By Jalil Ibrahim Al-Mandalawi
On the night of April 7, 2026, the roar of the explosion in the village of “Zarkezawa” was not merely the sound of a booby-trapped drone impact; it was a scream assassinating life and a demolition of the concept of sovereignty so often praised in international forums. A drone launched from across the borders to end the story of a couple—Musa Anwar Rasul and Mozhda Asaad Hassan—leaving behind a deep wound that statements cannot heal, and two orphaned girls who will one day ask: Why were my parents killed while they were safe in their home?
What happened in the “Darashakran” sub-district is not a passing “security incident,” but a full-fledged war crime and a blatant violation of all international norms. Targeting the home of a peaceful citizen with a drone is the pinnacle of systematic terrorism. While the bodies of innocents burn in Kurdistan, a bitter question emerges: Where is the Iraqi government? And where is the Parliament that is supposed to be the voice of the people?
The surreal scene we live in today presents us with a painful paradox: the Prime Minister parades his forces in Baghdad, delivering speeches about prestige and control, while the drones of “factions” roam freely and act at will across the borders of the Kurdistan Region without any deterrent. How can an official’s conscience rest while seeing scenes of destruction and the remains of citizens, as those factions issue public statements claiming responsibility for the attacks as if they were on a military excursion, rather than in a state that is supposed to protect its citizens from Zakho to Basra?
The federal government’s silence toward this security breakdown cannot be interpreted as political wisdom; rather, it is viewed popularly as impotence or indifference. Furthermore, one cannot speak of a “strong state” and the “prestige of the law” in Baghdad while the skies of the Kurdistan Region remain violated by entities that strike and publicly claim their attacks.
The loss of Musa and Mozhda is not just a number in a victim registry; it is a collapse of the security system that any citizen aspires to. When the home—the “human being’s final fortress”—becomes a target for drones, the intended message is “no place is safe,” and that is the very essence of terrorism.
Far from cold political analysis, there are two young girls who lost warmth and safety in a single moment. What future awaits them in a country being killed by “silence”? The tears of these two children are the true condemnation of everyone in power who held the decision and did not move a finger, leaving the image of the two orphaned girls as the most honest reality. Politics that fails to protect children in their cradles is an ethically bankrupt policy.
The blood of the innocents in “Darashakran” places everyone before a historical responsibility: either a homeland that protects everyone, or a jungle ruled by outlaw drones. Sovereignty is not slogans raised in conferences; it is the ability to prevent aircraft from penetrating the nation’s skies to kill citizens while they sleep. True sovereignty is when a child sleeps in their homeland knowing that their sky is guarded by the force of law, not pierced by the missiles of treachery.
To the decision-makers: Is it complicity or incompetence? Security and technical data confirm beyond a doubt that establishing a security barrier and a military defense wall at a distance not exceeding 30 kilometers is sufficient to permanently block these treacherous drones and curb their recklessness. But the real question is not “Can we?” but “Do we want to?”.
The fact that armed factions remain above the law, repeatedly targeting the Kurdistan Region without a firm government response, leaves the federal authority with two choices and no third: either these entities are part of this agenda of silence—and are thus partners in moral and legal responsibility—or the authority must prove otherwise by moving immediately to stop this bloody series. Enough with the shedding of innocent blood; for how long will the Kurdistan Region continue to pay the price for regional conflicts and the weakness of decision-making in the federal capital? The martyrdom of “Musa and Mozhda” must be the final cry before the abyss. Silence regarding these transgressions is no longer a political option; it has become a betrayal of the trust held by every official in this country.
Mercy to the martyrs, patience to the two little girls, and shame upon everyone who sees the blood and does not act.
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