By: Dr. Adnan Buzan

In this East, exhausted by history, a stark political and cultural paradox still persists: you are asked to abandon your national identity in the name of citizenship, while others cling to theirs and take pride in their roots; you are asked to forget your language in the name of unity, while other languages are protected, taught, and displayed in institutions; and you are asked to abandon your history in the name of coexistence, while the histories of others are reproduced and presented as the foundation of identity and the state.

What is even more astonishing is that this does not stop at nationality, language, and history; at times, it extends even to religion itself. Your religion may be the same as theirs, and your sect may be the same as theirs, yet religion, in political and social discourse, is transformed into an identity associated with their names and nationality—as though faith itself had become a form of national property rather than a shared right belonging to all believers. And when you speak in the name of your own religion, you are told: “Do not speak in the name of religion,” because, in their logic, religion has already been claimed under their name and identity.

What kind of citizenship is this, in which a person is expected to abandon their nationality, language, and history, and is then denied even the right to express their religious identity? And what kind of equality is it that makes you a citizen when it comes to duties, a stranger when it comes to rights, and a political “slave” when you demand the right to have an identity, a memory, a language, and a homeland?

When one nationality is allowed to say, “This is my language, this is my history, this is my state, and this is my name,” while another nationality is told, “Hide your language, forget your history, do not mention the name of your homeland, and do not raise your voice in defense of your identity,” then we are not facing equal citizenship. We are facing a system of national and cultural double standards.

The problem does not always lie with the other side alone. The problem also lies with those within our own nation who justify this double standard, applaud it, and turn surrendering rights into “political realism,” abandoning identity into “openness,” and remaining silent in the face of erasure into “wisdom.” These people do not defend coexistence; rather, knowingly or unknowingly, they contribute to perpetuating an unjust balance: one side is entitled to be itself, while the other is expected to become a copy of someone else.

True coexistence does not mean that one side must abandon its identity so that the other may feel secure. It means that everyone must be equal in their right to language, history, culture, name, memory, and belonging. A true homeland is not one that asks its citizens to forget who they are; it is one that protects their right to be themselves.

At its core, the Kurdish cause is not a matter of hatred toward another nationality, nor is it a call for the elimination of anyone. It is a rejection of erasure. A Kurd does not need permission to be Kurdish, nor an apology to speak their language, nor anyone’s approval to take pride in their history and culture.

More dangerous than the injustice inflicted by others is the transformation of some members of our own cause into guardians of that injustice: applauding according to their interests, changing their positions according to their calculations, and attacking those who hold firmly to their identity more than they confront those who deny it.

Peoples have paid a heavy price for fear for far too long. Woe to a people that loses the ability to defend its memory and then asks the world to respect it. And woe to a people whose own sons and daughters become more concerned about the feelings of others than about the dignity of their own people.

No one is asking the Kurds to hate anyone. All that is required is that they do not hate themselves, and that they do not allow anyone to turn nationality into a crime, language into an offense, history into a burden, and the homeland into a forbidden word.

For dignity does not mean being above others; it means refusing to accept being beneath them.