In the wake of the Ottoman Empire's demise in the early 20th century and the subsequent emergence of Arab nationalism, which led to the establishment of new nations in the Middle East, any display of ethnic or religious diversity came to be viewed as a challenge to maintaining a singular national identity, often characterised by puritanical ideals. This fostered a sense of Arab political solidarity during the era of independence and national sovereignty. However, the discrimination against minorities of African descent based on racial grounds appeared to run counter to the collective struggle of Afro-Asian peoples in their fight for liberation from Western colonialism.

However, since the American invasion of Iraq in 2003, significant transformations have swept through the nations of the Middle East, fostering the resurgence of long-suppressed identities. This trend extends to the voices of ethnic and religious minorities, once marginalised and forgotten. Prior to the Armenians marking the centenary of the genocide perpetrated by the Ottoman Turks in 2015, and the Baha'is commemorating the bicentenary of the birth of Baha'u'llah (the founder of the Baha'i faith, which remains unofficially recognized by most countries in the region) in 2017, Middle Eastern communities of African descent celebrated President Obama's victory in the 2009 American presidential elections. For these African-origin communities residing among us, this triumph instilled hope for a rejuvenation of their identity, long relegated to the sidelines for centuries.

The Arab Spring uprisings of 2011 marked the reemergence of marginalised groups onto the political stage, alongside other minority communities advocating for equality and combating racial discrimination, exemplified by the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement. Since 2013, this global movement has served as a platform to unite the grievances of marginalised communities with a growing "globalist" momentum. The movement gained momentum following the tragic death of George Floyd, an African-American citizen, at the hands of police in Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA, on 25 May 2020.

The resurgence of identity in the Middle East extends beyond African heritage to encompass North African communities as well. Take, for instance, the Nubians of Egypt, whose rich cultural legacy has faced marginalisation to the extent that their language now risks extinction. This marginalisation stems from repressive policies enacted under the leadership of Gamal Abdel Nasser during the era of Arab nationalism from 1952 to 1970. Similarly, North African tribes like the Toubous, black Tuaregs, and Tawarghas in Libya have faced similar challenges. Colonel Muammar Gaddafi orchestrated campaigns to Arabize the black-skinned Toubou population and imposed strict policies against Tuareg and Amazigh minorities during his dictatorial regime from 1969 to 2011.[1] In Mauritania, it is the Haratins, descendants of former slaves, who endure marginalisation and discrimination. They are now demanding equality and fair treatment alongside their fellow citizens.

Communities of African origin in different contexts

Despite sharing common origins and advocating for recognition, Afro-Iraqis navigate diverse political and social landscapes. For instance, the Turks of African descent whose ancestors arrived in the Ottoman Empire as slaves during the 19th century. Unlike the transatlantic slave trade, which had not yet emerged at that time, the importation of African slaves to the Ottoman Empire began in response to pressure from European powers to halt the trade with the Balkans and Caucasus. This led to an initiative to import approximately 10,000 African slaves annually between 1860 and 1890, totaling around 250,000 individuals.[2]

To the east of Iraq, many Afro-Iraqis traced their roots to Persia through the intricate network of the slave trade, primarily across the Indian Ocean. This trade route, which connected East Africa to Persia, was predominantly controlled by Afro-Arab traders from the 9th century onward. However, when discussing diversity in Iran, it is crucial to recognize the myriad ethnic and linguistic groups that have inhabited the Iranian plateau throughout history, including Persians, Azeris, Gilakis, Baluchis, and others who have migrated to the region over the centuries. Despite this diversity, Afro-Iraqis are often overlooked in discussions, as acknowledging the historical legacy of African slavery in Iran challenges the prevailing myth of a flawless Aryan civilization.[3]

Among the smaller demographic communities, various channels of migration and political shifts have brought them together. For instance, the approximately 350 Palestinians of African descent hailing from Nigeria, Chad, Senegal, and Sudan. Residing in the Muslim quarter of the old town near the Al-Aqsa mosque complex, most arrived as pilgrims during the British Mandate in Palestine. Many were actively involved in the Palestinian resistance movement since Israel's establishment in 1948, some even serving as volunteers in the Egyptian army during the Arab-Israeli war to combat Zionist militias that seized control of historic Palestine. Despite their historical contributions, young Palestinians of African origin still find themselves living under Israeli jurisdiction.[4] In Lebanon, the Afro-Lebanese community emerged through immigration and labour across the African continent. Over centuries, Lebanese individuals ventured to Africa in search of economic opportunities, establishing businesses before eventually returning home. The intermingling of Lebanese with foreigners over time gave rise to a small mixed-race Lebanese community, reflecting the intricate patterns of migration and integration throughout history.[5]

This contribution aims to delve into the Afro-Iraqi community, one of the oldest and most renowned communities in the Middle East, owing to the unique historical circumstances that shaped its formation. The examination will also extend to the community's political significance during the medieval Islamic era, particularly its role in the Zanj Revolution — a significant slave revolt against the Abbasid state. Furthermore, the study will explore the contemporary demands arising from Afro-Iraqis and their correlation with the aftermath of the US invasion of Iraq since 2003, alongside other regional political dynamics manifested in movements like the Arab Spring and global initiatives such as Black Lives Matter.

To facilitate this exploration, a sample will be drawn from Basra, the epicentre of Iraq's black populations, as well as from Sadr City, a stronghold of the Sadrist movement, located in Baghdad. Constructed at the behest of ruler Abdul Karim Qasim in 1958 by renowned Greek architect Konstantínos Doxiádis, Sadr City houses an Afro-Iraqi community within a semi-enclosed social setting, portraying characteristics of a peripheral city.

A comparative analysis between the central and peripheral Afro-Iraqi communities will be conducted to understand the evolution of community identity and its adaptive capacity across various social, political, and economic contexts.

Martin Luther King in Basra

Following the murder of George Floyd, widespread protests erupted across the United States, sparking a profound debate on the discrimination and systemic inequalities endured by African-Americans. Critics of American policies were quick to leverage the incident to underscore the perceived failure of the American model in its efforts toward democratic reform in the Middle East. However, this event catalysed a broader discourse on the discrimination and inequality faced by black individuals within the region.

I have personally observed the resurgence of these discussions within the Iraqi context since the US invasion of Iraq, particularly highlighted by the presence of an emblematic figure whose striking resemblance to George Floyd could not be ignored: civic activist Jalal Dhiyab. Dhiyab was murdered in Basra, southern Iraq, in 2013, serving as a poignant reminder of the challenges faced by black communities in the region.

The murder of George Floyd served as a catalyst for the Afro-Iraqi community, highlighting the persistent failure of certain ostensibly democratic nations to achieve equality and eradicate the scourge of racism — a cherished aspiration of Martin Luther King. This tragedy has sparked renewed momentum within the community, prompting demands for recognition and justice, particularly in countries undergoing democratic transitions, such as Iraq and several other nations in the Middle East.

It is noteworthy to recognize that the parallels between Jalal Diab and Martin Luther King extend beyond their shared victimisation by racism and the profound repercussions thereof, exemplified by George Floyd's case. Despite the 45-year gap between their respective assassinations and the differing political and social contexts between the United States and Iraq, their similarities are striking. Furthermore, both King and Jalal were assassinated in the same month, April, for political reasons, ruling out purely criminal motives. Consequently, Jalal swiftly emerged as a symbol within the Afro-Iraqi community following his murder.

Appalled by this narrative, an increasing number of young Iraqis who participated in the protests — perhaps even some of their counterparts across the Middle East — have come to recognize the urgency of addressing the entrenched racism faced by marginalised communities. Moreover, this tragic incident has underscored the imperative for cultural and civil elites to mobilise their efforts to combat the culture of impunity.

From the historic victory of Barack Obama in the US presidential election to the assassination of George Floyd, the memory of Jalal Diab, dubbed the Martin Luther King of Basra[6], continues to resonate. Diab's assassination sent shockwaves through the country, galvanising numerous human rights activists. The murder of this father of four, including three daughters, serves as a poignant illustration of how the pervasive culture of impunity can shatter the collective aspirations of an entire society with a single treacherous bullet.

When I first visited Jalal in 2009 at the Ansar Human Freedom Association headquarters, our conversation inevitably turned to Martin Luther King's iconic "I Have a Dream" speech delivered at the Lincoln Memorial on 28 August 1963, during the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. I couldn't help but wonder if Jalal harboured a similar vision — a dream of a future where discrimination against black people in Iraq would cease to exist, where the Zanj revolt, suppressed by the Abbasid states during the Islamic Middle Ages, and its enduring repercussions would finally be put to rest.

In response to my inquiry, Jalal gestured towards three photos adorning the wall: a central portrait of Martin Luther King, flanked by images of Barack Obama, freshly elected as President of the United States. It dawned on me then, the noble pursuit driving this man — Jalal — who, at the tender age of three when King was tragically assassinated on 4 April 1968, found inspiration in King's legacy. Little did Jalal know that King's impassioned words would traverse thousands of miles, ultimately culminating in the realisation of his own aspirations four decades later.

Though lacking King's oratory prowess, Jalal held firm to the belief that the dream of equality articulated by King in his “I Have A Dream” speech had materialised with the election of Obama on 20 January 2009. He believed that this dream, too, could one day find fruition in Iraq.

Unlike King, who held a doctorate in philosophy from Boston University, Jalal lacked formal university education. However, armed with innate communication skills and social acumen, he seized every opportunity to learn and grow from new experiences. Yet, the unique context and circumstances of Basra, and Iraq as a whole, posed obstacles to the emergence of a civil organisation akin to the American "Civil Liberties Movement". Delivering a speech before a quarter-million civil rights supporters, as King famously did, seemed an impossibility in Basra.

Nevertheless, Jalal's indomitable spirit and unwavering resolve defied such limitations. He tirelessly worked to persuade children from impoverished backgrounds to enrol in school and encouraged the most disadvantaged to acquire skills, thus combating chronic unemployment. Though lacking the grand podium of the Lincoln Memorial's steps, where King's stirring words resonated, Jalal spoke passionately at every workshop I invited him to in Baghdad, Basra, and Erbil, demonstrating remarkable courage.

By shedding light on a forgotten past and the simmering potential of a black revolution buried in history's ashes, Jalal compelled his audiences to confront uncomfortable truths. In a society where acknowledging discrimination against black people remained taboo, Jalal's courage inspired attendees to raise their voices in condemnation. His efforts laid the groundwork for a comprehensive cultural reform, reminding all that confronting the past and examining its legacy are essential steps toward progress.

Born in Al-Zubayr in the southwest of Basra, Jalal was a revolutionary driven by a desire to emancipate his community from the oppressive legacy of the Muslim caliphs of the Umayyad and Abbasid eras. These rulers, who governed vast provinces acquired through conquests spanning the globe, exploited "dark-skinned people" for both their land reforms and the maintenance of their estates, subjecting tens of thousands to deplorable working conditions.

The most notable uprising against this tyranny was the Zanj Revolution, which endured for 14 years between 869 and 883 AD. However, the subsequent repression was ruthless, marked by measures intended to crush the black rebel force challenging the political and religious authority of the Muslim caliphate. Furthermore, efforts were made to vilify them, depicting them in the most unfavourable light possible. Their identity and legitimate grievances, seen as threats to the politico-religious cohesion of the ruling elite, were distorted and misrepresented.

In the marshy expanses of Basra, Jalal's ancestors established their roots. Enduring harsh climatic conditions, they grappled with deadly epidemics and toiled tirelessly, often without adequate sustenance to match the demanding pace of their labour as slaves. Geographically isolated from their homeland, their social fabric began to unravel. Their endeavours included draining the marshes and purging the soil of its saline content to render it arable. They engaged in arduous tasks like transporting salt to markets atop mules or extracting molasses from dates. Some found employment under merchants or within the households of affluent Basra residents, including southern clan leaders and feudal lords from influential families, who regarded their children as part of their legacy. Across centuries, their stories wove together to form a rich cultural tapestry from which the Afro-Iraqi community has struggled to emancipate itself to this day.[7]

Neglected by educational programs and official history books, Jalal took it upon himself to unearth this obscured past, intertwining the forgotten narratives of the Afro-Iraqi community with the aspirations for liberation during the American occupation of Iraq. Additionally, Jalal has shed light on another transformative force at play — a force wherein Afro-Iraqis contribute to the enrichment of Iraq's diversity and pluralism through their remarkable resilience and vitality.

Rehabilitating the forgotten slave revolt

Renowned as the Zanj Rebellion, the uprising led by Jalal Dhiab's ancestors stands as one of the most prominent and remarkable events in Islamic history. Notably, esteemed Muslim historians such as Ibn Jarir meticulously documented this revolt. Living through the tumultuous era, al-Tabari detailed every facet of the rebellion in the ninth volume of his renowned work, The History of the Prophets and Kings, spanning nearly two hundred pages.[8] Similarly, Ibn al-Athir chronicled the rebellion's specifics in the seventh volume of his comprehensive work, The Complete History,[9] while Al-Masudi offered insights in the fifth volume of his masterpiece, Meadows of Gold and Mines of Gems.[10] Furthermore, the historian Ibn Kathir dedicated part 14 of his monumental encyclopaedic work, Al-Bidaya wa al-Nihaya — comprising 21 volumes and purporting to cover history from the inception of creation — to recounting this pivotal revolt.[11]

The impoverished slaves, often referred to as the "wretched of the earth" in the words of Frantz Fanon, endured deplorable living conditions. Deprived of any form of regular wages, they were typically compensated with meagre rations of dates at best. Adding to their plight, the predominantly feudal agricultural lands along the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, as well as the marshy terrain, exposed them to deadly diseases. Moreover, the labour or prison camps where they were confined lacked even the most basic sanitary facilities, exacerbating their suffering.

The emergence of a mysterious figure named Ali bin Muhammad proved pivotal, galvanising the slaves to rise up in revolt. Of Persian or Arab descent according to differing accounts, Ali spearheaded the slave rebellion famously known as the "Zanj Revolution" within the heart of the Abbasid state — a realm once regarded as one of the greatest empires of its time. Baghdad, the capital, faced a direct threat from Ali's forces.

Ali succeeded in establishing an independent state that endured for less than two decades, expanding to encompass regions of central and southern Iraq (including Basra and Wasit) as well as parts of present-day Iran (such as Ahwaz, Abadan, and Khuzestan). Referred to as the "Master of the Zanj" in historical records, Ali bin Muhammad claimed various titles, including that of the awaited imam and prophet. Rooted deeply in Middle Eastern beliefs, this claim resonated with both the downtrodden masses and fervent adherents, uniting tens of thousands of slaves and oppressed individuals in their quest for liberation from oppressive rulers and landowners.

Ali purported to be an Alawite, tracing his lineage back to the revered figures of Prophet Mohammed and Imam Ali, central figures in Shiite Islam. Exploiting the grievances of the Alawite community towards the authorities, who had historically faced repeated uprisings throughout Islamic history, the revolutionaries capitalised on this sentiment. Witnessing the injustice suffered by the enslaved population, the Iraqi Marxist thinker Hadi Alaoui made the decision to support their cause and advocate for their emancipation after careful consideration.[12]

The resurgence of the once-forgotten Zanj rebellion finds resonance in the era of liberation from colonial rule and the establishment of national systems. Drawing upon the revolutionary legacy of Arab-Islamic history, its proponents advocated for principles of citizenship, equality, and revolution. Renowned Egyptian writer Taha Hussein (1889-1973) likened it to the rebellion of Spartacus (73-71 BC), underscoring its historical significance.

However, the predominantly negative portrayal of the Zanj rebellion by Muslim historians in their writings has profoundly influenced contemporary Muslim thinkers and historians. Notably, Egyptian authors like Ahmed Amin in his book, Zuhr al-Islam, and historian Hassan Ibrahim Hassan in his work, Islam: A religious, political, social and economic study, have perpetuated this negative image, with both works being reprinted more than ten times. Within these historical accounts, the Zanj revolution is depicted amidst accusations akin to those faced by contemporary movements advocating for ethnic political rights, self-determination, citizenship, and non-discrimination.

In contrast, writings that challenge this stereotypical portrayal of the rebellion and its leaders reflect a leftist interpretation of the Black movement's history. These interpretations view the Zanj rebellion as a social class uprising against the injustices and oppressive authority of the Abbasid era, applying a Marxist analytical framework to historical analysis. One notable example is the approach taken by Hussein Marwa, a member of the Central Committee of the Lebanese Communist Party, whose exploration of the Zanj rebellion within the context of social revolutions garnered significant controversy in the Arab world. Marwa's work, particularly the chapter on the rebellion in his renowned book, Materialist tendencies in Arab-Islamic philosophy, provoked widespread debate and discussion.[13]

Nevertheless, it was the book by the historian and Minister of Guidance and Information in the government of Abdel Karim Kassem, Faisal Al-Samer, The Zanj Revolution, that stood as the pioneering attempt to comprehensively analyse the Fati revolt. Originally conceived as his master's thesis at Cairo University's Faculty of Arts in 1950, it was later published in 1952. Although there is no definitive evidence of Al-Samer's affiliation with the Iraqi Communist Party in his hometown of Basra, his ideological stance and political leanings align with leftist principles. Al-Samer also played a pivotal role as one of the founders of the renowned leftist magazine, Al-Thaqafa al-Jadida, with its inaugural issue hitting stands in October 1953.

Approximately nine years after the publication of Al-Samer's seminal study, another significant work emerged in Beirut titled The Zanj Revolution and its Leader Ali Bin Muhammad. Authored by the leftist Lebanese historian Ahmed Olabi in 1961, this study highlighted the revolution's significance in thwarting attempts to establish a slave-based economic model akin to that prevalent in Roman society.[14] It served as a source of inspiration for numerous revolutionaries across the region, encompassing Marxist, nationalist, and leftist factions, each adopting varied approaches reflective of the Cold War era's geopolitical dynamics, the Third World conflict, and anti-colonial struggles.

The Aligned Bloc sought to assert its presence effectively within the international system by leveraging the concept of the "power of the weak". Several factors facilitated this endeavour, including the distinctive characteristics of the revolution itself, which epitomised a struggle against the state. The class dynamics inherent in the conflict, encompassing workers, slaves, and feudal lords, further underscored the complexity of the uprising. Additionally, the remarkable involvement of women in battles, as evidenced by the feminist movement within the revolution, added a significant dimension to the struggle. The assault on Basra, as documented by Al-Tabari, highlighted the revolution's bold actions and strategic initiatives (vol. 9, p. 436). Moreover, the revolutionaries demonstrated adeptness in employing a diverse array of guerrilla techniques amidst the marshy terrain of southern Iraq, rendering it impervious to infiltration by Abbasid state forces. These tactics, reminiscent of those employed by Latin American revolutionaries during the Cold War, were described by Che Guevara in his seminal work on "Guerrilla Warfare". The use of small boats adapted for navigation through narrow canals and expansive marshes provided a crucial advantage, serving as both a sanctuary for the revolutionaries and a formidable obstacle for the Abbasid empire's armies. This tactic paralleled the challenges faced by opponents of the Ba'ath regime in modern times, as they utilised the marshy environment as a theatre of rebellion. The regime's subsequent efforts to drain the marshes, mobilising extensive resources and launching popular campaigns, underscored the enduring significance of such terrain in shaping the course of conflict.

Despite discreet praise from left-wing writers for the Zanj revolution and its revolutionary tactics, there exists an irony in their admiration. This admiration often fails to acknowledge the harsh realities faced by the descendants of the revolutionaries in Iraq and their black-skinned counterparts across the region. It overlooks the courage displayed by these descendants throughout centuries of oppression and the genocide they endured following the revolution's failure. Despite enduring flagrant social discrimination, they persist in residing in Basra and other Iraqi cities.

This discrimination is most notably reflected in language. For instance, the term "abd", which denotes dark-skinned individuals in Iraq, finds its equivalent in "bawabin" in Egypt and "akhdam" in Yemen. In the Gulf region, they are referred to as "akhwal," derived from the word for a black mole that appears on the skin.[15]

Afro-Iraqis prefer to be referred to as "dark-skinned people". While this term may not typically describe the inhabitants of the Mediterranean basin, such as Arabs, Kurds, Turks, and Iranians, it can be inclusive of them as well. The term "dark-skinned" seems to have emerged as an alternative to "black" or "slave", both of which carry negative connotations due to the historical context of slavery endured by the African community over centuries.[16] Furthermore, some clans within Iraqi society have relegated black people to an inferior position, even below that of the Kawliyah Roma, within the tribal classification hierarchy. 

The enduring effects of oppression on the descendants of the Zanj revolution continue to permeate Iraqi culture. Following the revolution's failure, their identity was systematically dismantled, and they were assimilated into Arab tribes in an effort to weaken their collective spirit of resistance. This strategy aimed to indoctrinate them into believing they were inherently destined to be slaves, thereby fostering a sense of inferiority among them. Even after the fall of Saddam Hussein's regime, the subsequent ruling elites failed to acknowledge the historical significance of the revolution for black people. They neglected to chart a new course for the descendants of the Zanj revolution, one that could empower them to overcome the enduring conditions of poverty and underdevelopment that continue to plague their communities.

The formation of Afro-Iraqi political identity

With limited resources at their disposal, Afro-Iraqi activists like Jalal Diab and his peers were determined to address the longstanding injustices that had burdened their community for generations. Despite their modest means, they harboured a desire to see an end to the prevailing circumstances. They yearned for the fall of dictatorship in Iraq to pave the way for the establishment of a democratic state where all individuals would be treated as equals. Even if this meant the intervention of a foreign force, thousands of miles away, propelled by the idealistic aspirations of neo-conservatives surrounding George Bush Jr., who sought to reshape the Middle East into a beacon of modernity, beginning with Iraq.

Translating these initial strides into a cohesive movement against racial discrimination required more than mere advocacy for social justice — it necessitated a deliberate acknowledgment of the legacy of the Zanj revolution and its relevance to the contemporary struggles of its descendants, who still reside in Basra. Recognizing this imperative, the establishment of the "Free Iraqis Movement" emerged as a pivotal milestone. As the inaugural political organisation in the Middle East dedicated to representing black individuals, its formation aimed to invigorate black identity and safeguard it against the stifling constraints of authoritarian traditions.

While the movement's demands initially took shape within the framework of the quota system, both at the national parliamentary level and in local government, the outcomes of their struggle have been less than substantial. Despite the initial enthusiasm sparked by President Obama's victory, it proved insufficient to galvanise individuals from all ethnic backgrounds within the black community into a unified collective consciousness. This failure to revive the identity of an ancient culture underscores the lack of requisite psychological and intellectual preparation to navigate within a conservative environment rooted in denial. Conversely, the prevailing Islamist political factions viewed these aspirations with scepticism, perceiving them as a negative consequence of American intervention due to their perceived Westernised nature.

Furthermore, while the movement's political agenda wasn't inherently founded on the Shiite/Sunni dichotomy, the emergence of these new identities has contributed to heightened community tensions, complicating the identification of these groups. This complexity mirrors the challenges faced by other minority communities with multiple identities. For instance, Turkmen politics became fractured along sectarian lines between Shiite and Sunni Turkmen, particularly in regions like Kirkuk and Tal Afar.

Similar divisions are observed among the Shabaks, originally hailing from the Nineveh plain, who are split along sectarian lines, with a Shiite majority adhering to the Jafarist duodecimal school of thought akin to Arab Shiites, while Sunni Shabaks align with the Shafi'i school of thought, resembling the beliefs of most Kurds. Meanwhile, the Fayli Kurds find themselves divided along both ethnic and sectarian lines, with some identifying as Kurds and others as Shiites.

Understanding the multifaceted origins of Afro-Iraqi identity offers insights into their marginalised status. Despite sharing the same skin colour — a trait that has relegated them to the bottom rung of the social hierarchy — they lack a cohesive ethnic identity. Their ethnic backgrounds are diverse, with some tracing their roots to Nubia (in Egypt) and Zanzibar (an island in the Arabian Sea, off the coast of Yemen), while others hail from Ghana or Ethiopia.[17] In a country where ethno-racial divisions are deeply entrenched within the political framework, possessing a distinct and robust ethnic identity carries significant weight.[18] However, Afro-Iraqis stand out as one of the few groups who fail to fulfil their quotas for elected office. To date, no individual of Black descent has ascended to high political office, underscoring their systemic exclusion from positions of power and influence.

During one of my visits to Al-Zubayr, a bastion of the black community in Basra, I encountered a formidable figure in his seventies who firmly shook my hand. He introduced himself as the Asian boxing champion of 1971 and the Iraqi champion from 1969 to 1977. It was clear that he was a prominent figure within the Free Iraqi Movement. Despite his illustrious career and reputation, Salem Shaaban faced disappointment in several elections. Despite garnering over two thousand votes, his success was limited, failing to secure him a seat on the oil-rich provincial council.

The major political movements and parties deployed significant resources and subsidies to sway voters in their favour. In contrast, figures like Shaaban and his comrades in the Free Iraqi Movement could only promise an end to discrimination and address the enduring pain of the past. Yet, Shaaban refused to compromise by aligning with larger political entities that might dilute the movement's goals. Conversely, the established political powers were unwilling to risk losing votes by endorsing independent representatives of the minority community. The movement posed a challenge to the status quo, which likely contributed to the assassination of Jalal Dhiyab three years later, in 2013. This tragic event not only thwarted the aspirations of the marginalised minority but also cast a shadow over other activists striving to raise awareness within the community. It marked a sombre end to the promising political movement led by this overlooked minority.

However, it left behind a profound legacy. As successive generations began to awaken to their suppressed and overlooked identity, it marked the first instance in contemporary history where Afro-Iraqis openly discussed their past and collective memory. They came to understand that their tribal lineages were shaped by population census policies during the establishment of modern Iraq in the 1920s. They also began to acknowledge their ancestors who were brought to the country through the slave trade, intended to procure a large workforce for agricultural estates. Dating back to 720 AD, Muslim Arabs had established Islamic settlements along the East African coast. As trade flourished along the Arabian Gulf coast during the Abbasid era, commercial ties were forged with Madagascar and East Africa at large. Al-Samer explains in his book on the Zanj revolution that these connections led to the formation of new Islamic Arab colonies along the coasts of Somalia, Kenya, and Mozambique.[19]

Afro-Iraqis in the stronghold of the Sadrist movement 

Following the setback of their historical revolution, the Afro-Iraqi population dispersed across different regions of the country, often serving under the dominion of ruling tribes and sometimes embroiled in tribal conflicts. Notable among the influential families leveraging the labour of Afro-Iraqis were the house of Sheikh Khazal Al-Kaabi, the house of Al-Saadoun, and the Al-Naqib family. These families employed Afro-Iraqis in various capacities, including farm maintenance, shipping operations, and commercial ventures.[20]

With Iraq's independence from British occupation and the subsequent population census, an opportunity emerged for black individuals to attain a semblance of legal parity. This was facilitated by their registration in the census as Iraqi citizens by birth, and their integration within the ranks of the country's Arab tribes, whose lands they often cultivated and managed.

Owing to the absence of ethnic categorisation, none of the decennial population surveys conducted every ten years (1927, 1947, 1957, 1977, 1987) included data on the percentage of black individuals. Consequently, they were identified by the first and last names of the prominent Iraqi clans or households for whom they toiled. Furthermore, the comprehensive 1957 population census mandated tribal leaders, feudal lords, prominent merchants, and landholders across Iraq to register black individuals and their offspring in official records under the same clan names and surnames. This was done to fulfil the requirements of the military draft and compulsory enlistment for all citizens without discrimination.[21]

Following the 1958 revolution, which saw the collapse of feudal structures and the diminishing power of local dignitaries, Afro-Iraqis settled in Al-Zubair, a region abundant with expansive, unoccupied land. Here, they constructed their homes and engaged in labour, particularly in Al-Faw. Abu Al-Khasib boasted numerous date palm groves, owned by Kuwaiti individuals like Ibn Ibrahim and others.[22] With the outbreak of the Iran-Iraq war, many relocated to Al-Zubair, especially after the Iranians occupied Al-Faw in 1986, causing destruction to its orchards and economic assets. Nonetheless, Al-Zubair remained the focal point for Iraq's black community, with a population exceeding 200,000. While a portion of this population settled in Abu Al-Khaseeb, Al-Hussein district, and Al-Jumhuriya, others migrated to Baghdad governorate, particularly Sadr City. The dispersal pattern can be attributed to the influx of displaced individuals from governorates such as Dhi Qar and Maysan, as well as impoverished Shiite tribes, who migrated from rural areas to urban centres like Baghdad since the 1940s.[23] Infusing their customs, music, and vibrant energy into the cultural landscape, Afro-Iraqi musical groups became sought-after performers at weddings. Among these, the illustrious "Zanj group", based in sector 17, gained widespread acclaim for their captivating performances characterised by dynamic dancing, soulful singing, and mesmerising acrobatic displays.

Reflecting the political upheavals of recent decades, the city underwent several name changes. Initially named Sadr City in reference to the 14 July 1958 Revolution, it was later renamed Saddam City after a visit by Saddam Hussein in 1982. Following the American invasion, the name reverted to Sadr City in honour of the Shiite sheikh, Muhammad Sadiq al-Sadr, the father of influential Shiite leader Muqtada al-Sadr. It is noteworthy that Muqtada al-Sadr holds not just political leadership but is also revered as a sanctified figure by his followers, with some considering him the "Saviour" or the "Mahdi", a central belief in Sadrist ideology. This unique status within the Shiite community, particularly among the Shiite proletariat and poverty-stricken areas, lends Muqtada al-Sadr legitimacy akin to that of the leader of the Zanj revolt. For Afro-Iraqis, rallying around al-Sadr and participating in Shiite rituals serves as a means of integration into broader society and offers an alternative to the mainstream Basra community's rituals.

Moreover, this is facilitated by the fact that the linguistic policy of the Shiite authority Muhammad Sadiq al-Sadr was based on the daily language dictionary in a way that employed Iraqi dialect and a simple vocabulary, far from theological complexity, reinforcing his influence among the oppressed and uneducated classes. His assassination by the Ba'ath regime in 1999 elevated him to the status of a sacred figure. His Friday religious sermons were distinguished by their attention to other marginalised groups, such as the Roma, to whom he dedicated a sermon, urging his followers to engage in religious proselytism among them. Islam, in his view, is not for one people without another, or one society without a society, or one group without a group.[24]

Sheikh Ali Al-Kaabi (executed by the Ba'ath regime in 2000 at the age of 35) was part of Al-Sadr's close entourage. He was the imam of a Sadr City mosque and a Sadr representative there. With his strong constitution, Al-Kaabi was a boxer, even nicknamed Ali Tyson. He played on Baghdad's soccer teams and during his military service, he was a goalkeeper in the sixth division. Following his injury, he gave up sport and left to study Shiite theology (at the Najaf Al-Ashraf seminary) to become a pupil of Al-Sadr, one of his most loyal followers.

Afro-Iraqis then began to play a leading role in the Husseinite rituals conducted annually by Shiites during the sacred month of Muharram. Sacred among Shiites, these rituals illustrate the tragedy of Imam Hussein's murder as a symbol of redemption.[25] Cries of "Oh Hussein!" were heard from young men accompanied by old men dressed in black, who inflicted blows of chains on each other's shoulders to the steady beat of drums. Because of their physical abilities and drumming skills in processions on foot, young black men were particularly prized among the faithful of Husseinite processions.[26] 

Usually held in front of a large audience, the dramatic performances that took place in certain Sadr City squares consisted of theatrical stagings depicting the tragedy of Imam Hussein's assassination. These were performed by two groups of men trained in advance and dressed in historical garb. The first group embodied Imam Hussein and his companions (the good side), while the second group played the evil role of Imam Hussein's assassins (the evil side). For example, Afro-Iraqis were often cast as the army commanders responsible for the assassination of Imam Hussein in the Al-Taf incident.

White people refused to represent the evil one, a role that ritual organisers generally relegated to black people, not least because of their belief associating evil with blackness of face, and that God would have blackened the faces of the Imam's assassins as a result of their actions.[27] On the other hand, they were proud to represent the good side by embodying the character of Jawn bin Huwai, a black slave who sacrificed himself for the good of Imam Hussein, even though the latter asked him not to fight, but told the Imam, "By God, I will not leave you until this black blood mixes with your blood".[28]

The journey of Afro-Iraqis towards integration into a broader identity became evident: their association with Arab tribes led to the Arabization of their identity, while their customs blended into the religious practices of the larger community, serving as a significant avenue for integration and assimilation. However, pursuing an autonomous, distinct identity remains a daunting gamble that the majority of the community hesitates to undertake.

The revolution continues along other paths

In the ongoing struggle for their cause in Basra, Jalal's comrades employ diverse yet modest methods to advance their objectives. At the forefront of this effort is artist Thawra Youssef, dedicated to preserving Afro-Iraqi culture through various means. Drawing from their rich oral heritage, Afro-Iraqis ingeniously incorporate elements to safeguard their identity over time. These cultural practices, passed down through generations, offer not only a sense of belonging but also serve as a form of respite amidst enduring injustices. Among these cherished rituals are those originating from the Nubians of southern Egypt, the Habush from Abyssinia (modern-day Ethiopia), and traditions from the coastal regions of Kenya and the Bembasa tribes. Rooted in the legacy of the slave trade during the first Abbasid state (750-785 AD), these rituals found sanctuary in Basra, where the enslaved individuals formed a tight-knit community, finding solace and solidarity in their shared customs.

Taking her name from the Zanj Revolution (thawra al-Zanj in Arabic), Thawra initially found herself as a professional dancer in Basra's folk ensemble. Fueled by a passion for the theatre, she later resolved to pursue a career as a professional actress. Despite grappling with a soft-spoken voice, Thawra endeavoured to offset this limitation with her vibrant physical presence and energy on stage.

As Thawra recalls, the director of Chekhov's play "The Seagull" chose her to play the role of Nina, the play's heroine. However, this decision faced staunch opposition because Nina, as depicted by Chekhov, is described as being as white as snow. In response, the director argued that Chekhov's reference to Nina's whiteness pertained not to her skin colour, but rather to her inner purity and innocence. He emphasised that it was in this sense that the "Revolution" epitomised such purity. Thawra, recalling the incident, chose to interpret Nina as envisioned by Chekhov and perceived by the director. Her portrayal earned her the distinction of the most promising actress at the International Day of Iraqi Theatre. This experience led Thawra to realise that her name could acquire another layer of significance through the realm of art.

Upon completing her Master's degree in theatre, Thawra sensed that her revolution was far from over. Rather than viewing her identity as shameful or subordinate to others, she embarked on reclaiming her true heritage. This endeavour led her to document her community's primary ritual, the Nubian ritual. However, this undertaking posed a significant challenge, as she was tasked with unveiling a culture shrouded in secrecy and fear for centuries. She needed the approval of the ancestors to disseminate it, and this required specific rituals. Thawra sought guidance from Mama Asia, the spiritual leader overseeing the rituals at the sacred site known as “Makied”.[29] In instances where a male leader presided, he was referred to as "Baba". "Mama" and "Baba" serve as spiritual titles within each faction, and their responsibilities are bestowed upon chosen individuals through the permission of their predecessors.

Mama Asia informed Thawra that her research on the Nubian ritual would be housed in the sanctification chamber alongside the revered ritual instrument, the Tamboura, until it received approval from the Constitutions of the Ancestors. The chamber was perpetually filled with incense, particularly intensified on Thursdays, while offerings such as eggs, olive oil, and rose water adorned its sacred space. After thirty days of placing her research in the ritual chamber, Thawra received a joyous revelation. She experienced a vision of the ancestors in her dreams, confirming their endorsement for the dissemination of her research. Mama relayed, "The Constitutions desire to unveil our rituals to the world, dispelling misconceptions and unjust accusations against us". Thawra recognised this as a pivotal moment in her community's history, which had long been compelled to conceal its identity and remain obscured from the world's view.

Thawra concluded her project by delving into the diverse racial origins of the community and exploring the enduring rituals they have practised for centuries in designated locations called “Makied” across various areas of Basra province, including the districts of Al-Zubair and Abu Al-Khaseeb, among others.

According to Thawra, rituals like "Wakendo", "Inzerivo", "Jatanka", and "Liwah" are believed to have roots in coastal Kenya, among the Bembasa tribes. Not surprisingly, these songs have retained their coastal characteristics. The Nubian ritual, originating from southern Egypt's Nubian region, was brought to South Africa. The Habasha ritual traces its origins back to Abyssinia, with other rituals also found in Zanzibar.[30]

With her profound understanding of the community, expertise in dance and theatre, and mastery of the body language used in rituals, Thawra successfully reconnected with her community's buried roots. She realised that the endurance of these rituals over the centuries provided solace to the oppressed. Originating from distant corners of Africa, abducted, and transported in chains to a foreign land, they experienced alienation and loneliness, fostering unity despite diverse tribal and regional backgrounds. As slaves, they were compelled to adopt their masters' language, integrating Arabic into the rituals, which created a disconnection from their original African language. Thus, when Thawra delved into the search for song lyrics, she encountered a language barrier, sensing that traces of the original language still lingered in the songs and rituals.

During her trips to Africa, Thawra endeavoured to trace the footsteps of her ancestors. Participating in a ritual ceremony in Ethiopia, she realised that the Nubian rituals mirrored those in Basra, evoking the same emotions despite the linguistic differences. Despite the loss of the original languages, Thawra endeavoured to harmonise the evolving rituals of new cultures with the ancestral ones, particularly emphasising the significance of the Nubian ritual. This ritual holds paramount importance in African society, serving as a therapeutic practice rooted in honouring the deceased.

At the start of the ceremony, the drummer positions himself  in the middle of the other musicians, two on each side. As the drums resonate on the ground, barefoot men and women enter, exchanging greetings with those seated at a distance. Each participant then approaches a drum, gently wiping their face and chest in a gesture to receive blessings.

Throughout the ceremony, flags, anchors, and ship flags are raised, stirring nostalgia for their distant homes, roots, and the harrowing journey of black people brought in chains from Africa. Dances and rituals feature an array of musical instruments including the marwas, mandolin, kikanka, wobato, emsondo, and alsernai, alongside the alsernai flute crafted from a unique wood with a trumpet-like mouthpiece. Other instruments include rhythmic percussion fashioned from various segments of tree stems, some adorned with animal skins of diverse shapes and sizes.

During these rituals, ancient pieces preserved in the collective memory of black peoples as folk heritage are performed under African names. These pieces vary depending on their origin, whether Abyssinian, Nubian, or from songs and hymns still sung in African languages, each tailored to the traditions and spirits of specific ancestors. Accompanied by music, the songs' texts and melodies, along with the purpose of the ritual, dictate its organisation, often serving ceremonial functions like healing, overseeing rites of passage (such as birth, circumcision, marriage, and death), or seeking aid from supernatural forces.[31] Singers typically lead, joined by both male and female dancers adorned with belts containing dried sheep limbs, enhancing the song's melodic tones as they move. The ritual typically begins with a solo performance by the lead singer, gradually transitioning into a group performance until its conclusion. The lead singer often refers to those participating as "our dependents", signifying a familial connection. The climax occurs when ancestral spirits select a dancer, leading to a trance-like state known as "confusion", where these spirits inhabit the dancer's body to communicate with the group and guide their daily decisions.

Thawra focused primarily on the Nubian ritual due to its profound ethnic origins. This ritual typically carries a sombre tone, invoking feelings of alienation deeply ingrained in African society. Over centuries, this sense of alienation has remained suppressed among the exiled community members, navigating a foreign culture and geography.

The end of hope or the beginning of change?

The Afro-Iraqi community, one of the most prominent African-origin societies in the region, boasts distinctive social characteristics. Notably, their ancestors spearheaded the first slave rebellion in the Middle East, known as the Zanj Rebellion. Residing primarily in Basra, the affluent oil city in southern Iraq, descendants of these revolutionaries frequently participated in subsequent uprisings, often originating from this city. Following the Gulf War in 1991, when the Iraqi army retreated from Kuwait and its equipment was destroyed by US forces, Basra's residents revolted. On 2 March 1991, at dawn, an Iraqi soldier fired a shot aimed at a photo of then-Iraqi President Saddam Hussein in Saad Square, Basra, igniting a popular uprising. Despite being brutally suppressed, participants from this uprising continued to engage in mass protests in 2011, 2015, 2018, and 2019, originating in Basra and spreading across the country. These protests aimed to challenge successive Iraqi governments post-US invasion, even amidst scorching temperatures exceeding 50 degrees during the summer months.

Besides Basra, which boasts the largest Afro-Iraqi population, Baghdad is home to the second-largest concentration, particularly within the poverty belts encircling the capital's core. This city, renowned for its historical upheavals, was dubbed the "City of Revolution" by leader Abdul Karim Qasim in the 1950s, and later renamed Saddam Hussein City during the 1980s by Saddam Hussein himself. Presently known as Sadr City, it serves as a focal point for Muqtada al-Sadr, the influential Shiite leader in post-Saddam Hussein Iraq, and his followers. Despite navigating through a landscape steeped in deceit, they remain resilient amidst a culture seemingly oblivious to racial distinctions, including ethnic divides like Kurds, Arabs, and Turkmen, religious differences encompassing Muslims, Christians, and Yazidis, as well as sectarian tensions between Sunnis and Shiites. Recognizing the prevalence of racism against black people necessitates a deep dive into the history of slavery, a topic even liberal intellectuals often hesitate to confront. Moreover, the years of American occupation have presented a new challenge, with the risk of dismissing their grievances as a byproduct of American influence in a nation undergoing restructuring based on a novel power-sharing agreement.

While Jalal Diab and his comrades' aspirations were silenced by bullets in 2013, their enduring struggle persists as an indelible memory that cannot be disregarded. Seven years following George Floyd's murder, Martin Luther King's dream of equality has been revitalised, echoed in every protest and plea for political reform and resistance against corruption.

Despite the unlikelihood of immediate political change ensuring full equality and recognition of political rights for Afro-Iraqis, African activists persist in their revolution through diverse avenues such as protest, music, art, and civil action. Thawra exemplifies this resilience as she embarked on her own revolution by uncovering original African rituals and documenting them. Through this journey, Thawra not only liberated herself from the shackles of alienation but also revitalised her identity as a dancer and actress. As a diligent scholar and researcher, she unearthed the roots of these rituals, shedding light on a history once silenced.

Thawra stands as a testament to individual achievement amidst a community deprived of agency. Yet, the ongoing revolution of the Afro-Iraqi collective, seeking recognition and resisting oblivion and denial, demands a sustained struggle for heightened societal awareness — a cornerstone for transformative change. Thus, a collective dance, inclusive of all citizens, symbolises the aspiration for a society founded on equality. This essence is encapsulated in the narrative of Jalal Diab and his compatriots, epitomising sacrifice and resilience in the pursuit of freedom, equality, and justice.

The CFRI does not take collective positions. Its publications only represent the views of their individual authors.

To cite this article : Saad Salloum, "The Afro-Iraqi Struggle for Recognition and Equality in a Pluralistic Society", Centre Français de recherche sur l'Irak (CFRI), 27/03/2024, [https://cfri-irak.com/en/article/the-afro-iraqi-struggle-for-recognition-and-equality-in-a-pluralistic-society-2024-03-27]