Jamal Mustafa to Asharq Al-Awsat: I Couldn’t Provide Bribe Demanded by Judge, So I Was Jailed for Another 10 Years

Saddam Hussein and Jamal Mustafa Sultan.
Saddam Hussein and Jamal Mustafa Sultan.
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Jamal Mustafa to Asharq Al-Awsat: I Couldn’t Provide Bribe Demanded by Judge, So I Was Jailed for Another 10 Years

Saddam Hussein and Jamal Mustafa Sultan.
Saddam Hussein and Jamal Mustafa Sultan.

In the final installment of his interview with Asharq Al-Awsat, Jamal Mustafa Sultan, a former Iraqi official and Saddam Hussein’s son-in-law, delves into his arrest, the collapse of hopes for resistance against US forces, and the turmoil that followed the American invasion of Iraq in 2003.

Mustafa faced a harsh journey during the 2003 US invasion of Iraq. He traveled to rally tribal leaders to defend Baghdad, only to return and find the city occupied. Declared a fugitive, his face appeared on the US “most-wanted” playing cards.

Mustafa fled to Syria but was denied asylum and sent back to Iraq, where he was arrested. Accused of leading resistance and car bombings, the court found no evidence to convict him.

In 2011, a judge offered him release in exchange for a bribe, which Mustafa could not afford. His proposal to sell family land to pay was rejected, leaving him imprisoned for another decade. He was eventually freed over lack of evidence.

A US soldier watches the toppling of Saddam Hussein’s statue in Baghdad on April 7, 2003. (Reuters)

After his release, Mustafa went to Erbil, where Kurdish leader Masoud Barzani invited him for a meeting. Barzani welcomed him warmly and asked how he could help. Mustafa requested assistance in obtaining a passport, praising Barzani’s generosity.

Mustafa shared that Saddam respected Barzani, once calling him a “tough but honorable opponent.” He also revealed that, before the 2003 US invasion of Iraq, Barzani had assured Saddam that Kurdish forces would not fight the Iraqi army.

Recalling the lead-up to the war, Mustafa said Saddam tasked him with reconnecting with tribal leaders to encourage them to resist the invasion.

He delivered personal messages from Saddam, along with financial support, to help tribes host Iraqi soldiers stationed nearby. Mustafa later traveled to the Anbar province to rally tribes and bring them to defend Baghdad.

This account offers a rare glimpse into the behind-the-scenes efforts to resist the US invasion and the complex relationships that shaped Iraq’s history.

As the US invasion loomed, Mustafa met with thousands of tribal leaders to rally support for Baghdad’s defense.

“During the war, I met with over 4,500 tribal sheikhs from across Iraq,” he said. But when he returned to Baghdad after a trip to Anbar, everything had changed. “The city had fallen, and everything was in chaos.”

Mustafa tried to locate his associates but found no one. On April 11, 2003, he sent his driver to search for allies.

By chance, his brother, Lt. Gen. Kamal Mustafa, located him. “He told me we needed to leave Baghdad. I hadn’t planned to leave, but he convinced me it was the logical choice—we had no weapons, no men, and no resources. Staying would only mean capture.”

The brothers fled to Ramadi, where tribal leaders offered them refuge, and from there, they attempted to seek asylum in Syria. After just two days, Syrian authorities sent them back to Iraq.

Back in Baghdad, Mustafa and Khalid Najm, Iraq’s last intelligence chief, stayed with a university friend, Dr. Hafidh Al-Dulaimi. While there, Al-Dulaimi’s nephew suggested surrendering to Ahmed Chalabi’s forces, but Mustafa refused.

Saddam Hussein meets with top members of his regime. (Getty Images)

Shortly after, armed men stormed the house. “They came with tanks and masks,” Mustafa recalled. He and Najm were arrested on April 21, 2003—a day he will never forget.

Mustafa shared his experiences in US detention after his capture. “The interrogations were relentless, often involving psychological and physical pressure,” he added.

“They focused on weapons of mass destruction—’did Iraq have them, and where were they?’ Everyone faced the same questions. They also asked about US pilot Michael Scott Speicher, whose plane was shot down during the Gulf War. Though his remains were later found, the Americans kept questioning us, believing more was being hidden.”

Life in the detention center was highly controlled. Detainees were grouped in blocks of seven and given 30 minutes of outdoor time. Sultan recalled a chilling moment when Ahmed Hussein, Saddam’s office chief, told him during exercise: “The president has been captured.”

“We had clung to hope that Saddam’s freedom could lead to Iraq’s liberation,” Mustafa said. “His arrest shattered that hope and signaled the occupation’s permanence.”

He also described mysterious construction in the prison. “We saw carpenters working constantly. Eventually, they built a wooden barrier, blocking the corridor from view. We could only guess what it was for.”

When asked if Saddam had led the resistance before his capture, Mustafa confirmed: “Yes, the resistance began after the war. It wasn’t planned in advance because, at that time, the focus was purely military—army against army.”

“After the occupation, a new phase started. Battles unfolded in stages, and Saddam was leading the resistance during this one. He was the hope of the resistance, of the Iraqi people, and of Arabs and Muslims,” Mustafa revealed.

His remarks offer a glimpse into the post-invasion dynamics and the symbolic role Saddam played during Iraq’s turbulent transition.

Mustafa also recounted the difficulty of reaching his family after his arrest.

“After my capture, I lost all contact with my family. I didn’t have any phone numbers for my brothers, friends, or colleagues. Even if I had, phone lines had been disrupted—many exchanges had been bombed, and communication in Iraq was severely impacted,” he told Asharq Al-Awsat.

Mustafa recalled an encounter with the International Red Cross during his detention.

Saddam Hussein and his daughter Hala. (Courtesy of the family)

“The Red Cross offered me the chance to write a message to my family, as is their usual practice. But I was at a loss—who could I write to? I had no idea where my brothers or family were. I didn’t know anything about their whereabouts.”

Then, Mustafa had an idea. “I thought of Ammo Baba, a well-known football coach in Iraq. I didn’t know his address, but I remembered the address of the Police Club, where I had been president. I decided to write the letter there, addressed to Ammo Baba, asking him to pass it on to my family.”

Mustafa’s story highlights the communication challenges and isolation faced by detainees during the Iraq War.

He then described the prolonged separation from his family following his arrest. “I had no hopes of hearing from my family when I sent my letter through Ammo Baba,” Mustafa said.

“The situation was too difficult. After two and a half to three months, I received a response from Ammo Baba. He sent his regards, inquired about my health, and included a message from Yassin, a coach who worked with me. Along with the letter, they sent me sportswear—a shirt and shorts.”

Mustafa’s communication with his family may have been limited, but the letter served as a lifeline.

“A couple of years later, I received the first message from my wife, Hala, after two years in detention.”

Jamal Mustafa Sultan with his children.

When asked if he had been separated from his family for 18 years, Mustafa confirmed: “Yes, I hadn’t seen them or my children for 18 and a half years.”

“There were no visits or conversations, except for a brief period when we were held by the Americans. During that time, they allowed us five minutes a week to speak with our families. I would split the time—two and a half minutes with my mother and siblings, and the rest with my wife and daughters,” he said.

However, he revealed that after 2010, communication was cut off entirely.

“When we were transferred to Iraqi custody, they stopped allowing any contact. I was careful not to make calls with the Iraqis, as I feared enemies or foreign agents could record them,” explained Mustafa.

Mustafa’s story underscores the isolation he endured and the limited means of contact with his loved ones during years of detention.



As the UN Turns 80, Its Crucial Humanitarian Aid Work Faces a Clouded Future

Students in an English class at a primary school run by URWA for Palestinian refugees at the Mar Elias refugee camp in Beirut, Lebanon, Monday, June 2, 2025. (AP Photo/Hassan Ammar)
Students in an English class at a primary school run by URWA for Palestinian refugees at the Mar Elias refugee camp in Beirut, Lebanon, Monday, June 2, 2025. (AP Photo/Hassan Ammar)
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As the UN Turns 80, Its Crucial Humanitarian Aid Work Faces a Clouded Future

Students in an English class at a primary school run by URWA for Palestinian refugees at the Mar Elias refugee camp in Beirut, Lebanon, Monday, June 2, 2025. (AP Photo/Hassan Ammar)
Students in an English class at a primary school run by URWA for Palestinian refugees at the Mar Elias refugee camp in Beirut, Lebanon, Monday, June 2, 2025. (AP Photo/Hassan Ammar)

At a refugee camp in northern Kenya, Aujene Cimanimpaye waits as a hot lunch of lentils and sorghum is ladled out for her and her nine children — all born while she has received United Nations assistance since fleeing her violence-wracked home in Congo in 2007.

“We cannot go back home because people are still being killed,” the 41-year-old said at the Kakuma camp, where the UN World Food Program and UN refugee agency help support more than 300,000 refugees, The Associated Press said.

Her family moved from Nakivale Refugee Settlement in neighboring Uganda three years ago to Kenya, now home to more than a million refugees from dozens of conflict-hit east African countries.

A few kilometers (miles) away at the Kalobeyei Refugee Settlement, fellow Congolese refugee Bahati Musaba, a mother of five, said that since 2016, “UN agencies have supported my children’s education — we get food and water and even medicine,” as well as cash support from WFP to buy food and other basics.

This year, those cash transfers — and many other UN aid activities — have stopped, threatening to upend or jeopardize millions of lives.

As the UN marks its 80th anniversary this month, its humanitarian agencies are facing one of the greatest crises in their history: The biggest funder — the United States — under the Trump administration and other Western donors have slashed international aid spending. Some want to use the money to build up national defense.

Some UN agencies are increasingly pointing fingers at one another as they battle over a shrinking pool of funding, said a diplomat from a top donor country who spoke on condition of anonymity to comment freely about the funding crisis faced by some UN agencies.

Such pressures, humanitarian groups say, diminish the pivotal role of the UN and its partners in efforts to save millions of lives — by providing tents, food and water to people fleeing unrest in places like Myanmar, Sudan, Syria and Venezuela, or helping stamp out smallpox decades ago.

“It’s the most abrupt upheaval of humanitarian work in the UN in my 40 years as a humanitarian worker, by far,” said Jan Egeland, a former UN humanitarian aid chief who now heads the Norwegian Refugee Council. “And it will make the gap between exploding needs and contributions to aid work even bigger.”

‘Brutal’ cuts to humanitarian aid programs UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres has asked the heads of UN agencies to find ways to cut 20% of their staffs, and his office in New York has floated sweeping ideas about reform that could vastly reshape the way the United Nations doles out aid.

Humanitarian workers often face dangers and go where many others don’t — to slums to collect data on emerging viruses or drought-stricken areas to deliver water.

The UN says 2024 was the deadliest year for humanitarian personnel on record, mainly due to the war in Gaza. In February, it suspended aid operations in the stronghold of Yemen’s Houthi group, who have detained dozens of UN and other aid workers.

Proponents say UN aid operations have helped millions around the world affected by poverty, illness, conflict, hunger and other troubles.

Critics insist many operations have become bloated, replete with bureaucratic perks and a lack of accountability, and are too distant from in-the-field needs. They say postcolonial Western donations have fostered dependency and corruption, which stifles the ability of countries to develop on their own, while often UN-backed aid programs that should be time-specific instead linger for many years with no end in sight.

In the case of the Nobel Peace Prize-winning WFP and the UN’s refugee and migration agencies, the US has represented at least 40% of their total budgets, and Trump administration cuts to roughly $60 billion in US foreign assistance have hit hard. Each UN agency has been cutting thousands of jobs and revising aid spending.

“It's too brutal what has happened,” said Egeland, alluding to cuts that have jolted the global aid community. “However, it has forced us to make priorities ... what I hope is that we will be able to shift more of our resources to the front lines of humanity and have less people sitting in offices talking about the problem.”

With the UN Security Council's divisions over wars in Ukraine and the Middle East hindering its ability to prevent or end conflict in recent years, humanitarian efforts to vaccinate children against polio or shelter and feed refugees have been a bright spot of UN activity. That's dimming now.

Not just funding cuts cloud the future of UN humanitarian work

Aside from the cuts and dangers faced by humanitarian workers, political conflict has at times overshadowed or impeded their work.

UNRWA, the aid agency for Palestinian refugees, has delivered an array of services to millions — food, education, jobs and much more — in Lebanon, Syria and Jordan as well as in the West Bank and Gaza since its founding in 1948.

Israel claims the agency's schools fan antisemitic and anti-Israel sentiment, which the agency denies. Israel says Hamas siphons off UN aid in Gaza to profit from it, while UN officials insist most aid gets delivered directly to the needy.

“UNRWA is like one of the foundations of your home. If you remove it, everything falls apart,” said Issa Haj Hassan, 38, after a checkup at a small clinic at the Mar Elias Palestinian refugee camp in Beirut.

UNRWA covers his diabetes and blood pressure medication, as well as his wife’s heart medicine. The United States, Israel's top ally, has stopped contributing to UNRWA; it once provided a third of its funding. Earlier this year, Israel banned the aid group, which has strived to continue its work nonetheless.

Ibtisam Salem, a single mother of five in her 50s who shares a small one-room apartment in Beirut with relatives who sleep on the floor, said: “If it wasn’t for UNRWA we would die of starvation. ... They helped build my home, and they give me health care. My children went to their schools.”

Especially when it comes to food and hunger, needs worldwide are growing even as funding to address them shrinks.

“This year, we have estimated around 343 million acutely food insecure people,” said Carl Skau, WFP deputy executive director. “It’s a threefold increase if we compare four years ago. And this year, our funding is dropping 40%. So obviously that’s an equation that doesn’t come together easily.”

Billing itself as the world's largest humanitarian organization, WFP has announced plans to cut about a quarter of its 22,000 staff.

The aid landscape is shifting

One question is how the United Nations remains relevant as an aid provider when global cooperation is on the outs, and national self-interest and self-defense are on the upswing.

The United Nations is not alone: Many of its aid partners are feeling the pinch. Groups like GAVI, which tries to ensure fair distribution of vaccines around the world, and the Global Fund, which spends billions each year to help battle HIV, tuberculosis and malaria, have been hit by Trump administration cuts to the US Agency for International Development.

Some private-sector, government-backed groups also are cropping up, including the divisive Gaza Humanitarian Foundation, which has been providing some food to Palestinians. But violence has erupted as crowds try to reach the distribution sites.

The future of UN aid, experts say, will rest where it belongs — with the world body's 193 member countries.

“We need to take that debate back into our countries, into our capitals, because it is there that you either empower the UN to act and succeed — or you paralyze it,” said Achim Steiner, administrator of the UN Development Program.