therealsyndy

There are countries that exist on maps such as Tunisia, Lebanon, France, or the United States. But there are also countries that exist within hearts, such as Chechnya, but above all Kurdistan. For nearly a century, 42 million Kurds have lived without a state, separated by borders drawn after the fall of the Ottoman Empire. Yet despite chaos and exile, Kurds continue to fight for the recognition of their right to their land and identity. But what exactly is Kurdistan?

The word “Kurdistan” literally means “land of the Kurds.” The Kurds are a diverse people of Iranian origin who mainly inhabit the Zagros Mountains and the eastern Taurus Mountains. More specifically, Kurdish populations are spread across four countries: Syria, Iraq, Iran, and Turkey. Kurdish culture is rich in history and traditions, marked by several dialects such as Sorani (spoken mainly in Iran and Iraq), Kurmanji (Syria and Turkey), Zazaki (Turkey), and Gorani (western Iran). But why does such a large people remain stateless today?

Let us go back, dear readers, to the fall of the Ottoman Empire. In 1920, the Treaty of Sèvres mentioned the possibility of a Kurdish state. For many Kurds, this treaty represented a genuine glimmer of hope: recognition and the possibility of finally having their own territory. However, the rise of Mustafa Kemal changed everything. The Turkish nationalist movement rejected the Treaty of Sèvres and replaced it with the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923. Although Kurdish hopes for an independent state collapsed, Kurds never abandoned the dream of independence.

Facing repression and the absence of political recognition, some Kurdish movements turned to armed struggle. Kurdish history is marked by tragic events such as the Zilan Massacre (1930, Turkey), the Dersim Massacre (1937–1938, Turkey), the Maraş Massacre (1978, Turkey), the Anfal campaign in Iraq between February and September 1988, during which chemical weapons were used against Kurdish civilians, particularly in Halabja, and the Kuşkonar massacre (1994, Turkey).

Kurds were also subjected to assimilation policies. One example was the Elazığ Girls’ School, which aimed to “Turkify” Kurdish girls. Its purpose was not only education, but also the imposition of Turkish nationalist values and ideology onto Kurdish populations. In addition, Turkey banned publications in the Kurdish language in 1924. And this is deeply significant. Erasing a language directly impacts a people’s sense of belonging, identity, and culture. Mamo Abdi, a member of the Kurdish National Congress, explains that recognition begins when a people preserve and defend their own language. Fortunately, Kurdish has survived for centuries through oral traditions passed down from generation to generation.

However, Kurdish history is also marked by resistance figures and acts of defiance. One of the most symbolic examples is Leyla Zana, whom I personally admire deeply. She became the first Kurdish woman elected to the Turkish Parliament. During her oath ceremony, she shocked many politicians by speaking Kurdish publicly, despite the language being heavily restricted in public life at the time. This simple act of resistance and affirmation led to insults, political persecution, and imprisonment. Even when people attempt to erase Kurdish identity, Kurds continue to fight for their culture, language, and existence. Kurdish identity does not disappear; it resists, survives, and passes from one generation to another.

Little by little, Kurds have regained visibility in public and political life. Following the Gulf War in 1991, Iraqi Kurds obtained significant autonomy. In 2005, the autonomous Kurdistan Region was officially recognized, with Erbil as its capital. Today, it possesses its own institutions, including a regional government, presidency, parliament, and armed forces known as the Peshmerga. In Syria, the civil war allowed Kurdish forces to establish an autonomous administration commonly referred to as “Rojava.” It is also important to remember the major role Kurdish fighters played in the fight against ISIS. Their contribution is often overlooked despite its importance.

Through these political and military experiences, Kurds have managed to build a genuine political presence. In Turkey and Iran, however, the situation remains far more difficult. These governments seek to preserve their territorial integrity and strongly oppose any possibility of Kurdish independence. This is precisely the issue: Kurds live surrounded by neighboring states that reject the idea of an independent Kurdistan. According to these governments, Kurdish independence would create even more instability in a region already devastated by wars and economic crises.

And now, dear readers, I invite you to reflect and debate: should Kurdistan become an independent state?

Personally, I believe it should. Every people deserves the right to live on its own land without fear of oppression or cultural erasure. Even though the Middle East faces enormous difficulties, I do not believe that an independent Kurdistan would necessarily worsen the situation. Palestine, Chechnya, and all peoples deprived of independence deserve recognition and dignity. Regardless of political opinions, many people remain influenced by national narratives and geopolitical interests that oppose the idea of Kurdistan. But are borders truly more important than peoples themselves? After all, many borders in the Middle East and Africa were drawn by Western powers that often ignored the populations living there. At its core, the Kurdish question goes far beyond a simple geopolitical debate. It challenges our understanding of peoples, borders, and the right to identity. How can a people be asked to forget its language, memory, and history in the name of borders drawn a century ago? Kurdistan may not officially exist on the maps of the world. Yet it exists in a culture, in a language, in songs, in mountains, and in millions of people who refuse to abandon their identity.

And perhaps, in the end, that is the true definition of a nation.

One day, I went to Tunisia, my country of origin. My cousin told me that she could tell the difference on the street between Tunisians and those she called “𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚌”. But first of all, what is a 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚌? According to Charlie Hebdo, they are “descendants of immigrants on vacation back home, accused of various acts of disorderly conduct.” Indeed, a “𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚌” is someone who lives in France and is generally from the second or third wave of immigration. In recent years, they have been looked down upon by many communities: first, by the Maghrebi community, which accuses them of having a superiority complex, but also more recently by French immigrants in Thailand who hate the 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚌 (as explained by the Instagram account yayo.yang_.). But where does this expression come from? It was first popularized on social media to distinguish French people of Maghrebi origin from “real Arabs.” A Tunisian woman with French citizenship who has lived her entire life in France is not viewed in the same way as a Tunisian woman who has lived her whole life in Tunisia. Often, there is even a gap between these two “identities.” Why? The children of immigrants have grown up immersed in two cultures: French and North African. Some understand Arabic but don’t speak it. Some people are going through a real identity crisis that shouldn’t be taken lightly. I, too, have gone through this identity crisis: never quite finding my place, being too Arab in France but too French in Tunisia. Having to learn Arabic on my own just to communicate with my family wasn’t easy either. In France, we’re reminded of our Arab identity, and back home, of our French identity. And yet, this is also the case for North Africans living in France. Indeed, they are considered “bledards” who must adhere to certain social codes: the women are Muslim, discreet, and without any deviation, and the men are macho, smokers. “Do you like "les gens du bled"?” is something I’ve heard people in my community say to me in France. What’s more, everything seems to set these two groups apart: French-Arab men often have long, curly hair, wear a “Lacoste” tracksuit, carry a Gucci bag and cap, while the women stand out for their tans, long hair, makeup, and a style of dress considered too revealing for people from the Maghreb. The “Arabs” of the country, on the other hand, have a crew cut (Iraqi-style in 2011), slim-fit jeans, and the girls must fit the stereotype: veiled and discreet. They each perceive the other group with a certain cynicism. On one hand, “they have no manners, they’re too French,” and on the other, “people from the ‘bled’ are different.” Each group believes it embodies the “right version”: back in the “bled,” they’re too backward; in Europe, they’ve lost our values.

And yet... What really sets us apart? Are we really forced to divide ourselves just because one of us was born in a different country than the other? Of course, we can’t deny that our experiences differ: there are things we might not understand simply because of the language barrier, for example. But, precisely, we are not different: there are no “real” Arabs or “fake” Arabs. It is simply a difference in socialization. A person who grows up in France does not have the same social norms, the same relationship with family, or the same relationship with language. And when they arrive in their country of origin, they may feel different from the rest of the population. But despite these differences in socialization, they remain North African, Arab, or Berber—it doesn’t matter. And Pierre Bourdieu, a French sociologist, explains it very well: both sides of the community have internalized what he calls a “habitus,” the set of predispositions that an individual acquires throughout their life. Consequently, habit is manifested in ways of speaking, thinking, walking, acting, and perceiving that we have internalized without realizing it. And we are not socialized in the same way; there is a “Maghrebi habitus” and a “French habitus,” which can create a clash between these two habitus. We judge others because we consider our own habitus to be normal and that of others to be incorrect, inferior, or different. Each of us has our own social world. And our habitus influences our tastes and cultural preferences: when we see French North Africans wearing Gucci caps, it is because that is the norm within that particular community in France.