By: Dr. Adnan Buzan

The current Kurdish Syrian scene presents a paradox worth pausing over: Why does the removal of a sign, photograph, or statue from a public square, or the raising of the new Syrian flag, become for some Kurds an issue treated almost as an assault on Kurdish identity and the Kurdish cause? The real problem is not a sign being removed, a statue being replaced, or a flag being raised. Such symbols are subject to change as political circumstances and historical stages change. The Kurdish cause, however, cannot be reduced to a symbol; it is neither protected by a statue nor defeated by removing a photograph. It is preserved through constitutional rights, institutions, a coherent political project, the ability to negotiate, unity of position, and a clear vision for the future of the Kurds within Syria. If Kurdish-majority areas are part of the Syrian state, it is natural for official state symbols to be present there. At the same time, Kurds have every right to demand recognition of their identity, language, culture, and political and national rights, and to reject any return to policies of exclusion, discrimination, and Arabization. But turning a flag or a statue into an existential battle only distracts the debate from the central issue and leaves us prisoners of symbols rather than holders of a political project.

Therefore, before we blame the new authorities in Damascus, we must have the courage to question our own leaders and parties first: What have you done over all these years? What have you achieved? And why have the Kurds reached this stage more divided and less capable of producing a unified political position? How did the cause of an entire people become a competition among parties and centers of influence? And how did temporary positions, offices, and political privileges in some cases become more important than building a common Kurdish strategy? How could the sacrifices of the finest Kurdish young men and women be expended under grand slogans, only for us to find ourselves without a political project commensurate with the magnitude of the blood that was shed? The blood of the martyrs belongs neither to a party, an organization, nor a political leadership, and it must never be turned into political cover that shields decisions from criticism. Honoring a martyr does not mean merely displaying their photograph at commemorative events; it means realizing the values for which they sacrificed their life, reviewing the choices that led to their death, and having the courage to ask whether those sacrifices ultimately produced results worthy of their cost.

As for the slogan “Brotherhood of Peoples,” there can be no disagreement with its essence if it means equality, partnership, and mutual recognition among Arabs, Kurds, Syriacs, Assyrians, and all other components of Syrian society. But it becomes an empty slogan when it is used to postpone rights, justify mistakes, or demand that Kurds remain silent whenever slogans collide with reality. Genuine brotherhood does not mean that one side must surrender its rights to satisfy another. It means that everyone lives as equals in rights and responsibilities within a state that respects its diversity. Kurds therefore have the right to ask everyone who has raised this slogan for years: What remains of it when political interests are put to the test? Was “Brotherhood of Peoples” truly a project of partnership, or was it merely a cover for postponing the major Kurdish questions?

The same applies to the experience of the administration that lasted for approximately fifteen years. Society has the right to preserve what was achieved through it and to discuss its accomplishments, but it also has the right to ask about its failures and the mistakes of its leadership. No administration is sacred, and no political experience is above criticism. Defending institutions must not become a defense of individuals and parties. If the experience was successful, let its achievements be presented objectively; if it failed on fundamental issues, those failures must be acknowledged and those responsible held accountable. Turning every criticism into a conspiracy against the Kurds does not protect the cause; it weakens it. A political movement that fears criticism becomes a closed authority, and an authority that refuses to review itself merely repeats its mistakes.

Here we encounter a problem deeper than the issue of signs and statues: the culture of leader worship. Continuous applause for a leader, even decades after their death, does not create a modern political project. Nor does turning individuals into symbols beyond criticism help society produce alternatives. Respecting history does not mean deifying historical figures, and acknowledging what any leader has contributed does not grant them permanent immunity from questioning and scrutiny. Those who spent decades applauding a leader, party, or political project, and then demand democracy and accountability from others today, must first practice those values within their own political house. A people afraid to criticize its leaders will never be able to demand that the authority governing it respect criticism.

For this reason, the most dangerous thing that could happen to Syrian Kurds in the new phase is for anger over the mistakes of previous leaders to be redirected entirely toward the new authorities. Yes, Kurds have the right to demand clear constitutional guarantees from the new authorities, recognition of Kurdish identity, language, and culture, fair political participation, meaningful local administration, respect for human rights, and guarantees against the return of policies of exclusion and discrimination. But demanding these rights does not exempt Kurdish parties and leaders from their historical responsibility, nor does it grant any organization immunity from accountability. On the contrary, the new phase requires accountability for everyone: the authorities, parties, leaders, institutions, and all those who have made consequential decisions in the name of the Kurds.

What is required today is not for the Kurds to move from one form of dependency to another. Nor should they oppose Damascus simply because they are Kurds, or support it merely because they want to escape a previous phase. What is required is an independent and realistic Kurdish policy that knows what it wants, how to negotiate, when to participate, when to oppose, what the limits of compromise are, and which rights cannot be surrendered. Politics is not slogans, photographs, or statements. It is the ability to make decisions and transform social strength and sacrifice into sustainable political and legal gains.

If the removal of a statue or sign provokes us more than the loss of political decision-making, then our priorities are misplaced. If changing a flag hurts us more than Kurdish division, then we have a deeper problem. And if the disappearance of a politician’s photograph pains us more than the collapse of an entire political project, then we must reconsider our political consciousness. The Kurdish cause is greater than individuals, deeper than symbols, and more enduring than parties. Therefore, genuine criticism does not begin in Damascus; it begins within the Kurdish house itself. The Kurds do not need more glorification; they need criticism. They do not need more applause; they need questions. They do not need another leader; they need institutions. And they do not need more slogans; they need a clear political project.

The new phase requires the Kurds to undertake a comprehensive review of their parties, leaders, alliances, political discourse, administrative experience, and relations with Damascus and with the other components of Syrian society. The real battle is not over a statue removed, a sign replaced, or a flag raised in a public square. The real battle is this: Can the Kurds move from a politics of reaction to a politics of decision-making? Can they say to their own leaders, before saying it to others: You made mistakes; we want to know why you made them, who bears responsibility, and what you have learned from the past? This is not betrayal of the cause, nor an insult to the martyrs, nor hostility toward the Kurds. It may, in fact, be one of the most sincere positions one can take in their interest.

Anyone who genuinely wants a political future for the Kurds must have the courage to confront the past and say clearly: Before we ask the new authorities, “What will you do for the Kurds?” we must first ask our own leaders, “What have you done to the Kurds?”

Nations are not built by statues, protected by photographs, or victorious through slogans. They are built through awareness, protected by institutions, and given a future by a people courageous enough to hold themselves accountable before demanding accountability from others.

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