Between the Rubble of Geography and the Glow of Identity: Reflections on an Unconquered Spirit

In an age where maps collapse under the thunder of missiles, and dreams shatter along the fault lines of conflicting wills, I find myself standing, along with the children of this land, both blessed and cursed, at the edge of a heavy existential question: when do we cease to be mere “instruments” in the game of masters, and become an “end” in our own human right? It is a moment in which consciousness unveils its deepest tragedy. While great powers remain preoccupied with redrawing their spheres of influence at the expense of our blood, we, the Kurds, are compelled to rediscover our relationship with the world and with ourselves, as though we were being born anew in the furnace of history.

At this critical hour, as the fires of Iran cast their long shadows over the body of the region, and as American arrangements intertwine with Israeli maneuverings, a profound paradox emerges: how are we asked to serve as the “spearhead” of wars that are not ours, while we ourselves endure a state of existential fragmentation? The Syrian experience, with all its false promises of self-administration and Arab–Kurdish alliances, stands as a mirror reflecting this tragedy. We have witnessed how shifting geopolitics can erase, with a single stroke, achievements that took years to build, and how projects of “brotherhood,” founded upon fragile interests, quickly dissolve like a mirage in the desert of power.

Today, amid whispers of arming Kurdish regions in Iran, I find that we are once again reproducing the question of “generational memory,” a question that has long haunted modern Kurdish literature. Our collective memory, as portrayed by novelists, is an archive of fractures and suppressed pain. The hesitation of Kurdish forces in accepting´-or-rejecting Washington’s “offer” is not merely a matter of cold political calculation-;- it is an echo of past traumas. We have seen how the dream of “Rojava” turned into a nightmare as American support waned and Turkish pressure intensified. How, then, are we to believe that the same “patron” will protect us this time on Iranian soil? Experience has taught us that the “hammer” that shatters one regime may crush those who wield it in the next moment. This is the lesson drawn from Erbil, which now stands in cautious anticipation, weighing its ties with Ankara against the presence of American bases on its land, as though reading history in order to avoid its traps.

More dangerous still is the hidden struggle over the “internal other.” While ruling circles in Ankara´-or-Tehran speak of “terrorism” and “national security,” I see before me a condition of enforced forgetting of historical injustices. As documented in Kurdish narrative literature, the modernization policies of these states were often built upon marginalizing Kurds and constructing them as the “other” to be subdued´-or-erased. This miniature colonial mentality transforms any demand for cultural rights´-or-political representation into a “stab in the back of the nation.” What unfolds today is a consolidation of the stereotype of the “good Kurd” versus the “bad Kurd”: whoever aligns with Ankara’s agenda in Syria is deemed an “ally,” while whoever seeks to preserve their existence in Iran is branded a “traitor.” This division is perhaps the most dangerous threat to our existence as a unified political community.

As individuals, we live in a state of cognitive and emotional paralysis. Wars have drained us, and our vision has been distorted by the rhetoric of mutual hatred. We have become an “exhausted” people, stripped of trust in our traditional leadership, torn between the notion of “disintegration” promoted by adversaries and the instinctive necessity of “survival.” Today, more than ever, I believe we are in urgent need of rebuilding our social contract. We need a renaissance project that redefines “homeland,” not as a disputed piece of land, but as a shared human value. We must move from the logic of being “proxies” in wars to becoming “partners” in building peace. This demands a radical reassessment of our tools. The path to freedom cannot be paved by blood alone, but by awareness, unity, and the pursuit of truth, far from the illusions of an “external” force that exploits our weakness, and the constraints of an “internal” force that suffocates our potential.

In conclusion, I see our current condition as the product of an accumulated tragedy of exclusion and deprivation. We have always been the “exception” to the rules of the international game, the “Kurd” to whom the right of self-determination does not apply as it does to others. The “festering wounds” we invoke in every political moment are a -dir-ect result of this systematic marginalization. These wounds will not heal until we, as individuals and as a people, choose to place the interest of the “Kurdish human being” above the calculations of factions and parties. We must understand that any new geopolitical shift, whether in Iran´-or-Syria, will not succeed unless it is grounded in a comprehensive Kurdish national project, one that transcends sterile divisions and embraces democracy as a way of life, not merely an elitist slogan.

At the end of this reflection, I return to the beginning: what is it that we truly want? Do we wish to remain “pawns” in the conflicts of yesterday,´-or-to become the “makers” of our present? History repeats itself, but wisdom lies in those who take heed. Despite the darkness of the current moment, I believe the opportunity lies in the awakening of Kurdish collective consciousness to the voice of reason, the voice of the human being who has grown weary of constraints and guardianship. We must hold fast to our roots, yet with renewed wings, and forge a new reality worthy of the sacrifices of our ancestors, a reality that writes an epic of survival, not annihilation.

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