On March 16, 1988, Halabja was the scene of a tragedy that echoed around the world. A city, a people, an identity was destroyed. This time the brutal face of war tore not only on one front, but also inside an entire people. On that day, every step on the streets of Halabja became a symbol of one of the darkest moments in human history. A people's struggle for survival was interrupted by death. At the beginning of an era when war combined with technology to become man's greatest enemy, a town enveloped by chemical gases deeply shook the conscience of all humanity.
Chemical weapons touched the lungs, skin and brains of hundreds of people. Eyes closed, not screaming, but in silence. Bodies collapsed like a dream shattered inside them. That day, in the tiny streets of Halabja, death took another form. It was no longer just a catastrophe, but a relentless massacre, a genocide perpetrated by a state against its people. This Kurdish city in Kurdistan, in the north of Iraq, has managed to leave a memory for the whole world that ”must not be forgotten“. It took time, however, to realize that what had happened had inflicted a great wound not only on a people, but also on humanity.
The silence that covered Halabja was in fact a kind of cover for atrocity. Even though the world recognized the magnitude of what happened, the impunity for such crimes hurt consciences even more deeply. The fact that behind every chemical gas and every loss of life there was a crime against humanity was often rendered invisible. But the fact that Halabja was a crime against humanity is self-evident. After that day, the world, while watching the death of a people, also saw how not only a society, but the whole of humanity can turn into a monstrosity.
But here, perhaps the question that requires the deepest questioning is this: How can a human being lose his or her own self to such an extent that he or she can treat another human being, an entire people, with such cruelty? This kind of violence perpetrated by a state against its people is not only physical but also spiritual genocide. Halabja was not a war, nor was it merely a massacre. It is a mirror in which humanity confronts its dark side. Violence is not the city of war, but the source of destruction within a human being. And Halabja shows in all its nakedness how this inner destruction is reflected on the outside.
Words are perhaps not enough to describe the pain of Halabja, but let us imagine for a moment. Before that day, children walking the streets of Halabja began to experience the autumn of their lives... Their hopes were destroyed in just a few seconds. After that day, all those moments when a mother hugged her child, when a father held his child's hand, were all dragged towards a death. That death is neither the known face of war nor the known face of death; it is the name of an atrocity that is the result of man's own fearlessness.
Today, Halabja is not just a geographical point, but a wound that remains in the memory of a people, a mistake that humanity must not forget. Each life lost is a piece of a society's history erased, a trace of a culture destroyed. Halabja does not symbolize the destruction of a people, but a breaking moment in human history. This pain will remain as a wound that questions not only that day, those hours, but the conscience of all humanity.
And perhaps the most profound lesson we should learn from Halabja is not only to remember the past, but to confront the inhumanity in it. If a people can be destroyed in this way, what are we doing so that another people, another human being, another individual does not share this fate? Halabja reminds us not only of the suffering of a people, but also of how to protect our own human values and how to build a world. As we worry about whether another Halabja will happen one day, we must remember that we have the power to prevent this fear from becoming a reality.
Halabja was not only the annihilation of a people, it opened a deep wound in the hearts of all of us. This wound has grown too big to heal over time, because to forget is to remain silent about that massacre. Forgetting means letting the same thing happen again, abandoning the conscience of humanity. Every life lost, every culture erased, every life destroyed is a warning for the future of us all. Halabja is not a memory, it is an awakening. Remembering this pain, this trauma is a responsibility not to allow the same cruelty to happen again. If we lose this memory, no one knows when we will experience another Halabja.
The silent cry of Halabja is an echo from the dark corners of history to the world. That scream still rings in our ears, still pricks our consciences. And unforgettably, Halabja reminds us all: “Remember, this world is not only about what we have, but also about what we have lost.”