By Matt Trevithick

Special to the Journal

The men and the women who have just voted in Sulaymaniyah, in northern Iraq, dutifully line up to be photographed by the ogling press, who are looking for that picture of someone triumphantly holding up a purple ink-stained finger. The photographers want a woman or girl, and ideally she is veiled. “It looks powerful,” they say. A quick check on the websites of major world newspapers a day later confirms this.

Judging by the number of purple fingers (most proudly on display) around the city, it seems that voting was the weekend activity of choice for most people, the youth in particular. I’ve heard students complaining that every single one of their friends changed their Facebook profile picture to one of them holding up a purple finger, and that it’s “just so cliché.”

People did not brave violence to vote here, which could explain the high turnout. But, as in elsewhere in the country, in the last few days leading up to the elections, curfews were imposed, concrete barriers blocked off roads, and regular policemen (in contrast to the military who are usually assigned these kinds of tasks) were deployed in record numbers. Those same policemen, as well as doctors and others deemed critical to the nation, voted ahead of the scheduled elections to ensure there would be enough help around the country on election day, should it be needed.

The venture into the voting booth was the culminating event of a weeks long run-up to the national parliamentary elections in this war torn nation. The campaigning gloves came off a month ago, at midnight, when anyone who was anyone was out on the streets. There was no mistake: it was hunting season in Iraq for every last vote.

Unlike in quiet suburban US towns where half or fewer of the residents vote or take much notice of their democratic privileges, the passing of midnight here in Sulaymaniyah on a weekend last month set off an explosion of energy. Every day, this city of one million people woke up to see even more election posters crammed into every space imaginable. Cars became advertisement for one party or the other, and wherever one party set up shop, others soon followed, in a never-ending game of “mine's bigger.”) Six-story buildings were covered entirely with some party’s logo. This is not the land of snippy little bumper stickers that promote the date of one individual’s last day in office: this is the home of in your face, in your head politics. As the vote would be split by a few major parties that have launched themselves above the fray, the competition was fierce.

That competition was played out through TV, print, radio, and, of course, the internet. Unlike in the US where the media tout their objectivity, here most large parties fund their own TV and radio stations, websites, and even their own newspapers. The students and faculty at the nearby American University of Iraq like to joke that, after starting a student newspaper last month (www.auisvoice.org), they have created one of Iraq’s first independent newspapers. They are probably right.

The bigger political parties here have histories that are steeped in intrigue and violence. Fifteen years ago, the two main parties of northern Iraq, the PUK (Patriotic Union of Kurdistan) and the KDP (Kurdistan Democratic Party) were engaged in a violent political struggle that left thousands dead. One side went so far as to enlist the help of the hated Saddam Hussein in a failed attempt to route the other. Iran even got involved; another joke here says the fighting only stopped after a meeting where both sides realized the other had Iranian advisors. Syria and Turkey, just next door, were likely watching closely.

In 1998, both sides worked out a tentative peace brokered by Madeline Albright, and remained in charge of separate areas of the region until 2006. Today, those two former enemies are sharing a ticket in an attempt to stay politically viable against a rising sea of new parties (their biggest competition, in a possible nod to American politics, is known as the Change party).

There is a strong hope that this election will change life for the better, even as this part of the country has profited immensely from the 2003 war. Some voters are concerned with how the region’s voice will be heard in Baghdad, while others muse over the likelihood of decreasing systemic corruption. Still others, like the female candidates running for Parliament, hope to substantially improve the standing of women in society (Iraqi law dictates that one quarter of the seats in Parliament be reserved for women). These women, occasionally pushing their agenda to the very limit of society’s firmly entrenched standards, are as bold as they are fearless: one of their female colleagues has already been gunned down in protest of her agenda. 

At the local level, people are excited about what the elections may bring. As a senior Iraqi government official told me, “if you take a look around the neighborhood [the Middle East], this is the only place where the people are determining their own future. This is an exciting time for us.” On a national level, however, things look less optimistic. The Sunni minority feels threatened, the Shiite majority appears uncompromising, and already violence has noticeably increased. Regardless of the outcome of the elections, a nation broken by chaos appears to be looking hopefully to the future – even as it knows that the final results, expected soon, will only mark the start of a long struggle to establish a cohesive government.

Matt Trevithick of Hingham works at the American University of Iraq – Sulaimani, where he is the assistant to the provost.