Peace is not only the silence of weapons but the end of fear and anger, made possible through truth, justice and genuine participation of society.
“To defend peace is the greatest struggle: it is the struggle to suppress, both in others and within oneself, the crude urgings of ambition and the instinctive desires for violence, and the struggle to stand against the disgrace of those forces of barbarism that claim to be the guardians of so-called civilization.”
Jean Jaurès, January 1914
Jean Jaurès (1859–1914), one of the leading figures of the socialist movement in France, was known for his anti-war stance and for raising his voice against the injustice of the Dreyfus Affair involving a Jewish officer. On 31 July 1914, on the eve of the First World War, he was assassinated by a nationalist.
His words, placed alongside the June special issue of Le Monde diplomatique with its cover “Comment faire la paix” (“How to make peace?”), reveal a common truth: peace is never born in ready-made serenity.
A sculpture in the shape of a throne, built from old rifles and barrels, reminds us of this reality: peace can only be constructed amid ruins, trauma, and uncertainty, with will and courage.
Today, the debates on peace emerging in Turkey take shape in the midst of this stark reality. The heaviest burden of a new peace process does not lie with the people, but on the parties involved, above all, the state. For the insincere attempts throughout the history of the Republic have not been forgotten. The Kurdish people have witnessed peace being promised repeatedly, only to be denied time and again.
Very recently, guerrillas who fell in battle were returned to their families in garbage bags, villages were burned, and the unresolved cases of disappearances and extrajudicial killings remain a living memory. Any process that begins without justice, without the recognition of truth, turns into a humiliating and painful trial for the people.
Peace takes root not through forgetting, but through confrontation and the establishment of justice. Reminding of this reality is an obligation.
An article published on 2 August by the news outlet Numedya24, titled “Observations on the peace process in Serhat,” showed how this fragility is felt even more starkly in border regions such as Serhat and Hoçvan.
Faik Bulut observed that villagers and local structures are trying to engage in the process through their daily needs such as agriculture, livestock, and healthcare. Yet, alongside hope, they carry a profound sense of mistrust. The absence of concrete steps by the state after the weapons-burning ceremony raises the pressing question: “Is it sincere this time?”
The people’s message is clear: the Kurdish people already want peace. The issue is not about convincing them, but about responding to this will with political courage and genuine steps.
At this point, the limited impact of the thousands of meetings held by the DEM Party becomes apparent. Field observations indicate that these meetings are often conducted in a hierarchical and unprepared manner, curbing people’s right to speak.
What will prove decisive is not the number of meetings but the power of authentic symbols. No hall gathering can create the same impact as Besê Hozat, who set her weapon on fire and personally joined the process. It is an evident reality that the organizational structures of the Freedom Movement cannot substitute for the initiative and influence created on the ground.
In the Grand National Assembly of Turkey (TBMM), a commission was established under the title “National Solidarity, Brotherhood, and Democracy” as part of the goal of a “Turkey without Terror.” For now, this is being presented as a major step.
Yet the archives of the TBMM reveal a heavy history, full of unsolved murders, village burnings, and enforced disappearances that occurred long before some of the current commission members were even born. When the archives, held under the authority of Speaker Numan Kurtulmuş, are opened, it will become clear that the first known unresolved killing of our recent history was the torture and murder of teacher Sıddık Bilgin. The fabricated incident involving Major Ali Şahin was also exposed at the time, and thanks to the persistent protests of MPs from the Social Democratic Populist Party (SHP), the matter was brought onto the parliamentary agenda after days of demonstrations.
Efforts to address deeply symbolic wounds, such as hearing the testimonies of figures like Eren Keskin and Ercan Kanar, the conscientious and dedicated witnesses of the 1990s, even if full accountability is not pursued, could serve as simple yet crucial steps to help overcome the existing crisis of trust. Where the people already embrace peace, the real question is whether political will and courage exist.
In the same issue of Le Monde diplomatique, Serge Halimi sharply describes the European left as a “disarmed” mass, either aligning itself with the discourse of dominant powers in the face of war or sinking into silence. According to him, this left has lost its independent line, and has effectively come to endorse the policies of the very governments it once opposed.
Many circles in Turkey, often referred to as the “left,” share a similar fate. Bound within the limits of state-drawn discourse, avoiding a genuine confrontation with the Kurdish question, or retreating into abstract democratic rhetoric with the excuse of “avoiding crisis,” these circles fail to respond with political courage to the will for peace that already exists among the people.
As Jean Jaurès warned, if the greatest struggle for peace is to suppress the crude urges both in others and within ourselve, then the first enemy that the left in Turkey must overcome is its own fear and submission.
As Benoît Bréville reminds us in the same journal, most wars do not end with absolute victory but with negotiated settlements that, however fragile and incomplete, still bring an end to violence. Historical analogies are often invoked to escalate tensions; yet true peace cannot be built on unilateral impositions, but only around a table where both sides share the burden and responsibility.
The peace process in Turkey can only take root through such an understanding. What should be sought is not victory, but a fair negotiation.
During the Liberian civil war, under the leadership of Leymah Gbowee, thousands of women from different ethnic and religious backgrounds came together in the movement “Women for Peace.” After years of violence, women voiced their demand for peace in markets, churches, mosques, and streets; they forced political leaders to sit at the negotiating table.
Gbowee’s words remain striking: “We reminded the men in search of power who the real owners of the country were.” In Turkey as well, the will for peace already exists among the people, especially among women. What is lacking is the courageous representation of this will at the highest levels of politics.
Peace is not only the silence of weapons, but also the end of the anger and fear within people. A just peace is possible only through the acceptance of truth, the establishment of justice, and the genuine participation of society in the process.
Ultimately, as in the past, this process reminds our generation of its responsibility with the words of Frantz Fanon, the compass of both theory and practice in the struggle for freedom against colonialism: “Each generation must, out of relative obscurity, discover its mission; fulfill it, or betray it.
