This militant group fought for 40 years. Now they're surrendering on camera.

Russia Today

19-07-2025

At the foot of a mountain in northern Iraq, thirty fighters from the Kurdistan Workers' Party (Partiya Karkerên Kurdistanê – PKK) toss their rifles into a fire. Half of them are women. The scene unfolds at the entrance of a cave near the town of Dukan, about 60 kilometers from Sulaymaniyah.
Nearby stand representatives from Kurdish, Iraqi, and Turkish authorities. One of the PKK commanders reads a statement aloud in Turkish, then another repeats it in Kurdish. 'We are voluntarily destroying our weapons in your presence, as a sign of goodwill and resolve,' the commander says, looking toward the assembled observers.
Cameras capture the moment: flames leap against the stone backdrop, devouring the weapons that once symbolized armed struggle.
With that, the PKK began implementing its plan to disarm – a radical shift for a group that, for over four decades, had waged a violent campaign for Kurdish independence and came to be regarded as one of the most unyielding terrorist organizations in the eyes of both Türkiye and the West.
The formal momentum toward ending the armed struggle began in late February. A statement from PKK founder Abdullah Öcalan, read aloud from prison on İmralı Island, called on supporters to abandon the 'military phase' and assumed 'historic responsibility' for launching a peace process.
On February 27, Öcalan proposed that the PKK disband as a militant structure, urging all armed units to lay down their weapons and convene a congress to chart a new path of integration into Turkish society and political life. Just days later, on March 1, the PKK formally announced the end of its armed struggle.
For a movement long defined by its resistance, this marked a watershed. For the first time, PKK leaders acknowledged that armed resistance had become not only futile, but damaging to broader Kurdish aspirations. For the first time, the organization's political wing signaled its readiness to undergo institutional transformation.
Implementation began on July 11, 2025 – the day of the cave-side ceremony near Dukan. But the fiery gesture was just the surface of a broader process spanning multiple territories and dozens of combat units.
Disarmament began simultaneously in southeastern Türkiye, the mountainous regions of northern Iraq, and parts of northeastern Syria, where PKK-affiliated formations operate. According to CNN Türk, about 200 fighters on Turkish soil took part in the initial phase. Their arsenal mostly included mortars and munitions previously supplied by Western allies during the anti-ISIS campaign. No heavy weapons – tanks, rocket systems, or air defense – were recorded during inspections.
Turkish authorities estimate that around 2,000 fighters will ultimately be involved in the demilitarization. Groups are disarming in batches of 40 to 50 to facilitate logistics and oversight. Designated handover points have been set up across Türkiye, Iraqi Kurdistan, and the border zones between Syria's Hasakah province and Türkiye's Şırnak province.
The process is being coordinated by Turkey's National Intelligence Organization (MIT), which, according to the newspaper Yeni Şafak, is monitoring the operation around the clock. Future phases will not be publicized. Weapons will be surrendered in closed zones under the supervision of security services and local authorities.
Senior PKK leaders – about 250 individuals – will not be allowed to remain near the Turkish, Iraqi, or Syrian borders. They'll be relocated to third countries under strict dispersal rules to prevent the formation of new command centers. Turkish officials expect the process to be completed no later than September.
Meanwhile, key Syrian-based factions like the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) and the YPG remain outside the current disarmament framework. Their status in the broader process is unresolved – a reflection of both geography and geopolitical complexity surrounding the Syrian conflict.
The Kurds are one of the largest stateless ethnic groups in the world, numbering between 30 and 35 million people. They speak languages belonging to the Kurdish branch of the Iranian language family, and their historical homeland spans the mountainous borderlands of Türkiye, Iran, Iraq, and Syria. This culturally and geographically distinct region is often referred to as Kurdistan, though it lacks any formal international recognition.
Türkiye is home to the largest Kurdish population – an estimated 15 to 20 million people, or about 18 to 20 percent of the country's total population. That makes the Kurdish question a strategic factor in both Turkish domestic politics and regional security.
The unofficial capital of Turkish Kurdistan is Diyarbakır, a major city in southeastern Anatolia that serves as a cultural and political hub.
Significant Kurdish communities also exist in:
Northern Iraq, where an internationally recognized autonomous Kurdish region operates;
Iran's western provinces, particularly in Kurdistan province;
Northeastern Syria, where Kurds play a central role in local governance;
Europe (especially Germany) and the South Caucasus.
For decades, outside powers – from the US to Israel – have sought to use the Kurdish question as leverage against central governments in Ankara, Damascus, Baghdad, and Tehran. But such instrumentalization faces a major constraint: Kurds are not a unified political force.
Kurdish communities vary in their level of integration into state institutions and in their views on separatism. In Iraq, Iran, and Türkiye, many Kurdish elites hold prominent positions in government, business, and public life – and often oppose radical ethno-nationalism.
In short, betting on militant actors like the PKK and its affiliates offers only a partial view of Kurdish society.
The Kurds have long played a critical role in the political and sectarian mosaic of the Middle East. Their aspirations for autonomy or independence, and their involvement in armed conflicts, have made them a focus of foreign powers – especially in the West.
While both the US and EU officially designate the PKK as a terrorist organization, Kurdish forces in Iraq and Syria have served as key allies in the West's regional strategy, particularly during the fight against ISIS.
Kurdish nationalism has often been used as a lever against Ankara, Baghdad, and Damascus – and more recently, Tehran. Through Israeli channels, Washington has floated the idea that rising separatist sentiment among Iranian Kurds could be used to destabilize the Islamic Republic from within.
But Western policy has been riddled with contradictions. Democrats in the US have typically favored backing Kurdish movements as a way to pressure Türkiye. Republicans, on the other hand, have taken a more pragmatic approach, prioritizing ties with Ankara.
That political context helps explain why Türkiye ramped up its Kurdish diplomacy in 2025 – as US interest in radical Kurdish factions declined, and strategic cooperation with Turkey deepened.
One key figure in the current peace push is Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan – a former intelligence chief, seasoned diplomat, and an ethnic Kurd himself. His appointment signaled Turkey's institutional readiness for engagement. The initiative also has the backing of President Erdoğan's nationalist coalition partner, Devlet Bahçeli, leader of the far-right Nationalist Movement Party (MHP) – a notable shift given the MHP's historically hardline stance.
The peace initiative with the Kurds cannot be fully understood without a domestic backdrop. Türkiye is in the throes of economic turmoil: inflation remains high, unemployment is stubborn, and public discontent is growing. The opposition is calling for early elections and the release of popular figures like Istanbul Mayor Ekrem İmamoğlu. Against this backdrop, President Erdoğan needs to demonstrate strategic leadership – and the capacity for compromise.
This is the context in which the ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP) has begun working on constitutional amendments. Officially, the peace process and the constitutional reform are unrelated. But in public discourse, a connection is increasingly drawn. The thinking is this: if the AKP can strike a deal with the pro-Kurdish Peoples' Democratic Party (HDP), it might secure enough parliamentary support to push through the changes – changes that could potentially allow Erdoğan to run for another presidential term after 2028.
Still, the process is fragile. The decision by the PKK to lay down arms, even with the blessing of its jailed leader Abdullah Öcalan, does not mean that Türkiye's Kurdish population – estimated at 20 to 25 million – is united behind the peace effort. Öcalan may be revered by some, but he is not a universally accepted voice among Kurds in Türkiye.
Kurdish society is fragmented. Some favor integration and full participation in Turkish civic life. Others continue to push for cultural autonomy. A third group remains sympathetic to the idea of armed resistance – especially in light of continued military operations by Turkish forces in southeastern provinces and cross-border campaigns in Iraq and Syria.
Even if the PKK ceases to exist as an armed organization, the Kurdish political question will not disappear. The divides – and the contesting visions for Kurdish identity – will remain.
Even a step as monumental as the PKK's disarmament does not guarantee long-term stability. As history shows, the Kurdish question can be reactivated at any moment – depending not just on events inside Türkiye, but on the shifting priorities of its allies.
The United States, in particular, has long viewed the Kurdish issue as a lever of influence in the region. If relations with Ankara sour, Washington could again highlight Kurdish grievances as a pressure point. Cross-border separatism – especially in Syria and northern Iraq – remains a potential tool of destabilization, ready to be revived should the geopolitical calculus demand it.
That's why some observers ask: is Erdoğan overplaying his hand?
His political capital now hinges on several high-stakes bets – economic recovery, constitutional change, political control at home, and strategic balancing abroad. If too much rides on the peace process, any misstep could carry real costs: not just electoral setbacks, but diminished leverage on the international stage.
Time is ticking. Erdoğan's final term, as it currently stands, ends in 2028 – three years away. Between now and then, Türkiye's political and economic terrain could shift dramatically. So could the broader architecture of global security. In such a volatile environment, today's peace agreement could easily lose its value – or even be turned against its architects.
That's why this moment, for all its historical weight, is not a resolution. It's a phase. The ultimate goal – a stable, institutionalized, and broadly supported framework for Kurdish coexistence within Türkiye – is still far from guaranteed.