In a move few predicted even a year ago, the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) has formally announced it will disband and disarm, ending more than four decades of armed conflict with Turkey. The decision was reached during the group’s 12th Congress, held from 5 to 7 May in northern Iraq, following a direct call from imprisoned PKK founder Abdullah Öcalan earlier this year to end the armed struggle. As reported by Politico, this marks a pivotal shift in the PKK’s long-standing tactics and goals. For a group once labelled one of the most persistent and violent insurgencies in the region, the announcement feels almost surreal.
The PKK began its campaign in 1984, initially calling for an independent Kurdish state. Over the years, however, its ambitions softened, with later demands focusing more on cultural recognition and political autonomy for Kurds within Turkey. The conflict has claimed more than 40,000 lives, according to estimates by the Turkish government, and left deep scars across southeastern Turkey, northern Syria, and parts of Iraq. The group is considered a terrorist organisation by Turkey, the European Union, and the United States.
This week’s announcement suggests a readiness not just to stop fighting, but to completely withdraw from the armed political space. Öcalan’s message, released from his prison on Imrali Island, described the time for guns as being over and urged his followers to pursue Kurdish aspirations through political and democratic means. Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, who once led a failed peace process with the PKK from 2013 to 2015, called the move a “step toward peace and fraternity.”
From battlefield to ballot box: what comes next for Kurdish politics?
The PKK’s statement framed the decision as a conclusion of its “historical mission” and a transition into a new phase of struggle, this time through peaceful and legal channels. While it is still unclear what precise form this will take, the general message was that the time had come to swap weapons for words. As noted by El País, there is now a strong emphasis on Kurdish parties participating in local and national elections, with the potential for a unified political front that could advocate for rights, recognition, and regional development through the ballot box.
Still, the path to a smooth transition won’t be easy. Many PKK members are still in the field, particularly in northern Iraq, and questions remain about the disarmament process. Will weapons be handed over to neutral third parties? Will there be a reintegration plan for ex-fighters? The Turkish state has yet to offer clarity on these matters. There are also questions about whether Kurdish-aligned militias in Syria, such as the YPG, which Turkey views as closely tied to the PKK, will be affected by this change.
Experts are urging Turkey not to treat this moment as merely symbolic. The RAND Corporation has called for a formal reconciliation process, including monitored disarmament, amnesties for lower-level fighters, and efforts to protect Kurdish political representation. Without such guarantees, some fear the peace could collapse as previous efforts have. The failed 2013–2015 process still looms large in Kurdish memory.
That said, this new declaration feels more definitive. Unlike past ceasefires, this decision has been presented as final. There’s no talk of resuming arms if negotiations falter—only a focus on civic participation and political organising. Kurdish parties in Turkey have already begun calling for updated language rights, local governance reforms, and the release of political prisoners. Some observers, including analysts quoted by the Financial Times, believe this moment could serve as a reset for Turkish–Kurdish relations, especially if the government embraces it as more than a PR win.
A fragile but genuine turning point for Turkey and the region
The regional implications of this shift are massive. The PKK has long been a thorn in the side of Turkish foreign policy. Its presence in Iraq has triggered repeated cross-border military operations, and Ankara’s perception of the group has influenced its stance on NATO expansion and its tense relationship with Kurdish forces in Syria. If this disbandment is credible and sustained, it could defuse longstanding tensions with neighbouring countries and improve Turkey’s standing on the international stage.
There’s also the human impact to consider. Generations of Kurdish families have lost loved ones to the conflict. Entire communities have been displaced, livelihoods disrupted, and development stalled in the country’s southeast. Peace, if real and lasting, could finally allow for serious investment in the region—something both Kurdish leaders and Turkish officials claim to want. It would also give millions of Kurds, both in Turkey and the diaspora, a renewed sense of inclusion in a political system that has long marginalised them.
Still, scepticism remains. The Washington Post noted that while this moment is being framed as historic, similar declarations in the past have unravelled quickly due to political crackdowns, arrests of Kurdish politicians, or sudden reversals in Ankara’s policy. The key difference this time appears to be the tone from the PKK itself, which has made no threats, no ultimatums—just a clear statement that its armed phase is over.
It’s also worth noting that the group didn’t suddenly soften; rather, the regional and global political climate has shifted. With Turkey increasingly asserting itself in NATO, tensions in the Middle East in flux, and growing global attention on political violence and authoritarianism, the PKK’s leadership may have seen a narrow but real window to change course without appearing weak.
This could be the beginning of something transformative, but it depends on what both sides do next. Will Turkey offer genuine pathways for Kurdish politicians and civil society? Will local leaders across Kurdish-majority areas be given the autonomy to govern effectively? And will international allies play a role in supporting and monitoring the peace process?
Ultimately, the disbanding of the PKK might be remembered as a landmark in Turkey’s modern history—but only if it leads to more than a ceasefire. For peace to hold, it must translate into policy, rights, investment, and mutual respect. And for now, at least, the weapons are going quiet—which, after 40 years, is no small thing.