When American playwright Rajiv Joseph began working on a play about the aftermath of the 2003 US invasion of Iraq, he had no personal experience of setting foot on Iraqi soil or serving in the military to write about the horrors that followed after the US claimed to "disarm Iraq of weapons of mass destruction, to end Saddam Hussein's support for terrorism, and to free the Iraqi people."
His inspiration came instead from a small back-page New York Times article about two American soldiers at the Baghdad Zoo — one who had his hand bitten off by a starving Bengal tiger he tried to feed, and the other who, drunk, shot the animal.
"I was just a graduate student, trying to figure out what to write about, and also struggling to understand what was happening in Iraq. I was very opposed to the war, but also, you know, stuck as an American in any real way of figuring out what actually was going on," Rajiv recalls.
"It was a part of me that wanted to write about it, but I thought to myself, How can I write about this war? I'm not a soldier. I'm not Iraqi. I have no connection to this place. How could I write anything? And why should I if I don't have that kind of connection? But somehow this story allowed me to write just a short scene," he shares with The New Arab.
That short scene, as Rajiv notes, became a ten-minute play — ten pages of a single scene in which two American soldiers talk to each other while the tiger addresses the audience.
'Aliens' in Iraq
According to AFP sources, the tiger in question was named Mamdouh. A rare Bengal tiger, Mamdouh was the zoo's prized possession, raised from birth by the keepers who remembered him fondly as a cub.
By 2011, Adel Salman Musa, the director of the zoo, reflected on the aftermath of the US invasion, revealing that hundreds of animals had either been killed, stolen, or perished from hunger and thirst in their cages.
"But Mamdouh, who was about 14 at the time, was very strong. He survived the hunger and thirst, only to die senselessly a few months later," said Adel.
Rajiv, reflecting on the tiger's story in the play, explains, "I gave the tiger a voice that felt familiar to me, writing from the perspective of a primal being, an animal with no politics, trapped in a place where it didn’t belong."
Drawing a parallel between the tiger and the soldiers, Rajiv notes that, much like Mamdouh, the American soldiers found themselves far from where they were ever supposed to be — in a country they didn't belong.
As Rajiv explains, "The three characters in the play — the two soldiers, Kev and Tom, and the tiger — essentially become symbolic of 'aliens' in Iraq."
The tiger, for instance, serves as a powerful metaphor for the displacement, confusion, and violence that defined the war.
Similarly, the soldiers are depicted as out of place, with Rajiv highlighting a moment in the play when Kev is putting on his uniform.
Though this moment may appear humorous, it carries significant meaning. The uniform, typically a symbol of duty and belonging, instead emphasises the soldiers' sense of alienation. Kev's stress, clumsiness, and repeated failures to put his uniform on correctly underscore how out of place they feel in Iraq, highlighting the disconnect they experience — not just with the country, but also with their purpose there.
From rejection to Broadway
Despite the initial ten-minute play being rejected and "flopping," with "no one responding to it," Rajiv's work would eventually find success seven years later.
Over that time, he collaborated with actors, directors, Iraqi nationals living in New York and Los Angeles, a mother-son translation team from Iraq, and US soldiers who had served in Iraq.
Through this process, Rajiv expanded the scenes, adding Iraqi characters and more complex storylines to create a richer and more authentic narrative.
This fully realised version eventually premiered in Los Angeles at the Kirk Douglas Theatre in May 2009, before moving to the Mark Taper Forum in 2010, where it received critical acclaim.
Its success continued with a Broadway run featuring American actor and comedian Robin Williams as the tiger, along with a Pulitzer Prize nomination, solidifying the play as a major milestone in Rajiv's career.
Reflecting on working with Robin, Rajiv shares, "The opportunity to work with Robin was one of the treasures of my life. And they say, never meet your heroes, but I did — and he didn't let me down. He was a wonderful man, generous and kind, and also a remarkable actor."
Betrayal, trauma, and greed
Turning to the portrayal of Iraqi characters, Rajiv emphasises the need for a figure like Musa, the Iraqi translator, whose experiences reflect the complex dynamics of collaboration and betrayal during the post-war period.
As Arab-British interdisciplinary creative Layla Madanat explores in her essay Traduttore, Traditore (which translates to Translator, Traitor in English), "In Iraq in 2003, the occupying American forces' narrative locked Iraqi translators in a fixed position.
"The translator was one of the 'other', a collective identity necessary to enable the control and subjugation of the Iraqi population by American forces and their self-titled 'coalition of the willing'.
"Therefore, the translator is seen as one of 'them' working with one of 'us', an identity malleable depending on context and intention."
With this in mind, Rajiv therefore portrays Musa in the play not only as someone who worked closely with the US military after the war to bridge language barriers, but also as a symbol of the exploitation and neglect faced by Iraqi translators, who, after aiding the Americans, were abandoned and left vulnerable to kidnapping, murder by militia groups that viewed them as traitors, and broken visa promises from the US, UK, and other 'allied' forces.
One scene in the play powerfully illustrates this dynamic. Musa, struggling to navigate the chaos and uncertainty in the aftermath of the war, asks Tom for weapons he can sell to survive after the Americans leave Iraq. In exchange, he offers a gold-plated gun once owned by Saddam's son, Uday Hussein, which he possesses.
After agreeing to the deal, Tom tricks Musa into the desert. When Musa inquires about the promised weapons, Tom responds with frustration, "I'm not getting you a bunch of f*cking weapons, okay?!"
In defiance, Musa retorts, "Then you're not getting the gold gun! This is not complicated! Capitalism! Thank you! Now you want something for nothing?"
The scene intensifies as Musa, frustrated and weary, vents his anger at the situation, declaring, "I am tired, do you understand?! I am tired of making the same mistake OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN.
"I always work for the wrong people. I always serve the tyrants. Not anymore. I am tired of being made a fool. It's a simple deal. What you want and what I want. Isn't this how the world is supposed to work?"
In addition to the character of Musa, Rajiv introduces the ghost of Uday, whose presence exposes the full extent of the savagery and atrocities committed under Saddam’s Ba'athist regime — horrors that continued to traumatise Iraqis long after Uday's death.
Musa's trauma is especially evident in two pivotal moments. The first occurs when Uday's ghost cruelly reminds him of raping his sister, Hadia — an act that mirrors Uday's notorious pattern of abducting young women and girls from the streets, parties, and weddings to satisfy his sadistic desires.
The second moment unfolds when Uday attempts to justify and even celebrate Musa's violent act of killing Tom in a fit of rage, reflecting Uday's use of violence as a tool to assert power and control within the regime.
As these moments unfold, the audience becomes increasingly aware of the striking emotional contrast between Musa and Uday: while Musa is consumed with guilt, unable to forgive himself — both for what happened to his sister and for killing Tom — Uday remains entirely indifferent.
Ultimately, Uday's utter lack of empathy, combined with his pride in his violent actions, only serves to reinforce the sinister legacy he inherited from his father, the 'Butcher of Baghdad' — responsible for the murder and disappearance of between 250,000 and 290,000 Iraqis.
In one pivotal scene, for example, the ghost of Uday says, "Oh, Mansour! Uday is so PROUD! Stupid kid, American. Ha! He suffered, Mansour. He died slowly in the desert, all alone. And do you know what the best thing is? He called out for you! Begging you to come back and save him! He begged you! Ha! F*ck me, man, you're good!
"That's advanced: getting a man to beg you to come back to him after you've shot him?! And shot him, why? Because he was annoying you! Because he wouldn't shut up. I agree. Annoying people should all be shot and left to die. Because f*ck them! Mansour. Oh, Mansour. Uday is so proud."
Uday's ghost haunts not only Musa but also subjects Kev and Tom, tormenting them throughout the play, with Tom bearing the brunt of it and ultimately embodying the greed and hunger for power that defined Uday.
As the play shows, Uday amassed immense wealth during his lifetime, indulging in luxury beyond reason, with not only a gold-plated gun and a gold-plated toilet seat, but also an array of other extravagant gold items.
Tom emphasises this excess when he remarks, "The Hussein brothers' mansion, jackass. Uday and Qusay. They were stacked with gold and sh*t. Everything in the house was made of gold, practically."
This insatiable greed, driven by Tom's craving for Uday's gold — whether real or symbolic of the pillaging of Iraq's resources, such as oil — becomes a central theme in the play, highlighting the destructive impact of exploitation and the lust for power.
An essential watch
Upon reflection, it is ironic that Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo has had successful runs in both the US and the UK — the very countries that played a shameful role in the invasion of Iraq.
However, this irony also makes Rajiv's decision to stage the play in London at this particular time both relevant and fitting.
Running until the end of January, the play coincides with two significant anniversaries that fall around its run: the 19th anniversary of Tony Blair's 10 January admission that the execution of Saddam Hussein was wrong, and the 23rd anniversary of the massive anti-Iraq War march on 15 February, when between one and two million people filled the streets of London in protest.
Bearing this in mind, it's clear this play is essential viewing. In a time when some still justify the war as a means to "defend the world from grave danger," as former US president George Bush claimed, Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo forces the audience to reckon with the true cost of war — the psychological scars, the brutal acts, and the unsettling reality that the dead never truly leave us.
Rajiv reflects on the broader implications of the play, saying: “I know some people will like it, and some people won't. Some will find it interesting, and some won't.
"But for me, it's really interesting to engage not only with this moment of political chaos, but with what it represents — it's not just specific to that moment, but reflective of so many moments of political chaos, some of which are happening right now in the world, and how different cultures and people interact in those chaotic moments.”
The London production of Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo is directed by Italian-Palestinian theatre director Omar Elerian. Click here to purchase tickets for the shows at London's Young Vic Theatre, running until 31 January 2026.
Zainab Mehdi is The New Arab's Associate Editor and researcher specialising in governance, development, and conflict in the Middle East and North Africa region
Follow her on Instagram: @zaiamehdi_/@zainabmehdiwrites_