By: Eva Firaz, Syrian journalist.
September 2024
The poster is designed by the cartoonist Amani Al-ali.
Note: This article was written before the fall of the Assad regime, the victory of the revolution, and the liberation of Syria.
The Kurdish people are among the oldest in the Middle East, renowned for their rich culture and distinct language, Kurdish. They predominantly reside in regions spanning Turkey, Syria, Iraq, and Iran. Historically, the Kurds have endured numerous forms of oppression, from being prohibited from speaking their language in public spaces and schools to suffering forced displacement and systemic repression. In Syria, under the regimes of Hafez and Bashar al-Assad, the Kurds faced systematic marginalisation, with their language banned, leaving them feeling like strangers in their own homeland. Despite these recurring hardships, the Kurds have demonstrated remarkable resilience, though they continue to confront challenges that threaten their identity and rights.
I grew up in a family where Kurdish was not just a language but an essential part of our daily lives and a cornerstone of our identity. Kurdish was how we spoke, sang, and told our stories. Each word carried profound emotional weight. However, the world outside our home told a different story. When I started school, Kurdish was forbidden. We were not allowed to use our language and were compelled to adopt another, even as we clung to our sense of identity. The disapproving stares of others marked us as "different," etching a deep sense of alienation on my generation of Kurdish children, who bore the weight of this "otherness" from an early age.
The outbreak of the Syrian Revolution marked a turning point, bringing with it a shift in the balance of power. For the first time, we were allowed to reclaim our identity. Kurdish was finally being taught in schools, and even university courses were being offered in my mother tongue —an experience I had never imagined possible. This newfound freedom profoundly impacted me. To live my life, learn in my own language, and express myself without fear or restriction was transformative. I began to feel safe, confident, and grounded, as though I finally possessed all that I had been denied: my language, my identity, and my dreams.
Yet this sense of safety and security was fleeting. Turkish attacks on our region repeatedly shattered us back into anxiety and fear. The bombings and assaults created an atmosphere of constant terror and tension. I found myself asking over and over: How can this be happening, and the world does nothing, and no one cares that we live in a perpetual fear for our families and communities? Each time we began to breathe freely, fear and horror returned, stripping us of even the most basic right to safety.
These recurring events have deeply shaped me, transforming me from a child who struggled with insecurity into someone who is gradually reclaiming a sense of safety. Rediscovering my mother tongue through formal education in Kurdish allowed me to reconnect with my identity and embrace the part of myself I had nearly lost. But every time I began to feel sense of stability, new attacks dragged me back to memories of my childhood under oppression, reminding me of how fragile our freedom remains.
Today, we live in a region overshadowed by uncertainty, where bombings and attacks perpetuate a cycle of fear and insecurity. This relentless reality keeps us trapped in anxiety deprived of peace, and compels us to raise the question: how much longer must we endure the denial of our fundamental right to live in peace and stability?
By: Eva Firaz, Syrian journalist.