Criticizing the Barzanis is one thing. Writing off Başûr is another.
Two days before coalition forces completed their withdrawal from Iraq, drones struck a camp in Koye housing the families of Rojhilat opposition members, exposing how undefended the skies over the federal Kurdistan region have become. Criticizing the family that runs it is one thing. Risking the only status Kurds hold is another.
RastinewsThree kamikaze drones hit Azadi Camp in Koye this morning. The camp houses the families of members of the Kurdistan Democratic Party of Iran (KDP-I). No one was killed. But the mothers of the children sleeping in the camp learned something clearer tonight: the skies over Koye are no longer under anyone's protection.
The timing is hard to miss. The US-led coalition's withdrawal from Iraq is set to be completed on Wednesday, September 30. The point-defense systems that have shot down drones and rockets headed for Erbil for years are leaving the region along with the troops.
"Shameful" or "defenseless"?
Kurdistan Region Prime Minister Masrour Barzani laid out exactly this picture in an interview with the Financial Times on Sunday. He said the region has faced more than a thousand drone, rocket and missile attacks since the war with Iran began on February 28, and that being left behind without an adequate defense system is unacceptable.
The paper ran the story under a headline describing a Kurdish leader who called the US withdrawal "shameful." Barzani's office objected the same day. It said the headline and the framing did not reflect his remarks, that his real message was that leaving the region's airspace undefended makes it vulnerable, and it asked the paper for a correction.
A second point in that objection drew less attention, but it carries more weight read against this morning's attack. The Financial Times had written that Kurdish opposition groups from Rojhilat operate "openly" in the region. Erbil called the claim unsubstantiated and pointed to the security agreement between Erbil, Baghdad and Tehran. Azadi Camp is what that sentence looks like on the ground.
But the headline dispute isn't the real story. The real story is this: as the US leaves, Erbil cannot protect its own skies. And the blame for that doesn't rest with Washington or Tehran alone.
Thirty-four years, tallied
The federal Kurdistan region has existed in practice since 1991, and in law since Iraq's 2005 constitution. Thirty-four years is a generation's lifetime. In that time, the region has built neither an economy that stands on its own nor a legal standing that lets it buy its own air defense systems. By Barzani's own account, only Baghdad can acquire them.
Public-sector salaries still depend on budget transfers from Baghdad. Pay crises recur every year. The question of where oil revenue goes, and whose company wins which contract, comes up constantly, from protests in Sulaymaniyah to coffeehouse conversations in Erbil.
The political map makes the picture even sharper. Masoud Barzani chairs the KDP. His son, Masrour Barzani, heads the government. His nephew, Nechirvan Barzani, holds the regional presidency. In Sulaymaniyah, it's the Talabani family. Two administrations, two Peshmerga forces, two intelligence services. A structure with aspirations to statehood is run like a partnership between two family businesses.
As a journalist, I should add this: calling it a "democratic Kurdish experiment" invites criticism in a place where colleagues like Sherwan Sherwani have spent years in prison.
Even so, that land does not belong to one family
Despite all this, we have to stand behind Başûr today. What we criticize is the government, not the status itself. That status does not belong to one family. It is the price of a century that runs from Mahabad to Halabja, from the Anfal campaign to the 2017 referendum.
Look at the four parts of Kurdistan. The structure built in Rojava over twelve years has dissolved into the integration process with Damascus. Rojhilat is in the middle of a war. In Bakur, no gain has yet turned into a constitutional guarantee. Başûr is the only Kurdish region recognized under international law, with its own parliament, flag and armed forces.
And this region doesn't belong only to the people of Başûr. The Rojhilat families who set up camp in Koye, the Yazidis from Shengal (Sinjar) who have lived in Duhok's camps for years, and those who fled Rojava have all sheltered under the same roof. That roof is what the drones hit this morning.
Nine years ago, on September 25, 2017, the people of this region went to the polls and voted for independence. Three weeks later, on October 16, Kirkuk was lost. That day, Kurds saw how fast a status can shrink. This time, there's no room to make the same mistake in the skies.
Support is not a blank check
So there are two things that need saying, and they need to be said together.
Kurdish political actors, parties across the four parts of Kurdistan, and the diaspora in Europe need to turn the question of Başûr's air defense into a shared demand. The question for governments in Berlin, London and Paris is simple: after fighting alongside this region for years as a coalition, will you leave it undefended?
Erbil, for its part, needs to understand that this support comes with expectations. A government that doesn't move from family rule to institutional governance, from a divided Peshmerga to a unified army, from closed oil accounts to a transparent budget, will eventually lose the people who would defend it too.
Defending Başûr is not the same as defending the Barzanis. But letting anger at the Barzanis turn into writing off Başûr would be the costliest mistake Kurds could make this century.
The views expressed here are the author's own; they may or may not coincide with the editorial line of Rastinews. Rastinews is a free platform open to differing views.