Ecofeminist Prof. Laura Corradi said
In the Kurdish women’s movement, key concepts such as “self-defense,” “self-organization,” and “free life” play a central role. How do you interpret these concepts within the framework of feminist theory?
The Kurdish women’s movement is without doubt a vanguard within the global feminist spectrum—similar to many Indigenous women’s movements. The concepts you mention were actively developed by Kurdish women and grounded in political practice.
“Self-defense” here does not refer only to physical protection from armed attacks, for example by the so-called Islamic State or other military threats. Rather, Kurdish women understand self-defense also as a collective intellectual and emotional stance—a form of consciousness in which women defend themselves, their dignity, their knowledge, and their autonomy.
Self-defense is inseparable from self-organization. Women must create their own spaces in which they can develop outside patriarchal structures, build mutual trust, and cultivate collective strength. Since the Neolithic era, women have been systematically pitted against each other—through both patriarchal and colonial mechanisms. As many Indigenous feminists underline, colonialism has undermined social relations, such as those between mothers and daughters, between sisters, friends, and comrades.
Therefore, it is essential to restore trust among women—along with self-respect, mutual solidarity, and collective political action. Only on this basis can a free life emerge—not as a theoretical concept, but as lived practice.
I am reminded, for example, of the women’s village of Jinwar in Rojava: a concrete example of how women can experience autonomy through shared living and working. This project would not be possible without the political significance that Abdullah Öcalan assigns to the role of women—particularly his assessment that in many areas, women possess more wisdom and less egoism than men. Even if this may not be universally valid, it points to the thousands of years of exclusion and devaluation of women as supposedly “ignorant,” “incapable,” or even “soulless.”
The concepts formulated by the Kurdish women’s movement are therefore highly relevant to feminist theory. They provide tools for addressing contradictions and internal violence within our own movements—because, unfortunately, gender-based violence exists even within progressive and feminist contexts.
Jineolojî has made significant contributions to the global feminist movement. Beyond this, how do you evaluate the solidarity that Kurdish women have built with the international feminist movement?
The more deeply I engage with Jineolojî, the more clearly I recognize its radical scope. It defines itself as the science of women, fundamentally questioning and reconstructing established knowledge systems—whether in historiography, medicine, culture, or questions of leadership and science in general.
I teach at the university on the relationship between gender and science, and many of my students choose to focus their theses on Jineolojî. They recognize a revolutionary potential in this approach: Jineolojî is a decolonial, depatriarchal, and ecological practice that does not limit itself to theoretical analysis but aims at a concrete re-creation of knowledge and life. Thus, it makes a substantial contribution to the global feminist movement. Many feminists worldwide have been inspired by the Kurdish women’s movement and Jineolojî.
As for solidarity, I would even say this: it goes beyond mere solidarity. The relationship is shaped by a profound understanding that what we do—whether in the name of Kurdish women or others—benefits not only them but also ourselves. Through contact with their movement, we expand our own understanding of feminist practice and gain theoretical and practical depth.
This is why it is crucial that other Indigenous feminist groups that have not yet encountered Jineolojî come into contact with this way of thinking. Exchange is essential—not only because of political affinity, but because through this connection we learn how liberation can be lived and shaped in practice.
Which developments in today’s world give you the most hope with regard to women’s freedom?
The oppression of women is a global phenomenon—it exists everywhere: in many African countries, in India, in Australia, and also in New Zealand. Although we should strive to deconstruct colonial naming: New Zealand should be called Aotearoa, and the American continent Abya Yala, as in Indigenous traditions.
A key aspect is therefore the decolonization of our language—as well as our political practice. And at the same time: hope must be cultivated. It does not arise spontaneously, like a sudden gust of wind. In difficult times, hope is a conscious act—and it cannot emerge individually. Too much individualism harms collective hope.
True hope arises from the shared pursuit of freedom—carried by women, men, and those who identify beyond binary gender categories. It grows through the struggle for a genuine, direct, interethnic, interreligious, anti-capitalist, and ecological democracy, for confederalism as an alternative form of organization. Hope lies in these ideas—when they are put into practice. It is about planting seeds, because hope does not grow on its own. It is work—a collective, political, and ethical task.
In my work—I teach at the university and am also an activist—I try to contribute to education in freedom, to integrity, and to truthfulness. Truth plays a central role in this context. In India, we speak of Satyagraha, the nonviolent struggle for truth. Abdullah Öcalan also attached great importance to truth. Without access to truth—and without the courage to speak it—there can be no real change. Hope is therefore inseparable from struggle. Hope is an expression of the quest for truth.
Thank you, dear Professor Laura Corradi, for taking the time and sharing your thoughts with us. Would you like to add anything or highlight a particular point in conclusion?
I thank you for this interview—it was a moment of reflection for me as well. So I should thank you, because your questions made me think. We have so much to share—not only within our activist circles or feminist groups. It is important that we move beyond our politicized milieus and speak with people, with workers, with those who stand outside academic or political spaces.
I myself am a professor—but I am also a worker, just like the women who clean, cook, or work in the gardens at the university. My most meaningful relationships are often not with other academics but with those colleagues who work with their hands. This shapes my understanding of solidarity. Therefore, I want to emphasize how essential it is to work together across classes, beyond status, and in an intersectional way. Without alliances, we cannot move forward.
I come from a working-class family myself—I have worked in a factory. I often find it difficult to connect with bourgeois women. But when it comes to the issue of violence against women, we must speak with one another—even with women on the political right, even with those who do not speak our language or share our concepts. Because the goal is clear: freedom for women. And we must talk about this with everyone. That is my final point—and my thanks goes to you and to all who read or share this conversation.