Shovels of Gold and Shovels of Corruption

When the gold rush struck the United States in 1848, hundreds of thousands of people set out with their shovels and pickaxes in search of the dream of wealth.

They slept in the open, crossed deserts and mountains, and one might return with a piece of gold that changed his life, or return empty-handed after wasting his life in pursuit. But the gold there was buried in the earth, and belonged to no one before its finder claimed it through his effort, sweat, and adventure.

In Iraq, however, it seems we are living through another fever, no less fierce, but more ugly and painful. It is the fever of seizing public funds, where shovels are no longer directed toward the depths of valleys and mountains, but toward state treasuries, projects, contracts, and budgets.

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Here, some are not searching for gold buried in the earth, but for gold extracted from the pockets of the poor, the dreams of youth, and the future of coming generations.

The American gold rush produced cities, roads, markets, and institutions, and contributed, along with all its excesses and tragedies, to building a growing economy. In contrast, Iraq’s corruption fever has produced cities of ruin, eroded roads, exhausted institutions, hospitals lacking even the most basic service provisions, and schools in need of rescue before they collapse on top of their students.

In the United States, the gold prospector risked his money and life to gain a fortune that might or might not be his. In Iraq, however, some corrupt officials risk nothing but further audacity, knowing that the law may slumber, accountability may be delayed, and slogans can sometimes conceal the largest acts of plundering public funds.

The question that imposes itself today is: If the gold rush drove people to carry shovels in search of the earth’s treasures, will there come a day when Iraqis carry their shovels and head to the farms and palaces of politicians in search of their stolen money? Will we see an ordinary citizen say that what he seeks is nothing but his stolen share of a homeland that was supposed to be rich in its people before it was rich in its resources?

This question is not a call for chaos, nor incitement to violate the law; rather, it is a symbolic image reflecting the magnitude of accumulated public anger.

When a citizen feels that his rights have been buried somewhere, he begins to question where those rights went. When he hears about billions of dollars that have evaporated, projects that never saw the light of day, palaces, farms, and wealth that has grown in ways difficult to explain, he bitterly asks: Where did Iraq’s gold go?

The most dangerous thing corruption does is not the loss of money, but the loss of trust between the citizen and the state. The state does not collapse merely when its treasuries are emptied, but when people lose faith that the law can restore their rights. At that point, the shovel, once a tool of construction, becomes a symbol of protest, and the question about stolen funds becomes more prominent than the question about the nation’s future.

Experiences of nations have taught us that peoples do not search for gold when justice is present; rather, they search for justice when gold disappears. Iraqis do not wish to dig in anyone’s farms or palaces; they never dreamed of being treasure hunters, but of being citizens who live with dignity in a state that protects their wealth and holds accountable those who violate it.

The path to recovering Iraq’s gold does not run through shovels and pickaxes, but through a strong, independent judiciary supported by all, robust oversight institutions, political will that knows no compromise with corrupt officials, and public awareness that does not allow thieves to be turned into heroes. Nations are not reclaimed by digging in the earth, but by digging deeply into corruption files until the truth emerges into the light.

An Iraqi writer