Over time, the Al-Muhasasa system came to allow for a wide degree of elite inclusiveness in Iraq’s governance and public revenue distribution. It follows the so-called ‘big tent’ or ‘inclusive coalition’ model, in which representatives of all the different ethno-sectarian elites at the horizontal level have a slice of the public pie corresponding to their size and bargaining power (based on a mix of their territorial control, power to mobilise their constituency, coercive capabilities and share of the vote). The sectarian identity politics and narratives that underpin the Al-Muhasasa principle create a closed feedback mechanism that recycles the same political elites irrespective of their performance. How is it possible, for example, that Al-Maliki was still vice-president of the Iraqi republic in 2018 (until the elections) after the debacle of 2014, or that Sabah al-Bazuni (the former chairman of the Basra provincial council) still holds public office after having been sentenced for corruption charges? The combination of Al-Muhasasa as a political ordering mechanism, along with the patriarchic, personality-centric nature of Iraqi political parties and the longevity of Iraq’s political elites, causes democratic, governance and representational problems.
First, overly broad elite inclusivity has reduced the need to develop ideas and forms of political participation that appeal to voters, lowered the need for performance accountability, and decreased the necessity of engaging in functional opposition. There are fewer incentives to undertake these activities because elite inclusion in government at some level and in some role is virtually guaranteed through the political patronage networks that distribute privatised public goods. For example, even though Iraq has an Integrity Commission whose independence is assured by the Constitution, it has thus far failed to meaningfully prosecute high-level politicians or officials with ties to one of Iraq’s larger political parties for corruption. The limited form of relational accountability that the system features is between peers and largely comes into play during processes that decide who leads an electoral list and who is nominated for office. Iraq’s different ethno-sectarian elites perceive government representation, especially top government positions, as entitlements rather than ways of serving the Iraqi population. This expectation has remained consistent across government formations over the past 15 years. Cabinets not considered as reflecting a reasonable and adequate division of jobs as ‘spoils’ simply did not pass.
Second, inclusivity at the horizontal level between elites has produced few vertical benefits for the ethno-sectarian constituencies these elites supposedly represent. For instance, even though the Sunni provide the Speaker of the Parliament and Minister of Defence, Iraq’s Sunni have consistently been marginalised by successive post-2003 governments, including in the area of security. A similar story can be told for Iraq’s Shi’a and, to an extent, its Kurds (see Annex 1). Even though it is mostly Shi’a and Kurdish parties that have run the federal government since the US invasion of 2003, Iraq’s Kurdish and Shi’a communities have not really reaped the fruits of their dominance.
Third, broad elite inclusivity in government formation processes based on post-electoral alliances reduces both the legitimacy and functionality of elections. The number of votes obtained is, after all, only partially correlated with a slice of public power. Votes are needed to bargain for influence at the national level, but the sectarian logic of Al-Muhasasa pre-divides what can be won and encourages populist and sectarian rhetoric instead of clear political programmes and political accomplishments. The system succeeds in enabling parties and individuals to gain votes and popularity, but it fails to promote leaders with idea-based political agendas that can improve government performance.
Fourth, the violent gestation of the post-Hussein Iraqi state has meant that it was mostly men that rose to prominence after the US invasion of Iraq or in one of the waves of violence that followed it – usually because of their linkage with, or leadership of, coercive capabilities. Combined with the patriarchic nature of party politics in Iraq, this development ensured that the Al-Muhasasa system was captured by a small group of men. Once in play, they have not only used the system to hang onto power themselves, stifling generational rejuvenation in a country with an expansive population pyramid, but also barred both new political parties and new political voices – women in particular – from meaningful political participation. Key political decisions are typically the result of backroom decision making within a small group of men. More inclusive and consultative processes only take place afterwards.
Interestingly, the resulting poor input and output performance of the Iraqi political parties that have made up the country’s governments has not, so far, had a very negative effect on their electoral results. There may be a variety of reasons for this, including the persistence of sectarian identity markers among Iraq’s population, the extent to which sectarian-based patronage handouts and voting preferences have become intertwined, and the wholesale popular loss of confidence in the political system with its associated decrease in turnout – which allows ethno-sectarian ‘clientelist’ voters to exercise an outsized influence on elections. What has changed, however, is the frequency and intensity of protest across the country (see Section 5). Seen at least in part as an extra-system channel to convey political wishes and popular dissatisfaction, the wave(s) of protest – in Basra, Iraqi Kurdistan, Baghdad and, more recently, the south of the country and Nineveh – speak volumes about the inability of Iraq’s political system to deliver on the basic priorities of its citizens, which clearly transcend ethno-sectarian divides.
In brief, during Iraq’s protracted fight against IS (2014– 2018), the sectarian-based distribution system of political power, which had emerged from the preceding civil wars, might have served to maintain elite consensus to focus on wartime exigencies. However, now that the country has emerged from this fight, the entrenched party-political networks that prioritise control over participation, loyalty over merit, and private gains over the public good, are holding back national development. Better governance requires that public interests are prioritised over private interests. This, in turn, demands critical review of, and innovative brainstorming about, the future of the Al-Muhasasa mechanism. Ideally, its influence would diminish while maintaining the representation of Iraq’s diverse communities, and without sidelining existing party-political interests too much or too abruptly.
