In August 2024, we set out together to a conference against femicides in the city of Raqqa. Because the way from Heseke to Raqqa by car carries risks, none of us should travel alone. In some villages along the way, ISIS is still organized in sleeper cells, and sometimes security checkpoints or cars are attacked. Heval (Comrade) Ronahî had experience in defending against ambushes on a car.
We reached Raqqa without any problems and took part in the conference. The conference took place on the 10th anniversary of the genocide of the Yazidi community in Shengal. Women of all cultures and religions of North and East Syria took part in the conference. Women from many countries of the Middle East and worldwide sent greetings. The contributions were on the topics of femicides and organizing to overcome all forms of violence. The last contribution was a theater group of young women from Heseke who told the story of an Armenian and Yazidi woman. Heval Ronahî took part in the conference with such a big excitement, as if she had newly found out about the women’s organizing in North and East Syria. She spoke to many different participants and enchanted everyone with her laughter and her sparkling, yet deeply serene, energy.
It was her first time being in Raqqa since 2018 and she marveled at all the great developments. She had worked in the city with young people directly after the liberation from ISIS, in the completely destroyed city of Raqqa, and she took part in the building up of the youth center there. She said that she didn’t recognize the city anymore. The inner city, the market and the shopping streets had been built up anew. She looked out of the window and was speechless. She repeated over and over how incredible it was that all of this had been built up again and that it was even more beautiful than before!
Respect, trust, connection
Spontaneously, we visited the youth center that she’d been active in before. Quickly some young people spotted us. A certain excited hustling started, and the young friends immediately called everyone together. By the time we reached the entrance of the youth center, a whole group of teenagers had gathered. A completely new feeling overcame me and I watched and took everything in.
The young, mostly Arabic friends had a very special respect for Ronahî. I found it hard to grasp it. The greetings took a long time and everyone was asking each other about their well-being and the situation of the city. We sat down in a circle in the youth center. We drank tea and discussed. I also took part in the discussions, but mostly I listened.
A special feeling had taken hold of me, I enjoyed the appreciative, caring approach to each other. We laughed and cried together. We sat together for a long time, the discussion was fast-paced and interesting. Everyone met each other with great trust and a feeling of being connected. I started to realize something. This young woman’s friend, who had worked in the structures of the Kurdish Freedom Movement from a young age, was respected in a very special way. She had had such an impact during her time in the city, that people met her with respect. They asked her for advice, her perspective on the developments in the region. What stayed with me was that this young friend, Ronahî, was looked at as a wise personality, a personality respected by society. I had the same feelings as you can sometimes get in the region when a Sheikh or older, wise women enter the room. The way people interacted with her speaks for itself.
After our visit to the youth center, Ronahî decided to show me her favorite place in Raqqa. We drove to the riverbed of the Euphrates and parked close to a beautiful house. We sat down, we had seeds and drinks with us and enjoyed the view over the silent river. Ronahî told me that she used to take young women here, to get to know them better and to discuss together. Many friendships were built here. With great excitement she told me about a family who lived next to the river, who she hadn’t seen in a long time. We decided to go and visit them. When we reached the entrance of the garden, the mother came running out of the house laughing. She directly remarked that Ronahî had not visited in way too long and that the whole family missed her. Slowly, the whole family gathered and everyone hugged each other. The mother invited us to pick some grapes in the garden. Together we entered the garden and we found ourselves under a roof of grape leaves. Grapevines as big as a forearm and a hand together, plump and full, hung down from the vineyard ceiling. I understood that this is the way to grow grapes in Raqqa – in fields not in lines, so that the leaves themselves can protect the grapes from the sun.
We picked some grapes together with the kids of the family and then sat down together. We drank tea together and chatted. Again and again, the family noted that the friend had not visited them in way too long. They invited us to stay overnight and share dinner together.
After some time, we continued our journey and took some grapes for the way.
To fill each encounter and your own actions with meaning
I had the feeling that we were connected in a very special way. Maybe it was her way of building connections that I was allowed to be part of. In a way it’s something beautiful, when what is special isn’t something extraordinary or rare, but instead becomes part of the way we meet and connect with others.
Heval Ronahî always used her time for discussions and to ask questions. She thought about many things and was curious. She wanted to discuss and hear many different points of view. Often we had similar thoughts in the same moment. She watched everything and understood fast how someone is doing and what they are searching for. She was always looking for a greater depth and a deeper understanding.
She joined the resistance against occupation early on in the Rojava revolution and took part in the societal development. I used every moment to take part in her experiences.
Once she told me of her time in Kobane, in the beginning after the liberation of the city from the Syrian regime in 2011. She was 16 years old and took part in the youth work. In the countryside, some gangs had started to grow drugs and to spread drug use and smuggling and by this criminalize the region worldwide. Many things were tried to stop these gangs. When nothing else was successful, some young people decided to burn down the fields that were used for growing drugs. Heval Ronahî also took part. It was possible to feel the impact on the region when she talked about it. To show such a clear stance in such an unclear time had an impact beyond the region that is visible until today.
Afrin’s daughter and student of Abdullah Öcalan
The last few times we met, Ronahî told me about her research regarding cognitive and hybrid warfare, which is also known as “special warfare” in the region. She researched the topic of Jîhad, holy war, and developed a multi-part workshop: What is the concept of holy war in Middle Eastern, pre-Islamic philosophy? What is its meaning in Islamic philosophy? How was Jîhad understood in different times? How did Wahhabism and the so-called Islamists use this concept for themselves? How should we understand Jîhad nowadays?
As a daughter of Afrin, a city in the far northwest of Syria that has been under the military occupation of Islamist militias supported by Turkey since 2018, I was impressed by her approach to the subject. Instead of settling for one-dimensional hatred and simplified symbolism, Ronahî sought to understand and conducted independent research. Even though she was raised in a Muslim family and today sees her hometown under the exploitative control of Islamist militias—in a region caught between a peaceful, cultural Islam and a militant, political Islam—she has spent her life searching for solutions. She chose an analytical and historically informed approach to address the problems of her own region, fully aware that rigidly focusing on contradictions and opposites would only perpetuate the cycle of violence in the region and make the divides within Middle Eastern societies even more insurmountable. She decided to apply, in her life and work, the methods proposed by Abdullah Öcalan for solving the Middle East’s problems, drawing from them an enthusiasm that was contagious.
The last time I visited her, she told me, full of excitement, that she had planned discussions with various civil society bodies and actors to share and debate the results of her research: the Council of Democratic Islam, the Autonomous Council of Women of Democratic Islam, the community of descendants of the Prophet Muhammad’s family, as well as some Sheikhs in the region. She had also planned to invite friends from the Jineolojî Academy to these discussions.
Ronahî was convinced that awareness and clarity of thought form the foundation of every conscious action. She valued exchange highly and believed that through her research and initiatives, she could have a meaningful impact. At the same time, she was modest about what she did—often she would not mention her projects until someone asked her about them. She saw what she did as natural and self-evident.
Heval Ronahî Yekta is, in many ways, an example for me. I think she is a role model for our generation: a guide for overcoming the ailments that prevent us from achieving our goals and creating real change. Against superficiality in thought and interaction, against learned helplessness and seemingly ineffective action, against oppressive sadness and the passivity of so-called world-weariness. Instead: enthusiasm, love, depth, attentiveness, energy, self-confidence, curiosity, persistence, determination, and self-assurance.
To know our roots and to grow through them
She shows us how our home can become the land of children[1]. How to live a life of dignity and humanity, based on the values that define us. When Heval Ronahî reflected on the path she had chosen, she always spoke of her grandmother, who was a herbal witch and healer in Afrin. She also told stories of the elders and wise people of her region, who were consulted for advice and who, through their work and presence, preserved and created a life of meaning and self-awareness.
She spoke of the gardens and agriculture in Afrin. She told how they made use of everything the land gave them and never wasted anything. How they produced everything themselves and relied on nothing from outside. She spent hours telling me about collecting, washing, processing, and using olives during her childhood. She described how many products in the villages were made from pomegranates. The collective spirit of her childhood homeland was something Heval Ronahî also lived with those around her, her friends. She loved gathering together—to drink tea, share stories, sing, laugh, and dance. There is a well-known trait among the people of Afrin, which she also possessed: always looking for places and opportunities to plant and make their surroundings greener.
This naturalness and connectedness among people and with the earth is a source of strength that we can all rediscover and make flow within ourselves. A collective, societal struggle and its personalities grow from these deep roots. We all have a deep network of roots, inextricably intertwined with the earth that nourishes us. Becoming aware of this connection, these roots, this strength allows us to grow. Heval Ronahî Yekta is an example of how our generation can live, preserve, and create this strength.
The youth in Raqqa recognized this quality in her and acknowledged her as a vanguard. Our generation needs guidance and examples like her—this young woman from Afrin—to carve out its own self-determined path. We need her courage to awaken from the nightmare we were born into[2]—not to despair, but to fight for our lives. Fighting is a long journey, as the people in North and East Syria show us through their example[3]. Young Kurdish women like Heval Ronahî Yekta grew up within a women’s movement that became globally known through the slogan JIN JIYAN AZADÎ (“Woman, Life, Freedom”). They, in turn, found guidance and advice from exemplary women who shaped this large societal movement, the Kurdish freedom movement. Our own actions and work can therefore become a source of strength and new roots, from which new generations draw their power and self-confidence.
An invitation to fight for our life
Born in 1995 under the Baath regime, she witnessed the uprisings in Syria as a teenager and became part of the Rojava revolution. At 29, as a YPJ commander, she defended her life in autonomy and self-determination on the riverbanks of the Euphrates. These stories are the threads from which we weave our own future in dignity and humanity. There are countless such threads; we just need to learn to see them, recognize them, and connect them.
Heval Ronahî Yekta has chosen to lead a life full of meaning and love. With her smile, she invites all of us to become part of this life. Heval Ronahî lights the path we walk together. Courageous and determined, we can achieve anything. Heval Ronahî was taken from us by the enemy, yet our connection and love continue to live and grow. The enemies of life and humanity relentlessly try to harm and destroy us. This aggression will not stop us from asserting our right to live. With Heval Ronahî’s light, we will continue, expand, and defend her dreams and wishes, her definition of a free life.
[1]Michael Panser: Werde der du bist (Unrast Verlag, März 2025); S. 378
[2]Climate catastrophe, nuclear threat, multiple wars, femicide, psychological crises, isolation and alienation, identity crises, etc.
[3]Establishing a foundation for self-administration through social organization since 1980, as well as the process of building and defending Democratic Self-Administration since 2011.