Showing posts sorted by date for query KURDS. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by date for query KURDS. Sort by relevance Show all posts

Friday, October 23, 2026

 

OTHER SIDE OF THE BOSPORUS: 

PKK-tied group in France condemns country’s violent mayhem

OTHER SIDE OF THE BOSPORUS: PKK-tied group in France condemns country’s violent mayhem
Once upon a time in 2019: The CDK-F exhibits an example of non-looting, non-vandalism and non-violent protest in Paris as it hoists banners opposing Turkey’s president, Recep Tayyip Erdogan. / cdkf.frFacebook
By Akin Nazli in Belgrade October 22, 2026

The Democratic Kurdish Council in France (Conseil Démocratique Kurde en France, or CDK-F) has condemned in the strongest terms the looting, vandalism and severe violence witnessed over October 17-18 in Paris, Marseille and other urban locations.

CDK-F, which in some ways can be described as a wing of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in France, issued its statement of condemnation on its X account (@Le_CDKF). The PKK is designated as a terrorist organisation by the EU.

“The right to protest, to express anger or to present demands is a fundamental freedom in a democracy,” the umbrella group, which represents dozens of Kurdish associations across France, also said.

“However”

“However, no claim, whatever it may be, can justify violence, attacks on individuals, businesses, public or private property or the scenes of looting we have witnessed,” CDK-F added.

The CDK-F called for “calm, responsibility and respect for democratic principles.”

The riots across the weekend saw smashed storefronts, looted retail premises and disrupted commercial districts in France's largest metropolitan areas. For the French government, the protests present a unresolved dilemma.

Coalition with Socialist Party

On October 12, the CDK-F inaugurated the House of Kurdistan of France (la Maison du Kurdistan de France/MKF) at Paris City Hall (Hôtel de Ville) “in the heart of Paris”.

About 300 people, including politicians, academics and representatives of institutions, community associations and cultural spheres, were present at the event co-organised by the MKF and the City of Paris.

Among them were Mayor of Paris Emmanuel Gregoire and French ex-president Francois Hollande. They are members of the Socialist Party. Both politicians (@egregoire and @fhollande) and their party (@partisocialiste) accused protesters of “violence, looting and vandalism”. 

For the March local elections this year, the CDK-F formed a coalition with the Socialist Party. For the first time, more than 30 Kurds were elected to municipal councils across France.

The remarkable thing about the Socialist Party of France, launched in 1969 as a social democratic party, is that it is not socialist. The PKK, meanwhile, left socialist ideology behind it following the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Who was the perpetrator?

The mayor opened the MKF inauguration ceremony with a speech. He evoked “the shared memory of the Kurds and Paris, deeply marked by the attacks of 2013 and 2022.” 

Gregoire paid tribute to the victims, namely Sakine Cansiz, Fidan Dogan, Leyla Soylemez, Evin Goyi, Mir Perwer and Abdurrahman Kizil. To “all those calling for truth and justice,” the mayor reaffirmed the solidarity of the City of Paris while acknowledging that the French state could do more to reveal the truth of the events.

The 2013 reference points to the assassination of three women (Cansiz, Dogan and Soylemez) during the night of January 9-10 at the Centre d'Information sur le Kurdistan located on 147 Rue La Fayette. The CDK-F accused Turkey’s intelligence service (MIT) of being behind the incident.

Coalition with Turkish government

Lately, the CDK-F has preferred to not refer to the alleged perpetrator. On August 11, the CDK-F welcomed the Turkish parliament's adoption of a law establishing a first legal framework for the establishment of peace and a democratic society in Turkey.

“Abdullah Ocalan [the PKK’s leader, who is imprisoned in Turkey] must have the legal, material and political conditions allowing him to communicate freely and to continue his role as coordinator in the implementation and success of the process,” the CDK-F said.

Back in 2023, the CDK-F was wont to describe Turkey’s government as “the Islamo-fascist regime of Erdogan”.

Turned vehicles upside down, wounded police officers

The mayor of Paris’s reference to 2022 points to the murder of the other three individuals on December 23 by a racist gunman on Rue d'Enghien in the 10th arrondissement of Paris, near Ahmet Kaya Kurdish Cultural Centre.

The day after the killings, Kurds in Paris took to the streets. They wounded dozens of police officers in street protests, set vehicles on fire and flipped them over.

Female fighters, symbol of feminism

Ex-president Hollande addressed the crowd at the inauguration ceremony. Looking back at the events that marked his presidency, he praised the decisive role of Syrian Kurdish fighters against the Islamic State.

He also recalled that he, as the president of France, had welcomed Kurdish female fighters at the Elysee Palace.

420,000 Kurds in France

Hollande also underlined the need to maintain French solidarity with the Kurdish people without relating it to geopolitical shifts or short-term political agreements. The former head of state also underscored the importance of the Kurdish community in France, numbering some 420,000 people.

The CDK-F brings together 27 associations located in the main cities of France and has  62,000 members, according to its official website.

No to drugs and criminal networks

On October 6, the CDK-F launched a “France-wide campaign against drugs and criminal networks”. The comprehensive national awareness-raising and prevention campaign aims to protect the youth from addiction, drug trafficking, violence and the control mechanisms of criminal networks.

The phenomena related to narcotics, addiction, violence and organised crime are issues that concern the whole of French society, the association also said.






Wednesday, October 21, 2026

One Kurdish Peace Deal Could Ignite Another Middle Eastern Conflict – Analysis




Kurdistan Workers Party (PKK) militants in Iraq. Photo Credit: Tasnim News Agency


The PKK announced in October 2025 that it was withdrawing fighters from Türkiye to northern Iraq and later said it had dissolved, but the peace process stalled by May 2026 as Ankara insisted on full disarmament before legal protections; a related law took effect in August 2026.

Some observers expect demobilized PKK fighters to join the Iranian Kurdish group PJAK, which accounts for most Iranian Kurdish opposition attacks since 2014 and has refused to disarm, potentially strengthening an insurgency against Tehran amid Iranian strikes on Iraqi Kurdish territory.

Such a shift would pressure the Kurdistan Regional Government, complicate Baghdad’s efforts to control militias and borders, risk derailing Türkiye’s peace process, and force the United States to choose between supporting Kurdish actions against Iran and maintaining relations with its NATO ally Türkiye.


In October 2025, the PKK (Partiya Karkerên Kurdistanê, Kurdistan Workers’ Party) announced it was withdrawing its fighters from Türkiye to northern Iraq as part of a peace effort with Ankara after four decades of hostilities. The statement said all PKK forces in Türkiye were being pulled back to northern Iraq “to avoid clashes or provocations.” This followed the group’s May 2025 decision to dissolve and a July ceremony where fighters burned their weapons. In late 2025 the PKK also said it had pulled out of the Zap border area in northern Iraq.

The peace process has since slowed. By May 2026, Reuters reported that Türkiye’s attempt to end the conflict had stalled, with both sides waiting for the other to act and the U.S.-Israel war on Iran complicating matters. Ankara said the PKK must fully disarm before laws can be enacted to protect or integrate former militants. PKK leaders said the group had “fulfilled its part beyond expectations.”

In August 2026, the peace process law was published in Türkiye’s Official Gazette and took effect, marking a step forward.

After the PKK announced its dissolution, some observers expected that some of its fighters might transfer to its Iranian branch, the PJAK (Partiya Jiyana Azad a Kurdistanê, Free Life Party of Kurdistan). PJAK issued conflicting statements, on the one hand lauding the PKK’s decision, “This is the right path…” then a week later declaring the group “will neither lay down arms nor dissolve ourselves.”

PJAK is already the most active Iranian Kurdish group, accounting for an estimated 70 percent of confirmed attacks by Iranian Kurdish opposition groups since 2014, though PJAK and Iran negotiated a ceasefire in 2011. In January 2026, however, armed Kurdish groups attempted to cross into Iran from Iraq.Related: Saudi Arabia and Asia Locked In Dispute Over 2027 Term Oil Deals

The Coalition of Political Forces of Iranian Kurdistan reportedly has only 2,500 to 10,000 lightly armed fighters, so reinforcements could matter. Even so, these groups may have limited capacity to topple the Iranian regime alone, partly because of rifts between leftist groups such as PJAK and nationalist ones such as the Kurdistan Democratic Party of Iran, as well as between groups tied to different Iraqi Kurdish political parties. The Washington Post reported in March 2026 that U.S. President Donald Trump offered support to a Kurdish operation in Western Iran, which would complicate matters for Baghdad as it is trying to recover full sovereignty and to disarm and dissolve the Iran-aligned militias.


In April 2026, Trump admitted the U.S. sent weapons to Iranian protesters via the Kurds, who kept them instead. The Kurds vehemently denied Trump’s claim, but Iran will view this as more evidence of Kurdish perfidy – CNN reported in March 2026 the American Central Intelligence Agency was working with Iranian Kurdish groups to “spark an uprising” – and of Baghdad’s inability to control its borders.

Some demobilized fighters may return to Türkiye as civilians, but others may prefer to keep fighting and join a campaign against Iran. Should Kurdish forces take up arms against Tehran, the repercussions would destabilize the Iran–Iraq–Türkiye triangle. The costs would not fall evenly:


For Iraqi Kurdistan


The Kurdistan Region will bear much of the cost. It has already been targeted by Iran and its proxies more than 1,000 times since 28 February 2026, according to the Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG).

Baghdad and the KRG previously agreed to restrain PJAK. Iranian pressure could split the KRG’s two main political parties, the KDP (Kurdistan Democratic Party) and PUK (Patriotic Union of Kurdistan), since they have different relationships with Tehran. (The PUK is closer to Tehran and the pro-Iran Iraqi militias.)

Tehran has conducted drone and missile strikes on PJAK/PKK-linked positions, framing them as threats to its border. Kurdish fighters moved into Iran in March 2026, and renewed attacks inside Iran (especially in Kurdish-majority provinces such as West Azerbaijan, Kurdistan, and Kermanshah) would raise the likelihood of larger or more frequent Iranian strikes on Iraqi territory, diplomatic demands on Baghdad and Erbil to expel the groups, and possible ground incursions. Iranian officials have already tied stability on their western border to the removal of these “terrorist” bases.

If former PKK fighters began launching significant attacks against Iran, Tehran would have a much stronger justification for attacking their bases. Beyond air and missile strikes, Iran could eventually turn to covert operations and the assassination of Kurdish leaders, a prospect likely to focus minds in Erbil far more than strikes on militant camps.

Erbil is simultaneously trying to satisfy Türkiye by eliminating the PKK’s armed presence, keep Baghdad and Washington onside, and preserve relations with Iran while preventing Iranian attacks on Kurdish territory.

Fighters shifting from the PKK to PJAK would force Erbil to make difficult choices.

Ankara would remind Erbil of its pledge to eliminate the PKK, Tehran would accuse it of letting anti-Iranian militants operate from its territory, and Baghdad would cite violations of Iraqi sovereignty. Erbil’s reply, that it does not control every Kurdish armed group in the mountains, will satisfy none of them.

For Iraq

Baghdad is currently trying to establish greater control over Iran-aligned militias freely operating on Iraqi territory.

The United States has celebrated the PKK’s disarmament as the first success story for its regional strategy, which seeks to strengthen state institutions and reduce the security vacuums exploited by Iranian non-state actors. A failure of the disarmament could embolden Iraqi militias to resist demobilization, potentially using the continued presence of the PKK in Iraq to justify retaining their weapons. This could complicate Baghdad’s efforts to consolidate its monopoly over the use of force and weaken the broader U.S. objective of strengthening state sovereignty across the region.

The September 2026 Türkiye-Iraq agreement illustrates the trend: Iraq agreed to extend state authority in Sinjar and remove foreign armed elements, while Türkiye agreed to begin withdrawing from its Bashiqa base. A new PKK/PJAK insurgency would undermine that bargain.

A failure of the disarmament could also lead Türkiye, whose influence in Iraq is growing as Iran’s declines, to put its preoccupation with the PKK ahead of its commitments to Baghdad, especially the gradual handover of the Bashiqa base under that agreement. Such a trajectory could push Iraqi–Turkish relations back toward a security-driven agenda.

Baghdad could find itself facing Iranian attacks on its territory, Turkish pressure on the Kurdistan Region, and Kurdish militants operating from Iraqi soil at the same time. That would make the Iraqi government’s sovereignty problem substantially harder and threaten oil exports, the government’s economic reform program, US$60 billion in American investment, and infrastructure efforts like the Development Road.


For Türkiye


Ankara’s peace process with the PKK would be at risk. Türkiye could claim the group never fully disarmed, and resume strikes in northern Iraq.

Ankara and Tehran have precedent for working together: in 2011 they pledged to collaborate against the PKK and PJAK. If fighters leave for Iran, Ankara might initially read that as the PKK winding down, but it would likely react harshly if it saw a PKK reconstitution.

Türkiye’s official line is that the PKK must fully disarm and that Iraqi soil cannot remain a launchpad for future attacks. If fighters withdrawn from Türkiye were rebranded as PJAK and attack Iran, Ankara could face accusations of bad faith or of exporting the problem, while Iran could demand Turkish cooperation against the shared infrastructure. At the same time, historical rivalry means neither capital fully trusts the other and escalation could complicate energy, trade, and coordination against a resurgence of the Islamic State.


Türkiye has historically regarded both PKK and PJAK as threats, despite PJAK fighting Iran rather than Türkiye, but Ankara’s interests are changing.

Türkiye is currently trying to end the PKK conflict, while simultaneously expanding its strategic and economic relationship with Baghdad and the KRG. Ankara would therefore probably resist any simple rebranding of PKK fighters as PJAK.

Reuters reported in March that Türkiye was already closely monitoring PJAK because of concerns about its activities against Iran. Türkiye’s Defense Ministry explicitly said PJAK activity threatened regional stability.

So, Ankara could find itself in the unusual position of cooperating with Iran against former PKK fighters, even while its relationship with Tehran (“cooperative rivalry”) remains complicated. The two compete in Iraq, Syria, and the Caucasus, and support opposing sides in conflicts such as Libya and Yemen, but they share an interest in preventing stronger Kurdish armed movements. Türkiye could supply intelligence on PKK personnel and networks while Iran targeted the resulting PJAK infrastructure, and the two might jointly press Baghdad and Erbil. The PKK peace process could end up producing closer Turkish-Iranian counterinsurgency cooperation if former fighters migrate into the Iranian theater, an outcome that will alarm Tel Aviv that will push Washington to “do something!”


For Iran

Iran would face a more capable Kurdish insurgency. PJAK has historically been considerably smaller and less capable than the PKK, but an influx of experienced PKK commanders, fighters, and support personnel could increase PJAK’s effectiveness and give it access to PKK tunnels, shelters and supply networks in northern Iraq, and potentially greater ability to move fighters across the Iran-Iraq frontier, changing PJAK’s capabilities in kind, not just in number.

Under normal circumstances, Iran can probably contain a relatively small PJAK insurgency, but the danger would increase dramatically during an Iranian political crisis.

If Iran simultaneously faced major urban unrest; splits within the IRGC; an economic crisis; renewed Israeli or U.S. military pressure; a Baluch insurgency in the southeast; and a Kurdish insurgency in the northwest, experienced PKK cadres joining PJAK could become disproportionately important.

Iran could respond by cracking down harder on Iranian Kurds inside Iran and portraying the opposition as foreign-backed separatism.


For the United States

The U.S. will face a choice between using the Kurdish groups against Iran and alienating Türkiye, a NATO ally. Long-standing grievances with Tehran, and Israeli pressure, will probably lead Washington to discount Ankara’s concerns.

Reuters reported in March 2026 that Iranian Kurdish groups based in Iraqi Kurdistan had discussed military action against Iran with the United States, including attacks on Iranian security forces in western Iran during the U.S.–Israeli war.


That is a volatile combination: Iranian Kurdish opposition groups, PJAK, former PKK personnel, and U.S. intelligence or material support.

But Washington has a major problem: the PKK is designated as a terrorist organization by the United States and supporting a military structure that includes former PKK personnel could therefore create serious legal and political complications, but Washington will press through them if it feels doing so will end its long-standing grievances with Tehran.

It would also infuriate Türkiye, whose distrust of Washington would peak if Ankara concluded that the U.S. campaign against the Islamic Republic took precedence over the security concerns of a NATO ally.

Finally, the Kurds remember that in February 1991 U.S. President George H.W. Bush urged the Iraqi people, “to take matters into their own hands and force Saddam Hussein, the dictator, to step aside” but then failed to support the uprising that followed, which ended in widespread killing by the regime and over 1 million Iraqi Kurdish refugees in Iran and Türkiye.

Wider effects


The damage will not be contained inside the Iran-Iraq-Türkiye triangle. Past PJAK attacks have coincided with Iranian crackdowns in the Kurdish provinces and with refugee and fighter flows. Fighters leaving Türkiye may encounter residual Islamic State cells, Iraqi Popular Mobilization Forces units, or Syrian Kurdish groups, any of which could turn a border incident into a wider clash.

The likeliest outcome is more regional escalation rather than a decisive military gain, with civilians in the Kurdistan Region and Iraq’s other border areas bearing much of the cost. 


This article was published at OilPrice.com


About James Durso
James Durso (@james_durso) is a regular commentator on foreign policy and national security matters. Mr. Durso served in the U.S. Navy for 20 years and has worked in Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Central Asia.
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Tuesday, October 20, 2026

 

Navigating Kurdish unity: An internationalist perspective

Kurdish unity rally

First published in Turkish at Jineolojî. English version published at News From Kurdistan.

When Jineolojî Magazine asked me to write an article on Kurdish unity, I wasn’t sure what to say. Although I have long supported the Kurdish struggle against oppression, I am very wary of anything that opens up the possibility of ethnic nationalism, or cuts across the wider struggle for a better world. One of the achievements of the revolution in Rojava has been the insistence on cultural freedom for all ethnic groups, not just the Kurds. How can this universality sit alongside the concept of Kurdish unity? And how can the representatives of a system that takes inspiration from the communitarian ideas of Murray Bookchin form a unity with the feudal and materialist society of Erbil?

But in these times, when people are being attacked for their Kurdishness, and prevented from living and celebrating their Kurdish culture, they should be able to expect the support of everyone with a conscience, and especially of other Kurds. And Kurdish unity against anti-Kurdish oppression can exist alongside other political allegiances.

Navigation of this type of relationship has been a constant theme of progressive political debate, and I thought I would take the opportunity to look at some historic examples, both beyond and within the Kurdish movement.

Lenin and the national question

Just over a century ago, when Kurdistan was being divided up by the victors of the First World War, political activists from all parts of the world were pinning their hopes on the new socialist future that was being pioneered in Russia. Those activists, who envisaged a path to real equality, would be astonished as well as devastated if they could visit us today; and among the things that would astonish them is the persistence of ethnic division and of interethnic prejudice and oppression.

The Russian empire was a patchwork of different nationalities, and how to bring these together in the struggle for socialism was a subject of vital debate. Positions taken at that time have echoed through the decades, with Lenin’s writings providing a source of reference — and of disputed interpretation.

For Lenin, ending capitalism and its class divisions was paramount, and to achieve this he insisted on a unified party. He repudiated the nationalism of dominant oppressor nations, and he was very wary of how nationalism can be used to divide people who otherwise have a shared class interest in dismantling existing hierarchies; but he insisted on national and cultural rights and freedoms in opposition to the coercion of the Russian empire.

An early testing of these ideas was brought about by the Jewish Bund, which adopted the concept of national-cultural autonomy put forward by the Austrian socialists. This has many similarities to the practices of multicultural representation developed in Rojava — especially in the form in which it was taken up by the Bund, which recognised national groups not tied to a distinct territory.

Jewish workers were relatively well organised, and the Bund was an important founding constituent of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party (RSDLP). Profoundly anti-Zionist, it was established to combine the general socialist struggle with the struggle for Jewish civic rights, “because,” in the words of one of its founders,1 “Jewish workers suffer not only as workers but also as Jews”. However, by the time of the RSDLP’s second Congress in 1903, the Bundists were demanding a federal party structure and the exclusive right to speak in the name of the RSDLP on all Jewish affairs. After extensive debate, both Bolsheviks and Mensheviks rejected this demand for organisational autonomy. As Julius Martov argued, “We cannot allow that any section of the Party can represent the group, trade or national interests of any section of the proletariat. National differences play a subordinate role in relation to common class interests. What sort of organisation would we have if, for instance, in one and the same workshop, workers of different nationalities thought first and foremost of the representation of their national interests?”

However, that same congress agreed on a programme that included equal rights regardless of sex, religion, race and nationality; the right to mother tongue education at the expense of the state and the right to use the mother tongue in all local, public and state institutions; extensive local self-government; and the “right of self-determination for all nations included within the bounds of the state.”

Nine days after the October revolution, the right of nations to self-determination was passed into law. For Lenin, this was a democratic right like divorce, and “repudiation of the right to self-determination… means nothing more than defence of the privileges of the dominant nation and police methods of administration, to the detriment of democratic methods.” But, like with divorce, the desirability of separation depends on circumstances and was not the main focus of socialist politics.

Many of the demands of the Bundist programme became official policy in the early years of the Soviet Union. And Lenin argued that rather than alienate people from the class struggle by offending them it could be “better to over-do rather than under-do the concessions and leniency towards the national minorities.” However, while the Bolsheviks respected cultural difference and cultural rights, they saw their role as bringing peoples together rather than promoting difference. They dismissed the politics of national-cultural autonomy as a compromise with bourgeois nationalism, “which drugs the minds of the workers, stultifies and disunites them in order that the bourgeoisie may lead them by the halter”; and they embraced a modernism that replaced the shackles of custom and convention with a new proletarian internationalism. This made it difficult for them to comprehend the positive human values that are also part of traditional culture and community, and the solidarity and richness that traditional culture can bring.

As Trotsky explained (in his description of Marxism and the National Problem, which Stalin wrote under Lenin’s guiding hand) “One of the aims of the Austrian program of “cultural autonomy” was “the preservation and development of the national idiosyncrasies of peoples.” Why and for what purpose? asked Bolshevism in amazement. Segregating the various nationalistic portions of mankind was never our concern. True, Bolshevism insisted that each nation should have the right to secede — the right, but not the duty — as the ultimate, most effective guarantee against oppression. But the thought of artificially preserving national idiosyncrasies was profoundly alien to Bolshevism.”

The Turkish left

With the emergence of numerous Left movements in 60s and 70s Turkey, these debates, and Lenin’s copious writings, informed long and heated discussions; especially with respect to the Kurdish Question — the endemic oppression of Kurdish culture and denial of Kurdish identity that was built into the Turkish Republic from its first constitution of 1924. While Kurds increasingly viewed their position as that of an internal colony within the Turkish state, Left organisations were wary of falling into the nationalist trap. In emphasising working-class unity, they postponed addressing the very real and brutal oppression of the Kurds.

This position was expressed as political principle, but long-instilled prejudices persist even within Left organisations that proclaim socialist equality. Lenin observed (in 1919) “Scratch some communists and you will find Great-Russian chauvinists;” and these prejudices were shared by Stalin, who, despite his own Georgian origins, rolled back the freedoms of the early revolutionary years. Similarly, Turkish chauvinism and Kemalist nationalism are no strangers to the Turkish Left, even among people of non-Turkish ethnic backgrounds. The theoretical picture was complicated by the understanding that Turkey itself was a victim of American imperialist oppression, and this was allowed to obscure Turkey’s own role in oppressing the Kurds.

Of course, Turkish responses to the National Question were not uniform. In the early seventies, İbrahim Kaypakkaya, following in the footsteps of Lenin, argued that the Turkish left should not ignore the national oppression faced by Kurdish workers, and that the Communist Party’s historic failure to support the Kurds against national oppression had damaged the class struggle by encouraging Kurdish resentment towards Turkish workers. The Turkish state regarded him as the most dangerous revolutionary in Turkey, and he was murdered in a Turkish prison before he could see his 25th birthday.

But this understanding was far from general. The seventies saw the emergence of a plethora of left groups that together struggled against capitalism, US imperialism, and the brutal oppression of the Turkish state and its far-right thugs; but these groups also carried out intense, and sometimes violent, ideological battles between themselves. In her memoir of that period, Sakine Cansiz gave a vivid account of the intense debates taking place among the students; and she reserved her deepest criticism for fellow Kurdish students who aligned themselves with those Turks who disregarded the additional oppression suffered by the Kurds. She wrote: “the revolutionaries of an oppressor nation had different tasks from those of an oppressed nation. How could anyone try to make a revolution in another country, when they rejected revolution in their own country and ignored the concerns of their own people?”2

It was the failure of so much of the Turkish left to address the Kurdish Question that forced Abdullah Öcalan and the group around him to organise separately and, eventually, in 1978, to found the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) to struggle for an independent Kurdish socialist republic. Sakine Cansiz was a founding member. The PKK has never been exclusively Kurdish, but it has put Kurdish liberation at the centre of its struggle.

Rivalries and political difference in an international colony

The Kurdish condition was given sociological recognition in the 1980s by Turkish sociologist, İsmail Beşikçi, who described Kurdistan as an “international colony” ruled over by four different countries, Turkey, Iran, Iraq, and Syria. In each of those countries, Kurds are engaged in a different struggle. And within countries, there have been major, sometimes violent, disagreements between movements: in the 1990s, Iraqi Kurdistan saw three years of fratricidal civil war. Besides basic power rivalries, there are important differences in political ideology that no one wants to concede.

As the PKK grew, it promoted a Kurdish national consciousness that traversed international frontiers. At the same time, repression in Turkey, forced the organisation to relocate many of its operations to neighbouring states. Öcalan’s sojourn in Syria left a lasting legacy for Syrian Kurdish politics that inspired the Rojava revolution. In Iraq, initially with the agreement of the Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP), the PKK established bases in the northern mountains, and these mountain regions became effectively under PKK control. However, relations with the other Iraqi Kurdish parties were often difficult and sometimes collapsed into military conflict. The KDP has joined Turkey in attacking the PKK, and in recent years has provided Turkey with information and logistical support.

Under Öcalan’s leadership, the PKK developed their own socialist ideology that continued to distinguish them from “bourgeois nationalists” such as the KDP. During the 1990s, the organisation shifted emphasis from national liberation by independence, to local autonomy that — it was hoped — would increasingly marginalise state control without challenging existing state boundaries. These ideas were further developed by Öcalan after his capture and imprisonment in 1999, and were put into practice in the creation of new social structures in Rojava, the Autonomous Administration created by the Kurds in north and east Syria in the political vacuum of the Syrian civil war.

In line with Öcalan’s thinking, Rojava adopted a system that ensured that all ethnic groups were represented, with leadership roles deliberately divided up between different ethnicities (as well as being shared between men and women). This organisation by ethnic group shares similarities with the cultural-national autonomy of the Austrian Marxists. Ethnic groups even organised their own units within the Syrian Democratic Forces. These practices can be criticised for solidifying ethnic difference, but for the short term, in today’s volatile Middle East, they helped ensure an island of peace and stability.

The Autonomous Administration always insisted that their system could provide a model of ethnic and religious coexistence for the whole of Syria, but the United States and Europe, through their support for and recognition of Al-Sharaa, ensured that this was not to be.

When Rojava came under attack from al-Sharaa’s forces, Kurds everywhere came out in support of their brothers and sisters in Syria. The call for Kurds from all four parts of Kurdistan to unite in self-defence was expressed in the phrases 2+2=1 and the Kurdish People are One. In the face of a largely indifferent world, Kurds created a movement too big to be ignored. Arguably, this put pressure on the United States to negotiate a ceasefire agreement between al-Sharaa and the Autonomous Administration’s Syrian Democratic Forces, though it couldn’t change the overall trajectory towards centralisation and control from Damascus.

The Autonomous Administration, which once controlled almost a third of Syria, has been reduced to its Kurdish core, and Arab tribes that once supported them quickly changed their allegiance to the new power in Damascus. Integration with al-Sharaa’s government is the only option on the table, and Syria’s Kurds have been left trying to salvage some of their hard-won social gains.

Within Syria, Kurdish political divisions are exemplified by relations between the Democratic Union Party (PYD), which follows Oçalan’s ideas and has dominated politics in the Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria, and the Syrian Kurdish National Council (EKNS), which takes a Kurdish nationalist position, has organisational and political links to the KDP in Iraq, and has been accused of working with Turkey. The EKNS lacked the PYD’s broad support, and chose not to take part in the structures of the Autonomous Administration. However, they had backing from the United States, who kept pushing for a power-sharing agreement that would have diluted the PYD’s radicalism.

With al-Sharaa’s rise to power in Damascus, EKNS and the PYD agreed to work together for Kurdish interests, but the new alliance has not survived much beyond its initial celebration of unity. While the Autonomous Administration has taken a principled stance against the Syrian Transitional Government’s mockery of democracy, EKNS has used the system, and their own Turkey friendly image, to get their members into positions of power. Kurdish politics has to be about more than getting individual Kurds into government.

Kurdish unity within a wider struggle

The history of Kurdish oppression has led many to put the blame on Kurdish division, and to attempt to bring Kurds together. They want to end the — sometimes-lethal — competition, and to see Kurds combine against their external oppressors.

No organisation has been more consistent in trying to unite Kurds in the cause of Kurdish freedoms than the Brussel’s-based Kurdistan National Congress, which was established in 1999, shortly after Öcalan’s capture, but builds on an older organisation. The Congress is a project of the Öcalan-inspired Kurdish Freedom Movement, but it attempts to live up to its name by working with Kurds of all different parties, other than the political right and the Islamists. With the notable exception of the KDP, most Kurdish parties respond to their initiatives and take part in their discussions.

Like all progressive movements for oppressed peoples, the Kurdish Freedom Movement must combine their fight for national survival with the general struggle for a fairer society — a struggle that has made them an inspiration to activists throughout the world. At the same time as combining with other Kurdish parties in the fight for Kurdish rights, they recognise the importance of inclusivity — both politically and tactically — and they continue to promote their own alternative to the dead end of capitalism and liberal democracy.

In negotiations with the Syrian Transitional Government, the Kurdish-led Autonomous Administration has attempted to act with and for all the peoples of their multicultural region, and also as part of a Kurdish alliance. In Iran, Kurdish parties have made links with other minorities; however, there has been worryingly little connection with progressive groups from the majority Persian community.

Disappointingly, outside a politicised core, the Movement’s approach is not well understood, as was made clear recently in Syria. Many Kurds reacted to the collapse of their hopes in Rojava by retreating into Kurdish nationalism and blaming the PYD ideology — especially the idea of working with other peoples. But nationalism alone cannot solve structural inequality, and can even risk replacing one oppression with another. Israel provides an extreme example of this, but any state based on one ethnic group risks mistreating others.

Kurdish unity against oppression can be vital. And in the right circumstances the fight for freedom can include a fight for independence, if this is inclusive and doesn’t prioritise one ethnicity. But no national unity should be at the expense of wider solidarity, or of the struggle for systemic change.

  • 1

    Arkady Kremer, quoted in Levin, Nora (1978) Jewish Socialist Movements, 1871 – 1917: While Messiah Tarried London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, p259

  • 2

    Cansiz, Sakine (2018 trans Janet Biehl) Sara: my whole life was a struggle London: Pluto Press, p144







Thursday, October 01, 2026

Kurdish leader in Iraq slams 'shameful' withdrawal of US forces

DPA
Sun, September 27, 2026 


PAK Peshmerga members stand stand amidst the debris at the PAKShar camp in Erbil's Ashkawt Saqa district. The Kurdistan Freedom Party (PAK) is a prominent opponent of the Iranian regime based in the Kurdistan Region. (is associated with: «Kurdish leader in Iraq slams 'shameful' withdrawal of US forces»)
Ismael Adnan/dpa


Key takeaways

Prime Minister of Iraq's Kurdish region criticizes US withdrawal from the country as "shameful" due to vulnerability to attacks.

The prime minister of Iraq's Kurdish region has described the imminent withdrawal of US forces from the country as "shameful."

"The threat is real - we are vulnerable, we are being attacked," Masrour Barzani told the Financial Times. "Now, to be left alone without any, let's say, appropriate defensive system, it's shameful."

The Kurdish regional government could not purchase its own air defence systems, he said. Only the central government in Baghdad could do so.

The withdrawal of US forces from Iraq is due to be completed by September 30, this coming Wednesday. The move was agreed in 2024, after the combat mission against the extremist militia Islamic State was declared over in 2021.

US forces invaded Iraq in 2003, when ruler Saddam Hussein was toppled. After the mission ended in 2011, US troops returned in 2014 to fight Islamic State.

Since the start of the Iran war in February, the Iraqi Kurdish region has been struck by hundreds of rockets and drones, including an attack on Barzani's own office.

Iran regards the autonomous Kurdistan Region as an ally of the West and Israel on Iraqi soil. Erbil is home to a multinational base where US and German soldiers are stationed. That base has also come under fire. US forces repelled some of the attacks.

The Kurds are an ethnic group of an estimated 30 million people living mainly in Iraq, Iran, Syria and Turkey. They have fought for decades for their own state and were long persecuted and suppressed in both Iraq and Iran.

The semi-autonomous Kurdish region in Iraq emerged after the fall of Saddam Hussein in 2003. Before that, the region had been protected by a no-fly zone enforced by the US military from 1991. Relations today between the Kurdish government, based in Erbil, and the central government in Baghdad are marked by ongoing disputes.

Saturday, September 12, 2026

Axis of states or resistance from below?

Iran solidarity protest in France

First published at Radio Zamaneh.

The war in Gaza, and then the spread of fighting to Lebanon and Iran, has once again turned an old disagreement on the left into an urgent question. Is a political force’s relationship with the United States and Israel enough to define what it is? If an organisation fights Israel, should we call it progressive or anti-imperialist? How can we defend the right of Palestinians and Lebanese people to resist, while at the same time criticising Hamas and Hezbollah for their social programmes, economic policies and relations with independent movements? And in Iran, how can we oppose war by the United States and Israel without turning defence of Iran against foreign attack into defence of the Islamic Republic?

Joseph Daher, a Syrian-Swiss socialist researcher and activist, has been studying these questions through political economy for years. He holds a PhD in Development Studies from SOAS University of London and another doctorate on revolution and counter-revolution in Syria from the University of Lausanne. His research mainly focuses on the political economy of the Middle East, political Islam, sectarianism, neoliberalism and social movements. Among his most important works is Hezbollah: The Political Economy of Lebanon’s Party of God, which examines Hezbollah not simply through religious ideology or military activity, but through its position within Lebanon’s class structure, political economy and sectarian system.

Daher taught at the University of Lausanne for more than a decade. At the beginning of 2025, the university didn’t renew his teaching contract. The decision came after his support for student mobilisation in solidarity with Palestine and an administrative case connected to a protest occupation of the university. Several Middle East studies associations, the faculty council and academic freedom groups protested the decision, calling it disproportionate and a threat to academic freedom. Daher has also placed his removal in the wider context of pressure on pro-Palestinian voices in European universities.

Our conversation began with a question of method, but Daher’s answers gradually led to a bigger question. In a region where people face colonialism, imperialism, war, authoritarian states and reactionary domestic political forces at the same time, how can the left maintain an independent politics?

Foreign policy alone doesn’t define a political force

Parts of the left classify political forces in the Middle East mainly through their relationship with the United States and Israel. In this view, any force fighting these two powers belongs to the “resistance,” or at least becomes an objective ally.

Daher argues almost the opposite. He says we have to separate two questions. First, what is the political nature of an actor? And second, what position should we take toward that actor and its enemies in a particular situation?

He says: “The political nature of any actor, not only Hezbollah or Hamas, cannot be reduced to its foreign policy or its relationship with the United States and Israel at a particular moment.”

If opposition to the United States alone makes a force progressive, Daher argues, then every Western bourgeois state should become an ally of the working class whenever it disagrees with Washington. France opposed the US invasion of Iraq in 2003, but that didn’t change the class nature of the French state. Al-Qaeda also fought the United States, but that didn’t make it a progressive force.

So he suggests starting the analysis somewhere else: “As the left, we shouldn’t analyse a political actor or a state only through its foreign policy and decide our political position toward it on that basis. We have to examine its policies toward working and popular classes, its political programme, economic policies, relationship with social movements, and so on. In other words, we need a material and comprehensive analysis.”

Using these criteria, Daher doesn’t consider Hamas or Hezbollah left-wing or progressive forces. He points to neoliberal economic policies, social conservatism, the Islamisation of society, opposition to some independent movements from below, problems with women’s rights and secularism, and their contradictory relations with workers’ struggles.

But another important distinction enters here. Hamas, Hezbollah, the Muslim Brotherhood and the Islamic Republic cannot all be placed inside one identical category.

For example, when Daher discusses the “bourgeoisification” of Islamic fundamentalist movements, he stresses that this process has been more limited in Hamas than in many other movements. The reason lies in Gaza’s material conditions. Israel’s blockade and what he calls its policy of “de-development” have severely limited capital accumulation and the formation of a powerful local capitalist class. So even among movements that he places inside the wider family of political Islam, the class structures are not identical.

He uses the same method when examining Hamas’s regional relations. Daher rejects the picture of Hamas as simply an Iranian “proxy.” The relationship is close, but Hamas has also shown political independence. Its disagreement with Tehran over the Syrian uprising was one major example. Hamas refused to support the Assad regime’s repression of Syrian protesters, and Tehran responded by reducing some of its financial support.

There are other examples. In 2015, Iran temporarily reduced its support for Palestinian Islamic Jihad because the organisation refused to condemn Saudi Arabia’s war in Yemen against the Houthis. At another point, Tehran redirected some funding toward another group in Gaza.

Even after the US-Israeli war against Iran, Hamas leaders, while defending Iran’s right to respond to the attack, asked Tehran not to target neighbouring countries.

Daher also points out that the alliance with the Islamic Republic hasn’t always gone unchallenged inside Gaza. In 2020, groups of Palestinians pulled down images of Qassem Soleimani in Gaza, and some condemned him for Iran’s role in Syria and Iraq. These cases matter to Daher because they show that what is called the “Axis of Resistance” cannot be understood as one political bloc under a single command. There are states and organisations whose interests sometimes meet, but which also have disagreements.

The same applies to Hamas’s relations with other states. Alongside Iran, the organisation has built close ties with Qatar and Turkey. Daher points to Khaled Mashal’s position in 2018 on Turkey’s attack on Afrin. Mashal welcomed the Turkish victory, although the occupation of Afrin led to widespread displacement, especially among Kurds.

For Daher, then, a relationship with a regional state or foreign power proves nothing about an organisation’s supposedly inherent anti-imperialism.

And here we reach one of the most important distinctions in the interview. The difference between tactical necessity and political strategy.

Daher says the left should support the right of Palestinians and Lebanese people to obtain weapons and defend themselves. If a force under occupation or attack has to work with authoritarian states to get weapons, people sitting safely outside cannot demand that it only accept weapons from governments that meet our political standards. “I support these organisations’ efforts to obtain weapons wherever they can in order to defend themselves, and I also accept tactical cooperation with regional or international states for this purpose. The problem begins when these tactical choices become strategic ones. That often leads to wrong political strategies.”

In other words, receiving weapons from Iran is one thing. Tying Palestine’s political future to the regional strategy of the Islamic Republic is another. Daher says regional states support Palestine as long as this support fits their interests. When their interests change, the limits of their support change as well.

He sees the behaviour of the Islamic Republic and Hezbollah after October 2023 as an example. During the first months of the Gaza war, Iranian leaders repeatedly said they didn’t want the war to spread across the whole region. Hezbollah too, in Hassan Nasrallah’s words, was mainly supposed to act as a “pressure front” rather than enter a full-scale war.

In Daher’s view, Tehran didn’t want its most important regional ally in Lebanon weakened in a direct war with Israel. “Iran’s geopolitical goal isn’t the liberation of the Palestinians. It’s to use these groups as leverage, especially in its relationship with the United States.”

Still, none of this criticism means denying the right to resistance. “The conservative nature of Hamas or Hezbollah shouldn’t prevent the left, locally or internationally, from defending the resistance and struggle of Palestinians, Lebanese people and others in the region against a colonial, racist and apartheid regime supported by Western imperialism.”

For Daher, saying the left should only support resistance when communists or socialists lead it is an old ultra-left mistake on the national question. People under occupation have the right to resist even when the political leadership of that resistance is far from the programme the left would want. But support for the right to resist should never be confused with support for the political project of the resistance leadership.

“Two fascisms,” or different forces in an uneven world system?

Part of the Iranian left has a theory for explaining the relationship between political Islam and the Western far right. Sometimes it’s called the “mutual services of two fascisms.” Islamism produces the enemy and fear that the Western far right needs. Meanwhile the far right, Western wars, occupation, racism and Islamophobia allow Islamists to present themselves as the only defenders of Muslims and the peoples of the region.

Daher accepts that part of this relationship exists, but he has problems with the broad use of the word “fascism.” He says he is cautious with concepts such as fascism, neo-fascism and post-fascism. Not only because their definitions are disputed, but because how we define a political force affects the strategy we use against it.

This caution, he says, shouldn’t be confused with underestimating the danger of the far right and authoritarianism in the West. He sees developments in Europe and the United States over the past two decades as a very serious threat. But ideological or social similarities don’t mean that the Islamic Republic, Hamas, Hezbollah, Trumpism and the Israeli state are all the same kind of political force.

The first problem is their very different positions in the world system. “Politically, we cannot place Western imperialist powers on the same level as peripheral or Global South regional powers such as Iran.”

Daher still sees the United States as the dominant power in the global imperialist system. China is its main competitor, while Russia, France and Britain are also imperialist powers. But their economic, financial and military capacities are not equal.

To explain this inequality, he returns to the concept of uneven and combined capitalist development.

Capitalism expands the productive forces globally, but this expansion is never uniform. Countries, industries and centres of capital develop at different speeds, and this constantly changes relations of power. A power at the top during one period may later face a new rival. Alliances don’t stay permanent either.

Daher connects this discussion to Lenin’s theory of imperialism. If capitalist development is uneven, the balance between states keeps changing. And those changes create the possibility of conflict and war.

Here he distances himself from Kautsky’s idea of “ultra-imperialism,” the idea that the concentration of capital might eventually bring the major powers into some kind of relatively coordinated global order. For Daher, the constant redistribution of power between states makes such stable coordination impossible.

The relevance to the Middle East is clear. The difference between the United States and Iran isn’t simply a matter of “good” and “bad” governments. They occupy different positions within the global hierarchy of capital and power. But Daher also warns that this difference must not become a way of cleaning up the image of peripheral states. A regional power can pursue expansionist and repressive policies even if it isn’t in the same position as the United States.

Still, he does see similarities between Islamic fundamentalism and the Western far right.

Both have often had a historical petty-bourgeois base, while parts of their leadership and structures later entered bourgeois blocs. Both tend to present themselves as “neither left nor right” and put the unity of the nation, community or ummah ahead of class struggle.

There are important overlaps in economics too. Many Islamic fundamentalist movements have no basic problem with neoliberal policies. Instead, they expand religious charity networks. Daher calls this a form of “religious neoliberalism.” Public services provided by the state shrink, while things that should be social rights become charity.

He gives an example from the United States. Religious conservatives argue that welfare states are ineffective and that local religious organisations can provide social services better. This allows economic neoliberalism to combine with moral conservatism.

A similar mechanism exists in political Islam. Markets and privatisation stand next to religious charity, while the same movements stress family, sexual morality and conservative social order. The far right and Islamic fundamentalists also overlap on gender. Both often treat the family as almost sacred, oppose parts of women’s rights and the rights of gay and trans people, and present social change as moral decline.

But the Western far right has another feature. It can take part of the language of liberalism, including the language of “women’s rights,” and use it for racism. Daher refers to Sara Farris’s concept of “femonationalism.” Muslim women supposedly need to be “saved” from Muslim men, while anti-immigration policies or hijab bans are justified through the language of women’s freedom.

Another similarity is the idea of civilisational decline. Islamic fundamentalists want to return to a mythical “golden age” of Islam. The far right promises to restore the lost greatness of the nation. In both cases, migrants, feminists, the left, sexual minorities or “Western culture” can be blamed for society’s crisis. Material problems such as inequality, exploitation and capitalist crisis get replaced by cultural explanations.

But for Daher, these similarities are still not enough to call all these forces “fascist.”

On the Islamic Republic, he describes the regime as theocratic, militarised, authoritarian and violent. But he remains cautious about using the concept of fascism.

The Zionist far right is a different case. Some of its currents have clear historical roots in fascism, and some Israeli far-right figures have even accepted the label themselves. Jabotinsky was also influenced by Mussolini.

But even here, Daher says fascism isn’t the main concept for understanding Zionism. “What defines Zionism as a movement, first and above all, is its settler-colonial nature and its attempt to remove Palestinians from their land.”

From this perspective, if the Israeli state, Trumpism, the Islamic Republic, Hamas and Hezbollah are all simply called “fascism,” a basic difference disappears. The difference between a colonial state and a people under occupation, between a central imperialist power and a regional power, and between different class histories.

October 7: The right to resist, Hamas’s decision and the killing of civilians

October 7 is where these distinctions become harder.

Three different levels are often mixed together. The historical right of Palestinians to resist, Hamas’s political and military decision to launch the October 7 operation, and specific acts carried out against civilians that day. Daher says support for the first shouldn’t mean unconditional support for the other two.

“Palestinians, like any other population facing a colonial and apartheid regime, have the right to resist, including through military means, and this includes Hamas. But this right shouldn’t be confused with support for the political views of different Palestinian parties or all their military operations, including the killing of civilians on October 7.”

At the same time, he also rejects a narrative that puts every form of violence on the same level. “The violence used by an oppressor to maintain structures of domination and subjugation should never be treated as equal to the violence of the oppressed who are trying to regain their dignity and affirm their right to exist.”

Daher doesn’t mean that every act by the oppressed becomes legitimate. His point is the difference between judging a specific act and analysing the structural relationship between coloniser and colonised. In this context, Daher explains that Israel is the actor most responsible historically by its policies (dispossession, displacement, occupation, colonization,etc…) for the events of October 7.

He also argues that the Israeli state’s problem isn’t simply the type of Palestinian resistance. Before Hamas, the Palestine Liberation Organisation, left groups, Fatah, democratic and secular activists, and even non-violent Palestinian protests were repressed. The Great March of Return in 2018 and 2019 is an important example. These were largely peaceful protests that the Israeli army suppressed with live ammunition and heavy violence. Other historical examples reflect this dynamic, such as the first Intifada between end of 1987 until the beginning of the 1990s.

So for Daher: “For the Israeli ruling class, the issue isn’t the nature of the Palestinian resistance, whether peaceful or armed, or even what ideology it has. Any challenge to the structure of occupation and colonisation has to be criminalised and repressed.”

But if resistance is legitimate, how should Hamas’s political calculations on October 7 be judged?

Daher believes Hamas had several goals. First, to break the existing situation in Palestine. The blockade of Gaza, settlement expansion, violence in the West Bank and attacks on Al-Aqsa Mosque. Second, to stop the regional process of normalising relations between Israel and Arab states.

On the second point, the operation was at least temporarily successful. Saudi-Israeli normalisation stopped, and Palestine returned to the centre of regional politics. But Daher believes Hamas’s calculations about the “day after” were largely wrong.

Hamas’s leadership probably expected a wider uprising in the West Bank, and to a lesser extent Palestinians living in 48 territories (within Israel) and a much stronger intervention from forces in the so-called Axis of Resistance. Neither happened on that scale. Iran, Hamas’s most important regional ally, mainly wanted to preserve its position for future talks with the United States. Hezbollah also spent a long time trying to avoid a full-scale war.

For Daher, this exposes a deeper strategic weakness.

Hamas, on this question, isn’t fundamentally different from many other Palestinian political forces. From Fatah to even parts of the Palestinian left, the dominant strategy has repeatedly depended on finding patrons among regional states and ruling classes. “Hamas, like other Palestinian parties, from Fatah to the Palestinian left, doesn’t see the Palestinian masses and the working and oppressed classes of the region as the forces that will achieve liberation. Instead, it looks for political alliances with ruling classes and regional regimes.”

Here Daher’s criticism of the “Axis of Resistance” goes beyond criticism of the Islamic Republic and becomes a criticism of a historic strategy within Palestinian politics.

Islamophobia and the danger of “reverse Orientalism”

But criticism of Hamas in Europe and the United States doesn’t happen in a vacuum. The Israeli state and the Western far right quickly use criticism of Hamas to justify collective punishment of Palestinians and, sometimes, Islamophobia itself. In response, parts of the left delay almost any criticism of Hamas because they fear that criticism will be absorbed into Israeli propaganda.

Daher says silence isn’t the answer. What matters is making clear the political position from which the criticism comes. “No serious and honest criticism of Hamas or Hezbollah can be made without a clear opposition to Israeli apartheid and the racist and colonial nature of this state, and clear support for Palestinian self-determination and their right to resistance.”

For the same reason, he firmly rejects comparisons between Hamas and ISIS. Hamas comes from the political history of Palestine and the struggle against colonialism and occupation. It has taken part in elections, participated in political institutions created after Oslo, and cooperated politically and militarily with Palestinian left groups such as the Popular Front.

ISIS came out of a different historical context. The US occupation of Iraq, Al-Qaeda in Iraq, sectarian war, and then counter-revolution in Syria and Iraq. Daher considers Hamas’s rule in Gaza far from democratic, but believes comparing it with ISIS rule is wrong in its structure, strategy and relationship with society.

The deeper problem is treating “Islam” and “Islamic fundamentalism” as the same thing.

Islamophobia, Daher says, turns Muslims into an inherently suspicious and dangerous population. After September 11, the “war on terror” allowed governments in Europe and the United States to expand controls, surveillance and restrictions against Muslims.

He points to France and Britain’s security programmes, but his argument goes beyond particular laws. The point is that “Muslim” becomes a political identity that constantly has to prove its loyalty to “Western values.”

Marxists, in Daher’s view, should stand against this Islamophobia and defend both religious freedom and the right to self-determination.

But the left’s answer to Islamophobia cannot be to accept the same essentialist view of Middle Eastern people and simply give it a positive meaning.

This is where Daher introduces the idea of “reverse Orientalism.”

Traditional Orientalism says Muslim societies are inherently religious and that this religion separates them from the modern West. Reverse Orientalism keeps the first part but reverses the conclusion. Because these societies are supposedly naturally religious, political Islam becomes their natural language of resistance and even progress.

Referring to Sadiq Jalal al-Azm and Gilbert Achcar, Daher says both views share one assumption. They treat religion as a permanent and essential quality of Muslim people. “The answer to Islamophobia in the West shouldn’t be to give the peoples of the Middle East and North Africa an essentialist and uniform identity called ‘Muslim’ and reproduce a form of reverse Orientalism.”

For the same reason, he also has problems comparing Islamic fundamentalism with Latin American liberation theology. In his view, liberation theology was mainly concerned with the poor and oppressed, development and social liberation. Its goal wasn’t to Christianise the state and economy.

Political Islam, by contrast, makes the Islamisation of society, politics and economics part of its programme.

So opposition to the West alone doesn’t make an Islamist force anti-imperialist.

Daher says Islamic fundamentalism often explains imperialism not through global capitalism, economic domination and class relations, but as a cultural struggle between Islam and the West. In this sense, its worldview strangely overlaps with Samuel Huntington’s theory of the “clash of civilisations.”

“The main enemy is at home,” but that isn’t the end of internationalism

At this point Iran enters our conversation.

An important argument among parts of the left and among opponents of the Islamic Republic says that the first responsibility of every revolutionary force is to fight its own government. Iranians should fight the Islamic Republic. The left and anti-war movement in the United States should fight their own state. Europeans should confront the governments of their own countries.

At first sight, this seems close to one of the classic slogans of the socialist anti-war movement. “The main enemy is at home.”

Daher accepts the principle of the slogan but believes parts of the left have removed it from Karl Liebknecht’s historical context.

In 1915, during the First World War, Liebknecht stressed the responsibility of German workers to confront their own ruling class and the militarism of their own state. In that sense, Daher says the slogan remains correct. “Within this framework, the slogan ‘the main enemy is at home’ is correct, with the goal of defeating the imperialists and bourgeoisie in our own societies.”

But this wasn’t everything Liebknecht said. “Many of those who refer to Liebknecht take his position out of context. For him, fighting the enemy at home didn’t mean ignoring foreign regimes that repress their own people, or refusing solidarity with the oppressed.”

Daher points out that Liebknecht connected the struggle against one’s own ruling class with cooperation with the proletariat of other countries, people who were themselves fighting their rulers and imperialists.

So this division of responsibility doesn’t mean that an American should speak only about the United States and remain indifferent to Iran, or that an Iranian should only look at the Islamic Republic and ignore US responsibility for war.

Internationalism gains its meaning precisely when these struggles connect.

Daher extends this criticism to parts of the Western left that, while protesting war on Iran, ignore Iranian leftists who oppose the Islamic Republic, or sometimes even accept symbols of the Islamic Republic at anti-war demonstrations.

“Some on the left tend to ignore Iranian leftists opposed to their own regime, just as they did in the past with Syrians under Assad. Worse, they make no effort to cooperate with these groups, while at some anti-war protests they accept the use of symbols of these authoritarian regimes, including the flag of the Islamic Republic or images of Khamenei. In such conditions, this is a denial of internationalism. A denial of our comrades in Iran and their struggles for a more democratic, progressive and anti-imperialist Iran.”

So “the main enemy is at home,” for Daher, isn’t an invitation to indifference toward the world. It means an internationalist division of labour.

Elsewhere he quotes Liebknecht: “Unite yourselves in the international class struggle against the conspiracies of secret diplomacy, against imperialism, against war and for peace in the spirit of socialism.”

For Daher, none of these parts can be removed. If resistance to foreign imperialism turns into support for an authoritarian domestic regime, part of socialist politics has disappeared. If the struggle against a domestic regime turns into support for foreign imperialist war and pressure, the same thing happens from the other direction.

Iran: Opposing war without defending the Islamic Republic

This is where Daher’s answer on Iran begins.

Some opponents of the Islamic Republic argue that if Iran hadn’t supported regional forces, developed its missile programme or pursued its nuclear policies, the risk of war would have disappeared. So genuine opposition to war in Iran should begin with opposition to the Islamic Republic.

Daher says this argument mixes together two different questions. “We have to separate two things. Iran’s domestic policies and regional ambitions and influence on one side, and the goals of the US-Israeli war against Iran on the other.”

He condemns the US-Israeli war without ambiguity and says Iran has the right to defend itself.

In his view, Washington’s goal in the region is to maintain and expand its hegemony. The region has strategic importance because of its concentration of energy reserves and its connection with the global economic and financial system through its revenues. “Washington’s problem with the Tehran regime isn’t its authoritarian nature. The problem is that the Iranian regime hasn’t placed itself under US hegemony.”

For Daher, saying this doesn’t mean defending the Islamic Republic’s policies. Quite the opposite. He immediately returns to criticism of them.

On the nuclear issue too, his position isn’t ambiguous. Personally, he opposes nuclear weapons and even the development of nuclear technology because of the dangers involved, including environmental consequences. But he believes abandoning it should be a democratic decision made by the Iranian people, not the result of bombing or ultimatums from the United States and Israel.

He also points to the double standard. The United States demands limits on Iran’s programme while supporting Israel’s nuclear arsenal, and at the same time has considered nuclear cooperation with Saudi Arabia as part of normalisation with Israel.

Daher’s alternative is a nuclear-weapons-free Middle East that includes Israel.

But Iran’s right to defend itself against foreign attack doesn’t legitimise the Islamic Republic’s regional policies.

Since the 2000s, the Islamic Republic has used the failure of US projects in Iraq and Afghanistan to expand its regional influence. Shia parties and militias in Iraq, Hezbollah in Lebanon, pro-Tehran forces in Syria, its relationship with the Houthis in Yemen and its alliance with Hamas became parts of this network.

The Revolutionary Guards played a central role. Daher describes the Guards, to some extent, as a “state within the state,” an institution combining military power, political influence and a large economic presence.

In his view, Iran has tried both to create a balance of power against the United States and Israel and to pursue its own military, political and economic goals.

This policy, he says, is entirely “guided by the state and capitalist interests of the regime, not by an emancipatory project.”

One important reason for this conclusion is the Islamic Republic’s behaviour toward popular movements.

Inside Iran, workers face restrictions on independent organisation, strikes and collective bargaining. The state represses protest movements, women, Kurds, Baluch people and political opponents. For Daher, the Woman, Life, Freedom movement was an important example of society resisting this structure.

Outside Iran too, Tehran hasn’t necessarily sided with popular movements when they challenge the interests of its allies.

In Lebanon and Iraq in 2019, the Islamic Republic described mass protests through the language of “foreign intervention.” Hezbollah in Lebanon and groups close to Iran in Iraq also confronted parts of these protest movements.

Syria is an even clearer example. The Revolutionary Guards, Hezbollah and forces linked to Tehran entered the war alongside Russia to preserve the Assad government.

Daher also points out that Iran hasn’t always been an absolute and principled opponent of the United States. Tehran has cooperated with Washington at different moments in Afghanistan and Iraq.

So in his view, today’s hostility toward the United States cannot be turned into a permanent “anti-imperialism.”

At the same time, this criticism shouldn’t lead to legitimising sanctions and war.

Daher gives the left in Europe and the United States a clear task. Oppose imperialist wars. Fight their own governments’ support for authoritarian regimes. Oppose sanctions whose costs fall on working and popular classes in the Global South. And oppose the criminalisation of movements such as Hamas and Hezbollah.

Another important point in his answer is that war doesn’t only destroy people and infrastructure. It also weakens society’s own capacity to struggle.

War increases security repression, closes political space and makes organising by progressive and working-class forces harder.

So opposing foreign attack on Iran isn’t simply an abstract defence of “national sovereignty.” War also weakens the very forces trying to change the Islamic Republic from below.

Lebanon and Hezbollah: Resistance without handing society over to one party

The same question becomes even more concrete in Lebanon.

Hezbollah played a real role in ending Israel’s occupation of southern Lebanon, and part of its social base still sees the organisation as a defensive force against Israel.

At the same time, Daher considers Hezbollah part of Lebanon’s sectarian system and neoliberal political economy. It has extensive ties to sections of capital, has participated in government and has at times stood against independent social movements.

During an Israeli attack, do we have to ignore one of these two realities?

Daher says the conditions of war affect political priorities. “When Hezbollah and Lebanon face an Israeli war, the priority is clearly to support resistance and put pressure on Western ruling classes to end their support for Israel’s war against Lebanon.”

He stresses that the United States and Israel aren’t fighting in Lebanon or Iran for democracy or people’s welfare. They are seeking a regional order that strengthens the dominance of Washington and Tel Aviv.

Under these conditions, the left should also show Hezbollah’s social base that it opposes bombing, displacement, the destruction of homes and the killing of people.

Daher recalls the experience of Lebanese left forces during the 2006 war. While defending the right to resist, they also created independent humanitarian networks for displaced people.

But resisting Israel shouldn’t mean handing the political leadership of society over to Hezbollah.

One major concern is the sectarianisation of resistance.

Israel has heavily targeted Shia areas. Such a policy can both isolate Hezbollah’s social base from the rest of society and deepen sectarian divisions.

There is a debate about this inside Lebanon as well. Osama Saad, the Nasserist leader, has criticised the transformation of national resistance into sectarian resistance. The Lebanese Communist Party has also condemned Israel and defended the right to resist while criticising some Hezbollah operations and arguing that resistance shouldn’t become the monopoly of one religious group.

For Daher, sustainable resistance needs a national and social project. One that brings Shia, Sunni, Christian and other communities together around shared interests and connects liberation from occupation with democracy and social justice.

This is also where the debate over disarming Hezbollah becomes complicated.

On one side, Daher is clear. “Hezbollah’s independent military capacity and its political relationship with Iran are clearly incompatible with an independent and sovereign national defence policy.”

But on the other side, he rejects the idea that simply giving the Lebanese state a monopoly on weapons would solve the sovereignty problem.

The Lebanese state itself exists inside a sectarian, neoliberal and patronage-based system. The army also lacks the financial and material resources needed to defend the country independently.

Here Daher gives particular importance to the Lebanon-Israel framework agreement of June 2026.

He says the agreement made Hezbollah’s disarmament one of the central parts of the security arrangements, while Israel’s withdrawal from Lebanese territory was linked to the implementation of that process.

There is no clear deadline for Israel’s full withdrawal within this framework, leaving Israel able to decide, based on its own assessment, when the Hezbollah “threat” has been removed.

Daher considers this dangerous because the Lebanese state, instead of first rebuilding its own defensive capacity and social legitimacy, could become an agent for carrying out a security arrangement designed under external pressure.

His concern isn’t only about weapons. Reconstruction arrangements could also exclude civilian institutions linked to Hezbollah and even limit the Lebanese state’s legal space for pursuing Israeli war crimes.

For Daher, if taken too far, this process could resemble the role that the Palestinian Authority developed after Oslo. A local government whose function partly became the management of security within an order that had never ended the occupation itself.

So, he argues, disarming Hezbollah without a political and economic transformation of Lebanon could even deepen sectarian tensions.

The Lebanese state gains legitimacy not only through weapons but by being able to respond to society. Providing security, social services, reconstruction, a fairer tax system and democratic space.

Hezbollah’s base wasn’t created in a vacuum either. Repeated Israeli attacks and occupations, the historical weakness of the state, insecurity and economic marginalisation have all helped strengthen the organisation.

If these conditions don’t change, pressure from above to disarm Hezbollah may have the opposite effect. It could even push people who are unhappy with the party back behind it. “A resistance limited to one sect or religious group, without a political project for democracy, social justice and equality in Lebanon and the region, cannot be sustainable and cannot find a path toward victory.”

But for Daher, this democratic resistance also cannot tie its future to the Islamic Republic, a regime that represses its own working class and has pursued power-centred regional policies in Syria, Iraq and elsewhere. A national defense strategy is needed, which could include former Hezbollah soldiers, their armament and benefit of the experience accumulated by these fighters, but under a democratic leadership rooted in the popular and working classes’ interest in Lebanon.

For him, these two criticisms exist fully at the same time. Opposition to US-Israeli war against Iran and Lebanon, and opposition to the policies of the Islamic Republic and Hezbollah.

If Iran and Hezbollah are weakened, who benefits?

A real problem remains.

If Iran and Hezbollah are weakened militarily and politically, the regional balance of power will probably shift in favour of Israel and the United States. In the short term, this could open the way for more pressure on Palestinians, greater occupation and new wars.

Daher doesn’t deny this reality. “As left and progressive forces, we have to be clear that we are in a very bad and difficult situation. Under present conditions, US imperialism may benefit in the short term from the weakening of Iran and its regional network.”

But he doesn’t conclude from this that the left should politically support the Islamic Republic and its allies in order to preserve a “balance of power.”

The basic crises of the region haven’t been solved by maintaining this axis. Capitalism, inequality, poverty, repression, sectarianism and the colonisation of Palestine all continue.

Iran and its allies have also, in many cases, been part of this regional order rather than an alternative to it.

Daher’s alternative is “resistance from below.”

On Palestine, he begins with a material limitation. Palestinians cannot defeat Israel on their own.

Israel is far stronger economically and militarily. The situation is also different from apartheid South Africa. White South African capitalism depended on Black labour, which gave Black workers enormous power to disrupt the economy.

The Israeli settler project, by contrast, has a long history of trying to replace Palestinian labour with Jewish labour. So the Palestinian working class alone doesn’t have the same economic leverage.

Who, then, are the Palestinians’ natural allies?

Daher’s answer is the popular classes of the region.

Workers, women, students, refugees and other oppressed groups across the region have the potential to build solidarity with Palestine, both because of the shared historical experience of colonialism and because of common economic and political structures.

But this isn’t only about sympathy. The region’s working class has enormous material power.

Oil economies, ports, transport networks and industries in the region are part of the global economy. Organisation and strikes in these sectors can put pressure not only on a local government but on much larger economic networks.

Daher also sees historical support for this strategy.

During the 1960s and 1970s, the Palestinian movement helped strengthen class and political struggles across the region. The Second Intifada in 2000 created a new wave of mobilisation, and Daher sees it as one of the longer-term backgrounds to the revolutions of 2011.

In 2011, Palestinians in Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, the West Bank and Gaza mobilised on the anniversary of the Nakba for the right of return. Years later, in the summer of 2019, Palestinian protests in Lebanon’s refugee camps against Labour Ministry discrimination became part of the wider atmosphere that led to the nationwide Lebanese uprising in October.

From this perspective, Palestinian liberation cannot be separated from social transformation across the region. “The region needs a real axis of resistance from below. The popular classes of Palestine and the region, supported by anti-imperialist solidarity in the major powers, itself based on workers’ struggles against their own ruling classes.”

Is a multipolar world an alternative to US domination?

Daher’s argument also leads to another criticism. The idea that a multipolar world is automatically good for the Global South.

Parts of the left see the decline of US hegemony and the rise of China, Russia and BRICS as opening more space for resistance to imperialism. Daher disagrees. “The rise of more major and regional powers and a multipolar world of capitalist states isn’t an alternative to unipolarity. It’s a new and potentially even more dangerous stage of global imperialism.”

For him, unchallenged US dominance has been destructive. But stronger competition between the United States, China, Russia and regional powers doesn’t necessarily produce a more peaceful world.

History suggests the opposite. Multipolarity can intensify military competition.

Again, the question of “uneven and combined development” matters. Different rates of growth redistribute power and increase tensions. China and Russia, in Daher’s view, are capitalist states too. They don’t offer a socialist alternative for the Global South.

China’s economic relations with developing countries can reproduce patterns of raw-material extraction and dependency on imported finished goods. Local ruling classes may benefit from these relations, while workers face unemployment, insecure jobs and environmental destruction.

BRICS, for Daher, isn’t a project for overthrowing global capitalism either. Its members mainly want more position and a larger share inside the same system.

So the left shouldn’t trap itself in a choice between Washington and Beijing, or between “unipolarity” and “multipolarity.” “In every situation, we should stand with the exploited and oppressed and with their struggle for liberation, not with their exploiters and oppressors.”

This doesn’t mean treating all powers as equal. Daher still considers the United States the most powerful imperialist force and the biggest global obstacle to progressive change.

But US dominance doesn’t make China or Russia progressive. Just as US domination doesn’t turn the Islamic Republic into a force for liberation.

Resistance from below cannot be built without democratic freedoms

But perhaps the hardest question remains at the end.

If the alternative to the “Axis of Resistance” is workers’ movements, women, students, refugees and progressive forces across the region, where are these forces today?

In Iran, Syria, Egypt, Lebanon and Palestine, many have faced severe repression. Independent unions are weak or banned. Left parties are in crisis. War has destroyed social infrastructure, and organising carries an enormous cost.

How can “resistance from below” become more than a moral hope and turn into a material political strategy?

Daher has no simple answer for what organisational form should come next. In his view, this is precisely the main challenge. Building relationships between progressive forces across the region and working together around specific projects and demands.

But one point in his answer is decisive. Democratic freedoms are not a secondary or merely “liberal” issue.

He says authoritarianism takes different forms in different countries, so the struggle against it cannot follow one single model.

States also learn from each other. Surveillance technology, security laws, methods for controlling universities and media, and techniques for repressing protests move from one country to another.

A modern internationalism must recognise this network of authoritarianism too and connect anti-authoritarian movements across borders.

Here Daher makes a statement that becomes central to his whole argument about resistance from below. “For movements operating under illiberal and authoritarian states, organising is almost impossible without the basic freedoms provided by traditional forms of bourgeois democracy.”

In one sense, this completes the whole argument.

If the working class is going to become the force of its own liberation, it needs the ability to organise. If women, students or ethnic minorities are going to become independent political forces, they need the ability to speak, assemble and organise.

Freedom of expression, freedom of association, the right to form political parties and democratic space cannot be postponed until after the “imperialist question” has been solved. And the struggle for these freedoms cannot be separated from imperialism and war either.

Daher makes a similar argument about the West.

The Palestine solidarity movement hasn’t only helped Palestine. In universities, unions and workplaces across Europe and the United States, it has itself become a struggle over freedom of speech, academic freedom and the right to protest.

Student occupations, strikes, boycott campaigns, transport workers refusing to move weapons and union actions are all signs that, for Daher, point toward the possibility of rebuilding a social pole of the left.

He says repression of Palestine solidarity is part of a wider authoritarian turn that is changing Western societies themselves. So the struggle for Palestine can also become a struggle to defend democratic rights inside these countries.

In the end, “resistance from below” for Daher isn’t simply a regional alliance against Israel. It’s a project that connects the struggle against occupation, capitalism, authoritarianism, racism and imperialism.

This project hasn’t yet been built. And the forces that could carry it remain weak in many countries. But he believes no axis of states can replace it.

States make deals according to their own interests. They support today and step back tomorrow. The major powers too, whether Washington, Beijing or Moscow, don’t shape their policies around the freedom of people in the region.

So in the end, Daher suggests moving the left’s political compass away from the capitals. “Our political compass shouldn’t constantly point toward the capitals of major international powers such as Washington, Beijing or Moscow. It should point toward the courage, anger and resistance of people who are struggling.”

He then recalls a line from Che Guevara: “If you tremble with indignation at every injustice, then you are a comrade of mine.”

And he concludes: “That’s a good principle for beginning the work toward unity and solidarity across the world, with the understanding that our destinies are connected.”