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Why and How Did al-Kadhimi Return to Baghdad?

Mustafa al-Kadhimi (AP)
Mustafa al-Kadhimi (AP)
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Why and How Did al-Kadhimi Return to Baghdad?

Mustafa al-Kadhimi (AP)
Mustafa al-Kadhimi (AP)

Mustafa al-Kadhimi, the former Prime Minister of Iraq, arrived in Baghdad last Tuesday aboard a private jet. He was greeted by a security detail typically assigned by the government to former heads of state, a scene that would have been unimaginable for an Iraqi politician who faced widespread persecution for two years.

A political faction had wanted al-Kadhimi to leave Baghdad after a drone strike targeted his home in November 2021. He formally left the capital in late 2022 after a broad alliance, including political parties, judicial and governmental institutions, and activists, united to force him out of the public arena and effectively push him into exile.

The first image of al-Kadhimi, shaking hands with a security officer near his home in the Green Zone, offers a powerful snapshot of the changes unfolding in Iraq today. It also hints at the future of the country amidst a Middle East in the midst of unprecedented turmoil.

There are growing speculations surrounding the circumstances of al-Kadhimi’s return, with close associates suggesting it followed a “special invitation” to assist the Coordination Framework alliance in tackling an emerging crisis ahead of a potential second term for Donald Trump.

Critics of both the Framework and al-Kadhimi view this as further evidence of his knack for “saving the deep state.”

Did al-Kadhimi return to aid those who stripped him of the opportunity to remain secure in the public sphere, or is he seeking to help himself and his political agenda at a “golden moment”?

A newly appointed advisor to al-Kadhimi said: “The region is undergoing dangerous transformations that will affect Iraq, and all politicians must contribute to mitigating these risks.”

Meanwhile, politicians within the Coordination Framework commented: “Something will happen within the next two months... something for which the current Framework structure has no antidote.”

This answer offers little clarity about what transpired since the fall of 2022 and how the Coordination Framework and its media apparatus relentlessly targeted al-Kadhimi’s government. Now, he returns, with the political system pinning its hopes on him at a critical juncture.

“Recharging Phones”

Before al-Kadhimi’s return, signs emerged suggesting Baghdad had lost its ability to connect with key US decision-making circles, and to some extent, with its immediate regional surroundings.

Since the Democrats left their posts at the US State Department, the government of Prime Minister Mohamed Shia al-Sudani has struggled to find a single Republican willing to answer the phone.

Reports indicate that a team assigned to revive communications with the Trump administration failed to establish a reliable channel, aside from ceremonial meetings with individuals uninterested in Iraq’s concerns.

The “loss of connection,” a term used by three senior figures in the government and one of the ruling parties, was underscored on November 13, when Sudani attended the Munich Security Conference without securing any meeting with an American official present at the event.

This communication breakdown coincided with a series of “unfriendly” US messages, frequently relayed by Republican Congressman Joe Wilson and US Special Presidential Envoy for Hostage Affairs Adam Boehler.

Iraqi politicians suggest that the “deep state” sees al-Kadhimi as “the man capable of recharging the dead phones,” and potentially rescuing both al-Sudani and the Coordination Framework.

“No one knows if he’s willing to provide this service for free, or if he’ll offer it at any cost,” said a politician who opposed al-Kadhimi during his tenure as prime minister.

The Nightmare of Sanctions

The prospect of a second term for Trump brings a team that holds little affection for leaders in the Coordination Framework, ministers in the government, and officials in the judiciary.

Among them is the new National Security Advisor, Michael Waltz, who has consistently seized opportunities to attack Baghdad, accusing it of “surrendering itself to Tehran.”

In Baghdad, there is a strong belief that the Republican team will not hesitate to act on Iraq once it finishes with Gaza and the war in Ukraine. The least that comes to the minds of Iraqi politicians, many of whom are disliked by Waltz, is that they will one day find their names on a sanctions list.

“Why not try al-Kadhimi’s formula, which gave Washington the confidence of a balance between it and the Iranians?” say many in Shiite parties, anxious about what lies ahead. Their list of speculations starts with sanctions on influential Shiites and ends with the potential for Trump to block the dollar.

Does al-Kadhimi possess these exceptional abilities that would make him a "steel dome," as some politicians in Baghdad envision him, now dreaming of discovering a way to protect them from a possible American storm?

“A Known Figure”

How did the Iraqi government end up in a political deadlock? Prominent politicians in the Coordination Framework offer explanations, often converging on the Syrian file. Iraq struggled to understand the new regional political philosophy and faced difficulties in shifting away from the rules of “Al-Aqsa Flood” to the post-Assad era.

“Since Trump doesn't think much about Iraq,” says David Schenker, the former US Assistant Secretary of State for Near Eastern Affairs, Washington will not engage in healthy relations with Iraq unless it aligns sufficiently with the changes in its surrounding environment.

Even among circles close to the religious establishment in Najaf, views are emerging that reflect an understanding of Iraq’s lost political position—one that sees the regime as a vital part of the Arab movement on regional issues.

Interestingly, this is all happening without any response from Tehran.

“Not because it has abandoned the Iraqi file, or is unable to influence it,” says a source familiar with the discussions surrounding al-Kadhimi’s return.

The source adds that “Tehran needs to revive Baghdad, which is reaching a dead end in foreign policy and losing vitality in its dealings with the region and the West,” though it remains unclear whether al-Kadhimi’s return is linked to this climate.

Despite a generally positive view of al-Kadhimi's tenure, many criticize al-Sudani for his delayed efforts to adapt to the region’s tumultuous changes. It was difficult to remain in the same place while a seismic shift occurred in Syria and a storm raged in Lebanon.

What role does al-Kadhimi play? Most likely, he seized the “golden opportunity.”

He sees himself as the person capable of quickly adapting to a changing Middle East, with a solid communication channel to the Arab world and experience in balancing regional dynamics.

Iraqi politicians argue that Trump’s era and the new Middle East will impose a new political equation in Baghdad, one that demands a person who can be a “reliable partner” in Arab decision-making circles to be recognized by the Americans.

For this reason, al-Kadhimi has secured his return ticket to the competitive arena—this time, not with slogans of “resistance,” but with a focus on integration into the new order.

Liberal Shiites

Al-Kadhimi’s return was preceded by former Prime Minister Ayad Allawi’s announcement of a new alliance, and by the activities of Adnan al-Zurfi, a former candidate for the premiership whose nomination was opposed by armed factions.

Together, these elements form a growing context for the search for liberal Shiites offering a fresh alternative.

Those who favor this scenario and promote it as “the only solution” argue that Syria, under Ahmed al-Sharaa, Lebanon under Joseph Aoun and Nawaf Salam, are missing Iraq—a country led by liberal Shiites who know how to balance relations between Washington and Tehran without tipping the scale.

Al-Kadhimi found his way back to Baghdad after the alliance that had relentlessly targeted him crumbled.

The Coordination Framework is no longer the same as it was in 2022. Nouri al-Maliki, leader of the State of Law coalition, is searching for ways to rein in al-Sudani, while the armed factions are working hard to carve out new positions that free them from the burden of “uniting the arenas.”

Meanwhile, Qais al-Khazali, leader of Asa'ib Ahl al-Haq, is experimenting with silence—a stance he typically avoids, especially in an election year.

Al-Kadhimi senses that all of these figures now welcome his presence in Baghdad.

They seek from him a “good reputation” for Iraq—one that does not require drastic changes to align with the new dynamics in Syria and Lebanon. The question remains: will he offer this service for free?

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10 Years after Europe's Migration Crisis, the Fallout Reverberates in Greece and Beyond

File photo: Migrants of African origin trying to flee to Europe are crammed on board of a small boat, as Tunisian coast guards prepare to transfer them onto their vessel, at sea between Tunisia and Italy, on August 10, 2023. (Photo by FETHI BELAID / AFP)
File photo: Migrants of African origin trying to flee to Europe are crammed on board of a small boat, as Tunisian coast guards prepare to transfer them onto their vessel, at sea between Tunisia and Italy, on August 10, 2023. (Photo by FETHI BELAID / AFP)
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10 Years after Europe's Migration Crisis, the Fallout Reverberates in Greece and Beyond

File photo: Migrants of African origin trying to flee to Europe are crammed on board of a small boat, as Tunisian coast guards prepare to transfer them onto their vessel, at sea between Tunisia and Italy, on August 10, 2023. (Photo by FETHI BELAID / AFP)
File photo: Migrants of African origin trying to flee to Europe are crammed on board of a small boat, as Tunisian coast guards prepare to transfer them onto their vessel, at sea between Tunisia and Italy, on August 10, 2023. (Photo by FETHI BELAID / AFP)

Fleeing Iran with her husband and toddler, Amena Namjoyan reached a rocky beach of this eastern Greek island along with hundreds of thousands of others. For months, their arrival overwhelmed Lesbos. Boats fell apart, fishermen dove to save people from drowning, and local grandmothers bottle-fed newly arrived babies.

Namjoyan spent months in an overcrowded camp. She learned Greek. She struggled with illness and depression as her marriage collapsed. She tried to make a fresh start in Germany but eventually returned to Lesbos, the island that first embraced her. Today, she works at a restaurant, preparing Iranian dishes that locals devour, even if they struggle to pronounce the names. Her second child tells her, “‘I’m Greek.’”

“Greece is close to my culture, and I feel good here,” Namjoyan said. “I am proud of myself.”

In 2015, more than 1 million migrants and refugees arrived in Europe — the majority by sea, landing in Lesbos, where the north shore is just 10 kilometers (6 miles) from Türkiye. The influx of men, women and children fleeing war and poverty sparked a humanitarian crisis that shook the European Union to its core. A decade later, the fallout still reverberates on the island and beyond.

For many, Greece was a place of transit. They continued on to northern and western Europe. Many who applied for asylum were granted international protection; thousands became European citizens. Countless more were rejected, languishing for years in migrant camps or living in the streets. Some returned to their home countries. Others were kicked out of the European Union.

For Namjoyan, Lesbos is a welcoming place — many islanders share a refugee ancestry, and it helps that she speaks their language. But migration policy in Greece, like much of Europe, has shifted toward deterrence in the decade since the crisis. Far fewer people are arriving illegally. Officials and politicians have maintained that strong borders are needed. Critics say enforcement has gone too far and violates fundamental EU rights and values.

“Migration is now at the top of the political agenda, which it didn’t use to be before 2015,” said Camille Le Coz Director of the Migration Policy Institute Europe, noting changing EU alliances. “We are seeing a shift toward the right of the political spectrum.”

A humanitarian crisis turned into a political one

In 2015, boat after boat crowded with refugees crashed onto the doorstep of Elpiniki Laoumi, who runs a fish tavern across from a Lesbos beach. She fed them, gave them water, made meals for aid organizations.

“You would look at them and think of them as your own children," said Laoumi, whose tavern walls today are decorated with thank-you notes.

From 2015 to 2016, the peak of the migration crisis, more than 1 million people entered Europe through Greece alone. The immediate humanitarian crisis — to feed, shelter and care for so many people at once — grew into a long-term political one.

Greece was reeling from a crippling economic crisis. The influx added to anger against established political parties, fueling the rise of once-fringe populist forces.

EU nations fought over sharing responsibility for asylum seekers. The bloc’s unity cracked as some member states flatly refused to take migrants. Anti-migration voices calling for closed borders became louder.

Today, illegal migration is down across Europe While illegal migration to Greece has fluctuated, numbers are nowhere near 2015-16 figures, according to the International Organization for Migration. Smugglers adapted to heightened surveillance, shifting to more dangerous routes.

Overall, irregular EU border crossings decreased by nearly 40% last year and continue to fall, according to EU border and coast guard agency Frontex.

That hasn’t stopped politicians from focusing on — and sometimes fearmongering over — migration. This month, the Dutch government collapsed after a populist far-right lawmaker withdrew his party’s ministers over migration policy.

In Greece, the new far-right migration minister has threatened rejected asylum seekers with jail time.

A few miles from where Namjoyan now lives, in a forest of pine and olive trees, is a new EU-funded migrant center. It's one of the largest in Greece and can house up to 5,000 people.

Greek officials denied an Associated Press request to visit. Its opening is blocked, for now, by court challenges.

Some locals say the remote location seems deliberate — to keep migrants out of sight and out of mind.

“We don’t believe such massive facilities are needed here. And the location is the worst possible – deep inside a forest,” said Panagiotis Christofas, mayor of Lesbos’ capital, Mytilene. “We’re against it, and I believe that’s the prevailing sentiment in our community.”

A focus on border security

For most of Europe, migration efforts focus on border security and surveillance.

The European Commission this year greenlighted the creation of “return” hubs — a euphemism for deportation centers — for rejected asylum seekers. Italy has sent unwanted migrants to its centers in Albania, even as that faces legal challenges.

Governments have resumed building walls and boosting surveillance in ways unseen since the Cold War.

In 2015, Frontex was a small administrative office in Warsaw. Now, it's the EU's biggest agency, with 10,000 armed border guards, helicopters, drones and an annual budget of over 1 billion euros.

On other issues of migration — reception, asylum and integration, for example — EU nations are largely divided.

The legacy of Lesbos

Last year, EU nations approved a migration and asylum pact laying out common rules for the bloc's 27 countries on screening, asylum, detention and deportation of people trying to enter without authorization, among other things.

“The Lesbos crisis of 2015 was, in a way, the birth certificate of the European migration and asylum policy,” Margaritis Schinas, a former European Commission vice president and a chief pact architect, told AP.

He said that after years of fruitless negotiations, he's proud of the landmark compromise.

“We didn’t have a system,” Schinas said. “Europe’s gates had been crashed."

The deal, endorsed by the United Nations refugee agency, takes effect next year. Critics say it made concessions to hardliners. Human rights organizations say it will increase detention and erode the right to seek asylum.

Some organizations also criticize the “externalization” of EU border management — agreements with countries across the Mediterranean to aggressively patrol their coasts and hold migrants back in exchange for financial assistance.

The deals have expanded, from Türkiye to the Middle East and across Africa. Human rights groups say autocratic governments are pocketing billions and often subject the displaced to appalling conditions.

Lesbos still sees some migrants arrive Lesbos' 80,000 residents look back at the 2015 crisis with mixed feelings.

Fisherman Stratos Valamios saved some children. Others drowned just beyond his reach, their bodies still warm as he carried them to shore.

“What’s changed from back then to now, 10 years on? Nothing,” he said. “What I feel is anger — that such things can happen, that babies can drown.”

Those who died crossing to Lesbos are buried in two cemeteries, their graves marked as “unknown.”

Tiny shoes and empty juice boxes with faded Turkish labels can still be found on the northern coast. So can black doughnut-shaped inner tubes, given by smugglers as crude life preservers for children. At Moria, a refugee camp destroyed by fire in 2020, children’s drawings remain on gutted building walls.

Migrants still arrive, and sometimes die, on these shores. Lesbos began to adapt to a quieter, more measured flow of newcomers.

Efi Latsoudi, who runs a network helping migrants learn Greek and find jobs, hopes Lesbos’ tradition of helping outsiders in need will outlast national policies.

“The way things are developing, it’s not friendly for newcomers to integrate into Greek society,” Latsoudi said. "We need to do something. ... I believe there is hope.”