Journalism has been a profession plagued by intense human rights violations and pressures in both Turkey and Kurdistan for many years. In times of political turmoil, economic crises, and war, dozens of journalists who embraced the role and mission that the profession entails have been murdered, imprisoned, or subjected to torture. These pressures, which reached their peak in the 1990s, continue to this day, even after 30 years.
Thousands of journalists who continue their work by adding ethics and conscience to the traditional 5W1H principles still face these pressures today. The free press is at the forefront of this struggle. While trying to bring the violations and torture experienced by the people to public attention, free press workers, who have systematically been targeted by the ruling powers of the time, were either subjected to judicial harassment or forced out of the field through threats when they exposed the truth to the public. Journalists like Ape Musa (Musa Anter), Hafız Akdemir, and many others were murdered simply for practicing this profession. When we look back, the methods used to suppress journalists today are the same as those used 30 years ago. Despite the passage of time, nothing has changed in this country. Like the journalists whose legacy we have inherited, we continue to fight. In this struggle, we walk the path by prioritizing the truth without discriminating based on race, language, religion, or gender. The words and work of those who paid the price to ensure these truths did not remain in the dark continue to guide our way today.
Experiencing a history similar to what I’ve described through reading, listening, or watching is no surprise to us. Depending on the political climate of the country, the government’s policies toward journalists and the free press are constantly shifting. While these cycles have repeated themselves for years, journalists targeted by censorship and judicial harassment continue to write and document despite everything. I am one of the women journalists continuing this tradition alongside hundreds of my colleagues in my field. I began working at JINHA, the world’s first women’s news agency, in November 2015 when I was an 18-year-old university student. Because I started during a period of intense activity, I hardly spent any time in the office. During that time, I closely followed the conflict processes in Sur and the social movements in Amed. When I began my career, I experienced, saw, and wrote about things that I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams. Every report I wrote, every photo I took, and every person whose story I listened to now walks with me as part of my experience.
Defending Journalism
Being a woman journalist in the field
In addition to the challenges of being a journalist, the pressures we face as Kurdish women journalists in Kurdistan are far more intense. The numerous difficulties that come with being Kurdish, being a woman, and being a journalist—which my women colleagues will understand all too well—have not diminished even after ten years. The oppressive policies targeting both women and the Kurdish people in this country affect us at every step while working in the field. This reality is no different for thousands of women journalists like me who work in the field. In my early days as a field journalist, I witnessed and directly experienced the violence of men, the state, and the judiciary.
To give a recent example, after a trustee was appointed to the Batman Municipality, our colleague Pelşin Çetinkaya, who was covering events in the city, was detained despite repeatedly stating that she was a journalist. She was subjected to assault and insults. On the same day, we were also prevented from doing our work and were threatened by the police.
This November will mark nine years in my profession. Despite all the pressure, violence, and threats we have faced during this time, we have continued to write. We have documented and reported on the violations and injustices faced by the Kurdish people, whose plight has been largely ignored by the public, in every area where we have been present.
In this repetitive era of politics, unfortunately, there has been no change in policies targeting the public, just as there has been no change in the pressures on the press. The same people whose villages were burned under the pressure of the village guard system yesterday are today faced with policies of ecocide and depopulation. Journalists who were murdered for writing the truth yesterday are now being imprisoned for the news they write today.
Growing up in an era where these policies remain unchanged and taking on the responsibility of truth is, for us, an honorable experience. In moments when we feel challenged, exhausted, or hopeless, we find renewed strength in the struggles of the past. Because we know all too well that if we do not write, no one will. That is why listening to and documenting the experiences of every woman, child, prisoner, and tree—every living being—in this region has become something beyond just a profession for us. It is because we neither live in a normal region nor are we going through a normal time.
Impunity
The price of writing the truth and exposing torture in this era is imprisonment and endless judicial harassment. However, before delving into the judicial processes, I would like to share a few examples of the male state violence I encountered while working in the field, which I have highlighted before. While holding a camera and wearing a press card around my neck, I was assaulted by law enforcement officers during numerous protests and events I attended. How coincidental (!), my first encounter with this violence was during International Women’s Day celebrations in 2016. I was assaulted by two police officers and then nearly detained for taking photos of two young women who were being tortured and forcibly detained.
During that period, at a police checkpoint in the Sur district where clashes were ongoing, I was subjected to harassment and a body search by a female police officer. Again in Sur, despite having undergone an ID check (GBT), I was subjected to verbal and physical violence by four police officers. Today, women in this region face such violence almost daily. To those reading these accounts, what I experienced might seem abnormal; initially, it seemed so to me as well. But these torture practices, normalized and systematized through impunity, never stopped for a moment. On March 8, 2017, I faced the same violence again while filming. This process then continued with investigations.
During the aftermath of the February 6, 2023 earthquake, which caused widespread destruction, I worked in dozens of cities. Particularly in Maraş and Malatya, our interviews were often obstructed by the police. In Maraş, for instance, while recording the reactions of citizens who said, "The state wasn’t here," with two journalist colleagues, a police officer first berated the citizens and then attempted to incite a mob against us.
Systematic digital violence
During this period, I was subjected to intense insults and threats on social media for reporting on the negligence surrounding these events. The digital media violence added to the pressures I faced in the field. For the reports I prepared during my approximately three months in the earthquake zone, an investigation was launched against me in February on charges of “publicly disseminating misleading information to the public.” I was not informed about this investigation, nor was I summoned to give a statement. I only found out about the warrant for my forced appearance when I went to a police station for a missing person report, after which I provided a statement to the prosecutor’s office.
About a year after this investigation, following the March 31 local elections, the same threats and torture resurfaced in Van, where a trustee was set to be appointed. I received intense death threats on social media for sharing images of a young man from Hakkâri being tortured by law enforcement for protesting these actions. The day after these threats, while covering a protest by lawyers in Van against the seizure of elected officials’ mandates, I was tortured and detained despite holding a camera and wearing a press card around my neck. Although I repeatedly stated that I was a journalist, law enforcement officers tried to break my camera to erase the torture footage I had recorded. When I refused to hand over my camera, I was subjected to both physical violence and verbal abuse. After ripping my press card from around my neck, they handcuffed me behind my back and detained me. The investigation we filed regarding this incident was dismissed with the justification that the "intervention was proportional."
Months after this event, a report I shared about a fire in Mazıdağı and Çınar districts, which resulted in the death of 15 people, became the subject of another investigation following an anonymous tip. In this report, where I neither added commentary nor made edits, I merely shared a video in which a citizen spoke the truth. Nonetheless, an investigation was launched against me last month. The allegations in all three investigations were related to the reports and news videos I had prepared. While some were initiated based on tips, others stemmed from reports by the Cybercrime Division. Two of these investigations were ultimately dismissed.
Despite explaining that the content I share falls under professional activities, I continue to face the same harassment in many reports that concern the public. Particularly on social media, a systematic wave of digital violence persists without pause from a group unable to digest the truth. This violence, which begins whenever we mention the words "Kurdish," "woman," or "rights," remains unchecked because it is reinforced by impunity. Numerous criminal complaints we filed with lawyers against individuals who openly issued death threats, insults, and shared images of weapons on public accounts were dismissed with the reasoning that "there is no concrete evidence." The judiciary, which considers our reporting a threat and opens investigations against us, somehow cannot find concrete evidence against individuals who openly threaten us with death under their real names.
It is obvious that the same outcome will result from the one remaining investigation. A journalist is forced to give a statement and stand trial simply for reporting the news. Beyond these judicial harassments, the obstacles we face in the field remain the same issue for journalists in Diyarbakır and the wider region today. During interventions or detentions, law enforcement officers block journalists from recording footage using shields. If journalists object, they are told, “That’s the directive.” Yet no documentation is provided to clarify who issued this directive. Law enforcement officers, acting with blatant arbitrariness, not only prevent us from doing our work but also take action against us or use force if we resist this obstruction.
To be the voice of the unheard...
In this region, I often focus on stories related to women, gender issues, ecology, and children’s rights. In reports about violence against women and femicide, I am frequently subjected to verbal abuse and threats by the male perpetrators or their relatives. This violence often continues during the femicide trials I follow. Similarly, male perpetrators exposed in our field reporting draw strength from the policy of impunity and persist in threatening women journalists.
This situation is no different in cases where the perpetrators are not men but corporate entities. Companies responsible for ecological destruction sometimes prevent us from filming or block us from reaching the communities protesting against them. In short, whether in the field or on digital platforms, male-state violence confronts us in every space where we prioritize public interests and strive to amplify the voices of the people. We are well aware of why this pressure is being applied. It is the product of a system that seeks to intimidate, silence, and build its own media, aiming to suppress the reporting of violations and crises. They attempt to achieve this goal by silencing journalists.
Yet, despite all these pressures, my belief in writing and reporting remains unshaken. No matter what happens, we will continue to be in the field for the rights of women and children, for the rights of tortured prisoners, and for the rights of all living beings—above all, to be the voice of the unheard. Despite simplistic accusations and intimidation tactics, we will remain here alongside our women colleagues and all the women fighting for justice in every sphere of life.
Defending Journalism
1- The persistence in journalism - İsmail Arı
2- The digital darkness of suppression - Çiğdem Toker
3- Journalism: Self-defense of society - İnan Kızılkaya
4- Journalism that will make us say 'it was worth it' - Barış Pehlivan
5- Journalism amid male-state violence: Keep writing! - Medine Mamedoğlu
(MM/VC/VK)