Perched on a cliff above the Tigris River, Saddam Hussein’s half-destroyed palaces loom over his home town of Tikrit, the deserted grounds bearing the traces of invaders come and gone. American soldiers etched the date of their 2003 arrival into the sand-coloured walls. A decade later, Islamic State dug mass graves in the hilly soil and blew up part of the complex.
Far less obvious than the relics of Saddam’s bygone regime are the enduring rifts left in this community, the centre of power during Saddam’s rule, 20 years after the dictator’s fall. The prospect of reconciliation over his crimes has been complicated by the repeated waves of violence that have struck the country since, layering grievance upon grievance, reopening old wounds and perpetuating strife.
Saddam was executed in 2006, but some members of Tikrit’s Sunni population feel they still unjustly bear the legacy of his brutal reign. Iraq’s successive governments continue to mete out punishment to those accused of links with the previous regime as part of a justice and accountability process that many believe is no longer useful, but few dare to publicly challenge. So much as speaking out about it risks indictment under strict rules that ban the Ba’ath party and anything that could be perceived as its promotion.
Rifts deepened when IS took large swathes of Iraq’s north in 2014. The war drove a wedge through the community, pitting collaborators against liberators and irrevocably altering demographics and power structures. The Shia paramilitaries who helped defeat the jihadists alongside local tribal forces remained in Tikrit and still control strategic – and symbolic – locations such as Saddam’s palace and birthplace.
Meanwhile, Saddam’s tribe, the Albu Nasir, live on the margins of society. On a recent winter evening, some gathered on the outskirts of Tikrit, hesitantly sharing stories of what they see as collective punishment for their links with old regime and, more recently, their alleged support for IS and fiercely disputed role in a massacre of Shia cadets. They struggle to run in elections, obtain government positions and return to their lands.
“The way they have dealt with the people of Tikrit and the Albu Nasir tribe was harsh,” said Khalid Amin, the leader of the Albu Nasir, which has a population of about 40,000. “It has been 20 years. If someone is not wanted by the authorities, they should let them integrate into society.”
Amin, who served in parliament before 2003, has tried to re-enter the political process. The sheikh registered to run in the 2021 election, and even though he says he presented the required letter from the justice and accountability commission clearing him of any wrongdoing, the election commission informed him that he was disqualified “because I was a Ba’athi”, he recalled.
Tikrit’s status during Saddam’s 24-year rule is most evident in the dozens of palaces he built, matched only by the capital, Baghdad, 110 miles (180km) south. The dictator gave his city’s inhabitants privileged access to government posts, while the upper echelons in his ruthless security apparatus were often filled with close relatives and other members of his tribe.
After the 2003 US-led invasion, the new Shia-led government embarked on a de-Ba’athification (later renamed “justice and accountability”) process to cleanse Iraq’s institutions of regime loyalists. Saddam and some of his close lieutenants were tried and executed. Hundreds of thousands of government employees who were members of the Ba’ath party were dismissed or forced into early retirement.
But many wonder if de-Ba’athification was more revenge than justice. “Let’s be honest, most Iraqis were in the Ba’ath party at that time,” said a senior government official, adding that access to education and work was conditional on party allegiance. “The government should have formed a commission to prosecute those who actually committed crimes. But many of them have not been caught,” said the official, who requested anonymity to speak freely.
Some former Ba’ath party members managed to realign themselves with the powers that be and regain foothold in the new system, while others who committed crimes found haven in Iraqi Kurdistan, where a semi-autonomous government shields them from prosecution.
In the rest of Iraq, however, de-Ba’athification continues, despite mounting concerns that it has become a tool for political blackmail and self-enrichment. Politicians, both Shia and Sunni, use the law to disqualify and extort their rivals, while those with the necessary financial means can easily buy their innocence.
Earlier this year, dozens of employees at Tikrit University were ordered to retire as part of the latest purge. “Everyone sees it as an injustice, but nobody can talk about it,” said one former university employee who was forced out in 2020 because he had served as a receptionist in one of Saddam’s feared security agencies. Some of his colleagues have reportedly managed to buy their jobs back.
“They hire a lawyer for $15,000 who will pay off the right people,” said the government official. “The justice and accountability process has become a door to corruption.”
The political alliance that brought the current prime minister, Mohammed Shia al-Sudani, to power agreed last year to abolish the justice and accountability commission and refer outstanding criminal cases to regular courts. But implementing such a decision would require a vote in parliament and above all a strong stance on a precarious issue that could spell any politician’s downfall.
The war with IS made turning the page more difficult. Several senior Ba’athists joined the terror group in an attempt to regain power but were later killed. What remains a point of fierce contention is the role of the Albu Nasir in the so-called Camp Speicher massacre – firmly rejected by local authorities, the Albu Nasir and other local tribes.
When IS took Tikrit, the militants rounded up at least 1,500 young Shia cadets who trained at the air force academy, called Camp Speicher. They were brought to the river near Saddam’s palace and executed in cold blood, some bodies cast into the deep waters of the Tigris, others buried in shallow mass graves on the palace grounds.
The site of the massacre has been turned into a makeshift memorial that is now controlled by the Popular Mobilization Forces (PMF), a group of paramilitaries who helped drive out the terror group. Just like the slain cadets, most hail from Iraq’s Shia south. They claim that the Albu Nasir helped IS in an attempt to avenge the fall of Saddam’s regime. Their continued presence, they argue, is needed to prevent the same from happening all over again.
“The Albu Nasir thought of Iraq as their property. After they lost power, they considered everyone who participated in the new government a traitor,” said Ahmed Hassan, the deputy commander of the PMF’s sixth brigade, better known as Kata’ib Jund al-Imam. “They were the main participants in the massacre,” he said in an interview inside one of the palaces that now serves as his office.
Locals say such statements needlessly prolong strife while wrongfully blaming the people of Tikrit for a crime committed on their soil.
“What happened at Speicher was carried out by a terror organisation,” said Ammar al-Baldawi, the deputy governor of the province. “To attribute this incident to a single tribe is to distort reality.”
As the tug of war over the truth continues, so does finger-pointing around a highly controversial decision to allow the Albu Nasir’s return to Saddam’s home village. A short drive south of Tikrit, al-Awja was once home to 3,000 people, including Saddam and his relatives.
It is now said to be a ghost town controlled by the PMF, with its former residents accusing the paramilitaries of land grabbing. The Guardian’s request to visit al-Awja was rejected.
Local authorities and tribes have repeatedly petitioned the federal government to allow those without criminal charges to reclaim their lands, most recently during the prime minister’s December visit to Tikrit.
“We want to close this file for once and for all,” said the deputy governor. Sheikh Amin of the Albu Nasir asked Sudani to make a public statement to clear the tribe’s name. The prime minister listened intently and took notes. The people of Tikrit are still waiting for an answer.
