By: Dr. Adnan Bozan

There is a serious political and social phenomenon that deserves to be examined carefully—not because it is new in the social history of the Kurds, but because it is emerging at one of the most sensitive moments in the history of the Kurdish people in Syria: some individuals have begun to present themselves in the public sphere not as citizens, politicians, intellectuals, or representatives of a national cause, but rather as members of a particular tribe. At the same time, public gatherings are shifting away from the sphere of politics, institutions, parties, and elites toward councils bearing titles such as “notables of such-and-such tribe” or “members of such-and-such tribe.” At this point, the question is no longer simply about the tribe as a social structure with its historical standing; rather, the more serious question becomes: What does it mean for the tribe to reclaim its position as a political label at a moment when the Kurdish people are supposed to be moving from defending their very existence toward consolidating their political and constitutional rights?

The problem is not that a Kurd may belong to a tribe or family, or have a particular social affiliation. These are historical components that cannot be denied, and no one is calling for the social memory of the Kurdish people to be erased. The problem begins when the tribe transforms from a social bond into a substitute for political belonging; from a communal framework into an instrument of public representation; and from a subsidiary identity into a reference point that takes precedence over the idea of the people, citizenship, institutions, political parties, programs, and constitutional rights. At that point, we are no longer witnessing an innocent return to social heritage, but a more dangerous possibility: the reproduction of politics according to a pre-political logic, and the transformation of a people with a political cause into competing social groups struggling for influence.

And this is precisely where we must pause.

The Kurds in Syria are not currently engaged in a struggle to prove that they are a social group with customs, traditions, tribes, and villages. That requires no proof. The real struggle is to establish that the Kurds are a people with a political existence and national, cultural, and constitutional rights, and that these rights must find their place within the new Syrian state, its constitution, and its institutions. In this context, flooding the public sphere with tribal, notables-based, and regional discourse can, deliberately or unintentionally, shift the issue from the political level to the social level, from the level of rights to the level of local relations, and from the level of the people to the level of groups.

This is not merely a matter of language.

When we say “the Kurdish people,” we are referring to a political and social entity with an identity, rights, demands, and representation. But when the Kurds are presented as a collection of tribes, notables, and regions, we have begun—whether consciously or unconsciously—to dismantle the political meaning of this people. This is precisely the point that must not be allowed to pass unnoticed.

For decades, the Kurds in Syria suffered under a policy aimed at stripping their existence of its political dimension and reducing their cause to an “issue” of security, society, or local affairs, rather than recognizing it as the cause of a people with rights. Under the former Baathist regime, Kurdish political activity was subjected to persecution, repression, and imprisonment, while various social and local structures were used in governing the population and weakening its capacity to produce independent political representation. Historical literature on Kurdish tribes also confirms that successive authorities in the region—including the Syrian, Turkish, Iraqi, and Iranian authorities—paid particular attention to tribal structures and used them, to varying degrees, in managing politics and society.

For this reason, the return of the tribe to the forefront of the Kurdish political sphere at this particular moment is not something that should be approached naively.

What is even more painful is that some of the figures now coming forward in the name of the tribe did not emerge from a political vacuum. There are individuals and social and political environments that, at earlier stages, had relationships with the Baathist regime and its security apparatuses, benefited from that system, or operated within the spaces that the regime allowed certain local figures to occupy. Today, after the fall of that regime and the transformation of the balance of power, we are entitled to ask: Have their political convictions genuinely changed, or has only the side they serve changed?

This question does not mean directing a false accusation of collaboration against every sheikh, notable, or social figure, nor does it mean that everyone who speaks in the name of his tribe is connected to the former security apparatuses. But there are facts and circumstances that cannot simply be ignored or brushed aside, and neither can the political and security pasts of certain individuals who have reappeared on the scene today. Therefore, the political question remains legitimate—indeed, necessary—when we see individuals who were once part of an old political and security environment reproducing themselves within the new landscape, but under different titles and through different tools, in roles that may ultimately lead to the same political outcomes: weakening Kurdish political representation, fragmenting its unity, and transforming it from the cause of a people into nothing more than a collection of disparate social groups.

If some of these individuals previously served, under the Baath, the function of fragmenting the people and weakening Kurdish politics or monitoring the social sphere, then the movement of some of them today toward tribal discourse may, in practical terms, serve the same outcome, even if the banner and the authority have changed: weakening Kurdish political representation and transforming the people into fragmented local groups.

Here, therefore, the issue is not limited to the individuals themselves, but concerns the political function performed by this discourse.

Authoritarianism does not always need to tell people directly: “Do not unite.” Sometimes it is enough to make every group speak for itself, every region search for its sheikh, every tribe seek its representative, and every individual seek his own position. In that way, speaking with one unified Kurdish political position becomes increasingly difficult. When society is transformed into a collection of local intermediaries, the authorities can deal with them individually, while the people lose their ability to appear as a single political actor.

This is what makes the experience of the past particularly important.

Have the tools of managing society changed while the political function has remained the same?

Under the former Baathist regime, security, direct control, infiltration, and persecution were among the tools used to manage society. In the new phase, however, the tools may be softer and less direct: invoking local identities, highlighting notables, reviving tribal loyalties, assigning certain figures social and political roles, and linking local influence to centers of power. If this phenomenon is in fact being used in such a manner, it does not require security apparatuses in the old sense to produce a similar political outcome.

This makes the matter even more dangerous, because some people may not realize that they are becoming instruments in a process larger than themselves.

The current authorities in Damascus are rebuilding the state on a centralized basis, while the question of Kurdish rights and the nature of the relationship between the center and the Kurdish areas remains a matter of political negotiation and struggle. In August 2026, the integration of Kurdish forces into the institutions of the Syrian state was announced as complete, while securing Kurdish rights constitutionally remained one of the central demands of the Kurdish leadership.

At such a moment, the question of the nature of Kurdish representation becomes a strategic issue, not merely an internal dispute.

If the Kurds are presented before Damascus and the world as a collection of tribes, notables, and regions, the other side can ask: Who represents the Kurds? Who speaks on their behalf? Where is the unified political position? And on what basis can constitutional rights be established?

But if the Kurds appear as a people possessing political parties, institutions, intellectuals, unions, organizations, a clear political representative, and a national program, then the discussion becomes a genuinely political and constitutional one.

This is precisely where the danger of political tribalism lies. It does not directly abolish the Kurdish cause; rather, it may do something more subtle and more dangerous: empty it of its political substance.

This is the difference between saying: “The Kurdish people have political rights,” and saying: “One tribe wants this, another tribe wants that, the notables of this region demand this, and the notables of that region object to that.”

The first is a political cause.

The second is the social management of a collection of groups.

From here, the question of Turkey’s role is also legitimate, but it must be formulated with political rationality rather than through a conspiratorial mindset. Turkey is a direct and influential actor in the Syrian and Kurdish files. It has supported Syrian armed groups and has treated the Kurdish issue in Syria as a national-security matter linked to its conflict with the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) and to the future of the Syrian-Turkish border. Recent studies also indicate that Ankara has sought to influence the political balances among Syrian Kurdish actors and their relations with different Kurdish parties and forces.

But claiming that every tribal figure is acting in Turkey’s interests requires clear individual evidence and should not be turned into a collective accusation.

Politically, the more precise argument is that any course of action that weakens the unity of the Kurdish political position and transforms the Kurdish cause into a collection of local and tribal loyalties can objectively serve the interests of forces that do not want to see strong and unified Kurdish political representation, whether this is intentional on the part of those involved or an unintended consequence of their actions.

This is the difference between sober political analysis and emotionally charged rhetoric.

Turkey does not necessarily need to issue a direct order to every sheikh or notable in order for them to act; it may be enough to create or benefit from a political environment in which the fragmentation of the Kurdish position becomes useful to its interests. Therefore, the matter should be measured by political outcomes, not slogans.

And here comes the most uncomfortable question:

Who benefits when the Kurds are transformed from a political force into a collection of social intermediaries?

Who benefits when the tribe becomes more prominent than the political party?

Who benefits when the notable becomes more prominent than the intellectual?

Who benefits when personal relationships become stronger than institutions?

Who benefits when every party speaks in the name of its own group, and no one speaks in the name of a comprehensive Kurdish political project?

These questions do not require rushed answers, but they do require that they be asked aloud.

What is even more painful is that this is happening at a time when the Kurds need the highest possible degree of political organization.

The current Syrian landscape does not give the Kurds the luxury of fragmentation. The transitional parliament has not granted Kurdish representation the weight that a number of Kurdish leaders and parties consider appropriate. At the same time, securing Kurdish rights in the permanent constitution remains an open issue, while negotiations continue over education, language, and local representation.

At such a moment:

Where are the Kurdish political parties?

Where are the intellectuals?

Where are the academics?

Where are the lawyers?

Where are those who spent years in prison?

Where are those who lived in exile?

Where are those who paid an enormous personal price because they refused to become mere individuals without a cause?

Was all of that sacrifice ultimately meant to bring us to a stage where the Kurd is once again defined according to his tribe? Did the Kurdish activist spend years in prison only for the tribal notable to become the new political reference? Did the Kurdish intellectual pay the price for his words only for political discourse to be replaced by a tribal council? Did the exile leave his homeland only to return decades later and discover that the politics for which he sacrificed had receded, while social tribalism had moved to the front row?

These are not rhetorical questions.

They are questions about the meaning of all those sacrifices.

Kurds were imprisoned. Kurds were displaced. Kurds died. Others lost their jobs, their years, and their social lives because they demanded recognition of their existence and rights. The cause for which they paid the price was not the cause of a tribe or a family, but the cause of a people.

For this reason, transforming Kurdish political memory into tribal memory represents, at its core, a regression in the meaning of the struggle itself. This does not mean erasing the tribe from the Kurdish people. On the contrary, the tribe can play an important social role, and sheikhs and notables can contribute to reconciliation, dispute resolution, and the preservation of social peace. But there is a clear line that must not be crossed: the tribe may be part of society, but it should not become a substitute for political society.

A notable may be a respected social figure, but he does not automatically become a political representative of the people.

Lineage does not grant its holder a constitutional mandate.

Numbers do not create political rights.

A tribal gathering does not produce political legitimacy.

Political legitimacy is produced by the general will, institutions, elections, programs, representation, and law.

Therefore, responsibility does not fall on the tribes alone. Kurdish political parties bear a historic responsibility for this vacuum. If a notable is able to occupy a broad political space, this means that the political party has failed to occupy the space it is supposed to occupy. If people are looking to the sheikh, this means that political institutions have not given them enough confidence. And if tribal discourse finds receptive ears, this means that Kurdish political discourse has lost some of its ability to persuade, mobilize, and create hope.

The problem, then, is not that the tribe exists. The problem is that politics is absent.

And when politics disappears, the vacuum does not remain empty. It is filled by money. Or weapons. Or influence. Or the political party. Or the tribe. Or the local figure. Or a foreign state.

Here we reach the most dangerous point: if some of those who, under the former Baathist regime, operated within a space that served or was compatible with the functions of the security apparatuses are now reproducing their presence under new titles suited to the new authorities, then the question should not merely be:

Who are these people?

It should also be:

What function are they performing today?

Because history does not always repeat itself through the same names; it may repeat itself through the same functions. Power may change, slogans may change, alliances may change, and the political clothing may change. But if the result remains the weakening of Kurdish politics and the fragmentation of the representation of the Kurdish people into local groups, then we must stop and ask:

Who benefits from this outcome?

Here, Kurdish political parties and intellectuals must be more vigilant than ever.

The objective is not to pursue individuals or distribute accusations of collaboration and treason among people. The objective is to dissect the phenomenon politically: Where does the money come from? Who opens the doors? Who calls for the meetings? Who grants legitimacy? Who communicates with the authorities? What demands are being put forward? Are they Kurdish political demands or local demands? Do these people speak in the name of the people or in the name of the tribe? Do they seek to secure rights or to redefine the Kurdish cause as a social matter? And which parties benefit from this process?

Only then can we move from suspicion to analysis.

Politics is not built on accusations and denunciations; it is built on exposing interests, networks of influence, and outcomes. And if there is indeed a project seeking to push the Kurds away from politics and toward tribalism, the best resistance to such a project is not shouting, but rebuilding Kurdish politics itself.

We need political parties that transcend personalization.

We need institutions, not personal leaderships.

We need a clear political program.

We need a constitutional discourse that knows what it wants.

We need an intellectual elite that is not afraid to enter the public sphere.

We need a new generation that does not see its future in the sheikh or in the political party alone, but in citizenship, institutions, and law.

And above all, we need to restore the concept of the Kurdish people as a political and social reality that must not be reduced to the tribe, the region, or the political party.

The most dangerous thing that can happen today is not that the Kurds disagree among themselves. Disagreement is natural—in fact, it is necessary—in politics.

The danger is that political disagreement turns into the dismantling of political identity itself.

That the political party becomes a political tribe.

That the tribe becomes a political party.

That the notable becomes a leader.

That the leader becomes the sole representative.

And then the Kurd once again becomes merely an individual seeking the protection of his group, instead of a citizen belonging to a people and demanding his rights within a constitutional state.

This is the real regression.

If the former Baathist regime spent decades trying to make the Kurd less than a citizen, we must not allow the Kurd today to become less than a political actor.

If dictatorship attempted to turn the Kurdish cause into a security file, we must not allow it to become a tribal file today.

And if others attempted to fragment the Kurds, we must not, consciously or unconsciously, help them complete that task from within.

Therefore, the question that must confront everyone—political parties, intellectuals, tribes, notables, and elites—is:

Do we want the Kurd to enter the new Syria as a citizen, a political actor, and a holder of constitutional rights, or do we want him to enter it as an individual belonging to a tribe, waiting for its sheikh to speak on his behalf?

The distance between these two choices is not merely social.

It is the distance between the people and the group;

between politics and tribalism;

between citizenship and dependency;

between the institution and the notable;

between a project for the future and the reproduction of the past.

Therefore, the real danger is not that a tribe gathers.

The danger is that politics falls silent when the tribe gathers.

And the greater danger is that this silence becomes normal, then becomes a culture, and eventually becomes a new system of representation.

At that point, the Kurd may one day awaken to discover that the cause for which his fathers spent their lives in prisons and exile is no longer being discussed as the cause of a people and its rights, but rather as a dispute among notables, groups, and tribes.

And then the question will no longer be:

Who brought down Kurdish politics?

It will be the more bitter question:

How did we allow Kurdish politics to be replaced by the tribe?

This is where the responsibility of the present generation begins.

Confronting this danger does not mean insulting the tribe or eliminating the role of notables. It means returning them to their natural place and returning politics to its natural place.

The tribe is part of the people, not a substitute for the people.

The notable is part of society, not a substitute for the institution.

The political party is a tool of politics, not the owner of the cause.

And the cause is greater than everyone.

And if there are those who want the Kurds to be transformed from a political people into a tribal society, then the historical response must be clear:

The rights of the Kurdish people will not be protected through tribalism, but through politics; their identity will not be secured through lineage, but through the constitution; their future will not be built by notables, but through institutions; and their existence will not be preserved by dividing them into tribes, but by transforming their social diversity into a source of strength within a comprehensive Kurdish political project.