Twenty-one years ago, I was opportunistically kidnapped by supporters of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK). In light of the PKK declaring last month its intention to discontinue its armed struggle against Turkey, I’ve been reflecting back on my involuntary run-in with the struggle for Kurdish self-governance.
As with my kidnapping, the Kurdish cause had always been riven by amateurism, not to mention the petty feuds of the rival Kurdish organisations in Turkey, Iraq, Iran, and Syria. Truces, mass casualty events, kidnappings, and negotiations followed each other haphazardly. The struggle was filled with freelancers, bandits, and entrepreneurs. It embodied contradictory approaches to Americans and Western power in the region.
Steve had come to the Levant for a taste of the exotic. The year was 2004. We were both Fulbright Scholars. After a week in Syria, we were tired of ruins and banquets. We were headed to Beirut for the pleasures of real civilisation – the rooftop bar at the Virgin Mega Store, Haagen-Dazs, and the much-missed company of western women.
Britain’s best politics newsletters
You get two free articles each week when you sign up to The Spectator’s emails.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in