Dr. Saad Salloum/ Professor of International Relations, College of Political Science, Al-Mustansiriya University.
In my intervention during the conference organized by the General Directorate of Syriac Culture in the Kurdistan Region in 2024, I drew upon Dostoevsky’s immortal novel The Brothers Karamazov to describe the relationship of Christians in Iraq with the major societal and political components: Shia, Sunni, and Kurds.
I observed that these three forces resemble the Karamazov brothers in their eternal struggle between desire, reason, and spirit.[1]
Dmitri, the impulsive brother governed by instinct and emotion, reflects those forces driven by power and dominance. They perceive Christians as a minor detail within the landscape of influence—something to exploit when convenient or ignore at will.
Ivan, the intellectual and skeptical brother, symbolizes those who champion thought and rationality, yet falter at the crossroads of action, allowing principles to yield to self-interest.
Alyosha, the spiritual brother, represents forces that exhibit genuine love and sympathy but remain incapable of protecting those they care for, since compassion alone cannot restore balance in a world divided by competing interests.
I noted that Christians in Iraq often occupy the position of the small child in the novel, caught amid the struggle of the three brothers—receiving promises and affection at times, while enduring the consequences of their conflicts at others. Their presence in the political and social sphere has therefore become largely symbolic rather than substantively influential, akin to voices echoing through a large house: heard, yet powerless to alter the course of events.
Through this metaphor, I aimed to convey that the tragedy of Christians in Iraq lies not in their small numbers but in their continual role as a mirror reflecting the ambitions of others rather than as an autonomous presence. Their suffering is often instrumentalized to legitimize or beautify the agendas of one side or another, while their authentic voices are lost amid the noise of the larger actors.
In conclusion, I urged Christians to liberate themselves from the role of the youngest child in Iraq’s narrative and to reclaim their voice—not as an appendage to others, but as an integral and authentic part of the country’s social and political fabric. Just as the tragedy of the Karamazov brothers remained unresolved in the absence of justice and compassion, Iraq’s story remains incomplete unless the major political actors listen to this calm, historically rooted voice represented by Christians for centuries.
The salvation of all begins with the recognition that diversity is not a curse but a blessing, and that the three brothers, with all their contradictions and struggles, will find no peace until they reconcile with the child within—the embodiment of innocence, honesty, and conscience.
In this sense, the presence of Christians among Iraq’s major components is not a burden, but a mirror reflecting the country’s potential: a nation capable of embracing all its citizens, nurturing a new narrative defined by love and justice rather than domination and self-interest.
Between the Bigger Brothers and the Smaller Quota
Last week, during my participation in the international conference organized by the Catholic Center for Studies and Media in Jordan, in cooperation with the Konrad Adenauer Foundation, I once again drew upon the metaphor I have long used to describe the political participation of Christians in Iraq. In my intervention, I focused on the political conditions of the Christian component in Iraq and the region, analyzing the current electoral system and the limitations of political representation in light of recent constitutional amendments and electoral laws. I specifically examined the experience of the Christian quota and how patterns of political alliances and external interventions have affected this component’s ability to independently express its will within parliament and official institutions.
In every Iraqi election cycle, the scene seems to replay as a new chapter of The Brothers Karamazov, raising perennial questions in new forms: Does the Christian quota genuinely represent the voice of the community, or is it merely a mirror reflecting the desires of others?
On the surface, the five seats allocated to Christians in Baghdad, Nineveh, Kirkuk, Erbil, and Duhok appear as a sign of respect for Iraqi pluralism and an attempt to reconcile the principle of citizenship with the reality of religious diversity. Yet in practice, these seats have gradually become a battleground contested by the “bigger brothers,” each striving to direct this small voice in a way that serves their interests and consolidates their influence within the broader political landscape.
Once again, the scene closely resembles the struggle of the Karamazov brothers themselves:
Dmitri, driven by emotion and instinct, reflects those forces that treat the quota as an electoral prize to be awarded to whoever declares loyalty at the moment of alliance. Ivan, the rational yet hesitant figure, represents those who speak of equality and representation but ultimately allow principles to yield to the pragmatism of political negotiations. Alyosha, the spiritual and compassionate brother, embodies those voices that sincerely advocate for the protection of the Christian presence yet remain unable to resist the machinery of major interests.
Thus, the quota has shifted from being a tool for self-representation to a mechanism manipulated by the three brothers. The law permitting all Iraqis to vote for quota candidates has enabled major forces to direct their electoral blocs toward “Christian” candidates aligned with them, to the extent that some Christian representatives now reach parliament with votes that are not genuinely Christian. Consequently, the quota no longer reflects the will of the Christian community but rather the balance of larger political powers. (The same mechanism may be used to manipulate seats allocated to other religious minorities, such as Yazidis and Mandaean Sabeans.)
Experience has demonstrated that a guaranteed seat does not guarantee genuine representation. The essential question is not “How many Christian MPs are there?” but rather: Who represents whom? Do these representatives serve their own community, or the interests of the forces that placed them in office?
This dilemma mirrors the struggle of the three brothers: everyone claims to act in the name of truth, love, and reason, yet the child—symbolizing innocence and conscience—alone bears the cost.
In recent months, I have discussed with many Christian elites—both ecclesiastical (who believe church authorities must intervene in politics) and political (who have been deprived of representation due to manipulation of the quota)—the necessity of establishing a special voting system for Christians, or a closed electoral register that allows them to freely choose their representatives. If the quota is to serve as a true voice, it must be liberated from the control of the bigger brothers and become the authentic expression of the quiet voice that reminds all that justice is not measured by the number of seats but by the integrity of those who occupy them.
The Small House of the Karamazovs: Divisions among Chaldeans, Assyrians, and Syriacs
The tragedy of The Brothers Karamazov extends beyond the large house to the small house itself. Christians, long victims of the conflicts of the bigger brothers, find themselves fighting over the crumbs of a single voice. Their political and ecclesiastical elites are split, mirroring the division of the three brothers in the novel:
Some act like Dmitri, driven by emotion and instinct, rushing to pledge loyalty to one Shia faction or Kurdish actor out of impulse and necessity. Others resemble Ivan, debating, analyzing, and hesitating, yet ultimately powerless when decisive action is required (many opposing Assyrian and Chaldean elites fall into this category). Still others embody Alyosha, carrying good intentions and deep faith but finding themselves trapped between emotional agitation and rational constraints (many Christian cultural and civil elites belong to this group).
Internal Christian conflict represents one of the most significant factors weakening the community, even more than external pressures. It is not merely a dispute between small parties or a divergence in vision, but a complex struggle in which sectarian and regional interests intersect, fueled by external forces seeking to use Christians as a card in a broader political game.
Adding to this the internal divisions among Chaldeans, Assyrians, and Syriacs, the tragedy of the small house becomes even more intricate. Each community seeks to protect its influence and voice within the quota and the wider political scene. More often than not, parties view one another with suspicion, replaying the struggle of the bigger brothers on a smaller stage. Some act like Dmitri, asserting dominance and attempting to impose their vision. Others resemble Ivan, hesitating and analyzing without taking decisive action. Still others are like Alyosha, seeking peace and harmony yet powerless against disputes and ambitions for influence.
As a result, divisions are no longer imposed solely from outside but have emerged internally, on multiple levels, to the point that the Christian voice has become fragmented and scattered—like the House of the Karamazovs itself. Each faction claims to represent the truest spirit, while the truth is lost amid the shouting of the brothers and the silence of the child.
Deceiving the International Community: The Bigger Brothers Outside the House
The struggle of the Karamazov brothers extends beyond the Iraqi house itself. Beyond Iraq’s borders, even larger “brothers”—regional and international actors—take turns using the Christian card in the games of power and humanitarian rhetoric. Christians have often been employed as a symbol in international discourse on minority protection, so that their cause is treated more as a humanitarian file than as a national political project.
Major capitals, international organizations, and, in many cases, the Holy See, emphasize “the necessity of preserving the Christian presence in the East.” Yet, despite the moral weight of this language, it often remains rhetorical rather than practical, lacking an internal vision that reintegrates Christians into the structure of the state and society.
Meanwhile, regional actors adopt varying approaches: some brandish the language of protection, while others seek political leverage. All claim the posture of a caring “Alyosha,” yet underlying interests quietly dominate the scene like an impulsive “Dmitri” or an “Ivan” torn between principle and gain.
Consequently, Christians find themselves caught in the crossfire of larger brothers—local, regional, and international—who speak endlessly about their fate yet rarely listen to their voice. The outcome is a weakened national Christian political project, coupled with external support that does not translate into domestic influence. This constitutes yet another paradox of the “great Karazmovian house,” perpetually engrossed in debates over justice while neglecting the voice of the child—the very conscience that gives meaning to the story.
Toward Reforming the Quota so that “Christians” Do Not Remain Voiceless
If the Christian quota in Iraq has become a battleground for the “bigger brothers”—Shia, Sunni, and Kurdish forces each seeking to bend its voice to serve their interests—then reforming this system is the first step toward restoring the voice of the small child in The Brothers Karamazov. The child, never allowed to speak, represents the conscience and deeper meaning of the story.
For the quota to reclaim its original purpose as a mechanism for protecting diversity and empowering minorities, the voting and candidacy processes must be reassessed. In discussions with both religious and political Christian elites, a central conviction emerged: the problem lies not in the legal texts themselves, but in the hands of those who manipulate them.
Religious elites argue that the absence of ecclesiastical authority in public affairs has left the field open to external power struggles. Political elites, meanwhile, complain of marginalization under the current implementation of the quota, whose mechanisms have been controlled by actors outside the Christian community.
Genuine reform therefore requires three essential measures:
- Allocating a Special Electoral Register for Christians: This would enable the community to freely choose its representatives, free from the influence of major political blocs that, like the brothers in Dostoevsky’s novel, claim to speak for the child without hearing his voice.
- Strengthening the Independence of the Quota: An autonomous oversight body should monitor nominations, ensuring integrity and preventing exploitation within traditional electoral alliances. The seat should reflect the conscience of the community, not the interests of larger political forces.
- Transforming the Quota into a Mechanism of Effective Participation: As advocated in Political Participation of Minorities in Iraq (Masarat Foundation, 2017), this could include granting the Christian quota a conditional veto applicable exclusively to matters directly affecting Christian rights—religious, cultural, historical land issues, or collective identity.
This veto would not be absolute nor obstructive to national debate. It would operate under precise constraints, ensuring that it cannot be co-opted by dominant parties as a tool for political manipulation or disruption. Through this mechanism, the quota would shift from a symbolic role to an institutional instrument safeguarding Christian existence and ensuring genuine equality in decision-making.
In conclusion, protecting pluralism in Iraq requires more than rhetoric; it demands mechanisms that enable minorities to express their voices authentically. When the Christian quota is freed from the struggle of the three brothers and restored to its original role as a fair and independent instrument, parliament becomes more representative of Iraq’s societal mosaic and closer to the spirit of the constitution, which sought to grant every Iraqi—regardless of affiliation—a place, a voice, and dignity in the homeland.
[1] The Brothers Karamazov (1880), by the Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky, is widely regarded as one of the greatest works of world literature. The novel explores the struggle between good and evil within the human soul through the story of a troubled family. The narrative centers on the father, Fyodor Karamazov, a morally corrupt man, and his three sons, each of whom embodies a distinct facet of the human spirit:
- Dmitri (Mitya), the eldest: the embodiment of passion and instinct, torn between desire and conscience.
- Ivan, the middle brother: the rational thinker, burdened by a crisis of faith as he confronts evil and suffering.
- Alyosha, the youngest: a symbol of faith and spiritual love, a disciple of the monk Zosima, representing the pure moral dimension of the novel.
The plot revolves around the murder of the father and the profound existential questions it raises concerning freedom, justice, and moral responsibility, with each brother serving as a mirror reflecting one aspect of humanity in its struggle with itself and the world.
