Who Enters The Marsh

Mustafa: I was at home that day, and my father…
Barbed wire across the Om Al-Toos river, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Mustafa: This is the other bridge. What did they do…
A metal barrier beneath a bridge on the Om Al-Toos river, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
A Marsh Wired and Welded

In April 2024, local authorities suddenly blocked the Ahwari people off from Al-Hawizeh Marsh, one of the last remaining marshes in southern Iraq. Being barred from the marsh, or restricted in their use of it, was nothing new to them, but this was the first time since the fall of the Ba’ath regime in 2003 that the marsh had been physically blockaded. It began with a thin strand of barbed wire across the Om Al-Toos River, a kilometer from where the river meets the marsh. Soon after, a second barrier went up at the entrance to the marsh itself.

Mustafa: Honestly, I felt angry, as if you had been…
Film excerpt, “The Marshes” by Kassem Hawal, Iraq, 1975. Courtesy of Kassem Hawal
Film excerpt, “The Marshes” by Kassem Hawal, Iraq, 1975. Courtesy of Kassem Hawal
The Fifth Grandfather

For centuries, Ahwari people lived on the waters of the marsh. They built villages of floating reedbeds, surrounded by water on every side. That intimacy with the water was ruptured the moment they were forcibly displaced from it. In modern history, the invention of the Iraqi nation-state and the borders that defined it triggered successive events. From the discovery of oil in the south of Iraq in the 1970s, to the Iran-Iraq War in the 1980s, to the drainage projects that followed the 1991 uprising, each brought its own wave of forced displacement.

Armoured bulldozers clear reed land in Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Source: Iraqi Border Forces Command / Facebook
Mustafa: Three rivers branch off from the Tigris: Al-Husaichi, Al-Zubair…
A Marsh as a Border Buffer

The 2024 blockade was the latest layer of barriers built up since 2003 in the name of securing the border with Iran. Border security became the justification for keeping Ahwari people out. The border guards kept extending their control zone far beyond the customary 500 meters, until it reached 35 kilometers. The marsh’s own soil was excavated to build earthen embankments around it, with a checkpoint every 500 meters. This turned the entire marsh, and the rivers and lands to its west, into a border buffer zone. Ahwari people had gone from waking up every day in dwellings a few steps from the water, to being pushed further and further away, to having to plead their cases and seek permission to be allowed into the marsh as visitors.

Mustafa: You can't get through unless they open the gate…
A fishermen’s entry permit issued by the Ministry of Interior, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
An Ahwari man and woman fish in Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2022. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
Film excerpt, “The Marshes” by Kassem Hawal, Iraq, 1975. Courtesy of Kassem Hawal
Mustafa: An island in the middle of the water. We…
A fisherman in a shiha, a traditional fishing shelter, Al-Musharrah Marsh, Iraq, 2023. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
Terms of Entry

The authorities made access, already heavily restricted, conditional on body searches by border police. They knew Ahwari women would not accept this and, without offering an alternative, barred them altogether for a time from the marsh and, in turn, every practice associated with it. Their exclusion disrupted the very fabric of Ahwari society. Those who were still allowed to enter the marsh faced a time limit. Ahwari fishermen traditionally set their nets late at night and stayed in the marsh overnight to collect their catch at dawn. With entry limited to daytime, that way of fishing, and the income that depended on it, was cut off.

Mustafa: We, the people of the marshes, used to feed…
Mustafa: Before, I was never at risk of poverty or…
An official letter from the Maysan Governor’s Office ordering border guard and energy police units to bar fishermen and boat trips from areas under their control without the governor’s approval, Maysan, Iraq, 2026
Ahwari locals protest the 2024 blockade at a police checkpoint by the Om Al-Toos river, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
An Ahwari protester carries a traditional fishing spear at the edge of Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Ruled by Oil

The roads that once carried fish and milk from the marsh to the rest of the country now carry oil trucks. Oil has ruled Iraq’s economy for a century. It began under the British Mandate, with the concessions granted in the 1920s. And it deepened under US imperialism, which since the 2003 invasion has reopened the fields to foreign companies and routed the oil revenue through the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. In the decades between, from the 1980s until the invasion, wars and sanctions, and the draining of the marshes that came with them, further weakened Iraq’s capacity to feed itself. Today, oil provides an estimated 88 percent of government revenue, part of it used to import food. The oil that pays for the food lies beneath the very marshes that once provided it. Restricted from the marsh, many families were forced to migrate. For those who remained, protest became a means of survival. After the blockade, Ahwari locals gathered again and again opposite the police station, demanding an explanation from the authorities. For weeks they received no answers. Some restrictions were eventually eased under pressure from the protestors, but freedom of access to the marsh did not return. And as they continued to fight for access, oil exploration machinery was making its way into Al-Hawizeh Marsh.

Mustafa: What did the vehicles do? They crossed the embankment…
An amphibious vehicle used for oil exploration stands on the dried-out bed of Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
Oil machinery inside the protected Al-Hawizeh Marsh, seen from the marsh’s edge near the Centre for Restoration of the Iraqi Marshlands and Wetlands (CRIMW), Iraq, 2025. Video: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Planned oil survey lines (in red) across Al-Hawizeh Marsh, from the Oil Exploration Company’s map, Iraq, 2025
A letter from Iraq’s state Oil Exploration Company requesting permission for a seismic survey crew to open tracks and drill inside Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025
A road sign points to oil well HWZ-1 near Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
A concrete survey marker and a drilled hole on an earth embankment, Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
Murtada: Because of the oil expansion, people really are migrating,…
A protester holds marsh reeds and a fish beneath a sign for the Maysan Oil Company’s Hawizeh oil field, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
Ahwari locals protest. The banner reads: “We, the Ahwari people, affirm our commitment to defending our rights until the current situation is corrected and our right to water and life is restored to us.” One protester holds a sign reading “Pollution is slow death.” Maysan, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Ahwari people protest against oil activity inside Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, June 2025. Video: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Ahwari protesters block a bridge used by oil tankers, Al-Kahla, Maysan, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Mustafa: My grandfather would tell me that in the flood…
Detail of a map of Iraq by the British War Office, c. 1935, showing Al-Hawizeh Marsh extending from Iran all the way to Amara. Courtesy of Barry Lawrence Ruderman Antique Maps, via raremaps.com
The Last Remaining Waters

Oil is not new to Al-Hawizeh Marsh. Since the 1970s, oil fields and wells have spread across much of what used to be part of it. But this was the first time exploration had entered the part of the marsh protected under the Ramsar Convention and inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2016. Local Ahwari activists obtained a series of official letters, including one dated March 22, 2025, in which the Ministry of Oil attached a map gridded with seismic survey lines. Along each line it demanded a 10-meter-wide corridor bulldozed through the marsh's soil for drilling rigs, each assigned to punch a hole every 50 meters. The corridors belong to a larger plan for Al-Hawizeh oil field, which extends across the Iran-Iraq border. In 2018, it was awarded to China’s Geo-Jade Petroleum. Oil exploration now stretches across approximately 300 square kilometers, from Fakkah to Musharrah. Already, 11,000 exploration points have claimed the last remaining waters of the marsh for oil. A taxidermied otter, a buffalo skull, and a fishing spear, joined the protests, representing the lives the oil industry threatens along with those of Ahwari people. The location of every protest marked a relation between infrastructure and injustice: they blocked the road used by oil trucks, they protested by the blocked underpass that they used to pass under by boat to enter the marsh, they held sit-ins outside the police station and checkpoints that would not grant them permission to herd their buffalo, fish, or gather reeds, and they surrounded the water regulator that controls how much water their rivers and marsh receive.

Barbed wire across the Om Al-Toos river, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Barbed wire across the Om Al-Toos river, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Mustafa:
I was at home that day, and my father had gone to take the buffalo out to the marsh. As soon as he saw what was happening, he came back home and told us the story.
I went straight there and saw that they had blocked the bridge with metal and closed off the river with barbed wire. I photographed it right away, posted it on Facebook, and started rallying people, the local residents.
About two days later, we went out and protested.

In April 2024, local authorities suddenly blocked the Ahwari people off from Al-Hawizeh Marsh, one of the last remaining marshes in southern Iraq. Being barred from the marsh, or restricted in their use of it, was nothing new to them, but this was the first time since the fall of the Ba’ath regime in 2003 that the marsh had been physically blockaded.

It began with a thin strand of barbed wire across the Om Al-Toos River, a kilometer from where the river meets the marsh. Soon after, a second barrier went up at the entrance to the marsh itself.

A metal barrier beneath a bridge on the Om Al-Toos river, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
A metal barrier beneath a bridge on the Om Al-Toos river, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Mustafa:
This is the other bridge. What did they do to this one? They didn't just put up wire. They brought metal and welded it shut. I photographed it. And they left one small opening that can be locked and closed off. The bridge has about six openings, and they left just one open, which they close and open as they please. They did it in such a violent way. Metal, welded. Honestly, a very hostile way of doing it. Hostile to the point of... why would you block it with metal?
They didn't inform us, didn't give us any warning, not a single word. They even did it at night and finished it. In the morning, we just found it there.
Film excerpt, “The Marshes” by Kassem Hawal, Iraq, 1975. Courtesy of Kassem Hawal
Mustafa:
Honestly, I felt angry, as if you had been banned from your own homeland. We are not new to this place. We didn't just drop in out of nowhere, and we are not strangers here.
The ordinary people started speaking up. One would tell him, "This is our land." They spoke about identity, their identity in this place: "This is our identity, and this is our land." One would tell him [police], "You came here yesterday, and this land goes back to my fifth grandfather." They say these things that keep them holding on to the land and show how much they belong to it.

For centuries, Ahwari people lived on the waters of the marsh. They built villages of floating reedbeds, surrounded by water on every side.

That intimacy with the water was ruptured the moment they were forcibly displaced from it. In modern history, the invention of the Iraqi nation-state and the borders that defined it triggered successive events. From the discovery of oil in the south of Iraq in the 1970s, to the Iran-Iraq War in the 1980s, to the drainage projects that followed the 1991 uprising, each brought its own wave of forced displacement.

Film excerpt, “The Marshes” by Kassem Hawal, Iraq, 1975. Courtesy of Kassem Hawal

The 2024 blockade was the latest layer of barriers built up since 2003 in the name of securing the border with Iran. Border security became the justification for keeping Ahwari people out. The border guards kept extending their control zone far beyond the customary 500 meters, until it reached 35 kilometers. The marsh’s own soil was excavated to build earthen embankments around it, with a checkpoint every 500 meters. This turned the entire marsh, and the rivers and lands to its west, into a border buffer zone.

Ahwari people had gone from waking up every day in dwellings a few steps from the water, to being pushed further and further away, to having to plead their cases and seek permission to be allowed into the marsh as visitors.

Armoured bulldozers clear reed land in Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Source: Iraqi Border Forces Command / Facebook
Armoured bulldozers clear reed land in Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Source: Iraqi Border Forces Command / Facebook
Mustafa:
Three rivers branch off from the Tigris: Al-Husaichi, Al-Zubair and Umm Al-Tous. These are the three main rivers for the local people, because they travel by boat, and the rivers run in and flow into the marsh. Along the banks of each river there are hundreds of villages, all along its length, and every one of these rivers ends by flowing into the marsh.
So what did they do? On every river, at its end, they put a checkpoint. And there are countless land entrances, too many to count, but every one of them has a checkpoint.
A fishermen’s entry permit issued by the Ministry of Interior, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
A fishermen’s entry permit issued by the Ministry of Interior, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Mustafa:
You can't get through unless they open the gate for you themselves. And after what? After you get a six-month security permit showing that you're present here and one of the local residents. These are government boats that patrol inside the marsh. And at this one in particular, you hand over your ID card and enter the marsh, and you have a set time. This is the set time: from 7:00 in the morning until 4:00 in the afternoon. But this is recent, from 2020 onwards. Before that, no. You'd give your ID and you could stay the night in the marsh, no problem.
For a long time I couldn't go to the marsh. "What are you going there for?" You need a convincing reason just to go. Especially if I go with my camera. No, it's impossible for me to get in. They won't let me in.
Even my mother, for so long she couldn't enter the marsh. She can't go with my father anymore, so I go with him.

The authorities made access, already heavily restricted, conditional on body searches by border police. They knew Ahwari women would not accept this and, without offering an alternative, barred them altogether for a time from the marsh and, in turn, every practice associated with it. Their exclusion disrupted the very fabric of Ahwari society.

An Ahwari man and woman fish in Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2022. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
An Ahwari man and woman fish in Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2022. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
Film excerpt, “The Marshes” by Kassem Hawal, Iraq, 1975. Courtesy of Kassem Hawal

Those who were still allowed to enter the marsh faced a time limit. Ahwari fishermen traditionally set their nets late at night and stayed in the marsh overnight to collect their catch at dawn. With entry limited to daytime, that way of fishing, and the income that depended on it, was cut off.

A fisherman in a shiha, a traditional fishing shelter, Al-Musharrah Marsh, Iraq, 2023. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
A fisherman in a shiha, a traditional fishing shelter, Al-Musharrah Marsh, Iraq, 2023. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
Mustafa:
An island in the middle of the water. We get off onto it and spend the night. Any patch of reeds: you cut it from the base and lay the reeds one on top of the other, and within twenty minutes it's an island. Now, this here is an edge, water on this side, reeds on that side. That's a forest; this side is the reeds. Look, they cut these. You can make one right here: you make a square and sleep on it. Anywhere in the marsh, you can spend the night.
In summer, when there are mosquitoes, we put up a mosquito net in the afternoon, before night falls. We set it up inside the spot, lay our bedding inside it, and sleep. But in winter there are no mosquitoes. You just spread out your bedding and sleep.
Mustafa:
We, the people of the marshes, used to feed the whole south with fish. Trucks would come to us to buy fish, from Hillah, from Nasiriyah, from Basra, from the central provinces. They'd come, load up, take the fish by the ton and leave. We sold milk too; trucks would come from the provinces, and we fed them. Bunni fish, the finest kind of fish in Al-Hawizeh, people used to come for it from Baghdad, from Mosul, from everywhere. Trucks would come, refrigerated trucks packed with ice, load up and take it away. Now there's nothing.

The roads that once carried fish and milk from the marsh to the rest of the country now carry oil trucks.

Oil has ruled Iraq’s economy for a century. It began under the British Mandate, with the concessions granted in the 1920s. And it deepened under US imperialism, which since the 2003 invasion has reopened the fields to foreign companies and routed the oil revenue through the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. In the decades between, from the 1980s until the invasion, wars and sanctions, and the draining of the marshes that came with them, further weakened Iraq’s capacity to feed itself. Today, oil provides an estimated 88 percent of government revenue, part of it used to import food.

The oil that pays for the food lies beneath the very marshes that once provided it.

An official letter from the Maysan Governor’s Office ordering border guard and energy police units to bar fishermen and boat trips from areas under their control without the governor’s approval, Maysan, Iraq, 2026
An official letter from the Maysan Governor’s Office ordering border guard and energy police units to bar fishermen and boat trips from areas under their control without the governor’s approval, Maysan, Iraq, 2026
Mustafa:
Before, I was never at risk of poverty or hunger, because I had natural resources right there beside me. Back then, even a young man from the marshes wouldn't think of getting a job with the oil companies. The companies were there, and nobody went to them, because he earned his living every day from the marsh, from fish, from birds, from everything, more than what the workers inside the oil companies were making.
I saw this with my own eyes, because I've worked for the oil companies too, and before that I worked in the marsh. A month at the oil companies equals ten days, or less than ten days, in the marsh. So it's as simple as this: we came to depend on things that get used up and destroyed, like oil, and we gave up the environment, which is a lasting resource that gives us food security and food sovereignty.

Restricted from the marsh, many families were forced to migrate. For those who remained, protest became a means of survival. After the blockade, Ahwari locals gathered again and again opposite the police station, demanding an explanation from the authorities. For weeks they received no answers. Some restrictions were eventually eased under pressure from the protestors, but freedom of access to the marsh did not return.

Ahwari locals protest the 2024 blockade at a police checkpoint by the Om Al-Toos river, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Ahwari locals protest the 2024 blockade at a police checkpoint by the Om Al-Toos river, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari

And as they continued to fight for access, oil exploration machinery was making its way into Al-Hawizeh Marsh.

An Ahwari protester carries a traditional fishing spear at the edge of Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
An Ahwari protester carries a traditional fishing spear at the edge of Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
An amphibious vehicle used for oil exploration stands on the dried-out bed of Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
An amphibious vehicle used for oil exploration stands on the dried-out bed of Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
Mustafa:
What did the vehicles do? They crossed the embankment and went into these areas, this protected zone, where you're not even allowed to plant a single flower, because you'd be changing its environment. Let alone bring in machinery and drill for oil.

Oil is not new to Al-Hawizeh Marsh. Since the 1970s, oil fields and wells have spread across much of what used to be part of it. But this was the first time exploration had entered the part of the marsh protected under the Ramsar Convention and inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2016.

Oil machinery inside the protected Al-Hawizeh Marsh, seen from the marsh’s edge near the Centre for Restoration of the Iraqi Marshlands and Wetlands (CRIMW), Iraq, 2025. Video: Mustafa Al-Ahwari

Local Ahwari activists obtained a series of official letters, including one dated March 22, 2025, in which the Ministry of Oil attached a map gridded with seismic survey lines. Along each line it demanded a 10-meter-wide corridor bulldozed through the marsh's soil for drilling rigs, each assigned to punch a hole every 50 meters.

Planned oil survey lines (in red) across Al-Hawizeh Marsh, from the Oil Exploration Company’s map, Iraq, 2025
Planned oil survey lines (in red) across Al-Hawizeh Marsh, from the Oil Exploration Company’s map, Iraq, 2025
A letter from Iraq’s state Oil Exploration Company requesting permission for a seismic survey crew to open tracks and drill inside Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025
A letter from Iraq’s state Oil Exploration Company requesting permission for a seismic survey crew to open tracks and drill inside Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025

The corridors belong to a larger plan for Al-Hawizeh oil field, which extends across the Iran-Iraq border. In 2018, it was awarded to China’s Geo-Jade Petroleum. Oil exploration now stretches across approximately 300 square kilometers, from Fakkah to Musharrah. Already, 11,000 exploration points have claimed the last remaining waters of the marsh for oil.

A road sign points to oil well HWZ-1 near Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
A road sign points to oil well HWZ-1 near Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
A concrete survey marker and a drilled hole on an earth embankment, Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
A concrete survey marker and a drilled hole on an earth embankment, Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
A protester holds marsh reeds and a fish beneath a sign for the Maysan Oil Company’s Hawizeh oil field, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
A protester holds marsh reeds and a fish beneath a sign for the Maysan Oil Company’s Hawizeh oil field, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Murtada Al-Ahwari
Ahwari locals protest. The banner reads: “We, the Ahwari people, affirm our commitment to defending our rights until the current situation is corrected and our right to water and life is restored to us.” One protester holds a sign reading “Pollution is slow death.” Maysan, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Ahwari locals protest. The banner reads: “We, the Ahwari people, affirm our commitment to defending our rights until the current situation is corrected and our right to water and life is restored to us.” One protester holds a sign reading “Pollution is slow death.” Maysan, Iraq, 2024. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Murtada:
Because of the oil expansion, people really are migrating, and people are protesting: four protests in Al-Kahla alone and four in Al-Musharrah. And not a single official from the government has come, stepped up and taken responsibility, or even made a promise.Because of the oil expansion, people really are migrating, and people are protesting: four protests in Al-Kahla alone and four in Al-Musharrah. And not a single government official has come, stepped up, and taken responsibility, or even made a promise.
Ahwari people protest against oil activity inside Al-Hawizeh Marsh, Iraq, June 2025. Video: Mustafa Al-Ahwari

A taxidermied otter, a buffalo skull, and a fishing spear, joined the protests, representing the lives the oil industry threatens along with those of Ahwari people. The location of every protest marked a relation between infrastructure and injustice: they blocked the road used by oil trucks, they protested by the blocked underpass that they used to pass under by boat to enter the marsh, they held sit-ins outside the police station and checkpoints that would not grant them permission to herd their buffalo, fish, or gather reeds, and they surrounded the water regulator that controls how much water their rivers and marsh receive.

Ahwari protesters block a bridge used by oil tankers, Al-Kahla, Maysan, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Ahwari protesters block a bridge used by oil tankers, Al-Kahla, Maysan, Iraq, 2025. Photo: Mustafa Al-Ahwari
Detail of a map of Iraq by the British War Office, c. 1935, showing Al-Hawizeh Marsh extending from Iran all the way to Amara. Courtesy of Barry Lawrence Ruderman Antique Maps, via raremaps.com
Detail of a map of Iraq by the British War Office, c. 1935, showing Al-Hawizeh Marsh extending from Iran all the way to Amara. Courtesy of Barry Lawrence Ruderman Antique Maps, via raremaps.com
Mustafa:
My grandfather would tell me that in the flood days, the marsh reached all the way to a place called Al-Kahla. Al-Kahla is far, 30 kilometers away. I was amazed. That place is really far; it didn't make sense. I asked him, "How could the marsh reach that far?" Later, I went back to the map of the Al-Hawizeh Marsh from the 1970s. I looked at these oil fields and these people, and none of it was there. None of this existed. All of it was reed forests and marsh. That was a shock for me. Now, this is Al-Hawizeh field that we're passing through. You can see all these red dots: none of them existed. All of them, all the way up to here, none of it existed.

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