Message from a German member of the International Freedom Battalion in Rojava

The following is a translation of a message sent to Revolutionary Action Stuttgart from a German member of the International Freedom Battalion in Rojava. The message was sent on the eve of a Day of Action for Rojava that is taking place in Germany on December 5th. The original article can be viewed here. 

Greetings from Rojava

Dear comrades,

I greet you on the occasion of the Day of Action for Rojava and hope that it involves a broad spectrum of activists nationwide. I currently find myself in Rojava with the International Freedom Battalion to support the revolution and learn as much as I can about it while I am here.

In Rojava, under the severest conditions of a civil war, a comprehensive councils structure was built to govern all aspects of social life.  All ethnic minorities are an equal part of society and enjoy the same rights.

Also, the role of women has changed radically in a very short time. Women are now represented in all important decision-making structures by at least 40%. They have also organized themselves into their own structures for example the YPJ, affiliated with the People's Defense Forces (YPG) against attacks on Rojava.

Since the beginning of the revolutionary process, Rojava has been under attack from Islamist gangs. In November last year the IS launched a major offensive against the smallest of the three Rojava cantons. Equipped with superior weapons, IS fighters managed to occupy a large part of Kobani canton. The city of Kobani itself came under massive attack and it looked as if it would soon fall. However after more than 100 days of resistance, the People's Protection Units of YPG and YPJ along with other revolutionary fighting forces succeeded in liberating the city. Although the Islamist groups were pushed back and suffered heavy losses, they still represent a major threat to Rojava.

We have also learned of the recent attacks in the center of Paris. The Paris attacks show that it is not just Rojava who IS poses a threat for.  We fear however that now, as so often happens, the ruling classes will use the condemnation of these attacks to advance internal militarization. Right-wing forces will also use these attacks for their inhuman incitement.

In all of this of course it cannot be disregarded that the wars of the imperialists strengthen these Islamists by managing individual preachers of hate to use the discontent and despair of the population to build structures that equip them with the weapons of the West and send them to war. We, the revolutionary left have repeatedly pointed out that the wars in Afghanistan, Iraq and Syria ultimately strengthens these exact forces. Germany works closely with the countries that support the religious fundamentalists - whether it be NATO partner Turkey or the Gulf monarchies.

They look to justify their wars with human rights or the establishment of democracy yet exhibit only scorn towards the people who have been displaced and persecuted by these same wars.

This contrasts sharply with the social process that has taken place in Rojava since 2012. It is an important reference point that offers a new perspective for the entire Middle East and far beyond. For the first time in many years there is now a new attempt to establish a free and united society.

In this situation, it is the duty of the internationalist left in Germany to publicly demonstrate solidarity with the revolutionary developments in Rojava and to organize practical solidarity for the progressive forces on the ground.

This solidarity can be expressed in several ways - from organizing actions and demonstration to the direct material support of the population and the combatants in Rojava by collecting money and medicines.

The greatest support we can offer as communists in Germany is to continue the building of a revolutionary movement by further developing the struggle in different political situations and bringing this perspective together within a communist organization and building real counter-power bit by bit.

This will be a long process that will be accompanied by defeats as well as successes. But the more we try to learn from history and current struggles, the better equipped we will be for what lies ahead. So let's learn from the process which led to the struggle for a humane and caring society in Rojava. The struggle for freedom in Rojava is also our struggle.

Long live international solidarity!
For a revolutionary perspective!
For communism! 

Germany: Call for solidarity against the arrest of comrades in Turkey

Neither masscare nor police terror will silence SGDF!

18 arrested in police raids against SGDF (Federation of Socialist Youth Associations) and ESP (Socialist Party of the Oppressed) 

What the Turkish state has not been able to achieve with massacres will not succeed via arrests or police terror. The socialist youth of  SGDG will not be intimidated and make it clear that will not be silenced.

In the early morning of the 4th of December, 18 members of SGDF and ESP were arrested during police raids in 5 cities in Turkey and Kurdistan. Among those those arrested in the cities of Istanbul, Ankara, Antakya and Eskisehir are comrades who survived the July 20 massacre in Suruc that was jointly carried out by the AKP and ISIS. In addition the homes of staff from the BEKSAV cultural center (in Istanbul) were searched and the building was surrounded by police.

Gamze Yildiz, whose daughter Cemil Yildiz was killed in Suruc protested with the following words against the police operation: "Those who were not killed are now being arrested. Those who are responsible for the massacre are not in the dock, only the young people." The mother of Polen Ünlü who was also murdered in Suruc and Dogukan Ünlü who was arrested this morning said she was speechless. Along with Özgen Sadet, the co-chairman of SGDF she made her way to police headquarters after the raid on her home and was also arrested. Dilek Seker, the daughter of Ismet Seker who died in Suruc said: "We are woken up every morning with a new massacre and repression. Our young people were murdered in Suruc and Ankara and now they are trying to intimidate them with arrests. While we wait for the secrecy decision to be repealed in the Suruc process the murderers continue to deepen our pain. Release our friends and our young people!"

Young Struggle consider this attack as an attack against all of us. Because not only are our friends and comrades from Turkey in the sights of the Turkish state but also our common goals and our common struggle. Whether they are keeping us in Germany with bans against participating in the reconstruction of Kobane or trying to intimidate us with mass arrests in Turkey they still cannot stop us!

The arrested from the SGDF are not alone, let our solidarity be our praxis: protests in front of the Turkish embassies and consulates, send protest faxes and e-email! Spread the call for the release of the socialist youth, be creative!

We demand the immediate release of:

1. Oguz Yüzgec (SGDF Co-Chair of the SGDF, survivor of the Suruc massacre)
2. Serif Erbay (MPs candidate of HDP Istanbul, survivor of the massacre Suruc)
3. Ilke Basak Baydar (SGDF, survivor of the Suruc massacre)
4. Cagdas Kücükbattal (ESP Party councilor, survivor from the Suruc massacre, lost an eye during the Gezi Uprising due to police terror)
5. Dogukan Ünlü (SGDF)
6. Taylan Cetina (SGDF)
7. Fethiye Ok (ESP assistant to the ESP chairman)
8. Soner Cicek (Chairman of Diyarbakir ESP)
9 Ece Simsek (press advisor to the Co-chairman of the HDP Figen Yuksekdag)
10. Burcu Demirbas (HDP MP candidate Istanbul)
11. Özgür Bedel (SGDF)
12. Ezgi Bedel (SGDF)
13. Günay Akar
14. Baris Erhan
15. Alper Kaba (former managing editor of the newspaper Atilim)
16. Uzgen Sadet (SGDF Co-Chair of the SGDF, survivor of the Suruc massacre)
17. Aykut Karnap (SGDF)
18. Hakan Öz (Survivor of the Suruc massacre, a member of the music group Vardiya)

source

Press Release: Kurdish activist Mustafa C arrested in Bremen (Germany)

November 13, 2015

By order of the Higher Regional Court (OLG) in Celle, Kurdish activist Mustafa C. was arrested on November 11 and his apartment was searched. Since the opening of the arrest warrant the following day, the Kurdish man is being held at Sehnde prison under pre-trial detention.

Mustafa is accused of being a member of an overseas 'terrorist' organization and it is being claimed that he was the leader of the PKK in Oldenburg from June 2013-July 2015 and that since the beginning of August 2015 he was responsible for the areas of Hamburg, Stade and Lüneburg. As with all other accused PKK activists, Mustafa is being criminalized for allegedly organizing rallies, meetings, demonstrations and other events as well as renting buses, collecting donations and enlisting young recruits.

With the ban on the PKK now in it's 22nd year in Germany, including Mustafa there are now eight Kurdish political prisoners in criminal and pre-trial detention.

The consequences of German Chancellor Angela Merkel's visit two weeks before the elections in Turkey have become noticeable. Shortly after her  return Kurdish politician Kenan B. was arrested on October 21 in the Pegida stronghold of Dresden.

We protest in the strongest terms against Germany's policy of assisting and encouraging the Turkish authorities in it's war against the Kurdish movement and it's civilian population.

We demand the release of all political prisoners and the immediate cessation of all politically motivated processes against them.

AZADÎ e.V.

Kurdish Legal Aid Fund for Kurds in Germany, Cologne.

(via nadir, translated by Rojava Solidarity Worldwide & slightly edited for clarity)

Rojava Dispatch Final: Journey Home

Here is the final installment from the travel diary of "El Errante", an anarchist from the United States who recently visited the Rojava region. This article originally appeared on the Anarchist News website and was also featured on Reddit. 

“Mr. Errante…did you visit Syria?” The US Border Patrol officer stares at me through the bulletproof plastic that separates us. He shifts in his seat. The man wants an answer.

“ Me? Syria? No. No way… too dangerous,” I say. Praying the lie doesn’t show on my face. I’m in Dublin, at US Pre-clearance, almost back to the States and now, it seems, I may have some explaining to do. He scoops up my passport and customs declaration in his right hand and says,” Come this way Mr. Errante. We’re going to search your luggage.” For the first time, during the entire trip, that sickening feeling of real fear rises inside me.

Two days earlier--Paris. A singular morning, fresh sun and breeze, the kind of daybreak that only the Mother of the Revolutions can serve for breakfast. I walk through Père Lachaise Cemetery my head and shoulders hunched forward. I know this old boneyard like a good friend, and there’s one memorial that calls me now. The Mur des Fédérés (the Wall of the Federals). A place on the enclosing wall of the old cemetery where several hundred Communards were taken to be slaughtered by the forces of law and order. The memorial comes into view, a simple plaque on a wall of stone. Nothing more. I pull a YPG flag from my bag and drape it over the memorial. I take a photo. A German man and his daughter walk around the corner. I ask him to take a photo of me and the wall and the flag. As he preps, my hand once again rises, almost unconsciously in the V salute and he snaps a few photos. I am not done. There are two more photos to be taken. One photo with the flag draped over Oscar Wilde’s tomb, and one photo at the sculpted bronze cap that seals Nestor Makhno’s ashes into the Columbarium. Taking the final picture I notice an odd thing, did the likeness of Makhno smile a bit when I placed the YPG flag? Or is it me?

The Border Patrol officer walks me to a holding room in the Pre-Clearance area. I am told to sit on a row of benches. As I sit I see that I am facing a wall of waist high one-way mirrors. In the reflection I can see several officers directly behind me looking at my passport and paper work. They talk quietly and nod.

My mind begins to play smuggler’s games. I go through all the potential contraband in my bags, numerous YPG/J flags, buttons, and patches. A book called Stateless Democracy, TEV-DEM flags, HPC flags and an HPC emblazoned brown uniform vest including two Velcro pockets that exactly fit a Kalashnikov banana clip for 7.62mm X 39 mm bullets. Additionally, several pro-YPG/J, TEV-DEM magazines in scary Daesh-looking Arabic and latinized Kurmanji. Welp, enough there for a few hours of interrogation, maybe even a day or two of detention. One of the Border Patrol officers calls me to his window. I stand, turn, and walk with measured steps to where he motioned me.

After the stroll through Père Lachaise I hail a taxi and head to the hotel. The taxi driver swerves through the Place de la République on our way back to the Left Bank when it catches my eye. A flag; the yellow/red/green flag of the Kurdish Autonomous Region, then two, and then three of them. Finally I see a huge YPG pennant, yellow with red star, as it lazes and hops in the mid-afternoon swirl. I yell at the taxi driver to stop and pay the fare frantically. I hop into traffic on the Rue du Temple and quickly read the sign over the bandstand, “International March against Daesh, For Kobane, For Humanity.” Whooomp, there it is, it’s November 1st--International Kobane Day, and one more time, I am enmeshed in the Revolution.

I walk through the crowd, smelling the food, seeing the colors, transported back to Kobane and Cizere by the sound of spoken Kurmanji, and the feeling of rebirth, of making a new world. There is a tent where representatives of the Halkların Demokratik Partisi (Turkish, HDP) sit, drink tea, and converse. I walk over and introduce myself. I show them some of my photos and posts about Rojava. They speak together, then someone is sent to find a translator fluent in Turkish, French, Kurmanji, and English. After what might be my last glass of Kurdish style tea for a very long time, the translator arrives and we begin to talk about how HDP integrates activities with events in Rojava. As the conversation runs I once again feel it. The openness, the excitement, the lack of fear, the infectious hope in everything these folks do and believe. The. Damned. Hope.

The Border Patrol officer eyeballs me up and down and asks if I have any cigarettes in my bag. I grin and say,” Yup, 15 packs of Gitanes and Gauloises, can’t buy’em in the US anymore, y’know.”

A slight smile crosses his face and he asks about money, gold, anything else I might try to be getting across the border. I answer that I have a few Euros, a few dollars—maybe a total of $100 altogether. No gold, no cheese, nada. He tells me to have a seat while they x-ray my bag. I return to my seat. Only one thought crosses my mind now, did the YPG/J use any paint on those flags that might show up on an x-ray? Oh well, what the hell. I’ll find out soon enough.

As I leave the rally one last sign catches my eye, white on black, and bold, cutting statements in French—demanding victory for the YPG. Well, it’s the folks from the Fédération Anarchiste (FA), come to voice an opinion. I saunter over and introduce myself, they know me a bit, I know them a bit. I am invited back to their info-shop just off the Place de la République. I sit for a while, tell them what I’d seen in Rojava. They ask questions. I have some answers—not many. I walk around their space, buy a few posters, thank them and leave. Now, a short night’s sleep, a long day’s flight, and home.

The Border Patrol officer calls me to his window. I am now frustrated and angry and hope I can hold my tongue. He looks me up and down one last time and says,” Mr. Errante, you can proceed. Your bags will be put back on the plane. Sorry for any inconvenience.”
“No inconvenience at all, really,” I respond. And with that final lie I leave Pre-clearance, feeling very much, sodomized.

At the San Francisco airport I debark the plane and walk slowly toward the bag claim. It’s taken me 26 hours to travel what should have taken 13. My back and legs ache and my head feels like a tree is growing in it. As I round the final corner my compañera appears up ahead. She smiles and we walk quickly to each other. I touch her hand, it is cool and warm, it feels like love. We embrace, I smell her hair, and I whisper,” I made it.”

“Home,” is all she replies. The sound of her voice--dusky, low, familiar— tells me the rest.

(My name is El Errante. My name is Paul Z. Simons. Thanks for reading—hope you enjoyed the Dispatches.)

Rojava Dispatch Six: Innovations, the Formation of the Hêza Parastina Cewherî (HPC)

Continuing the travel diary of "El Errante", an anarchist from the United States currently travelling in the Rojava region. This article originally appeared on the Anarchist News website. 

There is a small cemetery on the side of the 712 highway as it crawls its way westward out of Kobane. There are roughly 100 graves there, they are well-kept, some sprout plastic flowers, and small mementoes can be seen that have been placed atop others. The cemetery is marked by a sign and a large poster of the martyrs buried there. This poster, however, is markedly different than most YPG/J martyr remembrances; this one includes pictures of old folks, newlyweds, teenagers and the very young. For this cemetery is dedicated solely to those who lost their lives during the massacre of June 25, 2015. On that night some 100 Daesh, disguised as Asayîş, infiltrated the Turkish border, exploded several car bombs and then began to systematically massacre anyone they could lay their hands on. An estimated 233 civilians were killed over the ensuing three days, including two of the driver’s uncles. Which is how I found this place; he had asked for a moment to stop by and tend the graves. I told him of course and asked if he came to the cemetery often.

"Every week," was his response.

I finally found and met Aram Qamishlo, the HPC Director for Qamishili. The HPC compound where he works sits right behind the YPG barracks described in Dispatch Five. The HPC headquarters is yet another enclosed compound, a former storage area for the moribund Chemins de Fer Syriens railway system. According to Aram, the idea of formal defense units directly responsible to, and for the defense of, the communes had long been part of TEV-DEM discussions. The policy to further decentralize militia and security responsibilities with the concomitant devolution of power into the communes being the overarching priority. Significantly however, Aram states that the final push for the HPC came not from above, but from the communes. Prior to the HPC, each commune had implemented some level of security force, comprised of their own members and responsible to the commune council. This proved insufficient so the Qamishli communes requested that the Cizere Executive Council designate a name for the units, provide weapons training, a uniform, and outline specific duties for the militia. In March of 2015, and as a result of the relative stability of the region, the first units of the Hêza Parastina Cewherî (HPC, Self Defense Forces) began training and deploying in Cizere Canton, specifically Qamishli.

The driver, Mohammed the translator, and me wander among the graves. There are others here too, family, friends. They tend the graves of their loved ones. Hands, earth, sadness. One or two small boys play at tag while their parents clean the dry mounds of paper and rubbish. The graves are a sphinx. All of the headstones are in Arabic, which I can’t read. Even the dates are undecipherable. I continue walking, grave to grave, row to row, then one catches my eye. The dates and name are in Latinized script. This person was named Nujiyan Gever and s/he was born on October 14, 2014 and died on July 2, 2015. I count the months in my head quickly—a baby. Nine months old. Mohammed reaches out and takes my arm as I crouch to my knees. In my mind the simple phrase--a baby, Nujiyan Gever, nine months old--repeats over and over. I begin to feel unwell.

The HPC, like the YPG/J has developed innovative protocols for recruitment, training, and deployment. Some facts…

1) Each commune elects two persons to participate in the HPC. In practice there are far more volunteers for the HPC than it could possibly train and supply.

2) HPC recruit training lasts 17 days.

3) TEV-DEM and YPG/J take equal responsibility for training the HPC volunteers. The militias train on weapons and tactics and TEV-DEM train on the ideas of Democratic Confederalism. Both are considered essential for the HPC recruit to accomplish the mission of self defense.

4) As an example of HPC density, the city of Qamishli has a population of about 230,000 and an HPC contingent of 500.

5) Kobane, after the massacre, set out to arm and train HPC volunteers as quickly as possible. Due to the damage of the siege and lack of resources the HPC implementation had lagged behind other priorities. No more. In discussion with my TEV-DEM contact, Mr. Shaif was certain that they would have a full contingent for the city by mid-November of 2015.

As Aram and I sit and chat I ask what he sees as the most important work the HPC will do. He begins slowly, "In Marxism the people were always betrayed by the party, by the army, and what was left was dictatorship, war. In our system the arming of the people, through the YPG, through the Asayîş, through the HPC guarantees that this will not happen. The HPC are one more guarantee for the success of the Revolution. So when we say protect the people we mean not just against Daesh, but anyone."
I am floored by his statement and say, "You know your history, Durruti and Bakunin."
He smiles and that was just enough.

The driver is finishing tending to his uncle’s graves. Mohammed and I stand by the minivan. I smoke and watch the families as they walk through the cemetery. The driver rises and walks towards us. I want to tell him I’m sorry, express sympathy, say something.

"I hope this never happens again," is all I can manage. He is silent. We climb back in the minivan drive and he kicks over the engine. The three of us look off at the graves of the old, the young, the newlyweds. The minivan then groans onto the 712, and is gone.

(Note: In my drive from Semelka at the border to Amuda all the checkpoints were Asayîş, by my return some week or so later three of the checkpoints were run by men and women wearing the brown vest of the HPC. Perhaps coincidence, perhaps not. My guess is the HPC will have a very important role as the Revolution matures and expands. In one stroke TEV-DEM may have addressed an issue that has plagued anarchist insurrections since the Paris Commune, how to maintain power, in the form of a militia, at the block and neighborhood level. Time will tell…)

Rojava Dispatch Five: The YPG/YPJ; Militias That Grow Hope

Continuing the travel diary of "El Errante," an anarchist from the United States who is currently travelling in the Rojava region. This article originally appeared on the Anarchist News website.

YPG dimeşe, erd û ezman diheje (YPG marches, earth and heavens tremble) --YPG motto

"Wait….what….we’re lost?” Mohammed the translator nods and I turn to the driver. He shrugs. I had headed out in Qamishli to do an interview about the Hêza Parastina Cewherî (HPC, Self Defense Forces), the new citizen’s militia formations in Rojava. The driver--per every other taxi driver on earth--knew a short cut that would get us there on time, guaranteed.

Problem was he knew where we were, but couldn’t find the address of the HPC. So as we sat on a corner deciding what to do, I noticed several yellow YPG flags floating over an old fence. The driver pointed and shrugged, indicating maybe they know. Couldn’t hurt.

We all hop out of the taxi and approach the YPG outpost through a tangle of tank traps, concrete barriers and mud. The fighters at the gate are older than most I’ve met before, with graying beards, dark, tanned skin, and wrinkles. First thought, these guys look tough, real tough. We shake hands and when they find out I’m an American, one goes to tell the Commander. He returns with a tall well-built balding man, with clear grey eyes. We shake hands and he introduces himself. He is the Commander of the Qamishli Cizere Canton T.S. Cemal (Martyr Cemal) commando with approximately 400 fighters (4 Companies). He invites us in for coffee or tea, and to meet the fighters. What the hell. I’m late for my interview, it’s chilly--a coffee would be nice, I want to meet the fighters; and I like this man.

The Yekîneyên Parastina Gel (YPG, People’s Defense Units) and the Yekîneyên Parastina Jinê (YPJ, Women’s Defense Units) are the armed backbone of the Revolution. The YPG, formed in 2004 (YPJ in 2012), is no army. It is a militia, a people armed, in the best sense of the word.
Some facts…

YPG/J Organization (Unit Name and Size)

1) Team, 6 – 10 fighters.
2) Suite, 2 Teams, 12 – 20 fighters.
3) Block (Kurmanji—garug), 2 suites, 24 – 40 fighters.
4) Company, 2 Blocks, 48 – 80 fighters.
5) Estimated Total YPG/J Census, 50,000 fighters
6) There are no officers. When engaged in operations, the fighters choose (by vote or consensus) Team/Suite/Block/Company Leaders. When idle, there is no leadership structure at any level, save Regional Commands. Commanders are chosen (vote or consensus) for regions and Cantons (Kobane, Qamishli) and can only serve six months in any given commando. They are then replaced. There is no re-election.

The Commander and I talk as we set off to the barracks. He tells me the men are rested, ready to fight, though the area has been quiet for months. The commando deploys, on a revolving basis, 15 fighters per week to the front. He has only one new recruit, a boy of 16, who left Aleppo and crossed Daesh lines to join the YPG. Breakfast is over and the fighters are lounging near the barracks. They see the Commander and me moving towards them and a few start walking over, then more follow. I introduce myself through Mohammed, they seem surprised that an American would visit; one or two look down, boots shuffle in the mud. I move closer and start shaking hands, I look in their eyes, I mumble thank you in English. The fighters nod, they smile, they get it. One or two say in Kurmanji, “You are welcome.”

I ask if I can take some pictures, the Commander maneuvers the fighters onto the tarmac to a spot in front of a large YPG flag snapping in the wind. A few photos, and as we walk off for coffee several of the less shy militiamen grab my arm and ask for individual or group photos. I stand with the men, arms on each other’s shoulders, we smile at the camera. In that moment one word flashes into my mind like summer lightning; a Spanish word, from a different insurrection and a different time, Hermanos.

A table is brought out and several cups of steaming, brackish Turkish coffee are set. Mohammed, the taxi driver, the Commander and I sit and drink while the fighters stand and look on. I ask some questions. Most are from Cizere, many from the city of Qamishli. They tell me that their fight isn’t just for the Kurds, but for the whole world. And not just to defeat Daesh, but to win a Revolution. They want me to understand this. That it is important. I tell them I do understand. I tell them I believe it also.

The YPG/J have developed some unique protocols regarding training, deployment, and morale. Some more facts…

1) Training for a YPG/J fighter lasts 45 days.

2) After training, the fighter is asked where and what type of duty s/he would like to do. They can opt for front-line service, tactical reserves, Turkish border patrol, internal checkpoints, or logistics and communication. The choice of duty, where to serve, and how long to serve, is solely the individual fighter’s.

3) Leave in the YPG/J varies with commando and combat situation. When idle, single men, and most YPJ fighters (who are usually unmarried) go on leave 4 days a month. Married men serve one week, and week off. When engaged in battle, leave is still offered to the fighters, but is rarely taken. One Kobane Commander joked that the seige lasted only a month because the married fighters realized that the more Daesh they killed, the sooner they would see their wives and children.

4) Food, clothing and shelter are provided to all YPG fighters, they also receive compensation amounting to about $100/month—for odds and ends, cigarettes, candy, amusement, travel, what have you. This seems small by US standards, but in Rojava it can go a long way. I pay about one dollar for a pack of Gauloises Blondes, and a kilo (2.2 pounds) of candy will set you back $0.75.

The cups are drained, time to go. I rise and thank the Commander again. He thanks me, and walks off to his duties. I begin shaking hands with the militiamen, saying thank you to each one, holding eye contact. Now, I need them to understand. The fighters form a line as I move so I can spend a moment of time with each of them. As I pass down the row it feels like a chunk of steel has settled in my heart. The first older soldier we met has been by my side the entire time. He follows us to the taxi. I extend a hand and to show our mutual respect, we kiss each other on the right cheek, the left cheek and then the left shoulder.

Back in the car I start thinking about the HCP interview up ahead, and then my eye catches the yellow YPG flag, still dancing in the morning breeze. There is a popular song in Arabic which include the lyrics, “God save the YPG; they protect the people; Arab, Kurd and Christian are brothers, they protect the land and grow hope.” And I think to myself: yes. Protect this militia of individuals who fight with their whole heart, who are fearless, who are kind, who grow hope, and who I have known for a short time as brothers. May their desires, for peace, for freedom, to be with their families and friends, become reality.

I looked at the taxi driver motioning forward with my hand and said, “So?”

Rojava Dispatch Four: The Return; 18 Heroes Go Home For The Last Time

Continuing the travel-diary of "El Errante", an anarchist from the United States who is currently travelling in the Rojava region. This article originally appeared on the Anarchist News website. 

“The blood of martyrs never touches the ground.”
--Kurdish Proverb

So I had been kicking around Kobane for a day or two and had made some good contacts in the media center and also the YPG. One afternoon the translator and I had stopped by to see what the YPG were up to; it was quiet, mostly. Then a commander came walking through talking rapidly and pointing. I looked at the translator and he said that the YPG are helping to escort the bodies of 18 YPG/J fighters from Kobane Canton to Cizere Canton for final burial. There was some kind of ceremony that was supposed to happen too. So we saddled up the Hyundai minivan and followed the racing YPG cars to wherever it was they were going.

We landed at a building with an enclosed courtyard near Kobane’s sook. It looked like it must have been a sports club, likely volleyball as it had changing rooms and a volleyball court sized enclosed area (As soccer is to Brazilians, so volleyball is to the Kurds, an obsession, a crazed, fan-driven juggernaut). The building had been expropriated and given to the Institute for the Families of the Martyrs, a revolutionary institution to provide support for folks who lost people in the fighting, and to keep the memories of the martyrs alive. Not that the latter task needs much energy, the photos of martyrs are ubiquitous. They are hung in shop windows, on poles, on the walls of offices, in magazines, in Asayis and YPG outposts, in town squares, in schools; in fact, basically, everywhere. And these posters and what they represent resonate deeply with the Kurds. What is interesting in all this is the anonymous nature of the Martyrs, there aren’t just one or two, or even dozens, there are literally thousands. Sure, some stand out, like Arwin Mirkhan, a young PYJ fighter who with her team was leading the final assault on Mishtehnur hill above Kobane. They were separated from the main assault body and shot up piece meal by Daesh (terrorists) fighters. With all her comrades dead or gravely wounded she resolved not to be taken alive and sold into slavery or beheaded. In the chaos of the final seconds of her life Arwin Mirkhan doused herself with a Molotov cocktail and lit a match.

At the center a hundred people or so have gathered, women sit in one room and men in the other waiting for the arrival of the Cizere delegation to accept the bodies of the dead. It is quiet, my TEV-DEM contact, Mr. Shaif is there and he thanks me for attending. We wait, we talk, we drink tea. An old bus, with windows missing is eased into the courtyard, we wait some more. Finally the Cizere contingent arrives, older men and women, some TEV-DEM, some of the parents and family of the martyrs, some private folks. They are lead into an open room and the certificates for burial and death are passed ceremoniously to them. They accept. There are no tears.

The Kobane and Cizere contingent board the bus, I wheedle a seat for the translator and me. We drive to the Martyrs cemetery, some words are spoken by people representing Kobane thanking Cizere and the sacrifice that the fighters made for the freedom of Kobane. The Cizere contingent affirms their support and commitment to Kobane and the Revolution. The occasion is brief, solemn. More than one mother of a fallen fighter is in the audience, yet it is quiet. There are no tears.

We are now late and the old bus blasts like a rocket back through the dusty streets. The area around the Institute is alive with activity as cars carrying the flag draped coffins of the fallen pass by the gate and people look on from the surrounding streets. I dash around the corner to see what’s happening at the gate to the center. The women have come out of the institute compound and stand chanting on the streets, fingers raised in the V for victory salute. The individual cars carrying the heroes pass the saluting crowd, driven by YPG soldiers who return the V salute. The women chant in both Arabic and Kurmanji, occasionally making the zazi, the uniquely regional feminine ululation, which can be heard piercing the still heavy air.

I look on and without thinking I raise my hand in a V salute, but remain silent. There is no longer seeing or hearing this scene, only feeling it. My throat tightens and I find myself hating and loving in the same moment. Loving these young fighters who died for freedom, real freedom; and hating the fact of their deaths, too young, too brave, too many, and those who killed them—Daesh scum. If I could have killed every Daesh fighter in that moment, I would have. Every. Last. One. I reel in my emotions and look over to the gathered women on my right. Their faces are a blur of sadness, gratitude, and determination. I realize that this wasn’t about the Siege of Kobane, it was about the next, inevitable battle. It was about those who will die, as much as those who have. And there are no tears. Except my own.