By Dr. Adnan Buzan
I did not expect that, as I began opening certain files related to the past years, writing about the political history of the Kurds in Syria would come to resemble walking through a minefield. Yet it seems that the problem lies neither in the files themselves nor in the questions I raise, but rather in those who fear these files being opened—and fear even more what the answers may reveal about what took place behind the scenes.
Since I began writing about certain political deals, the wars for which the Kurds paid such a heavy price, and the decisions made in their name while they themselves bore the consequences, I have received dozens of messages containing threats. The wording may differ, but the message is essentially the same: “Close these files. Stop writing. Otherwise, there will be consequences.”
At this point, the question becomes larger than the writer and larger than the article itself: Why are some people afraid of the mere act of asking questions?
If the facts I address are incorrect, then those concerned should come forward and challenge what I have written. Let them present their documents and their version of events, and explain to the public where we have gone wrong in reading our history. Threats, however, will not change the truth, erase a document, or rewrite history.
I do not write in order to defame anyone, nor am I seeking to settle personal scores with one side or another. What I am calling for is a natural right of any society that respects its history: to open the files, review the facts, place events before public opinion, and allow documents, truth, and political reason to guide judgment.
Yet some forces have become accustomed to treating history as private property and Kurdish collective memory as a territory in which questions are forbidden. And this, precisely, is the tragedy of the Kurdish intellectual.
Too often, the Kurdish intellectual is not expected to be an independent witness to history, but a follower of it. He is not expected to ask: Who made the decision? Why was it made? Who paid the price? Who benefited? Instead, he is expected to applaud when applause is demanded and to remain silent when questions approach forbidden territory.
And when he refuses to remain silent, the accusations begin: traitor, enemy of the cause, someone connected to foreign agendas, or someone who has chosen “the wrong time” to open the files. Then comes the most dangerous stage: threats.
Thus, the intellectual is transformed from someone exercising his right to ask questions into an accused person, simply because he has exercised that right.
But the Kurdish cause does not need intellectuals who fear the truth. It needs intellectuals who possess the courage to confront it, even when it is painful.
For decades, the Kurds in Syria have suffered the consequences of political and military decisions in whose making ordinary citizens were never genuine participants. Entire generations have lived with the consequences of wars, divisions, political adventures, shifting alliances, and projects that were raised under Kurdish slogans while their calculations and interests often extended beyond the interests of the Kurds of Syria themselves.
That is why the questions we must ask today are not motivated by revenge, but by the need to learn: Who made the decisions? Why were they made? What did those who made them know at the time? Who paid the price? Who benefited? And could some of these disasters have been avoided?
These are not hostile questions. They are legitimate political and historical questions. Indeed, the real danger lies in refusing to ask them, because any society that does not review its decisions or hold itself accountable for its mistakes is destined to repeat them.
One of the most dangerous things that can happen in politics is for people's blood to be turned into bargaining chips. When young people are sent to war, there must be questions about the objective and the outcome. And when deals are made in the name of a people, that people have the right to know their nature, limits, and cost.
To ask people first to sacrifice their lives, and then demand their silence when they question the meaning of those sacrifices, is not responsible politics.
Kurdish blood belongs to no party, no leader, no organization, and no political project that transcends borders.
Every Kurdish generation has the right to ask the generation that came before it: What did you do? Why did you make those decisions? And what have you left behind for us?
There is nothing offensive in asking these questions. On the contrary, they lie at the heart of historical responsibility.
As for the files I write about, I possess a great deal of information and many documents. Some of them, if placed within their proper historical and political context, could open an entirely different discussion about narratives people have long been accustomed to hearing.
Nevertheless, I do not treat documents as instruments of blackmail, nor do I wish to turn writing into the settlement of personal scores. I will present what I can substantiate. I will distinguish between documents and analysis, between facts and conclusions, and between political responsibility and personal accusation.
I will publish these files gradually—not because I fear anyone, but because serious history requires order, verification, and the placement of facts within their proper context.
As for those who send threats, let them offer a political response instead. If I am wrong, prove me wrong. If you possess documents that contradict what I say, publish them. If you have another account of events, present it to the public.
Threats do not refute documents. They do not correct facts. Nor do they grant anyone the right to monopolize the truth.
On the contrary, they make the question even more urgent: What are those issuing these threats afraid the public might discover?
It is time to stop treating Kurdish history according to the logic of political sanctity. No party is above criticism, no leader is above accountability, no organization is above history, and no authority has the right to confiscate the memory of an entire people.
The Kurdish cause is greater than parties, leaders, and temporary political projects. The blood shed by the Kurds is not political capital for anyone.
If mistakes were made, they must be acknowledged. If deals were struck, the people have the right to know their nature. If wars were fought without achieving their objectives, people have the right to know why they were fought, who decided upon them, and who paid their price.
And if sacrifices failed to produce the results that those who made them were promised, future generations have the right to know where things went wrong.
This is not a call for revenge. It is a call for historical, political, and moral accountability.
Peoples who fear reviewing their history repeat its mistakes. Those who possess the courage to look at their past without masks are the only ones capable of building a different future.
For that reason, I will not enter into a personal confrontation with any party, nor will I turn threats into a battle of vengeance. But neither will I accept fear as a condition for exercising my right to write.
I will continue opening these files, one after another, and I will allow the documents and the facts to speak for themselves. I may not publish everything I know at once, because some files require further verification and context. But I will not close them simply because someone has demanded that I do so.
I am not seeking false heroism, nor am I looking for personal enemies, nor do I wish to turn the past into another war.
I simply want us to ask, honestly: How did we get here? Who made the decisions? Why did the Kurds in Syria pay such a heavy price? Were all those sacrifices necessary? And who had the right to decide the fate of an entire generation?
These questions will remain, even if the answers are delayed.
Threats, however, are not answers.
The only answer to a document is another document, and the only answer to a truth is a more accurate truth. Everything else is merely an attempt to close a door that has only just begun to open.
And I will leave that door open.