Civil wars do not erupt solely from sectarian crises. They can also stem from societal rifts caused by poor public services, extreme centralisation, and the spread of hatred across the country. A reflection on Iraq: a country governed from its heights and crumbling at its roots.

Iraq’s administrative maps are no longer fixed lines drawn by necessity and organisation. They have become sites of struggle between those considered central to decision-making and those referred to as the margins. These maps can even become sources of conflict among residents before political or administrative actors are even involved.

Today, Basra offers a clear example of this open conflict: Al-Zubair district is demanding recognition as a province, a demand rejected by Governor Asaad Al Eidani and his allies. They argue that the district had already received sufficient projects and budget allocations. Al-Eidani and his allies do not hesitate to look down on the district’s residents or direct accusations against them.

But this seemingly technical debate reveals a deeper wound in Iraq’s political system: a profound lack of representation and dysfunctional local governance. Provincial administrations often operate like miniature central governments, replicating Baghdad’s condescending approach toward the rest of the county. 

Al-Zubair is not the only district caught in this administrative limbo. Similar tensions are playing out across the south, west, and north. Examples include the districts of Al-Madina and Al-Faw in Basra; Souq Al-Shuyoukh, Al-Shatra, and Al-Rifai in Dhi Qar; Fallujah in Anbar; Samarra and Tuz Khurmatu in Salah Al-Din; Tal Afar, the Nineveh Plains, and Sinjar in Nineveh; Al-Suwaira in Wasit; and Al-Shamiya in Diwaniyah. Dozens more districts and sub-districts are either demanding change or preparing to.

Each time a district demands provincial status, it opens a window onto resentment, buried class prejudices, and mutual suspicion among neighbours. Social groups begin to form Some see themselves as patriots who wish to preserve the existing provincial boundaries. In contrast, others see escape from centralisation as a path to survival and self-governance.

In these conditions, states do not always collapse with a single blow to their political or military leadership. Decay can begin in places that seem “small” or “local” – from unpaved streets and neighbourhoods without water. Civil strife is not always about sectarianism. It can grow from fights over land, water, and natural resources. At its core, the push for administrative division reflects the absence of a legal framework that allows truly representative institutions. Instead, power and development remain monopolised by the centre, leaving local populations disillusioned and sidelined.

Centralists and decentralisation 

When the Iraqi constitution was written in 2005, local governance was not treated as a bureaucratic detail. It was intended as a pillar of the new political system – a way to redistribute power and rebuild trust between state and citizen. Article 122 of the constitution explicitly states that the provinces are to be administered decentralised, granting them the authority over administrative and financial affairs. At the time, this was hailed as a breakthrough – the foundation for an Iraq governed from the ground up. 

Under Iraq’s constitution and the Law of Provinces Not Incorporated into a Region, local governance follows a hierarchy. Provincial councils, who are elected by the people, serve as legislative and oversight bodies, appointing governors and deputies as the executive authority. This structure extends to districts and sub-districts, where local councils elect commissioners (qa’im maqam) and sub-district heads. Each level mirrors the same model, dividing legislative and administrative roles.  

The Iraqi constitution granted these local institutions broad powers to manage their affairs. In fact, Article 115 gave precedence to the laws of regions and provinces not incorporated into a region over federal laws in the event of a conflict. Yet in practice, these powers have been repeatedly contested, with the Provincial Powers Law amended four times between 2010 and 2018. 

During that period, especially under former Prime Minister Nouri Al-Maliki, decentralisation was seen as a threat to national unity. A central authority was promoted as the only safeguard against fragmentation. 

Despite the constitutional promises, local institutions have remained weak – especially in districts and sub-districts, where no elections have ever been held. Instead, district commissioners and sub-district heads were appointed directly. Their selection was often driven by political power balances and the influence of dominant parties and armed factions. 

Provincial council elections were held irregularly in 2005, 2009, 2013, and 2023. But these councils soon mirrored national politics, becoming extensions of parliamentary infighting and disputes.

Local governance laws 

Local governance laws in Iraq suffered shortcomings and should have been refined through practice and experience. However, neither the legal texts nor the institutions they established endured. The federal government has consistently seen decentralisation not as a path to national partnership, but as a threat. To them, it opens the door to secession and fragmentation. 

This fixation on superficial unity has led successive governments to bypass the constitution. As a result, secondary laws and political interpretations are used to reassert central authority over local decisions. 

For example, the Law of Provinces Not Incorporated into a Region, enacted in 2008, was intended as the legislative tool for implementing decentralisation. However, its four subsequent amendments had the opposite effect. Rather than empowering local officials and strengthening their ties to the people, these changes curtailed the authority of districts, reduced their representation, and entirely abolished sub-district councils. Ultimately, these entities were viewed as wasteful and disruptive. 

Instead of deepening the concept of local representation, the law ended up reproducing a model of governance that reinforces top-down hierarchies, subjecting every administrative unit to the authority above it. 

Delegating power to local governments has faced persistent political resistance. Ministries withheld authority, and parliament failed to define centre-province relations. Provincial councils were gradually weakened and eventually abolished after the 2019 protests – not due to technical flaws, but because of a political mindset cautious of decentralisation. Local government powers were constrained by what is known as prior administrative oversight. Constitutional provisions were interpreted to ensure the centre retained control, particularly over security, oil, finance, and public services.  

This centralising logic extended to the district level. District councils were nominally granted powers—preparing budgets, approving security plans and overseeing urban planning. Yet in practice, they depended on the approval of governors and provincial councils. This reduced them to advisory committees rather than true decision-making bodies. When appeals were filed against the dissolution of sub-district councils, sacrificed during the 2018 protests, the Federal Supreme Court dismissed them. It ruled that the constitution only mandates the existence of provincial councils, not district ones—an interpretation that dangerously undermined local representation. 

In most democracies, politics starts locally through municipal elections, offering citizens a direct sense of participation. In Iraq, however, no local elections have been held in over two decades. Councils were frozen after only two rounds, and in places like Kirkuk, council elections were never held at all. This leaves local governance without legitimacy or accountability

Centralisation as a tool of fragmentation 

Since its founding, Iraq hasn’t used centralisation to unify or manage – it has used it to dominate. After 2003, it was justified as a defence of national unity, but in reality, it became a way to deny people’s rights and voices. 

As Baghdad and provincial elites consolidated power, they blocked local demands and administrative decision. Districts and subdistricts were left impoverished, ridiculed for protesting, and branded separatists when they asked for autonomy. This form of governance undermined the idea of the state as a collective framework for participation. Instead, it became a superior authority demanding submission, offering at best the bare minimum of services, if any. This is the model of a fearful state, exercising authority as though managing a military barracks rather than a society. 

The tighter its grip becomes, the deeper the alienation. The more people feel unrepresented and unheard, the more they believe in separation – whether symbolic or literal. In Al-Saybah, activists once half joked about secession and joining a neighbourhood country – not for politics, but for clean water. Basic services, the minimum expected even from the weakest of states, had become unattainable. 

The structure of division and hatred 

Iraq’s fracture now runs through society itself. Centralised governance no longer manages – it distributes exclusion. Districts and subdistricts compete for recognition, often viewing each other as rivals. When one seeks provincial status, some see progress, while others fear dismemberment. These administrative disputes extend beyond official bodies, permeating residents’ daily lives.  

Across many provinces, demands for administrative upgrades are increasingly met with public apathy, concern, or even outright hostility between central towns and their surrounding districts. While proponents often frame these demands as improving governance or ensuring equitable resource distribution, opponents frequently perceive them as threats to provincial unity or even as declarations of social secession. 

These tensions are reflected in language, public sentiment, and even interactions concerning basic services: Who gets priority when roads are paved? Who receives a larger share of water? Who deserves the establishment of a new university? 

Instead of uniting residents, administrative divisions are reshaping them into rival groups, each with its own sense of injustice and entitlement. Without elected local councils to mediate, these tensions deepen into alienation and hostility. 

The tension runs deeper: Iraq has never clearly defined its internal boundaries. This long-standing ambiguity, once overlooked, is now fuelling local conflicts. As new provinces emerge, resource disputes shift from state versus society to struggles among neighbours.

Who owns the land? Who has the right to irrigate their crops and orchards? Who lays claim to oil-rich sites? And to whom are underground water wells attributed? 

In this context, administrative changes create new conflicts rather than resolving existing ones. Even when demands for autonomy are granted, the result is rarely improved resource distribution through compromise. Instead, it typically fosters division among neighbours, turning those with shared histories into strangers competing for contested resources. 

In a country where weapons are no longer monopolised by the state, every local dispute risks escalation, and administrative disagreements can spark bloodshed. Behind many of these fights are powerful interests – investors, armed groups, tribal leaders and businessmen – with a stake in division, not unity. It’s no surprise that MPs from groups like Asaib Ahl Al-Haq push for new districts, masking political gains and service demands

The legitimate public demands are often turned into power struggles and chances to seize influence and illicit wealth. Eliminating local governance strips citizens of the right to elect councils and hold officials accountable for vital services, like roads, water, and schools. Local elections aren’t symbolic. They are a democratic foundation that can produce leaders outside corrupt power networks.