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 Instead of taking delight in the rebellion's progress, though, the
43-year-old crown prince began lamenting the fact that Iraq's
patchwork quilt of ethnicities and religions was being torn apart.
"How do we guard what we still have?" he asked his visitors.
The revolutionary sheikh's doubts may seem surprising. Over the past
seven months the Sunni armed factions which Suleiman helps lead, and
their allies in the far more extreme al Qaeda offshoot known as
Islamic State, have captured most of the north's largest Sunni
cities. The battle against Prime Minister Noori al-Maliki in Baghdad
has spread north and east and threatens to fracture Iraq altogether.
In late June, Islamic State declared a new Caliphate.
Suleiman has become one of the public faces of the rebellion. But
the brash figure also encapsulates the contradiction at its heart,
and his story explains why Iraq will be so difficult to put back
together.
The alliance between Sunni tribesmen, nationalists, old Baath regime
loyalists and military veterans on one side and Islamic State on the
other is based almost entirely on a mutual hatred of Maliki's
Shi'ite government and a desire for an independent Sunni region.
But like most Iraqi Sunnis, Suleiman is no Islamic extremist. He
helped crush an earlier incarnation of al Qaeda in Iraq. And he was
disturbed recently by the news that tens of thousands of Christians
were fleeing the city of Mosul after an Islamic State ultimatum that
they should convert, leave or be put to the sword. The notion was an
affront to Suleiman, who grew up in cosmopolitan Baghdad and has
often spoken publicly of the need for tolerance.
In a series of interviews since the fall of Mosul in early June,
Suleiman described how Islamic State fighters and his Sunni rebels
gradually came together. He expressed deep concerns about the
ability of the groups he leads they identify themselves as 'tribal
revolutionaries' to stand up to their more extreme allies, who
operate in both Syria and Iraq and are sometimes known by the
acronym ISIL.
"If any place is open, ISIL will take it over," he said. "ISIL isn't
strong compared to the tribes, but they are strategic. They have
military equipment and they use it against the (tribal)
revolutionaries."
The rise of Islamic State has helped the tribes, but Suleiman said
it also threatens them. The stronger the Islamists grow, he said,
the more likely the purely nationalist aims of many of his Sunni
followers will be eclipsed by religion.
The tribes and their militarised offshoots greatly outnumber the
jihadis, both in the overall populace and in men under arms. But
Islamic State is already wooing Sunni factions with massive hauls of
American and Russian weaponry seized on the battlefield, and revenue
from oil fields it controls in Iraq and Syria.
The balance of power between the Islamic State and more
nationalist-minded figures like Suleiman will help determine the
future shape of Iraq's Sunni regions, and whether reconciliation is
possible with the country's Shi'ite majority.
"Is this a revolution or terrorism?" one of his followers asked late
that night in Suleiman's Arbil villa.
"It's a revolution," Suleiman answered, "but we have problems."
A MORE HOPEFUL TIME
In some ways Suleiman is a reminder of a more hopeful era, a pioneer
of the 2006 revolt against al Qaeda and the U.S.-backed effort to
reintegrate the Sunni community into Iraq's political mainstream.
The mercurial and outspoken crown prince took on his leadership
position when his father died, two years before the fall of Saddam
Hussein.
His tribe, the Dulaim, numbers between two and four million. As is
common in Iraqi tribes, members come from both the main
denominations. Most are Sunni, with 300,000 to 400,000 Shi'ite.
Centered in the sprawling western province of Anbar but spreading
north of Baghdad as well, the Dulaim is one of the
largest tribes in Iraq and a powerful social, political and economic
force, with ties to royal families across the Arab Gulf and the
elite of neighboring Jordan. It was a foundation of Saddam's
Sunni-dominated regime, with members serving in the military and
government. Today, it remains a bellwether of Sunni tolerance for
Iraq's majority Shi'ite-led government.
The world Suleiman inherited was different from his father's. After
the U.S.-led invasion in 2003, his first job was to preserve the
Dulaim's political power amidst a brutal Sunni insurgency. That
rebellion drew on his kinsmen and targeted both the Americans, who
angered Iraqis with mass arrests and indiscriminate force, and the
new Shi'ite political elite, which seemed intent on marginalizing
Sunnis because of their role in Saddam's abuses.
Suleiman kept a distance from the insurgency, but did not condemn
it. He later told a U.S. military historian "mistakes were made on
both sides."
BROKEN ALLIANCE
The young Sunni had sartorial flair. He wore v-neck sweaters with
immaculate white dishdashas and a keffiyah held perfectly in place.
He looked the part of a tribal leader, with sharp brown eyes and
high cheekbones. He had a talent for speeches and his title of crown
prince inspired respect and loyalty.
In early 2005, his Uncle Majid, who had served as his regent, fled
for Jordan. Suleiman found himself alone navigating both the
American military presence and the Iraqi arm of al Qaeda, which
began killing its way through Anbar and Baghdad.
That campaign ended in 2006 when Suleiman and a group of men in
their twenties and thirties used money and weapons from the
Americans to take on al Qaeda. Sunnis and Americans alike called the
movement the Awakening.
U.S. officers credit Suleiman with rallying tribes from Ramadi to
the farmlands around Baghdad and further north. Even today, in some
houses outside Baghdad, tribal sheikhs adorn their homes with
pictures of the crown prince.
"He pushed the fight against Qaeda," said Colonel Rick Welch, a
retired Special Forces officer, who worked closely with Suleiman.
Suleiman exhibited a flair for dramatic gestures. Once, after a car
bomb slammed into his office in Baghdad and killed several of his
guards, he walked out unscathed. He welcomed the attack, he told the
Americans. "We have a saying: When you are already wet don't be
afraid to go out in the rain."
When many Sunnis still feared Shi'ite militias, he visited the
Shi'ite slum of Sadr City in Baghdad's east, walking from his Jeep
into a swarm of thousands of people, Sunni and Shiite alike.
He could also be pragmatic and direct. While most Sunnis despised
Prime Minister Maliki from the outset, the crown prince gambled on
an alliance with him. It lasted three years before collapsing in
2010 under rising sectarian tensions, acrimony and pride on all
sides.
While it lasted, Suleiman thrived on his relationship with Maliki.
He was awarded government contracts and bet on the premier as the
man for the future. He put forward his youngest brother, Abdul
Rahman, to run for parliament on Maliki's slate.
When Rahman failed to win, and Maliki played up his Shi'ite Islamist
identity, the alliance frayed. Suleiman took to satellite television
to lambast Maliki and what he called the prime minister's Iranian
backers.
In 2011, Maliki sent troops to Suleiman's riverside offices in
Baghdad and evicted him. The prime minister also coaxed back
Suleiman's uncle Majid from Amman and provided him a house and
guards, in an effort to erode Suleiman's stature.
Those around Maliki still dismiss Suleiman as a terrorist and a loud
mouth. Haidar Abadi, a senior member of Maliki's Dawa party, mocked
him as "one of those people talking to the media" from outside the
battle zone. He said the government was talking to more influential
tribesmen on the ground who could tip the balance.
THE TRIBAL MENTALITY
Even after the Sunni victory over al Qaeda, the Shi'ite-dominated
government kept arresting Sunni opponents. Thousands were imprisoned
on blanket terrorism charges and held for years without trial.
A year after the U.S. military pulled out of Iraq, many people had
lost hope that life would improve; mass demonstrations erupted after
the arrest of a prominent Sunni politician's bodyguards. Suleiman
threw himself into the protests, joining crowds or huddling with
tribal figures and religious clerics.
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The tribal leader swung between war and negotiation. He plotted a
military confrontation as early as February 2013, convinced that the
government would attack Sunni demonstrators. That April, government
security forces shot dead at least 50 demonstrators in the northern
city of Hawija, sparking violence around the country. In the
following weeks, Suleiman mobilized a militia to defend the
protesters.
Tensions rose. Islamic State, born from the ashes of al Qaeda in
Iraq, began a series of suicide bomb attacks against Baghdad. Last
December, Maliki invaded Ramadi to clear the protest camps. The war
in Anbar between the government and tribes had begun and Suleiman's
militia was transformed into a full-fledged fighting force.
Suleiman commanded fighters in Ramadi and dodged Iraqi government
attempts to kill him. A series of failed attacks by helicopter
gunships firing what Suleiman called U.S. missiles confirmed his
status as a voice of the revolt. "SO MUCH BLOOD"
Maliki's confidantes privately felt the war would prove popular with
Shi'ite voters in April's national election. The coalition to which
his party belongs did win the biggest share of the vote. But on the
ground the offensive turned into a drawn-out fight. In its first six
months, at least 6,000 government soldiers were killed and some
12,000 deserted, according to medical officials and diplomats.
A tribal rival to Suleiman, Ahmed Abu Risha, broke with the
uprising, and joined Maliki. Abu Risha now heads a new Awakening and
works in tandem with his own uncle, Iraq's defense minister Sadoun
Dulaimi.
The chaos also presented an opportunity to the Islamic State, which
sent forces into Ramadi. At first Suleiman and his followers ignored
the more radical organization but by April the two groups had begun
fighting alongside each other.
Suleiman said an alliance was a necessary evil. He may have once
fought al Qaeda, but he recognized that Islamic State had tactical
experience from the civil war in Syria. His drift away from
moderation matched popular Sunni feeling. He and his followers
believe that, at a minimum, Baghdad must grant concessions before
the tribes confront the Islamic State. Sunnis should run their own
affairs and security and receive a share of oil revenues from the
central government, they say.
Suleiman nominally heads two large organizations the Anbar General
Military Council and the Tribal Revolutionaries that loosely
connect about 10 different armed factions. Some factions believe in
conservative Islamist principles and an Iraqi Sunni identity. Others
are offshoots of Saddam's old Baath party regime. What links the
factions is military leadership from former officers.
"The participation of officers facilitated matters," said an Islamic
cleric associated with the Sunni insurgency. "They are the brains
who fought the 1980s war with Iran, so the presence of one officer
in a group of 30 to 50 people was enough. He is the one who does the
planning."
Suleiman, who is often called Sheikh Ali or Ali Hatem, straddles the
groups and provides a badge of legitimacy: His grandfather fought in
the nation's 1920 uprising against the British and was a friend of
King Faisal, the founding father of modern Iraq.
"The revolutionaries need someone to stand out such as Ali Hatem,"
the cleric said. "He grasps the tribal mentality and talks in a
language that tribes relate to and understand."
But his powers have limits.
"If Sheikh Ali had agreed with people to stop the revolution, would
it stop? I don't believe anyone would heed his call," the cleric
said.
"BARING THEIR TEETH"
The Islamist State may be smaller somewhere between 8,000 and
20,000 fighters, compared with an estimated 30,000 Sunni tribal and
nationalist fighters but it increasingly dominates the insurgency.
As the Iraqi security forces imploded in June, other Sunni armed
factions joined the radical group's gallop through Mosul, and to
within 100 miles (160 km) of Baghdad.
"Leadership is in the Islamic State's hands," said onetime Sunni
insurgent, Abu Azzam al-Tammi, now an adviser to Maliki. Suleiman,
said al-Tammi, was a "genuine tribal and popular figure," one of the
"revolutionaries with genuine demands."
But, he believes, the Islamic State will ultimately defeat all other
Sunni groups. He also questioned Suleiman's ability to marshal large
numbers amidst the sea of Sunni factions.
Suleiman's brother Abdul Razzaq said the Islamic State had bared
"their teeth" and won over broad segments of the population. "They
have better everything: ammunition and new vehicles."
An intelligence officer in Ramadi told Reuters Suleiman had fooled
himself in championing a war he could not win. "When he speaks about
the rebels controlling land he means, without saying it, ISIL," the
officer said.
A fighter loyal to Suleiman agreed, telling Reuters that any
distinction between the Sunni tribes and Islamic State has
effectively vanished. The groups now share weapons from the Islamic
State's haul of Iraqi military equipment, he said.
For now, Suleiman rules out confrontation with the Islamic State
because Maliki and his special forces and Shi'ite militias remain
the bigger threat. "We have bad people in our Sunni areas, but who
gave the government the right to bring militias to our land to kill
our people?" Suleiman demanded of his guests with a smirk. "And they
ask me about the Islamic State."
Amid intense bombardments by the government in May, Suleiman moved
to Arbil, capital of Iraqi Kurdistan. He swore to return to Ramadi,
but has remained in the north, citing the need for political
meetings and travel to Qatar and the United Arab Emirates to rally
Gulf Arabs to his cause. Some say his extended exile has damaged his
reputation; others disagree.
One insurgent in Baghdad described Suleiman as inspiring. In Diyala
province, a fighter who had defected from the remnants of the
government-funded Sunni Awakening movement called him one of the
most-respected tribal figures in the country.
A U.S. military officer, speaking on condition of anonymity, said he
believed if Iraq broke down along sectarian lines, the future of
Iraq's Sunni regions rested with those like Suleiman who bore a
badge of tribal legitimacy.
"Ali Hatem is the only serious Anbari sheikh," the officer said.
"THE PEOPLE ARE GOING TO LOSE"
Suleiman himself is realistic.
In early May, he sat in an Arbil hotel room sipping coffee and
fiddling with his iPhone. He recounted plotting ambushes against
Iraqi special forces, which he said killed more than 100.
Fresh from the battlefield, his skin looked grey and his frame
emaciated. An attempt at mediation between the government and Sunni
tribes in Anbar had just failed. Mosul would not fall for another
month, but Suleiman already sensed Iraq was headed toward a major
change. He saw no way to halt the momentum or to remove himself from
the process.
He sketched in broad strokes much of what has since transpired: An
intensified fight by Sunni insurgents for Baghdad's rural districts
and attacks on the country's critical natural resources oil
fields, pipelines and dams.
"All the communities will be divided. It is going to be too late and
the people are going to lose," he predicted. Civilians across Iraq's
Sunni region would soon be trapped in a war between the government
and a multitude of armed factions.
He lay back on his couch and fell silent, his baritone voice for
once not bragging about the power of tribes and armed groups. He
blamed Sunnis close to the government for sabotaging the chance at
compromise.
"Who hurts the Sunnis a lot in Iraq, who damages them? Do you know
who?" Suleiman asked. "The Sunnis themselves."
(Parker reported from Arbil and Al-Khalidi from Amman; Additional
reporting by Isra' al-Rube'ii in Baghdad; Edited by Simon Robinson)
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