With Mam Jalal, a Dream and a Sorrow

Imad Ahmed, head of the Media and Awareness Bureau of the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK).

Written by Imad Ahmed, Head of the Media and Awareness Bureau of the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan.

Khwakurk Valley lies in the Bradost area of the Sidekan sub-district, near the border triangle of Iraq, Iran and Türkiye. It is characterised by its mountain ranges and towering peaks, stretching from the village of Bine to the village of Khazna, close to the border point. Geographically, the valley was ideally suited for Peshmerga operations.

In the autumn of 1988, the Khwakurk Epic took place, involving a large contingent of Peshmergas from the Kurdistan Front. The battle lasted for more than a month and culminated in the defeat of the occupying Ba’ath forces. The fighting was led personally by Mr Masoud Barzani.

The valley is renowned for its rare natural beauty. In summer, it becomes a paradise on earth — mountains and valleys clothed in trees, with pure air and crystal-clear waters in perfect harmony. In winter, it transforms into a snowbound and icy landscape, difficult to traverse and often entirely inaccessible.

At the foot of the mountain, on the left side of Khwakurk Valley near Jirjian, stood the headquarters of the Iraqi Communist Party. Despite the harshness of the environment, they had created their own version of a paradise, living according to their ideals and programmes.

At that time, them and we, Marxists, shared the vision of creating a paradise on earth — a vision that contrasted with other movements such as Bzutnawa (Kurdistan Islamic Movement), the Muslim Brotherhood, and the Shi’ite and Sunni Islamic movements, which sought paradise in the hereafter.

During those days, we visited the Iraqi Communist Party leadership several times for meetings and discussions. Abu Tara’s headquarters was located on the mountainside. It was there that I first met Abu Hikmat (Yousef Hana Yousef), Bahar’s mother, Abu Farooq (Omar Ali Sheikh), and Abu Shahab (Rahim Ajina). May their memories be blessed.

I learned much from them about living with dignity, humanity and purpose. Our days and nights were spent to the soundtrack of rushing water, rustling leaves, whispering winds, the movements of squirrels, and the songs of birds.

Abu Tara (Ibrahim Sofi Mahmoud) was a brave, friendly, warm and knowledgeable man. He had spent many years with the Democratic Party of Iran, eventually becoming one of its senior military commanders with the endorsement of the Iraqi Communist Party. A gunshot wound had left him with a limp and an inability to bend his right leg when seated.

In the summer of 1986, as we sat under his canopy, a question arose in my mind. I wished to know the answer from this seasoned and meticulous leader, especially as I had never had the honour of meeting Dr Abdul Rahman Ghassemlou. I asked him what, in his view, was the difference between Mam Jalal and Ghassemlou.

In his fluent and gentle voice, he replied:

“These two men are great, capable and intelligent Kurdish leaders, each with deep intellect and experience, but they are different. Mam Jalal has clear tactics and strategies in politics. By contrast, with Ghassemlou, it takes time to understand his direction — to see what he is doing and what he seeks to achieve.”

Tragically, Ghassemlou was martyred in Vienna on 13 July 1989, and Dr Sadegh Sharafkandi in Berlin on 11 September 1992. I wrote a condolence letter for both leaders' passing, which was published in Alai Azadi.

A few nights ago, I dreamt of Mam Jalal. He was seated beneath a great weeping willow in the Qalachwalan garden, wearing a blue coat, a white shirt, a red bow tie and black shoes without laces. He sat in a bamboo chair, his hands resting on the armrests. Sunlight filtered through the moving branches and leaves, glinting at times on his watch and the ring on his left hand. Occasionally, he ran his right hand through his greying hair.

I stood before him until he called for a chair so I might sit beside him. Then, in a weary and pained voice, he said:

“Imad, why don’t you fix the situation in the Region? This is no harder than the Anfal, the chemical attack on Halabja, the exodus, or the bitter civil war.”

I replied:

“Mam Jalal, do not worry.

We will make every effort to put things right.”

At that moment, I awoke abruptly, torn from what had felt like a Sufi meeting — myself as the dervish and Mam Jalal as the sheikh.

That very day, before going to work, I visited his mausoleum in Dabashan and recited the Fatiha at his grave. Later, I told Mr Diler Sayed Majid about my dream, and he smiled, saying:

“Insha’Allah, your dream will come true.”