ANKARA - İsyan Ferman Şengal, who carried the name ‘Newroz’—not officially registered in the birth registry—as part of her identity throughout her life, never gave up her quest for truth in a life that took her from university to prison and from there to the mountains of freedom, driven by the reasons behind those six letters. She set out on her journey saying, ‘Mum, I’m going,’, and was bid farewell with the words, ‘Godspeed’.

 

Born in the village of Huseynik, in the Licê district of Amed, Raziye Ay (İsyan Ferman Şengal) – or, as her family and friends knew her by her identity, Newroz… Her family chose the name “Newroz” for her, wishing to integrate the symbol of spring, resistance and rebirth into her life. However, due to the government’s policies of denial, this name was not officially registered in the birth registry. Despite this, her family, close circle and everyone who knew her called her by the name ‘Newroz’—which heralded spring—throughout her life. The denial of a six-letter name sought a reason and justification within a child’s mind. Bearing this name—unwritten yet aliveserved as a kind of tablet in İsyan Ferman Şengal’s mind from a young age, representing her denied history, her banned language and her identity.

 

As İsyan Ferman Şengal grappled with all these realities in her mind, she and her family were forced to migrate to Ankara following the burning and depopulation of their village. In this city, where assimilation policies were enacted and a culture of denial took shape, she forged an unshakeable character, fuelled by the anger over the murder of her loved ones, whilst striving to preserve her identity and language.  As her mother, Hatice Ay, pointed out, following a highly successful academic career, she was admitted to the Faculty of Economics at Istanbul University in 2010, securing a place at one of Turkey’s most established higher education institutions. There, too, she set out to uncover the reasons why ‘Newroz’ was not recognised by the authorities and to seek ways to eliminate all such obstacles.

 

After her time in prison, she turned her attention to the struggle for freedom

 

She read and absorbed in depth the defence statements of the Kurdish People’s Leader Abdullah Öcalan, his philosophy of freedom and the history of the Kurdish people’s struggle. This ideological understanding and the path of organised struggle no longer satisfied her quest; she knew she would not find the solution she sought within the confines of the existing system. Whilst fighting against policies of denial and the system, she was imprisoned in 2012. After her release from prison, with even greater determination, she followed in the footsteps of her comrade Emel Çetin (Jiyan Şengal)—with whom she had studied at university, waged the struggle together, and shared social life, comradeship and resistance, and who had departed a year before her—and set off for the mountains of freedom in 2014. She adopted the name ‘İsyan’ in opposition to Newroz—which is not recognised in the official register—and the denial and massacres embodied within those six letters. During the same period, she became ‘İsyan Ferman Şengal’ to ensure the massacres committed by the DAİŞ gangs against the Yazidi people in Şengal were not forgotten. After working in youth organisations for a time, she joined the press to serve primarily as a voice for the truth. In the field of journalism, she made a significant intellectual, ideological and practical contribution, producing high-quality work in line with the principles of a free press; she strove to ensure that the truth reached the people in plain language.

 

Her comrade Emel Çetin (Jiyan Şengal), with whom she had shared a determined struggle and a quest for truth since her university days, lost her life in 2016 during the Cizre resistance. Jiyan Şengal’s comradely bond and the contributions she made to her left a deep imprint of struggle within her. So much so that, following his comrade’s death, she penned the following poem:

 

“My Comrade, My Guerrilla

 

There are lives

ordinary as millions of others.

 

There are lives

that come into view,

set apart by their difference.

 

But then there are lives

that are like a revolution—

 

their prophecy unknown

in the hamlets of the sun.

 

They are like a miracle,

 

like the bleeding of a zılgıt,

like the laughter of a lament.

 

Like you, for instance…

 

Like your face, made to be gazed upon,

like your smile.

 

No words can be spoken for you,

no lines can be written.

 

You can only be understood

in pure silences,

 

while watching

the whisper of death

turn into a cry of resistance.

 

You cannot be told

to those who have not lived you.

 

No ear that has never heard your laughter,

no eye that has never met your eyes

could ever be told who you are.

 

To think you could be told

is ignorance.

 

To attempt to define you

is to know nothing of oneself.

 

Everything ever said

and everything ever written

is only a prelude to your life.

 

Your eyes are the first word.

 

And your gaze

is now an instruction

 

to the one

who has sworn

to be your comrade…”

 

Some time after this poem was written, İsyan Ferman Şengal lost his life in the Garê region on 20 February 2020.

 

Fleeing with nine children as a witness to the atrocities

 

Hatice Ay, who took part in the commemorations held in Amed, said that whilst living in Licê, many freedom fighters had stayed as guests in their home and that she had met İsyan Ferman Şengal on numerous occasions. Hatice Ay, who said that 25 villages were burnt down in Licê in a single day in 1994—one of which was her own village—stated: “They surrounded and raided every house in the village and gathered all the villagers next to a school. Whilst we were waiting there, smoke rose from a different village every minute. For three days, amidst the ashes and smoke, we were left without belongings or a home, wailing in grief; then we set off and came to Amed. We stayed in Amed for one to six months before coming to Ankara. We had no work and knew no one. Our children were small, and I brought those nine little children to Ankara by lorry, with nothing to their name. Newroz was four years old at the time. When we arrived in Ankara, we were selling simit on the street from trays. Neither I nor my children knew any Turkish. They didn’t know any until they started going to school or work; they learnt it later. I’ve been in Ankara for 32 years, yet I neither understand nor speak Turkish. I was 40 years old when I arrived. “I have witnessed many hardships, suffering, violence and torture; I have been a witness to it all. My brother was tortured. After they burnt down our village, they took my brother, stripped him naked in the middle of Licê and tortured him, then got up and threw him into the flowing water there."

 

I’m going…

 

Hatice Ay, who said that her daughter, İsyan Ferman Şengal, had gone to Istanbul to study at university 15 days after her eldest son’s death, said: “My daughter studied at university there for two years. Then we received news that she had been arrested. We set off for Istanbul but, of course, we couldn’t see her, so we came back. Then we went again and saw her. She spent two years and two months in prison before she was released. One day she came home and said to me, ‘Mum, I’m leaving’… ‘My friends who’ve left didn’t tell their families, but for your sake – so you won’t worry about me – I’m telling you,’ she said. I told her I’d still be thinking of her, and she said, ‘Yes, you’re my mum and your heart is aching, but you know who I’m with.’ So I said to her, ‘Well done, my girl.’ She kissed my hand, I hugged her, and I went with her to Amed. Then I watched her leave from the window."

 

At the trial, she raised her hand and asked: ‘Is this justice?’

 

A year later, Hatice Ay, who said she heard her daughter İsyan Ferman Şengal’s voice for the first time over the telephone, remarked, “Then I heard nothing from her for 11 years, right up until news of her martyrdom arrived…” Hatice Ay, echoing the accounts of her comrades, described İsyan Ferman Şengal as a very intelligent and thoughtful person, adding, “She was a patriot. Before she was sent to prison, during her trial, she raised her hand and said, ‘Our parents can’t even get our real names registered on the population register. They’ve named me Newroz, but they’ve written Raziye. Is this justice? They wouldn’t let us rent a house. Our neighbours would ask, 'What’s your relationship to Abdullah?' and I’d say, I’m her granddaughter. We were afraid to say he was my father. Is this justice? I will never accept this,’ she had said. When she set off, she turned to her aunt again and said, ‘They’re slaughtering three-year-old children, throwing people into prison after torturing them, raping young women and married women – I can never sleep whilst this is happening. ‘I can’t sleep; I cannot accept this, so I’m leaving,’ she said. She said goodbye to all of us and left. I patted her on the back and said, ‘Go on then, my girl, godspeed."

 

‘Our grief should have been shared’

 

"My heart was also broken. It would be a lie to say it wasn’t, because he was my child" said Hatice Ay, before continuing: "With her, I hold my head high and my heart is at peace; but there are not just one, but 20,000 martyrs—they are all our children. My heart aches for every one of them. When those villages were burnt down, there were soldiers there too. We have endured this oppression for years; we did not ask for their goods, their property or their money – our sole demand was our language and our Kurdish identity; there was nothing more than that. Let them give us our language, let us live our Kurdish identity freely – that is our condition. How can there be peace without recognising our Kurdish identity and our language? Twenty thousand guerrillas have been martyred. We want the families of soldiers and police officers to come and stand by our side too. They should have come to the condolence gatherings to share our grief. It should have been said that they fought this struggle for their language and identity. We will always stand behind our children and we will not give up until we have recovered their bodies. Once our demands are met, we will come together and live side by side in peace.”