Honoring or ignoring? Feyli Kurds divided over Martyrs' Day designation

Shafaq News/ A decision intended to pay tribute to the Feyli Kurds has instead deepened longstanding wounds. Iraqi Prime Minister Mohammed Shia Al-Sudani’s recent move to designate April 2 as Feyli Martyrs’ Day has drawn sharp criticism from within the community, where many view the date as overlooking the true turning point of their collective tragedy.

For survivors and descendants of the victims, April 4, when Saddam Hussein’s regime issued the infamous Resolution 666, is the moment seared into memory. What was intended as an act of recognition now risks being perceived as yet another distortion of Feyli history, compounding the very marginalization it sought to redress.

History Misremembered?

For decades, Iraq’s Ba'athist regime framed its mass expulsion of the Feyli Kurds as a national security measure, accusing the community of posing a threat during wartime. But behind this official narrative lies a far more disturbing reality. Historians, survivors, and scholars have since revealed a calculated effort to uproot a politically active and economically influential minority, one whose very presence challenged the regime’s vision of control and conformity.

The Feyli Kurds, a Shiite Kurdish group rooted in Baghdad, Diyala, al-Wasit, and the borderlands near Iran, endured one of the most ruthless episodes of forced displacement under Saddam Hussein. Over 200,000 were stripped of their Iraqi citizenship in the 1980s. Thousands were executed. Entire families were deported to Iran, rendered stateless, voiceless, and invisible.

This was no spontaneous act of war-era paranoia. The repression was systematic, brutal, and multifaceted. Beyond the physical violence, the regime weaponized legal instruments and humanitarian frameworks to deepen the community’s isolation. One such mechanism was United Nations Security Council Resolution 666, adopted in 1990 to allow humanitarian exemptions under sanctions. Intended to ease suffering, it was instead used by Iraqi authorities to justify withholding aid and tightening restrictions on communities already under siege, Feylis among them.

But long before international sanctions came into effect, the machinery of exclusion was already humming. The blueprint for erasure had been drawn years earlier.

Historians widely agree that the state’s justification was little more than political theatre. The regime’s real anxieties lay not in the threat of foreign allegiance, but in the rise of internal influence.

“The charges of betrayal and lack of loyalty to Iraq were never confirmed by any legal body,” reflected Fareedoon Karim al-Arkwazi, former director of the Feyli Cultural Center for Research and Studies. “Feyli youth were serving in every branch of the Iraqi army. Many gave their lives in national and pan-Arab battles,” he added.

Arkwazi believed these accusations were a smokescreen. What unsettled the regime was not disloyalty, but prominence. As Feyli Kurds expanded their role in business, politics, and civic life, they grew too powerful to control and too visible to ignore. Rather than integrate this rising class, the state unleashed a campaign of dispossession.

The cruelty was not uniform, it was chaotic. Deportations tore through households with little warning or explanation. Some families were expelled in full. Others were split apart, sons detained, fathers disappeared, mothers and children left behind in confusion and fear.

As the regime repeated its narrative of national defense, scholars were uncovering a very different logic, one rooted in internal suppression rather than external threat.

“The Feylis were major players in Iraq’s economy,” explained Dr. Issam Kazem al-Feyli, a professor of political history. “They used their financial strength to support the Kurdish liberation movement in Iraqi Kurdistan. That made them a threat in the eyes of the regime.”

For al-Feyli, the tragedy was not only in the scale of violence, but in the paranoia that fueled it. “This was one of the greatest humanitarian tragedies in the world,” he observed.

Decades-old archival documents lend weight to this argument. As early as 1965, state records documented the Feyli Kurds' critical presence in Iraq’s industrial and commercial sectors. They were not marginal actors; they were central to the nation’s economic engine.

“They weren’t just contributors,” al-Feyli added. “They were foundational. Their success in business and civic life made them a rising force, one the regime couldn’t control, and wouldn’t tolerate.”

The 4th Matters Most

For the Feyli community, remembrance is not a ceremonial gesture. Instead, it is a demand of justice. While April 2nd has been widely promoted as the day to honor their suffering, many Feylis point to a different date; it is April 4, 1980.

The story does not begin on April 4, however. In the first days of that month, Feyli Kurds were already being harassed, detained, and targeted. Yet it was April 4 that marked a shift from scattered repression to an organized campaign.

Tareq al-Mandalawi, Advisor to the Prime Minister on Feyli Kurd Affairs, considers April 4th as the real turning point. “This protest was the spark,” he recalled, referring to the sequence of events that led to the crackdown. “It ignited a far-reaching and devastating campaign against the Feyli community.”

The “spark” he mentioned was the tragic death of Samir Ghulam, a young student killed during a protest on April 1st. His martyrdom sent shockwaves through the community and became a rallying cry for resistance.

But it also provoked a swift and brutal response from the regime, which moved quickly to arrest scores of Feyli students, intellectuals, and activists. For many families, this moment marked the beginning of their darkest chapter.

As Iraq continues to confront the legacy of past atrocities, state institutions have attempted to formalize a national day of remembrance. In recent years, April 2nd has been advanced by some officials as the symbolic date to commemorate Feyli's suffering. But this designation has drawn criticism from within the community.

“It’s not just a matter of symbolism,” explained Haider Saeed, a researcher specializing in genocide studies. “April 2nd was the ignition, but April 4th was the architecture of the crime. It was the moment the regime gave itself legal cover to annihilate an entire identity.”

This distinction is not an academic one. For Feylis, it is devastating how their story is told. As the Iraqi government seeks to make amends and build a more inclusive national memory, Feyli Kurds remain adamant that justice cannot be selective. It must begin by naming the right day. And for them, that day is April 4.

Struggle 2.0

In 2010, the Supreme Iraqi Criminal Tribunal recognized the campaign against the Feylis as genocide, citing mass executions, torture, and forced displacement. Iraq’s Ministry of Martyrs estimates that more than 60,000 Feyli Kurds were executed during the 1980s. Thousands remain missing.

Despite this recognition, many feel the state has failed to deliver justice or even preserve the historical truth. The tribunal’s verdict has not translated into meaningful reparations or reforms.

With a population exceeding three million across Iraq and the Kurdistan Region, the Feylis have historically participated in Iraq’s political landscape. Yet today, they are still underrepresented in government and remain entangled in legal and bureaucratic obstacles.

Ali Akbar, a leading Feyli activist, pointed to the lack of genuine representation. “They’ve used our suffering for personal or party gains,” he explained, criticizing how a few individuals, some not even Feyli, have secured positions without advancing the community’s interests.

The problem goes beyond appointments. Despite their presence across the country, Feylis currently hold just one quota seat in Iraq’s parliament.

Judge Munir Haddad, Secretary-General of the Feyli National Movement, called the current arrangement “a major injustice.” Others argue that symbolic gestures have replaced meaningful reform. Maher Rashid al-Feyli, head of the Feyli Front, noted, “There has been little tangible progress. Ministries continue to stall on implementing decisions related to restitution.”

Former MP Mazen al-Feyli echoed the concern, stating, “We are spread across Iraq, yet our political visibility remains minimal.”

Much of the community’s exclusion stems from unresolved legal remnants of Resolution 666. Though no longer enforced, the resolution was never formally repealed. “This legal vacuum is dangerous,” warned constitutional expert Hisham al-Hashimi. “Its absence from the legal record means the crime continues to echo through policy.”

Meanwhile, many deported Feylis still struggle to reclaim their Iraqi identity due to missing records in the 1957 census. “Most of them are still considered Iranian or foreign in Iraq,” Akbar explained. This classification affects access to property, employment, and public services.

Similarly, the fate of more than 22,000 Feylis who were forcibly disappeared during the 1980s remains unknown. Not a single body has been recovered. Although laws exist to compensate the victims’ families, Akbar described the process as “a bureaucratic maze” that discourages many from filing claims.

Efforts to locate mass graves have also stalled. Akbar criticized the government for failing to interrogate detained Ba'athist officials about burial sites and pointed to the lack of proper equipment at the Mass Graves Directorate. “They don’t have advanced DNA equipment,” he said. “And the government isn’t providing the necessary support.”

With little progress at home, activists have turned to both national and international legal avenues. Akbar and a team of campaigners filed a case with Iraq’s Supreme Judicial Council and submitted another to the International Court of Justice in The Hague. “Our goal is to push the government to uncover the mass graves, recognize the scope of the crime, and handle this issue with the seriousness it deserves,” he said.

For thousands, justice remains elusive. Their documents are missing, their relatives are unaccounted for, and their political voice is diminished. “We’re not asking for favors,” Akbar stressed. “We’re asking for the truth, for closure, and for our rights as Iraqi citizens.”

Demands for Action

As ceremonies unfolded on April 2 across Baghdad, Diyala, and al-Khanaqin, the mood was a mix of reverence and frustration. Families gathered with photographs of the disappeared, reciting names in soft, mournful succession. Yet for many, the event only reinforced a deeper struggle, one not just for remembrance, but for historical clarity and justice.

Zahra Karim, an activist whose father vanished in 1980, addressed the crowd with quiet force. “Recognition isn’t about picking a date, it’s about naming the crime, acknowledging the pain, and ensuring we are never erased again,” she confirmed.

Her words encapsulate the broader dilemma. For the Feyli Kurds, this isn’t about symbolic gestures. It’s about whether Iraq is truly ready to confront one of its darkest legacies with honesty and resolve.

The call for justice has resonated beyond the Feyli community. Senior Kurdish leaders voiced solidarity, framing the genocide as part of a wider campaign to erase Kurdish identity.

Kurdish leader Masoud Barzani wrote on social media, “The Feylis are part of Kurdistan’s soul.” Similarly, Kurdistan Region President Nechirvan Barzani echoed this view, calling on Baghdad to act. “We reaffirm our support for our Feyli brothers and sisters as they fight for truth and dignity,” he declared. “We urge Baghdad to restore citizenship, return confiscated property, and make overdue reparations.”