By Dr. Adnan Buzan

Some defeats end when the battle is over, while others reveal their true meaning only after the guns fall silent. What happened in Deir Hafer was certainly not merely a battle that ended in defeat; it is a major political case that must be opened and examined with courage. The question is no longer: Who won and who lost? Rather: Who made the decision, who paid the price, and whose interests did those decisions serve?

Thousands of young Kurds went to the frontlines believing that they were fighting for their people, their cause, and the future of their regions. But today, the Kurdish people have every right to ask: Were they truly fighting for the Kurdish cause, or were they paying the price for decisions and agendas of which Kurdish interests were merely among the victims?

According to the information I possess, there was a clear American position calling on the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) to withdraw from Deir Hafer, return to the Kurdish regions, and focus on protecting them, while American support would continue. This requires clarification from the defeated leadership. The questions therefore become even more serious: Why did the withdrawal not take place? Who decided to remain? And who believed that continuing the fighting was more important than preserving the lives of thousands of young people?

Withdrawal is not always defeat. At certain moments, the wisest decision is to preserve one's human and military strength, particularly when the Kurdish cause itself needs people capable of protecting its regions, its youth, and its future. Yet the forces remained, the fighting continued, Kurdish youth fell, and the battle ultimately ended in failure—and, perhaps, betrayal.

This is where the issue begins—an issue that must no longer remain forbidden territory for discussion: Who truly held decision-making power within the SDF? Were decisions made according to the interests of Syrian Kurds, or were there other centers of power influencing them—some connected to Qandil and others to calculations and projects extending beyond Syria's borders?

Syrian Kurds are not a reserve army for the projects of others, and their youth are not fuel for regional conflicts. When decisions repeatedly lead to the depletion of Kurdish strength and the spilling of Kurdish blood, it is legitimate to ask: Was there merely a failure in decision-making, or was there a genuine infiltration within the decision-making structure itself?

Then came the outcome, making these questions even more urgent. The battle ended in failure—and perhaps betrayal. The forces were depleted, young people were killed, and the SDF ultimately found itself in a new political reality that led to integration with the new authority in Damascus. If this was the ultimate destination, what did all those battles achieve for the Kurds? And why was it necessary to pay such an enormous human cost?

Politics is not measured by the slogans raised at the beginning of a war, but by the results that remain at its end. And those results, in my view, require a complete reassessment of the entire period: the battles, the decisions, the role of Qandil cadres, the centers of influence, and the extent of regional interference.

The problem was not the loss of a single battle, but an entire course that resulted in the depletion of Kurdish youth and the weakening of the ability to make an independent decision. From this perspective, the apparent possibility of infiltration by regional actors or powers is a legitimate political question that should not be buried out of fear of the truth. States do not act on emotions; they act according to interests. They infiltrate organizations and influence centers of decision-making whenever doing so serves their strategic objectives.

What makes this entire case even more mysterious, according to the information I possess, is what happened after the defeat: the elimination of certain leaders and figures in the Kurdish regions. This raises an even more serious question: Were these individuals part of an infiltrated structure? Or did they know the truth about what had happened—did they know who was influencing the decisions and who was serving agendas beyond the borders—and were they therefore eliminated?

I do not claim that this is an established fact. But I believe these questions deserve investigation and the truth must be uncovered. The elimination of political or military figures after a defeat cannot always be treated as a series of isolated security incidents. Sometimes the silence that follows a defeat is more dangerous than the defeat itself. And sometimes the process of concealing the truth begins by removing those who know it.

Here, I address my questions to Mr. Mustafa Khalil Abdi, known as Mazloum Abdi, and to everyone who held a position of authority and responsibility: the Kurdish people are not demanding the disclosure of military secrets, but they are demanding the political truth.

Who made the decision to remain? Who rejected the withdrawal? How much influence did the Qandil cadres have? Were forces from beyond Syria's borders influencing the decision? Was there an infiltration? Who knew about it? And what happened to the leaders and figures who were eliminated after the defeat?

These are not questions intended to settle personal or political scores. They are the questions of a people who have paid with the blood of their sons. Neither Qandil is greater than the Kurdish cause, nor is the SDF greater than it. No leader has the right to make decisions affecting the fate of thousands of young people and then demand that the people remain silent in the face of the consequences.

Deir Hafer is not merely a lost battle. For me, it is a gateway to understanding an entire era. Perhaps the problem was not simply that the battle was lost, but that, during certain stages of this experience, the Kurds themselves may not always have been the ones deciding where to fight, why to fight, and for whom they were fighting.

And this is the most dangerous question of all:

Was the decision made in the name of the Kurds truly a decision that served the Kurdish cause, or did Kurdish youth pay with their blood for decisions made to serve other agendas?

The battle has ended, its calculations have failed, and a new political reality has begun. But the question has not ended. It will remain standing before everyone who made decisions in the name of those young people:

Who sent Kurdish sons to their deaths? Who truly held the power of decision? And who knew the truth, only to disappear or be eliminated?

Because the blood of young people is not merely a collection of numbers in the records of war. It is a political, historical, and moral responsibility. And peoples who do not ask who led their sons to their deaths may one day find themselves forced to bury another generation.