Rojava is not just a geography; it is one of the mirrors that humanity holds up to itself. This piece of land, marked on maps as northeastern Syria, is in fact the re-articulation of questions that have been postponed for centuries, identities that have been suppressed and hopes that have been denied. When Rojava is mentioned, the first thing that comes to mind is the roar of war; but for those who listen carefully, there is also the sound of an effort to build, the insistence on coexistence and a social imagination rising from the ashes.
What we call the test of humanity is often sought in history books written after great disasters. However, the real test is given while the disaster continues. Rojava, in this very sense, is a test that is taking place before the eyes of the world. In an age where violence has become commonplace, the question of whether human dignity is still defensible is embodied here. The effort to bring different ethnic identities, languages and beliefs together around the idea of equal citizenship; the emergence of women as social and political subjects even in the midst of war; the quest for participation in decision-making processes in local assemblies... Each of these is a courageous answer to the question “Is another kind of order possible?” that humanity asks itself.
This courage is not only about armed resistance, but also about intellectual assertion. The proposal for a pluralist society against the monist patterns of the nation-state, horizontal organization against hierarchy, the idea of women's liberation against patriarchy... These are not romantic utopias; they are concrete experiences that are being put into practice in the midst of war. This is where the test of humanity deepens: Will the world pass this test by ignoring this experience, or will it fulfill the moral imperative of solidarity?
Rojava is also a test of the future. Because the future is not only about technological progress or economic growth; the future is the quality of how we live together. Considering the increasing authoritarianism on a global scale, enmities fueled by identity politics and ecological destruction, the search for local democracy and communal life sprouting in Rojava puts an alternative signpost in front of humanity. Of course, it has shortcomings, contradictions and difficulties. But the future is born not from perfect projects, but from brave beginnings.
Every step taken in these lands is actually part of a universal debate: Will power be decisive or truth? Will interests prevail or justice? Will the story of the peoples who are pawns on the chessboard of the great powers be written, or will the will of the peoples for self-determination prevail? Rojava is a place where these questions find concrete, not abstract, answers. The struggle being waged there is a harbinger not only of a region, but also of the political ethics on which humanity will live in the future.
The test of conscience and morality is the toughest. Because conscience often requires leaving the comfort zone. It is easy to look from a distance and say “it is a complicated region”, whereas morality demands approaching the truth, not hiding behind complexity. In the case of Rojava, conscience requires defending the safety of civilians, the freedom of women, the right of children to education, the cultural existence of peoples. Morality is not to take a position according to the balance of power, but to put human dignity at the center.
To put it in literary terms, Rojava is not an oasis in the desert; it is a well dug together by those seeking water in the desert. Is the water clear, is it deep enough, is it sustainable? These can be debated. But the real issue is the will to dig that well. Humanity often surrenders to its own hopelessness, whereas the Rojava experience reminds us that hope is not a passive waiting, but a collective building activity.
Perhaps the most important thing is this: Rojava shows us that history is not only written in big capitals, palaces and summit meetings. Sometimes history is written in the decision taken in a small village assembly, sometimes in the choice a woman makes between a gun and a pen, sometimes in the meeting of different languages at the same table. This is the oldest but most forgotten truth of humanity: The future is meaningful when it is built on courage, not fear; solidarity, not hatred; recognition, not denial.
Rojava may still be fragile today, still under threat. But human history is full of moments when fragile hopes evolved into lasting transformations. If the world is to pass this test, it will be by listening to experiences like Rojava, by evaluating them critically but fairly, and most importantly, by putting human dignity above all geopolitical calculations.
In the end, Rojava ceases to be the name of a distant geography; it becomes a question that we all carry within us: Can we take risks for a fairer, more equal and freer world? Every honest answer to this question will determine not only the future of Rojava but also the future of humanity. And perhaps this is where hope begins: In the presence of those who dare to try the impossible.