Through Writing, I Found Healing and a Voice for My People
Diary Marif, a Kurdish writer and journalist, reflects on his personal journey and the broader struggles of the Kurdish people. He shares his experiences of trauma and displacement, emphasizing how writing became a therapeutic outlet, enabling him to process his pain and advocate for his community. He underscores the importance of storytelling as a means to preserve cultural identity and foster empathy across diverse backgrounds.
When I moved to Canada in 2017, I expected to experience culture shock, but instead, I found myself grappling with past trauma and striving to regain emotional stability. Despite seeking help from doctors and counsellors, their treatments offered little relief. It wasn’t until later that I discovered the transformative power of writing. Writing became my therapy, enabling me not only to process my own experiences but also to illuminate the struggles faced by my community.
During the workshops, writers' clubs, and even casual conversations I participated in, I often found myself taking time to explain my ancestry, my background, and where I came from. Many Canadians lack accurate information about my ethnicity—the Kurds, Kurdistan, and Kurdish culture—so I frequently find myself providing context and sharing these aspects of my identity.
Kurdistan, my homeland, spans a significant portion of the Middle East, divided among four countries: Turkey, Iran, Iraq, and Syria. While the governments of these countries do not disclose the true number of Kurds, the population is estimated to be around 40 million. Among these regions, Iraqi Kurdistan and Syrian Kurdistan achieved partial autonomy in 1991 and 2012, respectively.
Kurdistan has long been a war-torn and politically unstable epicentre, serving as a regional battlefield for over three thousand years. The region has drawn the attention of both regional and global powers, from the ancient Greco-Persian Wars to the Byzantine-Sasanian conflict, and later during the Ottoman-Safavid confrontations and World War I with the arrival of European colonial powers.
In 1916, the Sykes-Picot Agreement was signed by France, Russia, and the United Kingdom, dividing Kurdistan between France and Britain. Under this agreement, Britain took control of present-day Iraqi Kurdistan, while France occupied the Kurdish regions in Syria. The remaining parts of Kurdistan had already been absorbed by Turkey and Iran.
Despite the occupation of Kurdish land, many historians and explorers from these four countries portrayed the Kurds as rebellious and ignorant, with some even denying their existence. Turkish nationalists labelled the Kurds as barbarians or culturally deficient. Similarly, some Arab historians linked the Kurds to jinns, while the Ba’ath parties in Syria and Iraq, along with pan-Arabist movements, distorted Kurdish history for their agendas. Persian nationalists, meanwhile, claim the Kurds are a branch of the Iranian people, with some dismissively calling them "younger brothers."
Every colonizer imposed brutal rules, torturing, kidnapping, and murdering innocent people while devastating the environment and cultural heritage. They looted, burned properties, and destroyed lives. Each war has left a profound mark on Kurdish culture, society, and identity, rendering them vulnerable and shaping their borders, languages, and religions.
Since the British mandate established the Iraqi state in 1921 to protect its interests, the Kurds have endured relentless ordeals. They opposed the decision to link their homeland to the new state, feeling marginalized and deprived of their rights. Whenever they demanded justice, they were met with oppression and violence. Kurdish suffering peaked under the Ba’ath Party, which seized power in a coup in 1968, and escalated further when Saddam Hussein, the former Iraqi dictator, became president in 1979.
Saddam launched his bloody eight-year war with the newly formed Islamic Republic of Iran from 1980 to 1988. The battles were largely fought in Kurdish regions, turning their homeland into a battlefield. Both regimes accused the Kurdish people of collaborating with each other, resulting in unimaginable suffering. An estimated 100,000 Kurdish civilians were killed, alongside countless innocent Iranians and Iraqis. Saddam forcibly displaced thousands of villagers, reducing entire communities to rubble.
Between 1986 and 1988, Saddam escalated his atrocities with the Anfal campaign, during which thousands of Kurds disappeared or were brutally executed. In 1988, he ordered the use of chemical weapons on the Kurdish town of Halabja in the east of Slemani province, killing approximately 5,000 people in one of the most horrifying acts of the 20th century.
My parents are from this part of Kurdistan—Iraqi Kurdistan. Their parents were born during the wars, my parents were born during the wars, and I, too, was born during the wars. Generation after generation, they learned to endure conflict, yet they remain disconnected from their roots. They don’t know when they were born, nor do they fully know their history. Like many other Kurds, they had many children—believing that if one child died, others would survive. They learned to save food, conserve money, and live with constant uncertainty. Across the region, Kurds have never known a single truly happy year.
The former Iraqi governments destroyed the houses my parents built along with countless other homes. Their lives were marked by worry, intertwined with a deep history of trauma. My parents often told us stories of how their parents and great-grandparents endured starvation, human cruelty, and natural catastrophes. This shared experience of uncertainty and loss is not unique to my family; it is a reality for the majority of Kurds across all four countries. They live with the constant fear of losing loved ones while trying desperately to escape the cycles of violence and instability.
In 1991, Saddam’s brutality reached its climax. The Kurdish people rose against him, seizing control of three provinces in Iraqi Kurdistan. While his grip on the region weakened, Saddam maintained power in the rest of Iraq until his eventual fall in 2003. With Saddam’s reign in Kurdistan over, people rejoiced at the prospect of a new Kurdish government and a life free from fear and oppression. However, the hope was short-lived. From 1994 to 1998, Kurdish political parties waged a bloody four-year civil war, with rival leaders engaging in relentless battles for power. Tragically, children bore the brunt of this conflict.
Like many other children, I was brainwashed into believing that our lives were ideal under the leadership of the political parties, despite the daily hardships we endured. I witnessed many of Saddam Hussein’s brutalities firsthand and experienced racism simply for being Kurdish. Later, I also faced discrimination for speaking out against illegality, sexual violence, and the nepotism entrenched in Kurdish authorities.
“I realized that storytelling is not just personal catharsis—it is a vital link to our shared human history. ”
In 2006, I became a journalist and began writing about corruption, brutality, and nepotism within both Iraqi and Kurdish governments. I advocated against the injustices perpetrated by these authorities, but my activism came at a cost. I faced persistent discrimination and countless obstacles that prevented me from fully participating in academic and professional communities.
After earning my master’s degree in 2013, the Kurdish authorities banned me from teaching at any government college or school and threatened me with death for my critical writings. I was branded a traitor for daring to speak the truth.
In 2017, I arrived in Vancouver, Canada, where I found solace and a sense of security. However, I soon faced the immense challenge of grappling with post-traumatic stress disorder, carrying the scars of witnessing brutality and violence by police and security forces. Amid this struggle, writing became my therapy. It allowed me to articulate my pain and honour the enduring spirit of my people. I realized that storytelling is not just personal catharsis—it is a vital link to our shared human history. Through storytelling, I began to heal wounds that had haunted me for years, and I urge others to share their own narratives. Every story matters, offering insight and fostering empathy across ethnic, linguistic, and religious divides.
Through sharing stories and participating in community activities, many people have learned about the Kurds. I strive to foster mutual respect for culture, background, and identity—just as I respect others, I hope others will respect mine. In discovering commonalities and embracing differences, we build solidarity in the fight against racism, discrimination, and oppression.
Together, we can challenge and reshape political and social structures for a more just and equitable world. By defying stereotypes and division, we can strive for a future where empathy and solidarity triumph over tyranny and injustice. It is through continued dialogue, education, and shared experiences that we can challenge the systems of oppression and build a future where respect for all cultures, identities, and histories is not just a goal, but a reality.