A True Story of ʿAzāʾ al-Tawērīj in the Time of Saddam

During the brutal rule of Saddam Hussein, public mourning for Imām al-Ḥusayn (ʿa) was tightly controlled in Iraq. Many rituals were banned, including the annual ʿAzāʾ al-Tawērīj, the powerful run from the outskirts of Karbala to the shrine of the Imām — a reenactment of the sorrowful villagers of Tawērīj who, upon hearing of the tragedy of Karbala, ran barefoot in grief to offer support, though it was too late.

But despite the threat of arrest, torture, or worse, the love of Ḥusayn (ʿa) could not be silenced.

In 1983, a young hawza student from Najaf named Shaykh Ḥamīd al-Baṣrī was secretly sent to Karbala during Muḥarram to deliver religious guidance to small underground majālis. On the day of ʿĀshūrāʼ, he was told by local believers that some were planning a secret Tawērīj run at midnight.

“Midnight?” he asked.

One of the organisers, a middle-aged farmer named Ḥājj ʿAbbās, replied, “Yes. We run without slogans, without drums. Just feet on the earth and hearts on fire.”

That night, nearly fifty men gathered quietly at the old road near Ayn al-Tamr. No flags, no cameras, no chains of matam. Just tears. Some had tied black cloths around their heads. Others walked barefoot, whispering “Yā Ḥusayn, Yā Gharīb Karbala.”

As they began to run, Shaykh Ḥamīd felt something rise within him — not fear, but love. Each step was an act of defiance, each breath a declaration: We are the servants of Ḥusayn, not of the tyrants.

Suddenly, headlights appeared. A Baʿathist patrol car. The men scattered. Some hid in ditches, others ran into the orchards. Shaykh Ḥamīd jumped behind a broken wall and began reciting Ziyārat ʿĀshūrāʼ under his breath.

The next morning, Ḥājj ʿAbbās was arrested.

Years later, after the fall of Saddam’s regime, Shaykh Ḥamīd returned to Karbala. At the gates of the shrine, he found a plaque:

“Here lies Ḥājj ʿAbbās al-Karbalāʾī — Martyred for mourning Ḥusayn.”*

With trembling hands, Shaykh Ḥamīd whispered:

“You reached him, Ḥājj. You weren’t late like the men of Tawērīj. You arrived.”

That night, he joined a crowd of hundreds of thousands, now free to cry and run in the streets of Karbala. But his heart remained with that silent midnight procession — where the love of Imām al-Ḥusayn (ʿa) had conquered fear, and a single step had become an eternal march.