\n<\/p>\n
A<\/span>t dawn, a veil of mist clings to the canals of Hawizeh, where sky and water seem to blur into a mirror. In the stern of a narrow wooden boat, 23-year-old Mustafa Hashim scans the marshes\u2019 shallows, cutting the motor and switching to a traditional pole to avoid snagging on invasive roots or thickening mud.<\/p>\n It takes him about half an hour to push through the shrinking marshes to reach Um al-Nea\u2019aj,<\/em> once a vibrant lake teeming with boats and birdsong. Now, the water is about half a metre deep.<\/p>\n \u201cTwo years ago, there were families and fishermen everywhere,\u201d Mustafa says, leaning out of the boat. \u201cYou could hear laughter, the splash of fish. Today, there\u2019s nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/span>Mustafa Hashim, 23, steers his boat to Lake Um al-Nea\u2019aj. With the changing climate, drought and water extraction, navigation is becoming increasingly difficult. <\/span> Photograph: Daniela Sala<\/p>\n On the horizon, flames from the Halfaya oilfield flicker.<\/p>\n Iraq\u2019s southern wetlands \u2013 known collectively as the Mesopotamian marshes \u2013 are among the world\u2019s most endangered ecosystems. Their expanse is believed by some to have contained the biblical Garden of Eden. Recognised as a Unesco world heritage site in 2016 and protected since 2007 as a wetland of international importance under the Ramsar Convention, the marshes once stretched nearly 120 miles (200km) from Nasiriya to Basra, forming a rich and vast aquatic world.<\/p>\n But beneath the surface lies another kind of wealth: oil. Three strategic oil concessions overlap with the protected area: Halfaya, Huwaiza, and Majnoon. The latter, Majnoon, takes its name from the Arabic word for \u201ccrazy\u201d: it is considered one of the world\u2019s \u201csuper-giant\u201d oilfields, with estimated reserves of up to 38bn barrels (5.2bn tonnes).<\/p>\n <\/span>Three generations at home in Abu Khussaf village: Hashim Kasid, Mustafa Hashim and Kasid Wanis. <\/span> Photograph: Daniela Sala<\/p>\n But the processes used to extract that oil have a voracious appetite for water. In a land already threatened by drought and desertification, the wetlands are being sucked dry.<\/p>\n Mustafa\u2019s grandfather, Kasid Wanis, 87, once took his boat from Hawizeh to Basra (about 70 miles) using nothing but a pole and his memory of the route. \u201cWe didn\u2019t know what cars were. We didn\u2019t need them. We were a people of water,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n His 41-year-old son Hashim, Mustafa\u2019s father, grew up fishing these waters. But four years ago, he packed his nets away. \u201cThere\u2019s not enough water to live,\u201d he says quietly.<\/p>\n Crude oil is Iraq\u2019s economic lifeline, accounting for more than 95% of its total exports and 69% of GDP. The country is the world\u2019s sixth-largest crude producer, and the fate of the Hawizeh marshes is tightly bound to that of the oil industry. Since Russia\u2019s invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Europe has sought alternatives to Moscow\u2019s crude, with Iraq becoming a key source.<\/p>\n The connection between oil extraction and water scarcity is direct and devastating. The Halfaya oilfield \u2013 in which the French energy company TotalEnergies also holds a stake \u2013 is operated by a consortium led by PetroChina.<\/p>\n Spanning an area three times the size of Paris, it includes 300 wells, three oil-processing plants, a water-treatment facility, and its own airport to transport foreign workers between the site and international airports. It is state-owned PetroChina\u2019s largest overseas project.<\/p>\n <\/span>Fishermen from Qarmat Ali with the Nahr Bin Umar oilfield across the Shatt al-Arab River. They complain that due to pollution and the river\u2019s increased salinity, they often pull in dead fish. <\/span> Photograph: Daniela Sala<\/p>\n About a decade ago, shortly after PetroChina began operations in the region, six water-pumping stations were built along the Tigris River \u2013 the lifeline that feeds the marshes.<\/p>\n Every day, they extract about 60,000 cubic metres of water, roughly the daily consumption of a mid-sized city. That water is diverted to the oilfields, where it is injected into wells to boost crude extraction \u2013 a standard practice across the region.<\/p>\n The pumping stations are drawing from already diminished reserves. Dams built upstream in Turkey and the Kurdish region of Iraq have reduced water flow into southern Iraq by more than 50% since the 1970s, while Iranian dams on the Karkheh River \u2013 which feeds the Hawizeh marshes \u2013 have also reduced the region\u2019s water supply. Now, feeding this industrial oil complex is costing residents their environment and their way of life, they say.<\/p>\n T<\/span>hese days, Hashim is less worried about dwindling fish stocks than about the military checkpoints. The canals that once led deep into the wetlands are cut off and patrolled. Armed guards control access, requiring local fishers and buffalo herders to hand over their ID cards to enter.<\/p>\n The marshes have become a militarised zone. Authorities say the heightened police and military presence is meant to prevent smuggling and secure the nearby border with Iran just a few miles away. But according to residents, it also serves to suppress local protests.<\/p>\n \u201cThe occupation follows the oil,\u201d Mustafa says. \u201cThey want to cut us off from our land so they can exploit it without resistance.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/span>A water buffalo\u2019s carcass lying where Basra\u2019s northern marshes once were. They dried up after a water-pumping station was built to supply the oilfields of the Italian firm ENI. <\/span> Photograph: D Sala<\/p>\n As the marshes dried, Mustafa did what many others have been forced to do \u2013 he joined the industry he blames for their destruction. In 2023, he and his father worked as subcontracted labourers for PetroChina. \u201cI saw it up close,\u201d he says. \u201cThey call this development, but it\u2019s destruction disguised as progress.\u201d<\/p>\n By the summer, he had quit. That same year, drought peaked and protests erupted across the region, and Mustafa joined them, organising blockades of oilfield access roads. \u201cAt first I told Mustafa to stop,\u201d Hashim says. \u201cBut then he made me see it: this is political, and we can\u2019t stay silent.\u201d<\/p>\n As well as its thirst for water, oil extraction in the region has been linked to devastating pollution. \u201cThis economy is literally killing people,\u201d says Majid al-Saadi, director of the agriculture department in Maysan province. In late 2024, Saadi and his team compiled a confidential local government report into the effects of oil extraction on the region.<\/p>\n The report, seen by the Guardian, documents alarming concentrations of hydrocarbons and heavy metals, chemicals into drinking water, and the collapse of local agriculture. \u201cThis is not just pollution \u2013 it\u2019s expropriation,\u201d Saadi says.<\/p>\n <\/span>Wastewater and polluted foam pour into Basra\u2019s Ashaar canal, next to the Shatt al-Arab River. Basra was once known as the \u2018Venice of the Middle East\u2019 but the canals are now full of sewage. <\/span> Photograph: Daniela Sala<\/p>\n In early 2025, Saadi delivered the report to Iraq\u2019s environment ministry, and says that officials promised to open talks with the oil ministry. But he is sceptical that any action will follow.<\/p>\n For now, the expansion of oilfields in the area continues. Leaked photographs and videos, geolocated by the Guardian, now show excavators, pipelines, and workers digging directly into the heart of the protected zone \u2013 where the new Huwaiza oilfield is now under development.<\/p>\n The exploration has been confirmed by satellite imagery analysis carried out for the Guardian by Placemarks, an independent geo\u2011analysis studio that uses satellite imagery and data to map environmental changes.<\/p>\n <\/span>Fish sold in Nahr Bin Omar. They are not from the nearby Shatt al-Arab River, which has not supplied a big enough catch to sell for years, but from the sea or a fish farm. <\/span> Photograph: Daniela Sala<\/p>\n A contract signed in February 2023 between Iraq\u2019s state-owned Maysan Oil Company and China\u2019s Geo-Jade Petroleum paved the way for the field\u2019s development. The new excavations would directly violate Ramsar protections. But the pact is not legally binding, and depends on states complying voluntarily.<\/p>\n Iraq\u2019s oil and environment ministries did not respond to requests for comment. In July, the interior ministry\u2019s federal security affairs agency said in a social media post that environmental police had \u201cconducted a field inspection \u2026 to monitor potential environmental violations resulting from the activities of oil companies in the Hor al-Huwaiza area\u201d.<\/p>\n It continued: \u201cThe field visit revealed that the pond had completely dried up, with no ongoing drilling, extraction, or disposal of oil waste at the site. However, there were excavations \u2026 being carried out by local companies contracted with the Chinese company Geo-Jade for exploration purposes and the future installation of oil rigs.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/span>The Basra water resources directorate. A local human rights body has warned of a looming humanitarian disaster from water scarcity, pollution and rising toxicity. <\/span> Photograph: Daniela Sala<\/p>\n Jassem Falahi, an environment ministry official, has previously told AFP that the protected status of the marshes did not bar development projects.<\/p>\n However, he added in May: \u201cInvestment is subject to specific conditions and standards that must not disturb the core area \u2026 or affect the site and its biodiversity.\u201d A spokesperson for TotalEnergies said that while it had a 22.8% stake in Halfaya oilfield, it was not an operator, and that questions about the field should be directed to PetroChina.<\/p>\n PetroChina and GeoJade did not respond to requests for comment.<\/p>\n <\/span>Women wait for fishing boats to return with their catch to sell along the highway; 1kg sells for about 1,500 Iraqi dinars or \u20ac1. Fishing continues illegally despite a breeding season ban. <\/span> Photograph: Daniela Sala<\/p>\n Contacted by the Guardian, Unesco stressed its \u201csignificant concern over the continued vulnerability of the natural components of the property to oil and gas developments\u201d.<\/p>\n Deprived of their livelihoods, Hawizeh\u2019s residents are left with few options. In Mustafa\u2019s village, hundreds of homes have been abandoned.<\/p>\n <\/span>Umm Salman with her sons at home in Chibayish. The family lived off catching fish in the marshes for generations but now struggles as the catches shrink.<\/span> Photograph: Daniela Sala<\/p>\n Fresh protests broke out across the marshes three months ago. Hundreds marched near the Halfaya oilfield, denouncing new drilling permits. \u201cThis isn\u2019t just about today\u2019s drilling rights,\u201d Mustafa said. \u201cWe\u2019re fighting so the next generation can know the wetlands our ancestors protected for thousands of years.\u201d<\/p>\n The unrest comes as Iraq boosts oil production amid a worsening water crisis. With another scorching summer under way, the head of Basra\u2019s Human Rights Commission has called for a state of emergency to be imposed, warning of a looming humanitarian disaster from scarcity, pollution and rising toxicity.<\/p>\n What remains in the marshes is a quiet war \u2013 over land, water and memory. \u201cThe government and the companies have turned us into a cake to be divided,\u201d Mustafa says. \u201cThey treat these waters like a business opportunity. For us, it\u2019s life.\u201d<\/p>\n This investigation was supported by Journalismfund Europe and IJ4EU<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" At dawn, a veil of mist clings to the canals of Hawizeh, where sky and water seem to blur into a mirror. In the stern of a narrow wooden boat, 23-year-old Mustafa Hashim scans the marshes\u2019 shallows, cutting the motor and switching to a traditional pole to avoid snagging on invasive roots or thickening mud.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":15559,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[49],"tags":[723,4295,9110,9113,1545,9112,268,7470,9111,401],"class_list":{"0":"post-15558","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-business","8":"tag-ancient","9":"tag-destruction","10":"tag-disguised","11":"tag-dry","12":"tag-industry","13":"tag-iraqs","14":"tag-oil","15":"tag-progress","16":"tag-sucking","17":"tag-wetlands"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15558","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=15558"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15558\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/15559"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=15558"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=15558"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=15558"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}