The hidden toll of Iraq’s online trading craze

Shafaq News

On a cold evening in Diyala, Saad sat at the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on his phone screen as a Telegram notification lit up. The message—from a stranger who had never shown his face but spoke flawless classical Arabic—gave him the exact second he should enter the next trade. Saad felt a rush of certainty; this was the moment that might change everything. He had already skipped work twice that week, convinced that one good trade could lift him out of the financial pressure tightening around his life.

He didn’t yet know that this “signal” would become the beginning of a spiral—one that would drain his savings, strain his marriage, and leave him wondering how a glowing world of digital promises had drawn him so deeply in.

Saad is one of many young Iraqis swept into the booming world of online trading and digital betting. Pressured by a stagnant job market and lured by apps that glamorize quick success, thousands enter platforms that appear harmless at first—fast, modern, and full of opportunity. Yet the stories emerging from Diyala, Baghdad, Basra, and beyond reveal a pattern of an early excitement that quickly turns into debt, addiction, and emotional collapse.

Read more: Youth in despair, no jobs to share: Iraq’s workforce hanging in the air

A Shortcut in a Tough Economy

Across Iraq, economic uncertainty has opened the door wide to digital trading and betting apps that advertise wealth with the swipe of a finger. Influencers and international platforms have perfected the language of seduction: screenshots of profits, testimonials of overnight success, and promises of mentorship by “experts” who speak directly to users.

For young Iraqis whose incomes barely cover essentials, the appeal is immediate.

“This is the future,” Saad remembers his friends telling him. “Everyone is making money.”

He started small—depositing $1,000 into a trading app. His first week yielded $500 in profit, an amount that felt life-changing. It was also, he now realizes, the hook.

“Early wins convince you that you're on the right path,” he said. “You keep chasing the next trade.”

Like many others, Saad soon found that earning more required “unlocking” additional signals by referring new users. Each referral promised more opportunities—but also drew more young people into the same vulnerable cycle.

Saad’s initial success faded quickly. As the pressure to earn grew, he deposited $2,000, hoping to double it. Instead, he lost everything in a single trade.

“I became obsessed…I left my job just to be ready for the next trade. When I lost the money, I broke down.”

Young men across Diyala echo similar stories—sleepless nights, anxiety, and a growing sense that their lives revolve around numbers on a screen. Some face family tension, others turn to borrowing, and many hide their losses out of shame.

The trend has spread far beyond trading charts. In cafés, construction sites, and delivery hubs, young Iraqis scroll through betting apps between shifts. Football matches—once purely entertainment—have become high-stakes opportunities for quick cash.

A young man from Diyala described it bluntly: “People used to watch football to enjoy it. Now they watch to gamble.”

Some take out small loans. Others sell their smartphones for cheaper ones, using the price difference to place bets. A doctor reportedly lost nearly $7,000 in a single session. Delivery workers bet their weekly earnings. Unemployed youth who hope for a breakthrough end up in deepening cycles of debt.

The spiral is predictable: small wins → increased confidence → bigger bets → sudden collapse.

Read more: Lost Fortunes: Iraqi youth risk all in the world of Crypto and Forex

Legal experts warn that Iraq offers little to no protection for users. Most trading and betting platforms active in the country operate without licenses, without local representation, and without any obligation to return funds when accounts are frozen or manipulated.

Human rights activist and legal advisor Haytham Raed explained that users who lose money have no formal authority to turn to.

“These platforms operate outside any Iraqi oversight,” he said. “If funds disappear or accounts close, there is no legal channel to recover anything.”

Informal intermediaries—some based in currency-exchange shops, others operating entirely through social media—facilitate transfers that leave no paper trail. When disputes arise, victims have no way to verify transactions or hold anyone accountable.

Raed points to another structural problem: limited financial literacy. “Young Iraqis often enter trading out of need, not knowledge,” he said. “They follow untrained influencers, fake mentors, or promotional schemes disguised as financial education.”

Many “trainers” sell unregulated courses or push high-risk strategies tied to referral commissions. The line between education and marketing has blurred so deeply that users often cannot distinguish between real advice and bait.

For some, the confusion deepens when they discover—too late—that certain transactions involve prohibited derivatives, interest, or other forms of financial activity that violate religious guidance.

Without accessible, official fatwas addressing modern trading platforms, many youth enter these apps unaware of the ethical implications. Some leave the platforms not just financially harmed, but morally uncertain.

Cybersecurity specialists warn that the risks go far beyond financial loss. According to Ali Hazbar, a professor of cybersecurity, the information young users provide can be exploited for identity theft or fraud. Many platforms lure users with small initial profits, then suddenly freeze accounts, block withdrawals, or simply disappear.

“In the current digital chaos,” Hazbar said, “there is no law capable of protecting young people from these platforms. Iraq needs updated cyber legislation and consistent monitoring.”

He argued that awareness campaigns—workshops, school programs, digital-literacy sessions—are no longer optional. They are a national necessity.

What drives young Iraqis to these platforms is not greed but hope—hope for stability in a stagnant economy, hope for opportunity where few exist, hope for independence in a world that feels increasingly out of reach.

But the illusion of easy wealth often collapses just as quickly as it appears. For Saad, the lesson came at a cost he still feels today. “I thought I found a way out. Instead, I lost everything.”

Across Diyala and beyond, the glow of digital profit continues to pull more young people toward the same uncertain path. As long as economic pressure grows and oversight remains weak, experts warn that the cycle will expand—bringing with it deeper financial losses, psychological strain, and a generation caught between digital dreams and harsh reality.

Written and edited by Shafaq News staff.