Space, Time and People: How the destruction of Mosul’s heritage is reshaping its people’s future

By Omar Mohammed

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“A man sets out to draw the world. As the years go by, he peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, instruments, stars, horses, and individuals. A short time before he dies, he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the lineaments of his own face.”

— Jorge Luis Borges, The Aleph and Other Stories

Introduction

“How does an historian [ethnographer] write about violence [against the history of his own city]? How can he make sense of violent acts, for himself and for his readers, without compromising its sheer excess and its meaning-defying core? How can he remain a scholarly observer when the country of his birth is engulfed by terror?”

— Errol Valentine Daniel, Chapters in an Anthropography of Violence

These were the questions raised by Errol Valentine Daniel in his book Chapters in an Anthropography of Violence. His words seemed meaningful to me while I was writing this chapter. It is almost impossible to make sense of the events that happened in Mosul in recent years, but I will nonetheless try to shed light on the history of violence against space and time.

For centuries, Mosul created and maintained a unique cultural identity that seems similar to that of neighbouring cities. It has endured periods of bloodshed and extreme change in its structure, rule, and architecture. Any other city could have given way to what might have been a completely new system and social fabric after every foreign invasion.

The city of Mosul has experienced almost 300 invasions by various foreign nations and empires. Nevertheless, it has always protected its cultural heritage and identity, whether through language, literature, or visual memory. Since its destruction by the so-called Islamic State (also known as ISIS, Daish, or ISIL), much research has focused on its tangible heritage without understanding its role in shaping the local identity. Space is the context through which we can examine the formation of time and ideas, or as my title implies, People and Time. Arguably, history works when people can engage daily with their inherited surroundings. The recent invasion by the so-called Islamic State and its subsequent defeat have left the city with a staggering loss of its tangible and intangible heritage. Furthermore, we have seen, since this destruction occurred, hundreds of articles treating and discussing culture as a material object disconnected from its main function of producing the city’s identity.

This chapter aims to treat the ties between cultural heritage and cultural identity and their effect on Mosul’s future by examining the urban space, time, and people. It will provide examples of its cultural heritage and demolished historical sites and the discussions that they have triggered in the city since the ISIS occupation. While the culture of Mosul is known for its diversity — from its ancient history to its early Christian presence, and its Jewish and Islamic heritage — this chapter will focus on the Islamic heritage as its case study, but it does not intend at all to ignore or downplay other aspects connected to its culture and history.

Religion and urban structure

To understand the urban structure of post-ISIS Mosul, we should first explore its role in the formation of the historical and social narrative of the city. We need to know also the conceptual and contextual justifications that ISIS used to legitimize its destruction of Mosul’s cultural heritage. ISIS announced its goals in advance, citing a document based on a verdict by a Yemeni scholar named Muhammad ash-Shawkani (1759–1839). Nevertheless, the main question should not be whether ISIS used an Islamic perspective that viewed the whole cultural heritage as a form of idolatry. The question should instead try to understand why ISIS systematically chose to destroy Mosul’s historical sites, and from which historical narrative did they view the city and its urban structure.

Mosul’s sophisticated urban space went through several transformations during its long history. The city is known as “The City of Prophets” for having been the residence of a number of prophets. It is also known as “The Mother of All Mosques”. The city’s structure formalized its cultural identity during the period of Ottoman rule, particularly under the Jalili family. During that time, the Waqf (endowment) became an expression of power. The Jalili family endowments, until today, make up almost 70% of the historical sites of Old Mosul. The city witnessed rapid growth through the building of religious institutions such as mosques, schools, and law courts. When we look at the map of Old Mosul, we can quickly see how the increasing number of such buildings was related to the economic and political control of the leading families. It became a tradition in the city to surround a religious building with suqs and khans.

Having more than 600 mosques and shrines, the history of the city is deeply rooted in the Islamic narrative that ISIS confronted. Once it occupied the city in 2014, ISIS carried out a systematic destruction of Mosul’s identity. First of all, its leaders forced the city’s non-Muslim inhabitants to flee, destroying their monuments to remove their heritage from the city’s history. Then came the destruction of its ancient Assyrian monuments and cultural sites. After this brutality against Mosul’s non-Islamic past, the invaders turned to the Muslim community; they began systematically to destroy Islamic archaeological sites, as well as museums, libraries, and manuscripts. They also aimed at Mosul’s linguistic heritage. Where the city once had a rich, peaceful vocabulary of everyday words and phrases, the group implemented a vocabulary of violence and social division. They introduced their medieval vocabulary. We began to hear diwan instead of wizara (ministry), hisba instead of shurta (police), Bayt al-mal (house of money) instead of al-Bank al-Markazi (central bank). New labels were applied to the social classes: ansar (helpers) were the ISIS “local” members and fighters; muhajirun (immigrants) the ISIS foreign fighters; and munasirun (allies) those non-members who supported and welcomed ISIS. ISIS opponents who were jihadists were called mukhalifun (transgressors). Finally, āmma (commoners) were the lower classes who opposed ISIS.

An impenetrable urban space: the destruction and reconstruction of Al-Nuri Mosque

Opinions vary regarding the destruction of al-Hadbaa minaret, its importance, and the importance of the Old City of Mosul, in which ISIS’s last military operations led to its destruction. It is therefore important to explore the role of the old city’s historical icons in shaping its people’s cultural identity. I am writing in two capacities: as an historian and as a native who grew up in the city and witnessed it before, during, and after its ISIS reign.

This essay will attempt to disengage Nur ad-Din Zenki and Al-Nuri Grand Mosque, and to reaffirm the historical facts. Al-Nuri Grand Mosque was not built on religious or sectarian bases, as many propound. That great mosque was never external to Mosuli functionalism. ISIS’s employment of the mosque does not necessarily make the Mosulis and their attachment to the mosque and its minaret responsible for the rise of ISIS. The minaret served Mosul as a symbol of perseverance and survival that has historical roots in the Mosuli psyche.

In this regard, the Mosuli historian Ahmad Qasim Jum’a, who spent 40 years studying the history and blueprints of Al-Nuri Grand Mosque, said in an interview:

When a Mosuli says “I am the son of Al-Hadbaa,” and if you were to get the stones to speak, they would have addressed bold speeches and given significant meanings to the Minaret and the Mosque. They are located in the heart of Mosul’s markets, and they have a pure Mosuli identity. Over time, the Mosque was the beacon that aided various types of science and letters to flourish, such as geology, architecture, and the pure sciences. It is like a crystal. Once it is illuminated, it shines with Mosul’s heritage in its most exquisite details. It is in itself a remarkable architectural marvel.

The exegesis of the construction of the Mosque and the Minaret determines its urban significance to the Mosulis. Although the mosque was named after Nur al-Din Zenki, the fine details behind it stay within the Mosulis’ functionalism. Al-Imad al-Esfahani (519–579) tells us the background to its construction in his book Al-Barq al-Shami:

The reason for its construction is that there was a large area of ruins at the centre of the city, and the rumours spread about it repelled the people from it. There were legends about those ruins that if anyone tried to build on them or cultivate their soil, that person’s life would dwindle, and whatever one’s goal was, it would never be attained.

Ibn al-Athir also tells us:

[Nur ad-Din] rode in person to its site and viewed it. He climbed the minaret of the mosque of Abu Hadir, looked down on the site of his mosque and ordered that the neighbouring houses and shops should be added to the land that he viewed, but that nothing should be taken without the willing agreement of the owners. He put the Sheikh Umar al-Malla in charge of the project, a pious and good man. The properties were purchased from their owners at most substantial prices and the construction began, on which large sums were expended. The building was completed in the year 568 [i.e. AD 1172–3].

Mu’in ad-Din Omar Al-Mawsili, known as ‘Al-Malla’a’ (died 570 Hijri / 1174 CE), the grand shaykh of Mosul, advised Nur ad-Din to build it. The initiative was primarily Al-Malla’a Al-Mawsili’s idea, and his motive was to inhabit and cultivate this area of ruins. The Mosque was not built on top of any house of worship. The mosque was an innovation to revive the city. For most of the Mosque’s life-span, it bore the name of al-Malla’a. Ṣibt Ibn Al-Jawzi narrated: “It was called Al-Malla’a by this name because he used to fill clay jars [with water from the river], lived from day-to-day work, and never owned anything.”

After finishing the construction of the mosque, life flourished on the area of ruins, and Al-Malla’a Al-Mawsili was successful in reviving it. There is an alley named after Al-Malla’a honouring Shaykh Omar Al-Malla’a, which is what Al-Nuri Grand Mosque was called until the seventeenth century CE. The Mosque was a Mosuli landmark, named after its founder, builder, and then its manager. This association with Nur ad-Din Zenki came after studies that purported to connect the Mosque with Nur ad-Din for the sole purpose of relating it to the Crusades and promoting the idea of Islamic warfare against the Crusaders. The Minaret’s “crookedness” has been interpreted as an anti-government symbol, whereas in fact its arched shape in itself has a supreme symbolism in Mosuli sentiment, as do the markets that were formed near the Mosque.

The Mosuli archaeologist Amir Al-Jumaili, a professor at the University of Mosul, contended the following:

The minaret is a symbol and an identifier of Mosul. Mosulis have always looked at the minaret as their symbol of perseverance. Its existence is coupled with the presence of the Mosulis. Each city has its pigment, and Al-Hadbaa is Mosul’s pigment. Whenever we couple Mosul to the Assyrian Nineveh, we use the Assyrian symbols (the Lamassu) with Al-Hadbaa minaret. The Mosulis spent years preserving its architectural style and Mosul’s memory. Al-Hadbaa’s memory image is not only architectural but also cultural, coupled with the development of the Mosuli colloquial language and society.

For centuries, Mosulis came around Al-Hadbaa regardless of their religious backgrounds. Al-Jami’ Al-Kabir neighbourhood (formerly Darb Daraj) was where Muslims and Christians lived next to each other and practised their crafts and professions surrounding the mosque. Raghad Hammadi, a young lady who lived under ISIS’s reign for three years and witnessed every detail of the liberation war, says in her interview: “Al-Hadbaa is my identity. She, Hadbaa, is not just brick; she is Nineveh’s glory and its glorious history. By blowing it up, they stole our symbol with it. The minaret’s hunchback is no longer hunched, yet it is Mosul’s back that got hunched.”

The Suqs of Old Mosul: the complexity of time and space

The bazaars of Old Mosul, the heart of its social identity, were severely damaged during the battle to retake the city from ISIS. For centuries, the Old Bazaars played a crucial role in preserving and developing a socio-economic system that maintained coexistence in Mosul. They served not just as an economic core for the city, but brought all different groups of Mosul together in a very complicated but solid social structure. In the markets, throughout the history of Mosul, we can learn how Jewish, Christian, and Muslim communities lived together and contributed to the shaping of Mosul’s identity. It was also the area where the Mosuli dialect, oral literature, and proverbs were created.

The Old Suqs (Bazaars) of Mosul, located in its south-east quarter, were the city’s economic heart — one that grew around the medieval markets. The markets’ growth was not just a sign of economic growth in Mosul; it played a significant role in the politics of the ruling elites. It is hard to find markets in the Old City not built around a mosque or a religious building or a historical site. Under the Atabegs (1127 CE) the market area grew considerably and spread north as well as south. After the fall of Mosul to the Mongols in 1258, and throughout the Turkmen years, economic activity was significantly reduced, and the market area shrank to a small enclave. When the Ottomans occupied Mosul in 1534, the economy began to flourish — a trend which continued during the Jalili era, then gradually declined after Ottoman centralization and later during the British mandate, after Iraq’s independence, under Qasim and Saddam.

When ISIS occupied Mosul in June 2014, they effected a systematic change and destruction against the Old Markets that changed their historical identity and darkened the visual memory of the people. Mosul’s markets were established and divided by profession. Each market was named after the primary profession practised there. Other markets were connected to waqfiyyat (endowments) or kuttabs (elementary schools) or to a particular family that owned the area.

Below is the list of the most important destroyed markets in Old Mosul.

• Suq Bab-i Tub (Cannon Gate) — Ottoman suq occupying most of the central area surrounded by Ottoman administrative buildings. It included most of the traditional markets for middle-class people and also sold secondhand products. ISIS changed the architecture of the suq and replaced most of its ancient buildings, which they destroyed. They replaced the suq’s main mosque, Al-Sabunji, with a new mosque they built and named after the former ISIS leader, Abu Bakr Al-Baghdadi. The market was heavily damaged during the battle to retake the city from ISIS.
• Suq Haraj — The word haraj refers to the nature of the market itself, where lower and middle-class city-dwellers go shopping or people come from rural areas to buy or sell products. ISIS razed it to the ground and replaced it with a new market, so the Suq Haraj has lost its historical value. Later, most of it was damaged during the battle to retake Mosul from ISIS.
• Suq Al-Sawwafa (Wool Merchants’ Market) — Located in the heart of the Old Market. It gave its name to one of the city’s notable families, which built its legacy on the wool trade with Britain and India. The market was completely damaged during the battle. The Sawwaf family has now moved to Turkey.
• Suq Al-Attarin (Spice Market) — Of the greatest value to the formation of Mosul’s cultural heritage. It played a crucial role in putting Mosul on the silk road for its trade in spices with China and India. The market also contained the mosque of the Jalili family, Al-Pasha Mosque, named after Husayn Pasha al-Jalili — the second founder of the Jalili family and the Mosuli ruler who defeated Nadir Shah of Persia when he besieged Mosul in 1743. The Mosque was heavily damaged during the battle; the Jalili family and volunteers rebuilt it in less than a year.
• Suq Al-Haddadin (Blacksmiths) — Located east of Old Mosul, a compound of more than 90 shops dating back to the Ottoman era, mostly owned as awqaf belonging to the Jalili family. After 2014, ISIS remodelled most of the shops and did significant damage to the Ottoman style. It was destroyed during the battle. Volunteers have now partly renovated it with support from the Jalili family.
• Suq Al-Atamih (The Dark Market) — An Ottoman market, known for its architectural design that always keeps the market dark and protected. It was destroyed during the battle to retake Mosul from ISIS.
• Khan Al-Jumrik (Customs Khan) — Owned and built by the Jalili family. It was Mosul’s station on the Silk Road that served as its centre for international trade. Renovated by the Jalili family after the battle.
• Bab-i Saray (The Palace Gate) — Named after the old wall of Mosul. The Old City’s central market that contains Suq Al-Attarin, Al-Sagha, Al-Haddadin, Al-Najjarin, and Al-Atamih. Mostly damaged during ISIS and later during the battle.
• Khan Hammu Al-Kaddu — One of the few compounds built by the Al-Kaddu family with two levels in the middle of the 18th century, during the Ottoman era. The khan contains more than 300 shops and was used by Ottoman officials as a customs office. Destroyed during the battle; the Kaddu family decided not to rebuild it.

Even though ISIS and the International Coalition have destroyed most of the markets mentioned above, local residents have restored several historic shops. The problem facing the city of Mosul and its cultural heritage is not how many shops can be restored to preserve the cultural identity. Rather, it is the reconstruction strategy, which has so far ignored both the social fabric and the complicated role of the market as providing a space where people can communicate. The international efforts to rebuild Mosul have, due to the planners’ lack of understanding of the Old City and its socio-economic fabric, accelerated the decline of this cultural heritage and its ability to protect the future of the city.

The uncounted destruction: private libraries and Kuttabs (elementary schools)

Mosul, like any other Middle Eastern city, developed and flourished under Islamic rule, where education was at the heart of the state agency. Since the 17th century, Mosul has witnessed the emergence of many schools that were attached to mosques or separate private schools. For the founders, establishing a school was an act of power and influence in the city. Families like the Jalilis and Umaris were at the heart of this competition.

During the battle to retake the city from ISIS, most of the schools and private libraries in Old Mosul were destroyed or severely damaged to a degree that they cannot be restored. There have been dozens of articles discussing the destruction of Old Mosul, but none has mentioned these schools and libraries. Therefore, this chapter documents the destruction.

• Ibn Yunis Al-Nahawi — Located in Al-Shahwan district on the shore of the Tigris river. Known as Al-Zayniyya, referring to Zayn ad-Din Ali Kutchek, the father of Muzaffar ad-Din Gökböri. Heavily damaged during the battle. Completely razed to the ground by the governor of Mosul, Nawfal Al-Akkub, who attempted to demolish the whole Old City after its liberation between 2017 and 2018.
• Al-Ahmadiyya — Built by Ahmad Effendi in the 16th century. The school had more than 260 rare manuscripts. All, including the school, were destroyed during the battle.
• Al-Madrasa Al-Islamiyya and its private library — Attached to the Nuri Mosque, which was destroyed by ISIS in July 2017. It contained Mosul’s rarest medical manuscripts.
• Al-Aghwat — Attached to the Al-Aghwat mosque. None of its manuscripts survived. Built by Ibrahim and his brother Ismail, the sons of the founder of the Jalili family, Abdul Jalil.
• Bab Al-Tub — Built by Abu Al-Tutunji in 1815. Destroyed.
• Al-Pasha School — Attached to Al-Pasha Mosque, built by Husain Pasha al-Jalili around 1778. Severely damaged but recently renovated by the Jalili family. It had more than 368 manuscripts; all were lost.
• Bakr Effendi — Located in Ras-i Kur district. Built by Yunis Effendi in 1780; had more than 115 rare manuscripts. The school and its manuscripts were destroyed.
• Jamshid — Built 1203. Attached to Jamshid mosque in Old Mosul. Destroyed.
• Chuwaichati — Located in Bab-i Jadid, one of the oldest schools in Mosul, built in 1494. Destroyed during the battle.
• Hammu Al-Kaddu — Built by the Kaddu family around 1881. Destroyed.
• Al-Khatun — Built by Mariam Khatun, daughter of Muhammad Pasha al-Jalili, in 1826. Had more than 55 rare manuscripts. Destroyed.
• Khuzam — Attached to Khuzam Mosque, built in 1696 and renovated by Shaykh al-Islam Abu Huda Al-Sayyad by order of the Ottoman Sultan himself. Of great value for containing the rarest manuscripts on Mosul history, all destroyed.

The above list initially contained more than 46 schools and 33 private libraries. The author preferred to select a few examples of the schools to explain the destruction of cultural space in Mosul during the battle against ISIS.

Conclusion

As a historian who has not only documented the destruction of Mosul’s cultural heritage but also witnessed some of it firsthand, and who is now directly following the reconstruction and preservation of this heritage, I tend to be pessimistic about the future of Mosul and its culture. We have witnessed how a lack of understanding of Mosul’s cultural heritage might cause potential conflicts and damaged memory. One of this author’s key observations is that the international response to the destruction of cultural heritage in Mosul has been inadequate. By seeing the community as one divided and in conflict, so were the reactions of the US Department of State and the governments of France and other nations toward Mosul — not as a city that had just experienced the largest known destruction of heritage ever known. This view has caused several problems and triggered conflicts over narratives of whose heritage deserves priority.

This divisive, invidious perspective is triggering more conflicts and is harming the people’s visual memory. The concept of “People of Mosul” or “Mosulis,” in the current discourse, is being used not to refer to the city as a whole; rather, it is limited to the Sunni Muslim community. When Mosul’s cultural heritage was destroyed, a public space, where people developed their narrative, also vanished. Heritage was replaced by rubble and the space with divisive discourse.

One of the consequences of ISIS’s destruction of the heritage was the modification of time and space. The question is not just whose heritage it is, but what the umbrella of this heritage should be — and what historical period should be at the top of the historical narrative. ISIS aimed to impose its narrative of history on Mosul, to cause a change in its social system, after targeting its multi-ethnic and multi-religious society. The consequences of ISIS’s occupation are beyond imagination. To re-establish, revitalize, and stabilize the city will require years.

Finally, I argue that any efforts to preserve Mosul’s cultural heritage cannot succeed — or will trigger more conflicts and do damage — if they do not take into account the micro-details of the formation of that heritage by protecting the Old City of Mosul while rebuilding it.

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For the structured register of the 91 destroyed historical sites discussed in this essay, see The destroyed Islamic historical sites of Old Mosul. The list, drawn from a 2017 satellite assessment by the Italian Ministry of Cultural Heritage and Activities and supplemented by the author’s own fieldwork, accompanies this chapter as an appendix.