BAGHDAD — At the once bustling hub of the largest anti-government protest movement in Iraq’s modern history, crowds have dwindled, and donation boxes have sprouted up. Loudspeakers resound with calls by activists for funds to keep their hard-fought revolution alive.
The six-month-old movement has faced one setback after another, from the shifting positions of a mercurial Shiite cleric to an apathetic political class and, now, fears over an outbreak of the coronavirus that Iraq’s decrepit health system has struggled to contain, with nearly 93 confirmed cases and nine deaths.
Where once Baghdad’s Tahrir Square had seen thousands every day, now only a few hundred protesters turn up. Morale has been dampened among young Iraqis who first took to the streets on Oct. 1 to decry rampant government corruption, poor services and unemployment.
Protesters have found it difficult to revive the strength of their leaderless movement after scoring victories early on, like pressuring lawmakers to pass a key electoral reform bill and forcing former Prime Minister Adel Abdul-Mahdi to step down. Assassinations, abductions and threats targeting prominent protesters have contributed to blunting the momentum.
A looming economic crisis linked to the coronavirus pandemic and ongoing political dysfunction could eventually bring a new jolt that inspires Iraqis back to the streets. But for the moment, the movement is looking at what went wrong.
The difficulties of recent months caused the poles of authority among protesters to shift from the capital to the south, while some say shunning any form of central leadership was a mistake.
In Tahrir Square, a group of young men recently shared a hookah pipe under a tarp by a tunnel replete with the wall art of their revolution. Together, they embodied the spirit that first brought many into Iraq’s central squares to protest.
Marwan Ali, 23, had attended university to study communication but could only find work as a barber after graduation. Mohammed Abbas, 19, didn’t bother pursuing a higher education, convinced it wouldn’t secure a job. So in October he picked up a banner and joined the movement.
Hussein al-Hind, 22, was a teenager when he heeded a call by Iraq’s top Shiite cleric to take up arms and defeat the Islamic State group with what would later become the paramilitary Popular Mobilization Forces. He soon became disenchanted as his one-time war heroes joined the ranks of the political class by running in the May 2018 election.
The young men have also suffered the violence that has met the movement. Al-Hind showed off two bullet wounds from clashes with riot police; Abbas was detained by police for three days early on in the demonstrations; Ali’s family has received messages from unknown groups threatening his life.
Now, the future of their hard-fought protest movement depends on the ability of these youth to keep to the streets.
When the conversation turned to the state of their movement, Marwan Ali took a moment’s pause.
“We are disappointed,” he said. Asked why he was still coming to Tahrir, he said, “This isn’t about the homeland anymore, we are here for the blood of our martyrs.” Over 500 people have been killed since October under fire by security forces who have used live ammunition, tear gas and recently pellet guns to disperse crowds.
In nearby Khilani Square, clashes still rage between a core group of protesters and security, with at least two demonstrators dead last week.
The movement was dealt a blow in January after radical Shiite cleric Muqtada al-Sadr, who also heads a major political bloc, withdrew support after elites selected a prime minister candidate he backed, Mohammed Allawi. Al-Sadr’s reversal instilled a climate of fear in the square as militiamen affiliated with his group, which once protected protest sites, intimidated demonstrators who refused to back Allawi, activists said. Allawi has since withdrawn from the post.
It was an eventuality that activists said they wanted to avoid when al-Sadr’s followers first joined the movement.
