Eve Morris-Gray & Ahmed Dawood & Abbas Abbas || The word ‘revolution’ suggests a sudden, violent overturn of order. But in Syria’s Kurdish regions, the ‘Rojava Revolution’ has been something far more gradual: a slow, grinding evolution of society over fourteen years. It began on July 19, 2012, when Kurds seized control of Kobane, but the true transformation happened in the moments that followed: in women’s houses, language institutes, and the radical ‘co-chairing’ of local councils.
Today, as activists reflect on the anniversary, they see not a finished product but a living process that has grown, stumbled, and changed before their eyes. From the building of a local administration to the years of fighting ISIS, then the fall of Assad, Rojava has gone through many phases, and the current integration period with the new authorities in Damascus may be the hardest yet.
“There was always a hand around our neck”
Shehreza Osman was in Afrin (Efrîn) when she first heard that government forces had withdrawn from Kobani. Hailing from Qamishlo, she was there participating in an illicit political education workshop organized by the Kurdish Democratic Union Party (PYD), held in one of the mountainous area’s many natural caves.
“It was like the first glimmer of light after darkness, amid the oppression and denial of Kurdish rights under the Ba’ath regime”
“We all stood and began dancing around. We sprang around with such excitement that the dust from the ground rose up and we couldn’t even see each other anymore!” This outpouring of joy spoke to the reality of life for Kurds under Assad. “There was always a hand around our neck, not allowing us to take a breath, say a relaxed sentence, or express ourselves, speak of our ideas,” says Osman.
“It was like the first glimmer of light after darkness, amid the oppression and denial of Kurdish rights under the Ba’ath regime”, says Hindi Kobani. He was among the first to sign up for the local military units that were rapidly assembling.
“Kurds had to protect their areas from armed groups. A small military battalion was formed, and many locals joined it, despite being armed only with light weapons at the time. We took control of security checkpoints peacefully.” He was wounded when his unit came under attack in al-Jarn village.
“Rojava’s society was ready because the events of 2004 in the Qamishlo stadium had inflamed the hearts of the people,” believes Shilan Ahmed, a veteran Kurdish political and women’s activist from Amude, who spent years with the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in Iraq, before returning to Rojava in 2011. “You just needed to say yallah,” referencing the popular uprisings against regime forces that were met with a violent crackdown.
“In 2004, state offices were burned; that was the tradition. But this time [in 2012] it was the opposite – not to harm the institutions but take responsibility for them.”
Anwar Muslim served as the head of the first local administration in Kobani. “We witnessed how the people took the initiative to protect the service institutions. [..] Everyone started working in Kobani; they took turns doing guard shifts so that no chaos would occur. A shortcoming was that we had little experience in terms of administration,” he concedes.
From the first uprising to self-governance
In the areas secured by Kurdish forces, local communes and civil administration councils were formed, laying the basis of a governance system which sought to enable grassroots decision-making and promote women’s liberation, based on the ideas of PKK founder Abdullah Ocalan.
“Mala Gel (People’s Houses) were built first,” recalls Ahmed. “Then Mala Jin (Women’s Houses). Then other institutions, such as the Kurdish Language Institute.” She remembers going around from household to household, working throughout the day and late into the night.
“Everyone was opening their doors and participating in the activities with passion. Every step brought newness within it. When we speak of that time, there are some things that cannot be expressed with words; they can only be felt through living them.”
In 2014, the ‘Autonomous Administration’ system was formally established. It gradually expanded following the success of the People’s Protection Units (YPG) and all-female Women’s Protection Units (YPJ) against ISIS. “Many people sought to portray the YPG/YPJ as a mere fighting force. Yet its fundamental strength came not from weapons,” asserts Shehreza Osman. Rather, she ascribes it to the “ideology, philosophy, and morals” developed in the political theory and praxis of Ocalan.
Building the base
“A very robust foundation had been constructed in Rojava before 2012,” says Osman. “The seeds of freedom had been planted in years prior, and a strong alternative ideology existed.”
While she was growing up, PKK militants were traveling around the Kurdish regions of Syria, visiting families and organizing perwerde.
In the 80s and 90s, many Syrian Kurdish families had traveled to visit Ocalan in Damascus and Lebanon, where he would give seminars, cultivating a strong sense of Kurdish identity. Shilan Ahmed’s father was one of them. From a young age, he taught her that “we were on the side of oppressed peoples”. She credits her family’s political outlook for her politicization. While she was growing up, PKK militants were traveling around the Kurdish regions of Syria, visiting families and organizing perwerde.
The Kurdish word perwerde can be translated as ‘education’. Osman is currently working in a women’s research center, where educators say the etymological root of the word is linked to the concept of ‘giving wings’ to prepare for flight, and also associated with love. This is reflected in the pedagogical approach taken within perwerde sessions; one that seeks to nourish and bring to bloom the seeds already contained within an individual, rather than to ply a person with facts, as one would fill an empty container.
“A free society is built through free individuals,” asserts Osman. “If we want to develop individuals and families based on democratic principles, empowering society and social will, this requires that people make foundational changes within their own personalities”. In this way, perwerde is to encourage people to think deeply about their lives, upbringing, and history, and consider to what extent they themselves embody the freedom they seek.
“The revolution was like a child growing in front of my eyes.”
In the first perwerde that Osman led in Rojava, 32 youth participated: 30 men and 2 women. “We faced a lot of difficulties when trying to convince families to permit their daughters to come to perwerde. People were saying it was something shameful or immodest. And women themselves did not believe in their own strength or ability.”
Osman was not deterred. Not half a year later, she conducted a similar educational session, this time with 50 young women. “This had a massive influence on me. The revolution was like a child growing in front of my eyes.”
“Everyone took their turn doing the guard shift at night. In the beginning, they were so scared of everything. Once, they ran to me saying, ‘Some lights are moving in the forest, someone is coming!’ I went to look. It was fireflies!” she laughs.
She taught them how to shoot, drive cars, and use heavy weapons. But chiefly, she saw the transformative effect that perwerde and discussions regarding womanhood, patriarchy, and socialization were having on them. “They began to recognize their own strength, women’s strength.”
Rojava’s ‘co-chairing’ model mandated that institutions be jointly governed by a man and a woman. “At first, men often made decisions without informing women,” shares Osman. Women also frequently deferred to the men.
“They would say that they trusted the men to make the right choices and saw no need to contribute their own opinion. So we organized more perwerde specifically for women – but also for men. Gradually, changes happened. Certain individuals made really big steps, which reverberated in society more widely.”
The cost of institutionalization amid war
“People whom we had previously lived with day and night, saw this systematization occurring, saw the emptiness, so they distanced themselves. We all suffered with this.”
The revolution’s trajectory has not been linear. Ahmed believes that the gradual institutionalization of civic structures over the years was important, yet at the same time, meant they gradually became distanced from the realities of the very people who had originally participated in building them up.
“Separation from the people occurred. The institutions became centralized”. She describes an “emptiness” resulting from this. “People whom we had previously lived with day and night, saw this systematization occurring, saw the emptiness, so they distanced themselves. We all suffered with this.”
Osman also speaks of shortcomings regarding social needs. “The war was always very intense”, she says. “Rojava was under heavy attack. There were always a lot of military necessities, and preparation on that front was prioritized. This meant that there were weaknesses in terms of the provision of social services, developing livelihood opportunities, municipality work, and meeting the needs of the population.”
Despite this, Ahmed is certain that the deep-rooted impacts of the past 14 years will only continue to grow – and hopes that an end to war in Syria will also enable this. “Those boys and girls of Rojava who were once fighting can today be the ones who make peace – they have the right to, and they know how to,” she concludes.
“We hope that Syria will enter a democratic era in which all peoples can live together,” says Muslim. “We hope that Syria will be a place where all peoples enjoy their rights and that the integration process will reach the desired level.”
