



1 / 16 Chevron Chevron Sebastian Meyer Women and children walk past a gas flare. Kirkuk, Iraq, 2010.

The Kurdish region of northern Iraq stands between different worlds: present and past, modernity and tradition, freedom and danger.

The area has been autonomous since 1991, following the end of the Gulf War, when American jets set up what they called a “no-fly zone” over Kurdish territory, effectively preventing Saddam Hussein’s armies and air force from moving into the area. With a different language, history, and culture, the Kurds have stood apart from the rest of Iraq ever since the country was carved from the desert, in 1920. In the quarter century since the Kurds have been on their own, they have built something close to an independent state, with a flourishing economy and a thriving local culture. With the rest of Iraq in turmoil—the Kurds face ISIS along a six-hundred-and-fifty-mile-long front—the region is a refuge of calm.

The pictures by the American photographer Sebastian Meyer, who documented Iraqi Kurdistan between 2008 and 2016, capture the region’s contrasts, which often exist side by side. Drive around Iraqi Kurdistan today and you might find, on this side of the road, workers manning a high-tech oil pipeline, which pumps crude north into Turkey and on to the Mediterranean; on the other side, a group of farmers taking a break, setting down their scythes in a scene that looks as old as a century. During the day, you drive past a gleaming new high-rise tower in Erbil or Suleimaniyah, the region’s two biggest cities; at night, you attend a Kurdish wedding, where the families of the bride and groom celebrate in a way that hasn’t changed for generations. But the rollicking present is deceptive; everywhere, the relics of history present themselves, usually in the form of the leftover detritus of some past war. Mass graves—dug by Saddam’s armies, filled with Kurdish bodies—still mark the landscape here, are still being discovered, excavated and emptied.

The influence of the United States is evident everywhere; thousands of Americans live and work in the Kurdish region, where, unlike in many other parts of the Middle East, the locals openly express their gratitude and admiration—the Kurdish region of Iraq may be the safest place to be an American in all of the Middle East. The neighborhood of Ainkawa, in Erbil, is perhaps the most Westernized slice of the Kurdish region; bars and restaurants stay open late, women walk the streets in dresses, and many Westerners call the place their home. You can even hear church bells; Ainkawa is a predominantly Christian neighborhood; since ISIS captured much of the rest of northern Iraq, Ainkawa has taken in thousands more Christians seeking refuge.

The biggest unsettled question of all is independence. Ask almost any man or woman on the street, and he or she will tell you that autonomy isn’t enough—the Kurds want their own state. The huge reservoirs of oil in the ground seem to make it at least theoretically possible. But as the Kurdish region is landlocked and surrounded by rivals, independence is not so simple. With ISIS on the ropes and the government in Baghdad reeling, the next few years could prove decisive—when the Kurds may finally decide to chart the future on their own.

A book of Sebastian Meyer’s photographs from Iraqi Kurdistan, titled “Under Every Yard of Sky,” will be published in the fall of 2017, by Red Hook Editions.