On a morning that seemed to emerge from a historical metaphor, the fighters descended from the mountain. In the cave of Chiyasita (locally known as “Jasna”), in Sulaimnaiya, Kurdistan Region, which had long been a storehouse for ammunition and silence, they chose to end decades of struggle with one of the most symbolic and shocking images: burning weapons rather than surrendering them. This was not a technical act, but a ritual of passage; a fire resembling the burial of rifles by their owners’ hands, a declaration that the time of the mountain had ended, and that the city awaited those who carry consciousness, not weapons.
But this step was not only the end of an organizational phase, but also a declaration of the beginning of a new regional phase, in which the rules of political action are being rearranged, and the balance of power is being engineered away from the language of bullets.
The Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) has folded more than forty years of armed action to begin an unprecedented page in its history, titled: Politics instead of the rifle.
To understand the depth of this transformation, we must return to the roots. The movement began in 1978, based on leftist ideology and Kurdish national aspirations, and declared armed struggle in 1984. It fought long battles against the Turkish state, taking the mountains as borders and hideouts, and remote villages as sanctuaries and crossing points. The party’s influence later extended to northern Iraq and became linked to branches in Syria (YPG) and Iran (PJAK), becoming a heavy-shadow regional player, but one burdened with human and political costs.
Over time, the equations changed. Geography was no longer sufficient to protect the militants, and ideology alone no longer mobilized the masses. Thousands of dead, tens of thousands of displaced, international sanctions, and political isolation all pushed the party toward comprehensive review.
But more importantly, the popular environment changed. The generations that grew up on revolutionary rhetoric and mountain slogans are no longer the same today. A digital generation has emerged that measures its freedom by the number of choices, not by the number of bullets. A generation that sees the city as a horizon, institutions as security, and the smartphone as a platform more powerful than any traditional rhetorical platform.
In this new environment, the social incubator for armed struggle shrank, not only due to oppression, but due to changing consciousness. Digital platforms, educational currents, and media openness produced a new culture seeking solutions rather than heroism, and a future rather than epics.
As popular consciousness transformed, international understandings were quietly crystallizing behind the scenes. Turkey, which had waged an open war with the party for decades, began to see that the battle was no longer viable in the long term. Iraq, which was meant to bear the consequences of the party’s bases in the north, despite not being the decision-maker in that, now wants to restore its sovereignty. Iran, concerned about PJAK extensions, follows the transformations with attention, while the United States and the European Union seek to control Kurdish armed imbalances in ways that do not disrupt their balances in Syria and Iraq.
Here, specifically, the symbolism of the Jasna cave appears. It was not merely a place to announce withdrawal, but a point of mental and visual transformation. The cave in philosophy symbolizes isolation and confinement, and emerging from it represents openness to plurality, history, and dialogue. Just as in Plato’s allegory, emerging from the cave of arms is not a retreat, but a return to light, to the city, to society, to dialogue.
In this context, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s speech came to reinforce the symbolic and political meaning of what happened. In a speech that mixed victory with warning, Erdoğan said: “Terrorism has ended, Turkey has won, 86 million citizens have won,” emphasizing that what happened was not the result of negotiations or deals, but “the decision of the will of the Turkish people who were patient and victorious.” He added: “Today we close the door of terrorism and open the doors of the new republic,” in a direct reference to the fact that the PKK’s armed struggle has become a thing of the past, and that the state will not allow its revival.
In a notable precedent, Erdoğan acknowledged that the Turkish state had committed “transgressions that must be corrected” in previous phases, calling for a real transition toward “civil partnership in the homeland, not confrontation over the mountains.”
The weapon has fallen from the hand, but it must also fall from memory as a means of change, because its constant invocation threatens to reproduce violence in a new form. Hence, what we witness today is not merely a moment of settlement, but a transitional era that places historical responsibility on everyone.
The Turkish state has a great duty to ensure the conditions for peaceful political transformation, instead of being satisfied with declaring security victory. Leaving the mountain is not enough if it is not met by the state’s departure from policies of exclusion and marginalization, and transition to a partnership project within borders.
In the same context, Iraq and Turkey must review bilateral security memoranda, especially those that were exploited as pretexts for Turkish forces to remain in the Kurdistan Region of Iraq. Kurdish villages have paid the price of these policies through bombing, displacement, and fires in their farms. Iraqi sovereignty has long been violated in the name of “combating terrorism,” while the current moment provides a historic opportunity to readjust relations according to international law and national dignity.
It has become clear that politics today is made in institutions, not on rugged peaks, and that those who do not have a civil project will be exhausted until they leave voluntarily or are forced out. Even the rifle, which was a symbol of dignity, has become ashes burned before media lenses, not to be forgotten, but to be documented as a “necessary mistake,” or an experience for which the Kurds paid a heavy price.
In conclusion, emerging from the cave of arms is not only a passage to a new phase, but an open invitation to states, parties, and societies to bear their responsibility in creating a future based on coexistence, justice, and participation.
