Waterless, Leaderless, Hopeless: Iraq’s Provinces Drown in Neglect

ERBIL (Kurdistan24) – In the southern Iraqi province of Diwaniyah, a wave of hopelessness has crested, leaving citizens to gaze upon their decaying city and draw a harrowing comparison to a war zone. "For sure this is Palestine and the Gaza Strip, and even worse than the people of Gaza," a resident named Ali Kazem declared with bitter sarcasm. "They have an excuse for their city being like this, because it is occupied, but what is our excuse?"

This searing question, posed amid the squalor of a city starved of basic services, encapsulates a far broader story of systemic failure, neglect, and deepening public despair that stretches across federal Iraq.

From a catastrophic drinking water crisis that threatens to leave millions thirsty, to the "uncivilized phenomenon" of chaotic election campaigns in Anbar, and the deadly, dilapidated highways that have earned the moniker "roads of death," a grim portrait emerges of a state unable or unwilling to meet the fundamental needs of its people—a reality that stands in stark and dramatic contrast to the strategic, large-scale infrastructure and development projects transforming the landscape of the Kurdistan Region.

Diwaniyah: A City Drowning in Neglect

The frustration and anger in Diwaniyah province have reached a fever pitch. Citizens report that despite the allocation of huge budgets in recent years, the service sector has seen no discernible progress, leaving them surrounded by ruin and decay.

The streets are a testament to this neglect. "Services in this city are zero," Alaa Zubeir, another citizen, told Kurdistan24, comparing his city unfavorably to other Iraqi provinces. "Compared to other provinces, Diwaniyah is the most ruined. You can see with your own eyes that there is not a single service, look at the streets and the garbage dumps, we have neither streets nor sewage."

This is not mere inconvenience; it is a daily struggle that endangers lives. Hussein Shakir described the harrowing ordeal of a simple trip to the doctor. "When I want to go to the doctor, I almost die before I get out of the house," he said, lamenting the treacherous condition of the roads.

The sentiment of abandonment is so profound that some, like Hassan Mohammed, see no hope for change. "Diwaniyah has not seen any change, I swear to God nothing has been done for it," he said angrily.

"Even if you ask a small child, they will say this city is ruined. We have no services and it has become like the Wadi al-Salam cemetery," he added, referencing the vast and solemn necropolis in Najaf.

This deep-seated frustration has led to direct appeals to the highest levels of the federal government. Mohsen Naeem, a resident, addressed the Prime Minister directly: "Sudani, why is our city like this? Stop your visits within Baghdad, they clap for you there and make you happy. Come to Diwaniyah and see what has happened. Have a little shame."

The collective voice from Diwaniyah is one of a people who feel forgotten, their city a symbol of broken promises and squandered potential.

A Nation on the Brink of Drought

The crisis of collapsing infrastructure is compounded by an even more existential threat: a looming water catastrophe.

No issue currently threatens Iraq as much as the fear of severe water scarcity. The problem has transcended environmental concerns and has become a matter of national security and human survival, dominating the discourse of politicians and election candidates alike. 

The drying rivers and swamps of southern Iraq are no longer a future warning but a present and painful reality, fueling daily protests in the southern provinces for the past five years.

The crisis has now escalated from a shortage of water for agriculture to a critical lack of drinking water, posing a direct threat to the lives of citizens. According to relevant authorities, Iraq is not just facing a water crisis; it is on the verge of a full-blown drought. 

The statistics are dire.

The country can now provide only 150 square meters of water per second, the lowest amount in its recorded history. 

This translates to just 13 billion liters of water per day, while the population requires 16 billion liters for daily use, a figure that does not even account for the immense needs of the agricultural sector.

The numbers reveal a staggering deficit. With the rate of water collection for daily use having decreased by 20 percent, a terrifying calculation emerges: if citizens continue their current rate of consumption, an estimated nine million Iraqis "will not have access to a single drop of water."

This looming humanitarian disaster, born from a combination of climate change, upstream damming by neighboring countries, and years of internal mismanagement, threatens to destabilize the very fabric of Iraqi society.

Anbar's 'Uncivilized' Election Spectacle

As the country grapples with these fundamental crises of services and survival, the political class in provinces like Anbar is engaged in a spectacle that has only deepened public cynicism.

The campaign for the Iraqi parliamentary elections has descended into what residents describe as an "uncivilized phenomenon," with the streets, alleys, and walls of the province plastered with a chaotic and overwhelming deluge of costly posters and flexes.

This visual blight is more than just an aesthetic issue; it has created tangible public safety hazards.

"The campaign posters have distorted the image of Anbar," a worried citizen told Kurdistan24. "Each candidate has hung a large picture of himself, which has caused traffic accidents." 

Another prominent figure, Jamal Ibrahim, criticized the candidates for their lack of responsibility, noting that "some of the posters are so large that they have blocked the roads."

This ostentatious display of wealth has also fueled deep suspicions about the role of "political money" in the election.

Political researcher Ammar Majid voiced a common concern: "What worries us as residents of Anbar is the mixing of political money with the election campaign."

He argued that this has transformed the electoral process from a competition of ideas and programs into a raw contest of money and power, with some candidates allegedly resorting to unknown financial sources.

This phenomenon has left the people of Anbar at a crossroads, disillusioned and questioning whether to participate in a democratic process that appears so disconnected from their real needs and so dominated by a garish display of wealth.

The 'Road of Death' vs. Kurdistan's Strategic Highways

Perhaps the most visceral and deadly manifestation of this governance gap is the state of Iraq's road network. The Kirkuk-Salahaddin road, a strategic artery connecting dozens of cities and towns, has become so dangerous that citizens have nicknamed it the "road of death."

In just one year, this single-carriageway road, riddled with potholes, pits, and desolation, has been the site of accidents that have claimed the lives of approximately 750 people. The decision to upgrade it to a dual carriageway was made eleven years ago, yet the project remains tragically incomplete.

Drivers report that a journey that should take an hour now takes twice as long.

"By God, there are no projects or development in Salahaddin," Abdulrahman Aboud said with resignation. "The projects are passed from hand to hand... Iraq is all about money, for God's sake, why don't they pave the road? It's all the people's money."

For those forced to use the road, like Ayub Mohammed, who was transporting a sick person to the Kurdistan Region for treatment, the delay and danger are a source of profound frustration. "I say frankly, what Erbil has, we do not have," he stated.

His comparison is apt.

While the roads of federal Iraq crumble, the Kurdistan Regional Government has made the development of a modern, safe road network a cornerstone of its governance strategy. The transformation of the Gomaspan-Kasnazan road, once the only strategic single-carriageway road to Erbil and also known as a "road of death," is a case in point.

A 16-kilometer stretch is currently being converted into a dual carriageway, with each side measuring 11 meters wide. A massive operation involving 600 machines and 2,000 local employees is working at a rapid pace to open the new highway to drivers before the end of the year.

The contrast is not lost on those who travel between the two regions. "We thank the Kurdistan Regional Government for this road. It is truly a very beautiful and orderly road, and it has shortened the travel time," said Mohammed Salim, a tourist from Duhok. Muayad Salih, a local citizen, echoed this sentiment: "The road was very bad before... But now, God willing, and then thanks to the ninth cabinet, a very beautiful and good work has been done on it."

Over the past six years, the KRG has invested a trillion dinars in 718 road projects, constructing 2,681 kilometers of modern roads and successfully reducing the number of traffic accidents. This tale of two road networks—one of death and decay, the other of life and progress—serves as the ultimate metaphor for the divergent paths of governance in federal Iraq and the Kurdistan Region.