Kurdistan, in the heart of the Middle East, is not merely a disputed geographical region. It is a vibrant center of civilizations and a haven for a unique human experience—one that demonstrates how national identity can embrace spiritual richness without falling apart. It stands in stark contrast to the long-standing patterns of coercion, forced assimilation, and imposed unity under a single banner. Thus, understanding Kurdistan requires an appreciation of this pluralistic philosophy, rather than an ideological lens that reduces it to one sect, religion, or denomination—as was the case in Syria during the Baathist era under the Assads, and as it remains today under the dominance of the Jolani government and the Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham organization.

As some contemporary historians such as Martin van Bruinessen argue in his studies on Kurds and religion, it is more appropriate to view Kurdish identity through the lens of a spiritual pluralism that transcends rigid religious classifications. This involves recognizing the historical depth of Kurdish spiritual practices, which predate the Abrahamic faiths and have remained rooted despite waves of Islamization, Arabization, and Turkification that later targeted them.

As President Masoud Barzani once aptly stated:
"We are not building a Kurdish nation-state; we are building Kurdistan as a nation for non-Kurds as well, to be a homeland for all."

This pluralism has intertwined with Kurdistan’s social fabric—not merely as coexistence, but as an existential interconnection. Religions in Kurdistan did not divide people; rather, they painted daily life in diverse philosophical hues. In villages like Amadiya, Ainkawa, Shingal, Nusaybin, Qamishli, Amuda, and Hasakah, Muslims, Yazidis, Christians, and Jews lived as neighbors—and sometimes even within the same families. While their rituals differed, their customs aligned, and in times of crisis, they stood united.

Christianity’s early presence in the region was not a historical anomaly—it was an integral part of the land’s identity. From Tiridates the Kurd, who embraced Christianity in the fourth century, to Saint Sabbas and the Mandylion of Edessa, the faith extended deep into Kurdistan, contributing significantly to its cultural and societal memory. Though many Christian manifestations were diminished by wars and invasions, their traces remain alive in the names of villages, rituals, dialects, and traditions.

When Islam reached Kurdistan, the Kurdish people—like they had done with Christianity—did not abandon diversity. Instead, they embodied a spiritually open form of Islam, centered on Sufism. The Kurds adopted Islam in their own way, developing a unique Sufi framework that blended metaphysics with poetry, asceticism with politics, particularly in the Naqshbandi-Qadiri school. Figures like Al-Hallaj, Jalal al-Din Rumi, and Ibn al-Farid became icons of this tolerant vision, which held that faith lies not only in rituals but in sensing the divine in all of existence. This is why Kurdistan’s history lacks records of internal religious massacres—except when imposed by imperial forces—preserving a rare unity among people of diverse faiths in a region otherwise plagued by sectarian conflict.

The clearest evidence of this resilience is the enduring presence of non-Abrahamic religions: the Yazidis, who survived over 74 genocidal campaigns; the Kaka’is, who continue to defy the ignorance of those who vilify them; and Zoroastrianism, which is now re-emerging not as a rejection of religion but as an expression of deep cultural belonging to the original spirit of Kurdistan.

Yet what could have been a global model for coexistence has been exploited by external powers as a tool for fragmentation. Surrounding regimes—from Safavid Persia, to Ottoman Turkey, to later Arab nationalism—recognized that this Kurdish spiritual diversity, instead of serving as a unifying force, could be weaponized to fracture Kurdish identity from within. Thus began the strategy of “constructing divisions”, not by acknowledging natural differences, but by demonizing them and turning them into lethal contradictions. This is exactly what is happening today—driven by toxic hatred—against Kurdish society and the administrations of both Southern and Western Kurdistan.

The Persian, Turkish, and Arab regimes, despite their differing identities, practiced similar policies: fragmenting Kurdish society along religious lines and converting pluralism into conflict. In Iran, Sunni Kurds were cast as “outsiders” in a Shiite state and were denied their rights to religious and political expression. In Turkey, Sunni affiliation was used as a means to integrate Kurds into Turkish identity, while Yazidi and Alevi minorities were suppressed. In the Arab world, Yazidism, Christianity, and Zoroastrianism were branded as heresies, while Shiite Kurds in southern Iraq were portrayed as a threat to Arab national identity.

These regimes didn’t stop at dividing Kurds by religion—they injected this division into the very heart of Kurdish political movements. Fragmentation began not along nationalist lines, but according to religious alignment and sectarian loyalty. This allowed for the sabotage of the Kurdish national project from within, as the "sectarian virus" infiltrated liberation movements. As a result, Kurdish factions sharing the same religion and slogans now fight one another—solely because of the differing Sunni, Shiite, or secular regional backers behind them.

To be continued…

By Dr. Mahmoud Abbas