Rojava can be likened to a child born prematurely in the middle of the Middle East, surrounded by high walls of civilization in general and nation-states in particular. It is like a baby that was taken out by the hasty and cruel pains of history when there was still so much to be accomplished in its womb... This premature birth made it fragile from the very beginning. Neither a context to protect it is ready, nor a world to patiently watch it grow. Moreover, Rojava was left alone as soon as it was born; this loneliness is neither a mere orphanhood nor a simple orphanhood. Rather, it is a state of existence left parentless in the middle of history.
The nation-state, the most dominant form of modern civilization in this geography, confronted Rojava with either a stern father figure or its absolute absence. This structure, which prefers to discipline instead of embracing, to limit instead of understanding, has declared Rojava “untimely” and “out of place” from the very first moment. Because Rojava chose not to speak the political language bequeathed to it; instead of a line of growth based on obedience, it tried another path that progressed by trial and error.
Like every premature child, Rojava came under intense pressure as soon as it opened its eyes to the world. Constant threats, uninterrupted siege, non-recognition and lack of opportunities have turned its life into a continuous intensive care process. Despite this, Rojava's existence cannot be explained solely by its survival reflex. It is a child that is not satisfied with living; it is a child that asks questions about how it can live. Perhaps this is why, even in its most vulnerable moments, it has never stopped producing a political imagination.
The intellectual world of Rojava bears the scars of being born prematurely. It is like a child who has to make sense of the world and even object to the world while it is still crawling. Concepts such as democracy, women's freedom, equality, ecology and coexistence are not abstract ideals for it; they are direct vital needs. History has forced it to mature before it grows up. This has both prematurely made Rojava wise and condemned it to a heavy fatigue.
The burden of history constantly places obstacles in front of Rojava. Borders are not just geographical lines; they are invisible walls that limit its space for movement. Neighbors often perceive the growth of this child as a threat. The international system is mostly silent towards Rojava, with a memory that remembers it when it needs to and then forgets it again. This makes Rojava's growth intermittent, wounded and uneven.
Nevertheless, Rojava grows. Sometimes staggering, sometimes falling back, but always moving forward... It learns to speak, it builds its own words. These words are sometimes incomprehensible, sometimes disturbing. Because they are not familiar. Rojava's voice does not fit the tones to which civilization is accustomed. Perhaps that is why most ears do not want to hear it.
The real uncertainty of Rojava begins here. Because the question of what it will become does not belong to Rojava alone. No one can know for sure whether it will grow into a mature structure or whether it will disappear into the cold corridors of history like so many prematurely born children. But perhaps this is not the real issue. Perhaps Rojava represents a possibility rather than growth. A possibility that has yet to be named, yet to be realized.
Rojava is like a child in the midst of civilization whispering: Not every birth has to be a success; some births happen just to ask questions. Some existences arise not to be permanent, but to disturb the established. And sometimes what matters more than whether a child survives or not is that it is born.
Maybe Rojava will come, maybe it won't. But it is now known that civilization has once realized that in its center, a child who does not look like it is breathing. And this realization cannot be undone.