The process initiated by Abdullah Öcalan’s call for “Peace and a Democratic Society” on 27 February took a new turn when the PKK formally ended its armed struggle during its 12th Congress. As a concrete step, the Peace and Democratic Society Group, led by KCK Executive Council Co-chair Besê Hozat, held a ceremony in the historically significant Casenê Cave in Sulaymaniyah, South Kurdistan, to symbolically burn their weapons. This development deeply moved the Peace Mothers—women who have paid a heavy price throughout the war and never stopped demanding peace. One of them, Gülsüm Dağ, whose village was burned down and who was forcibly displaced, spoke to ANF.
They burned our village and homes, threatening us with rape
Gülsüm Dağ, one of the Peace Mothers who has struggled for an honorable peace for years, represents a vivid example of the Kurdish issue’s tragic realities. At 52, she is both a witness and a victim of the state’s denial and destruction policies against the Kurdish people in the 1990s. Dağ recounted: “In 1993, soldiers burned our village, Wastin (Yayalar), in Bitlis. That day, they gathered the children and took them to the fields. They threatened to strip us women naked and parade us in front of the men. They took our keys, burned our homes, our village, our photos. They said if we didn’t evacuate the village, they would rape the women and children. So we left. We went to Tatvan, but they didn’t let us into houses, calling us ‘terrorists.’ Even our relatives were too afraid to open their doors to us, saying, ‘We’ll get reported too.’ Eventually, we went to my uncle’s house in downtown Tatvan. He said, ‘Don’t be afraid, we won’t leave you out in the cold.’ Five families stayed there for a week. Even porters refused to move our belongings, saying we were terrorists. We left in cars, our children crying, with no money. It was total misery.”
From Mersin to Istanbul, we only saw racism
Dağ said that along with five families, they first migrated to Mersin, where they also faced racism. “Our children were constantly excluded in the neighborhood,” she said, explaining how no one interacted with them because they were Kurdish. After being swindled and having their livestock taken in the highlands where they tried to settle with another family, they returned to Mersin—only to be rejected again.
“No one took us in. We moved to another neighborhood, where two families shared a house, but the conflicts didn’t stop. We couldn’t survive there either, so we moved to Istanbul. In Istanbul, the landlord was Turkish and also discriminated against us, calling us ‘terrorists.’ He reported us and had us evicted. I’m telling you, no one suffered like our children and us. I could talk until morning and not finish. My daughter had friends who always excluded her. One day, she asked me, ‘Mom, what does terrorist mean? They call us that.’ I told her we’re not terrorists, that we believe in the same God, that we speak Kurdish because that’s how God created us. When I took her to school and spoke Kurdish, they didn’t want me to come back. She told me the kids made fun of her because I spoke Kurdish. My daughter was ashamed of me and didn’t want me around. What we went through—may no one else go through the same.”
My brother has been in prison for 30 years and has not yet being released
Dağ pointed out that her brother was arrested in those years and has been imprisoned for 30 years. “I didn’t see him for seven years. They transferred him to Antep Prison, where he was tortured. When we tried to visit, they said, ‘no visitation allowed.’ I stayed in Antep for seven days just to see him. I only saw him seven years later. Then he was moved to Istanbul, where he was imprisoned for nearly a decade. Later, they sent him to Balıkesir. We suffered a lot. My mother didn’t see him for seven years. She’s sick, and we don’t have the means to take her. She’s burning with longing for her son. My brother has completed 30 years in prison, yet he’s still not released. I hope he and all political prisoners are freed.”
We suffered so others don’t have to
Following recent developments, Dağ said she is watching the peace process closely and stressed that all she wants is an honorable peace. “We fully believe in our Leader Öcalan. Whoever brings this peace, may God bless them—but let it be an honorable peace. If peace comes, we will rejoice, our hearts will be at ease. I wish peace had come 20 years ago. We always wanted peace. If only the other side had responded to our call. We grew up amid pain, suffering, and oppression. I’m 52, and I’ve endured endless hardship. I aged with those burdens. I’ve been at the prison gates for 30 years. I see my brother for 5 minutes—just 5 minutes—and even I can’t stand that prison atmosphere. How have he and his comrades endured it for 30 years? I hope this leads to an honorable peace that everyone can celebrate.
The Leader’s call is very important. It’s time for a new era—one without force, pressure, or oppression, where things are done with kindness. Let no more mothers cry. Let no mother’s heart burn. Every mother’s child is either martyred or imprisoned, yet still, these mothers cry out for peace. We suffered so others won’t have to. In the past few months, steps have been taken toward peace, and anyone with a good heart is happy about it. Watching war reports always tore us apart inside. That’s why we welcome peace with joy. We’ve suffered so much—let us also witness an honorable peace. Hopefully, peace will come in a beautiful way, through beautiful means.”