By Dr. Adnan Bozan

The issue confronting Bashur Kurdistan (the Kurdistan Region of Iraq) today is not merely a political dispute between Erbil and Sulaymaniyah, nor is it simply a difference of opinion over the distribution of administrative powers and financial resources or the nature of the relationship between the Kurdistan Regional Government and its institutions. Rather, it reflects a deeper political and structural crisis concerning the very nature of the Kurdish political project and the ability of the forces at the forefront of the political scene to distinguish between long-term national strategic interests, partisan interests, and the imperatives of remaining in power. When preserving positions of influence takes precedence over safeguarding the political entity, and when national partnership is reduced to an arrangement for sharing power rather than serving as the foundation for building common institutions, division ceases to be merely a legitimate political disagreement and becomes a factor in the gradual erosion of the foundations upon which the Region rests. From this perspective, I believe that the debate over whether there should be one region or two should not primarily revolve around redrawing the administrative map or examining the possibility of separating Sulaymaniyah and Halabja from Erbil and Duhok. Instead, it should begin with a more fundamental political question: Why have Kurdish political forces, despite their long experience in governance and administration, failed to establish a stable framework for political partnership that guarantees pluralism, safeguards institutions, and prevents differences from turning into a perpetual struggle for power and influence?

In my assessment, the fundamental problem does not lie in the multiplicity of Kurdish political parties, nor in the differences among their political programmes, economic orientations, or administrative approaches. Multiparty pluralism is a natural feature of societies seeking to establish a pluralistic political system. Indeed, it can serve as a source of strength and renewal when grounded in democratic competition, institutional accountability, and respect for the rules of political engagement. The problem, rather, lies in the way this pluralism is managed and in the inability of certain political forces to move beyond the logic of the party as an autonomous centre of power and to approach the Region as a shared political entity in which the public interest takes precedence over organisational and partisan considerations. When political competition becomes detached from governance programmes and public accountability, it gradually turns into a contest for decision-making positions, control over resources, and spheres of influence. Under such circumstances, power becomes an end that political actors seek to preserve rather than a political responsibility subject to accountability and peaceful alternation. Within this equation, consensus becomes more difficult to achieve than the continuation of disagreement, because any genuine settlement may require certain parties to reconsider their traditional privileges and relinquish portions of their influence in favour of public institutions that are not subject to the will of any single party.

This brings into focus a political paradox that deserves serious consideration: Why does agreement among Kurdish political forces appear more difficult to achieve than the continuation of their disagreements, even though shared national interests should, in principle, be broader and more enduring than partisan interests? I believe that one of the principal explanations for this paradox lies in the entanglement of domestic political calculations with the regional and international relationships and alliances that certain Kurdish forces have developed over many years. In numerous instances, the calculations of these forces have extended beyond the boundaries of internal political competition and have become influenced by external power dynamics and intersecting interests involving regional and international actors. This does not mean that establishing foreign relations or building political alliances is inherently negative; such relationships are among the instruments of political and diplomatic engagement employed by political entities across the world. The problem arises when these relationships cease to serve as instruments for advancing national interests and instead become determinants that affect the independence of domestic decision-making. It also arises when the calculations of external actors conflict with the requirements of Kurdish political consensus, leaving political forces confronted with divergent priorities that make agreement on a common position exceedingly difficult. At this point, disagreement is no longer merely a difference in the assessment of interests or a divergence in political visions and programmes. Rather, it becomes a reflection of power dynamics extending beyond the boundaries of the Region and influencing, directly or indirectly, the course of its political decisions.

From this perspective, part of the explanation for the persistence of these crises, without the emergence of stable political settlements, becomes clearer. The consensus that should lead to the unification of institutions and political decision-making may require certain parties to relinquish privileges accumulated over years in power or to accept a redistribution of authority and influence on fairer institutional grounds. By contrast, the continuation of division allows each party greater room to retain its centres of power and instruments of influence and to administer the areas under its control according to its own calculations. Thus, instead of remaining an exceptional situation requiring resolution, the crisis becomes an enduring political reality, despite the substantial costs it imposes on society and the future of the Region. On the surface, the conflict may appear to be a competition between two distinct political visions. In certain respects, however, it reflects a struggle over positions of authority and spheres of influence more than a fundamental disagreement over the nature of the political system that ought to be established. This distinction is critically important: differences between political programmes can provide an impetus for political development, whereas turning disagreement into a permanent instrument for protecting partisan positions undermines the possibility of building a shared national project.

The most dangerous aspect of this equation is that, in the calculations of certain centres of power, consensus may be transformed from a national necessity into a political threat. Unifying decision-making means limiting unilateral actions; unifying institutions means subjecting different centres of influence to common legal and administrative rules; and establishing a genuine institutional system means that no party can treat public institutions as extensions of its own organisational influence. Consequently, for certain actors, maintaining the division may appear less costly than reaching a settlement that requires genuine rather than merely formal power-sharing. It is therefore essential to distinguish between what serves the continuation of political parties in government and what serves the continuity of the Kurdish political experience. Not everything that generates partisan gains necessarily advances national interests, just as preserving the positions of political leaders does not necessarily guarantee the protection of the political and constitutional achievements secured through decades of struggle and sacrifice.

As for the proposal to establish two regions—one encompassing Erbil and Duhok, and the other Sulaymaniyah and Halabja—it should not be treated as a ready-made administrative solution to the existing dispute or as an inevitable way out of the current political deadlock. In theory, the establishment of multiple regions can be considered one of the constitutional options for organising powers, expanding political and administrative decentralisation, and responding to the particular characteristics of different areas and the needs of their populations. However, the fundamental question is not simply whether administrative arrangements can be restructured, but what political and institutional consequences such an option might produce. Would it address the underlying causes of the crisis, or would it provide the existing partisan division with a more firmly established institutional and geographical framework? Would its purpose be to improve administrative efficiency and broaden political participation, or would it become a means of consolidating spheres of influence and granting administrative legitimacy to an already divided political reality? Administrative separation does not necessarily bring conflict to an end, just as the establishment of separate institutions does not guarantee the emergence of a new political culture. We may instead find ourselves facing two separate authorities, each with its own political, economic, and security calculations and external alliances, while national and strategic issues and shared interests remain unresolved between them.

It would be mistaken to assume that transforming a political dispute into administrative, financial, and security separation would automatically produce stability. Such an arrangement might reduce certain forms of direct friction and could potentially give each area greater capacity to manage its local affairs. Nevertheless, it would not necessarily address the political causes that gave rise to the crisis, nor would it guarantee a stable relationship between the two proposed entities. In the absence of institutional safeguards and political agreements, the conflict could simply move from within shared institutions to between separate ones, transforming partisan disagreements into competition between two authorities over resources, powers, and political legitimacy. Over time, administrative, psychological, and economic divisions could become entrenched and increasingly difficult to overcome. A measure intended to ease the crisis might therefore become an additional source of complexity. Any serious discussion of this option must consequently be preceded by a comprehensive assessment of its political, economic, constitutional, and security implications, and must be guided by the will and interests of the citizens rather than by the calculations of political leaders and centres of influence.

Nor can the constitutional and legal dimension of this issue be overlooked. The Iraqi Constitution of 2005 recognised the Kurdistan Region and its existing authorities as a federal region under Article 117. Article 119 also provides for the right of one or more governorates to form a region through specific procedures initiated by a request submitted for a referendum, whether by one-third of the members of the relevant provincial councils or by one-tenth of the voters in each governorate. However, these provisions regulate the process of establishing new regions; they do not contain an explicit and detailed provision governing the withdrawal of a governorate from an existing federal region and the reorganisation of its status within a newly established one. Consequently, moving from the political discussion of a two-region arrangement to its practical implementation would require specialised constitutional and legal examination, addressing the applicability of the relevant provisions, the procedures required, the limits of federal and regional jurisdictions, and the implications for the reorganisation of institutions, resources, and financial and security obligations. Issues affecting the structure of the federal system cannot be settled through political pressure or mutual threats. They must instead be governed by the principle of constitutional legality and grounded in the will of the population and the established legal and institutional mechanisms.

Nevertheless, I believe that the greatest danger does not lie in the possibility of establishing two regions in itself, but rather in the persistence of the political mindset that produced the current crisis, regardless of the administrative arrangement that may ultimately emerge. What purpose would two regions serve if each were to reproduce the same closed model of partisan governance? What would be the value of expanding administrative powers if institutions remained subordinate to centres of influence and failed to become public institutions representing citizens and subject to accountability? The problem concerns not merely the structure of the administrative system, but the very nature of the relationship between authority and society, as well as the willingness of political forces to relinquish their monopoly over decision-making and accept that the Region must be greater than any single party, that institutions must be stronger than individuals, and that the exercise of power must be governed by legal rules that do not change with shifting balances of influence. Genuine political reform does not begin with redrawing the administrative map; it begins with redefining the meaning, limits, and purpose of power, transforming it from a sphere of partisan privilege into a public responsibility whose legitimacy derives from the will of the citizens.

It is also necessary to recognise that, in certain respects, the Kurdish crisis cannot be separated from the broader crisis affecting Iraq's political structure as a whole. There are similarities in patterns of exercising power among certain Arab and Kurdish political forces, despite differences in their ideological references and political rhetoric. These similarities are particularly evident in the prioritisation of personal and partisan loyalties, the subordination of institutions to networks of influence, and the conversion of public entitlements into quotas distributed among dominant political forces. This does not imply that the respective experiences, responsibilities, or historical and political circumstances are identical. Rather, it reveals a structural problem within the prevailing political culture: the continuing influence of personal leadership and the concentration of decision-making authority at the expense of citizenship, institutional governance, and accountability. Accordingly, changing the administrative map alone will not be sufficient unless it is accompanied by a genuine transformation in the philosophy of governance, in the understanding of the relationship between political leadership and society, and in the recognition that the legitimacy of authority is measured not by its ability to retain its positions, but by its capacity to manage public affairs and serve the interests of citizens.

What makes the situation even more concerning is that the experience of Bashur Kurdistan possesses political, historical, geographical, and institutional foundations that could have enabled it to become an advanced model of pluralistic governance and federal administration in Iraq and the wider region. The Region has accumulated extensive experience in self-government, first through its autonomous status and subsequently within the framework of the Iraqi federal system. It has also developed a significant political presence, established external relations, and built administrative, security, and economic institutions. These achievements should have provided the foundation for a more mature and autonomous political project, capable of safeguarding constitutional rights, developing institutions, and strengthening stability. Yet the persistence of division, the multiplication of decision-making centres, and the prioritisation of partisan calculations over the requirements of collective action threaten to turn these achievements into bargaining instruments exchanged between competing parties, rather than sources of collective strength. Political entities do not necessarily lose their standing as a result of military defeat or an international decision. They may also undergo gradual erosion when their leaders are unable to agree on even the minimum level of shared interests, and when internal disputes begin to exert a greater influence on their future than the external challenges confronting them.

If we are to examine the situation from a broader Kurdish perspective, developments in Bashur Kurdistan should prompt serious political reassessment in light of the experience of Rojavay Kurdistan (Kurdistan of Syria). This does not mean placing the two experiences within a single framework or overlooking the fundamental differences in their constitutional, political, military, and regional circumstances. Each has its own particularities and complexities. Nevertheless, there is a shared strategic lesson that must not be ignored: the absence of broad Kurdish political consensus, the inability to establish a common political reference framework, and the tendency to allow partisan disputes to govern relations among political forces all expose political achievements to pressure and possible reversal, regardless of the sacrifices made to secure them. The developments witnessed in the Kurdish experience in Syria over recent years should lead political forces in Bashur to regard division as a strategic danger requiring serious attention, rather than as a partisan disagreement that can be postponed or temporarily contained. History offers no permanent guarantees to nations, and political achievements cannot safeguard themselves. They require conscious political will, institutions capable of protecting them, and leaders who understand that their responsibilities extend beyond the boundaries of their parties, regions, and centres of influence.

For this reason, I fear that the continuation of the current political approach in Bashur Kurdistan will weaken the Region from within and diminish its ability to protect its powers and constitutional standing within the Iraqi federal system. When decision-making centres multiply and political positions become contradictory, negotiations with the federal government become more complicated, while the Region's capacity to advance common demands based on a coherent political position is undermined. Its ability to pursue a balanced foreign policy is also affected, since the effectiveness of foreign policy depends, to a considerable extent, on the existence of a minimum level of domestic consensus regarding strategic interests. More dangerously, regional and international powers may find opportunities in these internal divisions to rearrange their relationships and balances of influence in accordance with their own interests, without necessarily being concerned with safeguarding the unity of Kurdish decision-making or the stability of its institutions. In international relations, the justice of a cause alone is insufficient to guarantee its protection. What is also required is the political and institutional capacity to manage that cause, unify the instruments through which it is negotiated, and establish an internal position strong enough to sustain it.

The Kurdish experience, across its different parts, compels us to question the relationship between national rhetoric and political practice. What is the value of speaking about a common destiny if the forces that invoke this principle cannot agree on even the minimum requirements for managing shared interests? What purpose does the defence of national rights serve if partisan disputes weaken the capacity to protect them? A shared national identity does not require political visions to be identical, nor does it abolish the right of parties to disagree, compete, and build alliances. It does, however, require a profound understanding that disagreement must not become an instrument for undermining shared strategic interests. Every party has the right to maintain its political programme, choices, and alliances, but no political actor has the right to make the future of an entire people hostage to its own calculations or to treat public institutions as extensions of its organisational influence. National responsibility is not measured by the abundance of slogans, but by the ability to translate those slogans into political practices that protect the people, safeguard their achievements, and secure the rights of future generations.

I therefore believe that the debate must move beyond the binary question of one region or two and address a deeper issue that goes to the heart of the crisis: What kind of political system do we want to build, who should exercise authority, and who has the right to determine the Region's future? If the objective is to establish a system that guarantees political pluralism, ensures fairness in the distribution of resources and powers, respects the will of citizens, and prevents the monopolisation of decision-making, these goals can be achieved through a single region with unified institutions and equitable decentralised governance. Alternatively, other administrative arrangements may, in principle, be examined within the constitutional framework, provided that they do not become instruments for institutionalising partisan division. However, if the prevailing mentality of governance continues to be based on power-sharing quotas, spheres of influence, and conflicting external alignments, neither a single region will provide a genuine guarantee of unity nor will two regions guarantee stability. A conflict whose political and institutional roots remain unaddressed does not disappear merely because administrative boundaries are changed; it shifts to other levels and may become even more complex and difficult to contain.

What is required today is not a merely formal agreement among political leaders, a collective photograph before the cameras, or a temporary political statement whose effect disappears at the first disagreement over positions or resources. What is needed is a strategic political understanding that redefines the relationship between political parties, authority, and society, and establishes a new political compact founded on respect for the Constitution, the rule of law, and the separation of public institutions from partisan domination. This requires serious efforts to unify security and military command structures, establish a transparent financial and administrative system, guarantee judicial independence, consolidate the principle of equal opportunity, and subject the exercise of power to public accountability. It also requires the development of institutional mechanisms for managing disagreements and preventing them from escalating into crises that threaten stability. Furthermore, the nature of external relations must be reassessed so that they form part of a shared strategic vision serving the Region's higher interests, rather than developing into competing channels through which political parties seek to accumulate influence and external support. Above all, Kurdish citizens must be recognised as the primary holders of the right to determine the form of governance they wish to have, and their will must serve as the ultimate point of reference in any political or constitutional change affecting the Region's future.

In my assessment, the danger facing Bashur Kurdistan lies not merely in the possibility of administrative division, but in the political elite's growing acceptance of division as a permanent and seemingly unavoidable reality. When recurring crises become an established pattern of political life, when the absence of consensus becomes the norm and agreement is reduced to a temporary exception, the very idea of a shared political project gradually erodes. Each party then begins to formulate its future calculations independently of the others. This is the most dangerous stage, because division no longer remains confined to disputes among political leaders; it may extend into the social and economic fabric, affecting relations among citizens, their interests, and their perceptions of the future. Once partisan competition develops into a division of interests and loyalties, restoring trust and political unity becomes considerably more difficult, even if a genuine willingness to resolve the crisis emerges at a later stage.

I do not advocate a single region simply on the assumption that administrative unity is preferable to administrative plurality under all circumstances. Nor do I regard the idea of two regions as inherently unacceptable. What I reject is the use of constitutional and administrative options as instruments for bargaining over power, or as political cover for perpetuating the struggle among centres of influence, while the Kurdish people are then asked to choose between two administrative arrangements without addressing the underlying causes that have brought the political experience to its present state of division. Unity based on coercion and the monopolisation of decision-making is not genuine political unity, just as administrative plurality built upon narrow partisan interests does not necessarily constitute democratic decentralisation. What is needed is a political system that ensures disagreement becomes a source of strength and renewal rather than a gateway to fragmentation, and that institutions serve as a common framework for all citizens and political forces rather than as instruments subordinated to shifting balances of influence and temporary arrangements.

Ultimately, I believe that Bashur Kurdistan stands at a strategic crossroads and can no longer afford to rely on the passage of time or settle for managing crises instead of addressing their causes. Political forces must either recognise that continuing to manage their disagreements through the logic of partisan interests and conflicting external alignments will gradually weaken the Region and may ultimately threaten political and constitutional achievements secured through decades of sacrifice, or persist along the same course until they find themselves confronting a political reality whose direction they can no longer adequately control or whose consequences they can no longer contain. What concerns me is not so much the possibility that Kurdistan may become two regions instead of one, but rather that the inability to build consensus may weaken the existing political entity and deprive it of the capacity to protect the achievements it has secured.

Rojavay Kurdistan has made immense sacrifices throughout its political and military experience and has faced complex internal, regional, and international challenges. The experience of Bashur must not become another path that reproduces the same losses, albeit for different reasons and under different circumstances. Peoples do not always lose their causes because their adversaries possess greater power. Their position may also deteriorate when their leaders fail to recognise that genuine strength lies neither in the number of political parties, nor in the extent of territorial influence, nor in the scale of external alliances. Rather, it lies in the ability to build a shared political will, place the national interest above factional calculations, and transform political achievements into firmly established institutions that remain resilient despite changes in leadership and alliances.

At its core, the question is not how many regions we want, nor where administrative boundaries should be drawn between Erbil and Sulaymaniyah. The real question is whether we possess a shared political project and a national will capable of protecting what has been achieved and preventing the repetition of loss in another Kurdish experience. A region whose political forces cannot agree on how to protect it will not be saved by new administrative boundaries, nor will its future be secured by a merely formal pluralism concealing an enduring struggle for power.

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