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“Our solidarity is built on shared trauma and shared truth”

Interview with organizers from Rojava Network Berlin on Syria, Media Silence, and Solidarity


11/02/2026

This interview was conducted with an organizer involved in the newly forming Rojava Network Berlin, a collective of Kurds from North and East Syria now living in Europe. The conversation took place amid escalating violence against the Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria (Rojava).

Who are you as organizers, and what is the Rojava Network Berlin?

We are primarily individuals who come from Rojava, from different cities and regions. Today, we all live in Europe. Recently, we began the process of founding the Rojava Network Berlin.

The network is still in its early stages, but our goal is to build a strong and connected network among Kurds from Rojava—starting here in Berlin and growing beyond. We want to organize collectively, support one another, and make our voices heard in a political climate that often speaks about us without ever listening to us.

What is missing or misrepresented in mainstream media coverage of Syria, particularly in Germany?

Mainstream media—especially in Germany—often emphasizes the so-called “good relations” between Germany and the new power holders in Syria. What is largely ignored is that these ruling forces emerged directly from HTS and Al-Qaida structures. Al-Shara himself is a former terrorist, and Syrians know this very well.

There have been documented massacres against minorities, including Alawites on the coast and Druze communities in al-Sweida. Organizations such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have reported on these crimes, yet they are barely reflected in mainstream media coverage. Instead, we see diplomatic normalization. Figures like Al-Shara are invited and treated as legitimate political actors, as if their past—and present—violence does not matter.

In reality, these forces have never stopped operating as extremist groups. They continue to commit violence inside Syria while much of the Western world looks away. This is especially alarming now that they are attacking the Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria—Rojava—where predominantly Kurdish communities live.

Kurds are well aware of what Islamist groups represent. Kurds were among those who fought ISIS, alongside the U.S. and with Western support. Now, we are being targeted and attacked by these same kinds of Islamist forces.

How does solidarity between minorities and anti-government collectives take shape, both in Syria and in the diaspora?

We recognize each other’s pain. We know what Yazidi women have endured at the hands of Islamist groups. Many of us still have friends, sisters, or relatives who remain enslaved by ISIS emirs. Every Kurdish person knows at least one family where a girl was enslaved or a man was killed by ISIS.

Because of this, we know exactly what extreme Islamist groups are capable of.

Who still enslaves people today? Who carries out mass rape of women simply because they are Yazidi? For these groups, Kurdish and Yazidi people are infidels. That reality creates a deep, shared understanding between targeted and marginalized communities.

When Alawites or Druze say they were attacked, massacred, slaughtered, or thrown from balconies, we know this is true—because we have lived through the same terror. And this is not just our belief. International organizations have documented these crimes.

Our solidarity is built on shared trauma and shared truth. Yet despite all of this, the Western world continues to look away.

What is your call to action? How can people in Berlin and beyond show solidarity?

First and foremost:

  • An immediate and lasting halt to all attacks on Rojava and the Kurdish self-administration areas
  • Recognition and protection of the Kurdish Autonomous Administration under international law
  • No political or diplomatic legitimization of any government that consolidates power through violence against minorities
  • No military or diplomatic support for forces that have demonstrably integrated jihadist structures

We also demand international recognition of the Self-Administration of North and East Syria as a legitimate self-governing administration.

For people in Berlin, solidarity means listening to those directly affected, showing up to demonstrations, amplifying our voices, and refusing to accept the whitewashing of violence in the name of “stability” or diplomacy.

Next event

Experience an afternoon filled with music, storytelling, and fellowship at our bazaar. Enjoy delicious food and live performances by @bablisk_band and @cengizyazgi_official.

All proceeds will be donated to families in Rojava.

📍 Location: Oranienstr. 34, 10999 Berlin
📅 Date: 15.02.2026 | Time: 14:00 – 20:00 Uhr
💰 Entry: 5 € (donation-based)
Organized by @rojava_netzwerk.berlin in cooperation with @rojavida.bildung.
Don’t miss out—come and make a difference!

When Work Becomes a Command, Freedom Is the First Casualty

Germany is once again debating how much of the people’s lives should belong to the economy


Under the banner of “labor shortages” and “productivity”, political voices are now flirting with the idea of restricting the legal right to part-time work. Not banning it outright, they say; just limiting it. Reframing it. Reserving it for those who can justify their need for less time, less exhaustion, less surrender. And this debate is not about hours. It is about power.

For decades, the right to reduce working hours has been one of the quiet achievements of modern labor law: an acknowledgment that human beings are not infinitely elastic, that life does not begin and end at the workplace, that dignity includes control over one’s time. To roll this back is not reform. It is regression dressed up as responsibility.

The argument goes like this: Germany needs more labor. People must work more. Those who choose part-time work for “lifestyle reasons” are portrayed as indulgent, unserious, even morally suspect. Leisure becomes laziness. Balance becomes betrayal. But this framing collapses under the lightest scrutiny.

People do not flee full-time work because they have grown soft. They do so because full-time work, as it exists today, is often incompatible with a livable life. Childcare is scarce or unaffordable. Elder care is chronically underfunded. Many jobs demand constant availability, emotional labor, unpaid overtime, and a level of intensity that leaves little room for anything else — including health.

Calling this a “choice” is convenient. It absolves the system.

Restricting part-time work does not create more care infrastructure. It does not raise wages. It does not shorten commutes or reduce burnout. It simply transfers the cost of systemic failure onto individual bodies disproportionately onto women, who make up the majority of part-time workers, and who already shoulder most unpaid care labor.

This is not an accident. It is a pattern.

Whenever economies face strain, the solution proposed is rarely to rethink how work is organized or how wealth is distributed. Instead, the reflex is discipline: longer hours, fewer rights, tighter control. Work is moralized. Exhaustion is normalized. And those who resist are scolded for lacking commitment.

Yet history tells a different story. Every gain workers now take for granted (the weekend, the eight-hour day, paid leave) was once condemned as dangerous indulgence. Each was resisted with the same warning: the economy cannot afford this. Somehow, it always survived.

What is new today is the audacity of reversing progress in the name of modernity.

Germany is not suffering from a shortage of work. It is suffering from a shortage of humane work. Productivity has risen for decades, but the benefits have not translated into more time, more security, or more freedom for workers. Instead, we are told to give more of ourselves to maintain a system that gives less back and this reveals the deeper ideological fault line.

Is work a means to live — or is life merely fuel for work?

Those pushing to curb part-time rights seem to believe the latter. In their worldview, time not sold to the labor market is time wasted. Autonomy is tolerated only when it does not interfere with output. Freedom is acceptable only after productivity quotas are met.

This is not economic realism. It is moral authoritarianism.

A society confident in itself does not coerce people into longer hours. It makes work worth returning to. It invests in care, flexibility, and fair pay. It understands that people who control their time are not weaker workers, but stronger citizens. If the CDU truly wants higher labor participation, the path is obvious and inconvenient. Build childcare. Fund elder care. Reduce full-time hours without reducing pay. Allow people to work more by needing less. Anything else is not reform. It is a command.

The right to part-time work is not a luxury for the lazy. It is a safeguard against a future where economic necessity consumes every waking hour. To dismantle it is to say, quietly but clearly, that human life must once again bend to the demands of the market.

And that is a line worth refusing to cross.

Because when a society solves its problems by demanding more life from its people, it is not running out of workers. It is running out of imagination.

Red Flag: All Charges Against Baki Have Been Dropped!

In his weekly column, Nathaniel looks at a legal victory for Palestine solidarity in Berlin.


All Charges Against Baki Have Been Dropped

The trial was supposed to last until the evening. But on Tuesday, Baki Devrimkaya emerged from Berlin’s Regional Court before noon, where he was greeted by dozens of supporters with banners and chants. The case had been dismissed—resulting in neither a guilty nor a not guilty verdict. Instead, the charges will disappear in exchange for a €450 donation to medico international, an NGO that opposes the genocide in Gaza. 

Back in December 2023, Baki had been a steward at a pro-Palestinian protest at the Free University of Berlin. Right-wing agitators attempted to disrupt the event by destroying posters featuring images of murdered Palestinian children, insulting students as “Nazis,” and physically attacking stewards. Multiple videos show Baki standing in front of these bullies, remaining peaceful even as they shoved him.

Absurdly, Baki was charged with “assault” and “insult.” At a first trial last June, these charges had to be dropped as the evidence showed the opposite: Baki was the one being assaulted and insulted. Instead, the judge convicted Baki of “coercion” for standing in front of a person with outstretched arms for about 50 seconds. He was sentenced to a €450 fine. This would create a dangerous and bizarre legal precedent, potentially criminalizing every form of stewarding at left-wing events.

Baki appealed the charges, and yesterday his three lawyers were able to get the coercion charge dropped as well. The right-wing paper Tagespiegel is lying when it claims in a headline that Baki was sentenced to a fine—there was no determination of guilt.

Growing Repression

In the morning, 50 people demonstrated opposite the courthouse. In the afternoon, over 70 joined another rally—a protest turned into a victory rally. This included students and workers from the Free University as well as activists from Klasse Gegen Klasse, Linksjugend-Solid, BDS FU, Waffen der Kritik, Mera25, the Revolutionary Socialist Organization, Spartakist, and other groups.

Numerous police vans were positioned outside the court, forcing demonstrators onto the other side of the road. Defense lawyer Timo Winter pointed out: “Passers by will have to wonder: is this a case involving dangerous criminals?” But no—it was an attempt to criminalize political protests at a university.

Baki’s trial is part of increasing repression at Berlin universities, not just against Palestine solidarity, but against all kinds of left-wing politics—universities even banned assemblies against the AfD! That’s why this legal case was so important. Baki could have paid the fine last year, but thanks to the solidarity of hundreds of activists from around the world, he was able to beat back the repression. As defense lawyer Lennart Wolgast pointed out in a speech, this appeal couldn’t have taken place without all the moral and financial support.

Legal and Legitimate

Baki is a nurse trainee who was born and raised in Germany but doesn’t have a German passport. A conviction would have made it more difficult to get basic citizenship rights. His peaceful defense of a peaceful protest was both legal and legitimate. “In other circumstances, the press would have called this civil courage,” he said.

This case was ultimately not about him. There are over 71,000 confirmed dead in Gaza, and countless more still buried beneath the rubble. The German government has supported this genocide with hundreds of millions of euros, and is trying to ban any opposition.

A big majority of people in Germany believe that Israel is committing genocide. The government’s “reason of state,” which means unconditional support for Zionist colonialism, is extremely unpopular. That is why they need so much repression: to prevent the majority from expressing its opinions.

But resistance is growing against the militaristic and authoritarian turn. School students went on strike against conscription last December, and will strike again on March 5. Baki’s refusal to accept repression makes it easier for young people to protest.

Jewish Students

Prosecutors accused Baki of antisemitism, because one of the bullies he blocked was a Jewish student. This ignores the fact that numerous Jewish students had been part of the pro-Palestine protest. HP Loveshaft, for example, was shoved by these same pro-Israel thugs. In a joint video, Baki and HP expressed their mutual solidarity.

The same day, but a few dozen kilometers away in Potsdam, HP was also on trial for his solidarity with Palestine, with several dozen supporters outside the court. This is yet another case of the German state attacking Jews in the name of “fighting antisemitism”! HP’s trial was postponed because witnesses for the prosecution hadn’t shown up.

At the solidarity rally for Baki, supporters played an old Jewish workers song, Oy Ir Narishe Tsienistn, in a multilingual version by Daniel Kahn and Psoy Korolenko.  The German state claims that its support for Israel is about “protecting Jewish life.” This song is a reminder of the long traditions of left-wing Jewish anti-Zionism, which is experiencing a massive resurgence in the face of Israel’s genocide. 

Red Flag is a weekly opinion column on Berlin politics that Nathaniel has been writing since 2020. After moving through different homes, it now appears at The Left Berlin.

15 February 2003: The world stands up against Bush’s Iraq War

This week in working class history


The attack on the World Trade Center on 11th September 2001 led President George Bush to increase US militarism.  One month later, the US invaded Afghanistan. One year later, in September 2002, Bush used fabricated stories of Weapons of Mass Destruction to prepare the way for a similar attack on Iraq. One of his motivations was to overcome the “Vietnam syndrome”. Since being ejected from Vietnam in 1975, many working class people in the US were no longer prepared to fight and die for their country.

The attack on the World Trade Center on 11th September 2001 prompted President George Bush to escalate US militarism. Just one month later, the US invaded Afghanistan. By September 2002, Bush utilized fabricated claims of Weapons of Mass Destruction to justify a similar invasion of Iraq. One of his motivations was to overcome the “Vietnam syndrome”; since the US withdrawal from Vietnam in 1975, many working-class Americans were reluctant to fight and die for their country.

As Bush prepared for war, the international anti-capitalist movement was gaining momentum. In 1999, the Battle of Seattle saw trade unionists and environmentalists unite to shut down a meeting of the World Trade Organization. The first World Social Forum took place in Porto Alegre, Brazil, in January 2001, serving as a gathering point for anti-capitalist activists and intellectuals. A corresponding European Social Forum was held in Florence in November 2002.

In Florence, the anti-capitalist and anti-war movements converged. One million people rallied against the impending war in a city with a population of less than 400,000. During the forum, an additional meeting was organized, where hundreds of activists from various countries discussed strategies to counter the looming conflict in Iraq. An international day of action was set for February 15th the following year, aiming for demonstrations across the globe.

The outcome was significant. Over a million people demonstrated in Barcelona, Rome, and London. The Rome demonstration is recorded in the Guinness Book of Records as the largest anti-war rally in history, with 3 million participants. Protests occurred on every continent, including a gathering of 50 scientists in Antarctica. An estimated 15 million people demonstrated on February 15, and 40 million participated in the three months leading up to the war’s outbreak on 20 March.

Although these demonstrations did not prevent the war, they likely deterred further attacks. Two days after the protests, New York Times columnist Patrick E. Tyler remarked that the world now had two superpowers: the USA and the international anti-war movement. Many anti-capitalists shifted their focus from advocating for taxation on speculation to actively opposing imperialism. In North Africa, where the 2003 demonstrations were relatively small due to state repression, activists learned valuable lessons that contributed to the emergence of the Arab Spring.

Regarding the comfort of others

To enact change, we need more than virtuous deeds and good intentions


09/02/2026

Who is an activist and what makes them one? An activist, by word, means someone who takes/performs/does an action. There is a common belief among many that taking action (political/social/humanitarian/environmental) is a virtue. It frames action as exceptional, morally superior, requiring a specific kind of nobility, innocence, and even godliness. In doing so, it removes action from the realm of the ordinary and places it into the realm of moral victory, something to aspire to rather than something to be expected. This belief is inherently and essentially an invitation to passivity.

If one argues that they lack this virtue and thus cannot take meaningful action, this belief distorts the possible and feasible activities necessary to interrupt the injustice of the status quo, both within and beyond where they stand, into an impossible scale to measure and therefore, to execute. The actions that could have been small, situated, and uncomplicated become measureless, global, and complex. Action is imagined only at the scale of total resolution, and anything less is dismissed as insufficient, symbolic, or meaningless.

This framing creates a shield between all that is political and what is considered normal life. Politics becomes a ground you can step onto under extraordinary circumstances, and with extreme caution, while everyday life is treated as neutral, apolitical, and normal. The violence of the status quo is thus allowed to continue uninterrupted, not because it is unseen, but because it has been rendered out of the routines of daily existence, to some participants of that so-called normal life.

But what is a “normal” life?

To many people, what is deemed as normal feels soothing. It is waking up, possibly going to work, then going back home or out with friends or family, getting some well-deserved rest, and going to bed again. It is comfortable, and it is safe, in the sense that you will wake up and know how the rest of the day will look, and it will go just like you thought it would. You can predict it, plan it, control it.

To the rest of the world,“normal” is not even close to this definition. Normal is the unknown. Something that cannot be predicted, but is expected to come down, maybe not instantly, not now, but surely, eventually. Normal is waking up with the news of executions, of political and environmental activists being sentenced their entire lives to jail, of erasure, of famine, of learning about new regulations of oppression. For many, normal is fear, and the expectation of the worst.

Some are born in times of war, while their parents hold them as babies and flee from town to town, country to country, trying to take themselves and their children to safety. To a place where normal is not defined by not knowing whether you will wake up tomorrow or not.

There is nothing wrong with what is believed to be normal for those who live in comfort. What is wrong is actively trying to unsee the “normal” to the rest of the world, and finding it natural that their normal is different from yours. To unsee the poor, the homeless, the neglected. This requires effort, because it is not easy to unsee. Those who are unseen are part of everyday life. They are the news consumed, the food brought to the table, the labour performed. They are workers, peers, classmates, friends, lovers. They are parts of the life we live, until their existence interrupts our joy, our norm, our comfort. And then: suddenly invisible. Dismissed. Suddenly, it is impossible to hear or see or notice them.

Comfort is key. Who does not want comfort? Who does not want to not be in pain, to not suffer, to not experience the most extreme forms of violence daily? But this comfort, this privilege, is built on stacks of pain and suffering, put on top of each other one after one throughout history. Comfort becomes whole only when paired with the feeling of being “one of the good ones.” Ethical. Kind. Helpful. Human.

But who is a “good one” anyway? Good to whom, and by what measures? Is goodness the smile given to a homeless person on a snowy day, or helping a “good” cause with a couple of euros? Does goodness stem from intention, or does it flow from action? Is it holding the door open for the person behind you, or chanting “none of us are free, until all of us are free” in a parade?

There is a moment in the film Parasite when the mother of the poor family remarks that the rich woman is “nice because she’s rich”. Comfort constructs a facade of seeming caring. Of listening with sad eyes and a broken smile while hearing the struggles of a Kurdish coworker. Of sighing, or shedding a tear when hearing news from the furthest parts of the world, iterated, heard, and understood in the most abstract way possible.

Susan Sontag in Regarding the Pain of Others writes that “to speak of reality becoming a spectacle is provincial. It universalizes the viewing habits of a small, educated population living in wealthy parts of the world, where news has been converted into entertainment. It assumes that everyone is a spectator. It suggests, perversely, that there is no real suffering in the world.”

This mere spectatorship, this bystander effect for the consumers of politics and news of war and conflict as entertainment, also puts the burden and weight on the shoulders of the oppressed, and on the very few people and groups who continuously try to dismantle systems of injustice. Responsibility concentrates where vulnerability already exists, while those who benefit most from stability are permitted to remain spectators. Action becomes the labour only to those who cannot afford to just watch.

Within this logic, one can also argue that “I have already done the virtuous work, that I have donated to the survivors of Hurricane Catarina, that I have acted ethically elsewhere. And therefore, I do not need to speak up about the genocide in Gaza or the democide in Iran.” Virtue becomes transferable, interchangeable, and finite, stored in a moral account that can be balanced, settled, and closed.

When action becomes virtue, and comfort prioritized, witnessing turns decorative, and movement symbolic. Decency becomes something to be performed to the right audience and on a visible stage rather than something to be done, despite no one looking. To the people deliberately consuming suffering as spectators, profiting from these systems can be something they did not design, but choose to preserve through non-action.

What I want to offer as the way out is not more awareness, not louder declarations of decency, but the separation of “meaningful action” from ego, from good deeds, and from the lust of showing morality through performative acts and symbolic righteousness.

Witnessing and movement cannot remain decorative or cherished symbols of being on the right side. They have to be normalized. Stripped of moral theatricality. Detached from the performance of goodness.

Meaningful action should not be perceived as decency. It should not feel virtuous. It should feel obvious. Like duty. Like maintenance. When water floods an ant’s nest, there is no debate, no reward, and no ant begs another one to stop the ruination. There is only continuous action to prevent annihilation.

A world sustained by blood and silence does not change through kinder and more aware spectators. It changes when action stops being theatre and becomes ordinary, constant, even boring, yet unavoidable interruption of that silence.