Crises of governance are not measured by the statements issued by governments, nor by the projects and achievements showcased by the media, but rather by what the citizen experiences in the details of their daily life, and by the impact that public policies leave on their livelihood and trust in institutions. From this standpoint, the crisis of the Kurdistan Region cannot be read solely from the angle of the dispute with Baghdad; for there are federal responsibilities, and there are responsibilities borne by Erbil, and the disputes between the two parties must not become a permanent justification for suspending citizens’ rights or postponing the resolution of their crises.
The crisis does not begin merely at salaries, prices, and fuel; rather, it extends to the very nature of political life, and to the way competing forces handle government formation and the management of power. Since the October 2024 elections, the formation of the tenth government in the Kurdistan Region has remained stalled, while political forces exchange accusations regarding responsibility for disrupting negotiations. Each party declares its readiness for dialogue and asserts that the other party is the one obstructing an agreement, while the citizen remains before a political scene that leads to no clear resolution.
At the heart of this stumbling block lie disputes over power-sharing, top posts, sovereign ministries, and each party’s share of decision-making centers. Disagreements over political representation and the distribution of responsibilities are common in pluralistic systems, but the problem begins when negotiations fall hostage to competition over positions and influence, rather than serving as a means to agree on a clear governance program. The citizen does not wait for government formation to know the number of ministries each party will obtain, but rather waits for an authority capable of managing public funds, resolving pending files, improving services, and putting an end to the state of uncertainty weighing heavily on their life.
If the parties affirm their readiness to negotiate, the public has the right to know what is preventing an agreement, what issues remain unresolved, and why sovereign posts and ministries turn into points of contention that are difficult to overcome. The repeated declaration of intentions is not enough, nor does the exchange of accusations exempt any party from its responsibility. The criterion is not who succeeds media-wise in saddling their opponent with the responsibility for the disruption, but who offers possible concessions, declares their positions clearly, and places the interest of institutions and citizens above calculations of party quotas.
The danger of this deadlock is not limited to the delay in government formation; it extends to trust in the political system itself. When citizens see that political forces continue negotiating over power positions while failing to resolve their disputes as quickly as public interest demands, they have every right to ask: Is the competition taking place to build an effective government, or to secure influence within it? One cannot be certain of each party’s motives without evidence, but the continuation of the disruption makes this question legitimate and places political forces before the responsibility of providing a practical answer, not a promotional one.
For the Kurdish citizen, the financial crisis was not merely budget numbers or disputes between the federal and regional governments, but a living experience whose effects extended to the details of daily life. It manifested in a delayed salary, a family forced to rearrange its expenses, and an income losing its ability to cope with the cost of living. With the rise in basic commodity prices and the increase in taxes and fees, managing household affairs has become more difficult, especially when income is disproportionate to accumulated burdens.
Fuel crises add another dimension to this suffering. Gasoline queues are not merely a recurring scene in the streets, but hours lost from people’s lives, disrupted business, delayed commitments, and burdens borne by the citizen just to obtain a basic commodity. When these crises recur without sustainable solutions or convincing explanations, people have the right to hold the authorities responsible for distribution, oversight, and management accountable. Society’s adaptation to queues does not make them normal, nor does the citizen’s capacity to endure exempt institutions from their duty.
These details are the benchmark by which people measure their government’s performance. Announced projects and plans do not offset the absence of living stability, nor do they alone answer questions regarding the regularity of salaries, tax fairness, fuel availability, and the ability to secure basic needs. When the gap widens between official rhetoric and reality, the problem shifts from a crisis of services and finance to a crisis of trust in governance itself.
The issue of saved (withheld) salaries and electricity dues reveals an important aspect of this crisis. When Nechirvan Barzani’s government faced the budget cut crisis, it pursued a policy of paying a portion of salaries and designating the remainder as “saved” (withheld) under the system announced at the time. Those entitlements became part of the employees’ suffering and memory, not merely a financial file that closed with the end of the government that adopted that policy.
When Masrour Barzani’s government took power—originating from the same political force that led the previous government—it declared that it would not allow a single salary to be missed during its term, while the fate of the accumulated entitlements from the previous phase remained in need of resolution and clarification. Then the government returned to demand that citizens pay electricity dues dating back to a previous period. Here, a legitimate question arises: How can the state’s demand for its financial rights continue across successive governments, while the accumulated rights of employees remain a subject of dispute or ambiguity?
This does not mean that electricity dues and saved salaries are identical legally or accounting-wise, as each has its own nature and basis. However, the difference in their nature does not cancel the government’s duty to provide a clear explanation. A citizen has the right to know the basis upon which payment is demanded from them, and an employee has the right to know the fate of their entitlements and the decisions made regarding them. What is required is not to confuse obligations, but to subject them to announced standards that guarantee clarity, consistency, and accountability.
In this context, the dispute between Erbil and Baghdad must not be transformed into a means of shifting responsibility at the expense of the citizen. The federal government’s responsibility is defined by its decisions and commitments toward the Region, and the Regional Government’s responsibility is defined by the decisions it takes in managing its resources, financial affairs, and services. This does not mean that both responsibilities are equal in every file; rather, determining the weight of each requires examining the relevant facts, decisions, and commitments.
What is unacceptable, however, is for blaming the other party to become a substitute for reviewing self-performance. The citizen cannot wait indefinitely for the two governments to settle their disputes, nor should they pay the price for the absence of a political agreement out of their salary, purchasing power, and the stability of their daily life. True responsibility begins when each party provides a clear accounting of its decisions, acknowledges what falls within its powers, and puts forward actionable solutions instead of settling for justification.
What we live today will tomorrow become part of the Region’s history. If we settle for recording official statements and exchanging accusations, we will leave future generations an incomplete picture of this phase. We ought to document promises, decisions, the process of government formation, the causes of stalled negotiations as declared by the parties, the consequences resulting from their policies, and the impact of financial and service crises on people’s lives. Likewise, a distinction must be made between proven facts, partisan statements, and conclusions that require evidence.
Honest history-writing is not built on flattery or political revenge, nor does it acquit a party due to proximity to us or condemn another simply out of enmity. Rather, it places everyone before their responsibilities, without arbitrarily equating responsibilities that differ according to decisions, powers, and facts. The writer’s duty is not to settle for describing what the authority says about itself, but to ask what it did, what it accomplished, what it failed at, and what the citizen bore as a result of its decisions.
The legitimacy of governance is not tested in speeches alone, but in the capacity of institutions to provide livelihood stability, manage resources transparently, protect rights, and deliver clear answers when crises accumulate. Similarly, the legitimacy of political action is not measured by the parties’ declared readiness to negotiate, but by their ability to overcome their differences and form a government that assumes its responsibilities toward society.
Baghdad’s responsibility for its decisions does not negate Erbil’s responsibility for its own, just as the dispute over government formation should not turn into a justification for suspending citizens’ interests. Future generations have the right to know this period with its facts, burdens, and contradictions—far from media hype and the justifications of power. Preserving the citizen’s suffering is not an investment in pain, but a defense of society’s right to memory and accountability, so that the same mistakes are not repeated under new headings.
Note: This text is translated from the original Arabic version… Read the Arabic version:Click here
