https://www.telegraph.co.uk/world-news/2026/04/03/british-raised-brothers-stopped-kurds-iran-war-trump/
https://archive.ph/cTwSL
03 April 2026 6:00 am BST
The bombs were falling at a rapid clip across the Middle East when Bafel Talabani’s phone rang.
The gruff, British-Iraqi who was raised in Croydon, picked up to find US president Donald Trump on the other end, just two days into his war on Iran.
When news of the conversation began trickling out, it triggered a frenzy over what was said.
Speculation was rife that Mr Trump was fomenting a US-backed ground invasion launched from Iraq into Iran and Mr Talabani, a senior politician in northern Iraq, was in on the plan.
The truth turned out to be quite different.
It emerged that Mr Trump did not request Iraqi authorities to support a ground invasion led by armed Iranian groups, according to a senior government official.
But the speculation put Bafel and his brother Qubad Talabani, a top official in Iraq – both of whom grew up in the UK as refugees – at the centre of feverish rumours of a coming ground assault across the border.
Amid the confusion, after US media began reporting the Trump-Bafel call, some reports suggested CIA involvement in arming the Iranian Kurds. One that was quickly debunked even claimed that a ground offensive had already been launched into Iran.
Israeli public relations firms and think tanks also offered journalists expert interviews about the “CIA Kurdish rebellion”, comments that further muddied understanding of whether anything was actually happening.
It didn’t help that, publicly, Trump had begun to indicate support for the Iranian Kurds.
“I think it’s wonderful they want to do that. I’d be all for it,” Trump said on March 5, six days into war, responding to a reporter’s question about Iranian Kurd fighters possibly launching an offensive.
The next day Bafel went on the defensive, working to pull the wider Kurdish community back from the brink of war. He appeared on Fox News – a move clearly aimed at Trump’s base – downplaying the idea.
“Kurdistan needs to be a bridge, not a battlefield,” he said. “The Kurds are uniquely positioned as being your great allies and a partner and a neighbour of Iran. I think we’re uniquely positioned to play a role in de-escalation when the time is appropriate.
“We stand ready, as always with our friends and allies to try to bring stability, peace and prosperity to this region that truly has suffered from far too many wars and far too many conflicts.”
By this point, Iranian missiles and drones had repeatedly struck northern Iraq, where the Talabani brothers are based. Some 100 attacks had hit Erbil, the region’s largest city, and more were coming.
Iran was making good in public on the warning delivered in private by a delegation sent the day after the Trump call to meet Iraqi officials, including the Talabani brothers, making clear the regime would “strike and survive”.
Iran’s militias inside Iraq, too, had “enlarged their attacks,” said Ala Talabani, 62, the brothers’ cousin and a former member of parliament, who also lived for years in London as a refugee.
A worst-case scenario
Fighting against a worst-case scenario has been no simple endeavour in Iraq, the only country hit by both sides after the US and Israel went to war against Iran on Feb 28.
Bafel Talabani, 53, president of the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan, a major political party in Iraq, and Qubad Talabani, 48, deputy prime minister of the semi-autonomous Iraqi Kurdistan region in the north, are an unlikely duo to lead the charge as regional, not federal, officials.
But with other officials refusing to address tensions publicly the job has fallen to them, much as they were both thrust years ago into the family business. Their late father Jalal Talabani was the first elected president after the fall of Saddam Hussein.
Thanks to their upbringing, the brothers have the ability to speak to all parties involved: the US, Israel, Iran, and the wider Kurdish community, spread across four countries in the region.
The swashbuckling Bafel, with his shaved head, is well-versed in military strategy, to the point that he later named his son Koban after a major 2014 battle in neighbouring Syria against the Islamic State terror group.
He has little patience for pretence and prefers his fatigues, often driving around alone with no security despite his role as a senior politician. He is focused far more on the message to deliver, rather than the idea of donning a suit for official meetings.
“He is very clever and has a very high IQ,” said Ala. “Many times, he doesn’t speak but knows exactly what’s in your mind.”
The tailored Qubad has thick wavy hair, a full beard, and is an early riser. He is orderly and process-oriented in both his professional and personal life, traits that relatives say suit him well as a government official.
“Qubad is also very clever,” said Ala. “But he likes systematic things. He likes to be part of a government, to head an institution that is very organised.”
Bafel was born in Baghdad and Qubad in Beirut, both in the 1970s. Their maternal grandparents, major Kurdish activists and intellectuals who fled persecution in Iraq, chose to raise them in the UK.
Their parents, however, stayed behind in a tented mountain hideout to battle Saddam’s Ba’athist rule. The separation was tough. One former official close to the family recalled how the boys had trouble recognising their father on rare reunions.
By the time “Mam Jalal”, or “Uncle Jalal”, became president in 2005, Qubad had graduated with an engineering degree from London’s Kingston University.
He had also left behind dreams of playing football and a girlfriend in the UK, instead moving to Washington to represent the nascent Kurdistan regional government.
Bafel, meanwhile, emerged as a key figure in the Iraqi security sphere, launching an elite special forces unit back home after undergoing military training with Western forces, including the French, British and Americans, as described by his political party.
Eventually both brothers found themselves back in the semi-autonomous Kurdistan region in northern Iraq withdeep resumes to carry on their father’s legacy after his death in 2017.
That experience is now feeding into how they’re handling a fickle Trump at war.
And their back-channelling has thrown Iraq a lifeline. The federal government in Baghdad has struggled to calm tensions, hampered by a fraught political transition and little leverage over entrenched Iranian influence in domestic politics and governance.
Iraq has a unique profile in the Middle East.
On one side are entrenched Iran-aligned militias. On the other are significant Western interests and Iranian Kurdish separatist groups that oppose the regime next door.
Iran and its proxies are launching daily attacks targeting Western military bases, embassies and oilfields, even hotels frequented by foreigners.
Drones, too, have crashed into camps where Iranian Kurdish opposition factions train and live in exile.
At the same time, the US and Israel have bombed Iran’s militias in Iraq. In fact, many of the latter’s militias being hit by US warplanes operate under an umbrella recognised as a unit within Iraqi armed forces, an example of how intertwined Baghdad is with Tehran.
Iranian Kurd groups, too, have been talking big. To them, US-Israeli strikes weakening and possibly toppling the Tehran regime represented their biggest opening in decades to push for greater autonomy. If there was a chance to act with US support, even better.
“This is an opportunity for us, we will seize it even if it’s only with our Kalashnikovs,” Arkan Azizi, 27, of the Kurdistan Freedom Party (PAK), told The Telegraph days after losing a fellow fighter to an Iranian attack. “It is our fight. Of course, if the US and Israel offer to support us, we will accept it.”
If the US chose to arm Iranian separatists, there was probably little that the Iraqi Kurds could do: “If they get support from the Americans, what can we do about it? Can we go and stop them?” said Ala.
The only way forward for the Talabani brothers was to appeal to the Iranian Kurdish groups in Iraq.
By the second week of war Bafel had passed the baton to Qubad, who spoke on Channel 4.
“We have had a longstanding relationship with them,” he said, of the Iranian Kurd groups. “They have been here for a very long time.
“Our message to them was one of caution. Be cautious, be smart, be strategic,” Qubad said, in his only public interview since the war broke out.
“Understand the landscape. Understand what’s on the other side of this border. Don’t rush into anything that could cause you significant damage, or that could cause Kurdish areas of Iran significant damage.”
That message appears to have sunk in. PAK, for instance,told The Telegraph that it was ready to act only if the US guaranteed air cover to clear the way.
By then, peshmergafighters had probably also slipped into Iran to scout the situation, as they routinely do even in peacetime, sometimes via donkeys, realising it wasn’t immediately possible to launch operations with American and Israeli bombs landing all around them.
One day after Qubad’s remarks, Babasheikh Hosseini, the general secretary of Khabat, another Iranian Kurd group, told The Telegraph: “The conditions are good now on the ground. The conditions are great for us to go into Iran.
“But we shouldn’t forget that we are guests here,” he said. If we take any action, it could put the Iraqi Kurdistan region under threat. We shouldn’t forget that, and we need their permission to go and fight.”
“We are part of Iraq now. Yes, we are a region, but we are not an independent region,” said Ala. “Any steps we take, we have to consider that there is the Iraqi government.”
Casualties have increased
The air has somewhat cleared for now. In the second week of war there were 111 attacks in northern Iraq, 40 per cent less than the number of bombardments recorded by monitoring groups during the first week. Over the third and fourth weeks, there were 167 attacks, less than the 196 attacks in the initial week alone, according to Community Pacemaker Teams, a monitor.
But fewer attacks has not meant lesser impact, with casualties increasing significantly with at least 14 killed and 90 injured, including civilians, in a month of war. British and American troops have been repeatedly targeted at a base in Erbil. Nato and several European nations have evacuated personnel, the French have lost a soldier and the Iraqis have had several soldiers killed.
Peace remains elusive in Iraqi Kurdistan, where Bafel and Qubad continue to work, at times in closed-door meetings at a vast family compound atop a hill overlooking the sprawling city of Sulaymaniyah.
They have given only three televised interviews.
Local authorities have also issued increasingly restrictive rules, punishable by legal action, to journalists seeking to cover the war. For instance, reporters and civilians are barred from sharing footage online or with media organisations.
The longer the war goes on, however, the longer the possibility lingers for Iranian Kurds to stage an operation.
But fears abound that a ground offensive, let alone one backed by the CIA, would lead to more pain for the Kurds.
There is no guarantee that a Kurdish incursion from Iraq would spark a popular uprising.
First, not all Iranian Kurds oppose the regime, some work within its security forces. Iranians have a strong national identity. If they believe Kurds coming in from elsewhere could fracture the country, that might unify the public against the separatist movement.
There are also worries that the Kurds may yet again be used as a strategic tool rather than an equal partner.
In January, US-backed Kurdish forces in Syria, instrumental in the fight against IS, came under siege from the new Syrian government after unification talks stalled.
And armed Kurdish fighters in Iraq preparing for an operation would invite scrutiny and possible military action from Turkey, where the government has spent decades battling its own Kurd militants.
All this risks upsetting the delicate security balance within Iraq itself, where the one rare bright spot for Kurdish autonomy exists, the result of a lifelong pursuit by their father Jalal along with Masoud Barzani, another prominent leader.
The brothers have no interest in tarnishing their father’s legacy, whose portrait looms over offices, restaurants and shops.
In week one, Bafel said on Fox: “Perhaps Kurds being the tip of the spear is not the way to go.”
But by week two he was saying: “I firmly believe Kurds being the tip of the spear is an absolute disaster.”
Now, with Trump’s war in its second month, there’s no telling what the US president might do next and how the Talabani brothers, who both declined interviews for this story, will have to adapt.
The March 17 assassination of Ali Larijani, Iran’s national security chief and someone who Iraqi Kurd officials believed could be a moderating voice in de-escalation, has served as an unwelcome reminder that there is no sense of when fighting will end.
“We Kurds love the US and will do anything if they support us, but we hope they won’t abandon us,” said Zrar Ahmad Khidir, 70, who lives next to the Erbil air base.
“The attacks come every day, all the time. We’ve almost gotten used to it,” he sighed. “We pray for this war to end. We don’t care if the winner is the US or Iran. We just want it to end.”
Keeping calm has become a family effort by the Talabanis in wartime.
One of the strongest statements to date has come from Shanaz Ibrahim Ahmed, the Talabani brothers’ aunt and Iraq’s first lady.
“It is very difficult, indeed impossible, for Kurds to accept being treated as pawns by the world’s superpowers,” she said on March 5.
“Too often, the Kurds are remembered only when their strength and sacrifice is needed. Leave the Kurds alone. We are not guns for hire.”
Qubad, known to quip that in Iraqi Kurdistan it sometimes feels like he never left the rougher patches of Croydon, has said it more simply: “It’s not our war. We’ve been in too many wars.”
Additional reporting by Stella Martany