‘A politically conscious Kurdish society is emerging’

First published at ANF English.

After the historic call made by Abdullah Öcalan on 27 February, the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) announced its decision to dissolve the organization on 12 May during its most recent congress. This decision continues to generate intense public debate. Many are now questioning the reasons behind the dissolution, what the next phase will look like, and how the state will respond to these significant steps.

Amid ongoing skepticism regarding the state’s stance towards this process, the PKK has stressed the need for legal reforms in order to fully end the armed struggle. It also highlighted the necessity of launching a process of truth and reckoning.

Despite the PKK’s recent statements, the state’s failure to take any concrete steps has sparked both criticism and debate in the public sphere. Various segments of society have begun to voice concerns that this historic opportunity must not be missed, urging the state to act without delay.

Sociologist Engin Sustam spoke to ANF in a lengthy interview published below. In it, he said that the PKK has become a stronghold of resistance for the Kurdish people, and that its struggle has not ended but instead evolved into a new phase.

Sustam emphasized that the Kurdish Freedom Movement has gone far beyond being a classical organization and has now transformed into an international people’s movement. Referring to the latest congress declaration, he said the call made to socialists was particularly significant.

Sustam pointed out that Kurds are sincere in their demand for peace and emphasized that the Turkish public must become more involved in the process. 

He remarked that war and fascist propaganda have poisoned multiple generations, and that there must be a political effort, especially one that sides with the poor, against all fascist narratives.

Finally, Sustam argues that the Kurdish question, rooted in the issue of colonialism, is fundamentally a class issue. He emphasized that the most destructive impact on the Kurdish people has been carried out through assimilation.

The PKK has ended its armed struggle for rights but considering the legacy of both the Ottoman Empire and the Turkish Republic, a new phase of struggle is now beginning. How should this new process be interpreted in both historical and contemporary terms? What might the new fields of struggle look like in this period?

If I may, I would like to respond to your question with a reflection based on collective memory, as a social scientist. It is quite clear that the armed struggle, or in academic terms, mountain guerrilla warfare, had already reached a certain point. Therefore, the decision announced by the PKK is not entirely surprising under today’s circumstances.

In fact, since 1993, the Kurdish Movement has frequently sought dialogue through similar decisions, even during periods of intense warfare. It consistently brought the notion of a peace process to the agenda through unilateral ceasefires. That was during the era of President Turgut Özal. In 1993, there was a ceasefire process initiated in Lebanon’s Beqaa Valley, in which the leader of the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK), Jalal Talabani, also participated.

Following Özal’s death, the process of armed conflict resumed, triggered by the activation of the deep state apparatus. The state, particularly under the government of Tansu Çiller, began to implement a strategy of special warfare. This included assassinations, village evacuations, enforced disappearances, torture, and displacement. The Kurdish region was turned into a spiral of violence by the colonial governors of the deep state.

Of course, the greatest risk in this period lies in precisely these experiences. If we recall the most recent spiral of violence in 2015 and 2016, the fact that such processes were one-sided and that the state was never truly trusted remains a psychological barrier today. The vast majority of Kurds take the decisions of the Kurdish Movement and of Mr. Öcalan seriously, but the lack of trust in the state continues to pose a serious obstacle.

Rather than taking a constitutional step forward, the state still prioritizes militarizing the region and surrounding areas. It continues to use militarist language, and conflicts persist in many regions, including the Medya Defense Zones, where guerrillas held the 12th Congress under the pressure of ongoing military operations. This remains one of the most dangerous aspects of the current moment.

Both sides must fulfill their responsibilities for peace. The Kurdish Movement has taken the most important step within its reach and, in line with its responsibility, is seeking to move into a space of non-conflict. But will the state, as it has done in the past, continue to target guerrillas who have withdrawn and laid down their arms? This kind of conflict risk once again carries the potential to cause serious damage.

For example, we can look at the case of FARC in Colombia. In 1998, and later during the term of President Juan Manuel Santos in 2016 (a centrist-right government), significant peace steps were taken. Yet in 2019, under the new right-wing president Iván Duque, the peace process was suspended, and FARC returned to armed struggle. This shows us how fragile peace can be if one side fails to uphold its part.

How might the peace process, or a new phase, unfold in Turkey? And what is needed to ensure that such a process can function?

Even though peace processes and the cessation of armed conflict inherently involve political risks and the potential for renewed clashes, the Kurds’ geopolitical positioning across various fields now enables us to understand the Kurdish question in an entirely new way. We are no longer talking about a rebellious population led by a limited cadre or intelligentsia, as was the case in the early 20th century. Today, we are speaking of a society that has reached another level, one with political consciousness and practice in every domain.

According to Engin Sustam, Kurds must play a proactive role in this process, particularly through diplomatic engagement, by demanding constitutional guarantees for language and identity rights. He stressed that the issue must not be framed as a threat, and that tensions and conflicts should be resolved through diplomacy. To prevent provocations, such as racist attacks, that could derail the process, it is essential that Kurds call for the presence of neutral international observers with a constitutional mandate.

You cannot choose which government you make peace with. It can be right-wing or left-wing. In Colombia, peace was made with a right-wing government. But you can and must insist that the peace process and the question of a people’s freedom are placed under constitutional protection. Turkey has long been governed under the dominance of coups or by right-wing and far-right parties. Whether Kemalists, Islamist conservatives, or ultra-nationalists, these actors have always held real power.

We must recognize that making peace with this segment, one shaped by the ethos of Turkish nationalism, will not be easy. Of course, among Kurds, subconscious traumas have been triggered due to decades of violence and colonial repression. This should not be ignored.

Therefore, the most crucial first step must come from the government: demilitarize the region. Then open the way for non-military, civilian political engagement, such as ending the practice of government-appointed trustees, and releasing political prisoners. In every sense, the state must renounce the use of military force. Immediate steps must be taken to guarantee a nonviolent environment, and I believe an international peace conference involving international delegations, institutions, and actors could greatly contribute to this process.

The repeal of state-appointed trustees, the dismantling of the village guard system, and the abolition of laws introduced after the July 15 coup attempt that resemble a state of emergency would also be vital. Most importantly, a constitutional guarantee for the post-conflict phase, one that has already begun with the silencing of arms, could become one of the most meaningful democratic responses in Turkey’s history.

From there, the process would inevitably evolve toward broader demands for language rights, identity, equal citizenship, and a decentralized model of local governance. But the real question remains: is the Turkish state truly ready to make peace?

This process, which does not even have a clearly defined name yet, naturally carries psycho-political risks. Beyond the constant unease that things could reverse at any moment, a scenario no one desires, it is a process vulnerable to renewed conflict. This is a conclusion based on past experiences, but it is also deeply connected to the fact that the state has yet to take any serious or trustworthy political step.

As I mentioned earlier, Kurds cannot naturally place their trust in the state, its laws, institutions, or mechanisms. This distrust persists unless the process demonstrates real functionality in practice. Historically, there is no foundation for trust in states. Unfortunately, world history provides too many examples of this. I am not necessarily saying ‘we must trust the state.’ What I am saying is that this issue must truly be socialized and secured within an institutional framework.

This is a process that has continued since the Treaty of Lausanne. Perhaps the first serious step toward breaking certain ingrained paranoias is to fully comprehend this fact. There are hundreds of violent practices and colonial experiences that have led Kurds to distrust the state, and those practices continue to this day.

In light of all this, the questions of ‘Why was the dissolution announced?’ or ‘Why has the Kurdish Movement ended its armed struggle?’ will likely continue to be widely discussed.

Some have even opposed the possibility that this process could evolve into peace. How should these positions be addressed?

In my view, rather than simply developing a stance against such opposition, it is far more important to ensure that all Kurdish dynamics are heard in a democratic manner. At the same time, efforts must be made to address the political paranoia that exists within Turkish society.

We are, of course, living through a strange and unusual time. I have observed carefully that there are two minority groups, on both the Turkish and Kurdish sides, who are oddly opposed to the laying down of arms and now stand in the same camp. One is a segment of Turkish society that profits from anti-Kurdish hatred and has adopted racism as an ideological duty. The other is made up of those who do not trust the state and oppose the PKK’s decision to lay down arms without making any formal demands, or who are simply known for their hostility toward the Kurdish Movement.

These same groups, who were against the Kurdish Movement even when it was engaged in armed struggle, continue to oppose it today, even when the people themselves support peace and reject war. Every day, they flood social media with extreme commentary, posing as experts. Still, I think this is a natural development. This process will inevitably move forward through the debates of many different dynamics.

These discussions show us that nothing is strictly black or white. There are countless shades in between, vibrant and grey zones that help us better understand our political reality. On one side, we have a society raised on anti-Kurdish hatred. On the other, we have a Kurdish society trying to breathe beneath that hatred, one that has completely lost its trust in the system.

Within and between these two groups, the most intense debates will naturally take place. It’s similar to what we see in Israel today, not all Israelis support the war. There is a large, visible opposition movement on the streets, protesting daily and raising its voice against extreme racists, expressing their desire to live together with Palestinians.

This, I believe, reflects the global emotional climate of our time. We are living in an era of authoritarian regimes inclined toward the global far-right. It is a period in which fascism is once again being institutionalized across societies.

When we look at what has unfolded in Turkey over the past decade, it is clear that we are not living in a democratic country. Therefore, when discussing the Kurdish question, the priority should not be to avoid damaging someone’s political or institutional fragility. The priority should be developing radical, institutional, and social practices and guarantees aimed at healing a problem that has become carcinogenic due to colonialism.

Although it may not be very visible in today’s foggy political climate, there are many people in Turkey who support peace and wish to engage in dialogue. Sırrı Süreyya Önder was just one of them. In the same way, the new phase of struggle will likely take shape accordingly.

There will also be those among the Kurds who do not want to believe that the Kurdish Movement saw the possibility of a desired social peace and therefore dissolved itself unilaterally. It seems this is also a political situation that needs to be debated and confronted within Kurdish society itself. For instance, despite very positive reactions coming from all fronts, the Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP), the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK), the Democratic Union Party (DUP), etc.  Statements of willingness to contribute to this process, the discourse on social media appears to reflect something else, likely due to certain psychic-romantic fractures.

Turkish paranoia is being triggered, while the Kurds continue to experience a deep distrust toward the system. Segments of Turkish society shaped by Kurdish phobia and hatred, particularly those within the far right, are not inclined to support a peace process due to the psychological barriers created by their nationalist mindset. I say this not just in reference to the Nationalist Movement Party (MHP), but because we are now facing a new generation of far-right youth, an emerging phenomenon that goes beyond even the MHP.

The denialism emerging especially from Kemalist seculars is so terrifying that it evokes the image of the priests who passed judgment in the courts of the Medieval Inquisition. It shows, pathologically, just how tangled the Kurdish issue is. The irony of it all is that, while the colonized space is the Kurdish region, there is a bizarre paranoia being manufactured in Turkey that claims it is Turkey that is being fragmented and colonized by “imperialists” (in this case, referring solely to anti-American sentiment), which only worsens the severity of the situation.

At this point, it seems we need not the self-proclaimed historians of social media, but rather scientists who, through a reform of the education curriculum, will deeply engage with the historical memory of the Kurdish question. Because this is not just a matter between two institutional structures; the path forward can only be found through the shared initiative of all political and social actors involved.

How does the PKK perceive this new process, despite the criticisms? What is its perspective on the current moment?

The Kurdish Movement is a multifaceted dynamic with distinct dimensions: armed struggle, a social project, national aspirations, and a position within global politics. From what I understand, this peace process is not interpreted solely within the framework of Turkey; it also encompasses the broader Middle East.

The latest developments in Rojava show that the liberation of this region, and its anchoring in a stable autonomous practice, holds the potential to offer a meaningful response to the Kurdish question in Turkey. Some social demands must now be reconciled with peace across different fields.

The Kurdish Movement is saying very clearly: ‘I am laying down my arms in order to help establish the necessary conditions for a civilian peace and shared prosperity without conflict.’ But that does not mean surrendering certain freedoms to a sovereign, as in Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan. It does not mean surrendering liberty for the benefit of a ruler. It means this: for the sake of the Kurdish people’s desire for peace and the removal of conditions of violence, I am refraining from engaging in acts of violence against this state, in pursuit of a civil and democratic environment.

In other words, the time has come for the state to stop acting like an aggressive Machiavellian-Leviathan force that rules through violence and punishment, and instead to make peace with both its own society and the Kurdish people. To make peace with its own society means ending the domination of state sovereignty that has, for decades, subjugated the Turkish people with hate, the rhetoric of ‘internal enemies,’ and endless declarations of terrorism.

This calls for a socially inclusive and radically democratic process, one that takes root in the psyche and pedagogy of society. The state cannot do this on its own. Its role must be to guarantee this process while permanently shelving mechanisms of punishment and intimidation.

At the same time, as you will surely agree, the war has severely damaged perceptions on both sides. It has left behind a traumatized and paranoid sense of exhaustion. The simplest example is the violence and lynching attempts against Amedspor by Bursaspor fans in Bursa, proof that this will not be easy.

The Kurdish question runs through every artery of this country, from the economy to warfare, from society to education. Solving the Kurdish issue will also contribute to resolving all these interconnected areas. Yet of course, as a question of status and equal citizenship, the Kurdish issue appears set to continue in a new form of struggle.

If the path to democratic civil politics is opened, and if both military and civilian tutelage and authoritarian restrictions are lifted, I am confident that Kurds will be able to heal their traumas, and Turks will be able to confront their paranoia. The path of dialogue can then be opened, even for those ultra-nationalist segments that have grown into pathological opposition in this unnamed peace process or fragile social partnership.

Of course, this is not easy. In fact, we may be in an even more difficult period than when the first sparks of armed resistance were ignited. There is an overwhelming wave of hatred and physical attacks directed at Kurds on all fronts, especially when we consider the jihadist paramilitary groups that were active during the Syrian civil war. But it seems that the Kurdish Movement, informed by the memory it carries, is positioning itself at a historical threshold, attempting to open a path toward social peace through an alternative mode of struggle.

This is a movement with a deep memory. What I mean is this: this memory touches on figures like Bedir Khan, Simko, and Seyid Riza; from Osman Sabri to Musa Anter. At the same time, it draws from Wallerstein, Negri, and Bookchin. Perhaps, if we set aside those who speak without considering geopolitical positioning, we can say this: the dissolution of the PKK may mark the end of an era, but also, potentially, the end of its adversaries in other fields that emerged alongside it.

Returning now to your question, perhaps from a broader and deeper perspective: the Kurdish question, which came into being as a consequence of a century of denial and violence under the ethos of Turkish nationalism, has now reached a new stage. We are witnessing a moment in which an organized force, one that had resorted to armed struggle as a necessary response to this oppression, is dissolving itself in order to open the path to civil and democratic means of resolution.

As a sociologist who, like many generations, has witnessed multiple phases of this dynamic, I can say the following: the PKK, which emerged as a movement shaped by widespread support, embraced by many, emotionally resonant for others, and even provoking objections in some quarters, nonetheless embodied a strong foundational desire for peace. Like many Kurdish movements and traditions before it, it expressed the will of a people to seek freedom and demand equal citizenship.

The PKK has, over the past fifty years, fundamentally reshaped the positioning of this issue, which has persisted since the Ottoman era. Reactive approaches that continue to interpret the matter through narrow, chronic frameworks of “success and failure” or via abstract geopolitical institutional analysis fail to grasp the full significance of this transformation.

The question everyone is asking is this: Why did the PKK unilaterally lay down its arms, and how will the state respond? It is clear that reducing the emotional responses, or the opposition to the PKK, to narrow nationalist sentiment, and ignoring the Kurdish Movement’s practices and aspirations for freedom (which is not to say these cannot be criticized), while claiming exclusive ownership over Kurdishness, offers little in terms of meaningful political analysis or action.

Peace occurs between two armed forces, between balance and hegemony, and peace processes do not always unfold along lines of ideal demands. Even when compared to the process of 2013, and given Turkey’s current authoritarian position, while questions and criticisms are certainly valid, it is also apparent that this recent call has been met with significant public support.

The Kurdish people are signaling that the exhaustion of a fifty-year war demands a new reading of the issue. And Turkish society, too, is caught in the vortex of this fatigue.

As an ancient people of this geography, the Kurds are simply demanding their rights, like everyone else, in the place where they live. It is evident that the public expression of these demands and their expansion into a transnational domain have been made possible by the extraordinary efforts of the Kurdish Movement. And going forward, the struggle can continue within the civil sphere, through stronger debates, open dialogue, and constitutional guarantees.

As an anti-system movement, the Kurdish political structure, with the consent and sacrifice of the Kurdish people themselves, has initiated this process in a radical way.

Another issue raised following the dissolution decision is the attempt to create the perception that the struggle has come to an end. Is the 50-year struggle of the PKK truly over with this decision?

As a people’s movement, the PKK exists across many domains and components; as a social movement, an armed movement, legal politics, a cultural force, civil disobedience, and intellectual engagement. It also embodies the history and memory of these dynamics and has become a stronghold for the Kurdish people’s social existence and resistance. It is now transitioning into a new phase.

I think the word ‘ending’ is an overly simplistic formula. In anti-systemic movements, the dynamics of struggle change physically, but they do not disappear. Since its foundation as a movement of rebellion, the Kurdish Movement has not vanished; it has entered into new political missions. Even as it dissolves itself, it does not cease to exist; it creates new spaces within the evolving dynamics of the struggle.”

Yes, the armed struggle may be ending, but that does not mean the Kurdish freedom struggle is over. This is a political structure that has long recognized the limitations of armed resistance, even since the mid-1990s, and has been unable to find a legitimate counterpart to engage with. We can now say that this structure is transforming into a laboratory for a new kind of resistance and social transformation.

In this sense, although there are certain risks, I see this step positively and want to remain hopeful. Like many others, I am also a subject of this issue. As one of the Academics for Peace who was lynched, dismissed from my job, and forcibly displaced, I know what exile feels like. But I also know that the experience of being uprooted from one’s homeland is a reality shared by all Kurds. So of course, we have our fears and anxieties.

One of the most critical first steps in this new phase of the struggle would be the complete demilitarization of the region, which would significantly contribute to the process. Taking political steps to enable the return of displaced people to their homes would help establish civil disobedience rooted in a strong democratic experience.

Rather than speaking under the shadow of weapons, we can now discuss the grammar of freedom for the Kurdish question and the equal citizenship status of Kurds within a civil and democratic space. And I say this despite the layers of state violence, repression, and control.

Perhaps it is also time to insist on a different area of struggle, to focus on a politics that empowers the Kurdish language, which has been marked as the source of cultural existence and a diplomatic tool. Therefore, this dissolution does not signify the absence of demands. On the contrary, many demands have already been voiced and achieved, and this opens up a new arena of struggle to strengthen those gains.

This situation goes beyond what the state desires and beyond the cheap definitions of ‘defeat’ that some people are quick to use. We are standing at the threshold of a new era, one in which a new generation, a post-PKK generation, begins to shape its own experience.

As a social movement, a movement of resistance, an organization, and a mass movement, the PKK has created a political line and a generation capable of producing a collective consciousness that could transform the Middle East, Kurdistan, and Turkey. This does not mean something has ended. On the contrary, a difficult struggle is beginning, one tied to a peace process whose name has not even been spoken yet.

In anti-systemic social movements, actors always change their methods of struggle. Weapons were never the goal, they were a necessity. And now, they are letting go of this counter-violence method.

The strong experiences of municipal governance developed in the post-2000 era, and the fact that the legal political representation of the Kurdish movement currently stands as the third-largest opposition force in Turkey, show that even if the PKK dissolves itself, it can still channel its energy into new paths.

Following the revolution in Rojava in 2012, the practices of autonomy and confederalism have become the only democratic model in Syria. Likewise, it is now clear that the Kurdish political movement in Turkey will serve as the foundation of a grassroots democratic initiative that can open space in the legal sphere without violence. Despite all the risks, this is not only crucial for resolving the Kurdish question, but also for democratizing Turkey through its own internal dynamics.

To reiterate, neither Mr.Öcalan’s words nor the decisions taken at the PKK’s 12th Congress are entirely new. We can recall similar developments during the Özal era. What we are dealing with here is not an organization addicted to violence, but one that used it as a means and has now, as an actor in this struggle, made the decision to dissolve itself.

This does not mean that what occurred during the 1980s and 1990s will not be subject to critical reflection. On the contrary, we are talking about a political structure that has made the historical positioning and memory of the Kurdish question visible and has approached violence as a tool within an anti-colonial framework.

As you know, there were many different Kurdish national political experiences before the PKK. What distinguishes the PKK from the movements of the 1970s is that, for the first time in Kurdish history, it redefined the position of this issue and expanded it to a transnational dimension. It became a cross-border guerrilla movement and a founding force of a collective social, political, and cultural memory.

Take the Kurdistan Democratic Party (PDK), for example. After more than sixty years of armed struggle, it achieved political gains, together with the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK), following the fall of Saddam Hussein in the 1990s. This paved the way for a federative structure in Kurdistan and contributed to the formation of a decolonial memory, ushering in a post-conflict era.

In this sense, the Kurdish movement in Turkey has moved beyond being a traditional organization. Through the institutional, social, cultural, and political dynamics it has generated, it has evolved into a transnational and international people’s movement. At the same time, it is now opening the path for civil politics and laying the groundwork for social dialogue.

This dissolution process also prompts us to reconsider whether it is possible, for the parties involved in armed conflict, to communicate outside the framework of weapons. From this point forward, it should not be weapons that speak, it must be civil politics, guided by dialogue and a commitment to social peace.

The congress declaration included a strong call to socialists for joint struggle. Is such cooperation possible?

There has always been the possibility of joint struggle, and of course, it still exists. The real question is whether the socialists in Turkey are ready for it. I believe that only when we stop shouting ‘long live’ or ‘down with’ this or that, in other words, when we move beyond slogans and agitation and instead step into the fields of struggle and transform the streets into spaces of peace and social solidarity, then the space for joint struggle will naturally reveal itself.

Look at Rojava. The field of joint struggle exists. Many different dynamics are acting together against violence, authoritarianism, and fascism and not all of them are socialists or leftists.

The core question is this: when will the Turkish left break free from its nationalist and nation-state-centered whirlpool? If they can look at Kurdistan not through the lens of the ‘National Pact’ (Misak-ı Milli), but instead through a framework of shared citizenship and autonomy, then I believe they will no longer postpone Kurdish liberation to some future revolution or distant spring.

At this point, perhaps it would be useful to follow a historical trajectory. Maybe we need to consider the Kurdish Movement as the last radical, insurgent, armed movement. From there, we must ask whether a genuine space for joint struggle is possible and let the field answer that question.

First and foremost, it is essential that the Kurds themselves come to a collective decision about joint struggle. Naturally, this space will interact with Turkish, Arab, and Persian democrats and leftists. Or to put it differently, we are looking at a long political history that includes many Kurdish movements since the 1960s — such as KUK, Rizgarî, Kawa, DDKO, DDKD, PSK, and TKDP. But for the past 45 years, this Kurdish history has been carried forward through the PKK. And now, within this memory, we have arrived at the end of the armed struggle.

The Kurdish Movement was born from the spirit of the post-coup 1970s generation a generation radicalized and suppressed by military violence, one that gave rise to anti-systemic social and political movements. Just like the People's Liberation Army of Turkey (THKO) of Deniz Gezmiş, the People's Liberation Party-Front of Turkey (THKP-C) of Mahir Çayan, or the Communist Labor Party of Turkey/Marxist-Leninist (TİKKO) of İbrahim Kaypakkaya, whose analysis of the Kurdish question remains relevant even today, the Kurdish youth of that era, influenced heavily by the Right to Self-Determination of Nations (UKKTH), and by the Soviet, Chinese, and Guevarist revolutionary traditions, set out on a path believing in the anti-colonial freedom of the people of Kurdistan.

Putting conspiracy theories aside, the Kurdish Movement was formed by the most radicalized faction of the 1968 generation, shaped by the spirit of Palestinian resistance, anti-colonial struggles in Algeria and Vietnam, and led intellectually by figures like Abdullah Öcalan and his comrades Hakî Karer, Mazlum Doğan, Kemal Pir, Sakine Cansız, Rıza Altun, Ali Haydar Kaytan, and Cemil Bayık. It was a movement born out of the influence of a generation of students in Turkey’s cities, deeply inspired by the socialist struggles of the era.

This formation did not emerge solely from the trauma of the 1980 military coup or the torture in Diyarbakır Prison. It was also the result of the accumulated memory of all Kurdish political currents since the early 20th century, particularly those that gained momentum after the 1960s.

The Kurdish political movement became a space of transformation, a home for long-lasting change in the Kurdish regions. It radicalized as the totality and outcome of all past Kurdish uprisings, evolving into an anti-systemic armed struggle that extended deeply into the capillaries of Kurdish society and ultimately joined the global political left.

It became one of the largest armed movements in the world, with a vast socio-political cartography and cross-border international networks. From Latin America to Europe, from Africa to East Asia, the movement  built ties with many social and political struggles, from the Landless Workers’ Movement to the Zapatistas. Remarkably, it has evolved into a powerful people’s movement today.

This is a sociological and geopolitical phenomenon, a reality. Over the past fifty years, it has become one of the most debated, resisted, or admired dynamics of the modern era. I remember from Wallerstein’s lectures in the early 2000s how he paid close attention to the Kurdish Movement, seeing it as a systemic opposition force that demanded serious analysis from European philosophers.

We are talking about something far beyond classical political movement frameworks, a body of events with its own rhythms, memories, and historical cycles. Of course, what Wallerstein described was not different from what he co-authored with Terence K. Hopkins and Giovanni Arrighi in their books.

The key insights of that framework, which gained renewed importance after the collapse of the Soviet Union, analyzed the historical dynamics between the French Revolution of 1789 and the uprisings of 1968. And in many ways, I believe those dynamics apply to the Kurdish political movement as well, particularly in the context of class-based freedom struggles. (At the time, Wallerstein was following the Kurdish Movement closely in his lectures.) What I understood most clearly from his analysis of anti-systemic movements was this:

One of the foundational elements of systemic opposition (referring here to the capitalist system) is the ability of individuals, groups, or political movements that critique dominant political institutions to offer alternative models of governance.

Therefore, when analyzing a political mass movement like the PKK, it is necessary to consider it in two ways: as both an armed resistance movement and a social movement. Because in the geographies where this dynamic exists, it also offers a comprehensive social project.

As an anti-systemic force, the Kurdish Movement cannot be read solely through the lens of the Right to Self-Determination of Nations (UKKTH). While it certainly provides a class-based critique of the colonial system, it also offers a series of anti-systemic proposals. It is a movement rooted in the socialist tradition that advances a foundational form of power, while presenting serious critiques of the current stage of historical capitalism and the global system it sustains.

This is why, today, in an era where the global left is so deeply victimized and struggling to articulate a powerful discourse, they are reclaiming this principle: “To insist on socialism is to insist on being human.”

In this form, the Kurdish Movement has not only organized resistance (serhildans) rooted in a memory passed down since the Ottoman era or brought political consciousness to the Kurdish people, but it has also transcended a long-term national resistance struggle, transforming it into a transnational force. In doing so, it has contributed to the socialization of global political issues within Kurdish regions.

Today, if the women’s movement is so powerful in many parts of Kurdistan or if ecological discussions have deeply infiltrated our lives, if autonomy, democratic municipal experiences, cultural activities, and significant philosophical debates (this is not just my opinion, but also that of Chomsky, Negri, Graeber, Hardt, and Zizek) have expanded beyond the Kurdish national domain and reached the world, then it is clear that the Kurdish Movement has had a very strong influence on this.

Despite being rooted in Soviet and Chinese experiences, the Kurdish Movement has, through its firm critique of these models, created an anti-systemic and anti-capitalist space of its own. For example, the revolutionary transformation desire it presented to Rojava, and its incredible contribution to the global left, continues to have an impact today.

In the Rojava region, the dialogue and opportunities for self-management and freedom developed through the foundational power structure in areas freed from the Baath dictatorship demonstrate the multi-layered nature of this politics. This clearly shows that joint dialogue and struggle are only possible if we move on equal and common grounds.

It seems quite clear that the Turkish left, especially the large majority of it, must abandon its paternalistic ‘elder brother’ rhetoric and confront ideologies such as Kemalism and Stalinism to create real alliances for joint struggle on equal ground. Of course, both the Kurdish Movement and the Turkish left have many points that can be critiqued. However, one thing is undeniably clear: the Kurdish Movement is not an ordinary movement. It is evident that it cannot be understood merely as an armed struggle movement.

In an interview with Bianet in October 2024, Michael Hardt remarked, which I believe contributes to your question: “The Kurdish movement is an inspiration for movements worldwide.” He does not say this lightly, and he is not the only one. Figures like Murray Bookchin, David Graeber, and Antonio Negri, before their passing, and Slavoj Žižek at different times, have expressed similar views.

With the risk of invoking some extreme Orientalist interpretations or overly interpretative critiques, I am attempting to emphasize that the global network of the Kurdish political movement, originating from the seeds of rebellion in Kurdistan, has now expanded far beyond those borders.

Beyond its organized revolutionary potential in the Kurdish region, the Kurdish Movement has also realized a social/mental revolution in Rojava and Bakur (North). It has presented a social peace project, materialized the social contract, and expanded international solidarity as its second step. This dynamic has been able to establish a synthesis that enables us to position its philosophical and political contributions.

In the 1990s, the mountains were seen as a classic guerrilla center, adhering to Marxist-Leninist ideology. Today, however, the movement has understood the transformation of the world, fighting within it and creating a social contract that acknowledges the power of the working class. It has built more than a hundred municipalities, co-chairmanships, and has created an equality-based structure.

It is not an avant-garde group or party trying to seize power like in the Soviet Union. Instead, it has critically analyzed that model, evolving into a mass anti-systemic movement, a broad-based social resistance movement. Now, it has gone beyond armed uprisings, no longer an insurgent resistance group. It has transformed into a social dynamic that has laid down its weapons and seeks engagement with others.

The reality is that as these experiences, creating regional coordination bodies for autonomous communes, establishing democratic and communal governance councils, have spread, there is a clear connection between the dissolution of the PKK and the widespread growth of these practices.

The proliferation of civil experiences, cooperatives, or cultural activities, and the emergence of a stronger political consciousness in the public sphere and society compared to the 1990s, have all been facilitated by many different political experiences in the reclaimed Kurdish regions (such as the women’s movement, collective work models, local governments, neighborhood organizations, etc.). Moreover, efforts to establish societal dialogue in Rojava without relying on the justice system, mediation, or prisons, and the development of an educational system progressing through health and alternative pedagogy, all these elements are creating hopeful codes rather than pessimism in this new era.

Do you think the Kurdish Movement will now demonstrate its strength and dynamics across different fields as well, in terms of joint struggle?

Absolutely, that’s exactly the kind of capacity I’m referring to. I’d like to add that the space for joint struggle is not only about recognizing the Kurdish question. While positioning is certainly important, a common language and field of solidarity built around anti-racist, anti-fascist, and radical democratic politics could carry the Kurdish resistance to an entirely new level.

For example, when femicide, ecological destruction, labor exploitation, and worker deaths are approached through the colonial context of the Kurdish issue, it becomes easier to recognize that the Kurdish question is also a class issue in the face of those in power. And from there, joint struggle can be constructed. Otherwise, to be honest, I don’t believe that political actors who postpone the Kurdish question to some post-revolutionary future, who still cannot see it as a matter of a people’s freedom, will have much to say about any future of shared life or dialogue.

What’s needed is for a traditionally orthodox left, one that situates itself not only through class, but also through gender, ecology, genocide memory, the Kurdish question, and other micro-identities, to establish a form of struggle grounded in a renewed class reading. I don’t mean Stalinist or Maoist approaches, but rather a need for a new class-based framework. This must not be delayed to some future moment, it must begin now. Such a step could open the path toward a new political commonality. At the same time, this approach could help the Turkish left move away from right-wing, national-socialist, or Kemalist tendencies.

I’m talking about a kind of reckoning where the left is capable of acknowledging, for instance, that May 19 is also the date of the massacre of Pontic Greeks. But extreme nationalist, reactionary interpretations in the field and certain leftist formations still trapped in paranoia about national division, are standing in the way.

Take femicide, for instance, every day the numbers are growing at horrifying rates. In Kurdistan, under the layers of state-sanctioned violence, we see traces of paramilitary forces (village guards), or the security apparatus itself. In the case of Rojin Kabaiş, we saw how young women were abducted and murdered, university students, children are being killed.

Perhaps the language of this new era, of this new politics, must be built around a struggle that takes all of these fields into account. Organization must emerge from these realities, from the streets and create a power to resist. The pursuit of rights, reckoning, and justice should move from the streets to parliament, or from local governments, but it must always be rooted in the street.

A decolonial resistance process in the Kurdish regions of Turkey could redefine the position of the Kurdish issue, and very clearly, it would also return the left to its rightful place as a rebellious, founding subject. And of course, it would contribute to the formation of a new memory from which this field of resistance can grow.

On the other hand, look, as someone who does not trust states, I am not speaking solely from my intellectual identity; I must say that the Kurds have produced a profoundly democratic social project that is on the brink of significant changes in the Middle East. I believe there is no need to repeat the Kurdish Movement's contribution to this. The ‘Social Contract’ in Rojava after the revolution was born from this experience; just looking at it is enough.

Perhaps, it is not just Turkey’s dynamics that should be included in this process, but also Syria and Iraq. For this process to be constructive and reparative, the state must, of course, take certain legal steps and establish legal guarantees in order to allow for the activation of reparative justice, enabling reconciliation on many issues that are crucial pillars of social peace.

What I mean is that one of the most important processes is the release of Abdullah Öcalan and all other political prisoners. Along with that, the release of key figures like Selahattin Demirtaş, Figen Yüksekdağ, and all other political prisoners in legal politics is necessary for the process to transform into a politically founding dynamic.

The Kurdish question in Turkey is not just about the cessation of a tool of violence; it is about the dismantling of political, symbolic, or denialist violence parameters used by the state or colonial apparatuses, the recognition of Kurdish demands for autonomy, and the right to equal citizenship.

Perhaps, first and foremost, we must start with language, weaving peace into the language, so that we do not return to the pre-2015 process and avoid the language of ‘terrorism’ that stigmatizes the Kurds and the actors of their political movement, and this divisive, condescending rhetoric.

Therefore, any approach that does not engage with the issue, does not shed the repetitive racist language, and does not move away from security mechanisms that are the apparatus of colonial instruments will be harmful. The only thing that can make this process stronger and more reparative is achieving justice through the Kurdish demands.

The state should not be the distributor of justice; it should only serve as a tool in the realization of justice. Justice can only be achieved through fulfilling demands and through confrontation.

Both sides speak of the possibility that the process could be sabotaged. Who might sabotage it, and what can be done to prevent that?

If you pay attention, the ones who most desire violence in this process are the militarist structures that have profited from it, certain actors, and a dominant white and racist segment that continues to speak from above. These groups are deliberately trying to provoke chaos. What they want is the continuation of war, because they are afraid of losing their positions. They feed on violence and hatred like bloodthirsty monsters. In the end, the most dangerous threat to the process is a return to the language of war.

Instead of building military outposts or walls along every border, instead of stockpiling weapons, what is truly essential now is the legalization of a language of peace that can tear down all social walls. As a founding step, this is critical. What is required is the construction of social peace, the complete dismantling of militarism in Kurdistan, and the full civilianization of public space.

Then, for a democratic process to function, the removal of state-appointed trustees and the return of municipalities to the Peoples’ Equality and Democracy Party (DEM Party) are crucial. These steps could also open certain possibilities for democratizing Turkey and freeing it from racism and fascism. This would include the release of the mayor of Istanbul, Osman Kavala, and those imprisoned in the Gezi Park case, contributing to the sincerity of the democratic reconstruction.

It is deeply saddening that nearly two and a half centuries have passed since Rousseau’s concept of the social contract, and yet we must still remind the state in Turkey of its duty to its citizens, especially when we have, right next to us, an extraordinary democratic social contract in Rojava. Rather than imprisoning dissidents, rather than holding people hostage because of their language or identity, the state as an institution must fulfill its regulatory role.

Look, when we examine what is happening in Syria today, we witness the consequences of authoritarianism during and after the Assad dictatorship. The current interim government is made up almost entirely of racist and war-criminal groups. These are factions with dictatorial ambitions, not so different from the Assad era.

If we consider the massacres and attacks targeting Alawites and Druze today, or the constant threats directed at Kurds, more accurately, the persistent use of threatening language against all minorities, as well as the continuation of the Arab Belt policy and the blatant disregard for women’s rights, we can clearly see how dangerous it is to insist on a unitary structure, and how such insistence can lead a region to destruction. This has been true in both phases.

What this shows is that practices of democracy do not come from the state; they are shaped by the street and by the people. Therefore, this process must mean full civilianization of the state, the democratization of institutions, and the purification of the state apparatus from racist and sectarian politics.

Taking steps toward democratization by relying solely on the Kurds and placing the burden of peace only on Kurdish shoulders may actually mean deflecting the problem. The real risk lies in the question: What happens if the state refuses to give up its authoritarian grip on power? War again? That would be catastrophic, a path from which there should be no return.

To prevent this, the Kurdish question must move beyond Kurdish hands and find ground within Turkish society. The Kurdish people are already aware of the process and are observing the disarmament phase with caution, grounded in their own organized strength. That is why it is necessary to take the issue of peace, which has become a tool of blackmail in the hands of the state, away from its grip and turn it into a social issue. At the same time, the Turkish public must be brought into this process. Stripping the Kurdish issue of the contexts of “terrorism,” conflict, and hatred, and grounding it in a new political process, appears to be an area of urgent necessity.

Contrary to many mistaken analyses, the Kurdish political movement has opened the door not only for Kurds, but also for other societies around the world. Since the mid-1990s, it has introduced not only classic guerrilla practices, but also discussions grounded in ecology, humanity, feminism, and a closeness to nature. The slogan “Jin, Jîyan, Azadî” (Woman, Life, Freedom), now central to the global feminist movement, owes its roots to the debates within the Kurdish women's movement of the 1990s.

Frankly, breaking away from the hard, centralized, and militaristic practices of Stalinism and Maoism is not something easily achieved. But in this case, it was especially women and the youth who transformed the ideological momentum of the movement from within. Practically speaking, the civilian cooperative models in Rojava, or the municipal governance structures, can serve as examples. The Kurdish Freedom Movement, in this sense, may be the only force that insists on a socialist path more than many leftist experiences in Turkey and Kurdistan, and it has managed to establish stronger ties with internationalist movements.

We are speaking here of a tradition, a structure, that today maintains strong relations with anti-systemic dynamics from Latin America to East Asia, from Africa to Europe, and throughout the Middle East.

Everyone is focusing on whether the Turkish public is ready for the new process. But no one is talking about what the Kurds, who have lived in a war-torn geography for over 50 years, think. What awaits the Kurds, and what needs to be done?

In fact, it’s not just fifty years. If we consider the framework of colonialism dating back to the Ottoman Empire, we are talking about a much longer period. As for the question of what the Kurds want or what they think, I believe the answer is clear. The real issue seems to be with a significant portion of society, though I do not wish to generalize, that still refuses to accept this. A segment that resists acknowledging the Kurds’ right to define their existence on their own terms, and that cannot break free from the whirlpool of Turkishness and Sunni identity.

That is to say, like the Alawites, the Kurds demand that no one make decisions on their behalf, that no one speak in their name, and that no one interfere with their living spaces. Because freedom is something that belongs to their own bodies. Of course, the last fifty years are particularly significant, as they mark a time when the social fabric between Kurds and Turks has been deeply torn. On the one hand, we have the state’s denialist, repressive mechanisms of violence; on the other, the Kurdish Movement’s anti-colonial counter-violence practices have contributed to the creation of a climate of fear and hatred. So this is not a question that can be answered easily.

What kind of struggle needs to be waged, then? On one hand, there is the challenge of persuading a public raised on paranoia, militarism, and racist pathologies. In this, the Turkish left, intellectuals, and democrats have an immense responsibility.

But on the other hand, we are talking about the Kurdish realm, raised under the pressure of racism, hate politics, and even a culture of lynching; shaped by colonial violence, resistance, and collective trauma. And it is precisely they who are the strongest advocates for reconciliation. That’s why, to answer this question, I would say we also need to wait and observe how this process evolves.

We are talking about a spiral of violence spanning more than eight generations. Stopping this cycle, and confronting a century of hate speech, from “bandit Kurds” to “terrorist Kurds,” an unchanging racist discourse, requires a radically different anti-racist and anti-fascist stance. Yet despite everything, I must say this is a historic decision, one that could open the door to democratic and civilian politics.

I say “despite everything” because the ongoing process of militarization remains one of the most active instruments of social trauma and must finally be dismantled. If I may add, we must also recognize the justified hesitation and mistrust among Kurds toward the state, and understand the confusion experienced by Kurds across different political spaces.

Colonialism and the Kurdish question, which have persisted for over a century, are like a live bomb placed before us, a legacy of violence we must face and untangle. We cannot forget the Suruç and Ankara train station massacres of 2015. Today, ultra-Turkish nationalism, retired Kemalist generals, and Turkish racism are fueling a culture of conspiracy, making this issue difficult to discuss and deepening the wounds caused by hate speech.

This is why there is unease and distrust among Kurds following the disarmament decision, because the state has still not offered any real guarantees. It continues to avoid addressing the matter through legal frameworks. And surely, as you will agree, it is clear that the Kurdish side is not the only party to this issue. The other side is the Turkish public, which remains entangled in extreme nationalism and paranoia. This means we must now focus on language, dialogue, and an approach that is willing to compromise on certain positions.

In a society breathing through the emotional world of extreme nationalism, we must ask how to build a democratic space where various political voices and the desire for peace can be expressed openly. This cannot be done without confronting the legacy of 1915 and the Armenian Genocide, without remembering that history (and now they’ll call me a “crypto-Armenian” too), nor without acknowledging the paranoia and hyper-racist reactivity created by the technocratic and Kemalist structure of 1923. The answer lies in practical efforts to organize peace.

As long as we continue to witness attacks on public Kurdish music, the imprisonment of dozens of elected mayors under trustee rule, the punishment of students, Kurdish politicians, and other dissidents; as long as the Republic fails to overcome its phobias; as long as Kurdish is not recognized as a mother tongue and normalized within the peace process; and as long as the state continues profiling its own dissidents, the risks will remain ever-present. Because the Kurdish question represents not just the liberation of a people, but the construction of a radically democratic life in this country.

I prefer not to read this through historical references, but rather through the democratic spaces of common life that must be built today. And this is not about those hateful, bitter, retired fascist generals who continue to resist peace, but it is indeed connected to the military and authoritarian remnants of the civilian tutelage regime inherited from the past. Of course, there are other geopolitical risks that also play a role.

Still, I believe the Kurdish Movement is one of the few political forces that has read the current conjuncture in the Middle East accurately and positioned itself accordingly. This, too, contributes to the decision to disarm and create space for democratic civilian politics. That is why this process, risky, uncertain, and fragile as it may be, is moving forward on the strength of those actors who have fought and are now willing to lay down their arms. It advances with the revolutionary emotional commitment of one side, and with hope.

So, do Turks still approach the issue with a colonial mindset, avoiding real conversations about what Kurds want and why they advocate for peace?

If I may, let me finish this thought and then return to the question “What do the Kurds want?” I think what follows is closely connected to that question. The Turkish public must, more than reciting the daily nationalist pledge, begin to build a politics of living together with the Kurds who insist on a shared geography and a common life. This means embracing peace and dialogue with courage, without paying heed to racist actors.

This also means the entire education system and curriculum must be demilitarized and purged of racism. Any language that references only one ethnic identity or a dominant religion must be removed from children’s textbooks. An alternative, institutional pedagogical approach must be introduced to open the path for a new narrative of Turkey, one in which the peace process can be truly effective.

In other words, if Kurdish-language education is permitted but authoritarian, sexist, and racist education continues, we will not be speaking of social dialogue but of continued state authoritarianism. The Kurdish issue must be addressed through an anti-racist lens. Solving the Kurdish issue means demilitarizing the field, democratizing education through pedagogy, eliminating patriarchy, and rooting the curriculum in an anti-racist foundation.

It is clear that Turkish intellectuals today carry a risky yet vital responsibility to communicate peace to society and help construct it. If these issues are not going to be addressed now, through a courageous anti-racist stance, then when will they ever be? The Turkish left, which has long existed within a reality of coups, violence, and racism, must now abandon its hierarchical tone, its habit of speaking down to others, and begin explaining this process in a powerful and accessible way.

Contributing to the resolution of the Kurdish issue and helping to build social peace will also help spread peace to every part of society. Because this process, this war economy, burns the homes of workers and the poor most of all. In truth, peace is also a class issue. It will contribute to the creation of a common labor economy.

Since the dissolution of the armed struggle, no one seems to be talking about the Kurds. Everyone focuses on the concerns of the Turkish public, but in mainstream media, there’s no curiosity about what the Kurds think as subjects in this matter. No one is asking: Why are Kurds uneasy?

Let me tell you this: the thing Kurds know best is how to be uneasy. Generations of us, including myself, were educated every morning under the shadow of the nationalist pledge, and every evening with the national anthem. For Kurds, this is a source of deep trauma. And like Armenian and Alawite students forced into mosque-centered religious education, other communities have also experienced the authoritarian, racist, and exclusionary curriculum as a generator of collective trauma. This must be questioned.

This is why peoples who are rarely acknowledged in Turkey, those treated as outsiders, are always uneasy. In order for Turkey to become a truly democratic, inclusive, and pluralistic society, these conversations must be conducted more openly and more forcefully. Otherwise, as long as journalism and governance remain addicted to the concept of “terrorism,” this issue will not be solved, it will rot even further.

And instead of asking Kurds directly what they want, some continue to rely on voices shaped by the nationalist paranoia of Turkishness. Certain media platforms, like A Haber, or the secular “White Turkish” elite still present the issue in terms of “terrorism” and “separatism,” but such framing has no meaning in the region.

This process clearly signifies a break not only from racists like Yılmaz Özdil, Tanju Özcan, and Ümit Özdağ, but also from Kurdish-region figures such as Mehmet Metiner and Şamil Tayyar, who have carved out spaces for themselves through clientelist and opportunistic networks. It also signals the decline of many other toxic writers and public figures whose platforms have long depended on war rhetoric and victimhood narratives.

These figures have not only blocked progress, they have, quite frankly, helped create the hyper-paranoid generation we see today. The blatant anti-Kurdish sentiment seen in some recent anti-AKP rallies was far from encouraging. The social rise of such a deeply racist structure is nothing short of an invitation to fascism. As psychiatrist Wilhelm Reich once said in reference to the Nazis: “Racial theory is not the invention of fascism; on the contrary, racism is the psychological foundation that gives birth to fascism.”

That is why reconciliation becomes almost impossible in social layers where there has been no reckoning with racism. There is a kind of masochistic pathology at work in these segments of society, one that is not interested in what Kurds want, but rather in what they themselves desire through their own hatred.

Of course, there are interesting shifts both within the Republican People’s Party (CHP) and the far-right Nationalist Movement Party (MHP), which played a major role in initiating this crisis. But when we reflect on historical memory, the legacy of fascism and the ongoing insistence on Kemalism are hardly reassuring.

Kurds want freedom, but above all, they want recognition of their existence, perhaps as a precondition. They want to be educated in their mother tongue, to express their language freely and democratically in public spaces, to have a say over matters concerning themselves, and to see the removal of names, slogans, and nationalist speeches imposed on their mountains and plains. They want to stop being forced to say “How happy is the one who says I am a Turk” every morning or evening.

Decolonization means healing a region, its cultural memory, and its language from all forms of colonial domination. It is clear that Kurds are demanding that all of these be placed under constitutional guarantee. The issue must no longer be approached with the politics of delay or dilution, as in the past. It must be taken seriously. Recognition and reckoning are the foundations of partnership, and we are already discussing how these must be secured as constitutional rights.

The region needs to be demilitarized, not through more outposts, border walls, troop build-ups, or intensified militarization, but through a democratic process that opens the path to humane and life-centered politics. The constitution must be democratized. Racism must be criminalized. The demands of Kurds should not be feared, but protected by a framework of inclusive, democratic constitutional law.

To speak frankly, this process requires the emergence of a powerful anti-racist social dynamic in Turkey. That could give real momentum to this issue. Because what we are witnessing in Kurdistan today is not only classical colonialism. It is also intense assimilation (suppression of the Kurdish language, banning of cultural activities), economic exploitation, ecological destruction, poverty, collective trauma, and militarized, patriarchal violence targeting women and children.

Of course, many of these proposals are only macro-level first steps. The real work begins after that. One of the key pillars of social peace is the establishment of justice: justice for the Saturday Mothers, for the children who were killed, like Roboski and Uğur Kaymaz, for Taybet Ana, for the victims of femicide, for those who lost their lives in Suruç, the Ankara train station massacre, and many others.

On the other hand, as you know, many generations in Turkey have been poisoned by hatred, racism, and extreme nationalism. Most of them are now experiencing a form of collective paranoia. Far-right groups such as the Victory Party operate like sworn interpreters of hate, constantly spreading propaganda to keep social hatred alive and to maintain hostility toward Kurds and migrants.

Racism is still not recognized as a crime in Turkey. This shows that social peace must be pursued with courage and that racism must be constitutionally defined as a crime. Only then can effective measures be taken against xenophobic politics.

Racism must now be treated as a criminal offense. Doing so would also allow Turkey to begin healing from its deeply rooted far-right and ultra-nationalist memory.

Assimilation policies have continued since the founding of the Republic. When we look at previous periods, it becomes clear that the current era is the most effective one in terms of assimilation. What kind of cultural policy should be pursued?

The strongest antidote to assimilation is to support the Kurdish language in all areas, to persistently demand and put into practice initiatives that contribute to the transformation of Kurdish into a language of education, commerce, daily life, and institutions. Take Kurdish-language books, for example. There is no issue with publishing them, but finding readers remains a problem. Of course, holding a book fair in Diyarbakır (Amed) is a positive step; however, this may ironically reflect the trauma of a language with few readers beyond the intelligentsia.

For this reason, cultural centers and municipalities must consistently offer written and spoken language courses and ensure that experts in the field are responsible for these efforts. Every possible support should be given to create space for them. Otherwise, activities like Kurdish cinema, books, art, and music will struggle to counter assimilation unless they are carried out within a broader societal language policy.

Everyone listens to music in Kurdish, names their children in Kurdish, or gives their apartment building a name like “Welat” to find some psychological comfort, but these actions do not truly operate at a subconscious level in the Lacanian sense. Freud, when speaking of instinct, referred to inherited, fixed tendencies. When he discussed drives, he described a motor impulse that pushes the organism toward a goal. As Deleuze noted, a drive is not an emotion, it is an impression in its strongest sense, not a representation. What we mean by drive here refers to institutional actions and social impressions.

So, how can we talk about children who have been subjected to racism, labeled with anti-Kurdish slurs like "Kıro" or "Hanzo," and whose lives have been interfered with since childhood? How can we heal that? Perhaps instead of opening “Institutes of Endangered Languages” or Kurdish studies centers in every university, establishing universities that offer education in Kurdish and allowing actors trained in alternative pedagogies to flourish would contribute much more to the process in Turkey. It would also help us confront certain historical reckonings more effectively.

Establishing universities where Kurdish is the language of instruction, rather than merely opening departments of Kurdish studies or “institutes of endangered languages”, is clearly a more powerful step. This must happen in Turkey, not only in Germany, and be built upon alternative pedagogies. Of course, all universities must be free institutions, free from authoritarian pressure, without appointed rectors or imposed faculty. Throughout the assimilation process, three key moments can be identified: a return to the source, internal stimulation caused by colonial pressure, and the suppression of the mother tongue. The assimilated person is integrated into the dominant language and culture through instruments of gratification. This is not voluntary assimilation. Kurdish is a language under oppression. Through forced assimilation orchestrated by coercive powers, Kurds are being stripped of their language. Kurdish, like Turkish, must be able to exist freely in public spaces.

Kurdish musicians are constantly subjected to censorship. Kurdish film festivals usually take place in the diaspora, mostly in the West. Why shouldn’t Kurds be able to do this freely in their own regions? A Kurdish university is being established in Germany. Yes, it makes sense, since the diaspora consists of Kurds from all four parts of Kurdistan. But why are there no Kurdish-language schools or universities in Diyarbakır, Tunceli (Dersim), Van, or even in Istanbul or Izmir?

Having directly witnessed the layered violence imposed by the state, it is clear that the state must step away from policing the boundaries of my mother tongue. The racist parameters born of state and societal pressure must change. This process has serious psychological consequences. Even for my generation, raised in Istanbul, it has caused linguistic trauma. As someone who came to understand his mother tongue later in life, I have experienced the damage firsthand. In my doctoral research in art, I explored this damage ironically through the figure of 'Küçük Emrah'.

'Küçük Emrah', as a figure of post-coup Turkish pop culture and an actor of arabesque music, became a symbol of suffering projected onto the Kurdish body in Turkish cultural space. He represented trauma and victimhood. Of course, that symbol is no longer valid; there has been a shift from the victim subject to a subaltern subjectivity. But even so, the way in which the “child of sorrow” figure, shaped by poverty and displacement in popular culture, came to reflect the trauma of migrant Kurdishness later became evident.

This is a psychic and masochistic process. Yet beginning in the mid-1980s, the trauma started to be shattered through opportunities for resistance. In the 1990s, Kurdish music emerged with fervor through the initiatives of Kom Music. The 2000s bloomed like a spring season. Of course, Arabesque music, while being the cultural expression of every Kurdish laborer forced to migrate from burnt villages to ghettos or city outskirts, did not merely represent a class position within Turkish popular culture. Rather, it reflected a deeper attempt to erase the memory of Kurdish-language music. Arabesques in Turkish contributed to the process of assimilation. But after the 2000s, a form of Kurdish arabesque emerged in response, sung in Kurdish.

As is known, Kurdish popular culture began to take shape in both Turkey and Iraq in the mid-1990s. Today, we are at a different point entirely. The context of struggle and creation has changed. Now, the dynamic lies more in decolonial struggle and creativity. These processes must be observed carefully and supported through developing cultural and artistic policies.

The Mardin Biennial, for example, is highly contested. Without generalizing, it must be noted that many of those coming from the West continue to reproduce a colonial biennialism, treating the Kurdish space as a newly discovered island, a touristic subject. This language, disconnected from a shared artistic and political context, fails to bring together the diverse dynamics of the Kurdish region. It is hard to understand why Mardin, which has the capacity to embrace the entire Middle East, does not do so in cooperation with Kurdish actors. Such biennials do not reflect the local political dynamics or conjuncture. Instead, they continue to operate within a Turkish nationalist framework.

Today, decolonial experiences in Latin America, Africa, and parts of Asia, alongside the analyses of theorists like Walter Mignolo on “decolonial aesthetics”, could contribute immensely to the Kurdish context. Analyses like decolonial aesthetics now serve as connective frameworks across continents. More than anything, such biennials and artistic efforts must contribute to challenging the exclusionary nature of Republican modernity without ignoring the colonial and decolonial position of the Kurds.

Major cultural events like the Mardin Biennial should not shy away from confronting contemporary issues; rather, they should amplify them. At a time when there is growing global recognition of the need to decolonize museums, biennials too cannot remain exempt, something made clear in recent debates surrounding the Venice Biennale. The ethnic compartmentalization of pavilions and the failure to confront colonial memory are still apparent. Collective projects are clearly shaped by their local dynamics, and each conceptual framework evolves from these foundations. Artistic events, exhibitions, biennials, art centers, are expressions and outcomes of collective memory and debate.

Ultimately, while it is vital to establish the language of peace and dialogue over that of violence and coercion, healing the trauma of a child who speaks Kurdish at home but is forced to learn Turkish at school is not a matter of law alone, it is tied to the freedom of the Kurdish language. Drawing from Paulo Freire’s approach, it becomes clear that to build a pedagogy of the oppressed, a new political ethic must be developed, one that accepts this as a question of class-based colonial domination.

There are also risks in transitioning from a spiral of death to a life-centered existence. How can these risks be defined?

What can most meaningfully support those who have joined guerrilla warfare, fought for years, and remained on the battlefield until now is the provision of institutional support to help them adapt to daily life. This is not merely psychological support, perhaps it is not psychological at all. These individuals have likely fought for a cause they believed in. Instead of threatening them with legal punishment or political incarceration, what they need is assistance that enables them to take control of their own lives. The first step must be pedagogical initiatives that help them integrate into urban life, and an absolute rejection of approaches based on punishment and discipline.

There may be traumas and pathologies on both sides. For someone who has been a guerrilla fighter for a long time, transitioning to ordinary life and integrating into urban society after leaving the mountains is far from easy. The same holds true for soldiers; those who have served for extended periods in Kurdistan often display symptoms reminiscent of the “Vietnam syndrome.” In France, there are neuropsychiatric archives concerning the Algerian War, and diagnoses such as “guerrilla neurosis” specific to that conflict have been documented. This is not my area of expertise, it falls within socio-psychology, but it is worth noting. As far as I know, suicide rates among soldiers have reached alarming levels. The suicide rate in the Turkish army has risen drastically, but this reality is not reflected in public discourse. We’re talking about depressive socio-psychodynamic conditions such as narcissistic collapse, feelings of weakness, libidinal regression, anxiety, fear of the future, death, and exposure to massacres.

Military service, as a militarist institution, is structured to eliminate the most fragile personalities through selection processes, excluding those with psychological vulnerabilities. Yet in Turkey, no one willingly joins the military; it is treated like a mandatory profession. This accelerates the visibility of psychological strain, particularly among those most vulnerable. The areas most heavily engaged within the military are those related to mental health, the RDM units. Without delving into theoretical diagnostic language, it is clear from the accounts of those who work in and observe the military that trauma levels are exceedingly high, and conflict and war only worsen the situation.

Looking at the historical trajectory of the Algerian War, the Vietnam War, and more recently perhaps the developments in Palestine, subjects of numerous theses, there is a recurring pattern of multiple psychological disorders. War is not only a public health issue; it is a traumatic force that can turn paranoia induced by violence into a permanent psychological state. It can lead to lifelong anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder in some individuals. These conditions eventually reflect onto society, giving rise to processes marked by social insecurity, isolation, and even suicide.

A person’s mental structure is not shaped solely by upbringing or learned experiences. It emerges from multiple layers, lived experiences, exposure to violence, subjection to authoritarianism. Education, psychology, family, the law, or life experience cannot prepare someone for the realities of war. In war, a person becomes a machine, absorbed into an entirely different zone of trauma. War renders individuals emotionally numb, shaped by layers of fear, violence, and conflict.

Most functional psychoses and character or social imbalances arise in those who have been directly involved in combat zones, while neuroses often become permanent fixtures in their lives. All of these are reasons why post-war periods must be observed with careful attention. However, this does not mean that the process should be left solely in the hands of psychologists or psychiatrists. On the contrary, the situation requires a multi-layered and collective approach.

My university friend Florent Gabarron-Garcia, in his book The Popular History of Psychoanalysis, reflects on the fascist era, drawing on Wilhelm Reich to discuss the pedagogy and discourse of the time, offering critical reminders for us today. He emphasizes the need to speak of a political psychoanalysis oriented toward the poor, instead of a psychoanalysis shaped by the dominant ideology of power. What we need to focus on is not institutional psychoanalysis caught in the spiral of reactionary politics, but rather a psychoanalytic formation that contributes to healing the traumas of the Kurdish people, one that emerges through language, daily life, and the law.

Florent notes that, even at the beginning of the last century, institutions were founded with a focus on the poor and concerns for social justice. There is a clear need today for scientific efforts to heal the present moment. The wounds of war cannot be addressed through institutional psychoanalytic interventions alone; on the contrary, there must be a shift toward popular psychotherapy. For example, the creation of psychology or sociology departments in the Kurdish language is not the sole issue. It is equally important to contribute to the production of alternative pedagogies that enable Kurds to establish counter-institutional initiatives in their own language and geography.

This is not to suggest that the responsibility lies solely with psychoanalysts or psychologists. Rather, it is to say that institutional efforts to overcome this era of authoritarianism and violence must be separated from the language and the body of authoritarianism itself. What is required is the rejection of punitive frameworks and the construction of a language of dialogue. In place of the masculine, Oedipal figure of the “Father State,” what is needed is a democratic, foundational structure that quietly fulfills its institutional role from the background.

The trauma experienced by a generation that has been forced to abandon its language and identity finds expression in the melancholic codes of arabesque music, this itself is a psychoanalytic narrative. Perhaps it is through interactions that bring the unconscious to the surface and mend these psychological barriers that a real contribution to peace and reconciliation can be made.

So the question is this: In a militaristic country that has never been able to implement a democratic constitution or a participatory democracy, who will respond to the traumas, depressions, and voids experienced in the aftermath of war? Who will do this? The state? Psychologists? Sociologists? Politics? Or the “oppositional” Republican People's Party (CHP), whose leader Özgür Özel merely acknowledges the Kurdish question in passing during rallies?

Who can restore friendship between the two peoples? I do not say brotherhood, because brotherhood is founded upon hierarchy, defined by older and younger siblings. Instead, we must speak of the freedom of a people who have been oppressed by precisely this kind of anti-democratic, hierarchical structure. Equality is related to liberation and the realization of justice. What we need is not brotherhood, but equality, reconciliation and cleansing ourselves of racism through genuine dialogue.

It is now abundantly clear that this process is evolving into a time when these questions will multiply and sharpen, and it is absolutely necessary for the process to move forward with a critical approach. As things continue in such an insecure fashion, it is impossible for anyone to address this issue in a “Turkish” manner or under the veil of secrecy, unless steps are taken to dismantle the trustee regime, criminalize racism, abolish the village guard system, and establish dialogue with the families of the disappeared. (The 2013 peace process was a failed experience in this regard.)

On the contrary, only when peace becomes fully socialized and takes to the streets can we make this desire for reconciliation permanent through political support. Just as some leftist groups in Turkey in the 1970s failed to seriously engage with the question of women’s liberation, preferring to defer the issue until after the revolution, which ultimately forced Kurdish people to organize independently, there is no place now for politics rooted in resentment, patronizing “big brother” attitudes, or masculine revenge. What we need instead are urgent steps to be taken immediately, here and now. Because the Kurdish question and colonialism are fundamentally questions of class.