The Last Years of Mustafa Barzani
By:David A. Korn
June 1994
David A. Korn, a former Foreign Service officer, is a writer and
consultant on Middle Eastern and African issues. He is the author of, most
recently, Assassination in Khartoum
(Indiana University Press, 1993).
The recipients of U.S.
arms and cash were an insurgent ethnic group fighting for autonomy in a country
bordering our ally. . . . Documents in the Committee’s possession clearly show
that the President, Dr. Kissinger and the foreign head of state hoped that our
clients would not prevail. They preferred instead that the insurgents simply
continue a level of hostilities sufficient to sap the resources of our ally’s
neighboring country. . . . Even in the context of covert action, ours was a
cynical enterprise.
–Excerpt from a classified House Select Intelligence Committee
report, published in The Village Voice, February 16, 1976.
For the Kurds of Iraq, October 6, 1993, was the closest thing to a
national holiday they had yet known in the brief and tenuous existence of their
unproclaimed statehood. Besieged by the Ba`th government in Baghdad, barely
tolerated by their Turkish neighbor, embargoed by the rest of the world,
shunned even by their American and Western European protectors, short of food,
fuel, and medicines, and suffering every kind of hardship, they nonetheless
gathered on that day in every city and village of the Kurdish region to
celebrate. The remains of Mullah Mustafa Barzani, the man who had led them
through earlier decades of struggle, were being returned in triumphal
procession from a grave across the border in Iran for burial in the land he had
fought to liberate.
Among the Kurds, Barzani was a figure of mythical proportions. His
life had become the stuff of legend. Although called Mullah Mustafa, he was not
a mullah–a religious dignitary–but a man born and bred to fight and to lead
others in war. His revolts, his feats of arms, his twelve-year exile in the
Soviet Union, his glorious return, and his long championship of Kurdish rights
had given Kurds everywhere–not just in Iraq but in Turkey, Iran, Syria, the
Soviet Union, and abroad, in Western Europe and the United States–a sense of
pride and of nationhood such as they had never before felt. He had reached very
high, but he had misjudged his base and then he had fallen. The movement that
he had built in over four decades of struggle had collapsed, and he and those
who joined him in it had lost everything.
Mustafa Barzani’s triumphal posthumous return to Iraqi Kurdistan
was the culmination of a journey whose final leg, it might be said, began on a
steamy early August afternoon in 1975, at New York’s John F. Kennedy Airport.
His arrival in the United States
that day on an Iran Air flight from Tehran
was a closely guarded secret. He and his three companions had made the trip in
the comfort of the first-class cabin of the Boeing 747 airliner. Now they were
to be spared the tedious scrutiny of U.S. immigration and customs
officials to which their fellow passengers would have to submit. As they
stepped from the ramp to the tarmac, they were met by two men attired in
business suits, white shirts, and ties. These two, obviously Americans, led the
visitors to black unmarked cars that stood not far from the aircraft, their motors
running. The party bundled into the cars and was sped out a side gate onto the
expressway toward New York City .
Barzani walked slowly and with a limp, though without apparent
fatigue from the trip. The business suit he wore fit him poorly, and his tie
was badly knotted. Everything about him said that this was not his usual dress
and that these were not his usual surroundings. But even at the age of
seventy-two and ailing, he presented a striking figure. It was not his height
that distinguished him–he stood no more than five feet six inches tall. But the
extraordinary breadth of his shoulders and his big-boned, strongly muscled
limbs gave him an aura of great physical power. His large head, covered by
short, thinning black hair interspersed with grey, was set squarely upon his
torso as though without intermediary of a neck. An eagle’s beak nose jutted
from his face, and bushy black brows were set over eyes that seemed to be lit
by a fiercely blazing fire. It was the eyes, in fact, that everyone saw first,
that extraordinary piercing light in them that foreign correspondents who over
the years had made the hard and perilous trek to Barzani’s mountain
headquarters in Kurdistan had written about.
His travelling companions were an old friend and two younger men,
both in their mid-thirties, one a Kurd and an aide to Barzani, the other an
Iranian. After an overnight stop in New York City, the party emplaned the next
morning for Minneapolis and there changed to a flight for Rochester, Minnesota,
site of the Mayo Clinic. For Barzani was ill, perhaps mortally stricken. Yet he
had hope, and this hope had brought him to America .
THE KURDISH REVOLT OF 1974-75
The Kurdish military collapse had come just five months earlier, in
March 1975, and with disconcerting suddenness. Exactly a year before that, in
March 1974, Barzani had issued a call to arms to the Kurds of Iraq. He had been
the target of at least a dozen assassination attempts–two of them nearly
successful–by the Arab regime in Baghdad .
He had lost faith in Iraq ’s
willingness to carry out the agreement for Kurdish autonomy that he had signed
in March 1970 with Vice President Saddam Husayn at Takrit. So, though he was
now past seventy, he decided to fight once again. It looked like a reasonable
bet, for Barzani was now the undisputed leader of the Kurds of Iraq and he
enjoyed the more or less open backing of the shah of Iran , Mohammed Reza Pahlavi. And,
more important still, he felt, he had the secret backing of the United States
government, extended on the personal orders of President Richard Nixon and
Henry Kissinger, Nixon’s national security advisor and later secretary of
state.
But now there was a difference. While professing to make peace with
the Kurds, the Arab government in Baghdad
prepared for war. It restructured and expanded the Iraqi army and refitted it
with massive deliveries of Soviet tanks, artillery, and fighter and bomber
aircraft. What Barzani got from his allies couldn’t match what the Soviets were
sending the Iraqis. From the shah, Barzani got money, plenty of money, and some
arms, but never enough arms or ammunition. His forces had only rifles–some of
them of World War I vintage or earlier–machine guns, light mortars, and, toward
the end, a few antitank weapons. Israel , a long-time friend, gave
mainly training and a few weapons. The Americans gave money directly to
Barzani’s group, though much less than the Iranians; and they financed some of
the arms that were delivered by the Iranians. But for Barzani, the symbolism of
the American contribution was more important than its size; for him it
guaranteed that the shah would not one day suddenly cut him off.
The result, however, was that Barzani’s Pesh Merga, one hundred
thousand strong by the beginning of 1975, were always badly outgunned. The
Iraqis controlled the skies everywhere and the ground wherever armored vehicles
could tread; they bombed and strafed the Kurds–not just the Pesh Merga but
Kurdish villages and farms–at will. On the ground, the Kurds had the advantage
of the highland mountain terrain, as well as the advantage of defending their
homeland. The fighting was fierce, and both sides suffered heavy casualties. In
the big battles, the Iranians occasionally evened the score by moving
long-range artillery up next to their border with Iraq to pound the Iraqi attackers.
But more often than not, the Kurds had to pull back in the face of the Iraqi
army’s absolute superiority both in firepower and manpower.
Still, the Kurds were undaunted. Their Pesh Merga had little
training in modern warfare but were indescribably tough and courageous. Israeli
generals who visited them marvelled at the endurance of the Kurdish soldier, at
his uncomplaining acceptance of hardship and his unquestioning obedience to
orders. So long as the Pesh Merga had the weapons and the ammunition to do so,
they would fight on. Barzani didn’t expect to win this war on the battlefield,
not with an enemy so superior in weaponry and in numbers. Rather, as in the
past, he counted on wearing the Baghdad
regime down, bleeding its army and its finances to the point where it would
desist and, finally, accede to the Kurdish demand to be left to run their own
affairs. He had done it before: his insurrections had brought down, or
contributed to bringing down, Iraqi governments all through the 1960s. There
seemed no reason to think that he couldn’t do it again in the 1970s.
Except that now both Iraq and the world were changing.
In the 1960s, Iraq’s huge oil resources–second only to those of Saudi Arabia,
it was said–produced only puny revenues; oil was dirt cheap on the
international market, and the big American, British, and Dutch companies
controlled both pricing and production. Governments in Baghdad were as chronically short of money as
they were congenitally weak. But in 1968, the Ba`th party seized power in Baghdad . At the time, it
seemed like just another coup d’état, but before long it became clear this one
would be different. By the mid 1970s, the Ba`th government had clamped an iron
rule onto Iraq ,
one unlike any that country of disparate and warring peoples had ever known. In
1972, the government nationalized the Western oil companies, and after the October
1973 Arab-Israeli war, world oil prices shot up to ten times the level of the
1960s. Money cascaded into the Iraqi treasury–money enough for guns and butter,
enough to fight a war with the Kurds and launch the country down the road to
unprecedented prosperity and development.
This time Barzani had a different adversary, not just in the clique
that ruled in Baghdad and the resources at its disposal, but in Saddam Husayn,
its rising new leader, a jet black-haired man in his mid-thirties whose steely
gaze and will to power made his youthfulness seem irrelevant; a man unlike
anyone Barzani had ever before faced off against. In his long journey, Mullah
Mustafa, a man whose formal education amounted at most to a few years of
elementary school, had matched wits with the most cunning and devious Arabs
that successive governments in Baghdad
could offer up against him. Rarely, if ever, had he come out second best. But
never before had he been pitted against someone quite so wily, and so utterly
ruthless, as this young star of the Ba`th regime.
THE KURDISH COLLAPSE
It seems not to have occurred to Barzani that Saddam Husayn,
finding that military victory eluded him, would turn to diplomacy. Nor did he
imagine the Iraqi would try to buy off the shah; or that the shah would
callously sell Barzani and his people out for what in the end amounted to
paltry territorial concessions. The news that the shah and Saddam Husayn had
met in Algiers on the margins of a conference for heads of state of the
Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries, and, on March 5, 1975, struck a
deal, came to Barzani and his embattled Pesh Merga, and to the rest of the
world, like a thunderclap out of a clear blue sky.
It was a surprise even to the shah’s own ministers, and also to
Richard Helms, the U.S.
ambassador to Iran
and a former director of the CIA. Helms was at Tehran
airport on March 6 when top Iranian officials gathered to welcome the shah back
from Algiers .
He found the shah’s aides as uninformed, and as puzzled, as he was. Helms watched
wryly as the monarch amazed them all by issuing instructions the moment he
stepped off the aircraft, right there on the tarmac, not even waiting to get to
his palace to convene a meeting. He directed that all Iranian military support
to the Kurds should cease immediately, along with all financial and other
assistance, and that the border between Iran
and Iraq
should be sealed after a brief delay.
Helms went to call on the shah the next morning and found him
characteristically imperious. He did not ask the United States to join him in
cutting off assistance to the Kurds–assistance that he himself, three years
earlier, had urged President Nixon to extend. He simply told Helms that the
cutoff of Iranian assistance to Barzani’s Kurdish insurrection would also
entail terminating all American assistance. He offered Helms no apology for
this sudden action, for he was not a man given to making apologies. He did,
however, have an explanation. Barzani, he said, was not putting up much of a
fight against the Iraqis; he was just sitting back and asking others to do his
fighting for him. Officers of the CIA station at Helms’s embassy–those who for
three years had worked with Barzani and his group–were embarrassed and upset,
indeed angry by this news. But Helms himself didn’t need persuading. He
regarded the agreement between Iran
and Iraq
as a positive development, one that would bring stability to the region. And he
could understand perfectly well that governments, whether in Baghdad
or in Tehran ,
should object to having their territory taken away by unruly minorities.
When he cabled in his report of his conversation with the shah,
Helms expected that his boss, Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, would welcome
the normalization of relations between Tehran
and Baghdad . He
was surprised when Kissinger reacted with irritation. It wasn’t a matter of
principle or humanitarian concern for the betrayed Kurds that aroused
Kissinger’s ire. As was widely thought within the State Department, it was
simply that Kissinger had been looking forward to having the Kurds continue to
tie down the Iraqis and prevent Baghdad ’s making
trouble for Israel .
He was unhappy over the shah’s decision, but he wasn’t going to try to change
it. Henry Kissinger was not about to quarrel with Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi,
who was, after all, indispensible, the pillar of American policy in the Middle
East, the man Washington relied on to maintain stability in the vital Persian
Gulf region.
The shah made Barzani wait almost a week, until March 11, before
receiving the Kurdish leader and officially notifying him of his fate. Waiting
with Barzani was Shafiq Qazzaz, the man who had been (in all but formal title)
Barzani’s ambassador in Tehran ,
head of an office comprising some thirty staff. Qazzaz was responsible for the
most important and sensitive dealings with the government of Shah Mohammed Reza
Pahlavi for the transfer of money and arms to the (in all but name) Kurdish
government in neighboring northeastern Iraq; the management of Kurdish
hospitals in Iran, in which the war wounded and sick were treated; a Kurdish
refugee population that numbered half a million; and also for contacts with
“Justin,” the code name of a top officer of the Central Intelligence Agency’s
station in the Iranian capital. Qazzaz was a tall, slender, handsome man who in
a pleasantly clipped British accent spoke flawless English. Four years earlier,
he had completed a doctoral thesis at the American
University in Washington in which he had been critical of
Barzani. That was before he truly knew the Kurdish leader. Now Qazzaz was as
devoted to Barzani as son to father.
To Qazzaz, the long wait seemed an act of cruelty typical of an
oriental despot, for March 11, 1975, marked the date five years earlier on
which Barzani had concluded his agreement with Saddam Husayn–an agreement the
shah believed Barzani had promised him he would not conclude. Now, Qazzaz felt,
the Iranian was savoring his revenge, twisting his dagger, as it were, in the
flesh of the man against whom it was practiced.
Qazzaz accompanied Barzani and Dr. Mahmoud Osman, Barzani’s
personal physician and top lieutenant, to the shah’s palace. The Iranian
monarch was brief and to the point. He explained that he had been drawn deeper
into war than he had expected when he undertook to aid the Kurds. It was too
heavy a burden for him, and he had been obliged to conclude an agreement with Iraq . At that
moment, he said, he regarded the agreement with the Ba`th government as
temporary. He did not know if the Iraqis would in fact respect it; it would be
a test of relations between the two countries. But in the meantime, he was
terminating all assistance to the Kurds. The Iranian border would remain open
to them for another thirty days, during which time Kurds who wanted to come
across would be welcomed; they would, he assured, be “given jobs and treated as
our own citizens.” After that, the border would be sealed.
Osman was outraged. Was the struggle of a people who had sacrificed
their blood and treasure to be turned on and off at the pleasure of this one
man? He spoke up to protest. “When you promised to help us there was nothing
said about pulling back . . .” The shah cut him off in midsentence. “I am
telling you my decision. There is nothing to discuss.” Barzani listened in
silence and departed in silence, too disgusted or too downcast, Qazzaz thought,
even to ask the shah to reconsider.
But meeting afterwards with his senior advisors, Mullah Mustafa
declared that the armed struggle would continue. He sent his two sons, Idris
and Mas`oud, into Iraqi Kurdistan to regroup the Pesh Merga for a return to the
hit-and-run guerrilla tactics of the 1960s. He flew back to his headquarters in
the village of Nauperdan ,
just over the border in Iraq .
At a gathering there a few days later, under a large tent set on a barren
hillside, Barzani described the agreement between the shah and Saddam Husayn as
only a temporary setback for the Kurdish cause. He was, he said, “90 percent
confident” that things would work out for the best. These remarks surprised the
military commanders and party officials who had assembled to hear Barzani.
After Barzani left, everyone gathered around Qazzaz. What, they asked, gave
Barzani cause for such optimism? Qazzaz couldn’t answer. Did Barzani know
something he hadn’t shared with others? Or was he simply trying to keep morale
up?
Very soon, however, Barzani’s optimism changed to resignation. On
March 18, meeting with senior military commanders, he announced he could not go
on. Iran , he pointed out,
would be closing its border to the Kurds on April 30; Turkey had already closed its border; and the
Iraqi army would seal off Kurdistan to the
south and west. It was a hopeless situation, but if anyone wanted to take up
the battle in his place, Barzani said, he would give that man his full moral
support. The offer, however, seemed more pro forma than real. To those who
heard him, it was clear that Barzani was saying “this is the end, we must stop
now.” So when he canvassed the room, the commanders agreed that without an open
border through which to receive arms and supplies, it would be impossible to
continue; all save one,`Ali `Askari, who asked for a few days to sound out his
troops and then acknowledged that he too considered resistance futile.
Many of the commanders, battle-hardened men, left this meeting
shattered, in tears. When the news spread, there was utter chaos among some of
the Pesh Merga units. Some soldiers smashed their weapons, others threw them
into gulleys or rivers in despair, still others wept and spoke of suicide. There
was an outcry of disillusionment, of shock and bitterness over a past of wasted
hopes and dreams and a future that offered only a bleak choice between exile in
Iran or return to Iraq on faith of the Ba`th government’s offer of an amnesty
that all knew would very likely–and that for many thousands did in fact–mean
exile, prison, or death. The shock of the collapse prompted Barzani’s personal
physician and aide, Dr. Osman, to break with Barzani and denounce him for
giving up the armed struggle.
What happened to change Barzani’s mind so drastically in the few
days between the two meetings? It was noted that just before making his
announcement on March 18, Barzani received two telephone calls from Tehran . Had the Iranians
threatened him? Had the Americans intervened to discourage him? No one could
say for sure, but later some who knew Barzani well concluded that this man, who
had led every major Kurdish revolt since the 1940s, was moved less by threats
than by sheer egotism. At seventy-two, he knew he no longer had the iron health
and the boundless energy to lead another mountain guerrilla campaign. In the
war just ended, unlike his earlier ones, he had kept mostly to the comfort of
his headquarters. No longer was he able to make the all-night marches for which
he was famed, over mountain terrain between one position and another, surveying
the enemy’s dispositions, giving instructions, occasionally even joining in
battle. If Mustafa Barzani could no longer lead, how could anyone else? He
simply had no confidence, it was said, in the ability of others to do what he
had done for so long.
A few Kurds judged him even more severely. It wasn’t just that
Barzani didn’t consider anyone else capable of taking his place; the truth,
they felt, was that he didn’t want anyone to take his place. He could not bear
the thought of another man picking up the reins that he had held exclusively in
his own hands for so long. So if Mustafa Barzani could no longer direct the
Kurds in their struggle, no one should.
GUEST OF THE SHAH
With the end of the Kurdish revolt, Barzani became the “guest” of
Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi, the very man who had betrayed him. He and members
of his family were moved to a house in the Tehran
compound of Sazman Kashvar Va’amniyat Ettala’at, better known as SAVAK, the
shah of Iran ’s
secret police agency. The house, spacious and comfortable, lacked nothing
material. Still, Barzani found himself living under virtual house arrest, cut
off from his followers and from the rest of the world, a prisoner. Frustrated,
fretful, and depressed by his failure, he became increasingly concerned about
his health. Ever since the early 1970s, he had suffered a pain in his left leg
that caused him to limp and restricted his movements. The doctors diagnosed it
as spinal stenosis, a pinched nerve in popular parlance, nothing life
threatening, just one of the many potential complications of old age.
Now, however, a new and more troubling symptom flared up–a pain in
his upper right chest. By early July 1975, it became insistent enough for
Mullah Mustafa’s son Idris to ask Dr. Najmaddin Karim, a young Kurdish
physician from Kirkuk ,
to examine his father. As a student at the Mosul University
faculty of medicine, Karim was consumed by Kurdish nationalist fervor. The
moment he finished his residency, in August 1973, he left to join the Barzanis
in the mountains. Together with Dr. Osman, Karim set up a small field hospital
at Barzani’s headquarters. As Osman became drawn into the political and
military direction of the war, Karim took charge of the hospital, attending to
hundreds of patients daily, too absorbed in his work to involve himself in
headquarters politics or even to follow the war’s progress very closely. He
gradually took Osman’s place as the Barzani family’s physician.
A cursory examination told Karim that the old man’s heart was
sound. The problem, he discovered, was a painful lump near the collarbone.
Karim suspected lung cancer. That was what the symptoms indicated, and Barzani
smoked heavily. He never smoked store-bought cigarettes; he rolled his own
using the pungent tobacco of the Kurdish mountains. He smoked the equivalent of
two or more packs a day and had done so for almost sixty years. A diagnosis,
however, could not be made without taking x-rays. Barzani stoutly refused, and
he refused just as insistently to see the Iranian specialists that the shah
wanted to send him. “I don’t want to have any x-rays here,” he told Karim. “If
I start treatment here, they’ll never let me go, they’ll tell me to finish my
treatment here.”
He wanted to get to the United States, not just because he expected
to get better medical care there but to plead the Kurdish case, in person, to
Henry Kissinger, who only two weeks before the shah’s agreement with Saddam
Husayn had written to Barzani: “I want you to know of our admiration for you
and your people and for the valiant effort you are making.” Barzani counted on
having influential allies in the United States ,
in particular Senator Henry “Scoop” Jackson, the powerful conservative Democrat
from the state of Washington ,
and George Meany, head of the AFL-CIO, both of whom had been effusive in their
support for Kurdish rights. He also expected to find a sympathetic hearing
among the American public. Illness served as a means to break free of his
Iranian prison and get to America .
Neither the shah nor Kissinger wanted Barzani parading about the United States exposing the embarrassing and
still secret story of America ’s
aid to the Kurds of Iraq and its abrupt abandonment of them. But Mullah Mustafa
did in fact have powerful friends in Jackson and
Meany, friends who could bring out his story if they thought he was unjustly
denied medical treatment in the United
States . Reluctantly, the shah and Kissinger
decided the safest course would be to let Barzani come to the United States
for diagnosis and treatment but to keep his movements and contacts carefully
circumscribed. The CIA would make all arrangements–and pay all bills–while CIA
and SAVAK officers would at all times escort Barzani and the members of his party.
And so it was that Barzani was finally allowed to travel to the United States ,
arriving on that steamy afternoon in August 1975.
TREATMENT IN THE UNITED STATES
Mohammed Dosky, a Kurd from a prominent family in northern Iraq , first
visited Barzani at the Mayo Clinic in September 1975. Dosky, a stocky,
pokerfaced man in his mid-forties who looked a decade older, had admired Mullah
Mustafa Barzani since childhood but had never been active in the Kurdish cause.
He had been an officer of the Iraqi diplomatic service until 1971, when the
Ba`th regime in Iraq issued a regulation requiring those married to “foreign”
women–women who were neither Arab nor Muslim–to divorce their wives or resign
from government service. At that point, Dosky decided to leave both the Iraqi
diplomatic service and the country itself. With his American wife, whom he had
married while a visiting student in the early 1950s, he moved to the United States .
Before going, he offered to put his diplomatic experience to good
use for the Kurdish cause. He sent out feelers and met Barzani, who appreciated
his skills. Few Kurds at that time lived in the United
States , and Barzani’s Kurdistan Democratic Party had no
representation in Washington ,
so Barzani asked Dosky to make contacts for him there and report back. Dosky
arrived in Washington
in 1972, and made the rounds of Congress and the State Department. He developed
contact with Senator Jackson, and with Jackson ’s
young assistant, Richard Perle; and with George Meany, and Meany’s son-in-law,
Ernest Lee, who headed the AFL-CIO’s foreign department.
But Dosky was a latecomer to the Barzani entourage, and as such did
not enjoy their full trust. He was not informed when Mullah Mustafa’s son Idris
and Dr. Osman traveled secretly to Washington
for meetings at the CIA headquarters that same year. Nor did he have a part in
the subsequent relationship between the Barzanis and the CIA, though eventually
he got wind of it. It wasn’t until after Barzani came to the United States
in August 1975 that Dosky was accepted, albeit still with some reservations,
into Barzani’s inner circle.
When Dosky visited Barzani at the Mayo Clinic in September 1975, he
realized that for all practical purposes, the Kurdish leader had become a ward
of the CIA and of SAVAK. Dosky’s subsequent trip to the clinic in early October
had a cloak-and-dagger quality. He arrived in Rochester in the afternoon and registered
under a false name at the hotel where Barzani was staying, adjacent to the
clinic. Dosky then called the room number Shafiq Qazzaz had given him.
Forty-five minutes later, Qazzaz and Mas`oud Barzani, who had by then joined
his father in Rochester ,
knocked at Dosky’s door. They explained the plan. At 8:30 p.m., the two of them
would take the CIA and SAVAK officers to dinner. They would lay on the Middle
Eastern hospitality, buy drinks and order several courses, and so keep their
guests at the dinner table for at least two hours, giving Mullah Mustafa ample
time to confer with Dosky.
Dosky found Barzani sitting in bed, looking well enough, but his
hair fallen out from radiation and chemotherapy. Barzani listened intently as
Dosky read a letter from Senator Jackson and conveyed an oral message from
George Meany. The message from Meany interested Barzani in particular, for Meany
proposed to launch a publicity campaign in favor of the Kurds. After hearing
the two messages, Barzani startled Dosky.
“Do you think the AFL-CIO could abduct me from here?” Barzani
pointed out that he had been at the clinic since August. He had completed radiation
therapy, and the chemotherapy he was now receiving could be administered
anywhere. He had asked repeatedly to be allowed to go to Washington , but his CIA minder kept finding
excuses. It was always next week, or tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow.
Perhaps, Barzani suggested, Dosky could hire a small plane, and while Mas`oud
and Shafiq kept the CIA and SAVAK men at dinner he could slip out of the hotel
with Dosky and fly to Washington .
Dosky didn’t tell Barzani how ridiculous he found the idea. This
was, after all, the United
States , not some Middle Eastern police
state. You didn’t hire a plane; you just got on a commercial flight. But Dosky
didn’t want to argue with Barzani, so he said only that he was sure it could be
managed one way or another. Barzani instructed Dosky to work up an escape plan
and come back to see him the next evening.
When Dosky returned, he was surprised to find himself greeted
coldly. “Did you talk to anyone since you saw me yesterday?” Barzani shot at
him. Only Shafiq and Mas`oud, Dosky answered. Why did Barzani ask? “Because
this afternoon the CIA man came to me and said they have approval for me to go
to Washington .
I thought maybe you talked to them.” Definitely not, Dosky assured. Perhaps
there was a listening device in the room, Dosky suggested. Should he check?
“Don’t bother,” Barzani replied. “If we find it, they’ll just put another one
somewhere else.”
Barzani instructed Dosky to return to Washington
and arrange for him to see not only Jackson and Meany but Senator William
Proxmire of Wisconsin
and others. Dosky flew back to Washington
the next day, then waited . . . and waited. Two weeks passed and he had heard
nothing. At the beginning of the third week, Dosky called the hotel in Rochester . The party, he
was told, had long since departed, leaving no forwarding address. Dosky was
near panic. Had the CIA kidnapped them, had it sent Barzani back to Iran , or taken
him to some secret place of captivity?
At the beginning of the fourth week, Qazzaz called. He explained
that the CIA had taken Barzani and the members of his party for a “vacation.”
They had spent a week at Lake Tahoe, in California ,
and toured elsewhere in the West. Three days earlier they had arrived in Washington , where the CIA lodged them in a house in the Virginia suburbs with a
telephone that didn’t work. CIA minders had taken Barzani and his party on a
“sightseeing tour” of Washington .
The CIA drove them by the White House and informed them “this is the White
House” but refused to stop when Barzani asked them to. Same story at the
Capitol. Qazzaz had only managed to get away on the pretext of seeing his
daughter by a marriage, then ended, to an American woman living in the Washington area.
Later on the day of the call, Dosky met Qazzaz in the lobby of the
Marriott Hotel in Rosslyn, just across from Georgetown . The CIA, Qazzaz reported,
insisted that Mullah Mustafa return to Iran . Barzani was resisting, saying
that he didn’t want to leave until cured, that he couldn’t get proper treatment
in Iran , that if he had to
leave the United States , he
wanted to go to Switzerland
or Sweden
or someplace where he could be assured of good medical care. The answer to all
these objections, Qazzaz said, was a blunt “the shah wants you to go back.”
When Barzani resisted returning to Iran , the answer to his objections
was a blunt “the shah wants you to go back.”
Barzani finally gave in, fearing, Dosky thought, that if he
continued to refuse, harm might come to his followers or his family living in Iran . He was to
be granted one small concession before departing. Barzani had repeatedly asked
to meet with Henry Kissinger, sure that if only he could lay the case before
Kissinger, the secretary of state would set things right with the Kurds. The
old Kurdish warrior had no idea how badly he had misjudged the man who had
written to him so warmly in earlier times. Kissinger would later (it was said,
though he denied it) dismiss the entire episode of U.S. aid to the Kurds with the
contemptuous remark that “covert action should not be confused with missionary
work.” He had no intention now to see Barzani. Evidently, however, he thought
it imprudent to snub Barzani entirely. So he instructed Joseph Sisco, his
undersecretary for political affairs: “Hear Barzani out and let him blow off
steam, nothing more.”
For Sisco, it was a distasteful mission. Sisco had been assistant
secretary for Near East and South Asian
affairs in 1972, when Kissinger had first established the clandestine aid
channel to the Kurds, but Sisco hadn’t known anything about it. Even after he
became undersecretary in 1974, Sisco was not made privy to the handling of the
program or any of its details, all of which remained strictly in Kissinger’s
hands. Now, however, Kissinger asked him to face the man who felt himself
betrayed by the termination of that program.
Sisco was driven in darkness to the CIA safe house where Barzani
and his party were living. Barzani struck him as not looking well, but he spoke
vigorously and expressed dissatisfaction with the way he had been treated. He
went over the history of his dealings with the U.S. government and spoke of the
trust he had placed in the Americans. He had never trusted the shah but when
the Americans backed him, he said, he was confident of not being abandoned. He
would never have gone to war with the Baghdad
government had he had any doubt about the firmness of the U.S.
commitment.
Sisco explained that the United States had come in to help
the Kurds at the request of the shah; and now, at the request of the shah it
was pulling out. Bound by his instructions, Sisco could not hold out any hope
that the United States
might reconsider. He could only say that he would report to his superiors what
Barzani had told him.
Barzani’s visit to the United States came to an end in
late October 1975. On the morning of his flight back to Iran , the CIA
minders delivered a six-month supply of medication to him. Dosky and Qazzaz
both thought it a cynical gesture. The agency, they were sure, had been told by
its physicians that Barzani couldn’t last more than half a year. They didn’t
expect to see him again, and the medicine was their way of saying a guilty
goodbye.
If that was in fact their intention, they were wrong, but hardly
more so than the doctors at the Mayo Clinic. The diagnosis at Mayo, after x-rays
and blood tests in August, was “aggressive cancer.” The cancer had metastasized
from the lung into the upper chest and had become inoperable. “It will spread
rapidly,” the attending physician at Mayo told Shafiq Qazzaz. “I would say he
has perhaps eight months to a year to live.” A less hardy man might not have
lived even that long. But Mullah Mustafa Barzani’s iron constitution
carried
him for three and a half more years.
AGAIN PRISONER OF THE SHAH
Back in Tehran ,
Barzani was once again a prisoner of the shah, cut off from the people he had
earlier led. Many of them had voluntarily gone back to Iraq , but several hundred thousand remained in Iran and their
reception in no way resembled the one the shah had promised. Most were in
heavily guarded camps, without jobs, living on near starvation rations and
continually threatened with forceable return to Iraq
or dispersion to remote areas of Iran . Having followed Barzani
blindly, many now cursed him, blaming him for the disaster that had befallen
them.
It was a depressing time for Barzani. His brother, Sheikh Babo, a
friend and companion since childhood, died in February 1976. Qazzaz and Karim
were with Barzani when the news came. Neither had ever before seen him in
tears. Now they watched as he wept with abandon, like a wounded animal. Babo’s
death seemed to unleash all the sorrow that was pent up in Mullah Mustafa, and
his illness made the time more depressing still. He was ambulatory, and his
cancer was kept in check by the chemotherapy, but the chemotherapy itself made
him sick. Dr. Karim, still the family’s personal physician, administered the
treatment at a hospital in Tehran
and stayed with Barzani afterwards through the vomiting and the pain, giving
him intravenous fluids and medication to make him more comfortable.
Barzani lamented his return to Iran . It had been a great mistake,
he told Karim. He wanted to go back to America . If only he could get there
once more, he was sure he could persuade the Americans to resume their aid to
the Kurds and oblige the shah to reverse course. The Iranians ignored Barzani’s
request to return to the United States ,
as did the American embassy in Tehran .
So Dosky was put to work in Washington .
After Barzani had left Washington ,
Dosky avoided on-the-record interviews for fear of causing the Barzanis trouble
back in Tehran , but he did quietly spread word
about Barzani’s illness and how he had been treated by the CIA during his U.S. stay. In
November 1975, Dosky went to see Daniel Schorr, a CBS television newsman, and
gave him the story. Schorr broadcast it on the CBS Evening News, and on
February 16, 1976, The Village Voice published excerpts from a secret
congressional document that confirmed both the Nixon administration’s covert
aid to the Kurds and its shamefully abrupt cutoff.
Early in May 1976, Dosky called on Sidney Sober, a deputy assistant
secretary of state for the Middle East . Sober
initially brushed aside Dosky’s plea for a U.S.
visa for Barzani and for the State Department’s intervention with the shah’s
government to allow Barzani to leave Iran .
“We can’t interfere in Iran ’s internal affairs,” Sober
declared. “The shah doesn’t allow such things.”
Dosky decided he would have to get tough. “Last year I told CBS
certain things about how the U.S.
has treated Barzani,” Dosky said, “but there is a lot more to tell. Now Barzani
is a dying man. If you don’t allow him to come back for medical treatment, I’m
going to tell the whole story.”
Dosky was bluffing. Interviewed more than a decade later, he
admitted that he had not known much more than he had already told Schorr; and
in any case, he wasn’t at all sure Barzani would have authorized him to speak
out. But the bluff worked.
A worried Sober replied, “Wait, let me look into this and I’ll get
back to you.” Two days later, Sober told Dosky that the State Department would
authorize a visa for Barzani. All he had to do was send his passport to the U.S. embassy in Tehran . But how was Barzani to get the
Iranians to give him a passport? Dosky asked. That’s not our affair, Sober
replied. Dosky blew up.
“Politically you have murdered Barzani. Do you intend to do it
physically too? The man is sick, he needs to come here for treatment. To deny
him this treatment means killing him. There is no reason for this. Your
relations with Iran
are very good. Barzani is not going to do any harm to you or to Iran if he is
allowed to come here for treatment.”
Dosky could see that he had made an impression. “I’ll call you back
in a day or two,” Sober said. Forty-eight hours later, Dosky was back at the State
Department. “All right,” Sober said, “we have been informed that the Iranians
will let General Barzani go.” But, Sober added, there were conditions for
Barzani’s stay in the United
States . This time he would have to come at
his own expense; and he would have to commit himself not to meet with the media
or make political statements. Dosky agreed but said he had conditions of his
own: this time Barzani would not be controlled by the CIA. He would be free to
go where he liked and to meet with anyone so long as he did not have contact
with the press.
THE UNITED STATES, REVISITED
In June 1976, Mullah Mustafa Barzani deplaned at John F. Kennedy Airport
for the second time. Dosky, who was at the terminal to meet Barzani, was
disturbed to find a tall American whom he quickly identified as a CIA officer
waiting for the Kurdish leader. The man protested that he had come only to
welcome Barzani because he had known him earlier. Nonetheless, the agency did
at first continue to track Barzani and, despite Sober’s insistence, to pay for
him. When Barzani went to the Mayo Clinic for a checkup and treatment, a CIA
officer was there, too. On moving to Washington ,
the agency rented him a luxury suite at the Shoreham Hotel, the same suite that
Spiro Agnew had kept in the days, half a decade earlier, of his vice
presidency. In early August, the agency hosted a lavish dinner there for
Barzani with senior people from its operations directorate and from the State
Department.
As the year before, the CIA and SAVAK again tried to persuade
Barzani to return to Iran .
This time, however, he refused. He was still persuaded that somehow he could
work a turnaround in American opinion, and he knew that in Iran he could
do nothing for the Kurds and could not get the medical attention he needed.
When Barzani refused to go back to Iran , the CIA cut off his funding.
Dosky found him a house on the outskirts of Georgetown ,
where he stayed for approximately a year before moving across the Potomac to McLean . Barzani returned periodically to Mayo, and in
between visits there was given radiology and chemotheraphy treatments at Georgetown University
Hospital and at Sibley Hospital .
The cancer was kept in check and he was able to lead a more or less normal
life. He met with Senators Jackson and Proxmire, with George Meany, Congressman
Stephen Solarz of New York ,
and others. Still, he chafed under the State Department’s ban on public
appearances, the more so as journalists insistently pressed him for interviews.
In the spring of 1977, Roberta Cohen, executive director of the
International League for Human Rights (at the time, the only significant
American human rights group), invited Barzani to her New York office. Outraged over the
Department of State’s violation of Barzani’s right to free speech, Cohen reasoned
that the federal government could muzzle an alien but it couldn’t tell her, an
American citizen, not to speak to journalists. Cohen brought the old Kurdish
warrior together with reporters in the same room, invited the reporters to ask
her questions, which she in turn asked Barzani, to which he then replied–in the
reporters’ presence–to Cohen. This charade brought protests from the State
Department, but by then Kissinger was no longer secretary of state and a
Democratic administration that proclaimed its dedication to human rights had
taken office. Barzani did not have to worry about being deported.
Barzani’s lobbying efforts got Congress to let some one thousand
Iraqi Kurds admitted to the United
States as refugees, but that was all. He
could not bring about the reversal of American policy he had been so sure he
could accomplish, or even put the Kurdish question on the U.S. foreign
policy agenda. The Kurds continued to be ignored, and, increasingly, so was
Barzani. Morris Draper, the State Department’s office director for Northern
Arab affairs, for a time maintained contact with the Kurdish leader. Barzani
was flattered by Draper’s attentions. But in 1978, Draper moved up to become
deputy assistant secretary and turned his liaison with Barzani over to Mary Ann
Casey. Casey was a more junior officer, but it was less her position that
bothered Barzani than the fact that she was a woman, which to him meant that
the U.S. government considered him to be no longer of any importance
whatsoever. With Draper, he had always been restrained in his expressions of
disappointment over his abandonment by the United States in 1975. He continued
at first to be so with Casey, but one day late in 1978, Barzani exploded. He
poured out to the young woman all his rancor over what he regarded as an
unpardonable betrayal.
To Dosky, Barzani frequently lamented the trust he had placed in
the United States .
“If I had known that America
is such a mixture of people, who nobody knows where they came from, I never
would have done it,” he remarked on one occasion. On another, he blurted out:
“How was I to know that the CIA isn’t a part of this nation, that it is
disliked so much by the Congress and the people of America ?”
From early 1977 until his death in March 1979, Barzani was haunted by
an overwhelming sense of failure. Frequently, he blamed others but at times he
took responsibility upon himself. Once, in the summer of 1977, while Barzani
was lunching at a Middle Eastern restaurant in the Washington, D.C. area with
Qazzaz, Dosky, Karim, and Jamal Alamdar (his former representative in London),
a man approached their table and addressed them in Arabic. “You are Kurds,
aren’t you?” he asked. “I hear you speaking Kurdish.” The man identified
himself as an Assyrian, a sect that had suffered almost as much as the Kurds as
the result of the collapse of Barzani’s rebellion. Not recognizing Barzani, he
declared: “So tell me, how is it that this man Barzani who is supposed to be so
wise, how is it that he could have done such a stupid thing as to put his trust
in the shah of Iran?” Barzani sat silently while others told the man to mind
his own business. But as they left the restaurant Alamdar noticed that Barzani
was very quiet. Seeking to comfort him, Alamdar said he hoped the Assyrian’s
remarks had not upset him. In a voice barely audible, Barzani replied, “No,
everything he said is quite true. I was very stupid. I have been a failure.”
American friends also sought to comfort Barzani. They reminded him
that he had accomplished great things in his life. They assured him that he
would be remembered in history as a great man. But when they tried to persuade
him to dictate his memoirs, he steadfastly refused. “If I had been a success, I
would,” he replied on one occasion. “But my life has been a failure. There is
nothing worth telling.”
Barzani’s cancer remained essentially in check until the very end
of 1978, when it began to spread rapidly. His condition worsened and he became
bedridden and was flown back to Mayo early in January 1979. When Barzani left,
the attending physician remarked sadly to Dosky, “I don’t think I will see him
again.”
Barzani went back to his house in McLean .
Early in February, when he realized there was nothing more the doctors could do
for him, Barzani announced that he wanted to return home, to die on Kurdish
soil, even if only in Iranian Kurdistan. He charged Dosky with making
arrangements for a flight to Tehran
but the plan immediately ran into trouble. When the airlines learned that
Barzani would require an oxygen cylinder during the flight, they demanded
medical certification that he was well enough to survive the journey. Dosky
explored the possibility of a private charter, but found the price prohibitive.
Barzani was still at the McLean
house when, at the beginning of the last week in February, his right arm
swelled frighteningly and painfully, like a balloon. Idris, Dosky, and Mohsin
Dizayee (a long-time Barzani loyalist) urged him to go to a hospital but
Barzani dismissed the advice. “There is nothing they can do for me,” he said.
But a doctor was called in, and on his advice that the arm could be drained to
relieve the swelling, Barzani went to the Georgetown University
Hospital . Dosky and
Barzani’s young grandson, Farhad Barzani, stayed there with him every day from 7 a .m. to 7 p.m., while Idris
and Mohsin Dizayee took the night shift. By the beginning of March, Barzani’s
condition had improved to the point where his physicians promised to issue
certification for his travel to Iran .
When Dosky and Farhad arrived at the hospital on the morning of
March 3, 1979, they found Barzani much improved. He was alert and talking and
no longer in pain. The day passed uneventfully. At about five that afternoon
Barzani asked to be moved from his bed to an armchair in his room. Neither Dosky
nor Farhad saw anything unusual in this; it had been done many times before.
Dosky pulled the armchair near to the bed and Farhad, a stocky, powerfully
built young man, placed one arm behind his grandfather’s back and another under
his legs, the procedure he had earlier used. But as Farhad began to lift his
grandfather he was startled to see him turn a deep red. He immediately set the
old man back down on the bed. Barzani rested a moment and then commanded his
grandson to try again. Farhad did not feel right about doing it, but he obeyed,
having been brought up never to question his grandfather’s order.
As Farhad lifted him for the second time, Barzani turned crimson.
His head jerked upwards and then slumped to one side. Dosky hurriedly called a
nurse and within minutes a doctor came. He confirmed that Mullah Mustafa
Barzani was dead.
Farhad seized the receiver from the telephone at his grandfather’s
bedside and began frantically dialing, calling his uncle Idris at the McLean house. He had known the number well, but now he
could not remember it. He put the receiver down and tried to collect himself.
Again he dialed, but only a few digits would come to him. Finally, Dosky spoke
out the numbers while Farhad completed the call.
The body was taken to a funeral home in Washington , and the next day hundreds of
Kurds crowded the waiting room to pay last respects to their fallen leader. On
March 5, 1979, the coffin bearing Barzani’s remains was placed in the aisle of
the first-class cabin of an Iran Air Boeing 747. Idris Barzani, Farhad Barzani,
Mohsin Dizayee, and Mohammed Dosky sat aside it throughout the long trip to Iran .
In Tehran
the next morning, the casket and the members of the party transferred to
Iranian army helicopters to be flown to a small town west of Mahabad in Iranian
Kurdistan, adjoining the Iraqi border. There an enormous crowd, larger than any
Farhad had ever seen, waited to welcome Mustafa Barzani home one last time. Men
wept and fired their weapons in the air, and women wailed. The grief of an
unacknowledged nation poured out across the wintry Kurdish mountains.
In death his mistakes were forgiven. Mustafa Barzani was no longer
a failure but once again the hero that he had been for so much of his life, the
greatest the Kurdish people had ever known. The date was March 6, 1979, four
years to the day that Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi stepped off his plane from Algiers and issued the
orders that brought Barzani and his people to ruin and exile; and only a few
weeks after the same Mohammed Reza Pahlavi was driven from his throne, hated
and reviled by his people.
Kissinger’s Letter to Barzani
The personal files of the late Mohammed Dosky, the Kurdistan
Democratic Party representative in Washington during the 1970s, contain the
following “paperless paper,” a communication not on letterhead and with only
the barest of identification (the salutation includes no name, the sender
provides only his initials). We believe it to be a genuine letter from
Secretary of State Henry Kissinger to Mustafa Barzani, transmitted to him
through CIA channels.
February 22, 1975
My Dear General:
I was most pleased to receive your message of January 22, 1975. I
want you to know of our admiration for you and your people and for the valiant
effort you are making. The difficulties you have faced are formidable. I very
much appreciated reading your assessment of the military and political
situation. You can be assured that your messages receive the most serious
attention at the highest level of the United States Government because of the
importance we attach to them.
If you would like to send a trusted emissary to Washington to give the U.S. Government
further information about the situation, we would be honored and pleased to
receive him. I am convinced that secrecy has been of paramount importance in
maintaining our ability to do what we have done; it is only for this reason –
plus our concern for your personal safety – that I hesitate to suggest a
personal meeting here with you. I look forward to hearing from you.
Please accept my sincerest good wishes and high esteem.