Few peoples in the Middle East have been portrayed as a threat as often as the Kurds. For some, they are separatists. For others, terrorists, agents of foreign powers, or not “real” Muslims. Few minorities have been both so systematically persecuted and so consistently misunderstood.
These conspiracy theories are not marginal phenomena of irrational societies. For centuries, they have been among the most effective instruments of political power. Whenever states feel under pressure, identities become fragile, or social crises grow, narratives about “internal” and “external” enemies emerge.
Research in social psychology shows that people often explain complex political developments through secret actors and hidden plans during times of fear and uncertainty. Conspiracy theories reduce complexity. They turn history into intention, coincidence into strategy, and political conflict into the story of a hidden power.
The Kurdish question was never fought only through military force or politics. It was fought psychologically. Through the constant production of mistrust, suspicion, and conspiracy narratives.
Kurds were rarely seen as a historical community with legitimate political interests. Much more often, they were portrayed as tools of others: of Britain, the United States, Israel, or hidden international networks.
These narratives did not only shape politics. They shaped perception.
Over generations, parts of society came to see Kurds not as ordinary citizens, neighbors, or fellow human beings, but as potential traitors, separatists, or agents of foreign interests. A minority was psychologically transformed into a security problem.
This mechanism became visible shortly after the foundation of the Turkish Republic. The Sheikh Said rebellion of 1925 was not interpreted as the result of social, religious, or ethnic conflict. Instead, it was presented as a British conspiracy against the young republic. Behind this stood the Mosul question and the geopolitical rivalry with Britain. Historical evidence for direct British control remained very weak. But the political purpose of the accusation was clear: Kurdish resistance lost its legitimacy and became the “internal enemy.”
Over time, this thinking became a central part of the Turkish state ideology. After the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, a collective trauma of territorial loss emerged. The state began to define itself through the permanent fear of fragmentation. The “internal enemy” became a psychological foundation of the republic.
Kurds were officially described as “Mountain Turks.” Their language was denied recognition as a real language and described as a corrupted Turkish dialect. Kurdish names were banned. Kurdish music disappeared from public life. Newroz was treated as a suspicious ritual. Even academic studies and dissertations denied the existence of Kurdish identity.
The Kurds were not only oppressed; they were redefined, reinterpreted, and psychologically erased.
This is the real power of political mythmaking. They do not only create enemies. They reshape reality itself.
Research shows that conspiracy narratives often portray minorities as both weak and dangerously powerful at the same time. On one hand, minorities are marginalized, and on the other, they are described as global threats with invisible influence. This contradiction is not a flaw of the system. It is part of its logic.
For decades, Kurds were portrayed both as a primitive minority and as a threat to entire states. They were systematically denied the ability to have independent political interests. In nationalist narratives, Kurds seldom act on their own. They supposedly always serve someone else.
Another accusation has shaped the perception of Kurds until today: the accusation of separatism.
In Turkey, Iran, Syria, and Iraq, Kurds are often not viewed as citizens with legitimate cultural or political demands, but as a danger to the territorial unity of the state. Even demands for language rights, cultural recognition, or democratic participation are frequently interpreted as hidden attempts to divide the country. As a result, even peaceful political activism quickly becomes a security issue.
This reveals the psychological logic of nationalist conspiracy narratives. The focus is not on the actual political demands, but on the fear of losing control and national unity. The Kurd does not appear as a citizen with rights, but as a potential “internal enemy” whose real intention is supposedly to weaken the state.
This delegitimization also has a religious dimension.
In parts of Islamist or religious nationalist circles, Kurds are often portrayed as not being “real Muslims.” One reason is that Kurdish identity has historically never been defined only through religion. Kurdish society has long been ethnically, culturally, and religiously pluralistic. Among the Kurds are Sunni Muslims, Alevis, Yazidis, Christians, Shiites, Yarsanis, and other religious communities. Shared cultural and ethnic identity was often stronger than religious differences.
But this diversity challenges ideologies that define identity only through religion or nationalism.
As a result, Kurds are often portrayed as culturally suspicious, religiously insufficient, or influenced by the West. Especially when Kurdish movements speak about democracy, women’s rights, secularism, or pluralism, new enemy images emerge. The demand for freedom is no longer discussed politically. It is morally and religiously delegitimized.
In this way, the accusation of separatism combines with religious exclusion to create a broader enemy image. The Kurd appears both as a traitor to the state and as a threat to the religious order.
In Turkey, the so-called “Armenian card” also played an important role. Kurds were repeatedly accused of working with Armenians or Western powers to destroy the territorial unity of the country. The memory of the collapse of the Ottoman Empire was psychologically projected onto minorities. Cultural demands were transformed into an existential threat.
Similar mechanisms exist in Iran. Kurdish parties are often described as instruments of the United States, Israel, or Western intelligence services. Kurdish demands for autonomy are not seen as demands for political or cultural rights, but as part of a geopolitical plan against the Islamic Republic.
In Syria, Kurdish groups were often described by nationalists as “agents of imperialism” whenever they cooperated with the United States during the civil war. But when Kurdish actors tried to negotiate independently with Damascus or limit American influence, new suspicions immediately appeared. Kurds are therefore trapped in a permanent political in-between space. For some, they are agents of Washington. For others, unreliable separatists.
Even Western actors often see the Kurds less as independent political subjects and more as geopolitical instruments.
Europe praises Kurdish sacrifice, but hesitates when Kurdish rights challenge regional alliances. European governments publicly recognize the Kurdish fight against the so-called Islamic State, as well as Kurdish sacrifices and demands for democracy, women’s rights, and freedom. But once these demands could create political consequences for relations with Ankara, Baghdad, or Tehran, they quickly lose priority.
Europe and the United States often admire the Kurds when they die. But once Kurds demand political rights, they quickly become a geopolitical problem.
European states seek stability, economic cooperation, and migration control. In this context, Kurds often appear less as carriers of legitimate rights and more as a possible disturbance to regional order.
Even recent attempts at political dialogue in Turkey quickly produced new waves of speculation about hidden agendas, foreign influence, and secret negotiations or hidden betrayal agreements. Different political camps create their own myths until society can no longer distinguish between real politics and political fiction.
This is the real danger of modern conspiracy theories. They destroy trust in verifiable reality. Politics no longer appears as an open social process, but as a stage controlled by hidden powers and secret deals. Facts lose importance. Emotions, fear, and collective enemy images dominate public perception.
These narratives do not emerge by accident. They are produced and spread by state institutions, nationalist parties, ideological media, and sometimes even academic elites. From there, they enter deeply into society, into schools, universities, social media, families, and villages.
When a child hears for years that the Kurdish language does not exist, when television channels speak daily about terrorism, and when politicians claim that Kurds work for foreign powers, this creates more than a political opinion. It creates an emotional worldview.
The real function of such narratives is to avoid political responsibility. Anyone who sees Kurds as part of a hidden agenda no longer has to confront cultural oppression, language bans, forced displacement, mass violence, or the lack of democratic participation. Social problems become security issues. Minorities become suspects.
The Kurds were rarely the architects of the crises of the Middle East. The real restructuring of the region was shaped by colonial policies, authoritarian nation-state projects, global energy interests, international interventions, and the conflicts of regional powers.
The Kurds were usually not the makers of this order. They were its victims.
Perhaps the real tragedy of the Kurds is not only that they do not have their own state. Perhaps it lies deeper: in the fact that, until today, even the legitimacy of their existence is still denied.
A society that turns its minorities into conspiracies eventually loses the ability to distinguish truth from fear.
Dr. Jan Ilhan Kizilhan is a psychologist, author and publisher, an expert in psychotraumatology, trauma, terror and war, transcultural psychiatry, psychotherapy and migration.
The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Rudaw.