As Iraqis Protest against State, Tribes Make a Comeback

Iraq's tribes have once again become one of the most powerful actors in the rural and oil-rich south. (AFP)
Iraq's tribes have once again become one of the most powerful actors in the rural and oil-rich south. (AFP)
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As Iraqis Protest against State, Tribes Make a Comeback

Iraq's tribes have once again become one of the most powerful actors in the rural and oil-rich south. (AFP)
Iraq's tribes have once again become one of the most powerful actors in the rural and oil-rich south. (AFP)

Iraqi protesters have clashed with police and torched government offices, a premier has resigned and precious blood spilt. As modern institutions collapse, a centuries-old force is making a comeback: Iraq's tribes.

With their own hierarchies, moral and justice codes, not to mention huge arms caches, tribes have once again become among the most powerful actors in Iraq's rural and oil-rich south.

They have a history of revolt, turning against the British colonizing forces in a major boost to the 1920 uprising that led to the country's independence.

A century later, revolution has hit Iraq again.

Baghdad and the Shiite-majority region have been rocked by two months of the worst unrest since the 2003 US-led invasion that toppled Saddam Hussein.

Anti-regime protesters have burned state headquarters and party offices in outrage at corruption, poor public services and Iran's perceived political interference.

It has been the perfect storm in which Iraq's tribes could reassert their leadership, said Phillip Smyth of the Washington Institute for Near East Policy.

In recent years, many Shiites had "become more urbanized and have loosened up their identity when it comes to being tribal," he said.

Youth, which make up 60 percent of Iraq's 40 million people, were particularly prone to look outward and shed their tribal identities.

"But the reason the tribes have a lot more strength now is that you have a very weak central government and an outside power -- the Iranians -- that is viewed as being complicit with this government," Smyth told AFP.

"These guys are looking at this and saying, let's revert back to sources of power that we know," he added.

Trusting the tribes

Nasiriyah in southern Iraq is a prime example.

Authorities dispatched commander Jamil al-Shammary late last month to snuff out widespread rallies in the city.

But tribal fighters then came out in force, cutting off roads to prevent troops from reaching Nasiriyah.

They negotiated a halt to the bloodshed, which had already cost 97 lives since protests erupted in October.

"It was the tribes that found a solution to the crisis while the politicians did nothing," said Qaysar al-Husseinawi, a leading figure in Nasiriyah's Husseinat tribe.

Their role did not stop there: the clans are also seeking justice for around 100 families pursuing legal cases against Shammary, himself a member of a powerful tribe.

Shammary's clan has excommunicated him over the crackdown.

Tribal tradition dictates that "blood money" must be paid to the victims' families -- otherwise they have the right to seek equally violent vengeance.

Tribal law

Influential clan structures have so far intervened to end bloodshed but if they choose to take up arms, many in the south expect full-blown conflict.

One police officer told AFP he'd rather desert than fight them.

"The state could never protect its own men against tribal law," he said.

Indeed, tribal tradition often trumps state law in Iraq, with accused criminals being released after tribal talks and even marital disputes resolved by mediators.

The tribes blend modern life and centuries-old tradition, with sheikhs juggling two iPhones while ordering wave after wave of sugary tea be served to their guests.

In the southernmost province of Basra, armed tribe members have often shut the streets outside national or even international oil companies to demand well-paid jobs there.

"The social bargain of any tribe is that the sheikh is a river to his people," providing them with work, justice and stability, said Nicholas Heras of the Center for a New American Security, a think-tank in Washington.

So naturally, the widespread upheaval in recent weeks over unemployment and poor services touched tribes, too.

"Tribal anger is directed at leaders in Baghdad that are viewed as having not kept their part of the social bargain," Heras told AFP.

'Bridges burned'

The British colonizing forces had a tribal revolt on their hands in the early 1900s after they arrested a tribal sheikh over a tax issue.

Nearly a century later, tribal support for the anti-government movement can also be linked to a push-back against central government authority in distant Baghdad.

But resolving the dispute won't be so simple.

"A lot of bridges have been burned," said Smyth.

"If you have people fundamentally angry at how institutions are corrupt, mismanaged and just bad, you won't just get bought off with a job," he added.

The government may seek to appease tribes with offers of more jobs or services, but there is no guarantee they could keep their support for long.

"You can never buy tribal groupings," said Smyth, pointing to their often shifting tactical allegiances.

"They're for rent."



Sweida’s Druze, Bedouin Tribes Locked in Historic Grievances

Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)
Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)
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Sweida’s Druze, Bedouin Tribes Locked in Historic Grievances

Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)
Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)

Sweida, a province in southern Syria, is teetering on the brink after days of deadly violence and clashes between local communities and government security forces, an unrest that signals deeper turmoil across the war-battered country.

The latest flare-up has laid bare tensions that go beyond the provincial borders, raising concerns about the future of coexistence and civil peace in a region long known for its rich tapestry of religious, social, and cultural diversity.

While the Syrian government in Damascus seeks to reassert control over all of its territory, local groups are renewing calls for greater recognition of their rights and “distinct identity.” The result is a fragile and combustible equation in a strategically vital region.

Sweida has long been a flashpoint, shaped by decades of uneasy relations between Druze communities and neighboring Bedouin tribes. That legacy of mistrust now intersects with a crumbling economy, a lack of essential services, the rise of armed factions, and a newly entrenched central authority in Damascus, factors that together threaten to turn the province into a flashpoint for wider instability.

Competing narratives have further muddied the waters, with each side offering starkly different versions of recent events, accounts that are often shaped not just by what happened in the past few days, but by long-standing grievances and buried animosities. The deepening rift and absence of trust among local communities highlight just how far Syria remains from reconciliation.

As pressure builds, observers warn that without a sustainable political solution that acknowledges local demands while maintaining national cohesion, Sweida may be a harbinger of further unrest in Syria’s uncertain future.

Power Struggles and Fractured Alliances

In Syria’s Sweida, power is fragmented among a complex web of religious authorities, influential families, and rival armed factions, a fractured landscape that reflects the broader divisions tearing at the country.

Local leadership is split between traditional Druze clerical authorities and prominent families, each with their own loyalties and varying degrees of influence on the ground. Political rivalries run deep, and military factions are equally divided, some aligning with the government in Damascus, while others openly challenge it.

Among the most prominent pro-government groups is the “Madafat al-Karama” faction led by Laith al-Balous, son of the late Druze leader Sheikh Wahid al-Balous. He is seen as a key ally of Damascus, alongside Suleiman Abdel-Baqi, commander of the “Ahrar Jabal al-Arab” group.

On the opposing side are factions such as the “Military Council in Sweida” and “Liwa al-Jabal” (Mountain Brigade), which collectively field around 3,000 fighters. These groups are seen as aligned with the views of influential Druze spiritual leader Sheikh Hikmat al-Hijri, who has been increasingly critical of the central government.

A newer alliance has also emerged under the banner of “Counter-Terrorism Forces” or the “Syrian Brigade Party,” bringing together factions such as “Dir’ al-Tawhid,” “Forces of Al-Ulya,” “Sheikh al-Karama,” “Saraya al-Jabal,” and “Jaysh al-Muwahideen.” This coalition formally severed ties with Damascus following Sheikh Hijri’s speech on July 15, in which he rejected the government’s announcement of a ceasefire agreement with local notables.

Also active in the province is the “Men of Dignity Movement,” a relatively large faction led by Abu Hassan Yehya al-Hajjar. Though not officially aligned with the new coalition, the group is also staunchly opposed to the Syrian government.

The growing number of factions and rival power centers has deepened instability in Sweida.

Bedouin Tribes in Sweida Say They Are Marginalized, Blamed and Forgotten

Even after government forces withdrew and a fragile ceasefire took hold in Sweida, clashes reignited, this time between Druze residents and Bedouin tribes, underscoring the deep and historical grievances simmering beneath the surface of the country’s sectarian fault lines.

The Bedouin, who see themselves as long-marginalized stakeholders in the region, say they have been caught in the crossfire - blamed for violence they did not initiate and excluded from political life and public services.

“We are the perpetual scapegoats,” said Mohammad Abu Thulaith, a lawyer and member of the Sweida Tribal Council. A descendant of one of the Bedouin tribes long at odds with the Druze population, he told Asharq Al-Awsat that “Bedouins are the weakest link in the local power struggle.”

The sense of injustice voiced by Abu Thulaith runs deep and is rooted in historical narratives. According to his account, the Druze - who migrated to the Jabal al-Arab area around two centuries ago - gradually expanded their influence, curbing the pastoral livelihoods of the Bedouin, particularly livestock herding. This, he said, led to the forced migration of nearly half of the Bedouin tribes from the mountain region toward Jordan, rural Damascus, and Daraa.

He cited the example of Saad Hayel al-Surour, a former speaker of the Jordanian parliament, who remains a Syrian citizen to this day. His father, Hayel al-Surour, once headed the Syrian parliament before the 1958 union between Syria and Egypt.

Many in the Bedouin community consider themselves the original inhabitants of the land, victims of what they describe as “a prolonged injustice” that denied them citizenship rights, political representation, and even basic services.

Abu Thulaith argues that the source of current tensions must be addressed at its roots. “We are blamed because the other side does not dare confront the real actors behind the violence,” he said, referring to armed groups operating in the area.

He called on the Druze tribal leadership - often referred to as “the people of the mountain” - to assume responsibility for protecting the Bedouin community and ending decades of exclusion. “We’ve suffered from a double injustice,” he said. “One at the hands of the Assad regime and Baathist rule, and the other from our neighbors. We have no access to employment, no political representation, and we’re deprived of the most basic public services.”

Despite the mounting frustration, Abu Thulaith insists that the Bedouin do not seek confrontation. “We don’t have the means to fight,” he said. “All we want is to live in peace with our neighbors. No one can erase the other. Since the fall of the former regime, tribal communities have hoped the state would step in to offer protection and ensure the most basic rights.”

As tensions in Sweida continue to spiral, voices like Abu Thulaith’s are demanding a deeper national conversation about identity, land, and the future of Jabal al-Arab - one that addresses long-neglected wounds before they erupt into further conflict.

Druze Grapple with a Perpetual Identity Crisis

For Syria’s Druze minority, identity is not just a question of culture or belief, it is a matter of survival. That fear of erasure has long shaped their political instincts, social structures, and geographic presence in the country.

“The Druze, like many minorities, live with a constant sense of threat,” said Khaldoun Al-Nabbouani, a professor of political philosophy at the University of Paris and a native of Sweida. “This persistent anxiety drives them to close ranks around their identity in a collective effort of self-preservation.”

Speaking to Asharq Al-Awsat, Al-Nabbouani explained that the community’s inward turn is not only symbolic or cultural - it also manifests demographically. “Just as the Alawites are concentrated in the coastal mountains, the Druze have built their stronghold in Jabal al-Arab. It reflects a broader pattern among minorities to cluster in specific regions where they can reinforce their social cohesion and safeguard a perpetually anxious identity.”

That reflex dates back centuries. The very formation of the Druze sect, he said, was a political and cultural rebellion against traditional Islam. “Since its inception, the community has developed a deep need for internal solidarity and social insulation,” he said. “Even today, that’s visible in things like marriage practices - interfaith unions remain extremely rare.”

This insularity, he noted, extends to the political realm. The community has historically resisted the appointment of governors or officials from outside the Druze fold, a trend dating back to the 1930s and continuing into recent decades. One of the more controversial examples was the appointment of a non-Druze governor under the government of Ahmad Al-Sharaa, which sparked uproar, resignation, and a political standoff before the governor ultimately returned.

Tensions between the Druze and the central government are nothing new. Under President Adib Shishakli in the early 1950s, relations with Damascus deteriorated sharply. Shishakli accused the Druze of plotting against the state and in 1954 ordered artillery strikes on Jabal al-Arab, an assault that killed civilians, displaced families, and left deep scars that still echo in local memory.

When the Baath Party seized power in 1963, Damascus shifted tactics, pursuing what Al-Nabbouani described as a policy of “soft containment.” Symbolic appointments of Druze figures to government positions were coupled with tight security oversight in Sweida, a strategy aimed at managing rather than integrating the province.

As new waves of unrest ripple through southern Syria, the Druze community once again finds itself wrestling with existential questions caught between historical trauma, present instability, and an uncertain future.