John Cookson

I like to have an informal chat before an on-camera interview to break the ice, but they were a tough crowd, as they say in showbiz. I knew they were passionate followers of the communist Titan Karl Marx, however I didn’t expect them to be utterly brainwashed and unable to converse about anything other than the late Mr K and his anti-capitalist musings.

launched into a rant about how her life was dedicated to: ‘the overthrow of capitalism through a socialist revolution,’ and how her earthly duty was: ‘to smash the hated the class system. I don’t care what my mother and father think, my duty is to follow the philosophies of Karl Marx,’ she parroted.

Another female fighter, Ruken, delivered a tirade about the evils of capitalism and then revealed she was a sniper – she’d shot a Turkish soldier dead earlier in the day.

The male fighters were equally hooked on Marx. My attempt to lighten the mood with a chat about a recent Real Madrid-Barcelona football game fell on deaf ears. Marx meant more to them than Messi.

I understood their rock solid commitment to the cause, but their aloofness was strange to me because Kurds in general tend to be sociable and inquisitive in the company

cameraman.
For sure, being constantly bombed by Turkish warplanes and witnessing companions being shot or blown to bits would have taken a severe mental toll, but as we wrapped up filming I couldn’t fathom why they were so downcast.

so downcast.
Something wasn’t quite right.
I concluded their general melancholy was because there was no clear end to their war against the Turks; no demob day to look forward to.

They were pretty much locked in for years. Leave was very limited and they risked being shot by their own comrades if they deserted.

of foreigners, especially a Western reporter and cameraman.
For su

If the melancholy young men and women we met in the Taurus Mountains were effectively prisoners and perhaps being