The Kink man on the road
(This story was written and send to Gutslut press as they had an open call in the end of the year 2021. Sadly I did not get published but I will try again later. Love their visuals! Check them out: https://gutslutpress.com/ )
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Man kink of the road
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When you travel across the world to a place where is war going on, some might think it is suicidal. And you go to that place not knowing any language that is spoken there and knowing that you are almost unable to learn new languages, it might make you feel alien when arriving there.
I decided to do it anyway. Even though I love my life a lot and even when I hate feeling alien. The thing is that I cannot escape my beliefs. I have some sort of never ending need to follow anarchist ideology that I discovered when I was a teenager. It has taken me to a few places around the world which I sure wont regret when I’m old and gray. I guess it is some sort of need for being honest to yourself. And sure, I might regret not having a bunch of children nor steady income when being sick and alone, but at least I tried to do so that the kids that somebody anyway made to this world would have still some sort of planet and would not live under tyranny.
I try to keep that and a bunch of other positive things in mind when stumbling around in strange situations in North East Syria for awhile. Actually I don’t have a slightest idea how long that while will be.
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This place use to be crawling with monsters. It was Isis caliphate. Their actions and practices were something that we would like to think were left far behind, like in the medieval times or Nazi Germany. But that shit was going on here just some years ago. And before that there were other problems with the Syrian regime. It feels somehow relieving that after all that crap, the period of horror, there came this new thing that is aiming for equality of different ethnic and religious groups, and especially trying to emphasize the destruction of the root of all evil – patriarchy. And that ain’t the root of evil only here, it is global. Here is a seriously interesting social project going on. It is called democratic confederalism. That’s something so democratic that it even draws anarchists like me from all around the world to come here and see it, participate in it, learn from it, and study it.
I would be lying if I’d say I don’t enjoy some special freedoms that are here. Like driving pickups and shooting with big guns. No licenses asked. But sure that’s not enough of a reason to be here, I mean if it would, I could as well have gone to Texas. And that’s never going to happen.
Crazy thing with Texas is that the gasoline pumped from this region is probably cheaper there than here. That’s something I’m having hard time doing the math about. Oil seems to be huge problem more widely in this part of the world. One of the things that draw foreign states here.
But freedoms ain’t ever for free. Here is sure also some stuff that I really suffer from. And I would be lying to say that life here would not be stressing the hell out of me on a daily basis. The hardship of language, the heat, the drones, the food, giving up of some individual joys. But then again, it would be ridiculous to not see the biggest revolution of our time because of not being able to give up small personal pleasures. If I would not have come here, I’d be later regretting it for the rest of my life.
The name of this story came from the sweet black truck I happened to see once when visiting Qamishlo (first photo). It somehow touched me. As here we all are asexuals. Not kinks nor anything else either. Is that reasonable? Well that would be a whole another story to write about.
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Photo taken while ordering falafels
(and asking if the white sauce is vegan).
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Life after death is here very present in everyday level. People who are part of the movement here and get killed became shehids, martyrs*. Their names and faces are everywhere. In shops, street billboards, offices, bumper and window stickers. Some roundabouts, parks and buildings are named after them. Their stories are shared in TV and magazines. People take pride in it, along the sorrow of course, when their family of friends are shehids. The graveyards are massive. Gravestones have photos and flags. Funerals are sometimes huge mass events with talks and honoring rituals. I have to say it is impressive. And even for me, after a short period time, it makes sense. This is a good way to keep the loved ones lost in our lives. In our struggles.
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Comrades with us, Şehîds.
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Elements of death and community here have reminded me of Maurice Blanchot writings on those topics. Things how communities are actually built through death. Blanchot is haunting me as I cannot get my hands on his books here and I cannot remember exactly what he wrote. If death would be actually the glue that binds the community together. Here it really would be like super glue.
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Çîrok Ecnebî, Rojava.
Anarchist and zinester from the so-called western world, trying humbly to learn and at same time trying actively to avoid the traps of orientalism. Enjoys most to see the ruins and ashes of the old evil empires.
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*=more about the shehid culture can be read on:
https://www.anarchistfederation.net/on-the-culture-of-the-shehid/
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