Adoption of the “Framework Law” in the Turkish parliament Fram the end of Armed struggle to the possibility of peace, popular solidarity, and a Redefinition of the Kurdish question – Abbas Mansouran

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The adoption of the “Framework Law” by the Turkish Parliament, following Abdullah Öcalan’s courageous and thoughtful call for an end to the armed struggle and the PKK’s decision to lay down its arms, has opened a new phase in the Kurdish question—a question that extends across the region but has particular historical and political significance in Turkey. Yet the fundamental question remains: does the Turkish government regard disarmament as the end of the Kurdish question, or as the beginning of a new phase toward its political resolution?

Abbas Mansouran 2026/08/11

The answer must be sought not merely in the text of the law or in parliamentary votes, but in what actually changes afterward—in prisons, in the courts, in the political sphere, and in people’s everyday lives. Above all, it must be measured by whether women, the people of Kurdistan, the oppressed and other governed people, as well as the ecosystem itself, cease to be merely objects of decisions imposed by power and become subjects of will, participation, and transformation.

The adoption of this law can be regarded as an important turning point in the long history of conflict between the present Turkish state and the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK), and, more broadly, in the history of the Kurdish question in Turkey. Yet the significance of this development cannot be reduced simply to the transfer of what was treated as a security issue into parliament. The more fundamental question is whether this process can open a path away from nearly half a century of armed struggle and security-centered policies toward politics, rights, dialogue, and democratic coexistence.

In such an understanding, three elements are inseparable: laying down arms, opening space for freedom, and rebuilding popular solidarity. If only the first is implemented, the process will remain incomplete. If weapons are laid down while imprisonment, political restrictions, and securitization remain the principal responses to disagreement and dissent, the expected paradigm shift will not have taken place.

Lausanne and the Century-Long Legacy of the Nation-State

At a deeper historical level, the present process can be examined in relation to the political order consolidated after the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923 and the establishment of the Republic of Turkey.

The minority provisions of the Lausanne Treaty were, to a significant extent, specifically concerned with non-Muslim minorities. The Kurds, as a predominantly Muslim population with a distinct language, identity, and historical memory, were denied official recognition as an independent ethno-linguistic community within the subsequent structure of the Turkish Republic.

In the decades that followed, Turkey’s centralized nation-state was largely built around a singular definition of national identity. The Kurdish question was repeatedly interpreted through the framework of security, territorial integrity, and the unity of the state. At different periods, policies of identity denial, assimilation, and securitization reproduced protest, repression, mistrust, and war.

From this perspective, the importance of the new stage does not lie solely in the termination of one organization’s armed activities. If laying down arms is accompanied by recognition of plural identities, cultural and linguistic rights, equality, and the free participation of people, it may mark the beginning of a reconsideration of part of the century-long political legacy that has viewed the Kurdish question primarily through the lens of the centralized nation-state.

This does not mean the “legal end of Lausanne.” Rather, it raises a question about moving beyond some of the political and identity-related consequences of the post-Lausanne order: can political unity be founded not on homogenization, but on the recognition of plurality and the voluntary solidarity of peoples?

From Öcalan’s Call to Laying Down Arms

The groundwork for the current stage emerged during the autumn and winter of 2024. After years of isolation and political deadlock, contact with Abdullah Öcalan in İmralı prison was restored, and a delegation from the Peoples’ Equality and Democracy Party (DEM Party) met with him on December 28, 2024.

The decisive turning point came on February 27, 2025. In his “Call for Peace and Democratic Society,” Öcalan called for the convening of a PKK congress, the laying down of arms, and an end to the organization’s existing structure.

The importance of this call lay in the fact that it went beyond a tactical ceasefire. It proposed a paradigm shift: an end to armed struggle and the transfer of the question into the spheres of politics, society, dialogue, and democratic participation.

Following this call, the PKK declared a ceasefire and held its 12th Congress from May 5 to 7, 2025. The decision to end the armed struggle and terminate the previous organizational structure transformed Öcalan’s call from a political proposal into an organizational and practical decision.

But the end of the armed struggle is not synonymous with the resolution of the question. On the contrary, this is precisely where the difficult questions begin. What will happen to former members of the organization? What will become of prisoners and judicial cases? How will reintegration into society take place? And what guarantee is there that someone who lays down a weapon will then be able to enter the field of political and popular activity freely?

Parliament and the Framework Law

With the start of the “National Solidarity, Brotherhood and Democracy Commission” in the Grand National Assembly of Turkey on August 5, 2025, the process entered a formal parliamentary stage. From that point onward, determining the status of individuals, their return and reintegration, the responsibilities of state institutions, and the implementation of the post-disarmament phase became matters of legislation.

The adoption of the “Framework Law” on August 10, 2026, is important because it transfers an issue that had, for decades, remained dominated by military and security decisions into the legal sphere. The law seeks to establish a legal framework for the post-dissolution stage of the PKK’s armed structure, the status and return of former members, and the responsibilities of executive institutions.

Yet one of the most significant gaps in the Framework Law is its complete silence regarding Abdullah Öcalan. The text neither acknowledges his decisive role in initiating and guiding this process nor addresses his legal status, future, conditions of imprisonment, right to hope for release, or ability to participate freely in the continuation of the process. This silence cannot be regarded merely as a technical or legal omission. A process that began with Öcalan’s call for an end to the armed struggle, led to the PKK’s decision to dissolve and lay down its arms, and continues to expect him to play a role in consolidating the transition toward politics and peace cannot simultaneously exclude its principal initiator from the legal and political framework of that transition. Clarifying Öcalan’s legal status and creating the conditions for his freedom and participation are not matters separate from the process; they are among the central criteria by which its sincerity, coherence, and long-term viability must be assessed.

But parliamentarization should not be confused with popular participation, just as legalization should not be confused with democratization. Law is not the final point of reliance; it must itself remain subject to criticism, scrutiny, and social oversight. Law can constrain power, but it can also become an instrument through which that same power is regulated and reproduced. Ultimately, the value of this development will be measured not by the number of votes cast in parliament, but by its consequences for people’s lives and for the transformation of society.

From Securitization to Popular Solidarity

Here lies one of the fundamental contradictions of the new stage. If the objective is to move beyond armed conflict, politics, prisons, arrests, identity, and social participation cannot continue to be governed by the same security logic.

Naturally, laying down arms has security dimensions. But the role of security institutions must remain confined to that sphere. The center of gravity of the next stage must shift toward politics and democratic society.

A lasting peace is not simply an agreement between a state and an organization. Peace becomes durable when people regard it as their own and as the driving force.

“National solidarity” must therefore also be approached critically. If solidarity is defined from above by the state, it can become a criterion for deciding which identities and forms of politics are “acceptable.” Genuine solidarity cannot be created by administrative decree.

Popular solidarity does not mean homogenization. It means living together while recognizing difference. Kurds, Turks, and other ethnicities, cultures, faiths, and peoples can possess different languages, identities, and historical memories while working together to build a shared future. Difference must not once again be defined as a “threat.”

Law, the State, and the Question of Trust

At precisely this point, we must avoid premature optimism and not forget the nature and role of governments. The passage of a law does not in itself provide a basis for trust, nor does a parliamentary vote necessarily represent the direct will of the people. The historical experience of class societies—and particularly the experience of Kurdistan and the Kurdish question in Turkey—shows that a profound distance can exist between political promises, laws, and the actual conduct of institutions of power.

The fate of this process therefore cannot be entrusted to the goodwill of individuals, governments, parliamentary majorities, or temporary political balances. The real criterion is a change in relations of power and its tangible consequences for people’s lives and their participation in society.

At the same time, the “Kurdish people” should not be imagined as a homogeneous whole free of internal relations of power. Kurdish society, like every other society, contains the exploited and the exploiters, the dominant and the subordinated, those who possess power and those who are governed, the privileged and the deprived. Making peace a genuinely popular process therefore cannot simply mean transferring a portion of power from the central state to Kurdish elites or political structures.

The people of Kurdistan, women, prisoners, minorities, the oppressed, and all those who have more often been the objects of decisions imposed from above than their authors must stand at the center of this process. The “governed” must cease to be objects of decision-making and become active agents and possessors of will.

In this context, the freedom and independent participation of women is not a secondary question. No society can speak of liberation and democratization while keeping half of society at the margins of decision-making. This criterion applies to both the structures of the state and Kurdish political forces and institutions.

Trust, therefore, cannot be declared by a parliamentary vote or imposed upon society through law. It acquires meaning when the people of Kurdistan, women, the oppressed, and other governed people cease to be objects of power and become subjects possessing will, rights, and participation. The law itself is not the final point of reliance; it too must remain subject to society’s criticism and judgment.

Reciprocal Steps: A Condition for Moving Beyond Conflict

By accepting the call, holding its congress, preparing to end the armed struggle, and taking practical steps toward laying down arms, the Kurdish movement has assumed a historic responsibility. But peace cannot rest indefinitely on unilateral actions.

In return for laying down arms, the space for politics must expand. In return for ending armed activity, the security of social and political activity and the freedoms of thought, assembly, belief, and strike must be guaranteed. And in response to the call for coexistence, the state must take clear, measurable steps to reduce securitization and guarantee rights.

The decisive question is whether the Turkish government regards disarmament as the end of the Kurdish question or as the beginning of a new stage toward its political resolution.

If the question is defined merely as a security problem rather than as a historical and social question concerning more than 80 million Kurds, then with the dissolution of the organization and the laying down of arms, the matter will be considered closed. But if the question has historical, political, social, and identity-related roots, the end of armed struggle must instead open the possibility for peaceful discussion of nationality, language, identity, equality, political participation, the administration of society, and equal integration.

Disarmament must not lead to the disarming of politics in society.

The Freedom of Abdullah Öcalan and the Question of Political Prisoners

Abdullah Öcalan’s situation stands at the center of this process. If his call has been one of the principal foundations for ending the armed struggle, and if he is expected to play a role in guiding this transition, then continuing to restrict his ability to communicate and participate contradicts that expectation.

From the perspective of the Kurdish movement and supporters of this process, Öcalan’s physical freedom is not merely an individual, partisan, or symbolic demand. It is connected to the possibility of continuing a process in whose initiation he himself has played a central role. Maintaining communication with the social base, navigating the sensitive transitional period, and helping consolidate a political solution require the possibility of free participation.

But the prison question is not limited to Öcalan. Some people have spent decades of their lives in Turkish prisons, including elderly and ill prisoners. Peace cannot speak only of today’s weapons while disregarding the human legacy, achievements, and experiences of decades of struggle.

Addressing the situation of long-term prisoners, taking their age and health into consideration, and recognizing the right to hope for freedom must form part of the transition—not be treated as a privilege that the state may grant at its discretion.

The test of trust lies precisely in these concrete questions: will prisons become more open? Will political activity become freer? Will Kurdish language and identity be removed from the security sphere? Will women, society, and the ecosystem gain a genuine share in decision-making and transformation? And will Öcalan be able to participate freely in a process that began, to a considerable extent, with his call?

Amid a Tense World: Choosing Another Path

This process does not unfold in a vacuum. The Middle East is caught in geopolitical rivalries, war, militarism, and intense polarization. In contrast, the logic of war, the structural crises of global capitalism, and coercive power continue to cast their shadow over much of the region.

Öcalan’s call for an end to armed struggle, together with the movement’s leadership’s response and that of political and popular actors, can be understood as an attempt to open another path within this reality.

Such hope does not mean ignoring the bitter realities of global politics. On the contrary, precisely at a time when the logic of what might be called a “Third World War” has gained strength across the region, the attempt to move a historical struggle from the terrain of weapons to that of politics assumes even greater significance.

Yet the call of a single leader or the decision of a single organization is not enough to achieve lasting peace. The real force of this transformation will emerge when political will moves beyond leaders and organizations to become the conscious, collective will of society. The development of historical memory into historical consciousness is the ethical force and philosophy of such a process.

When such a will takes root among the people, it can become a material force for rebuilding trust, expanding participation, and building life.

Conclusion: From the End of Arms to the Beginning of Politics

The present process should neither be underestimated nor approached with uncritical optimism toward law and the state. Laying down arms and reframing the question in the political sphere have created a new historical possibility. But no parliamentary resolution can, by itself, guarantee peace, freedom, or popular democracy.

Abdullah Öcalan’s call, the PKK’s decision to end the armed struggle, and the practical steps toward laying down arms constitute one side of this transition. The other must be visible in genuine changes in the conduct and structure of political power: an expansion of political space, a reduction in securitization, attention to the situation of prisoners, the freedom and unrestricted participation of Abdullah Öcalan, guarantees for national, cultural, and linguistic rights, and the possibility of free and peaceful political activity.

But even this is not enough. Peace does not come into being simply through an agreement between a state and the leaders of a movement. Relations of power, domination, and subordination also exist within Kurdish society. Women, the oppressed, prisoners, and other governed people must cease to be objects of decision-making and become subjects possessing will, participation, and the political structures they need.

From this perspective, the fundamental question is no longer simply who lays down the weapon. The more important question is: after the weapons have been laid down, who will have the right to speak, to organize, to decide, and to build the future?

A state cannot decree lasting solidarity. It becomes meaningful when Kurds, Turks, and other peoples can preserve their languages, identities, historical memories, and differences while participating as equals in building a common future.

In a world where war and competition among powers once again cast their shadow over the lives of millions, choosing politics and dialogue over weapons carries historical significance in itself. But that choice can endure only when it moves beyond the calls of leaders, the decisions of organizations, and parliamentary resolutions, and becomes the collective will of society—with real guarantees for its implementation.

Perhaps the true measure of the success of this process will be neither the end of an organization, nor the number of weapons laid down, nor the passage of a law. Perhaps it will be the beginning of a period in which politics replaces weapons, dialogue replaces conflict, freedom replaces isolation, equality replaces denial, and the will, consciousness, and self-organization of women, the oppressed, and the governed replace decision-making from above—a period in which popular solidarity and the building of a shared life can overcome the logic of war and domination

Abbas Mansouran– 2026/8/11