691,300 Palestinian women face a burden gravely ignored by the international community: period poverty. This condition is a symptom of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and a perpetrator of human rights violations. Even before the renewed tensions, Palestinian women struggled to manage their cycles. However, as Israel denies Palestinians essential humanitarian aid, women must resort to coping mechanisms that risk medical complications and strip them of their dignity. Though international doctrines condemn this callous deprivation, aid still ignores and even endangers menstruating Palestinians. Thankfully, United Nations sectors combat these issues by disproving misconceptions about the frivolity of menstrual hygiene. These actors emphasize an important policy measure: the need to teach the world that menstrual hygiene is a human right. This discourse will highlight the detriment of Palestinian period poverty, the doctrines that denounce these violations, the need to replace substandard aid practices, and the educational movements that eradicate this suffering from its core.

A 2023 National Institute of Health investigation on Birzeit University provides precedent for Palestinian menstrual inequity. In a survey of 400 female students, ‘‘…14.5% reported that menstrual hygiene products are expensive, and 15.3% reported that they always/sometimes had to use menstrual products that they do not like because they are cheaper. Most (71.9%) of the respondents reported that they used menstrual products for [a] longer time than recommended due to inadequate washing facilities at the university campus.” Period poverty is not a new phenomenon for Palestinian citizens. Pre-war circumstances reveal that societal infrastructures routinely underperform. The women of Palestine are left unsupported and defenseless, whether in wartime or in peacetime.

Israel continues to increase its military presence in Palestine following October 7th. These changes forcibly displace the majority of the Palestinian population. Women who relocate to refugee camps often encounter deficiencies in menstrual hygiene. As a result, their health quickly deteriorates. A 2025 report by the UNFPA, titled “Silent Struggles,” describes how female refugees reconcile this destitution. The report states, ‘‘In the face of these conditions, women and girls have turned to coping strategies that compromise their dignity and well-being. Many use old clothes, torn fabric, or sponges in place of sanitary pads. Without clean water, they cannot wash or reuse materials safely, increasing the risk of infection… In overcrowded shelters with no privacy, managing menstruation becomes a risk in itself.’’ Sadly, this health insecurity permeates beyond Birzeit University. War’s impoverishment aggravates the scarcity of menstrual hygiene. Women, therefore, must use strategies that counteract healthy bodily function. These healthcare choices not only risk their current well-being, but they also subject women to the potential for long-term ailments. And, without the means to keep this process private, their corporal vulnerability becomes a target of public scorn.

This insufficiency not only causes feminine health to deteriorate, but it also threatens Palestinian women with immense indignity. A 2025 United Nations study features testimonies from female refugees. In this piece, an anonymous girl recounts the shame she experienced while menstruating. The girl laments, “‘I only had one pad, so I wrapped it in toilet paper to make it last. I couldn’t wash, and the pain was horrible. I sat in silence, crying until the end of the day.’” Unfortunately, alleviation from shame is similarly scant—relief only comes with the arrival of a hygiene package. Another female refugee, Maysa, also appreciates the immense impact of this aid, as reflected in her testimony. Maysa wisely concludes that, “‘Food keeps us alive, but pads, soap, and privacy let us live with dignity…When we receive hygiene kits, it feels like someone finally sees us.’” Menstrual hygiene upholds a fundamental human rights principle: The idea that people deserve to be viewed and treated as equals. Feminine hygiene aid represents, to many Palestinian women, a long-overdue affirmation of their equal worth. That idea of equality disappears without hygienic aid, and this natural process devolves into an unbearable ordeal. Menstruation becomes endowed with a sense of ostracism and shame, causing these women to feel inhuman.

Staggering evidence indicates a need for period poverty relief. Yet, the majority of Palestinian-focused aid fails to address this issue. As reported by the BBC, on March 2nd, 2025, the Israeli government implemented severe blockades on NGO activity in Palestine. Though some aid activities were allowed to resume, these efforts overlooked menstrual hygiene. The 2025 report by UNFPA, titled “Silent Struggles,” documents the inefficiencies of new aid. The piece recounts, ‘‘While aid convoys have recently resumed, they focus primarily on food and medical supplies, with no hygiene materials included.’’ This neglect reveals a flaw in the foundation of current aid practices: relief operates on the false assumption that menstrual hygiene does not promote human rights. In reality, hunger and medical relief are not fundamentally different from menstrual hygiene aid. They serve the same purpose: promoting human rights through an exemplary quality of life. Nevertheless, humanitarian actors assign arbitrary values to both, misjudging their worth in the process. The needs of Palestinian women remain gravely unfulfilled, and blatant violations of human rights continue unimpeded.

Palestinian period poverty constitutes a grave offense against human rights doctrines. For example, Article 25 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights enshrines the universal right to medical services. Furthermore, this article underscores the importance of women’s healthcare.  The International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights builds upon these ideas: Under Article 12, states parties must preserve safe and hygienic living conditions to ensure universal physical and mental health. The 12th Article of the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women similarly compels states parties to provide satisfactory and nondiscriminatory women’s healthcare. State constitutions do not depart from this virtuous aspiration: the constitutions of Palestine and Israel both advocate for the conservation of human dignity. Article 10 of Palestine’s constitution guarantees the protection of basic human rights and liberties. Finally, under the constitutional section titled Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty, Israel vows to uphold human rights standards that coincide with the sanctity of human life. The standards of Palestinian life starkly contradict the promises proclaimed in these documents. The women of Palestine do not receive adequate and indiscriminate healthcare; women’s healthcare is evidently minimal and infrequent. The women of Palestine do not see their basic socio-economic rights protected: first-hand testimonies reveal circumstances characterized by privation and indignation. The living conditions of female refugees do not exemplify sanctity: during menstruation, these women become the victims of cultural contempt. In truth, the state actors entrusted to women’s protection abandon their vital duties. They stand idly by as the health and pride of Palestinian women withers into nonexistence. Principles should inspire state parties to action, yet the distress of menstruating Palestinian women remains constant.

The ambition to end Palestinian period poverty appears tragically futile. This futility is only perpetuated by the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation, an Israeli aid organization that provides Palestinian relief. The GHF, like its predecessors, devalues period poverty relief. However, humanitarian scholars condemn this organization as a Trojan horse for geopolitical interests. A UN press release details the startling casualty tolls associated with GHF relief sites. The study reports that ‘‘Nearly 1400 people have been killed and more than 4000 injured while seeking food. At least 859 people have been killed around GHF sites since the beginning of GHF’s operations in late May 2025.’’ The GHF preys on the vulnerable through its guise of philanthropy. The organization persuades Palestinians towards trust only to catalyze irrevocable harm to its recipients. Its tactics ultimately extend Israeli military operations by encouraging mass terror and a Palestinian exodus out of the Levant. The GHF’s inadequacy mandates a response from the global community. International actors cannot act complacently while a masquerader abuses the ideal of human rights to incapacitate Palestine. Instead, the world must demand the swift replacement of the GHF.

Although the gap left by the GHF must be filled, it cannot be replaced by former aid practices that overlook menstrual needs. International blueprints exist to rectify these circumstances. Aid actors should derive inspiration from Human Rights Watch and WASH United. These NGOs conclude, through examining global detention centers, refugee camps, and schools, that this pattern of disregard stems from the intrinsic structure of relief organizations. Previous aid exemplifies the severe underestimation of period poverty’s impacts on human rights. Human Rights Watch and WASH United do not overlook this causality, and their 2017 joint guide advises humanitarian actors on how to do the same. The manual instructs relief groups to attack period poverty from two angles: with resources and with education. Aid organizations must first evaluate whether their services provide adequate menstrual materials, facilities, and education for female recipients. After this analysis is completed, relief groups must attack cultural stigmas embedded in society. Human Rights Watch and WASH United encourage humanitarians to facilitate educational dialogues surrounding menstruation. In combination, these efforts frame menstrual hygiene as a pillar of human rights. Human Rights Watch and WASH United spark a ripple effect. By helping aid organizations dismantle internal misconceptions, these NGOs empower smaller actors to combat false external beliefs. The guidebook serves as tangible proof that, by adopting the techniques of Human Rights Watch and WASH United, humanitarians further their scope to ensure no one is forgotten.

Menstruation comes with social prejudices augmented by ineffective remedies. International aid actors historically ignore the importance of menstrual resources, which endangers women’s health, compromises feminine dignity, and violates countless human rights doctrines. Mass medical disregard and social shame cannot go ignored. NGOs cannot let the complexity of Palestinian period poverty intimidate them into inaction. Progress begins externally: the global community must call for the GHF’s immediate replacement. The realization of progress, however, is internal: NGOs must look inwards, to their past practices and assumptions, to inform future approaches. Only then can aid actors understand and address the systemic issues that promote menstrual inequity and shame. Together, the international community must discard its previous notions about Palestinian period poverty. The world must pursue a greater future where, through collective action, every member of society is truly seen and treated as an equal.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Menstrual Products, Image sourced from Flickr | CC License, no changes made

It was almost inevitable that Iran would announce its withdrawal from the new inspection arrangement on Thursday. The decision came just hours after the International Atomic Energy Agency asked for details about the country’s enriched uranium stock and the condition of the sites Israel bombed in June. This effectively buries the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action, the zombified 2015 agreement designed to trade strict verifiable limits on Iran’s nuclear program for the country’s reintegration into the global economy.

The JCPOA will no longer exist because the conditions that sustained it are now relics of the past. The accord relied on three specific pillars to function: coordinated international pressure, a credible enforcement mechanism, and political continuity in Washington and Tehran. In 2015, those conditions existed, but today, not a single one remains. The events of this week confirm that we are interacting with the shell of an agreement rather than a living framework.

Myth of International Unity

The JCPOA was often described as a “masterpiece of diplomacy,” but a closer reading of its origins points instead to a masterpiece of leverage. The deal emerged from a very specific geopolitical alignment that concentrated pressure on Tehran with unusual consistency. Washington operated inside a coalition rather than above it, signaling that the United States had partners willing to translate political commitments into economic pain.

The economic trap set for Iran snapped shut in 2012. Europe implemented a full embargo that removed around 600,000 barrels of Iranian oil from global markets, reshaping the country’s economic horizon. At the same time, China, India, Japan, and South Korea reduced their purchases under U.S. waiver pressure, and Russia supported Security Council resolutions that closed procurement channels. To seal the trap, the SWIFT banking network disconnected Iranian banks, making it nearly impossible for the regime to repatriate the revenue it did manage to generate.

The combined effect of these measures drove Iranian exports from roughly 2.5 million barrels a day to around 1.1 million within a year. Tehran confronted a landscape in which the path toward negotiation carried much more promise than the path toward defiance. This moment of alignment carried extraordinary weight because each actor had separate interests yet acted in concert.

But that arrangement has since faded from relevance. China has become the single most important buyer of Iranian oil, acquiring more than a million barrels a day through channels designed to bypass scrutiny. Beijing capitalized on the deep discounts created by Western sanctions, securing cheap energy for its independent refineries while signaling that American financial power could no longer dictate its strategic inputs. Meanwhile, as the war in Ukraine stretched into its later stages, Moscow turned to Iran for drones and related technology. Shared isolation forced a strategic convergence, as Tehran provided the cheap, mass-producible hardware Moscow needed to sustain its campaign against a NATO-backed Ukraine. This military reliance changed Russia’s incentives; the country that once supported pressure on Tehran now benefits from a deeper partnership.

When France, Germany, and the United Kingdom attempted to initiate snapback sanctions in the summer of 2025, Russia and China moved quickly to block the effort. This is the environment that the IAEA’s request arrived at. Iran just understood the geopolitical equation and responded accordingly.

Enforcement Vacuum

The JCPOA’s architects created snapback to ensure automatic penalties in the event of a violation. The design appeared elegant because it reversed the standard logic of the Security Council: instead of requiring a vote to impose sanctions (which Russia or China could veto), it required a vote to continue lifting them. This meant that any single participant could force the return of penalties, and no great power could stop them.

But this mechanism relied on a premise that collapsed in May 2018: U.S. support. The United States’ withdrawal from the JCPOA exposed Europe’s dependence with clarifying brutality. The moment Washington reimposed secondary sanctions, Europe’s firms reassessed their commitments based on their exposure to the U.S. dollar. Total abandoned a $4.8 billion gas project, Siemens suspended infrastructure investments, and shipping giants like Maersk and MSC halted shipping services at Iranian ports. When companies were forced to choose between the Iranian market and the American banking system, they chose survival.

The consequences of this exodus became obvious in 2019, when Iran responded to the economic pressure by expanding its uranium stockpile, and European leaders recognized the breach but simply hesitated to act. They understood that without the United States, they possessed the legal right to snap back sanctions but lacked the economic weight to make them bite. The enforcement system was designed to be automatic, but in practice, it depended entirely on American participation.

Europe attempted to preserve the illusion of sovereignty by launching INSTEX, a clearinghouse designed to facilitate trade outside the dollar. It was a failure. Over its entire operational life, the mechanism facilitated just a single transaction for medical goods. The pressure system that once surrounded Iran had relied on American financial dominance as its central pillar. Once the facade was removed, “snapback” transformed from a threat into bureaucracy with no real force behind it. 

Domestic Trap

A long-term nonproliferation agreement requires political stability to survive, and the last decade proved that neither Washington, Tehran, nor Jerusalem can offer. 

The roots of this failure lie in the precedent set in May 2018. Although the IAEA verified Iranian compliance repeatedly between 2015 and 2018, the United States withdrew anyway, establishing a fatal new norm: a treaty tethered to American election cycles cannot synergize trust. President Obama signed the deal in 2015; President Trump reversed course three years later; President Biden attempted a revival in 2021 with limited traction. By 2025, Republicans had returned to a posture centered on maximum pressure, confirming the warnings of analysts like Vali Nasr and Trita Parsi that any agreement faces reversal the moment domestic tides shift. 

The JCPOA ceased to be a technical agreement and became a political emblem. In the United States, it evolved into a touchstone for broader debates about America’s role in the world. Republican senators linked it to weakness, conservative commentators described it as “appeasement,” and Donald Trump elevated opposition to the deal to signal a total rejection of Obama-era diplomacy.

Tehran internalized this dynamic. Hardliners used the precedent of the U.S. withdrawal to undermine the arguments of the moderates who had invested their political capital in the agreement. The narrative framing inspections as concessions to imperial powers ceased to be rhetorical leverage. Following the death of Ebrahim Raisi, it calcified into state policy. While his successor, Masoud Pezeshkian, campaigned on engagement, the real power centers, the IRGC and the Supreme National Security Council, consolidated around a doctrine of “resistance economy.” In this new domestic equilibrium, any concession to the IAEA became politically fatal.

This internal logic dictated the events of this week. Following the intensification of security incidents at nuclear facilities, the nuclear file became a primary test of regime legitimacy. The IAEA’s November 20 inquiry had only routine significance within international guidelines, yet the political environment placed on its shoulders a symbolic weight. When conservative lawmaker Mojtaba Zolnour characterized the request as an affront to national dignity, he was drawing a red line for his own government. Tehran’s decision to withdraw followed the logic of that domestic climate: in a system built on defiance, cooperation looks like treason.

A similar hardening of domestic politics transformed Israel’s strategic calculus. For years, the Israeli security establishment operated under the “campaign between wars” (MABAM) doctrine, which is a strategy of covert sabotage designed to delay Iran’s progress without triggering a full-scale conflict. The events of October 7 and the subsequent multi-front war ended that consensus. The prevailing political demand shifted from managing threats to eliminating them. By 2025, the government could no longer justify a policy of quiet containment to a public demanding absolute security guarantees.

This shift forced the country’s leadership to abandon ambiguity in favor of overt action. The strikes in June 2025 were the output of a new domestic mandate that views international agreements as dangerous distractions. Prime Minister Netanyahu’s coalition framed the JCPOA as a shield that allowed Iran to build capacity under diplomatic cover. When the IAEA requested updates this week, Jerusalem viewed the move as proof that the international community remained stuck in a pre-war mindset. Israel’s domestic politics now demand kinetic solutions rather than paper guarantees.

Discussion surrounding the JCPOA often suggests that the agreement can return with enough diplomatic determination, but interpretation understates how deeply the international environment has changed. Iran’s announcement on November 20 carries meaning because it clarifies the state of an arrangement that has relied on memory rather than function. A future agreement requires a different foundation. A durable successor must reflect the geopolitical competition between major powers, the economic architecture that shapes compliance, and the domestic incentives that determine political survival. A structure built around the conditions of 2015 cannot endure in the environment that defines 2025.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: JCPOA Implementation, Image sourced from Wikimedia Commons | CC License, no changes made

“It’s lights out and away we go!” With those words, the crowd went wild as the twenty Formula 1 drivers began the first of their 57 laps around the Bahrain International Circuit. The 105,000 spectators gathered at the 2025 Bahrain Grand Prix went through a range of emotions as the race progressed: Fans cheered as rookie Oliver Bearman fought his way from 20th place to 10th to score his team points. Thousands mourned as fan-favorite Carlos Sainz crashed in lap 45, damaging his car and forcing him to end the race early. And by the end of the day, McLaren die-hards were thrilled when the team’s 24-year-old Oscar Piastri clinched the first-place trophy after over an hour and a half of racing in the Bahraini heat.

The Bahrain Grand Prix is unique on the F1 calendar. It was the first Grand Prix to be held in the Middle East, and it stands out as one of the only races to happen at night and in a desert setting. It is also home to some of the most iconic moments in F1 history, like the epic battle between Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg in 2014 and Romain Grosjean’s fiery crash in 2020. For many fans, Formula 1 is what put Bahrain on the map, and the Bahraini government knows it. By being the first Middle Eastern country to host an F1 Grand Prix, the Bahraini government ensured that the country would receive massive media attention, heightened international awareness, and most importantly, money. However, the Bahrain Grand Prix also serves a darker purpose, drawing attention away from human rights violations in a phenomenon known as sportswashing.

Sportswashing refers to the use of prominent sports events as a means to boost the public image of a country and draw attention away from its wrongdoings. High-profile events like the FIFA World Cups in Russia and Qatar and the 2022 Winter Olympics in China are examples of this phenomenon, bringing money and positive attention to countries that are so often under fire for human rights abuses. 

While sportswashing occurs across many athletic events, F1 has been a key avenue for this tactic due to its immense global popularity and built-in marketing opportunities. F1, now in its 75th season, has exploded in viewership in recent years, with the Netflix docu-series Drive to Survive serving as a primary catalyst for this growth. At the end of 2024, F1 had over 750 million fans, making it the most popular annual sporting series. 

F1 races draw huge crowds, which always include prominent celebrities, CEOs, and politicians. The 2024 grand prix in Azerbaijan, another country with severe discrimination and strict government control, drew stars like Naomi Campbell, Will Smith, and J Balvin. In 2025, the Bahrain Grand Prix served as a royal family reunion, with four of Queen Elizabeth’s grandchildren in attendance. These famous guests add to F1’s reputation for luxury, and serve as great marketing tools for the host country.

The marketing potential of F1 goes further, as races often incorporate the cultural symbols of the host countries. Every race begins with the host country’s national anthem. Many countries combine this patriotic performance with an aerial display over the racing track, with planes releasing colored smoke into the sky to represent the national flag. With dozens of cameras capturing the race and the accompanying showcase, these countries are also able to show off the host city around the racetrack. For example, the Baku City Circuit takes drivers through the streets of Azerbaijan’s capital, where fans can see both the city’s towering skyscrapers and the medieval city walls. For grands prix that take place on the streets of a major city, the race footage is essentially a multi-hour travel ad.

In the case of countries like Bahrain, the United Arab Emirates, and Azerbaijan where human rights abuses are abundant, the positive attention that Formula 1 draws is problematic. F1 driver Esteban Ocon reminisced, “When I think about Bahrain I always remember the beautiful paddock, which . . . looks amazing at night with all the trees lit up.” Former driver Daniel Ricciardo adds, “Bahrain is great. The weather is warm, the paddock is modern, the hotel is amazing.” For many F1 fans, their only knowledge of Bahrain comes from testimonials like these, and not from the plethora of reports that describe Bahrain’s intense religion- and gender-based discrimination, the torture commonly used in Bahraini criminal proceedings, and the lack of basic political rights like freedom of expression.

This is why sportswashing is such a powerful tool. It crafts a positive narrative of the host country, associating it with the glamour and excitement of sports like F1, thus diverting negative attention and diluting public criticism. This can have monetary benefits in the form of increased tourism, but also in the creation of jobs and infrastructure leading up to a grand prix. In the words of Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, de facto ruler of Saudi Arabia, “If sportswashing is going to increase my GDP by way of 1%, then I will continue doing sportswashing.” And while sportswashing may bring money into a country’s economy and boost its reputation, it does nothing to combat human rights abuses, instead actively minimizing discussion of these issues and encouraging complacency from outsiders. 

Lewis Hamilton is a rare example of a driver who acknowledges this dangerous phenomenon and works to combat it. In a 2020 press conference ahead of the Bahrain Grand Prix, he said that “the human rights issue in so many of the places that [F1 drivers] go to is a consistent and a massive problem,” going on to say that as a sport that travels to so many different countries, F1 has a responsibility to raise awareness about these issues. While some members of the FIA (the governing body of F1) claim that the sport has improved circumstances in oppressive regimes, Hamilton rejects this notion, saying that the fight for human rights is not a priority for many in the sport.

While sportswashing has had positive impacts, like the increase of women in Middle Eastern countries following racing and even competing in it themselves, the downsides must be acknowledged. Press coverage of grands prix should not only highlight the glamour of F1, but also educate viewers about the host countries themselves. When more fans and sponsors have context for host countries, market forces may limit sportswashing and encourage real change.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, Red Bull, Image sourced from Flickr | CC License, no changes made

After the Arab Spring, digital power and censorship in the Middle East surged to the forefront of the global political agenda. Once anticipated as tools of liberation, digital platforms have increasingly served as sites of repression as regimes moved to tighten their grip on online discourse. One of the most glaring examples of this is the Islamic Republic of Iran’s parliament approving a bill titled “Combating the Spread of Untrue News Content” in July of 2025. This law  aimed at silencing online misinformation. By criminalizing broad areas of online expression that it deemed ‘untrue,’ the legislation serves to expand Iran’s censorship. As a state party to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR)—Iran is bound by international obligations to uphold rights including freedom of expression, privacy, and protection. This 2025 law serves as a legal and political instrument that directly conflicts with the ICCPR. By comparing Iran’s cybercrime framework with relevant ICCPR standards—specifically Articles 19, 17, and 9—one can see how the legislation’s vagueness and disproportionate penalties violate the Covenant.

Iran’s modern digital censorship is shaped by its foundation—the Computer Crimes Law of July 2009 that emerged amid political unrest. The 2009 CCL set extensive controls over online activity and established legal grounds for internet censorship. Some notable provisions of the CCL included: a ban on the use of encryption or data protection that would “deny access of authorized individuals” to data (Article 10), the criminalization of producing or distributing “obscene” online content (Article 14), and mandates for Internet Service Providers to retain user data and even record VoIP conversations (Articles 21 and 48). According to the ARTICLE 19 Law Programme, the CCL is “saturated with provisions that criminalise legitimate expression,” which argues that it duplicates many content-based speech violations from Iran’s penal code and extends them to online. For example, it penalizes online dissent under the term of being “against public morality and chastity” and it assigns severe punishments. This has led to the forced closure of blogs and news sites inside Iran, silencing online speech. Human rights analyses find that the 2009 law “flagrantly violates international human rights law” and is “an affront to freedom of expression,” given its ambiguity and generic wording.

Then, on July 27, 2025, Iran’s Majlis (parliament) passed the Combating the Spread of Untrue News Content bill by a majority (205 in favor, 49 against). The law is framed as a measure against misinformation on social media and a way to “align with constitutional protections” for truth in journalism. In reality, it is a “widely condemned” initiative designed to deepen censorship, and confirm the state’s monopoly over information. The strategic timing—soon after a brief military conflict—suggests the bill was a reaction to the regime’s fear of digital mobilization of protests.

The key provision in the 2025 law is its redefinition of the offense of spreading false information online. Previously, Iranian law punished “spreading lies” with up to two years’ imprisonment The new bill replaces that term with the far vaguer category of “untrue news content.” This change criminalizes even partial truths, inaccuracies, or omissions—in other words, virtually any online post that authorities choose to deem not fully accurate or not reflecting the official version of events.

While the prior law on spreading lies carried a sentence of a few months to 2 years in jail, the 2025 law raises possible prison terms to 6 months up to 15 years for online content deemed untrue. Moreover, Article 14 of the law allows the authorities to treat serious cases as instances of “corruption on earth” (efsad-e fil-arz)—a grave charge in the Sharia-based legal system that carries the death penalty. Practically, “this law makes it possible for the state to execute someone simply for posting a tweet or sharing a WhatsApp message,” as one human rights legal advisor observed.

Iran’s new law must be examined next to the ICCPR, a binding treaty that Iran ratified in 1975. The ICCPR places strict conditions on any limitations of civil liberties. Two provisions of particular relevance are Article 19 (freedom of opinion and expression) and Article 17 (right to privacy). Of specific interest is Article 19—which protects the right to hold opinions without interference and the right to freedom of expression, which encompasses virtually all forms of speech—political discourse, journalism, commentary on public affairs, etc.—and extends protection to expression that may be critical of the government or even “deeply offensive.”

Under Article 19(3), any restriction on freedom of expression must be “provided by law,” meaning it is contained in a clear law that defines the prohibited expression with sufficient precision for citizens to regulate their speech. Vague wording fails this legality requirement. The law must also not give complete discretion on officials to apply it. Additionally, the restriction must be necessary to achieve a legitimate aim, and be proportionate to the threat addressed. This implies that the law should be the least intrusive means to protect the interest at hand. The Human Rights Committee has emphasized that restrictions must not be overbroad—they must be narrowly tailored, and a direct and immediate connection must exist between the expression being restricted and the threat justifying the restriction.

Most importantly, General Comment No. 34 explicitly notes that the ICCPR does not allow general bans on publishing “erroneous” or “incorrect” information. In the Committee’s words: “The Covenant does not permit general prohibition of expressions of an erroneous opinion or an incorrect interpretation of past events.” Laws that penalize the expression of opinions about historical or current facts solely for being “false” are incompatible with Article 19.

Similarly, Article 17 states that “no one shall be subjected to arbitrary or unlawful interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence” and that everyone has the right to the protection against such interferences. The U.N. Human Rights Committee, in its general decisions, has agreed that surveillance measures or access to personal data must not be arbitrary. Even if authorized by domestic law, they violate Article 17 if that law is disproportionate or imprecise. For instance, broad laws enabling mass monitoring of internet usage or requiring real-name registration for online activity could violate privacy rights if not strictly tailored. Under Article 17, any such interference must not be arbitrary, and vague notions of “combatting false news” are not a free pass to invade the privacy of all internet users.

In general, the conflicting agenda between the “Untrue Content” Law and ICCPR Standards can be summarized to two distinct problems: the violation of the principles of a valid law, and the absence of authentic aim. A fundamental defect of Iran’s fake-news law is its vagueness. The ICCPR requires that restrictions on speech be formulated with sufficient precision so that individuals can know what is prohibited. In this case, the law prohibits disseminating “untrue” content without clearly defining what counts as “untrue” or how truth will be determined. After all, such wording gives total discretion to prosecutors and security forces to label virtually any statement false. Because the law can encompass satire, opinions, or honest mistakes, Article 19 would clearly agree it is overbroad in scope. Further, it does not target a specific compelling threat but rather imposes a blanket of “incorrect” speech. Borrowing from the case of Shreya Singhal v. Union of India, This includes “a very large amount of protected and innocent speech,” phrasing used by India’s Supreme Court when striking down a similarly vague internet speech law.

Furthermore, even though the Iranian government defends the “untrue content” law on grounds of protecting the public from misinformation and safeguarding national security, the ICCPR demands evidence that a given restriction is truly necessary for that aim and that no less-intrusive measures are available. In this case, the necessity of Iran’s approach is highly contestable. The law appears to be aimed at suppressing narratives of corruption and protest rather than a genuine protection measure. The Human Rights Committee has warned that using public order to silence criticism or unwanted information is an abuse of Article 19(3). Iran’s law, by criminalizing dissent under the guise of “false news,” fits this pattern of illegitimate aim. Moreover, even if we accept legitimate objectives, the means chosen are not necessary. Criminalizing speech with long prison terms is an extreme step.

Ultimately, even if one could argue some necessity, the penalties and enforcement of the law are disproportionate to any legitimate objective. Proportionality is a core requirement under the ICCPR: restrictions on expression must not only be suitable to achieve their aim but also proportionate in severity, meaning the harm to free expression must not outweigh the interest protected.

In general, to treat a social media rumor as if it were an act of treason is a blatant violation of the ICCPR, and must be acknowledged as so. As journalists begin to inevitably fear reporting anything not officially confirmed; citizens will refrain from sharing news or opinions online in fear of being prosecuted for getting a detail wrong. In Iran, where the government has a history of selectively enforcing laws against critics, this overhanging threat of severe punishment will impoverish public discourse.

Ultimately, the clash between Iran’s “untrue content” law and the ICCPR highlights a broader issue: the use of “fake news” as a scapegoat to erode fundamental liberties. The ICCPR was designed to prevent exactly such abuses of power by requiring that any restriction on speech be tailored, and justified—whereas Iran’s law is unlawful under international standards. To honor its ICCPR obligations, Iran would need to radically amend this law to bring it into compliance with Article 19’s stringent criteria, as well as ensure that no one is arbitrarily detained or subjected to surveillance simply for what they say online. Until then, the law will remain an example of how domestic legislation can directly conflict with international human rights law.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Person holding Iran’s flag, Image sourced from Pexels | CC License, no changes made

On November 11th, Iraqi citizens will elect a new Council of Representatives, the 329-seat unicameral legislature of Iraq, with every seat up for election. Fewer than half of Iraq’s voting-age population has registered to vote, which is nothing new for a country whose young republic has long struggled to encourage high voter turnout. This persistent apathy is indicative of Iraq’s many systemic problems and the futility that many Iraqis associate with elections.

Regardless of the outcome of the federal elections, Iraq remains in a precarious position due to political norms established after the 2003 collapse of Saddam Hussein’s Ba’athist regime and continued influence of both the United States and Iran. Elections in Iraq have consistently produced only minimal change, unable to address the deeply ingrained issues the country faces. 

Iraq’s political system, designed to prevent the dominance of one ethnic group as seen during Hussein’s Sunni Arab-supremacist government, has instead further increased divisions and hindered the formation of a unified movement capable of change. After the 2003 invasion, Iraqi officials, with the encouragement of the occupying U.S. forces, established a confessional system of government similar to those of Lebanon or Northern Ireland, intended to divide political power among Iraq’s different ethnic and religious groups. The system, known as muhassa, while ensuring representation across numerous ethno-religious groups, has also encouraged people to vote based on sectarian identity and has further alienated members of different groups. 

Around half of Iraq’s population identifies more with their ethnic or religious group than with the Iraqi identity, a number that has consistently declined since the defeat of Islamist forces in the region. Iraq’s media landscape, fragmented across outlets aligned with one of the 38 political parties contesting the elections, often inflames sectarian tensions to pander for votes, a trend that has risen due to the elections, according to Iraq’s Independent High Commission. Most parties remain ideologically bankrupt and rely more on political messaging and top-down personality-driven leadership than on a political manifesto. 

Even political actors from the same identity groups are not immune to infighting. The incumbent prime minister, Muhammed Shia’ Al-Sudani, and former prime minister, Nouri Al-Maliki, experienced a falling out that split their once-successful pan-Shia Coordination Framework, a coalition that had previously served as a bulwark against hardline Shia nationalist groups. Its collapse into multiple lists is an ominous sign for a country already struggling to maintain political continuity and stability, both prerequisites for any meaningful systemic reform.

A further consequence of the muhassa system is that complicated governing system that results from a parliament full of a spectrum of political parties unable to govern alone. Instead of implementing a unified vision, parties use a mix of populism and patronage to remain in power. This has led to the constant inflation of public sector salaries, which is a significant drain on Iraq’s budget and a barrier to increasing investment in necessary infrastructure. Even when particular politicians fall out of favor due to poor policies or political plunder, the same parties stay relevant, turning elections into a shuffling of seats rather than a vehicle for any real change. 

Iraq’s dependence on oil (92% of Iraq’s budget comes from oil revenues) has long been considered a vulnerability by both domestic and foreign observers, leaving Iraq highly susceptible to fluctuations in global oil prices. However, domestic parties lack either the will or the ability to diversify Iraq’s economy, as the patronage system means that every dollar spent on investments in the economy is a dollar not being used to retain a party’s foothold amongst its supporters. As a result, successive Iraqi governments have devoted the majority of the budget to social welfare and government salaries at the expense of the temporarily painful but necessary investments in other sectors. While Al-Sudani has initiated economic reforms, his commitment to slow and deliberate reform means Iraq remains far from achieving genuine economic diversification.

Popular discontent with the corrupt and ineffective political system has fueled the rise of reform candidates advocating for asmandani, an Iraqi civic identity that transcends religious and ethnic affiliation. Despite widespread calls for change throughout Iraq’s general populace, reform politicians have accomplished very little success, both due to low voter turnout (only 41% of Iraq’s eligible population voted in the last federal election) and political elites determined to retain the power of the entrenched parties. The 2019–2021 Tishreen protests, which erupted as a result of anger over corruption and political stagnation, brought little tangible change. Their most significant achievement, electoral reform meant to help smaller parties and independent candidates through a district-based first-past-the-post voting system, was quickly reversed in 2023.

Given the inability of reform candidates to build an electoral base large enough to propel them into government, Iraq’s most realistic prospects likely will come from already-established elites who are willing to make some concessions towards reforming Iraq. Al-Sudani’s newly formed electoral alliance, the Reconstruction and Development Coalition, created in the aftermath of the collapse of the Coordination Framework, presents itself as a technocratic and centrist coalition. By appealing to Iraq’s emerging middle class through promises of a pragmatic vision of governance, Al-Sudani hopes to achieve a second term in office, a feat that has not been achieved since 2010. His investments in energy infrastructure, land distribution, and smaller-scale economic projects in agriculture and pharmaceuticals appear to be a boon for his electoral favorability.  However, his inclusion of the National Coalition, the leader of which is also the leader of a pro-Iran semi-independent militia, may reduce his favorability among Iraq’s sizable Sunni minority. It remains to be seen whether Al-Sudani’s slow and reconciliatory approach will be enough for him to secure a second term and sustain Iraq’s modest path of reform.

Another vital element ahead of the elections is the role of foreign powers, namely the United States and Iran. Iran, reeling from the sound defeat of its proxies in Lebanon as well as the collapse of the allied Assad regime in Syria, will attempt to preserve its influence in the region by ensuring its Iraq-backed militias retain their influence in parliament. Meanwhile, the U.S. has threatened sanctions on Iraq if the country fails to curb the power of the same militias, setting the stage for another proxy confrontation between the United States and Iran.

The Popular Mobilization Forces (PMF), a functionally independent military force comprising hundreds of thousands of soldiers, remains one of Iran’s most reliable footholds in Iraq. While the PMF was instrumental to the fight against terrorism in Iraq, it has engaged in illicit financial operations on behalf of the Iranian government.  In August, the U.S. government was able to convince the Iraqi parliament to table a bill that would have formally institutionalized the PMF’s independence. However, dismantling the group entirely will prove more difficult as the PMF is unlikely to peacefully accept dissolution, which places the Iraqi government in a serious dilemma ahead of the new election. 

While Al Sudani has taken steps to shift Iraq away from Iran’s influence through relationship-building with the Gulf States and Turkey, his electoral alliance with the head of the PMF could jeopardize Iraq’s relationship with the United States and constrain future partnershıp in the region. True reform will require Iraq’s collaboration with external actors, but its inability to fully sever the influence of pro-Iran militias may prove a significant roadblock. Al-Sudani has stressed the importance of pragmatism and an “Iraq First” foreign policy, citing Iraq’s noninvolvement in the brief war between Israel and Iran as a success of his administration’s approach to geopolitics. However, what exactly this means for the future of Iraq’s diplomatic efforts remains uncertain as Iraq refuses to align itself with either Washington or the Iranian government. 

All things considered, with the prospect of deep institutional change looking unlikely and the inability of established political elites to garner enough political capital to reduce Iraq’s reliance on oil as well as on foreign countries, the Iraqi elections seem to bring little less than a slightly revised version of the status quo, as genuine, fundamental change in foreign and domestic policy looks improbable. 

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Iraqi Flag, Image sourced from Flickr | CC License, no changes made

In a Kyiv bomb shelter, a wartime president addresses his people via a smartphone. In London, thousands march with foreign flags, chanting in solidarity with a land under siege. In Tehran’s studios, state TV anchors broadcast messages across the Middle East. These scenes show that modern conflicts are fought not only with missiles, but also with narratives that leap across borders. Digital stories and images have become a strategic frontline. From a communications perspective, war is now “about perception, telling a story about who is the victim and who is the aggressor.” Across the world, this “correspondence of conflict”—the public narrative back-and-forth of war—is shaping alliances, foreign policy, and diplomacy.

Three conflict zones illustrate this trend and each case demonstrates how digital communication and international perception can sway the course of wars and the world’s response.

Ukraine: Zelensky’s War of Words and Images

From day one of Russia’s full-scale invasion in February 2022, Ukraine fought on the information front. President Zelensky posted a defiant video from central Kyiv declaring, “We are here”—proof that he and his cabinet had not fled and would resist. That brief clip set the tone for a new kind of wartime leadership, harnessing social media to rally the nation and win support abroad.

Zelensky understood that winning the narrative was as crucial as winning battles. He turned communication into a strategic weapon, delivering daily addresses to rally Ukrainians and making personal appeals to international audiences. One public diplomacy expert noted that Zelensky uses every platform — from speeches to X — to press Ukraine’s case. Under his guidance, Ukraine offered a model for how a nation under attack can shape its image via digital media.

Equally remarkable was how Ukrainian society joined the effort. Government social-media accounts adopted memes and other humor to keep Ukraine in global headlines and counter Russian propaganda. Ordinary Ukrainians became citizen reporters, sharing raw videos of bombed neighborhoods, civilian resilience, and frontline heroics. “Every Ukrainian became a voice of the embattled country . . . an eyewitness of brave resistance,” observed one analysis. Unpolished clips of everyday bravery had a major impact, their authenticity cutting through Kremlin propaganda. Amplified by influencers and a volunteer “PR Army” of communication professionals, these real-time stories helped truth prevail over disinformation.

This digital people’s war paid off diplomatically. By winning hearts and minds abroad, Ukraine won unprecedented international support. Public opinion abroad pressured many governments to impose tough sanctions on Russia and send weapons to Kyiv. NATO and EU leaders that once hesitated became more unified behind Ukraine, reflecting how Zelensky’s media diplomacy translated into tangible aid. Even diplomatic forums became venues for Ukraine’s narrative: at a 2024 peace summit in Switzerland, Zelensky’s team ensured global media heard his call for a “just peace.” In short, strategic storytelling reinforced Ukraine’s physical defense by aligning the world’s support with the nation’s struggle.

Israel–Gaza: A War of Narratives and Global Reactions

On October 7, 2023, Hamas militants attacked Israel. Graphic videos of the assault spread online within hours, sparking global outrage and sympathy for Israel. Israel quickly cast the attack as “Israel’s 9/11” and launched a military response. But as Israeli bombs pounded Gaza, a parallel war of narratives unfolded over who was the victim and who was the aggressor. Analysts noted that the conflict was about perception, with civilian suffering becoming the center of gravity for international support.

In Gaza, Hamas and ordinary Palestinians flooded social media with images of destroyed buildings and wounded civilians to sway global opinion. In past Gaza wars, support for Israel “faded as sympathies turned toward the Palestinians” amid high civilian casualties, and 2023 followed that pattern. Hamas’s media wing effectively used such footage to change international opinion. Outrage over the suffering sparked protests from Istanbul to London, with demonstrators waving Palestinian flags and demanding an end to the bombardment. 

Israel, meanwhile, pushed its own narrative: officials emphasized Hamas’s brutality and use of human shields, and the Israel Defense Forces circulated videos of precision strikes to show efforts to minimize civilian harm. Both sides churned out reams of supporting footage and armies of online supporters around the world eagerly shared content echoing their side’s view.

The information war peaked with the Gaza hospital explosion. Within minutes of the blast, Hamas blamed an Israeli airstrike for the carnage, while Israel insisted a misfired Palestinian rocket was to blame. Social media lit up with competing claims long before any evidence emerged. “False assertions flew on the internet,” demonstrating how each side weaponized unverified information (later evidence pointed to a failed militant rocket, but by then each narrative had hardened). This episode epitomized “Truth Decay”—the collapse of shared facts as partisans embraced whatever fit their narrative.

As these narratives battled, governments felt the pressure. The mounting civilian toll in Gaza and the global outcry forced Israel’s allies to grapple with public demands for ceasefires or restraint. Western leaders supportive of Israel faced protests at home, prompting some to soften their stance. In international forums, debates often mirrored the dueling narratives seen online. Even firm alliances strained under public opinion. The Israel–Gaza war showed that controlling the story is now integral to war. Military operations ran hand-in-hand with messaging. And as chants of “Stop bombing Gaza” or “Stand with Israel” echoed worldwide, it became clear that public sentiment can sway diplomatic calculations—sometimes pushing leaders toward de-escalation.

Iran: The Public Diplomacy of Resistance

Iran demonstrates how a narrative campaign can be waged outside of active battle to build influence. Tehran’s theocratic regime uses public diplomacy as a strategic tool to shape regional opinion. It leans on a “menu of narratives” that appeal to Arab and Muslim sensibilities—anti-imperialism, Islamic unity, and support for the Palestinian cause. By casting itself as the champion of the oppressed and the chief opponent of U.S. and Israeli aggression, Iran seeks to win hearts and minds across the Middle East.

Tehran propagates its message through state-controlled media and cultural outreach. International outlets like Press TV (English) and Al-Alam (Arabic) broadcast Iran’s perspective globally, countering Western narratives. By using media as a diplomatic tool, Iran aims to shape its image and build sympathy abroad. 

The regime also runs cultural and religious programs—from conferences to schools—to reinforce its “resistance” narrative. On social media, Iranian leaders speak directly to foreign publics: Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khamenei operates official X accounts in multiple languages to spread his message internationally. Meanwhile, Tehran’s cyber proxies wage covert influence campaigns: investigators found Iranian-run accounts masquerading as locals online to push anti-Saudi and anti-Israel propaganda.

This narrative offensive has helped Iran punch above its weight. By hammering themes of Muslim solidarity and Western perfidy, Iran has stirred sympathy among segments of the Arab public. U.S. analysts admit that while Washington focused on sanctions and military pressure, Iran was busy winning the war on the Arab street. The United States effectively “ceded the battleground of public diplomacy,” one report concluded, allowing Iran’s narrative to go unchallenged. Thus, when Iran backs proxy militias in places like Lebanon or Iraq, it often frames that support not as interference but as solidarity in a common struggle—an image that resonates with many. By mastering the narrative, Tehran has managed to expand its influence even under sanctions and isolation, wielding soft power where hard power cannot openly go.

The New Battlefield of Narratives

In a hyper-connected age, the narrative battlefield is nearly as crucial as the physical battlefield. Alliances form or fray based on the stories that dominate social media and television. Leaders must recognize that a viral tweet or image can sway international action faster than diplomatic cables. But this new reality also means misinformation can cause chaos like a missile strike. With every smartphone a potential broadcast, truth and propaganda often blur. The challenge is to counter falsehoods even as we harness communication for good. As one commentator noted, engaging with the media can “contribute to a successful peacemaking process” and should not be overlooked by policymakers.

The cases of Ukraine, Gaza, and Iran show that public communication is now a critical front. A compelling narrative can rally supporters or pressure governments more than any negotiation. Ultimately, who prevails in a war may hinge on whose story the world believes. The pen and the camera have become mighty weapons – and wielding them effectively could help shape a peaceful future.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Address by President of the Republic of Ukraine, Volodymyr Zelensky, Image sourced from Wikimedia Commons | CC License, no changes made

The millions of migrant women who serve as domestic workers in the Persian Gulf are an invisible backbone of the region’s prosperity. They cook, clean, and care for others, yet remain hidden from public view and legal protection. Gulf societies rely on their labor but deny them basic rights. One maid in Qatar put it bluntly: “My sleep is my break,” after working fifteen-hour days with no days off. Such testimonies lay bare the gap between official promises of fairness and the harsh reality: the comfort of employers is built on the deprivation of those who serve them. 

At the heart of this exploitation is a deliberately crafted system of invisibility. Under the kafala sponsorship regime, a maid’s visa is tied to a single employer—a legal bond that makes her a de facto captive. Without her sponsor’s permission, she cannot quit, change jobs, or even leave; if she tries, she immediately becomes “illegal” and can be arrested or deported. The sponsor effectively acts as her “guardian,” leaving the state uninvolved. This arrangement outsources coercion to private households. Meanwhile, domestic work is excluded from basic labor protections such as minimum wages, paid leave, or the right to unionize.

In practice, private homes become legal black holes. In Qatar, there is no limit on live-in hours; one recruiter boasted that a maid “will work full time… with no need to give a day off.” The result is harrowing: many women toil 15 or more hours a day, seven days a week, often without overtime pay, rest, or escape. Surveys of former maids find they routinely endure meager food, unpaid wages, and abuse—simply because the law offers them no relief. Such conditions are the intended outcome of a system that values these workers’ labor but not their rights. Without inspectors to check homes, abusive employers operate with near impunity—a regulatory vacuum that fuels this mistreatment. 

Socially and economically, Gulf domestic workers occupy the very bottom of a rigid hierarchy. Oil wealth and citizen welfare programs have created enormous demand for cheap household labor that locals largely refuse. Migrant women from Asia and Africa fill this demand, often taking heavy debts to pay recruiters’ fees. That indebtedness and desperate poverty force many to tolerate abuse as the price of their economic opportunities. Their work is dismissed as “women’s work”—dirty or demeaning—and many employers treat maids as inherently inferior. 

Despite decades of exposés and reform proposals, Gulf governments have largely failed to protect domestic workers. Some states have introduced standard contracts or basic domestic worker laws, but without ending kafala these measures remain mostly symbolic. Crucially, no Gulf country has ratified ILO Convention No. 189, which sets global labor standards for domestic workers, including minimum wage, rest days, and protections from abuse. Nor have they signed the Forced Labor Protocol, which requires states to take active steps to prevent and remedy forced labor situations. Enforcement is the weakest link: private homes are off-limits to labor inspectors, and authorities often side with sponsors. In some countries, fleeing abuse is punished—a maid who “runs away” can be jailed for absconding. Even though passport confiscation is illegal, it remains widespread. Many women know that if they manage to reach a government office, officials may simply return them to their employer. A culture of impunity prevails, and abusers rarely face consequences. 

On the international stage, Gulf states have been largely insulated from diplomatic and economic pressure—no country there has faced serious sanctions or binding oversight for worker abuse. Some labor-sending nations have tried to intervene—for example, Indonesia and the Philippines have halted new deployments after particularly egregious scandals. But such bans are often temporary or circumvented as desperate women find ways to go. In sum, systemic failures abound: global conventions sit unratified, domestic reforms are weak, and powerful interests resist change. As long as the fundamental power imbalance persists, new laws alone will not free these women from exploitation. 

The plight of Gulf maids is not an isolated phenomenon but echoes a long history of unequal labor systems. In fact, the kafala-like sponsorship system has colonial roots. In the mid-20th century, British authorities formalized local sponsorship customs to supply labor for oil and development projects without taking responsibility for the workers. In that sense, kafala closely mirrors the indentured labor schemes of the colonial era, which bound South Asian and African workers to plantations and households under strict contracts. In both cases, migrants were told they would earn new opportunities abroad, but in reality they encountered structural inequality. Workers were treated mainly as sources of labor; the concept of their personal rights was largely ignored. 

The parallels extend to domestic life as well. During colonial times, European households often kept native servants who labored long hours and were treated as part of the household but rarely as full individuals. Racial hierarchies were explicit then (and often are now): colonists viewed their local servants as innately inferior, just as many Gulf employers today see Asian or African maids as naturally subordinate. Domestic labor was literally “invisible” in colonial records, and it remains so: Gulf governments keep household work out of official statistics. In short, a domestic worker in Riyadh or Dubai today is part of a global pattern of out-of-sight, undervalued labor. The abolition of slavery changed one form of coercion, but without fundamental reform it has been replaced by yet another similar hegemonic ideology.

One might expect 21st-century technology to shed light on these injustices, but instead the digital age often compounds Gulf maids’ invisibility. No official data exists on how many domestic workers there are, how much they earn, or how many hours they work—they are omitted from labor surveys and economic models, so planners have no input from them. Put simply: you can’t fix what you can’t measure. 

Many employers actively keep maids off the grid. Numerous women report that their cell phones are confiscated on arrival, leaving them cut off from family, social networks, or online help. Locked behind closed doors with no internet, a maid cannot safely seek help or join support groups. Meanwhile, surveillance technology is ubiquitous in the home: CCTV cameras and “smart” devices monitor every move, effectively turning a maid’s workplace into a digital cage. One woman fleeing abuse described timing her escape around a camera’s blind spot. In global media and online, stories of housemaid abuse rarely break through. Algorithms amplify visible tragedies like factory collapses or protests, but a housemaid’s suffering behind closed doors seldom generates headlines. In today’s era of information, these women are doubly invisible—physically hidden in homes and erased from the data that shapes our world. 

Yet these women are far from passive. Over decades, domestic maids and their allies have built quiet networks of solidarity. Inside multi-maid households, a covert sisterhood often forms: women exchange whispered advice, slip lunchbox notes warning newcomers about abusive agencies, or hold hidden prayer circles on their rare days off. A veteran maid might discreetly tell a newcomer which employers are safer. These acts of daily solidarity help new arrivals avoid danger and remind isolated women that they are not alone.

Outside the home, diasporic communities and NGOs have stepped in. Many embassies run shelters for distressed maids: the Indonesian embassy in Doha famously advertised “5–10 domestic workers find shelter here every day” as abused women fled seeking refuge. Other embassies have similar safe houses. Expatriate community groups—such as churches and mosques frequented by Filipino, Ethiopian, and Sri Lankan migrants—provide counseling, language classes, and Sunday gatherings where workers can breathe freely. In Kuwait and elsewhere, migrant-funded associations have formed to help pay off recruitment debts or fund flights home. Though often under-resourced, these grassroots efforts rebuild the human ties that kafala and isolation sever. 

Political pressure is also building from sending countries. When a maid’s story goes viral, citizens at home can mobilize. In 2014, shocking photos of a brutally beaten Ethiopian maid in Lebanon prompted Ethiopia to suspend all overseas labor deployments temporarily. Indonesia likewise halted new deployments after similar scandals. While such measures are often temporary, they signal that Gulf states and employers cannot act with total impunity. International advocacy is growing too. The International Domestic Workers Federation (founded in 2013) and allied NGOs amplify maid voices and press for change. Their campaigns helped popularize ILO Convention 189, and they have pushed for reforms like guaranteed rest days in the UAE and labor dispute committees in Qatar. Each time a maid escapes to an embassy, files a complaint, or shares her story with journalists, the balance of power shifts a little. In the shadows where these women live, a quiet but powerful resistance is unfolding. 

Scholars and activists emphasize that only systemic, rights-based reforms can end this abuse. Piecemeal fixes are not enough. Key reforms include: abolishing the kafala system so domestic workers can change jobs or leave the country without a sponsor’s consent; extending full labor-law protections to maids (minimum wages, overtime pay, limits on daily work hours, paid leave, weekly rest days, and the right to unionize); and ratifying and enforcing international standards like ILO Convention 189. Additional measures include: 

• Regulating recruitment: Banning debt-inducing placement fees, cracking down on exploitative agencies, and enforcing transparent contracts so that migrants arrive informed of their rights and without crippling debt. 
• Strengthening enforcement: Deploying trained labor inspectors who can enter private homes (for example, via surprise or complaint-driven visits) and imposing real penalties for abuse (fines, jail time, and civil liability for employers). Victims must be protected when they speak up—governments should provide 24-hour hotlines in migrants’ languages, ensure shelters and legal aid, and allow women to stay in the country while their cases are resolved. 
• Ending harmful immigration rules: Decriminalizing “absconding” so that fleeing an abusive employer is not a crime, outlawing passport confiscation outright, and funding more shelters for women who escape abuse. 
• Empowering workers with information: Governments (both sending and destination) should provide pre-departure orientation and guides in migrants’ languages, and educate employers about maids’ rights. Confidential mobile apps, helplines, or messaging services could help maids learn their rights and signal for help if needed. 

Taken together, these measures would begin to close the gap between the Gulf’s rhetoric of modernity and the daily reality of its domestic workforce. If fully implemented, a maid in Kuwait or Qatar would finally have the same basic rights as any other worker: a fair wage paid on time, reasonable hours and weekly rest, freedom of movement, and meaningful recourse when her rights are violated.

In the end, the invisibility and exploitation of Gulf domestic workers are a matter of choice and power. These conditions were not accidents or cultural oddities but the designed outcome of overlapping systems of control. Sponsorship regimes like kafala were deliberately created to maximize employers’ power. For too long, elites have found it convenient to keep these women out of sight and out of mind. They beat, starve, and dehumanize them. But international law now explicitly recognizes that domestic work is valuable and demands its visibility. Migrant voices and stories are slowly coming into public view through media and research, and each shared testimony chips away at the silence. The hope is that this momentum continues: that Gulf governments and businesses, under growing civic and diplomatic pressure, will finally treat domestic workers as the rights-bearing individuals they are. These women have already suffered so that others might live in comfort. They deserve, at minimum, to be seen, heard, and treated with dignity and respect. It is time—for the Gulf, and the world—to make the invisible visible.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Kafala System Protest, Image sourced from Flickr | CC License, no changes made

The year is 2015. Following the November Paris Attacks—in which 129 individuals were killed by ISIS, and even more were left wounded—online “hacktivist” group Anonymous publicly declared war on the Islamic State’s online operations, serving as the catalyst for swift, severe retaliation, and eventually, a full-blown cyberwar between the two parties. Anonymous and ISIS’s 2015 conflict (“OpISIS”)—while widely regarded as the first prominent declaration of cyberwarfare by a non-state actor in the 21st century—is not isolated. Rather, it demonstrates a larger shift in vigilante counterterrorism. Not only are international terrorist groups increasingly pivoting towards social media recruitment to expand their influence in the western world, but the subsequent retaliation is indicative of an entirely new means of warfare: one with the internet and social media at the forefront. 

Social media platforms, while often regarded politically as a way candidates running for public office may advertise their policy positions and secure a strong voter base, also have the propensity to become hotbeds for nefarious action. As online political discourse has become more prevalent, so have loosely regulated outlets which allow extremist indoctrination to spread more efficiently. In his book Islamic State: The Digital Caliphate scholar Abdel-Bari Atwan explains that platforms like 4Chan and Twitter have served as “recruiting tool[s] and psychological warfare weapon[s],” and have shapeshifted from conventional communication channels to “advanced media machine[s].”¹ Moreover, a 2018 RAND report demonstrates that this is not isolated to the home countries of these groups. Rather, major terrorist groups such as ISIS have been able to mobilize “an estimated 40,000 foreign nationals from 100 countries” to join. 

This expansion is achieved through two key steps. First, extremist groups proliferate thousands of shell accounts designed to look like average users—typically in the western world. Second, they couple recruitment posts with unrelated, trending topics and hashtags (for instance, #WorldCup) in order to widen their reach to the median viewer. Yet despite being shrouded in popular trends and hashtags, much of this content is overtly radical, leading one to question: who buys in? While the fundamentally deregulated nature of platforms like 4Chan—and to some extent, X—have allowed for large-level dissemination of propaganda, there is a uniquely psychological aspect which outlines how it has garnered so much success in the first place.

As outlined in Tamar Mitts’s book From Isolation to Radicalization: Anti-Muslim Hostility and Support for ISIS in the West, when analyzing the demographic backgrounds of the nearly 30,000 foreigners who traveled to countries in the Middle East to fight for ISIS, there was little overlap in age group, racial background, and socioeconomic status. Rather, what most had in common was a shared sense of isolation coupled with an extensive amount of time spent online. Abdulla Almutairi’s “Social Media as a Recruitment Tool for ISIS” details that the appeal is typically towards “alienated youth, mostly male, who are searching for a sense of belonging and a true calling, a sense of mission and value for their disaffected lives.” 

The benefit that this demographic offers to extremist groups is twofold. First, it is easier to recruit, given that its members spend most of their time on the platforms where this content is rapidly spread. Second, they are more likely to be devoted to the cause to which they are radicalized, and will go to great lengths (from travel to violent action) to engage in the group’s larger ideological goals. While the messaging which appears in most propaganda videos at first focuses on incentives—such as the sense of “community” one can obtain by joining one of these groups. This often serves as not only a pipeline for more violent content, but an eventual impetus towards dangerous action once groupthink causes the collective to become more radical. These actions in recent years have become increasingly deterred by non-state “hacktivist” organizations. 

Anonymous was virtually unheard of before the turn of the 21st century, but following the early 2010s, it cemented its legacy as one of the largest international, non-state hacktivist collective organizations. Essentially, Anonymous is synonymous with the internet, and since its founding in 2003, has gained notoriety for interventions ranging from attacks on the Tunisian and Zimbabwean government websites in 2010, to hacking the Federal Reserve three years later. Anonymous’s distinctiveness lies in its autonomous nature, lack of defined ideology, and willingness to take significant risks—such as intercepting the systems of state governments—to achieve their goals. 

While Anonymous is arguably the largest and most notorious hacktivist group, more and more have propped up following the 2015 cyberwar, suggesting that we may be entering a new era in counterterrorism specific to digital attacks. At the very least, social media is certainly being used as a tool for states to achieve their own political goals. There is also increasing evidence that non-state actors beyond ISIS also have been employing it in lieu of password-protected forums because “the pool of potential recruits, supporters, or sympathizers that can be reached on social media is vastly larger.” The simultaneous rise of both terrorist digital attacks coupled with hacktivist retaliation is akin to two state governments in perpetual competition with one another—a digital arms race, with social media content and propaganda at the forefront. As a result, one may pose the question as to whether hacktivist groups can be mobilized in collaboration with governments such as the United States to take down targets. 

However, this does not come without potential risks. Groups like Anonymous, while possible tools to foster accountability in global cyberspace, lack centralization due to their lack of large-scale or uniform political or ideological commitments. Given that they do not pledge allegiance to any specific party, actor, or government, action may not be realized unless Anonymous feels a strong incentive—something hard to come by if there is little coherence among members and difficulty in mobilizing. But this doesn’t mean that hacktivism as a whole lacks security use, or that states cannot adopt similar measures in their own security operations. If state governments hope to keep pace with both terrorist threats and independent actors operating in cyberspace, they must rapidly advance their digital infrastructure, because if there’s one thing that Anonymous’s 2015 “OpISIS” demonstrates, it is that hacktivism is here to stay.

1.  Abdel Bari Atwan, Islamic State: The Digital Caliphate (London: Saqi Books, 2015) ↩︎

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Social Media, Image sourced from Sprout Media Lab | CC License, no changes made

Introduction 

Private Military Firms (PMFs) are an emerging branch of actors in postmodern military conflict. While the use of ‘mercenaries’ goes back centuries, the corporatization and intricate governmental infiltration by private contractors has shifted the control that sovereign states have over levels of violence in their foreign conflicts. Modern definitions of PMF groups distinguish private military companies (PMCs) from private security companies (PSCs) and draw further distinctions from mercenaries, the latter of whom bear the negative, decades-old connotation of soldiers for hire. For this assessment of private contracting during the United States occupation of Iraq following 9/11, I employ PMFs as the collective term for these groups. The proliferation of the private sector and military contracting in foreign conflicts necessitates an exploration of the effectiveness of PMFs in counterinsurgency practices; PMFs’ relationship to international law; and the extent to which indiscriminate violence by PMFs is controlled. 

Implications of PMFs in world conflicts are understudied; although mercenaries have been used historically, increased privatization of today’s conflicts in the age of weapons of mass destruction poses a wider threat of anarchy and calls into question the strength of conventional rules of engagement. Counterinsurgency (COIN) itself is an emerging field of military study, with only recent proliferation into the world of academia in light of the U.S.’ “forever wars” and resulting COIN practices. Limited information is known about the efficacy of parallel COIN practices when they are executed by a paramilitary force. Further, the general lack of transparency in the private military firm sector prevents immediate examination of applicable cases. Only now, when broader accounts of PMF actions have been recorded and publicized, can some scholarly assessment be produced. 

Several complications arise when analyzing the role and conduct of PMFs. There is not one standard type of private military company; operations by these groups vary significantly, as demonstrated in a number of cases including Sierra Leone (PMF: Executive Outcomes), Afghanistan (PMF: Blackwater), Iraq (PMF: Blackwater), and Sudan (PMF: Wagner). Operational variations include PMFs’ interactions with civilian populations along the way and the success of the operations. Even within a given company, operational goals vary from humanitarian and domestic support (i.e., Blackwater post-Hurricane Katrina) to support for American counterinsurgency support (i.e., Blackwater during the War on Terror). 

In this paper, I examine the dangers and advantages of private contractors, with a specific focus on Blackwater—now Constellis, hired for military operations in U.S. foreign operations. I begin by outlining the notable role of Blackwater, a private military company, in Iraq during the early 2000s U.S. COIN efforts against Islamist insurgents. I pay special attention to the prevalent and unfettered use of indiscriminate violence in Blackwater operations, as well as the perceived advantages of using private companies for special military operations. Indiscriminate violence describes the collective targeting of combatant and civilian populations without credible distinguishability between the two. Then, I explicate the backlash effects of Blackwater operations on U.S. troops. The following section of this paper deals with the lack of accountability that companies such as Blackwater enjoy in the context of both domestic and international law. Finally, I demonstrate that private military companies’ subversive behaviors negatively impact U.S. COIN operations. Addressing claims of brutal efficacy, I show that the advantages of operating outside sovereign state rules of law not only violate any semblance of just war, but also further motivate the grievances of host nation populations (such as Iraq in 2004) due to the denial of atrocities committed. I find that Blackwater’s indiscriminate practices in Iraq bred Iraqi distrust, incited reprisals, and represented greater oversights of contractor accountability within the U.S. government. I contend that the ethical failings of these practices decreased counterinsurgent success. 

I assert that the foreign policy effects of private contracting groups can be generalized, regardless of the purported goals of the groups (offensive, defensive, etc.) due to their “out-group” status. Context for this paper’s examination of Blackwater during the Iraq War stems from the faltering of U.S. national troops in forming an adequate “coalition of the willing” during the initial invasion into Iraq. 

Literature Review 

PMFs broadly commit acts of indiscriminate violence outside of the rule of law, thereby alienating the host population and decreasing the effectiveness of state or private COIN forces. I aim to advance current schools of thought regarding causes and effects of PMF ineffectiveness. Theorists posit that in the event of indiscriminate violence, free riders—in this case, the persuadable population who are civilians at the start of a conflict—will seek sanctuary with rebels. This drive to the rebels presents a solution to the insurgent collective action problem, wherein insurgent groups face the challenge of convincing a neutral populace to risk death in going against the state and its COIN forces. Defined by “rough” selection criteria and “targeting everyone . . . with no effort to determine guilt or innocence,” populations facing indiscriminate violence have no reason to choose to aid COIN or state forces since they are fundamentally vulnerable and the costs of joining an insurgency are reduced. As evidence from the U.S.–Vietnam war suggests, indiscriminate counterinsurgency fueled insurgents by prompting the emergence of weaker local governance structures and lowering the at-large population’s civic engagement. The American counterinsurgency strategy in Vietnam asserted that enemy-centric firepower was to come first, and population-centric “hearts and minds” would follow. Due to resultant findings indicating the adverse effects of indiscriminate firepower during the Vietnam War, U.S. Army/ Marine Corps Field Manual 3-24 was drafted to provide an updated view of modern COIN strategy as predominantly a population-centric approach spearheaded by General David Petraeus. Findings from spatial discontinuity studies of bombing during the Vietnam War then illustrated that “overwhelming firepower” instigated increased militant activity and weakened governance structures. In fact, assessments of indiscriminate violence across various cases concludes that indiscriminate violence is “at best ineffective and at worst counterproductive.”

PMFs are seen as profit-maximizing businesses operating with little regard for human or moral consequences; their soldiers operate primarily for personal gain.  Consistently, PMFs have outbid each other, leading to undersupplied and manned missions creating circumstances necessary for events like the Blackwater in Fallujah crisis. Further, PMFs face little accountability from state governments who bear responsibility for “private security forces acting on [their] behalf through government contracts and cannot delegate this responsibility.” Consequently, many of the crimes alleged to have been committed by PMFs are never acknowledged by the firms themselves (simply businesses trying to achieve quarterly growth) or by their contractually-bound governments, who prefer to sweep unfortunate incidents out of public view. 

A second school of thought alleges that PMFs provide significant outside backing for military conflicts and increase the effectiveness of their operations by operating outside the constraints of public opinion since the ethics and illegality of indiscriminate violence are not a hindrance. Further, domestic policy greatly influences the extent to which states can conduct public COIN operations. Narratives generated by the American public’s notion that liberal order must be restored abroad heavily dictate the leeway afforded to American politicians during foreign military operations. In Chechnya, indiscriminate violence perpetrated by a government unconstrained by public opinion and studied through a difference-in-difference model was found to successfully deter insurgency operations as long as geographic and population sizes were sufficiently limited.

Proponents and critics of PMFs acknowledge a concrete advantage of acting outside national institutions: private companies can act quickly, avoid bureaucratic red tape, accomplish goals at any cost, and disregard public opinion at the expense of losing political power. As O’Brien mentions, “The U.S. Government did not have to undergo the political risk associated with sending national armed forces into security situations which are little understood or supported domestically.” As was the case in Croatia, private contractors enabled the U.S. to covertly support a cause without fairing public discourse and disapproval. However, the covert nature of these activities also engendered a lack of accountability for actions that angered local or civilian populations, hindering future COIN operations. 

A summary perspective follows that while PMFs initially displayed shortcomings on the battlefield, their eventual integration into the U.S. military structure effectively employed these paramilitary troops and overcame initial shortcomings. This hypothesis is structured around the idea that when private military firms first emerged, their incursion into the sovereign state system was unexpected and therefore presented a significant shortcoming with regard to a chain of command conflict. The argument posits that by 2008, PMFs had increased their coordination with national militaries rather than vying for control over a system (theoretically evidenced by friendly fire decreases between contractors and national forces). Since PMF contractors are still not explicitly classified as combatants, mercenaries, or civilians under International Humanitarian Law (IHL), there remains a question as to the level of control or coordination exerted by the U.S. over its contracted employees. 

The second shortcoming mentioned is the “cowboy argument,” which argues that PMF participation alienates host populations through their inherent aggressive practices. Only after the damage done by the Nisour Square Massacre of 2007 did the Department of Defense outline specific measures permitting the use of deadly force. Even so, proponents of these guidelines call them “futile if there are no corresponding measures in place to detect and to sanction violations.” 

The final shortcoming this argument addresses is the impunity argument. Previously discussed, this argument addresses a lack of accountability mechanism built into the government. Even those who argue that increased oversight over time has increased accountability note that despite the expiration of Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA) Order 17, a military order implemented by the COIN coalition which provided immunity for government contractors in Iraq, three firms are still exempt from Iraqi jurisdiction: Blackwater, Triple Canopy, and Dyncorp. New legislation was then implemented, but nonetheless, “ . . . a strong minority of 30 percent deemed [the statement that “armed contractors are given free reign to misbehave with little accountability”] as “typically true.”  These expert accounts provide significant anecdotal reports that governmental oversight is lacking. 

Argument 

Studying the effects of indiscriminate violence committed by paramilitary groups on the broader insurgency within a given area, I posit that the Blackwater’s subversive and unethical indiscriminate violence operations, characteristic of PMFs, led to an increase in Iraqi population backlash, ineffective counterinsurgency, and a hardening of Iraqi opinions to the U.S. through mechanisms of distrust and humiliation. I contend that Blackwater repeatedly conducted operations in Iraq using techniques of indiscriminate violence without regard for sovereign U.S. or international law. As such, they broke principles governing conduct before and in the midst of formal conflict outlined in Just War Theory, since Blackwater truly acted in an anarchical manner. These lawless yet goal-oriented techniques prevented the U.S. from wanting to or being able to hold Blackwater accountable for its actions. Thus, Blackwater continued to systemically prioritize profits over human life. 

Blackwater’s indiscriminate practices hurt the U.S. counterinsurgency effort by sabotaging their “hearts and minds” approach, in direct contrast to ideals outlined by the U.S.’ Army/ Marine Corps Field Manual 3-24. Not only did this sabotage create direct Iraqi reprisals in the form of resistance, but it also led to hardened ideologies and ideological uprising against the West (evidenced by the ideologically-driven Mahdi Army who drove collective Iraqi action against U.S. troops). Denials of Blackwater actions piled on top of existing Iraqi humiliation generated lingering distrust among the Iraqi population. One philosophy proposes that PMFs filled a necessary gap in troop shortage at the beginning of the Iraq War. However, I postulate that the supposed gap filled by PMFs became a feedback loop in which further U.S. forces defected from national militaries to PMFs in order to seek additional profit. Regulations placed upon PMFs prior to Blackwater’s rise to such monopolistic power could have prevented their marketization of the conflict labor market. While PMFs may have been necessary to some components of the war effort, their gross overreach and ethical breaches outweigh the positive support they provided to counterinsurgency efforts. 

Method of Evaluation 

To demonstrate key failures of the use of PMFs, the Iraq War offers plenty of recorded interactions between contractors and the host country, as well as ineffective and effective phases of U.S. and PMF counterinsurgency. The generalizability of this case is questionable, although many comparisons can be made to ethnically divided and rough terrain civil conflicts on the African continent, where foreign intervention by PMFs is prevalent and rising. 

Why Iraq? Private security contractors in Iraq had been assigned more expansive roles than previously assigned to American contractors such as transporting supplies, escorting convoys, and interrogating prisoners. The Iraq War itself presents an intrinsically important case as it concerns an ethno-religious conflict that contributed to a broader divide between the ideological East and West, the developing and developed world. The Blackwater case study presents a poignant reflection on what many consider an infamous example of private contractors in counterinsurgency. Headed by a right-wing, ideologically-extreme figure, Erik Prince, Blackwater became synonymous with military contracting during the Iraq and Afghan Wars due to the publicity generated by a variety of controversial incidents. The company’s notoriety presents a unique opportunity to examine information about more of its activities; further, several of the largest contracts awarded in the Iraq War were won by Blackwater and its numerous subsidiaries. Blackwater developed a reputation as the “leading mercenary of the U.S. occupation” in Iraq. 

I will include evidence of recorded casualties of PMF personnel during these wars as well as deployed personnel. I will also assess levels of violence during COIN operations within the recent Iraq invasion. I examine specific events of indiscriminate violence by the U.S. military and by Blackwater to qualify reasons for PMF failure. Through qualitative analysis of primary and secondary sources, I aim to form an argument regarding the effects of private military company and external force punitive strategies on insurgent response to collective violence, as well as the ethics of PMFs left at their current level of regulation. 

Evaluation of Evidence 

Blackwater conducted operations indiscriminately in Iraq. Embedded in Field Manual 3-24, indiscriminate violence contradicts practices of limited or selective violence. The following acts mark a systemic pattern of indiscriminate violence where either noncombatant deaths were not avoided, or Blackwater operatives preemptively employed mass killing methods: 

On December 24, 2006, a drunk contractor named Moonen shot the bodyguard to the Iraqi Vice President in the Green Zone of Baghdad. Rather than being held accountable, he was simply billed for his plane ticket home. 

February of 2007 saw the Iraqi Media Network shooting where a Blackwater sniper shot and killed three guards at a state funded facility “without any provocation,” although Blackwater claimed self-defense with little evidentiary support. 

Three months later, Blackwater forces killed a civilian driver of an Iraqi vehicle and engaged in an armed standoff with Iraqi officials, refusing to acknowledge their role in the incident the day after killing at least four Iraqis in an unrelated standoff.

In September 2007, Blackwater committed the Al Wathbah Square killings, killing five Iraqi civilians “without justification.” 

One week later, Blackwater came under fire for its most famous incident. A group of fighters in Nisour Square gunned down 17 civilians with no direct prompting, creating a “terrifying scene of indiscriminate shooting.” Lack of coordination even presented through infighting of Blackwater guards, with two reportedly pulling weapons on each other. 

To amplify the brutal image of these fighters, Blackwater “deployed scores of Chilean mercenaries, some of whom trained and served under . . . Augusto Pinochet.” Pinochet’s dictatorship was largely known for orchestrating indiscriminate disappearances, and these skills seemed to “fit” Blackwater’s approach in Iraq. 

An Iraqi traffic policeman noted, “Two weeks ago, guards of a convoy opened fire randomly that led to the killing of two policemen … I swear they are Mossad,” he said.” This unpublicized incident and its perception within the country as random contributes to the reputation contractors developed locally as mercenaries indistinguishable from the overall U.S. military effort. 

Blackwater did not follow or care to follow U.S. and international regulations regarding either warfare or international justice. The U.S. government follows standard operating procedures (SOPs) set forth by its top generals and publicly debated about in military discourse. Written in part by John Nagl and General Petraeus, key operators in Iraq, Field Manual 3-24 explicates components of so-called ‘good governance.’ As Hazelton describes in “The Fallacy of Hearts and Minds,” discriminate force that can win over the “hearts and minds” of civilians is an essential intervening variable of good governance because indiscriminate and civilian harm fuels insurgencies. However, Hazelton argues that the use of force is beneficial in violent statebuilding. Using a case study of Malay, she recalls that after a shift from Briggs’ indiscriminate “New Villages” plan, implementation of more discriminate force led to greater development of informants, cooperation with elites, and eventual success.

Blackwater, in contrast, operates without the oversight of government conduct manuals in order to achieve their bottom line.In fact, Erik Prince has publicly stated that Blackwater functions under the Department of Defense rules for contractors and not for U.S. national soldiers; he emphasizes this distinction when discussing the legality of actions attributed to Blackwater operatives. As noted, “Blackwater operated in a legal gray zone, seemingly outside the scope of both U.S. civilian and military law and immune from Iraqi law.” U.S. military officials also cite national service inexperience for failing to “prepare adequately for the use of contractors” and noting a lack of trained oversight personnel. While various justice processes and civilian lawsuits in the wake of the Nisour Square Massacre and the U.S.’ shift to more “liberal narratives” have reversed this trend, Blackwater had openly declared its forces above the law during their deployment to Iraq. 

The U.S. government did not and could not hold Blackwater accountable. Across both sides of the political aisle, American lawmakers found it difficult to formally disapprove of Blackwater’s actions during an era where they were protected by these very companies when traveling abroad. Blackwater had gained notoriety in the “summer of 2003, after receiving a $27 million no bid contract to provide security for Ambassador Paul Bremer, who headed the Coalition Provisional Authority from May 2003 to June 2004.” Their fame grew throughout their tenure of protecting Bremer, who became a highly wanted and “hated” figure in Iraq. “Even staunch critics of Blackwater/Xe therefore find general disapproval difficult to articulate.”  These so-called staunch critics included powerful Democrats Diane Feinstein and Barack Obama; despite having moral objections to the extraneous effects of these companies, they recognized their utility in providing effective diplomatic security at any cost. Thus, Blackwater’s cycle of firing at will continued. 

Powerful national military officials were even incorporated into this partnership: General Petraeus was famously guarded by Blackwater contractors in Iraq, as they were known for their aggressive “defense” tactics (as evidenced in their self-defense assertions regarding the Nisour Square Massacre, which were later overturned). Even on the legal front, Blackwater enjoyed the protections of Bremer’s power and favor in the passage of Order 17, which provided immunity for U.S. contractors operating in Iraq. Order 17 equipped Blackwater with the shield it needed to maintain an extrajudicial presence in Iraq: it legally solidified the U.S.’ inability and ultimate unwillingness to hold contractors to the same legal standards as  U.S. soldiers, who would have been swiftly court-martialed at the first hint of untoward behavior. 

A notable example of this phenomenon is the widely publicized horror committed at Abu Ghraib prison. U.S. interrogators and soldiers involved in the dehumanization, humiliation, and torture of Iraqi prisoners were court-martialed for their crimes shortly after the incident; none of the private contractors named in the U.S. Army investigation reports had been charged, prosecuted or punished until this year. For other crimes, Human Rights Watch found in 2023, “no evidence the U.S. government had paid any compensation or other redress to victims of detainee abuse in Iraq, issued any individual apologies or other amends, or opened any pathways to permit those who alleged they were tortured to have their cases heard.” 

Blackwater, having no incentive to do otherwise, prioritized profits over human life, which bolstered their indiscriminate practices. A key component of Blackwater’s practices involves their competitors. Blackwater, simply a business conglomerate, must outcompete other private military firms and even national armies to sustain its profits. Exemplified when Blackwater wrested control of kitchenware contracts from ESS (a dining services contractor) and deployed four Blackwater security contractors to their deaths in Fallujah with no backup and little protective weaponry, their bottom line of profit remained the most important. As the conflict in Iraq waged forth, Blackwater decided to hire Chilean forces after Jose Miguel “Mike” Pizarro lobbied for his Pinochet-era fighters. These brutal, albeit effective, Blackwater fighters were swiftly replaced by cheaper Jordanian alternatives after Pizarro insulted Blackwater executives by signing a contract with their direct competitor, Triple Canopy. Purely a business decision, Pizarro notes the degradation of Blackwater’s fighting capacity after switching to cheaper forces. In an Iraqi civilian lawsuit against Blackwater for indiscriminate practices, the plaintiffs assert, “Blackwater benefits financially from its willingness to kill innocent bystanders.” 

Consequently, Blackwater hurt U.S. national counterinsurgency practices. Blackwater changed U.S. COIN practices through more than just theory, opinion, or attitude. Indiscriminate actions and public snafus “forced policymakers to jettison strategies designed to win the counterinsurgency on multiple occasions, before they even had a chance to succeed” including the “U.S. Marine plan for counterinsurgency in the Sunni Triangle” which was never enacted due to “uncoordinated contractor decisions in 2004 that helped turn Fallujah into a rallying point of the insurgency.” Singer goes on to name the Blackwater contractor incident as a hindrance to proceeding with U.S.-Iraqi cooperation on “post-[troop] ‘surge’ political benchmarks.” While COIN strategies in Iraq posed many difficulties, proponents of indiscriminate violence in certain insurgency cases posit that “the Sunni population is probably too numerous for indiscriminate violence to do anything but backfire and produce further anger.” 

U.S. military officials had first-hand negative reactions to Blackwater’s COIN practices. Retired Army officer Ralph Peters said, “Armed contractors do harm COIN—counterinsurgency efforts. Just ask the troops in Iraq.” In more strategy oriented terms echoing the tenets of Field Manual 3-24, Colonel Thomas Hammes said, “Blackwater’s high-profile conduct in guarding Bremer broke the ‘first rule’ of fighting an insurgency: ‘You don’t make any more enemies’” and that their lack of constraints were “. . . ‘hurting our counterinsurgency effort.’” 

Blackwater’s indiscriminate use of violence led to Iraqi backlash. Causal logic can trace specific Blackwater events of indiscriminate violence to Iraqi incidents of violence. Iraqi civilians sued Blackwater in 2007 in response to the Nisour Square Massacre, where graphic evidence showed women and children fleeing gunfire. 

A more notable instance of backlash occurred earlier in the war involving the Mahdi Army. The Mahdi Army, or JAM, was a Shi’a militia led by Muqtada al-Sadr, an ideological entrepreneur who fostered psychological commitments to the group through effective messaging. While Iraqis grew more and more discontent with U.S. reactions to Iraqi killings, Sadr blamed the U.S. and Iraqi governments for failing to provide security and service while gaining credibility through payoff to families of fallen Sadrists. In response to the indiscriminate killing of fifteen Iraqis and the arrest of Sadr’s deputy, the leader urged a rebellion. The resultant uprising led to a standoff in Najaf, where Blackwater contractors gave commands to U.S. national forces and fired thousands of rounds into a Mahdi crowd; accounts over which side fired the first shot are contested. As a product of the Najaf firefight, Sadr ordered widespread rebellion, which then led to 8 U.S. soldier deaths in the ensuant clashes; visual evidence showed tanks crushing Iraqi civilian cars. 

Blackwater’s denial of atrocities led to an increased distrust between Iraq and the West; distrust mobilized the neutral populace against Coalition forces due to honor and humiliation. According to “Apologies in International Politics,” denial of atrocities committed fuels adversaries. Evidenced through reactions of South Koreans to Japanese erasure of World War II-era crimes against Korean women, refusal to acknowledge criminal behaviors against a state leads to higher levels of distrust in the affected population. Applied to the case of Blackwater in Iraq, the company’s blanket refusal to acknowledge multiple cases of wrongdoing against the Iraqi populace spurred reactionary movements against Western forces. In previously discussed cases such as that of the Moonen shooting, Blackwater offered either little or no compensation to families of the deceased. When they did offer compensation, it was often arbitrary or Iraqis viewed the amount proffered as a direct insult.In light of CPA Order #1: DeBaathification, in which members in the first three rungs of Saddam Hussein’s Baath party were stripped of their employment (which included civilians working local roles like principals of public schools), many Iraqis were unable to provide for their family’s wellbeing. Already humiliated by the American incursion upon their lives, Iraqis’ senses of honor (sharaf, interim, and ird) were progressively subdued. 

A common generalization made of Coalition forces was, “I was not going to help make of Iraq a puppet regime for their interests and that of the Jews in the region.” Blackwater forces were perceived similarly, if not overwhelmingly against regional interests, “As it was, many ordinary people in Iraq believed private security contractors to be Mossad or CIA… ‘To us, the Americans are just like the Israelis.’” And if those perceptions created any doubt of the widespread distrust of these plainclothes, mysterious foreign occupiers, contractors had developed a known reputation among Iraqis as mercenaries “shooting down innocent Iraqis with total impunity.” The U.S.’ inability to create long lasting security further humiliated Iraqis, who were left with another failed state security crisis and lingering distrust. 

Blackwater’s for-profit model and welcome cooperation with the U.S. government created a feedback loop further incentivizing the use of PMFs in U.S. conflicts. Blackwater’s business model did provide several advantages to the U.S. federal budget. However, pitfalls of contractors included the possibility of refusal to perform, which could not occur in the national army. Additionally, Blackwater’s pay grades meant that “[national] soldiers sought more lucrative posts with private companies,” especially upon their transition to civilian life. The spillover effects of these shorter-term, higher-paid contracting roles depleted national forces. 

Ethical concerns over other national forces employed in Iraq arose as South African mercenaries banned from fighting in South Africa due to anti-apartheid laws found refuge fighting in Iraq. Brookings Institutions’ Peter Singer reported that Aegis, a firm similar to Blackwater but British and run by Tim Spicer, won a contract in Iraq. This, in turn, rewarded companies that simply spent more, leading to abuse and inefficiency. Blackwater and other private military contracts followed suit. Private contracting was especially active in Iraq as, “of summer, 2007, there were more “private contractors” deployed on the U.S. government payroll in Iraq (180,000) than there were actual soldiers (160,000). Even today, following eventual prosecutions of Blackwater contractors for the Nisour Square massacre and other atrocities in 2007, the simple rebranding of Blackwater to “Xe Services,” “Academi,” and eventually “Constellis,” provided sufficient cover for the U.S. government to hire the company as military guards in Afghanistan. From a globalized perspective, “economic and political crises are fueling demand beyond the sector itself,” meaning that the pure revenue-based success of these PMFs continues to attract the state military labor market. 

The growing use of PMFs operates in direct opposition to Just War Theory, providing little justification for Bush’s assertion that Iraq was in fact, a just war of counterterrorism. A core tenet of Just War Theory asserts that the actors must be sovereign states. While terrorism as a category of conflict calls into question the general applicability of Just War Theory to counterterrorism cases, PMFs clearly and egregiously violate this point. PMFs, acknowledged to operate outside sovereign state government control (and thus not subject to their justice systems) represent a clear shift to an anarchical system. Delineated through the series of indiscriminate attacks questionably initiated by Blackwater forces, jus ad bellum ideals (principles guiding when states should initiate force, including war as the last resort and avoidance of gratuitous violence) were clearly disregarded during the Iraq War. As Crawford notes in her analysis of Just War Theory in the context of counterterrorism, discrimination in warfare has been complicated by postmodern counterterror. As shown in the Iraq War, U.S. targeting has engendered violence feedback loops: Crawford describes the Taliban’s transformation from a community defense force to terrorism due to U.S. targeting over Al Qaeda interactions.  The implications of this egregiously unethical warfare therefore call into question Crawford’s support of Bush in his assertions that Iraq and its counterterrorism was just, as well as how paramilitary groups can justify their actions in the future. 

Conclusion 

Examining the role of Blackwater in the Iraq conflict elucidates the cooperation of sovereign militaries with their private counterparts. While some states contract with PMFs to avoid domestic political consequences, the effectiveness of the COIN operations, or lack thereof, should guide governments on structuring the nature of their joint efforts. Through an examination of Blackwater in Iraq alongside U.S. national forces, I conclude that Blackwater decreased counterinsurgent success in Iraq through repeated and systemic indiscriminate practices enabled by a lack of state control or accountability. 

I contend that Blackwater forces bred distrust through their numerous indiscriminate killing practices; lack of accountability or government oversight along with sheer denial of indiscriminate practices prove the argument of denial and backlash with the Mahdi Army reprisal. There are no mechanisms for making amends after PMF warfare, encouraging dangerous reprisals in foreign occupations and lowering the likelihood of future cooperation. Given this distrust and violations of just war principles, PMF practices as they stand in counterinsurgency are inherently unethical and cannot be defended by Just War Theory. 

In addition to ethical concerns, the for-profit business model, feedback loop of violence, and growing U.S. dependence on PMFs is cause for alarm. Considering the government’s inability to provide adequate oversight and Blackwater’s history of detrimental incursions into Iraq, a growing reliance on these firms and potential for host populace backlash must be anticipated with strict regulation. 

A potential counterpoint questions what the U.S. would have done without PMFs in these conflicts. Given the long and continuing history of PMF groups, perhaps the more pertinent counterfactual to consider is what enforcement mechanisms must be put in place to avoid indiscriminate violence and other aforementioned pitfalls. The ineffectiveness of indiscriminate violence would necessitate greater efforts by both international institutions and sovereign governments to place limits on PMFs. With some increased accountability and regulation today, PMFs remain covertly used in several foreign occupations. PMFs are a prevalent aid in conflicts considering their range of utility, but many negative implications of Blackwater’s counterinsurgency actions persist: for example, Islamic State in Iraq and Syria (ISIS) cited Blackwater and Abu Ghraib abuses in its release of the “Revived Caliphate.” To suppose that actions perpetrated decades ago carry few implications for terrorism and counterterrorism today would be a naive assumption, and our policies today must acknowledge the U.S.’ faltering of PMF regulation. Future research questions addressing PMF practices in postmodern warfare should consider the extent to which PMFs employing selective violence contribute positively to counterinsurgency operations, as well as compare the effectiveness of PMF and foreign military interventions in reducing insurgent violence.

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Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Soldiers during the Iraq War, Image sourced from Rawpixel | CC License, no changes made

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On January 21st, 2025, Israel Defense Forces launched a major military raid on Jenin in the occupied West Bank entitled “Operation Iron Wall”. The Israeli military operations have since expanded to other areas of the West Bank, including the towns of Tulkarm, Nablus and Tubas. According to The United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA), at least 40,000 Palestinians have been displaced since the beginning of these attacks, which largely target refugee camps. This is the bloodiest assault on the West Bank since being formally occupied by Israel in 1967. 

Operation Iron Wall marks the first time the Palestine Authority (PA)—the Fatah-led governing body of the West Bank—fights alongside IDF forces in their assaults on Palestinian cities, killing many unarmed civilians and even journalists. Twenty years after coming to power, the aging Mahmoud Abbas, leader of the PA, faces growing criticism for this collaboration. The West Bank is facing an existential dilemma: either fight one of the most heavily funded militaries in the world or become completely annexed by its occupier, and the Palestine Authority openly engaging in treacherous behavior against its own people may be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

In 1958, 10 years following the creation of the state of Israel, which saw the violent displacement of over 750,000 Palestinians and the loss of nearly 80% of Palestinian land in what is called the “Nakba” (“catastrophe”), a group of Palestinian intellectuals who lived in surrounding Arab states formed the Palestinian National Liberation Movement (Ḥarakat at-Taḥrīr al-Waṭanī l-Filasṭīnī), known as Fatah (“Victory”). Many of the founders of Fatah were originally from the Gaza Strip and were made refugees in their own homeland. The movement called on Palestinians of differing political backgrounds to unite and “organize a vanguard that would rise above factionalism, whims and leanings to include the entire people.” A core tenet of the movement stated that armed struggle would be necessary to ensure the total liberation of Palestine, with the writings of Frantz Fanon and historical achievements in Algeria and Vietnam drawing inspiration. 

In Cairo 1964, a coalition consisting of leaders in Arab governments across the Middle East and North Africa formed the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO). The PLO initially enjoyed greater legitimacy in the Arab world than Fatah in regards to the Palestine Question because it represented pan-Arab unity. Unlike Fatah, the PLO did not see armed struggle as the appropriate solution to the Palestine Question. This is in alignment with the President of Egypt, Gamal Abdel Nasser, who also did not agree that it was the right time for Palestinian forces to take up arms and fight against Israeli forces. Some scholars like Ilan Pappé argue that Nasser “miscalculated Israel’s reaction” to Palestine, failing to predict Israel launching an offensive against neighboring Arab states in the Six-Day war, leading to the occupation of Gaza, the West Bank, the Syrian Golan Heights, and the Egyptian Sinai Peninsula.

Following 1967, Fatah and other Palestinian armed groups like the Marxist-Leninist Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) would conduct operations targeting Israeli military outposts. A battle in 1968 in the town of al-Karama in Jordan saw Palestinian forces “[inflict] relatively heavy losses on the Israelis,” leading to a surge in support for Fatah among Palestinian civilians. The following year, Fatah would gain the majority of seats within the Palestine National Council (PNC), the governing body of the PLO. As a result, Yasser Arafat, co-founder of Fatah and son of two Palestinians from Gaza City, would become the leader of the PLO. Arafat would become the face of the movement for Palestinian liberation on the global stage, and he would openly meet with many non-aligned and communist leaders to gain support for the Palestinian cause. Although once a strong believer in the necessity for armed struggle to solve the Palestine Question, Arafat would also make pleas for peace in the international arena. In a speech to the UN General Assembly in 1974, Arafat would famously say, “Today I have come bearing an olive branch and a freedom-fighter’s gun. Do not let the olive branch fall from my hand.”

Following the end of the First Intifada, the Israeli government and the PLO would sign two agreements known as the Oslo Accords, which created the Palestine Authority as the governing body of the Palestinian territories. Arafat, head of the PLO and Fatah, would become its first president. Mahmoud Abbas would become the second and current president of the PA following Arafat’s death in 2004. The defining image of this so-called “peace process” would see Prime Minister of Israel Yitzak Rabin and Yasser Arafat shaking hands at the White House in 1993. On paper, the Oslo Accords were meant to normalize relations between Israelis and Palestinians and lead to a last peace. However, in the thirty years since the initial signing of these accords, many scholars see Oslo as a failure. Political scientist Khaled Elgindy argues that the Oslo Accords did not address the “uniquely asymmetrical” relations between Israelis and Palestinians as “as occupier and occupied”. Historically, Oslo reflects a growing trend of Arab normalization of Israel, seen as recently as 2020 with the signing of the Abraham Accords between Israel and the UAE. 

Now, twenty years since his ascension to power, Mahmoud Abbas faces a political dilemma. In a December 2023 interview, Yasser Arafat’s nephew would state that Abbas’ rule over the West Bank must end, claiming that “85% of Palestinians want Mister Abbas to resign.” Even before Israeli tanks rolled into Jenin at the beginning of this year, there was increased violence against Palestinians in the West Bank perpetrated by PA forces. On December 14th, 2024, PA forces launched an assault on Jenin refugee camp, claiming that militant groups were attempting to spark an uprising. The assault would last over forty days, and 21-year old journalist Shatha al-Sabbagh was killed by the PA. Many journalistic organizations covering violence in the West Bank condemned the killing, but the PA cracked down on coverage of its assault, leading to Al Jazeera’s digital platforms being temporarily banned. Unfortunately, the current collaboration between Israel Defense Forces and Palestine Authority forces is nothing new for Palestinians in the West Bank.The history of the Palestinian liberation movement both inside and outside of Palestine is one marked with both collaboration and betrayal. The Palestinians in the West Bank are staring down a bleak future due to not only the occupation of their land but now their own government. Rhetoric coming from the United States does not bode much better, as Donald Trump’s Ambassador to Israel, Mike Huckabee, recognizes the West Bank as part of a greater Israeli state. Palestinans must live without the threat of displacement or death in their own homeland. As it stands now, the Palestine Authority stands in direct opposition to its founding principles in allowing for such a reality to happen.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: “People Demonstration in Palestine,” by Mohammed Abubakr, Image source from Pexels | CC License, no changes made