Erbil assesses leaning of historic Al-Muzaffariyah minaret
Shafaq News/ Authorities in Erbil, the capital of the Kurdistan Region, launched a scientific assessment of the historic Al-Muzaffariyah Minaret amid growing concerns over its tilt and potential risk of collapse, local officials said on Sunday.
The Muzaffariyah Minaret—also known as the Choly Minaret—is considered the second most prominent religious and historical landmark in Erbil after the city's iconic citadel. Renowned for its architectural beauty and distinctive design, the structure has long been a symbol of Erbil's cultural heritage.
Nader Babakr, the director of Erbil's Directorate of Antiquities, told Shafaq News that the minaret has exhibited a slight tilt since ancient times, but recent reports suggest the leaning may have increased.
The minaret underwent a rehabilitation project in 2006 led by a Czech conservation team, Babakr explained, adding, 'We have formally requested the return of that same team to reassess the structure and submit a technical report on any damage sustained since the previous restoration.'
The Erbil provincial government is fully funding the visit, and preliminary observations suggest that the tilt has not worsened, he stated, affirming that 'any necessary protective measures will be taken to preserve the minaret, which stands as a historical symbol of the city.'
Shafaq News captured recent images of the minaret, located about one kilometer south of the Erbil Citadel. The structure is composed of a base and a cylindrical body, with red brick ornamentation adorning its walls. This construction method provides moderate resistance to weathering.
Originally, the minaret stood at 45 meters tall, but damage to its upper section has reduced its current height to approximately 37 meters.
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Shafaq News
3 hours ago
- Shafaq News
The Abaya: How a dress code debate exposes Iraq's deeper fault lines
Shafaq News/ A recent administrative decision by the Baghdad Provincial Council, aiming to officially recognize the "Zaynabiyya Abaya" as an acceptable dress code within state institutions, has unexpectedly ignited a widespread and heated debate across Iraqi social media. What might, at first glance, appear to be a mundane local policy pronouncement, has swiftly escalated into a telling microcosm of Iraq's intricate struggles with identity, religious influence, individual freedoms, and the enduring shadow of political opportunism. Zaynabiyya Abaya: A Garment Steeped in Meaning The defining characteristics of the Zaynabiyya Abaya set it apart as one of the most conservative and encompassing forms of Islamic dress. Designed for ultimate modesty, it is notably loose-fitting and voluminous, intended to shroud the entire body. Its wide cut ensures that the wearer's figure and bodily contours remain completely concealed, a central tenet of its design. The vast majority of Zaynabiyya Abayas are black, a deliberate choice of color that serves to minimize visual distraction and avoid drawing undue attention to the wearer, thereby reinforcing the principle of modesty. Unlike many modern abayas that incorporate intricate embellishments, vibrant colors, or contemporary cuts, the Zaynabiyya Abaya is characteristically devoid of ostentatious decorations, elaborate embroidery, or flashy patterns. It is typically an open-front garment worn over regular clothes, with relatively narrow sleeve openings designed to prevent the arms from being exposed; this minimalist approach ensures that the garment itself does not become a source of attraction or adornment. At its essence, the Zaynabiyya Abaya is viewed by its adherents as the quintessential manifestation of Islamic dress principles, prioritizing chastity, humility, and the complete spiritual and physical veiling of the woman, serving as a tangible form of emulation of the revered women of the Prophet's household. While traditional abayas have been a staple of dress in Iraq and the Levant for centuries, the concept of the "Zaynabiyya Abaya" evolved to represent the pinnacle of modesty and traditional Islamic covering. It is not exclusively an Iraqi garment; its widespread adoption can be observed across many Muslim-majority nations, though its prominence varies. In countries like Iraq, Kuwait, the UAE, Yemen, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Algeria, Egypt, parts of East Africa, Syria, and Turkiye, it is a commonly accepted, and often dominant, form of female dress. In other societies, such as Lebanon, parts of Central Africa, Malaysia, and Indonesia, it is more specifically worn by a significant segment of the population recognized for its religious commitment and piety. Baghdad's Provocative Resolution The Baghdad Provincial Council's recent vote on June 4, to officially sanction the Zaynabiyya Abaya as part of the formal dress code within the capital's state institutions was championed by Huda Jalil Al-Aboudah, who chairs the Environment Committee within the council and is affiliated with the politically influential Al-Hikma (Wisdom) Movement, led by Ammar al-Hakim. Al-Aboudah explicitly stated that the decision aims to "enhance respect, dignity, and modesty," particularly within examination halls. The announcement immediately triggered widespread confusion and, subsequently, a torrent of backlash. The initial public perception was that the Council was mandating the abaya for all women in official settings, including those who do not typically wear a headscarf (non-hijabis) or women belonging to other faiths. This misinterpretation, whether accidental or by design, ignited a fierce debate, forcing Al-Aboudah to issue a swift and defensive clarification. She categorically stated that the decision was not an imposition and did not apply to women who do not wear the hijab or individuals of other religious affiliations. Instead, she insisted it merely granted official recognition to the Zaynabiyya Abaya, thereby validating it as a formal dress option for women who choose to wear it, aligning it with their "identity and Islamic culture." Despite the clarification, Al-Aboudah's subsequent remarks only added fuel to the fire. She revealed her ambition to "submit a request to the Prime Minister, the Council of Ministers, and members of the House of Representatives to generalize the decision across all of Iraq, to preserve and protect the dignity of Iraqi women." This aspiration to expand a provincial decision nationwide further amplified concerns about the potential for future, more widespread impositions. Curiously, she also preemptively denied any electoral motivations, asserting she would not be participating in upcoming elections – a denial that, for many, only underscored the political nature of her initiative. It is crucial to emphasize that, unlike some other countries in the region, Iraq does not currently have a general, legally enforced hijab mandate. While wearing a headscarf or abaya is deeply ingrained in Iraqi culture and widely accepted, it remains, legally speaking, an individual choice. The Iraqi government does not impose it as a prerequisite for educational enrollment, employment, or participation in public life. This fundamental context makes the Council's decision, even with its subsequent clarifications, appear perplexing and, to some, an unnecessary intervention in personal freedoms. Legal Quagmire and the Chasm of Interpretation The legal validity and implications of the Baghdad Provincial Council's decision have exposed a significant schism among legal experts, reflecting broader ambiguities within Iraq's legal framework regarding religious and personal freedoms. Ali Al-Tamimi, a prominent legal expert, has voiced support for the decision from an administrative standpoint. He argues that the decision is "correct and without fault" because Islam is enshrined as the official religion of Iraq. From his perspective, the resolution aligns with the constitutional principle of freedom of dress, as it permits rather than mandates the wearing of the abaya during official duty. This, he asserts, implies that other women retain the freedom to wear different forms of attire. Al-Tamimi further bolsters his argument by referencing Article 11 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, which generally allows individuals to choose their clothing, provided it does not violate public order (laws) or public morals (prevailing customs, values, and ideals). His interpretation leans on the idea that by formalizing an existing practice, the council is not restricting freedom but acknowledging a cultural and religious choice within a predominantly Muslim society. However, Mohammed Jumaa, another legal expert, offers a starkly contrasting view, dismissing the decision as "legally meaningless." Jumaa contends that there is no existing law that prescribes an official uniform for Baghdad province or any other Iraqi province. Furthermore, he emphasizes that there has never been any legal prohibition against wearing the abaya in any public or private sector setting across Iraq. He points out that numerous women already hold high-ranking governmental positions, such as deputy ministers or general directors, and perform their duties while wearing the Islamic abaya, which is undeniably "part of Iraqi culture." For Jumaa, the council's decision is redundant at best, potentially an overreach of authority, and serves no practical legal purpose, as the freedom to wear the abaya already existed without this decree. Political Maneuvering and Misplaced Priorities Beyond the legal debate, the timing and nature of the abaya decision have triggered deep skepticism among a significant segment of the Iraqi public, particularly students, activists, and those weary of political posturing. Athraa Hazem, a university student in Baghdad, who herself wears the abaya daily, attests that its wear is widely accepted on campus and that she has never faced harassment due to it. Yet, she observes that the sudden "timing of this decision and the surge of interest from officials coincide with elections, therefore it might carry a clear political agenda." This sentiment is echoed by Alia Al-Hathal, a prominent lawyer and activist, who states unequivocally that "there is no objection to the abaya decision," as it's already a common sight in markets, universities, and government offices. However, she asserts that "some are exploiting this decision due to the proximity of elections." Al-Hathal's critique extends beyond mere timing to question the fundamental priorities of the Baghdad Provincial Council, particularly the role of Al-Aboudah, the head of the Environment Committee. Al-Hathal powerfully argues that a committee tasked with environmental oversight should be focused on the urgent, visible, and life-threatening crises plaguing Baghdad: rampant waste accumulation, severe water pollution in the Tigris River, and the resulting surge in diseases. For Al-Hathal, prioritizing a symbolic dress code, especially one that was not previously prohibited, is a glaring example of misplaced priorities and a thinly veiled attempt at "self-promotion" ahead of elections. She also draws a sharp parallel to past instances where lawmakers introduced controversial social legislation (such as personal status laws) that critics viewed as electoral ploys, suggesting that Al-Aboudah might be attempting to replicate such a strategy. Furthermore, Al-Hathal raises serious allegations about the initial intent behind the resolution, claiming that the decision's original wording or underlying aim might have been to mandate or impose the abaya. According to her, it was only after the fierce public backlash that Al-Aboudah "changed the concept," clarifying that it was merely about "not preventing" those who choose to wear the abaya. Al-Hathal dismisses this clarification as "unconvincing," given that no such prohibition ever existed in the first place, citing examples of abaya-wearing women freely attending universities and even appearing in graduation photos. Human Rights, Modesty, and Progress The most profound and unyielding opposition to the Baghdad Council's decision comes from human rights activists who view it as a fundamental assault on individual liberties and a dangerous regression for women's rights in Iraq. Lina Ali, a prominent activist, offers a scathing condemnation, asserting that the "abaya decision is oppressive and has no connection to human rights, especially for women." She goes as far as to state, "We have not seen such decisions even in the era of ignorance (Jahiliyyah)," drawing a provocative parallel to pre-Islamic tribal societies. Her critique stems from a belief that while societies evolve and human progress is constant, there persists a harmful tendency to view women as mere "commodities" whose attire can be controlled without legitimate justification, despite the absence of religious or customary compulsion. Ali contends that such decisions inherently create an "atmosphere of oppression and self-flagellation" for women, fostering an unhealthy and regressive environment. She fundamentally challenges the notion that this decision is about "modesty," arguing that true modesty "is not compulsory" and cannot be legislated through clothing. Instead, she passionately defines modesty as an inherent quality of character, encompassing the "modesty of the tongue, mind, logic, and morals." In a powerful concluding statement, Ali emphasizes the urgent need for Iraqi officials to shift their focus from superficial debates to the pressing realities confronting the nation. She implores them to instead "issue decisions that uplift the country's deteriorating reality and protect its wealth from theft," arguing that these are far more critical than "occupying the public with women's attire."
Shafaq News
3 days ago
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Between exile and memory: Arab refugees mark Eid with silent longing
Shafaq News/ On Eid mornings, before the scent of coffee drifts through the air, another fragrance arrives first—memory. For millions of displaced Arabs, this festive season is no longer a celebration, but a quiet reckoning with loss. In cities like Baghdad, Beirut, and Amman, where thousands from Yemen, Syria, and Palestine have sought shelter, Eid has become a bittersweet ritual, marked less by joy than by longing. Baghdad: A Yemeni Eid with No Knock at the Door In a modest Baghdad neighborhood, 24-year-old Amal Abdullah prepares for her seventh Eid in exile. She left Sanaa with her family, fleeing a war that swallowed her childhood streets. 'My first Eid in Baghdad was like waking up in a stranger's house,' she told Shafaq News. 'I walked around hoping to feel that spirit we had back home—decorating with my siblings, baking maamoul, hearing the neighbors laugh—but here, everything is quiet. Too quiet.' Though she acknowledges Iraq's relative safety, Amal says the absence of community rituals leaves a painful void. 'No one knocks on our door in the morning. No one offers sweets. Even the mosques feel muted; we don't hear the Eid takbeerat like we did in Sanaa. My children are growing up with this silence. That hurts the most.' Amal tries to recreate fragments of home by cooking Yemeni dishes and visiting fellow refugees. 'But the joy,' she sighs, 'is always incomplete. A happiness laced with sorrow.' Beirut: A Syrian Eid Behind Closed Curtains In the outskirts of Beirut, Khaled al-Homsi, a 39-year-old refugee from Damascus, recalls Eid mornings in Syria as a sensory mosaic. 'The streets were alive. The smell of fresh bread, the buzz in the markets, the kids running around in new clothes,' he said. 'Now, it's just us and four walls. No relatives, no visits, no laughter.' His children's questions pierce him the most: 'Why don't we have guests like the neighbors? Why can't we go see grandma?' 'I don't have answers,' he said. 'Sometimes I lie. I say it's just for now, that we'll return soon.' Despite the crowds of Beirut, Khaled feels isolated. 'We're surrounded by people, but we live as ghosts. We can't work freely, we barely go out. I spend Eid trying not to fall apart.' Amman: A Palestinian Eid Through a Glass Pane In a neighborhood of Amman, Abu Muhammad al-Najjar, a 52-year-old refugee from Gaza, likens Eid in exile to watching a former life through a train window. 'In Gaza, Eid began the night before. We cleaned the streets, baked sweets, wrapped presents. Now I wake up, pray, give my children their eidiyyah (money), then check my phone to make sure no one I love has died under the bombs.' What haunts him most is the feeling of futility. 'We laugh so our kids don't cry. We dress nicely so the neighbors won't see our despair. But inside, we're crushed. We have no country to return to, no clarity in this life here.' Still, he clings to hope. 'Each time I hear the takbeer at dawn, I imagine myself walking the alleys of Gaza again. That dream is all I have left.' One Pain, Many Dialects Ruba al-Saqqa, a social worker who supports refugees across the Arab world, told Shafaq News that Eid often intensifies psychological distress among the displaced. 'Festivals reignite memories of everything lost—homes, family rituals, a sense of belonging. That's why we see spikes in anxiety and depression during these times,' she explained. Regardless of their backgrounds, Ruba finds a common thread: 'Different accents, same ache. Every displaced person I meet feels like they're living half a holiday, caught between a homeland that's gone and a present that doesn't embrace them.' In their final remarks, each refugee shared the same wish—not wealth, not comfort, but home. 'I just want one Eid in Damascus,' Khaled whispered. 'To kiss my mother's hand again, to hand out eidiyyah to my siblings like we used to.' Amal echoed him from Baghdad: 'Every year, on the first day of Eid, I ask God for one thing: to celebrate in Yemen again. On my soil. With my people. Like I did when I was a child.'
Shafaq News
5 days ago
- Shafaq News
From Baghdad to Hit: Eid breakfasts that define Iraq's cultural legacy
Shafaq News/ On the morning of Eid al-Adha*, long before the cities fully awaken, the scent of tradition rises from the kitchens of Iraq. In Baghdad, no celebration begins without Kahi — crisp, oven-baked pastry — topped with a generous layer of fresh Geimer, a rich clotted cream that transforms breakfast into a ritual of joy and nostalgia. Despite changing times, the Baghdadi table remains faithful to this beloved pairing, more than just a meal — it is the taste of childhood, a symbol of shared moments, and a quiet reminder that some traditions never fade. Hundreds of kilometers away, in the city of Hit in al-Anbar province, a different yet equally heartfelt tradition unfolds. As dawn light spills into the old alleys, the aroma of clarified butter and white beans stewing in broth signals a communal beginning to Eid. The city's signature breakfast — white rice with a hearty bean stew, often enriched with lamb or local chicken — is served in generous portions meant for the family, guests, and even neighbors. 'We grew up with this,' said Haj Sami al-Heeti, a local elder, to Shafaq News. 'Rice and white beans are part of our identity — not just food, but a blessing we gather around.' For Um Ubaida, a mother of five, no Eid feels right without it. 'We might change the sweets or Kleicha,' she noted, laughing, 'but the kids always ask: 'Did you make the beans yet?' It's heavy like lunch, but for us, it's emotional. It feels like the real start of Eid.' Each household in Hit adds its own touch — some prefer red meat, others chicken; some enrich it with cardamom and cinnamon, while others keep it simple. But what unites them is the essence: a dish that speaks of belonging and roots. Social researcher Ahmad Farhan told our agency that the Eid breakfast in the city is 'a vivid example of how communities preserve their cultural identity even through food,' noting that it reflects values of generosity, solidarity, and fidelity to tradition. And while global cuisine has made its way into modern Iraqi households, the younger generation hasn't let go. 'Sure, we can have pizza anytime,' said Ali al-Jumaili, a university student, 'but on Eid morning, it's always beans first. It's our way.' From Baghdad's golden Kahi and Geimer to Hit's comforting rice and beans, Eid in Iraq is not just a celebration — it is a story told through food, rich with flavor, memory, and meaning. *Eid al-Adha, known as the Festival of Sacrifice, is an Islamic holiday commemorating Prophet Ibrahim's (Abraham's) willingness to sacrifice his son in obedience to God. Celebrated on the 10th day of the Islamic month of Dhul-Hijjah, it coincides with the Hajj pilgrimage in Mecca. The festival involves special prayers and the ritual sacrifice of an animal—usually a sheep, goat, or cow—with the meat shared among family, friends, and those in need.
