapped information. The idea is not to throw all inherited practice to the wind but instead to embrace the immersive, bodily experience advocated by gonzo journalists. As Sefcovic argues, the gonzo researcher “need not emulate the worst

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in Thompson, but neither will she be constrained by abstract codes that have no relevance outside the scholarly professions.”14 Gonzo sociology is thus both a theoretical and ideological movement, seeking to revive and reenergize the practice of employing multifaceted investigations to answer questions deemed outside the reach of mainstream sociological practices. A variety of factors, including funding sources, time constraints, anxiety and self-doubt, identity, and (especially) institutional review board (IRB) concerns coalesce to create significant pressure to not pursue innovative or risky research projects. While understandable, this has the latent consequence of excluding important voices from sociological research, often the voices of those already least represented in the academy.15 While this exclusion is typically presented as one of necessity, the gonzo perspective instead argues it is often one of convenience. The following is an autoethnographical account16 of my experiences conducting a multimethod study of Iraqi police and judges. The goal of this appendix is two-fold: to argue for the possibilities inherent in gonzo sociology, and to provide an overview of issues of concern for the budding gonzo sociologist. A how-to guide is nigh impossible to provide, given the central tenant of gonzo sociology to follow the unpredictable twists and turns of investigation wherever they may go. Instead, using my own work as an example, this paper will lay out the many challenges, and hopefully rewards, that face the gonzo sociologist, from getting to the research site, gaining access, conducting the study, and reporting back to the profession and the public.

sCienCe as risk-takinG The fundamental premise of this appendix, and the concept of gonzo sociology, is that science rarely fits into the orderly, linear steps of the idealized scientific method. As Merton and Barber argue, the standard of scientific publication “retroactively imposes logical form on the romance of investigation,”17 making it appear both systematic and organized, when in reality it is nearly always an unpredictable, contentious, and generally messy process. Instead of allowing the “romance of investigation” to flourish, there is a great deal of institutional and professional pressure to conform to a routinized form of research in the pursuit of maximum publications, leading to a mode of knowledge in which “the product governs the process.”18 In seeking to rekindle an alternative approach to research, gonzo sociology is heavily indebted to Robert Merton’s work on the role of serendipity in scientific research.19 In tracing Horace Walpole’s neologism from its

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inception to modern usage, Merton demonstrates how the concept has long been central to the discovery of new scientific theories and truths. Although considering several meanings of the term throughout his writings, the definition most applicable to the gonzo enterprise is Merton’s description of serendipity in research as “observing an unanticipated, anomalous, and strategic datum which becomes the occasion for developing a new theory or extending an existing theory.”20 This definition neatly encapsulates the gonzo experience in general, especially as it applies to the work in this book. The heart of my argument is that despite professional pressures, such as tenure requirements, institutional pressures, and especially review boards, fruitful science simply cannot be routinized completely, as it must always allow some space for unpredictable, exploratory work. As scientific inquiry is by definition a dynamic process, tendencies toward “compulsive tidiness” in methodology serve to prevent researchers from discovering the “fruitful surprises”21 of the field.

GettinG there A more accurate title for this section might be “Being Allowed to Go” as the majority of difficulties I have experienced throughout my work in the KRG stem from the long journey of repeatedly securing institutional approval, something common for gonzo projects.22 Many scholars argue IRBs exist more to protect institutions from legal liability than to promote earnest self-reflection regarding ethical considerations,23 and in doing so they have come to focus far more on procedural rather than ethical concerns. Institutional review forces investigators, experts in their subject field, to petition a committee, likely containing no experts in the field, for permission to conduct their study.24 Review board considerations are almost invariably developed with positivist research models influenced by biomedical designs in mind; such models are at best irrelevant for ethnographers and often present one of the most significant obstacles to a project.25 In gonzo sociology, the IRB will likely present the biggest hurdle, both through their understandable lack of knowledge about the particular situation, and through positivist demands for detailed research plans rarely known (or even knowable) to the researcher, especially for those conducting investigations in unstable or little-tread locales.26 In seeking approval for my project while at multiple institutions, my inability to fully answer the intensive series of questions from the IRB and

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international travel assessment committees stemmed from models that assume a middle-class, white American experience27 and have little flexibility to account for regional, ethnic, religious, and other major cultural forces that impact communication. The arduous work of collecting official approval and permission from various officials has never meaningfully aided my research but has repeatedly presented significant hurdles that delay progress and strain research relationships. On my first trip to Suly, most of the time took the form of long meetings over chai with various officials, facilitated by my principal research informant. Discussion of my work was typically a secondary concern; instead meetings were usually long, rambling discussions, lasting several hours and delving into topics as diverse as religion, politics, food, and music. This is the common mode of conducting business throughout Iraq, as personal connections fostered in these conversations are more important than formal discussions of particulars. Trying to secure written approval during such meetings, I was told this was unnecessary—after all, had they not just pledged their support for my project? What would a piece of paper do for me that their personal assurance could not? Yet to satisfy institutional review, I had to pressure my contacts for formal, written approval, and it was clear they felt a mixture of confusion and hurt at my insistence. Although I was eventually able to secure written documentation of approval from all necessary parties, it was obvious this was perceived as a sign of distrust from me, and it required a fair amount of relationship repairing, time that could have otherwise been devoted to my research. Beyond the strains that came from failing to recognize cultural differences, it is also incredibly difficult to force my proposals into the positivist mode required of institutional review, specifically in having to supply a detailed research plan that is rarely possible for gonzo sociology. The burden of these intensive requirements are notable not only for the amount of unnecessary work they foist upon the gonzo researcher but for the chilling effect they can have on research in general.28 While few projects are outright rejected by institutional review boards,29 guidelines push researchers from genuinely interesting paths of inquiry to “safer” studies, or to never propose innovative research in the first place.30 Onerous requirements have the further effect of silencing the voices of the most marginalized by making the marginalized the most difficult to study.31 A central impetus of my project is to actually be there; to see first-hand what happens in police training, in courtrooms, on the street, and more importantly, to hear what these processes mean to legal actors themselves. The goal is not only to provide insight into sociological and criminological debates but to bring

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the voices of Iraqi police and judges into debates that have long been about them but rarely ever includes them. While these institutional hurdles have not yet constituted a chilling effect to the point of abandoning my project, these setbacks have been mostly overcome through a bull-headed, stubborn desire to prove people wrong (not necessarily an admirable trait in life but one that serves the gonzo sociologist well). However, my positionality and identity cannot be ignored as among the greatest factors influencing my ability to begin and continue doing this research. As an able-bodied, (mostly) clean-cut white man, it’s simply significantly easier for me to navigate these various hurdles than it is for folks of basically any other identity. When I began this project, I was perfectly content as an impoverished graduate student with no dependents and no major financial obligations, leaving me fairly well-positioned to wait out the many cumbersome delays of institutional approval, making these merely frustrating and obnoxious hurdles rather than insurmountable blockades. Were I not young and single, had I not been lucky enough to live in a major metropolitan area that provided plenty of opportunity to find sufficient adjunct instruction work to stay afloat, and had I not had the luxury of no particular timeline for finishing, this project would have forever remained simply an interesting idea. Similarly, in the years since then I have been able to continue my work in the KRG due in significant part to having been able to first secure a tenure-track job and then achieve tenure (two processes that were again, no doubt, significantly impacted by my status as a white man). Were I instead one of the ever-growing legion of academics shut out of the rapidly diminishing tenure stream and instead working three to five separate jobs to make ends meet, the institutional obstacles that right now present costly delays and frustrating amounts of ancillary work would instead comprise hurdles no amount of foolhardy stubbornness would be enough to overcome. In short, had I not a multitude of privileges, basic self-interest would have dictated abandoning the project long ago. In fairness to the review boards whose approval I have had to obtain, the majority of their concerns have tended to center on my physical safety during fieldwork. While obviously a reasonable concern for anyone conducting research in conflict zones, it has become exceedingly clear this is less in the interest of my safety than in sheltering the institution from possible legal reprisal.32 As Hessler et al. argue, many institutional review boards have “substituted concern for research subjects with anxiety about legal risk that social science research might pose for the academy.”33 In addition to the extensiveness of the information demanded of me, the

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incredibly basic nature of many of the questions for which I have been asked to provide documented answers at best reflect an extreme lack of knowledge regarding the non-Western world, and at times have bordered on the racist and xenophobic. I have repeatedly been asked to prove I have access to the most basic provisions of human life; documentation has been required to demonstrate access to medical care, communications, and evacuation plans covering every possible mode of transportation. This despite the fact the KRG is a prosperous and largely peaceful region, and Suly itself a cosmopolitan city. While compiling news reports on local hospitals to prove access to medical care, I was reminded of a colleague who conducts research in Africa. She explains that sometimes the hardest aspect of teaching students about Africa is that it is a cultural object that remains stuck in the past to most Americans; thus she is compelled to remind her students that it is the same year in Africa as it is in America. I have similarly felt compelled (though never gathered the courage) to report to the IRB that I am only travelling overseas, not back in time. What makes requirements to prove access to the basic necessities of life truly problematic is not simply the cultural ignorance on which they’re based (which is fairly understandable, as it would be difficult for a review board to have members familiar with every region of the world); the assumptions about Iraqi and Kurdish culture and society that flow from it reveal an incredibly problematic xenophobic undercurrent. While I understand “trust me, it’s fine” should not be considered adequate evidence, forcing those who seek to conduct innovative studies to prove the existence of basic civil society is both onerous and alienating. This is most evident in the continuing concern of multiple institutions over the possibility of a terrorist attack, despite Suly never having experienced a terrorist attack or anywhere near the levels of violence of the rest of the nation; I initially provided examples of other Western academics who conducted studies in the region without complication34 and then eventually presented my own experiences as evidence of the safety. As a close friend in Suly put it, statistically speaking one is significantly more likely to fall victim to a terrorist attack in New York City than in Suly. Again, concern about potential violence in Iraq is obviously not out of line, but it is hard to imagine someone proposing research in New York City being subject to nearly as many questions about their physical safety. Not to mention that due to the nature of my research, I am regularly surrounded by armed law enforcement; as the director of the training academy explained to me, somewhat perplexed by my request

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for documentation proving my safety, “this academy is the safest place in all of Iraq! Even American military officials do not bring guns with them here, they feel so safe.” The extensive institutional review process not only significantly delays my work in ways other researchers are not burdened but ironically means I have far less time to ponder the important ethical considerations I actually encounter. This is not uncommon, as many of the demands of institutional review have no meaningful ethical bases,35 and consequential questions of ethics are often avoided in favor of narrow questions of legal liability.36 The sad irony of the review process is that I have run into multiple difficult ethical grey areas in my fieldwork for which thoughtful contemplation could have been immensely useful. Alas, I was too busy documenting the existence of civil society in Iraq to delve into these issues.

Funding (Be Prepared to Get a Second Job) Those preparing to undertake gonzo investigation should be fully aware that attempts to find funding will be just as fraught with delays, significant extra documentation, and xenophobic dismissals of the possibility or desirability of entering the field as was the institutional review process. Many funding agencies assume that a lack of security in conflict areas and other more precarious locations will inevitably limit the researcher’s ability to collect valid data, thus leading them to increasingly reject such proposals.37 My experience speaks to this process—of the many funding agencies from which I have sought assistance over the past decade, the perceived impossibility of the project is almost invariably central to the rejection. Frustratingly, most feedback has spoken positively of the groundwork I’ve laid and my previous work in the KRG but concluded the project was unlikely to be completed. While my own inabilities to compile a satisfactory funding application no doubt play a significant role in the rejections, it is difficult not to see many of the same problematic assumptions and lacunae in the funding rejections as I encounter in the institutional review process. Similarly, the reticence of funding agencies to grant research money to gonzo projects results in a chilling effect on future research. The very factors that make such research risky (potential safety hazards, little previous scientific exploration of the area, etc.) are precisely the factors that make such projects so valuable. Specific to my research, it is the very fluid and volatile nature of conflict zones that make them such a rich data source. When funding is not forthcoming for such studies, our knowledge of the region/conflict/process under study is thereby reduced to postconflict

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studies, leaving the dynamics of the conflict itself misunderstood or completely unknown.38 Yet reducing our knowledge of the world is not the only way this dearth of funding for gonzo research reinforces problematic existing power hierarchies. While I have been able to garner a token amount of funding through small grants and departmental funds, these in no way amount to enough to fund even a truncated version of my projects. As such, I have had to repeatedly self-fund large portions of the project. Similar to the time and effort required to gain institutional approval, the lack of funding has significantly delayed my work many times. Again, were I not a young scholar with no dependents who resides near the top of most every privilege hierarchy, it would have been prohibitively difficult to even begin my work in the KRG, let alone continue it for as long as I have. Therein lies the double-whammy of institutional reticence to approve and fund gonzo research—it limits our knowledge of the historically disenfranchised while ironically also often limiting the pool of researchers able to study historically disenfranchised populations to those who have the privilege and ability to not worry about time, money, or much in life other than their study.

GaininG aCCess The very point of gonzo sociology is to get out where others have not, so by definition one has to create one’s own trail. Yet there are more than a few lessons to derive from my struggles, especially surrounding ethical considerations of access to the field. Although the dilemmas encountered will be different in each project, I strongly second the advice of Sandberg and Copes to craft “standing decisions” about ethical concerns before entering the field.39 While I was able to secure official approvals, getting these depended on using unofficial means. As detailed in chapter 3, wasta connections are often central to most facets of life within the KRG, and my experiences in learning how to navigate with and around the role of wasta speak to the importance of flexibility and time spent in the field. Fortunately, early on in my work I was introduced to a key informant who both held a position of prominence at a local university and is an elder son in a politically connected family. Professional and familial ranks afford him access to the highest levels of power in the region, and he was never hesitant to employ these connections for my sake. A central standing decision of my work has become that I would allow myself to rely his connections, but only after exhausting official means. Similar to Vanketesh’s decision to patron-

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ize harmless aspects of the informal economy (e.g., unlicensed car repair) and avoid the dangerous and illegal (e.g., helping move illegal narcotics),40 I make every attempt to gain access through official public channels. I only use such connections to gain access to gatekeepers and others in powerful positions, never to impose my agenda on those in low power or status positions. Of course, gaining access was not simply a matter of befriending a key informant, central as he may have been to many important connections; once again my status as a white American male is a major factor that cannot be ignored. While the gender relations of the region are far more complicated than simplistic popular notions, it is highly unlikely I would have ever been able to achieve such intimate access to overwhelmingly male legal actors were I not male bodied. Beyond my biological sex, my status as a white American proved to be central to opening doors in my research. One of the largest differences between residents of the KRG and those of the rest of Iraq is that Kurds display significantly higher approval of both Americans and the invasion.41 These positive feelings toward Americans provided yet another important opening of questionable ethical standing: a significant number of legal actors assume me to be in a far more important position of power than I actually am. While initially laughable to me as a graduate student working on a project no one would fund, it quickly dawned on me how much sense this made from their perspective; there are few Americans in the region, fewer still that do not work for a major NGO, and none that visit training academies, stations, or courthouses. Thus, the formally attired American silently observing training sessions or roaming the halls of the courthouse visiting prominent officials must have appeared as someone in a position of some importance. While some of this misperception is indeed humorous (occasionally I am asked to take up a specific issue with the president or secretary of defense when next I speak to them), it raises ethical concerns regarding consent I had not initially been prepared for. During my time observing police training, it would not be unusual for the trainer in charge to ask me if he had led the lesson correctly. I used such opportunities to explain that I was not there to evaluate or pass judgment but that I simply wanted to observe and hear what they knew, trying my best to position them as the experts and myself as the student. I continue to take great pains to emphasize to everyone I speak with that I have no power to compel their participation and have no affiliation with the US military, government, or their own superiors. Although I feel I do about as much as I can to make my own position and their rights as clear as possible, it’s difficult to believe

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that a general perception of me as some sort of important American official hasn’t colored the general willingness to participate in my work in at least some way.

The Exploratory Visit Taking all of these issues together, the most helpful piece of advice I offer regarding access is to whenever possible take exploratory, nonresearch trips to the research site. Although all visits to the field are research in the sense that they broaden understanding of important contextual information, exploratory trips in which no official research takes place don’t require institutional approval. This allows one to temporarily sidestep the lengthy review process (and for gonzo sociology it will always be a lengthy process), while simultaneously allowing for the kinds of connections and understandings to arise that will significantly aid in both the research process and the eventual institutional review. In some ways, an exploratory visit is essential in terms of crafting plausible research questions and designs for gonzo projects with little precedent. Simply spending time in the area in which one plans to conduct fieldwork forces a meaningful contemplation of matters both practical (Where will I stay? How much will this cost? Whom can I turn to for help?) and theoretical/programmatic (What kind of access will I actually be able to get? Who is and isn’t willing to talk to me? How much of what I can observe here will bear upon my research questions?). Exploratory visits are invaluable in crafting the standing decisions42 one must make when opening new field sites for research. For instance, academic and journalistic reports on Iraq left me with a fairly good understanding of the pervasiveness of corruption. However, it was not until I experienced these practices that I understood the complicated form corruption actually takes and forced me to reconsider what were a naïve set of beliefs regarding how I would respond to it (e.g., that I could simply choose not to participate in anything I viewed as potentially corrupt). Subsequent conversations with locals confirmed the necessity of wasta and other such practices that often read as corruption to a Western audience and led me to refine my simplistic assumptions into my eventual decision of refusing the illicit exchange of money or favors that would negatively impact others. An exploratory visit will never fully inform one of all potential ethical concerns, but it will reduce the number of potential surprises and introduce issues that must be considered before returning to the field. The exploratory trip helps understand the folkways of the field site as well as ethical concerns. Because of my lack of experience in the region,

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I initially relied quite heavily on the advice of the small American staff of a local NGO. While I remain incredibly grateful for their assistance and guidance, an exploratory visit helped me to understand they were operating in a vastly different institutional environment. For instance, I was advised to hire a driver, as taxicabs presented a dangerous potential for kidnapping. I quickly learned this advice was based not as much on the possibility of abduction (real but quite minimal) but more on the fact that an NGO with a multimillion-dollar budget can afford to expend large amounts of money on private transport to assuage the omnipresent American desire to avoid legal liability. I actually found cabs to be not only cost effective but often a great source of information regarding important local individuals and institutions. Similarly I had been advised to avoid the city’s central bazaar, again for what became clear were legal liability concerns much more than actual safety issues. Much like the taxis, I found sojourns to the bazaar to be some of the most illuminating (and enjoyable) moments of my time in the field. Furthermore, as important as it is for researchers to understand participants, it is equally important for those being studied to understand and accept the researcher. Potential gonzo research participants are not accustomed to being studied and likely have a wide variety of concerns and reservations about this stranger asking to be accepted into their community. As such, the importance of face-to-face connections in gonzo sociology cannot be overstated. These populations often exist outside of dominant Western constructs of authority and hierarchy and generally place a premium on personal relationships over deference to official authority and institutional prestige. The first trip I ever took to Suly was simply a short, two-week exploratory visit, but in that time I was able to make more meaningful contacts and secure more access than I had been able to do in a year of phone calls and emails. Finally, one of the best ways to achieve the acceptance of potential research participants is simply learning the language, even if it is not a distinct language in the literal sense.43 I was unable to learn the language to fluency due to its obscurity (Sorani Kurdish is spoken only in the KRG); however, I strove as much as possible to learn greetings, basic conversational phrases, and other social niceties. As others who have studied populations outside of their language capabilities attest,44 even minor attempts to learn the language are often met with enthusiasm and appreciation. Although I have since attained basic conversational abilities, I have been frequently humbled by how warmly and appreciatively my pathetic, halting usage of Sorani was received as I learned.

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ConduCtinG the researCh Gonzo sociology maintains a focus on outcomes, privileging the collection of interesting and relevant data over concerns of methodological rigor and replicability. In place of the scientific value that follows from strict methodology, the value of gonzo sociology is measured by the creation of novel insights gleaned from unexplored research sites. What follows in this section are general points on both the personal and professional concerns gonzo researchers can expect to face.

Personal Concerns The simultaneous beauty and terror of the gonzo enterprise is drawn from its core mission: exploring those places and peoples other researchers have not. This comes with wonderful freedom—having no precedent means few constraining expectations and assumptions—but can also be incredibly lonely and alienating; there is no precedent to follow, and colleagues may think one foolish for trying in the first place. This dialectic of freedom and anxiety makes the gonzo experience an emotional one. Especially during early periods in the field, feelings of loneliness and isolation are the most intense to manage.45 Participants are not accustomed to being the objects of study, and the lack of previous scholars in that particular field means there will generally be no one to aid with issues of access or local resources. Journal notes from my first sojourns into the field indicate I was clearly experiencing an intense awareness of being on my own for any and all problems that may arise. This profound loneliness came from not only the physical isolation of being a foreigner living by himself—something I anticipated and could somewhat prepare for—but also the isolation inherent in the difficulties of cross-cultural and cross-linguistic barriers.46 As someone with little experience being both an ethnic and linguistic minority, I was unprepared for how alienating it is to not be able to employ much of my regular vocabulary, especially for a pop-culture obsessive who can rarely finish a conversation without referencing a film or television show. My inability to express myself as I usually would contributed to a significantly more profound alienation that I had anticipated experiencing. Yet the most surprising factor contributing to the loneliness was that although there is great excitement in exploring an area and culture little studied, there is also a significant amount of boredom to be managed. While somewhat embarrassing to admit, even after early visits I continued to harbor bracingly naïve, romanticized notions of the excitement of life

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in a conflict zone. Rather, extreme levels of boredom marked my time not spent conducting research, especially before I was able to form an ad hoc social circle of fellow foreigners and English-speaking locals. While obviously everyone will have their own ways of managing isolation and alienation, I strongly recommend keeping a personal journal alongside formal field notes, not only for the positive mental health effects47 but for free writing without the constraints of fealty to data. In a reflexive science such as gonzo sociology, such unfettered reflections can form an important data point themselves.48 On a more practical level, I suggest bringing as many books and movies as possible. No matter how involved one’s research program is, the nature of fieldwork ensures there will undoubtedly be extended periods of downtime. Had it not been for the technology enabling me to bring such a large variety of media with me, it would have been incredibly difficult to manage the isolation that comes from such extended periods of inactivity. Finally, along with this alienation and isolation is likely to be a significant amount of anxiety, especially early on in one’s time in the field. Because my fieldwork is incredibly expensive and Iraq is a relatively difficult nation to access (as will be most sites sought by the gonzo researcher), every trip to the field is accompanied by serious anxiety about my ability to collect enough data during my time there. While anxieties felt by the gonzo researcher are context-specific, it helps to remember everything is data. For example, although a frustrating and slow-moving process, my string of meetings with government officials to gain official approval for access taught me a great deal about the nature of the organization’s hierarchy, as such resistance “discloses much about the core values and interests of its members.”49 It quickly became obvious each particular official had no problem with my research plans but clearly knew if a superior found out, then they would be in a significant amount of trouble. This bureaucratic and political dependency, especially fear of reprisal, helps to explain a lot of behavior I have observed throughout the legal system.

The Centrality of Flexibility Successfully conducting gonzo research means above all working with flexibility; the very nature of the places and people under study means things like access, contacts, and research plans are nearly always contingent. Be prepared to triangulate data from as many sources as possible, both to gain a more complete picture of the field and to deal with the likelihood that much of your plan will either not come to fruition or have to be significantly altered. Simply put, one has to forgo standard research

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protocols and abandon any notion of positivistic models of hypothesis– data collection–results.50 Often, factors forcing changes to the project are not only out of the researcher’s control but out of the control of anyone. For me, a major change was prompted by my first extended period in the field coinciding with the Middle East Spring and Suly experiencing major daily demonstrations for several months.51 This obviously created significant difficulties for studying the police; the president of the region declared a state of emergency, and academy operations were suspended for over a month as trainers were pulled from classes to aid in crowd-control efforts. This development neatly encapsulates the perils and promise of gonzo sociology. My principal research site shutting down for a long stretch during my limited time in the field was a dispiriting development yet ended up becoming an amazing opportunity to expand my study in ways I had not conceived of prior to entering the field. For one, it left students and trainers still at the academy with basically nothing to do during their workday, making scheduling and conducting interviews much easier and allowing me to conduct significantly more than originally planned. More importantly, the demonstrations opened an entirely new site of great relevance. A focus of my research is how police understand and enact their role in the creation of a constitutional democracy, so seeing them in action during a major, sustained political demonstration provided an incredibly fruitful comparison point for the rhetoric of police regarding civil and political rights. The demonstrations also provided wonderful immediate, concrete examples for interviews, and it allowed research participants and me to contrast our experiences at the academy and out on the streets during the demonstrations. The disruption was not all positive, though, as it meant I was not able to observe nearly as many training courses as I had initially intended. A major course that was to have been completed in full during my time there did not actually begin until two weeks before I left. Under the gonzo motto that any data is better than no data, I cobbled together a survey culled from what had proven to be my most fruitful interview questions. While time constraints made it far from an expertly crafted survey, it has provided insights into a large number of research participants I otherwise never would have been able to speak with.

Learn When to Ignore Sound Advice A corollary to “any data is better than no data” is “everything encountered is data.” It then follows that the more one encounters the more data one will have, so gonzo sociologists should ignore conventional wisdom and

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get off the beaten path as much as possible. Obviously one should use their best judgment about safety and other concerns, but recognize that official recommendations about where is off limits are often far more conservative than need be. Generally, once established within a research site, the gonzo researcher should have a pretty good feel for which places and people are truly to be avoided and which will make for great additions to the study and can thus trust their instincts on where to go and with whom to talk.52 As Merton and Barber remind us in their discussion of serendipity, “reluctance to accept uncertainty limits the scope of available rewards.”53 Ignoring conventional wisdom and allowing space for serendipity is where the most interesting stories originate; for the sake of space, I’ll share two that represent opposite ends of the spectrum from mundane to exciting. Both provided great data in the broad and narrow senses—I was able to observe situations directly related to the central goals of my research, but more broadly, they led to a greater understanding of the region, culture, common expressions, and a multitude of other contextual factors that shed light on multiple aspects of my official data. On the mundane end, visiting chaikhanas and narghile shops and wandering through the bazaar became one of my best vehicles for insights into Kurdish society and peoples. Although Suly is a major, cosmopolitan city, the bazaar is still very much the heart of the city. While both the American consulate and the NGO with which I was affiliated strongly advised against going there, it quickly became apparent this was based far more on fears of liability than actual danger. In fact, I soon found my status as a white American actually provided me a significant amount of protection. Between the KRG attempting to establish itself as a tourist destination54 and my connections to important local officials, my visibility as one of a very few white Westerners in the city “raised the cost . . . of hostility”55 toward me. On the more exciting end of the spectrum, I was similarly warned to avoid the demonstrations at all costs. Despite some scattered incidences of violence, a combination of curiosity, hard-headedness, and the gonzo spirit conspired to push me to the demonstrations. Although there was certainly a greater chance of encountering danger than existed in wandering the bazaar, once again common sense and trusting my instincts regarding these types of situations more than sufficed.56 As happens in many such largescale demonstrations, it became clear which areas were safe and which put one in close contact with security forces. Similarly, nearly every outbreak of violence was preceded by a massive influx of security personnel and a

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palpable tension, making it easy to understand when self-preservation dictated heading home for the day. Obviously such situations are highly fluid and contextually dependent, so your mileage may vary, but I would have missed out on a significant amount of important data had I not ignored conventional wisdom and allowed space for serendipitous discoveries.

Relationships with Respondents Relationships between researcher and respondent in gonzo sociology are far afield of conventional research, and differentials in power assumed by review boards and conventional ethical standards are not nearly as straightforward; when collecting data, especially in conflict areas, gonzo researchers can easily find themselves occupying a weaker role in the power dynamic.57 In the very least, given that gonzo sociologists seek to immerse themselves in the participants’ world to understand and give voice to their reality, respondents are rarely in a position of dependence on the researcher.58 The a priori assumption that research participants are necessarily in a weaker position, in danger of being exploited, can actually be quite patronizing.59 Due to the difficulty of access in gonzo sociology, researchers are especially dependent on informants, and informants will often have their own uses for the researcher.60 Many informants take advantage of what they view as my prestigious Western credentials. One such key informant would regularly ask me to join him in meetings in which it quickly became clear my presence was desired not for anything I may learn or contribute but simply for the prestige that comes from having a white American academic in tow. I was more than willing to oblige because of both our friendship and his invaluable research assistance (even in a few traditional 4 a.m. breakfasts, a truly Herculean effort for a night owl like myself). Smiling silently through hours-long meetings in which I could barely follow the conversation was indeed a small price to pay for his assistance. However, to imply the wealthy scion of a powerful family parading me around to demonstrate his importance was somehow the powerless one in that situation is hard to reconcile. This is, of course, not to belittle the very real ethical concerns of the gonzo sociologist in relation to research participants but instead to make the point the gonzo sociologist will likely vacillate between being the more and less powerful member of any particular interaction. Beyond demands on my time from informants, more material demands are regularly made of me. Most of these stem from understandable, albeit incorrect, assumptions about the resources I command as a white American. Nearly

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every financial transaction I have in the KRG follows one of two wellestablished scripts; in classic Kurdish tradition that person sees me as a stranger who should be welcomed and extended every possible grace and therefore insists I pay extremely little or nothing at all for their goods and services, or the person falls on the opposite end of the spectrum, insisting that as an American I obviously command a significant amount of money and therefore must pay far more than the locals. Yet tallying up instances of when I was in a more or less powerful position is beside the point, as gonzo sociology aims to transcend such binary notions and instead focus on a collaborative, mutually beneficial production of knowledge.61 Given my experiences interviewing American police, with their reticence to share information and suspicion of my intentions, I am continually surprised at how accommodating Iraqi police are to my inquiries. Often, once my presence and research agenda become known, it is not at all uncommon for police and judges alike to demand to know why they have not yet been interviewed and to insist we find a time to speak immediately. As has become clear through such requests, and the content of those interviews, these respondents view my research as a chance for the world to hear their stories, an experience likely common to those researching less visible populations. While the voices of all Iraqis have been conspicuously absent from discussions in the West, the Kurdish people have been especially invisible, a fact not lost on them. It is also clear many respondents enjoy the perceived status that comes from being viewed as someone knowledgeable enough to be interviewed. It is this kind of symbiotic relationship for which gonzo sociology strives; while the parties involved may not all reap the same level of benefits, they all feel valued in the process. As Sefcovic argues, the research project can empower research participants “as an act in itself,” as serving as an informant “affirms the significance of the individual’s observations, opinions, lifestyles, etc.”62 These intangible benefits are typically invisible to institutional views of costs and benefits in research. In most such schemata, interviews are seen as at best not causing harm, yet participants often derive a great deal of personal and/or political satisfaction from the interview process.63 While these nuances to the ethics/consent paradigm are rarely recognized institutionally, they are central concerns for the gonzo researcher. Hessler et al.64 go so far as to argue for a moratorium on IRB review of social science research, replacing the rigid standard of informed consent with a more fluid least-harm approach in which researchers and participants negotiate rights and obligations directly with one another. Similarly, Sefcovic65 argues that unless research participants are genuinely incapable of granting

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consent, we must trust their decision to enter into the research partnership. In this kind of in-depth, lived research, consent is not a one-time issue granted through a signed form but rather a process in which trust is earned over a time of shared living and constant dialogue.66 So while I do not have a folder of signed forms indicating the consent of my participants, I can point to demands to be involved in the research and exhortations to relate their stories to the rest of the world as evidence that my respondents fully consented.

rePortinG it baCk The final area of ethical and professional concern lies in reports drawn from gonzo research. Unlikely to be addressed by institutional review, reporting on oft-ignored sites and peoples is fraught with peculiar difficulties. Chief among these, gonzo researchers must be conscious of avoiding “conflict fetish,”67 the assumption that the violent, dangerous, or otherwise unstable nature of the area is the only lens through which to view the lives of research participants. Instead, there is an onus on the gonzo researcher to demystify the worlds of their research participants, taking extra care not to exoticize the people or locale. As Iraq remains principally a news item to many Americans, many audiences (academic and lay) simply want to hear crazy stories about life in a war-torn land. While acknowledging the instability in many areas, I strive to make it clear such instability is hardly uniform, affecting different populations to very different degrees, and that even for those directly affected by the instability, it remains only one aspect of their lives. An anecdote I use to illustrate this is my first experience with live gunfire. While the demonstrations took up the center square of the town’s bazaar, the rest of it remained a bustling hub of commerce and conversation. One day early in the run of the demonstrations I was sitting outside a teashop, sipping chai and absent-mindedly watching people haggle with street vendors. Suddenly I could make out the distinctive pop of AK fire, loud enough that it had to be within a few hundred feet. None of the shoppers, vendors, or anyone else on the street I could see even bothered to glance in the direction of what was unmistakably nearby live gunfire. It was an incredibly forceful reminder that such factors might appear to an outsider as if they would dominate the thoughts and concerns of people but may in actuality simply be another aspect of their daily lives. Similarly, it is incumbent on the gonzo sociologist to understand the perceptions of their participants in the popular mind and to balance a need

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for accurate portrayals with sensitivity to those who have welcomed you into their worlds. For example, the inescapable conclusion of my work is that the reconstruction effort is going poorly and will not produce police officers prepared for policing a constitutional democracy. Yet such a narrative requires great care, as a number of people are more than happy to jump on anything that makes Iraqis appear foolish, incompetent, or less developed than their Western counterparts. Although following the gonzo dictate to not edit out the “deformities”68 of real life, I take special care to emphasize the structural and ideological limitations of the training process and reconstruction efforts that make it untenable. Rather than focusing on failures of Iraqi police, I work to carefully balance the difficulties experienced by police against structural forces far outside of their control. The final challenge for both researchers and audiences is how to evaluate the knowledge produced. A number of scholars have argued that the rigor of qualitative methodologies lie not in fixed procedure or replicability but in sound research strategies producing work demonstrating depth of knowledge and resonance with the issues at hand.69 As Merton and Barber70 remind us, serendipitous findings of the gonzo researcher are never purely accidental discoveries but instead require a refined scientific understanding to identify, process, and act upon them. Similarly, the gonzo approach is not one of blindly wandering about until data is discovered but instead of leaving space for random chance and serendipity, with the knowledge that “the weight of evaluation lies with the product”71 produced. To that end, I endorse an approach similar to Lather’s guide for establishing validity in openly ideological research. Noting that the “profound skepticism of both appearances and common sense”72 in research of this type often produces a more valid analysis, Lather proposes a four-part metric to reconceptualize the validity of research outside of traditional paradigms. The two most relevant constructs for gonzo sociology are what Lather terms face validity and construct validity. Face validity establishes the credibility of data, achieved by bringing preliminary analysis and tentative results to research participants, to ensure their legitimacy and refine them in relation to participant feedback. Construct validity refers to the need for researchers to engage in a “ceaseless confrontation with the experiences of people in their daily lives in order to stymie the tendency to theoretical imposition.”73 The goal is to make sure the analysis and results are an accurate depiction of the research participants’ world and not a flattening of details to ensure the case fits within existing theoretical constructs. This is achieved through a system-

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atized self-reflexivity in which the researcher is continually using the collected data to not only test theories but to test their own assumptions, as well as to examine how those assumptions may be shaping both the data and the manner of collecting it.

the CorreCtive PoWer oF Gonzo soCioloGy Many sociologists enter the field with grand ideas of the research they will conduct and the impact it will have. While it is often necessary to temper these dreams for the sake of financial and time constraints, too often the creativity and passion that brought scholars to the discipline are replaced by fealty to rigid efficiency and “safe” projects that can be completed on an orderly time table.74 Gonzo sociology, on the other hand, seeks to act as a counterbalance to these pressures by reopening space for the wild, immersive, and messy research that captures the imagination rather than speaking to narrow debates. The gonzo method is not intended to be a replacement for traditional sociological research practices but rather a continuing challenge that interrogates those practices while suggesting new methods of inquiry. Sefcovic argues gonzo methods could “exist on the edges where academic practice intersects with popular culture”75 and that the perspective brought by such researchers could lead to more popular styles of both writing and disseminating their research, leading to much greater exposure of their ideas to the general public. Such greater public exposure would be a very positive development for the field of sociology, which, despite its many discussions of public sociology,76 actually has a fairly difficult time getting the public to pay it any attention.77 In the place of replicability and rigid methodology, the value of gonzo research lies in a reflexive science producing innovative insights gleaned from marginalized populations who can only be studied with constantly evolving, novel methods.78 It is to be measured by the breadth of knowledge produced on the subject at hand, producing theories and insights with a face validity, as measured by research participants, and a construct validity that provides rich, detailed information through systematized self-reflexivity.79 The famed journalist Bob Woodward once argued “all good work is done in defiance of management.”80 While academics fortunately do not (yet) face the journalistic pressures of ad sales and immediate turnaround times, gonzo researchers will almost undoubtedly face significant hurdles, and the practice will almost assuredly be less open to some depending

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on the intersections of their identities. Yet this in itself is an argument in favor of more gonzo projects; such an increase would continue to demonstrate both the possibility and viability of gonzo research, likely reducing the institutional resistance to further research in this vein. In addition to opening up greater research possibilities, an increase in gonzo sociology would also bring in significantly more marginalized voices into sociological debates, undoubtedly enriching them.

Notes

ChaPter 1. kurds, Criminal JustiCe, and state leGitimaCy 1. Williams 2007; Bayley 1976; Silver 1967 2. Ellison and Pino 2012; Bayley and Perito 2010; Neild 2001; Jackson and Lyon 2001 3. Specifically, David Bayley and Robert Perito, who have written extensively on policing within Iraq, wrote about directly studying the force in person, “Ultimately, then, the most reliable way to get an exact accounting of the content of training . . . is to monitor instruction as it is given. Since this was not possible. . . . ” (2010: 114). 4. Williams 2007 5. Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010: 80 6. Simon 2007; Garland 2001 7. Bayley and Perito 2010: 152 8. Gottschalk 2006 9. Garland 1990; Goldstein 1990; Gramsci 1971 10. Herivel and Wright 2003; Manza and Uggen 2008 11. Hills 2014; Jackson et al. 2014 12. Clark and Dear 1984; Zeitlin 1980 13. Przeworski 1985 14. Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010; Jackson et al. 2014; Bradford et al. 2014 15. Przeworski 1985: 141 16. Nuruzzaman 2010 17. Call 2011; Schwarz 2005 18. Özerdem 2010; Chehab 2005 19. Yousif 2006; Bowen 2009; Special Inspector General for Iraq Reconstruction 2013 20. Yousif 2006: 498; Special Inspector General for Iraq Reconstruction 2013 21. The group’s “official” name has changed a number of times and is

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known in English varyingly as IS, ISIS, or ISIL. Many within Iraq, both Kurds and Arabs alike, refer to the group as DAESH, an acronym of the group’s name as spelled in Arabic that sounds similar to several insulting Arabic words. Use of the term DAESH is intended as an epithet against the group. I employ IS throughout for brevity’s sake. 22. Yousif 2006; Colas 2016 23. Chulov 2014a; Cockburn 2014; Malik et al. 2015; Wozniak et al. 2018 24. All names have been changed to protect the anonymity of research participants and friends. Unless specified as coming from a survey, all direct quotes are from in-person interviews. 25. Özerdem 2010; Chehab 2005 26. Moaddel et al. 2008; National Democratic Institute 2015 27. Al-Wardi 2010 [1969] 28. Hiltermann 2007 29. Human Rights Watch 1993 30. Chmaytelli 2017; Human Rights Watch 2017 31. Chulov 2017; Nuruzzaman 2010; Phillips 2015 32. Filkins 2014 33. Jones 2007, Moaddel et al. 2008 34. World Bank 2017 35. World Bank 2017 36. Alaaldin and Meleagrou-Hitchens 2016; Mamakani 2016 37. Davies 2011 38. Rydgren et al. 2013; Green and Ward 2009 39. Al-Wardi 2010 [1969] 40. Bhatia et al. 2008

ChaPter 2. the FaCe oF the state 1. Jefferson 1990; Silver 1967; Williams 2007 2. Quinney 1977; Garland 2001; Simon 2007 3. Hall et al. 1978; Garland 1990; Gramsci 1971 4. Durkheim 1997 5. Niederhoffer 1969: 12 6. Hall et al. 1978 7. Simon 2007; Garland 2001 8. Bayley and Perito 2010; Jackson et al. 2014; Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010 9. Den Heyer 2010: 214 10. Call and Barnett 1999: 47 11. Call 2011; Wennmann 2009; Wimmer 2018 12. Bradford et al. 2014; Hills 2014; Jackson et al. 2014; Tankebe 2009 13. Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010 14. Cohen and Nordås 2014; Wozniak 2017a 15. Zedner 2006: 83

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16. Zedner 2006; Jones and Newburn 2002; Williams 2007; Balko 2013 17. Spitzer 1983; Spitzer 1993; Williams 2007 18. Spitzer 1993; Quinney 1977 19. Spitzer 1983; Jones and Newburn 2002 20. Spitzer and Scull 1982; Garland 2001; Zedner 2006; McMichael 2017 21. Little and Sheffield 1983; Skolnick and Fyfe 1993; Zedner 2006; Jones and Newburn 2002 22. Zedner 2006; Jones and Newburn 2002; Balko 2013 23. Silver 1967 24. Moelker and Easton 2010 25. Pinto 2015 26. New York Times 2014 27. Balko 2013; Zedner 2006; Williams 2007 28. Kraska and Kappeler 1997; Zedner 2006; McMichael 2017 29. McMichael 2017 30. Kraska and Kappeler 1997 31. Silver 1967: 7 32. Pinto 2015 33. Novak 1996; Crime and Social Justice Associates 1983; Williams 2007 34. Williams 2007 35. Miller 1975; Crime and Social Justice Associates 1983; Williams 2007 36. Pinto 2015 37. Miller 1975: 91 38. Bayley and Perito 2010; Dobbins 2009; Ellison and Pino 2012; Goldsmith and Dinnen 2007; Murray 2011 39. Ellison 2007: 243 40. Bradford et al. 2014; Jackson et al. 2014; Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010 41. Bayley 1976 42. For a much more in-depth analysis of the two models and their shortcomings, see Wozniak 2017b and Wozniak 2018a. 43. Bayley 2006 44. Goldsmith and Dinnen 2007; Williams 2007 45. Roberts 2011; Goldsmith and Dinnen 2007 46. Bradford et al. 2014; Goldsmith and Dinnen 2007; Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010 47. Deflem and Sutphin 2006; Johnathan-Zamir and Harpaz 2014; Wozniak 2017a 48. Keen 2005; Murray 2011; Wozniak 2017b 49. Johnathan-Zamir and Harpaz 2014 50. Bradford and Quinton 2014 51. Deflem and Sutphin 2006; Pianin 2014 52. This view is quite similar to what is called “fourth generation peacebuilding” in the International Relations literature (cf. Roberts 2011).

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53. Roberts 2011: 2537 54. Yousif 2006: 503 55. Goldsmith and Dinnen 2007 56. Barbara 2008; Richmond and Mitchell 2011; Wennmann 2009 57. Collier et al. 2008; Mehlum et al. 2002; Richmond and Mitchell 2011 58. Herbst 2004: 357 59. Klein 2007; Muttitt 2012; Schwartz 2008; Wozniak 2017b 60. Baker 2007: 378 61. Wennmann 2009; Yousif 2006; Wozniak 2018b 62. Braithwaite and Wardak 2013; Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010; Rubin 2006 63. Baker 2007 64. Ellison 2007: 244 65. Though if you are interested in this history, I highly recommend Rodney Balko’s Rise of the Warrior Cop (2013). 66. Kraska and Paulsen 1997 67. Crime and Social Justice Associates 1983 68. Jefferson 1990: 16 69. Balko 2013; Kraska and Kappeler 1997 70. Della Porta 1995; Hodgson 2001 71. Skolnick and Fyfe 1993; Goldstein 1990; Skogan and Frydl 2004; Williams 2007 72. Balko 2013; Kraska and Paulsen 1997 73. Allen 2010 74. Hodgson 2001; Goldstein 1990 75. Balko 2013; Jefferson 1990; Kraska and Paulsen 1997 76. Goldstein 1990: 71 77. Jones 2007; Dobbins 2009 78. Moss 2006 79. Jones 2007 80. Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010: 87 81. Jones 2007; Hoffman 2006 82. Kuzmarov 2009: 220 83. Go 2011; Kuzmarov 2009 84. Kuzmarov 2009: 204 85. Ellison and Pino 2012; Keen 2005; Murray 2011; Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010 86. Ahram 2011 87. Owen 2004 88. Moss 2006; National Democratic Institute 2015 89. Jones 2007 90. Pianin 2015 91. Jones 2007 92. Moore 2006; Pianin 2014; Cockburn 2014; Human Rights Watch 2017 93. Herring and Rangwala 2006: 268

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94. Zulal 2011; Dawisha 2009; Herring and Rangwala 2006; Ackerman 2007; Owen 2004 95. Al-Wardi 2010 [1969]; Dawisha 2009 96. Dobbins 2009; Moss 2006 97. Paley 2006 98. Simon 2008; Agence France-Presse 2007 99. Green and Ward 2009 100. Simon 2008; Green and Ward 2009 101. Biddle et al. 2008 102. Green and Ward 2009; Biddle et al. 2008 103. Obama 2008 104. Nagl and Burton 2009 105. Amnesty International 2009; Morris 2015; Agence France-Presse 2016 106. United Nations Committee Against Torture 2015 107. Evans 1997; Aronowitz 2002; Wimmer 2018 108. Foucault 1994 109. Deleuze and Guattari 1983 110. Hardt and Negri 2000: xii 111. Robinson 2007, 2011 112. Pozo-Martin 2006: 224 113. Egan 2007: 98 114. Marx 1977 [1867] 115. See, for instance, The Eighteenth Brumaire (1994). 116. Gold et al. 1975 117. Mills 2000 [1956]: 18 118. Domhoff 1996: 22 119. Domhoff 1996, 2014 120. Przeworski 1985: 145 121. Codato and Perissinotto 2002 122. Clark and Dear 1984; Codato and Perissinotto 2002 123. Block 1987: 163 124. Silver 1967; Williams 2007; Hall et al. 1978; Simon 2007 125. Barbara 2008 126. Clark and Dear 1984: 1 127. Evans 1997 128. Harvey 2003; Aronowitz 2002 129. Gramsci 1971: 12 130. Gramsci 1971: 12 131. Lenin 2011: 19 132. Gramsci 1971: 235 133. Przeworski 1985 134. Gramsci 1971: 263 135. Anderson 1976: 43 (emphasis in original) 136. Gramsci 1971; Przeworski 1985; Wimmer 2018

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137. Call 2011; Wennmann 2009 138. Litowitz 2000: 545 139. Aronowitz 2002: 278 140. Gramsci 1971: 381 141. Paul 2007: 75 142. Gramsci 1971: 207 143. Gramsci 1971: 333 144. Hindess 1996 145. Silva 2010: 57 146. Herbert 2006: 483 147. Litowitz 2000 148. Gramsci 1971: 242 149. Barbara 2008 150. Aminzade 2013: 335 151. Egan 2007: 99 152. Pozo-Martin 2007: 561. See also Silva 2010. 153. Aronowitz and Bratsis 2002: xx 154. Wimmer 2018: 5 155. Pozo-Martin 2006; Glassman 2005 156. Aronowitz 2002: 273 157. Jessop 2002 158. Robinson 2007, 2011 159. Schwarz 2005 160. Jessop 2002: 193 161. Harvey 2003; Dobbins 2009; Go 2011 162. Egan 2007: 103 163. Egan 2007: 104 164. Aronowitz 2002; Silva 2010 165. Glassman 2005: 1531 166. Egan 2007: 102 167. Klein 2007: 343 168. Wennman 2009; Call 2011; Wozniak 2017b 169. Harvey 2003: 26 170. Go 2011: 12 171. Bacevich 2002 172. Go 2011 173. Gramsci 1971: 244 174. Jessop 2002: 211 175. Gramsci 1971: 245 176. National Democratic Institute 2015 177. Jessop 2002: 207 178. Gramsci 1971; Litowitz 2000; Silva 2010

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ChaPter 3. “ninety-nine PerCent oF our Problems are due to the budGet” 1. An excellent summation of how administration predictions did or did not work out in reality can be found in Murphy 2011. 2. Kroft 2002 3. Russert 2003 4. Rost 2006 5. New York Times 2002 6. Yousif 2006; Barbara, 2008; Klein, 2007; Schwartz, 2008 7. Economist 2003 8. Though if you are looking for a definitive conception of neoliberalism, I recommend Harvey 2007. 9. McMichael 2017 10. Jessop 2002: 453 11. Harvey 2007 12. Klein 2007: 5 13. Jessop 2002; Harvey 2007 14. Klein 2007: 11 15. Springer 2010 16. Borutzky 2005 17. Harvey 2006; Borutzky 2005 18. Looney 2004; Barbara 2008; Yousif 2006; Herring and Rangwala 2006 19. Muttitt 2012: 65 20. Schwartz 2008; Klein 2007 21. Barbara 2008; Harvey 2007 22. Dawisha 2009; Herring and Rangwala 2006; Verini 2019 23. Dawisha 2009; Muttitt 2012 24. Byman 2003 25. Looney 2013; Schwartz 2008 26. Wimmer 2018 27. Wimmer 2018: 69 28. Barbara 2008; Looney 2013 29. Owen 2004; Muttitt 2012 30. Ullman and Wade 1996 31. Klein 2007: 8 32. Muttitt 2012 33. Schwartz 2008 34. Klein 2007 35. Looney 2004 36. Yousif 2006 37. Philip 2013 38. Herring and Rangwala 2006; Yousif 2006 39. Cockburn 2014: 101

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40. Schwartz 2008 41. Explained in detail in Looney 2004 42. Keen 2005; McMichael 2017 43. Barbara 2008 44. Yousif 2006 45. Yousif 2006; Wimmer 2018 46. Wimmer 2018 47. Wennmann 2009 48. Call 2011 49. Sung 2004; Barbara 2008; Philip 2013 50. Jackson et al. 2014 51. Allen 2010 52. Philip 2013: 35 53. Le Billon 2008; Chang and Zaum 2013 54. Harvey 2003: 149 55. Schwarz 2005; Barbara 2008 56. Nascimento 2011 57. Dodge 2013 58. Herring and Rangwala 2006; Klein 2007 59. Schwartz 2008 60. Muttitt 2012 61. Muttitt 2012: 157 62. Klein 2007; Dodge 2009; Muttitt 2012 63. Looney 2013 64. Herring and Rangwala 2006: 50 65. Dawisha 2009; Ellison and Pino 2012; Muttitt 2012 66. Iraq Transition Assistance Office 2009 67. Wimmer 2018 68. Moss 2006; Special Inspector General for Iraq Reconstruction 2013; Whyte 2007; Verini 2019 69. Filkins 2014; Sedra 2007; Yousif 2006 70. Abdullah, Gray, and Clough 2018 71. Discussed in detail in chapter 5 72. A reference to the Gorran (‫ )غوران‬political party, a new party that arose in large part as a response to the corruption of the two major parties (see chapter 6) 73. Hawramy 2012 74. Goldstein 1990; Jackson et al. 2014; Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010 75. Allen 2010: 423 76. Kirkpatrick 2014 77. Gramsci 1971 78. Keen 2005: 85 79. Muttitt 2012: 233 80. Wennmann 2009 81. Goldsmith 2003; Sung 2004; Hassan 2014; Wozniak 2018b

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82. Schwartz 2008; Verini 2019 83. Harris 2014 84. Klein 2007: 359 85. Simon 2008 86. Al-Tikriti 2008; Green and Ward 2009 87. Mahmood 2015; Muttitt 2012; Owen 2004 88. Al-Tikriti 2008 89. Cockburn 2014: 63 90. Chulov 2014b 91. Braithwaite and Wardak 2013; Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010 92. Yousif 2006 93. Wennmann 2009: 1133 94. Goodwin 2001 95. Siebert et al. 2015; Wozniak et al. 2018 96. Verini 2019; Wozniak 2018b 97. Wood 2015 98. Cockburn 2014; Malik et al. 2015 99. Cockburn 2014; Mahmood 2015; Wozniak et al. 2018 100. Weber 1978: 213 101. Gramsci 1971 102. Wozniak 2018b 103. Sung 2004: 112

ChaPter 4. “nothinG on hoW to investiGate , nothinG on hoW to talk to or deal With PeoPle” 1. Hills 2014; Jackson et al. 2014 2. Gramsci 1971: 246 3. Garland 1990: 276 4. Garland 1990: 265 5. Gramsci 1971: 184 6. Goodman 2006: 169 7. Garland 1990: 69 8. Alexander et al. 2006 9. Garland 1990 10. Kern 2009: 292 11. Garland 1990: 11 12. Goldsmith and Dinen 2007; Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010; Ellison and Pino 2012 13. Harvey 2003 14. Abdullah et al. 2018 15. Hills 2014 16. Goldstein 1990; Skolnik and Fyfe 1993 17. Gramsci 1971: 229 18. Gramsci 1971: 168

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19. Goldstein 1990: 279 20. Goldstein 1990: 96 21. Wisler 2007 22. Goldstein 1990: 48 23. Garland 1990: 52

ChaPter 5. “iF you have no deGree, you Can Work here” 1. Bayley and Perito 2010; Den Heyer 2010; Neild 2001 2. Byman 2003; Muttitt 2012 3. Skolnick and Fyfe 1993; Goldstein 1990; Moskos 2008 4. Goldstein 1990 5. Goldstein 1990 6. White et al. 2010; Krimmel and Tartaro 2006 7. Roughly 70 percent of the workforce in Iraqi Kurdistan is employed by the KRG (Phillips 2015: 233). 8. Wasta is an Arabic word roughly meaning gains achieved outside of official channels due to personal connections. See chapter 3 for a fuller explanation of the term. 9. Albeit likely not many of them, cf. Deflem and Sutphin 2006 10. Krongard and Schmitz 2005 11. Moaddel et al. 2008 12. Merry 1998:15 13. Although most sources use the term “Arab Spring” to refer to the political upheaval during this period, the movements were comprised of people of many ethnicities, so I use the more inclusive “Middle East spring” to reflect that diversity. 14. Asaad 2011 15. Hardi 2011 16. Ekurd Daily 2011 17. Smart 2011 18. Morris 2015; Agence France-Presse 2016; Amnesty International 2009 19. Moskos 2008; Skolnick and Fyfe 1993; Goldstein 1990 20. Zulal 2011 21. Gramsci 1971: 246 22. Connolly 1916 23. Haarr 2005 24. Adam 2012: 717 25. Celador 2005; Den Heyer 2010; Tannock 2005 26. Adam 2012; Cortright 1975; Lingle 1989; Ossei-Owusu 2012 27. See Cortright (1975) for an excellent discussion of how technically volunteer security forces often rely on conscription by another name.

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ChaPter 6. “the laW is in one valley, but reality is in a diFFerent valley” 1. Dawisha 2009 2. Walsh 2018: 180 3. Romano 2006: 3 4. al-Wardi 2010 [1969] 5. Dawisha 2009 6. Phillips 2015: xxii 7. Walsh 2018 8. Stansfield 2003 9. Romano 2006; Dawisha 2009 10. Walsh 2018 11. Romano 2006 12. Phillips 2015 13. Phillips 2015 14. Stansfield 2003; Natali 2007 15. Brown 1999 16. Constitution of the Republic of Iraq Article 3 17. Sindi et al. 2018 18. Constitution of the Republic of Iraq Article 140 19. The final vote tally was 1,973,412 in favor of independence against 19,560 opposed (Phillips 2015: 103). 20. AP News 2004 21. Biden 2015 22. Whitehouse 2017 23. Walsh 2018 24. Paasche and Sidaway 2015: 2123 25. Kane 2011: 9 26. Paasche and Sidaway 2015: 2123 27. Coker 2017; Peçanha 2017; Walsh 2018 28. BBC 2017; Al Jazeera 2017 29. Coker 2017; Peçanha 2017; Rasheed 2017 30. Coker 2017; Peçanha 2017 31. Rasheed and Jalabi 2017 32. Phillips 2015 33. Risen et al. 2019 34. Zebari 2012 35. Chmaytelli 2017; Human Rights Watch 2017; Sherwani 2020 36. Article 2 of the Constitution of the Republic of Iraq specifically designates Arabic and Kurdish as the two official languages of the nation, and it specifies that legal proceedings shall be conducted in both languages. 37. Paasche and Sidaway 2015: 2129 38. al-Wardi 2010 [1969] 39. Bunton 2008

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40. Batatu 1978 41. Looney 2013 42. Herring and Rangwala 2006 43. Leezenberg 2006 44. Tripp 2007: 2 45. Constitution of the Republic of Iraq Article 45 46. Zedner 2006 47. Sirri 2019 48. Stansfield 2005; Dawisha 2009; Walsh 2018 49. Phillips 2015 50. Cockburn 2009 51. BBC 2013 52. Although the PUK and KDP are united in an electoral list, their jockeying for power meant in this case the PUK were happy to see limits imposed on a KDP president. 53. Ekurd 2015b 54. Rudaw 2017 55. Ekurd 2015a 56. Al Jazeera 2019; Reuters 2019 57. Solum 1987; Garland 1990; Dezalay and Garth 2002; Tushnet 2005 58. Solum 1987; Kairys 1982 59. Dagher 2009 60. Cockburn 2014; Wozniak 2018b; Wozniak et al. 2018 61. Siebert et al. 2015 62. Winkler et al. 2016 63. Abdul-Zahra 2019 64. Foltyn 2019 65. Cebrián 2019 66. Arraf 2019 67. Qader 2016 68. Iraqi Federal penal code Article 156 69. National Security Council 2005 70. Bush 2006 71. Skogan and Frdyl 2004; Bayley and Perito 2010; Ellison and Pino 2012; Chang and Zaum 2013 72. Allen 2010; Philip 2013; Wimmer 2018 73. Silva 2010; Gramsci 1971 74. Litowitz 2000

ChaPter 7. PoliCe, state makinG, and imPerialism 1. 2. 3. 4.

Davis et al. 2018 Paul 2007: 75 Williams 2007; Balko 2013; Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010 Bradford et al. 2014

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5. Amnesty International 2009; Agence France-Presse 2016; Human Rights Watch 2017 6. Wiatrowski and Goldstone 2010: 87 7. Jones 2007 8. Go 2011; Kuzmarov 2009 9. Go 2011; Harvey 2003 10. Marx 1994 11. In discussing the similarities between these two invasions, I am heavily indebted to Julien Go for his work, specifically for Patterns of Empire (2011). 12. Townshend 2011: xxiv 13. Fontana 2010 14. Go 2011 15. Fontana 2010: 1744 16. Hariri 2019 17. Dawisha 2009; Fontana 2010; Isakhan 2012 18. Muttitt 2012 19. Fontana 2010 20. Rayburn 2006: 32 21. Maude 1917 22. Dawisha 2009; Townshend 2011 23. Walsh 2003; Townshend 2011 24. Muttitt 2012; Fontana 2010 25. Dawisha 2009: 18 26. Fontana 2010 27. Isakhan 2012: 87 28. Hariri 2019; Verini 2019 29. Dawisha 2009: 19 30. Dawisha 2009; Fontana 2010 31. Fontana 2010 32. Rear 2008; Saleh 2013 33. Kadhim 2012; Saleh 2013 34. Townshend 2011 35. Rayburn 2006; Townshend 2011; Isakhan 2012 36. Hariri 2019: 20 37. Hariri 2019: 19 38. Dodge 2009 39. Townshend 2011: 522 40. Dawisha 2009 41. Dawisha 2009; Dobbins 2009 42. Herring and Rangwala 2006: 50 43. Hariri 2019: 20 44. Muttitt 2012 45. Townshend 2011; Hariri 2019 46. Gaddis 2004; Go 2011

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47. Gaddis 2004; Harvey 2003 48. Williams 1959 49. Schwartz 2008 50. Go 2011 51. Go 2011 52. Duncan and Coyne 2013 53. Kramer and Michalowski 2005 54. Bignell 2011 55. Muttitt 2012 56. Dobbins 2009; Herring and Rangwala 2006 57. Harvey 2003 58. Isakhan 2012: 121 59. Esterbrook 2002 60. National Security Council 2005 61. National Security Council 2005: 22 62. National Security Council 2005: 1 63. National Security Council 2005: 4 64. Bush 2003b 65. Bush 2003a 66. Bush 2004 67. Wolfowitz 2003 68. Klein, 2007; Muttitt 2012 69. Herring and Rangwala 2006: 13 70. Dawisha 2009 71. Mullick and Nusrat 2006; Muttitt 2012 72. National Security Council 2005; Hancock 2007 73. Dawisha 2009 74. Muttitt 2012: 199 75. Walsh 2018 76. Muttitt 2012 77. Dawisha 2009 78. Esterbrook 2002; Murphy 2011 79. Yousif 2006 80. Iraq Body Count 81. Schwartz 2008 82. Schwartz 2008 83. Herring and Rangwala 2006 84. Muttitt 2012 85. Wozniak 2017a; Morris and DeYoung 2014 86. Mullick and Nusrat 2006; Go 2011 87. Moaddel et al. 2008 88. Go 2011 89. Call 2011 90. Gramsci 1971: 333 91. Hindess 1996

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92. Quoted in Scahill and Hussain 2019 93. Risen et al. 2019 94. Scahill and Hussain 2019; Borger 2019 95. Rayburn and Sobchak 2019: 639 96. Risen et al. 2019 97. Hussain 2019 98. Fine et al. 2019; Kullab and Faraj 2019; Risen et al. 2019 99. Chulov and al-Faour 2019; Kullab and Faraj 2019 100. Rubin 2019 101. Kullab and Faraj 2019; Rubin 2019; Chulov and al-Faour 2019 102. Amnesty International 2019 103. Rubin 2019 104. Hussain 2019; Ekurd 2020 105. Wali 2020 106. Fine et al. 2019; Hussain 2019; Kube 2019 107. Ghafuri 2020; Sherwani 2020; Rudaw 2020 108. Fine et al. 2019 109. Kube 2019 110. Call 2011; Wennmann 2009 111. Wimmer 2018 112. Wimmer 2018: 77 113. Dobbins 2009; Ellison and Pino, 2012; Goldsmith and Dinnen 2007; Murray 2011 114. Bradford et al. 2014; Hills 2014; Jackson et al. 2014; Tankebe 2009 115. Human Rights Watch 1993; Natali 2010; Phillips 2015; Schwarz 2019

aPPendix This is an edited version of an article that originally appeared in The American Sociologist, entitled “When the Going Gets Weird: An Invitation to Gonzo Sociology.” 1. See Wozniak 2014. cf. Sefcovic 1995 2. See Thompson 1979. 3. Hirst 2004 4. Tamony 1983 5. Mosser 2012 6. Jirón-King 2008; Tamony 1983 7. Sefcovic 1995 8. Librett and Perrone 2010: 743 9. Mills 1980: 67 10. Mahoney and Goertz 2006; Kleinman et al. 1997 11. O’Neill 1974: 11 12. Burawoy 1999; Sefcovic 1995 13. Lather 1986 14. Sefcovic 1995: 33

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15. Green and Ward 2009; Vlassenroot 2005 16. Butz and Besio 2009; Spry 2001 17. Merton and Barber 2004: 272 18. Burawoy 1998: 28 19. Merton and Barber 2004; Merton 1948 20. Merton 1948: 506, emphasis in original 21. Merton and Barber 2004 22. Librett and Perrone 2010; Swauger 2009 23. Sandberg and Copes 2012; Trigger et al. 2012; Hessler et al. 2011; Heimer and Petty 2010; Gunsalas 2006 24. Martin and Ingwood 2012 25. Sandberg and Copes 2012; Jacobson et al. 2007 26. Jacobson et al. 2007 27. Swauger 2009 28. Heimer and Petty 2010; Carpenter 2007; Jacobson et al. 2007 29. Gunsalas 2006 30. Carpenter 2007 31. Swauger 2009 32. Heimer and Petty 2010 33. Hessler et al. 2011: 150 34. Green and Ward 2009, for example 35. Gunsalas 2006 36. Swauger 2009 37. Vlassenroot 2007 38. Vlassenroot 2007 39. Sandberg and Copes 2012 40. Vanketesh 2002 41. Inglehart et al. 2006 42. Sandberg and Copes 2012 43. Vanketesh 2002; Adams 1999 44. Adams 1999 45. Davies and Spencer, 2010; Kleinman and Copp 1993; Malinowski 1922 46. Adams 1999 47. Ullrich and Lutgendorf 2002 48. Burawoy 1999 49. Burawoy 1999: 17 50. Marx 1997 [1867] 51. See chapter 5 52. Sandberg and Copes 2012 53. Merton and Barber 2004: 190 54. Beehner 2008 55. Wood 2006: 379 56. Sandberg and Copes 2012 57. Martin and Ingwood 2012 58. Jacobson et al. 2007

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59. VanderStaay 2005; Adams 1999 60. Vlassenroot 2005; Vanketesh 2002; Adams 1999; Sefcovic 1995 61. Sandberg and Copes 2012; Jacobson et al. 2007; Sefcovic 1995 62. Sefcovic 1995: 30 63. Sandberg and Copes 2012; Wood 2006 64. Hessler et al. 2011 65. Sefcovic 1995 66. Carpenter 2007; Jacobson et al. 2007; Ramcharan and Cutcliffe 2001 67. Vlassenroot 2005: 193 68. Jirón-King 2008: 3 69. Jacobson et al. 2007; Burawoy 1999; Sefcovic 1995 70. Merton and Barber 2004 71. Burawoy 1999: 20 72. Lather 1986: 71 73. Lather 1986: 67 74. Librett and Perrone 2010; Swauger 2009; Mahoney and Goertz 2006; Kleinman et al. 1997 75. Sefcovic 1995: 27 76. cf. Acker 2005; Burawoy 2005 77. Longhoffer et al. 2010 78. Burawoy 1999; O’Neill 1974 79. Lather 1986 80. Garcia 2012

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Index

African states, postcolonial, 166 al-Maliki, Nouri, 158 Allende, Salvador, 51 anarchy, 5, 6, 53, 70. See also chaos; vacuum; void Anfal campaign, 9, 123 antiterrorism, 87–89. See also terror laws/anti-terrorism legislation Arab Spring. See Kurdish protests in Suly; Middle East Spring Arabic language, 9, 94, 128 Arabization campaign, destruction of Kurdish villages during, 8–9 Arabs and Kurds, tensions between, 152, 158; history of, 8. See also Shi’a–Sunni relations arrest warrants, 62–63 arrests, 109; in England, 21; indiscriminate, 21, 134; of IS members, 127; notice to arrest, 127; politics, corruption, and, 136, 137; students practicing making, 61, 79; in United States, 22; and the use of force, 116. See also handcuffing Article 156, 141 autonomy, state, 46. See also semiautonomy of KRG Awakening Councils, 34 Azadi Square, Suly, 112; demonstrations in, 112–15 Aziz, Tariq, 161

Ba’ath party, 94; membership, 54; police and, 8, 33, 54, 108, 110; Saddam Hussein and, 54, 122; spending, 52 Ba’athist Arabization campaigns in North Iraq. See Arabization campaign Ba’athist coup d’état of 1968, 32, 33, 154 Baghdad, 125–27; Fall of Baghdad (1917), 146, 149–51 Baghdad College of Police, 33 Barber, Elinor, 171 Barzani, Masoud, 12, 115, 125–26, 134–36 Barzani, Nechirvan, 136 Bayley, David, 24, 191n3 Botswana, postcolonial/independent, 166 bourgeoisie, 22, 37, 38 British empire, 156, 160; decline of, 149–50; three-pronged threat to their global dominance, 149–50 British invasion (and occupation) of Iraq (1914), 33, 148–49, 158; compared with US invasion, 20, 33, 130, 148–49, 154–58; consequences, 153– 54; how, 151–53; Iraqi police and, 33; KRG, the Kurdish, and, 122; motivations for, 149–51; and Saddam’s rule, 160. See also Mandatory Iraq

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Bush, George W., 146, 157, 164; administration, 48, 49, 51, 123, 124, 157, 158; police advisors sent by, 34. See also National Strategy for Victory in Iraq Capital (Marx), 41 capitalism, 20, 36, 38–39, 43, 49; coercion and, 41, 45; crime and, 40; globalization and, 36; invasion of Iraq and, 45; Marx and, 37, 38, 41; nation-states and, 36, 44; neoliberalism, economic liberalism, and, 45, 49, 50; relative state autonomy and, 38; territoriality and, 44; transnational, 36, 39, 44 capitalist hegemony, 38. See also hegemony capitalist imperialism, 46 Card, Andrew, 49 cars, sweeping, 78, 87–88 chaikhanas (tea shops), 13–15, 184 chaos, 5–7, 25, 53–55 checkpoints, 10, 107, 115 Cheney, Dick, 49 Chicago Boys, 50, 51 Chile: 1973 Chilean coup d’état, 51; military dictatorship of Chile (1973–1990), 51 civil liberties: and the military, 21; neoliberalism and, 30, 51, 55; vs. order and security, 30; police training and, 117. See also Constitution of the Republic of Iraq; human rights; rights of the accused clans, 52, 56, 130, 166. See also tribes Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA), 57, 157 coercion, 73; Antonio Gramsci and, 40–41, 70, 146; capitalism and, 41, 45; consent and, 41, 52, 147; forms of, 40–41; legitimacy and, 82, 146, 147; Saddam Hussein and, 52; state hegemony and, 40–42 Cold War, end of the, 155 colonization and colonialism, 156, 160. See also imperialism

Committee Against Torture (UN), 35 Concerned Local Citizens (CLCs), 34 conflict fetish, 187 conflict research, conducting. See gonzo sociology conflict zones, 181–82; conducting research in, 174, 176, 185 Connolly, James, 119 Constitution of the Republic of Iraq, 10, 135; 1958 interim constitution, 122, 130; Article 2, 201n36; Article 140, 124, 158; civil rights, police, and, 147; criminal justice system and, 138, 140; “disputed territories” and, 124; initial constitution of 1925, 129; judges’ lack of knowledge about, 137; KRG and, 130, 138, 144, 158, 164; languages and, 128; oil and, 125, 164 constitutional democracy, policing a, 72, 74, 84, 89–90, 94, 112, 146, 147, 166, 183, 188 constitutions, 74, 138; lack of a KRG constitution, 121, 138, 144. See also Constitution of the Republic of Iraq construct validity, 170, 188, 189; defined, 188 Copes, Heith, 177 corruption, 7–8, 57; among government officials, 136; among police station managers, 64–67; calls for an end to, 111; in criminal justice system, 67; demonstrations against, 8, 65, 162; Gorran Movement and, 135, 136, 198n72; journalism and, 179; and the labor force, 103; legitimacy and, 67; police, 7, 22, 23, 25, 31, 97, 106–8, 119, 163, 166; police training and, 82, 84, 142, 147; “thief takers,” 21; tribal reconciliation and, 133 (see also tribes). See also nepotism; wasta counterinsurgency force, police force acting as a, 148 counterinsurgency operations, 28, 149, 152, 158

Index counterinsurgency tactics, police training in, 28, 29, 148 counterterrorism, 87–89. See also terror laws/anti-terrorism legislation crime, street, 4–6 criminals’ rights. See rights of the accused cultural performance: of legitimacy, 73–74; police training as, 73–75; of policing, 73, 147; of punishment, 73. See also Police Lead Training Academy; police legitimacy; presentational matters de-Ba’athification, 5, 54 Defense Department. See US Department of Defense democracy(ies): capitalist, 38, 41 (see also capitalism); corruption and, 67; federalist, 4; policing a constitutional, 72, 74, 84, 89–90, 94, 112, 146, 147, 166, 183, 188 democratic police: vs. an auxiliary army, 80; reconstruction, 58; roles, 147 democratic police force, first modern. See Metropolitan Police democratic policing: vs. military tactics, 28–30, 87; morals and, 97; in Northern Ireland, 27; selfpresentational activities/symbolic displays and, 72, 74, 87, 96; and separation of police and military, 105–6, 147–48; skills relevant to, 96; training and, 30, 72, 74, 96, 165, 166; willingness to conform to the principles of, 23 democratic state: central needs of a, 19, 64; importance of the police to a, 19, 75, 99, 148; monopoly on the legitimate use of force, 146 demonstrations: anticorruption, 8, 65, 162; police response to, 111–15. See also Middle East Spring Dinnen, Sinclair, 26 discrimination, 134

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disputed territories of Northern Iraq, xi, 122, 124, 158 Domhoff, C. William, 37 Durkheim, Émile, 18 economic liberalism, 24, 50. See also neoliberalism economy of Iraq, 57–58; Saddam and the, 53, 54; wages, 12 (see also police: salaries) education of police, 96, 98–101, 105. See also police recruitment: educational requirements; police training educational role of the state, 43 election, 134–36, 151 Ellison, Graham, 27 empire, 46, 74, 148, 160; denials of, 149, 156. See also British empire; Ottoman empire employment. See labor force Energy Infrastructure Planning Group, 57 ethics, 42; in gonzo research and sociology, 172, 176–79, 185–87. See also morals exploitation of labor, 20 exploratory visit, 179–80 face validity, 170, 188, 189 Faisal I of Iraq, 151, 152 Fall of Baghdad (1917), 146, 149–51 feudalism, 20 firearms training, 90. See also rifles; shooting range firing range (practice). See shooting range formation marching. See marching Foucault, Michel, 36 freedom. See civil liberties Freedom Square. See Azadi Square Friedman, Milton, 50, 51 gangs, 70–71 Garland, David, 73 ghost payrolls, 31, 64–65, 67 globalization, 35, 36, 47; neoliberal, 36, 43, 45

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Goldsmith, Andrew, 26 Goldstein, Herman, 29 gonzo, etymology of the term, 169–70 gonzo journalism, 169, 170 gonzo research, 189–90; the centrality of flexibility in, 182–83; conducting, 181–87; dearth of funding for, 176–77; defined, 172; personal concerns related to, 181–82; prerequisites for successful, 182; reflexivity, 170, 188–89; reports drawn from, 187–89; the value of, 189 gonzo researchers, 170–71, 173, 184, 185; anxieties felt by, 182; ethics/ consent paradigm and, 186 (see also under ethics); hurdles faced by, 187, 189; personal concerns faced by, 181–82; relationships with respondents, 185–87 gonzo sociologists, 185; gaining access, 177–80, 185; learning when to ignore sound advice, 183–85 gonzo sociology, 169, 182, 183, 187– 88; central tenant, 171; concept of, 171; corrective power, 189–90; goals, 170, 186, 189; importance of face-to-face connections in, 180; institutional review boards (IRBs) and, 171–76, 179, 186; most relevant constructs for, 188; nature of, 169–71, 181; origins, 169, 171–72; proscriptions of, 170; relationships with respondents in, 185; review process in, 179; the value of, 181 Gorran Movement (political party), 135–36, 198n72 Government of Iraq (GOI), 10, 167; coordination between KRG and, 8, 10, 115, 126, 167; Islamic State (IS) and, 10, 71, 125–27, 139, 164; oil and, 125; struggle between KRG and, 10, 11, 121, 125, 164; working with the central government, 126–28. See also Ministry of the Interior governmental vacuum, 70, 160. See also vacuum

governmental void, 46, 71, 162. See also void Gramsci, Antonio: on coercion, 40–41, 146; on crises, 73; on establishing legitimacy, 43, 70, 118, 146; on force, 82, 118; on governance and consent, 47; on hegemony and the state, 39–43, 118, 144; on state power, 42, 144, 146; on states, 72; on superstructures of civil society, 41; on war, 81–82; on wars of position, 41 Gulf War, 52, 53, 123, 155 gun range (practice). See shooting range gunfire, demonstrations met with, 111, 113 guns, 61, 90, 92. See also pistols; presenting arms; rifles Halabja chemical attack, 94 handcuffing, training in, 87, 88 Harvey, David, 46 hegemonic rule, achievement of, 160–61 hegemony, 47, 144, 146–47, 160, 161; Antonio Gramsci on, 39–43, 118, 144; of British empire, 149; coercion and, 40–42; defined, 40; of Saddam, 52, 162; state autonomy and, 38 Hessler, Richard M., 174, 186 history (of Iraq): repeats itself, 148– 60. See also British invasion (and occupation) of Iraq; Occupation of Iraq; policing; policing within the Iraqi state; postinvasion Iraq; US invasion of Iraq house, sweeping a, 87–89 human rights, 83; KRG and, 32, 126, 130, 139; police and, 59, 60, 82, 83, 89, 101, 105, 106, 109, 110, 119, 120, 147, 148, 163, 168 (see also rights of the accused); tribal traditions and, 130, 133. See also civil liberties; Constitution of the Republic of Iraq

Index human rights abuses, 32, 109, 113, 119–20, 130, 163. See also torture human rights articles, 82, 83, 101, 109 imperial functions, 46 imperial project, 46, 74 imperialism, 46, 74–75, 156; 2003 invasion of Iraq and, 155, 159, 160; open door, 154–55; state–capitalist tension and, 43. See also British invasion (and occupation) of Iraq; US invasion of Iraq institutional review boards (IRBs), 171–76, 179, 186 intercapitalist rivalry, 44, 45 international organizations. See nonstate actors: international/ multinational international police assistance, 166 international police reconstruction, 23–24; classical/neoliberal model, 24–25; police militarization and reconstruction, 28–30; the reflexive turn, 26–27 invasion of Iraq. See British invasion (and occupation) of Iraq; US invasion of Iraq Iraq, characterizations of: cut off from rest of the world (by Saddam), 6, 31; a nation on the brink (again), 160–68; a reason for hope, 165–68 Iraq, history of. See history (of Iraq) Iraq National Oil Company, 164 Iraqi–Kurdish Autonomy Agreement of 1970, 122 Iraqi revolt of 1920, 152 Ireland. See Police Service of Northern Ireland Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, 162 Islamic State (IS/ISIS/ISIL/Daesh), x, 5, 10, 68, 127, 139, 147, 162, 164; 2003 invasion of Iraq and, 160; compared with prior militia groups, 70–71; conditions that led to the rise to, 129; economic impact, 12; “fight them back with the law

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of the jungle,” 116; finances, 69, 70; function, 70–71; Government of Iraq (GOI) and, 10, 71, 125–27, 139, 164; KRG and, 12, 121, 124–27, 133, 139, 141, 144, 164; Kurdistan and, 168; Kurds and, 125; legal indeterminacy and confusion over which laws apply to, 126, 139–41; legitimacy, 70; maps (of territorial control), x, xi; militias that came to comprise, 68; names for, 191n21; oil and, 12, 125, 162; parallel administration, 5, 69, 70; Peshmerga and, 10, 124–25, 127; reasons people join, 70; rise of, 5–6, 12, 69–71, 139, 160; Shi’a–Sunni conflict and, 69; terrorism and, 139–41 Islamic State (IS) members, punishment of, 116–17, 144 journalism, 189; “new,” 169. See also gonzo journalism judges, 15, 121, 130–32, 134, 136–37; and arrest warrants, 62–63; legal code and, 121, 138; shortage of, 62, 63; training, 142, 143; unreasonable workloads, 63–64 KDP (Kurdistan Democratic Party), 12, 111, 133–36 Kingdom of Iraq under British Administration. See British invasion (and occupation) of Iraq Kirkuk, 125; Britain and, 122, 152; Kurds and, 8, 122, 123, 152; oil in, 8, 11, 122, 123, 152 Kirkuk status referendum, 124, 158 Kurdish language, 9, 94, 128 Kurdish nationalism, 122 Kurdish protests in Suly (2011), 8, 111–12, 163–64, 183 Kurdish Regional Constitution, proposed/drafted, 130, 138 Kurdish territorial control at the time of 2017 independence, xi Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP), 12, 111, 133–36

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Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG), 1–2; life in, 11–14; terminology, 11. See also specific topics Kurds: characteristics, 14; persecution of, 8, 9. See also specific topics labor, exploitation of, 20 labor force: corruption and the, 103; de-Ba’athification and the, 5, 54. See also wages languages of Iraqi people: formal, 128. See also Arabic language; Kurdish language law enforcement vacuum. See vacuum: law enforcement law(s), 2, 18; “local,” 141; orphan, 138. See also specific topics legal indeterminacy: “the law is in one valley, but reality is in a different valley,” 138; ongoing training (or lack thereof) and, 142–43; sources of laws and, 137–38; uncertainty as to which laws are applicable, 139–41; in a weak state, 143–45 legitimacy: Antonio Gramsci on, 43, 70, 118, 146; as central need of a democratic state, 19, 64; coercion and, 82, 146, 147; cultural performance of, 73–74; democratic, 44; effective delivery of services and, 19; nation-states and, 19, 36–37, 44; power and, 46, 47; role of the state in securing, 43, 46, 47. See also police legitimacy liberal economic order, 50; global, 44. See also neoliberalism liberties. See civil liberties “local laws,” 141 Long Depression, 150 looting, 5, 53, 54 Maliki, Nouri al-, 57, 158 Mandatory Iraq, 33, 122, 129. See also British invasion (and occupation) of Iraq marching: police, 2; in police train-

ing, 72, 75, 78, 81, 84–87, 89–92, 94, 96 Marx, Karl, 37, 38, 41, 148–49 Marxism, Antonio Gramsci and, 39–40 Marxist and neo-Marxist theories of the state, 37–39 Maude, Stanley, 146, 150–51 Merton, Robert, 171–72 Mesopotamian campaign. See Fall of Baghdad metastate, international, 36 Metropolitan Police (London), 21–22 Middle East Spring (Arab Spring), 111, 183, 200n13. See also demonstrations: police response to; Kurdish protests in Suly militaristic training, 30 militarization, police: and reconstruction, 28–30. See also paramilitary policing military: separation of police and, 21, 105–6; treating police as part of the, 147–48 military mission creep, 80–82 militias, 67–71, 128; citizens turning to (see Islamic State); origins, 68 Mills, C. Wright, 37, 170 Ministry of the Interior (MOI), 7, 30, 32, 83, 102 mission creep. See military mission creep moral architectures, 43 morals: of police, 82, 97–98. See also ethics Muttitt, Greg, 57 nation-states, 43, 44, 47; capitalism and, 36, 44; decline of, 35, 36, 44; vs. empires, 46; and the invasion of Iraq, 36–37, 44–45; legitimacy and, 19, 36–37, 44; police and, 19; power and, 35–37, 43, 44; the rise of, 149, 154; transnationalism, globalization, and, 35, 36, 43, 44, 47 National Security Council (NSC), 156

Index National Strategy for Victory in Iraq, 142, 156 nationalism: Iraqi, 33, 154. See also Kurdish nationalism neoimperialism, 47, 148 neoliberal development programs, implementation of, 30 neoliberal globalization, 36, 43, 45. See also neoliberalism: globalization and neoliberal ideology, invasion and reconstruction dominated by a, 161 neoliberal insistence on a weak and limited state, 68, 71 neoliberal reform model, shortcomings of the, 56–57 neoliberal reforms, 49, 51, 55–58, 156 neoliberal restrictions on government spending, 102, 165 neoliberal state building, the problem with, 151–55; making a state without the state, 155–58 neoliberal training regimen, 163 neoliberal vision, 58; of Bush administration, 49; reconstruction guided by a, 120 neoliberalism, 39, 47, 48, 68; and chaos, 25, 55; classical/neoliberal model of police reconstruction, 24–26; defining, 49–51; freedom, civil liberties, and, 51; globalization and, 47 (see also neoliberal globalization); and the invasion of Iraq, 45, 48–49, 51, 161 (see also neoliberal vision); militarism, militarization, and, 45; in the military dictatorship of Chile, 51; regulation, deregulation, and, 45, 49, 50, 56; and the rise of Islamic State (IS), 71; roots/origins, 50; scope of the term, 49; state power, coercion, and forced introduction of, 45, 48–51, 54 neoliberalism’s harmful effects on policing: problems created by the police, 64–67; problems created for the police, 58–64

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nepotism, 7, 64–67, 137. See also wasta no-fly zones, 123 nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), 114, 180. See also nonstate actors nonstate actors, 27, 42, 56, 67, 121, 167; citizens turning to, 57, 67, 71, 165; filling voids, 68, 70–71 (see also vacuum; void); integrated into the policing function, 34, 42; international/multinational, 35, 39, 44, 45; policing services provided by, 34, 165; the power of, 128–37, 167; powerful competing, 144; problems caused in KRG by, 137; someone has to be the state, 68–71. See also tribes; violent nonstate actors Occupation of Iraq (2003–2011), 49, 56–57. See also US invasion of Iraq oil, 7, 152, 155; British invasion of Iraq and, 150, 151, 156; control of oil rights turned over to foreign entities, 151, 157; exports, 57, 125, 135, 155; Gulf War and Kuwait’s, 155; Iraqi Constitution and, 125, 164; Islamic State (IS) and, 12, 125, 162; in Kirkuk, 8, 11, 122, 123, 152; KRG and Kurdish, 125, 164; US invasion of Iraq and, 155–57 Oil-for-Food Programme (UN), 31, 53 oil prices, 12 oil production, 57, 125, 155, 159 oil revenues, 13, 122, 123, 162, 164 open door imperialism, 154–55 organizations: tribal, 167 (see also tribes). See also nongovernmental organizations; nonstate actors orphan law, 138 Ottoman empire, 129, 148; dissolution of the, 149, 152 “outsiders,” protecting against, 106 parallel administration, 5, 69, 70 paramilitary policing, 22, 28, 163; problems with, 28. See also militarization

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Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK), 12, 65, 134–36; boycott of 2019 elections, 136 Peel, Robert, 21–22 Perito, Robert, 191n3 Peshmerga: Islamic State (IS) and, 10, 124–25, 127; overview and nature of, 9 Pinochet, Augusto, 51 pistols, 90–93. See also shooting range police: education, 96, 98–101, 105; funding, 27, 60, 64; general inability or refusal to perform the task at hand, 91–94; KRG vs. American, 62–63; as model citizens, 21, 22; the need for and importance of, 2–6, 19; private policing vs. public, 39; problems (from neoliberalism) created by the, 64–67; and the public, 21, 22; response to public demonstrations, 111–15; salaries, 59, 60, 64–65, 67, 91, 102–3, 105, 107, 166; as second-tier soldiers, 29–30, 80. See also democratic police; Saddam Hussein’s police police, reasons for joining the, 101–6; to defend the nation (and people), 105–6 police brutality, 163 police conscription. See police recruitment Police Lead Training Academy, 82–84, 89, 92, 94, 97, 112–14; conducting conflict research at, 169–71, 174–76, 183; the general training atmosphere, 78–79; leaving the academy unprepared for the job, 94–96; life at the, 75–76; military mission creep, 80–82; rapid courses, 81; training lectures, rules, and protocol, 82–84; the training process, 76–78 police legitimacy: failing to gain legitimacy, 91–96; mechanisms for creating legitimacy, 84–91. See also legitimacy

Police Paramilitary Units (PPUs), 28 police reconstruction, 74; importance, 35; as microcosm, 165; reflexive model of, 26–27. See also international police reconstruction; militarization police reconstruction programs, 25–27, 148, 163, 164. See also reconstruction programs police reconstruction projects, 97; US Defense Department and, 29, 30. See also reconstruction projects police recruitment (and selection), 119; from conscription of force to laissez-faire conscription, 118–20; educational requirements, 91, 98–99, 104; “Even if you have no degree you can work here,” 100; who actually joins the police, 100–101; who should join the police, 98–100; who shouldn’t join the police, 97–98; who they want to join their ranks, 97–101. See also police, reasons for joining the police recruits, 75, 99, 120 police reform: difficulties of and obstacles to, 27, 32; lasting impact, 27 Police Service of Northern Ireland, 21, 27 police station managers, corrupt, 64–67 police tactics, lack of education regarding basic, 96 police training, 14–15, 72, 166; corruption and, 82, 84, 142, 147; in counterinsurgency tactics, 28, 29, 148; daily routines and the process of creating police, 75–82; funding/budgets, 60–63, 96, 142, 163; lack of, 147; legal indeterminacy and ongoing, 142–43; “Ninety-nine percent of our problems are due to the budget,” 63. See also Police Lead Training Academy policing: history of Western policing (from private to public), 20–23; role in successful state construction, 19

Index policing within the Iraqi state, 31–35; clash of rhetoric and reality, 111–20; “golden era” of Iraqi policing, 33; history, 32–33. See also specific topics political parties, 12, 133–37 postcolonial African states, 166 postinvasion Iraq, 6–8. See also specific topics postinvasion plan, lack of a, 49, 153, 158 postnational age, 44 power: Antonio Gramsci on state power, 42, 144, 146; legitimacy and, 46, 47 (see also legitimacy); nationstates and, 35–37, 43, 44; tribes and, 129–31 (see also tribal influence). See also under neoliberalism; nonstate actors power elite, 37 power vacuum. See vacuum: power power void, 162 presentational matters (in police training), 72, 74, 84, 85, 96, 147. See also cultural performance; marching; saluting presenting arms, 85, 87, 96 protests. See demonstrations; Kurdish protests in Suly; Middle East Spring punishment, 18, 139, 141; cultural performance of, 73; and the hegemonic state, 144; of Islamic State (IS) members, 116–17, 144 reconstruction of Iraq, 165, 168. See also police reconstruction; specific topics reconstruction process, 11, 35, 67, 96 reconstruction programs, 26, 81; failures of, 163. See also police reconstruction programs reconstruction projects, 4, 11, 25, 159. See also police reconstruction projects reflexive science, 182, 189 relative-state autonomy, 38–40

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Revolutionary Guards, 162 rifles, 85–87, 90. See also shooting range rights of the accused, 25, 82–84, 93, 109, 110, 118, 133. See also human rights Robinson, William, 44 rural/tribal areas, 9, 52, 68 Saddam Hussein, 31, 51, 130; antiSaddam resistance in Suly, 13, 115; Ba’ath party and, 54, 122; crime control, 6; and Iraqi economy, 53, 54; and the isolation of Iraq, 6, 31; and the Kurds, 8, 9, 52, 106, 122, 123, 158, 168; overthrow of, 5, 48, 56, 149, 155–56, 161 (see also deBa’athification); penal code influenced by, 141; provision of public goods to maintain power, 52; Shi’a populations persecuted under, 162; void left by the absence of, 12, 161– 62 (see also void) Saddam Hussein’s police, 29, 146; Baghdad College of Police and, 33; enforcing price controls, 52; fear evoked by, 110; postinvasion police contrasted with, 107–10, 118–19; postinvasion police’s views on, 106–9; praise of, 52, 106, 107; and street crime, 4–6 safety, 175; and legitimacy, 19, 64 Salim (street), 1–2 saluting (in police training), 61, 72, 81, 84–87, 90, 92, 96 sanctions against Iraq, 153 Sandberg, Sveinung, 177 Saray Azadi. See Azadi Square science as risk-taking, 171–72 scientific method, 171 scientific research, 170–72 security: vs. civil liberties, 30; and legitimacy, 19, 64 security vacuum, 27, 68, 164. See also vacuum Sefcovic, E. M. I., 170–71, 186–87, 189

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self-determination, 122, 150 self-presentational activities. See presentational matters self-reflexivity, 188–89 semi-autonomy of KRG (attained in 1991), 6, 11, 32, 33, 138, 139; nebulous nature of the, 122–28 service vacuum. See vacuum Shi’a–Sunni relations, 69, 152, 158, 162 shooting, 93 shooting range (practice), 61–62, 76, 80, 90–94 Shura Council, 140 social reproduction and state hegemony: methods for achieving, 40. See also hegemony social warfare, forms of, 40–41 Somalia, postcolonial/independent, 166 Sons of Iraq, 34 Sorani, 16, 180 South Kurdistan. See Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) “sovereigntyscapes,” Iraq as a web of complex, 128–29 spontaneous consent (of the masses), 40, 163 state: absence of (a legitimate) (see vacuum; void); Gramsci on hegemony and the, 39–43, 118, 144; leaving the state behind, 35–37; legitimacy, imperialism, and importance of the, 43–47; making a state without the, 155–58; Marxist and neo-Marxist theories of the, 37–39; nature of the, 41; someone has to be the, 68–71. See also specific topics state-autonomy school, 37–39 State Department, US, 29, 34 street crime, Saddam’s police and, 4–6 sub-state groups. See nonstate actors Sulaymaniyah (Suly), 1, 2, 65, 152; 2011 Kurdish protests in, 8, 111–12, 164, 183; checkpoints around, 115; College of Police, 75; life in, 13–14;

nature of, 1, 13, 175; safety, terrorism, and, 175 Sulaymaniyah, University of, 12, 13 Sunnis–Shi’a relations, 69, 152, 158, 162 superstructures of civil society, 41, 47 “suspects,” 80. See also rights of the accused sweeping: a house, 87–89; a vehicle, 78, 87–88 symbolic displays. See presentational matters Talabani, Jalal, 12 Taliban, reasons for citizens tolerating the, 27 target practice. See shooting range tea shops. See chaikhanas Terror, War on, 155 terror laws/anti-terrorism legislation, 139–41 terrorism: Suly and, 175; and torture, 117. See also Islamic State; violent nonstate actors “terrorist,” use of the term, 80 “thief takers,” 21 Thompson, Hunter S., 169–71 thought, modes of, 73 torture, 7, 9–10, 116, 117; of IS members, 116, 117; KRG and, 35, 117, 127; by Kurdish police, 35; of people who confess to terrorism, 117; support for the use of, 116, 117, 120; used by IS, 127, 139 traffic police, 100 traffic policing, 77 training. See police training transnational capitalism, 36, 39, 44 transnational networks, 39 transnational police reconstruction, 24 tribal divisions, 34, 52 tribal influence, 130, 137, 167. See also tribes: power and tribal leaders and chieftains, 34, 129–31 tribal loyalty, 52, 121, 129, 130

Index tribal reconciliation, 34, 131–33, 136 tribal/rural areas, 9, 52, 68 tribes, 52, 56, 67, 129–33, 144; finances, 34, 154; manipulation of, 52, 130, 154; power and, 129–31 (see also tribal influence); Saddam and, 52, 130; terminology, 130. See also clans; nonstate actors United Nations Committee Against Torture, 35 University of Sulaymaniyah, 12, 13 uprisings in Iraq (1991). See semiautonomy of KRG US Department of Defense (DoD), 29, 30, 34, 80, 108, 148 US Department of State (State Department), 29, 34 US global dominance, three-pronged threat to, 154 US invasion of Iraq (2003), 155, 159–60; Bush administration and, 48, 49, 146, 157, 158; consequences, 159–60; how, 157–59; ideological expectations and neoliberal reality, 48–49; Kurds and, 168; motivations for, 49, 51, 146, 149, 154–57, 161; and the nation-state, 36–37, 44–45; and the rise of IS, 160. See

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also Occupation of Iraq; Saddam Hussein: overthrow of; specific topics vacuum: governmental, 70, 160; law enforcement, 27, 68; power (and service), 5, 12; security, 27, 68, 164; of social control, 5. See also anarchy; nonstate actors; void; specific topics validity, 170, 188, 189 vehicles, sweeping, 78, 87–88 violent nonstate actors, 27, 46, 48, 69, 147, 167; government vacuum and, 160. See also Islamic State; militias; paramilitary policing void, 21, 64; governmental, 46, 71, 162; left by the absence of Saddam, 12, 161–62; power, 162. See also anarchy; nonstate actors; vacuum; specific topics wages, 12. See also police: salaries wasta, 65–66, 103, 107, 142, 177, 179. See also nepotism weapons training, 90–91 Wimmer, Andreas, 52–53, 166 Wolfowitz, Paul, 157 Woodward, Bob, 189

Founded in 1893,

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