Years-Long Struggle Threatens to Split Iraq’s PMF

A photo of Iraq's top Shiite cleric, Ali Sistani, in Karbala, Iraq. AFP file photo
A photo of Iraq's top Shiite cleric, Ali Sistani, in Karbala, Iraq. AFP file photo
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Years-Long Struggle Threatens to Split Iraq’s PMF

A photo of Iraq's top Shiite cleric, Ali Sistani, in Karbala, Iraq. AFP file photo
A photo of Iraq's top Shiite cleric, Ali Sistani, in Karbala, Iraq. AFP file photo

Around the corner from Iraq's holiest shrines, a years-long struggle over allegiances and resources is coming to a head -- threatening a dangerous schism within a powerful state-sponsored security force.

The growing fissure pits the vast Iran-aligned wing of the Popular Mobilization Forces (PMF) network against four factions linked to the shrines of Iraq's twin holy cities, Karbala and Najaf.

Those factions, dubbed "the Shrine Mobilization" and comprising around 20,000 active fighters, held their first strategic planning meeting earlier this month.

Throughout the packed three days, spokesmen for the shrine groups leaned on two sources of legitimacy: a patriotic, "Iraq-only" discourse, and the blessing of the "marjaiyah," Iraq's Shiite spiritual leadership.

"The Shrine Mobilization are the origin of the broader PMF," Hazem Sakhr, a spokesman for the four factions, told AFP.

"We are committed to Iraqi law and the marjaiyah's orders."

Maytham al-Zaidi, the prominent commander of the largest shrine group known as the Abbas Combat Division, struck a nationalistic, reformist tone.

"The main reasons for establishing the Shrine Mobilization is to serve our country, and to correct both its track record and trajectory," he said.

Ali al-Hamdani, who heads the 3,000-member Ali al-Akbar Brigade, said the meeting -- held in Najaf and Karbala -- was "exclusively" for the Shrine Mobilization, setting their future apart from the rest.

Hamdi Malik, a London-based expert on Shiite factions, said the shrine groups were now publicly insisting on a separation.

"They are escalating with this new conference, and want to accelerate that process," Malik told AFP.

The PMF network was formed in 2014 when Iraq's top Shiite cleric, Ali Sistani, issued an edict urging citizens to fight the advancing extremists of ISIS.

His call brought together already-existing paramilitary factions and new formations, including the Shrine Mobilization.

But internal disputes emerged as early as 2016, with Malik pointing to three main fault lines.

Shrine factions began complaining that they were being starved of resources by Abu Mahdi al-Muhandis, the umbrella group's deputy head.

Muhandis died in a US strike in January this year that also killed his friend, top Iranian general, Qasem Soleimani.

The Shrine Mobilization had accused Muhandis of prioritizing factions closer to Tehran in the distribution of military equipment and state-allocated salaries.

Malik said the tug-of-war was linked to a second, more profound split: a "real ideological divide" over ties to neighboring Iran, which had long provided support to armed groups in Iraq.

Those factions are even dubbed "the loyalist Mobilization" for their perceived allegiance to Tehran over Baghdad.

At the meeting, spokesmen were careful not to specifically criticize Iran but repeatedly rejected what they characterized as external meddling.

"Foreign intervention is dangerous. The Shrine Mobilization rejects all shapes and sizes it may come in," Sakhr said.

The 90-year-old Sistani, known to be wary of Iran's influence, has not commented publicly on the meeting -- but it would not have gone ahead without his tacit approval, said Malik.

"It's important for Sistani, while he is alive and capable, that he puts his house in order," said Sajad Jiyad, a fellow at US think tank The Century Foundation.

Thirdly, shrine-linked groups have looked disdainfully at the PMF's dabbling in politics.

"Sistani had given clear instructions that no PMF member should participate in politics. But pro-Iran factions in the PMF created the Fatah alliance and took part in the 2018 parliamentary elections," Malik said.

Fatah won the second-largest number of seats and wields significant influence in both parliament and several government ministries.

With new elections set to be held in June 2021, shrine factions have said they will stick to Sistani's orders.

"Our members are free to participate as voters but not as candidates," said Mushtaq Abbas Maan, the media head for Karbala's Abbas shrine, which sponsors the factions.

While The Century Foundation's Jiyad said he doubted armed conflict would erupt between the two wings, he said a divorce would likely be messy.

The Shrine Mobilization still lack a legal or administrative framework to govern their forces outside the broader network's by-laws, and government decrees linking them to the prime minister's office have been slow to take hold.

At the conference, Maan appealed to the premier, who is Iraq's commander-in-chief, to "urgently" bring shrine factions under his wing, thereby finalizing their split from the wider network.

But shrine factions also fear that if they peel away, "loyalist" groups could monopolize the PMF's budget, fighting force and political influence, Malik said.

Their moves have already irked the Iran-linked PMF, whose commanders declined AFP's requests for comment.

But the sharp-tongued Qais al-Khazali, who heads a powerful Mobilization faction known as Asaib Ahl al-Haq, told state media last month that a secession by shrine groups could prompt other wings to strike out on their own, too.

"The PMF will be divided into three. That means the end of the PMF," he warned.



Fear Stalks Tehran as Israel Bombards, Shelters Fill Up and Communicating Grows Harder

Shops remain shuttered Tehran's historic Grand Bazaar, Monday, June 16, 2025. (AP)
Shops remain shuttered Tehran's historic Grand Bazaar, Monday, June 16, 2025. (AP)
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Fear Stalks Tehran as Israel Bombards, Shelters Fill Up and Communicating Grows Harder

Shops remain shuttered Tehran's historic Grand Bazaar, Monday, June 16, 2025. (AP)
Shops remain shuttered Tehran's historic Grand Bazaar, Monday, June 16, 2025. (AP)

The streets of Tehran are empty, businesses closed, communications patchy at best. With no bona fide bomb shelters open to the public, panicked masses spend restless nights on the floors of metro stations as strikes boom overhead.

This is Iran’s capital city, just under a week into a fierce Israeli blitz to destroy the country's nuclear program and its military capabilities. After knocking out much of Iran's air defense system, Israel says its warplanes have free rein over the city's skies. US President Donald Trump on Monday told Tehran's roughly 10 million residents to evacuate “immediately.”

Thousands have fled, spending hours in gridlock as they head toward the suburbs, the Caspian Sea, or even Armenia or Türkiye. But others — those elderly and infirm — are stuck in high-rise apartment buildings. Their relatives fret: what to do?

Israeli strikes on Iran have killed at least 585 people and wounded over 1,300, a human rights group says. State media, also a target of bombardment, have stopped reporting on the attacks, leaving Iranians in the dark. There are few visible signs of state authority: Police appear largely undercover, air raid sirens are unreliable, and there’s scant information on what to do in case of attack.

Shirin, 49, who lives in the southern part of Tehran, said every call or text to friends and family in recent days has felt like it could be the last.

“We don’t know if tomorrow we will be alive,” she said.

Many Iranians feel conflicted. Some support Israel's targeting of Iranian political and military officials they see as repressive. Others staunchly defend the country and retaliatory strikes on Israel. Then, there are those who oppose Iran’s rulers, but still don't want to see their country bombed.

To stay, or to go? The Associated Press interviewed five people in Iran and one Iranian American in the US over the phone. All spoke either on the condition of anonymity or only allowed their first names to be used, for fear of retribution from the state against them or their families.

Most of the calls ended abruptly and within minutes, cutting off conversations as people grew nervous or because the connection dropped. Iran’s government has acknowledged disrupting internet access. It says it's to protect the country, though that has blocked average Iranians from getting information from the outside world.

Iranians in the diaspora wait anxiously for news from relatives. One, an Iranian American human rights researcher in the US, said he last heard from relatives when some were trying to flee Tehran earlier in the week. He believes that lack of gas and traffic prevented them from leaving.

The most heartbreaking interaction, he said, was when his older cousins with whom he grew up in Iran told him “We don’t know where to go. If we die, we die.”

“Their sense was just despair,” he said.

Some families have made the decision to split up.

A 23-year-old Afghan refugee who has lived in Iran for four years said he stayed behind in Tehran but sent his wife and newborn son out of the city after a strike Monday hit a nearby pharmacy.

“It was a very bad shock for them,” he said.

Some, like Shirin, said fleeing was not an option. The apartment buildings in Tehran are towering and dense. Her father has Alzheimer’s and needs an ambulance to move. Her mother's severe arthritis would make even a short trip extremely painful.

Still, hoping escape might be possible, she spent the last several days trying to gather their medications. Her brother waited at a gas station until 3 a.m., only to be turned away when the fuel ran out. As of Monday, gas was being rationed to under 20 liters (5 gallons) per driver at stations across Iran after an Israeli strike set fire to the world's largest gas field.

Some people, like Arshia, said they are just tired.

“I don’t want to go in traffic for 40 hours, 30 hours, 20 hours, just to get to somewhere that might get bombed eventually,” he said.

The 22-year-old has been staying in the house with his parents since the initial Israeli strike. He said his once-lively neighborhood of Saadat Abad in northwestern Tehran is now a ghost town. Schools are closed. Very few people even step outside to walk their dogs. Most local stores have run out of drinking water and cooking oil. Others closed.

Still, Arshia said the prospect of finding a new place is too daunting.

“We don’t have the resources to leave at the moment,” he said.

Residents are on their own

No air raid sirens went off as Israeli strikes began pounding Tehran before dawn Friday. For many, it was an early sign civilians would have to go it alone.

During the Iran-Iraq war in the 1980s, Tehran was a low-slung city, many homes had basements to shelter in, and there were air raid drills and sirens. Now the capital is packed with close-built high-rise apartments without shelters.

“It's a kind of failing of the past that they didn’t build shelters,” said a 29-year-old Tehran resident who left the city Monday. “Even though we’ve been under the shadow of a war, as long as I can remember.”

Her friend's boyfriend was killed while going to the store.

“You don’t really expect your boyfriend or your anyone, really to leave the house and never return when they just went out for a routine normal shopping trip,” she said.

Those who choose to relocate do so without help from the government. The state has said it is opening mosques, schools and metro stations for use as shelters. Some are closed, others overcrowded.

Hundreds crammed into one Tehran metro station Friday night. Small family groups lay on the floor. One student, a refugee from another country, said she spent 12 hours in the station with her relatives.

“Everyone there was panicking because of the situation,” she said. “Everyone doesn’t know what will happen next, if there is war in the future and what they should do. People think nowhere is safe for them.”

Soon after leaving the station, she saw that Israel had warned a swath of Tehran to evacuate.

“For immigrant communities, this is so hard to live in this kind of situation,” she said, explaining she feels like she has nowhere to escape to, especially not her home country, which she asked not be identified.

Fear of Iran mingles with fear of Israel

For Shirin, the hostilities are bittersweet. Despite being against the theocracy and its treatment of women, the idea that Israel may determine the future does not sit well with her.

“As much as we want the end of this regime, we didn’t want it to come at the hands of a foreign government,” she said. “We would have preferred that if there were to be a change, it would be the result of a people’s movement in Iran.”

Meanwhile, the 29-year-old who left Tehran had an even more basic message for those outside Iran:

“I just want people to remember that whatever is happening here, it’s not routine business for us. People’s lives here — people’s livelihoods — feel as important to them as they feel to anyone in any other place. How would you feel if your city or your country was under bombardment by another country, and people were dying left and right?”

“We are kind of like, this can’t be happening. This can’t be my life.”