F eat ures accompaniment of Kurdish songs were arrested this summer. In the Kurdish city of Siirt, three sisters were arrested for performing halay at a wedding, and their mother was placed under house arrest.
Four artists who sang songs at a wedding in Hakkari were also arrested. Operations were carried out in different cities, but the accusation was the same: “propagandising a terrorist organisation”.
The halay (govend in Kurdish) is a folk dance which takes many different forms and is popular among Kurds. Artist Baran Bozyel told Index that targeting halay is unreasonable and aimed at assimilation.
She added: “Despite the pressures, we’ll continue to sing our songs and be the voice of our people. As artists, we give struggle to contribute to the cultural creation of Kurdish identity.”
Ironically, the government has opened a television channel called TRT Kurdî – but only to propagate its ideology, using the Kurdish language as a tool for its propaganda efforts.
When Kurds themselves use their language in daily life, or to protect their culture and identity, they are subjected to various bans and restrictions.
Since the end of July, the authorities have removed the Pêşî Peya (Pedestrians First) traffic warning signs on roads in Kurdish cities. Such restrictions on the use of Kurdish in public spaces are evident in various locations, ranging from prisons to hospitals.
Although there is no official ban on Kurdish today, when MPs speak it in the Turkish parliament, their microphones are switched off and Kurdish is recorded as an “unknown language”.
Authorities cite the third article of the constitution as the reason for the switch-off: “The Turkish state is indivisible with its country and nation. Its language is Turkish.” In 2009, when then US President Barack Obama spoke English in the Turkish parliament, his microphone was not turned off. Similarly, the microphone isn’t switched off when Arabic is spoken. The main issue appears to be enmity against Kurds.
This hostility is also evident in education, as millions of Kurdish children in Turkey are unable to receive education in their mother tongue. Prohibited as a language of education, Kurdish is allowed only as an “elective course” in select schools.
Omer Fîdan, co-president of Kurdish PEN, highlights the prohibition on Kurdish education.
“This ban undermines the basis of all Kurdish studies, literature and storytelling,” he said. “This is a direct barrier. Without Kurdish education, there will be no readers. If there are no readers, it is not possible for storytellers to reach society.”
Many people aren’t even aware of the existence of Kurdish works – but the Turkish state follows every word. Kurdish theatre and concerts are other media that agitate the authorities.
Bêrû, the Kurdish adaptation of Dario Fo’s satirical play Trumpets and
Raspberries, faced numerous bans citing “public safety”. In contrast, the Turkish adaptation faced no bans.
Labelling the bans on Kurdish theatre as a fascist practice, actress Sakîna Jîr, of the Teatra Jîyana Nû theatre group, said: “The government sees the existence of Kurdish as a threat in every field – from theatre to music. But we won’t give up, because the existence of language is indispensable for the survival of a people’s culture and identity. Practising arts in the mother tongue leads people to search for an identity.”
Although the government of President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan claims to have lifted the long-recurring ban on Kurdish, its actions suggest otherwise.
Journalist and writer Musa Anter was detained and tortured by police 81 years ago for “whistling in Kurdish”.
It is not known whether this escalating hostility towards the language will return to such a point, but this course of events raises an eerie curiosity.
Nedim Türfent is a Kurdish journalist based in Germany
53(03):14/15|DOI:10.1177/03064220241285656
RIGHT: Young Kurdish men and women taking part in a traditional halay dance at a wedding in Mardin, Turkey. The dance is now banned
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