What led you to join the struggle in Rojava? What was it about the cause that resonated with you personally and ideologically?

I joined in 2014, answering the call of the Kurdish freedom movement and Turkey’s revolutionary organizations to defend Kobane from ISIS attacks. It was a critical moment to stand against a threat that endangered not just the region but the principles of freedom and resistance.

For me as a socialist, Rojava symbolized more than a Kurdish struggle; it was a beacon of hope for all marginalized people in the region—Arabs, Turks, Kurds, Assyrians, Druze, and more. Rojava represented the possibility of a democratic and inclusive society amid the chaos of fascist, dictatorial, and Islamist forces in the Middle East. For me, this revolution was also intertwined with the socialist struggle in Turkey. The fight to preserve Rojava was essential for the democratic transformation of the region and beyond. This was a chance to build a society based on justice, equality, and women’s liberation — a task I felt deeply connected to as both a revolutionary and a human being.

Can you describe the most impactful moments from your time in Rojava? How did it change you?

The bonds of comradeship deepened in a land where death has a constant presence. In a world often filled with emptiness and despair, the revolution offered a chance to connect with genuine feelings and purpose. What we gained here — solidarity, meaning, and true connection — was far greater than anything left behind.

Living through the Rojava Revolution meant witnessing and contributing to a profound societal transformation. The fight wasn’t solely military; it was also about reconstructing a new social order. While resisting ISIS and other threats, we also engaged in press work to document this extraordinary moment in history. I learned about the immense complexity of dismantling an oppressive system while simultaneously building a better one.

[Vladimir] Lenin’s words resonate deeply: “Living a revolution is far more fulfilling and instructive than simply writing about it.” This revolution was not just fought with weapons but also through organizing communities and addressing their basic needs. Experiencing this firsthand taught me that revolution isn’t just about seizing power but about fostering a deep and meaningful connection with the people it seeks to serve. The struggle in Rojava has shaped me profoundly, giving me a clearer understanding of how to initiate and sustain a movement that genuinely serves its people.

How were you captured; what happened initially?

In 2021, while traveling in what used to be a frontline region near the regime’s borders, we were ambushed by the Assad’s regime forces and handed over to pro-regime militias. Communication was impossible since we didn’t speak Arabic. We were first taken to Aleppo’s 290th intelligence center where we spent eight days in solitary confinement and underwent initial interrogations. We told them we were in Rojava as supporters of the Kurdish freedom movement and for international solidarity, but they didn’t fully grasp our position. From there, we were transferred to the infamous Palestine Branch 235 in Damascus for more intensive interrogations.

We were incarcerated there until the day we were free.

Can you describe the conditions in the Palestine Branch prison?

First we were put in solitary confinement. The cells were roughly two meters by one meter, with no toilets. We were allowed one-minute bathroom breaks twice daily—at 8 a.m. and 10 p.m. After each trip, guards would beat us with iron rods. For the first month, we weren’t even interrogated — just locked away in these harsh conditions. Communication was impossible since neither of us spoke Arabic.

Interrogations began a month later. They were trying to force us to admit to being PKK [Kurdistan Workers’ Party] operatives and demanded detailed information about Rojava’s military and civilian infrastructures. They also pressured us to cooperate with them as informants. The aim was to make us betray the revolution. This marked the start of more severe physical and psychological torture.

Can you describe the methods of torture you endured?

The most common method was foot whipping — being beaten on the soles of the feet while restrained in a rubber tire. Electric shock devices were also used on sensitive areas like the neck and groin. In some sessions, multiple shocks were administered. Guards poured water on us and left us standing for hours as another form of torture.

Sleeping was forbidden. We had to stay awake from 6 a.m. until midnight. Guards knocked on the doors hourly, and if we didn’t respond immediately, we were beaten. Even asking to use the toilet or go to the doctor led to violence. If we fell ill, they would say, “Why are you sick?” and punish us further.

Hygiene was another tool of punishment. We weren’t given nail clippers or cleaning materials like toothbrushes. Long nails were punished, forcing us to bite them off with our teeth. The guards made us pluck our body hair by hand, and any hair found during inspections led to beatings. The goal was to turn every aspect of daily life into a form of torture.

The lack of sunlight and water caused diseases like scabies and skin infections. The guards would mock us for our wounds, hitting them to inflict more pain. Medical care was nonexistent; they explicitly refused treatment for torture-related injuries.

The torture wasn’t hidden. It happened openly in corridors, where multiple people were tortured at the same time. Think of a corridor, tens of people are being tortured; here they are torturing me; five meters away they are holding someone down for foot whipping; a few meters further they are doing “Palestinian hanging” [i.e., from the wrists]. Some others are being questioned without torture. Hearing and seeing others suffer added a psychological layer to the abuse.

The Palestine Branch was notorious. People who entered knew they wouldn’t leave the same. The saying they used in Arabic was: “If you enter here, you are dead; when you leave, you are reborn.” Torture had been institutionalized here, even before the Syrian civil war.

After six months of solitary confinement and torture, they took us to the main prison wards and told us as follows: “If you want to change your testimony, knock on the door and say you want to see the prosecutor. If you don’t do that, you won’t get out of here.”

What were the conditions like in the prison ward?

The cells were incredibly small and overcrowded. Each person had only about a forty-centimeter-wide square of space to sit. There were between eighty and 110 people in each cell. The air was stifling, and the environment made even sitting a struggle. There was dim lighting, and the atmosphere was oppressive.

Meals were served in a shared basin, which was also used for bathing, washing clothes, and cleaning the toilet. Water was brought twice a day, and it was poured directly into people’s mouths from a plastic pitcher.

How did you manage basic hygiene?

Hygiene was practically nonexistent. We were given half a bar of green soap every fifteen days, and it had to be used for everything — bathing, cleaning dishes, and even scrubbing the cell. There were far too few blankets, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six for over a hundred people, and they were never washed. We used the same blankets for over two years. Lice were everywhere. Every day, we tried to remove them from our clothes, but with no proper light or cleaning materials, we couldn’t get rid of them. Many died from cholera or other illnesses, but this was considered a routine.

How did you maintain hope in such dehumanizing conditions?

We are people familiar with the tradition of prison resistance. Oppressive regimes, fascists, and reactionary dictatorships try to break the oppressed through imprisonment and torture. We’ve seen this before in Turkey’s prisons. As harsh and inhumane as these conditions were, we knew resisting was essential. Survival itself became a form of resistance.

We loved life, but I had no hope of getting out alive. That’s the reality. What kept us going was our revolutionary consciousness. History has shown us that prisons are often battlegrounds for resistance — whether in Turkey, Kurdistan, Ireland, or Vietnam. I thought about those who resisted in Diyarbakır’s dungeons, those who endured hunger strikes in Ireland, and the Vietnamese revolutionaries in Saigon’s prisons. Their defiance gave me strength.

It wasn’t just abstract ideas that sustained us. It was also the values we held dear — the music, books, and comradeship that were part of our struggle. These things reminded us of why we fought. Even as we witnessed death around us — whether from torture, disease, or execution — we held on. It wasn’t about dreaming of freedom but about preserving the dignity of our beliefs, even in the face of death.

How did the escape from the prison unfold?

In the final ten days, we sensed that something extraordinary was happening outside, but we didn’t know exactly what. Because for two weeks, no new detainees were brought to the Palestine Branch. On the last day, we began hearing gunfire. At first, I thought it was a celebration or a wedding. But as the noise grew, I realized it was an assault on the prison itself.

The first group to reach us asked if we were prisoners. We said yes. They broke the lock with a hammer and shouted: “We are Jolani’s [Ahmed Hussein al-Sharaa] men.” They were chanting religious slogans. I immediately thought: “If these are jihadists backed by the Turkish state, they could kill us or turn us over to Turkey.” I decided to conceal my identity and avoid speaking too much.

What happened after they freed you?

They told everyone to return to their homes. There was no sorting or questioning; they simply opened the doors. For me, the first thought was survival — finding a safe path back to Rojava.

The streets were chaotic. People from the neighborhood recognized us as prisoners and invited us into their homes. They gave us clothes, fed us, and offered phones to contact our families. Some even helped us arrange transportation back to the Kurdish-controlled areas. It was surreal.

How did it feel to return to Rojava?

Rojava welcomed us with open arms. The comrades here understood exactly what we had endured. They provided everything we needed to recover and reintegrate. It was a profound moment of solidarity. After escaping the hell of the regime’s prison, returning to the revolution felt like regaining life itself.

How did this experience shape your perspective on the struggle?

It reinforced the importance of staying committed to the revolutionary values. Surviving Assad’s prison was a reminder that living for these ideals is itself an act of defiance.

It also underscored the complexities of this war. One enemy imprisoned us, while another enemy unwittingly freed us. Rojava Revolution is about building freedom in a world of contradictions, and that’s a fight we remain committed to.

What are your thoughts on Turkey’s role in Syria and its strategy toward Rojava following the fall of Assad?

With the fall of Assad, Turkey has intensified its efforts to fill the power vacuum, making Syria a central focus of its regional strategy. This is not a new development; Turkey has long maintained ties with groups like Hayat Tahrir al-Sham [HTS], and throughout the Syrian civil war, it has played the role of a patron to Islamist factions, providing them financial, logistical, and military support.

Now, Turkey’s primary strategic objective has become the dismantling of the Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria. The Turkish state recognizes that Rojava has emerged as a powerful democratic alternative in the region, one that promotes women’s liberation, ethnic equality, and grassroots governance. This vision directly opposes Turkey’s nationalism and authoritarianism. In response, Turkey sees this period as a final opportunity to launch an extensive military campaign against Rojava together with its proxy, the so-called Syrian National Army [SNA].

Currently, heavy clashes are underway around Kobane. However, the resistance is extraordinary. The people of Rojava have mobilized, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Syrian Democratic Forces [SDF] — organizing civilian watch groups in the most contested areas, forming self-defense units, and supporting front lines with food and resources. Everyone contributes whatever they can to ensure the survival of the revolution.

If Turkey’s aggression can be halted, Rojava will be closer than ever to securing its status as an autonomous and free region. It is essential to note that neither HTS nor the SNA could conduct operations against Rojava without Turkey’s support. Moreover, Turkey has been the main impediment to international efforts at resolving the conflict in Syria. Therefore, stopping Turkey’s intervention is crucial.