An ancient treasure of humanity
I hail from a mountainous district in Southern Kurdistan. Approximately one-third of Southern Kurdistan comprises mountainous terrain, creating a stark contrast with the flat plains found elsewhere. The Kurdish language enjoys widespread teaching in the region's educational institutions. However, outside the Kurdistan Region, in areas that make up 51% of Kurdistan's territory, Kurdish schools operate separately from Arabic ones. A similar situation prevails in Rojava, where Kurdish language and schools cater exclusively to Kurds, while Arabic schools are open to all. This linguistic division reflects the dominance of Arabic in economic sectors such as the market and labor force.
Despite the historical invasions by Turkish, Iranian, and Iraqi military forces into the semi-autonomous region, the issue of double-occupation remains intricately linked to political conflicts in the region. Addressing language matters in this region necessitates considering the complex political landscape. Our land has been subject to colonization by each sovereign state, often with the support of traitorous Kurdish political parties. Consequently, the Kurdish public often does not regard these parties as their true leaders or representatives.
One particularly disheartening experience of betrayal occurred during my time as a volunteer at the American Corner in Sulaymaniyah [American Corners, or American Spaces, are US-State Department funded educational, cultural and information centers throughout the world]. I proposed a Kurdish for Foreigners class project within the university campus, which was met with enthusiasm. The proposal was then submitted to the language and cultural center of the University of Sulaymaniyah. Unfortunately, it faced mysterious and elusive rejections, with numerous delays and invalid excuses. While we initially suspected a lack of foreigners in Sulaymaniyah, this was disproven, as the city had many international teachers with whom we maintained close contacts. …
I made numerous efforts to connect with Kurdish language educators and activists, but our attention was greatly consumed by closely monitoring the Jîna revolution unfolding in Eastern Kurdistan [Rojhelat, Iranian-occupied Kurdistan]. It was during this very period that Zara Muhammadi [a Kurdish language activist] received a harsh five-year prison sentence for her courageous act of teaching Kurdish to Kurdish children in the villages of Eastern Kurdistan (Sine), despite Kurdish language still being prohibited in media and education across Iran.
I consider myself a linguaphile, and sometimes, I like to describe myself as a dialect enthusiast. My passion for Kurdish literature ignited in my childhood when my father introduced me to the works of Hêmin Mukriyanî and Mamoste Hejar, reciting their poems that he had memorized during his teenage years. I grew up in a culturally diverse village nestled in the Qandil mountains, the very region where the primary Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) headquarters are located. Our village played host to families who had fled due to political threats; they were resettled here, provided with homes and farmland. These displaced families hailed from various parts of Kurdistan, primarily Northern Kurdish-speaking areas in northern Kurdistan [...]
I felt no sense of difference or discrimination toward them; I understood that we shared the same Kurdish soil. Consequently, I formed deep friendships with them, closer than with my own relatives and native villagers. This is how I came to learn Northern Kurdish, all the while spending a significant portion of my life in front of the TV, watching Hollywood movies and gradually acquiring English.
My native dialect was Mukriyanî, a sub-dialect of Central Kurdish, and it held official status in the semi-autonomous region of Kurdistan due to its rich literary history. After our village was tragically bombed by Turkish fighter jets, we were forced to flee to the city and rebuild our lives. This was essentially a fresh start, albeit under much harsher circumstances. Nostalgia for our previous life began to swell within me, and I couldn't help but reflect on how we survived such a catastrophe, known as the Zargally Massacre. During my teenage years, I started to appreciate my language even more deeply and began to wonder how such an ancient treasure of humanity could be so overlooked by the world. As a result, I endeavored to learn other Kurdish dialects, and I've nearly completed that quest, currently focusing on Zazakî.
Dewran Mahmud, Sorani, Kurmanji, and Kelhorî speaker living in Bashur
(Edits made for clarity and length. Emphasis added.)
