As Turkey Targets Militants, War Grips Kurdish Lands Once Again
DIYARBAKIR, Turkey — Across the Kurdish lands of southeast Turkey,
a bitter war that had long been stilled by a truce has suddenly come
roaring back, threatening to undo a hard-won economic turnaround here
and adding a new battlefield to a region already consumed by chaos.
Cafes
in this city that usually stay open until midnight now close at dusk.
Jails are filling, once again, with Kurdish activists and officials
accused of supporting terrorism. Residents say they are stocking up on
weapons, just in case.
In
the mountains, Kurdish guerrillas hastily set up vehicle checkpoints
and then dissolve into the rugged terrain in a game of cat and mouse
with Turkish soldiers. In the countryside, burned and mangled vehicles
blight a landscape blackened by forest fires set by the Turkish Army — a
tactic that destroys militant hide-outs but also apple and cherry
orchards and stocks of feed for villagers’ cows and goats.
“It
shouldn’t be like this,” said Kudbettin Ersoy, 66, who sells
watermelons here from a wooden cart. “I was hopeful that peace would
come and the blood would stop flowing. We are all citizens of this
country.”
It has been one month since Turkey’s president, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, resumed armed conflict
against the militants of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party, or P.K.K. Many —
Kurds and political analysts alike — see the war as a coldly calculated
political strategy by Mr. Erdogan, whose Islamist Justice and
Development Party lost its parliamentary majority in national elections in June, to stoke nationalist sentiments and regain lost votes in a new election.
June’s
vote gave no party a majority, and a deadline for coalition talks ended
fruitlessly on Sunday, paving the way for a snap election in November.
The
war against the P.K.K. has also underscored the continued divide
between the West and Turkey over how to handle the Middle East’s raging
wars.
Conflict
with the P.K.K. resumed just as Turkey said it would join the
American-led coalition against the Sunni militants of the Islamic State,
also known as ISIS, ISIL or Daesh, who control a large part of Iraq and Syria. Turkey opened its air bases to the United States and began carrying out its own airstrikes against the group.
But since then, Turkey has carried out roughly 400 airstrikes against P.K.K. targets in the mountains of northern Iraq,
where the group has bases, and inside Turkey, compared with three
against the Islamic State. The imbalance has deepened a sense in the
West that Turkey’s priority is restraining Kurdish ambitions of autonomy
that had gained momentum amid the region’s turmoil, rather than
fighting the Islamic State.
Even so, Turkey’s foreign minister, Mevlut Cavusoglu, told Reuters on Monday that Turkey would soon start a “comprehensive” air operation against the Islamic State in northern Syria.
The
resumed war’s toll so far can be measured in lives lost: more than 65
Turkish soldiers and police officers, and more than 800 people the
government has identified as militants, according to the semiofficial
Anadolu News Agency. The war is also being measured in the return of
fear and old anxieties over a conflict that, through decades, claimed
close to 40,000 lives.
“When
the president couldn’t make the government himself, he targeted the
Kurds, and restarted this war,” said Osman, who was sitting at a
teahouse here one recent morning and gave only his first name because he
was fearful of speaking openly against Mr. Erdogan.
Omer
Tastan, a spokesman here for the pro-Kurdish Peoples’ Democratic Party,
or H.D.P., which for the first time exceeded a 10 percent legal
threshold to earn representation in Parliament
in Turkey’s election in June, said that the government, in going after
the militants, has also cracked down on the political side of the
Kurdish movement.
“People working for the party are detained every day,” he said. “Young people are trying to protect their neighborhoods.”
The
forest fires near Lice, a P.K.K. stronghold outside of Diyarbakir, are a
menacing reminder of the tactics the Turkish Army used in the 1990s,
the conflict’s cruelest decade.
“It is to intimidate the local people, to say that we can go back to the 1990s,” Mr. Tastan said.
Mr.
Erdogan once saw peace with the Kurds as crucial to his legacy — two
years ago, he said he would drink “hemlock poison” if it meant an end to
the war. But many have come to believe that he now views war as the
only way to preserve his power. And amid the tumult, Mr. Erdogan on
Monday formally called for new parliamentary elections.
“We feel Erdogan personally restarted the war because of the elections,” said Yesim Alici, an H.D.P. official in Lice.
On
the other side of the conflict, there are also signs of rising anger
toward Mr. Erdogan and the government officials who have been attending,
with great publicity, the funerals of Turkish soldiers killed by the
P.K.K.
A
Turkish military officer whose brother was killed in a Kurdish attack
lashed out Sunday during the funeral, in a video that was widely
circulated on social media in Turkey.
“Who
killed him? Who is the reason for this?” Lt. Col. Mehmet Alkan shouted
as he pushed through the crowd toward his brother’s coffin.
“It’s
those who said there would be a solution, who now only talk of war,” he
said, in a statement many took to be a reference to Mr. Erdogan and his
previous efforts, now abandoned, for peace.
Government
officials blame the P.K.K. for the renewed hostilities and say the
group used the relative peace of recent years to rearm itself. While the
P.K.K. has also stepped up its attacks against the Turkish state, and
is listed as a terrorist organization by the United States and the
European Union, it has also become more legitimized internationally over
the past year. The group has fiercely fought the Islamic State in
northern Iraq, and its affiliate in northern Syria has become a reliable
ally of the United States against the jihadist group there.
This
is highlighted by the daily arrival of dead bodies of Kurdish fighters
at the main cemetery here. They come from three battlefields: Iraq,
Syria and Turkey. There are three teams of gravediggers working day and
night, and cemetery workers have stocked up on wood for coffins and
cloth for wrapping corpses.
“What the Kurds are doing in northern Iraq and in Syria against ISIS is not just for the Kurds, it’s for all of humanity,” said Mehmet Celik Kilic, who runs the cemetery.
On
a recent afternoon, a woman who gave only her first name of Pakize was
visiting the grave of her son, a P.K.K. fighter who died in northern
Iraq three years ago, during the last outburst of conflict.
“God, this is enough,” she said. “The soldiers, the guerrillas, they are all our sons.”
Across the region, even as war has resumed, hopes for peace remain.
In
the mountains outside the city of Tunceli — called Dersim by the
locals, and the site of a massacre against the Kurds carried out by the
Turkish state in the 1930s — villagers who had been expelled from their
homes in the 1990s had only in recent years begun rebuilding their
lives. Many took out cheap loans to build houses or invest in beehives
to harvest honey, taking part in the expansion of consumer credit and
the booming economy that Turkey enjoyed over the last decade.
On a recent morning, two women, sitting in the shade of an almond tree, said they already lost everything once, in the 1990s.
“Our house,” said one of the women, Zarife Tasbas, who said she was about 60. “Our animals. Our orchards and trees.”
Their
surroundings are the very picture of bucolic mountain living: a verdant
valley of grapevines and pear trees, set to the gentle background noise
of a rolling stream. All this is in jeopardy, they say, because
recently they were told by local elders — who were told by the army —
that they must leave their homes because of planned military operations.
“We
have told them we will lose everything if we leave,” said the other
woman, Yomos Deniz, 55, who makes a living selling the honey produced by
her 40 beehives. “We’d rather die than leave here.”
Ceylan Yeginsu contributed reporting from Istanbul.