The Heart’s Journey to Fulfilling a Smoldering Vow; Kurd Baloch Reunion
KNK Annual Conference 2026 Baarlo Netherlands
By: Professor Naela Quadri Baloch
During his visit to Canada on August 28, 2025, Mamoste Ahmet Karamus honored me with the honorary membership of Kurdistan National Congress KNK and pinned the ancient Kurdish emblem to my collar. This small piece of metal carried the weight of a generational promise. Standing there, I knew I had finally reached the abundant destination long ago dreamed of by our elders. Their ultimate dream was recognition of Kurd Baloch blood bond and reunion, they are no more to celebrate. Yet, looking at the emblem on my chest, I realize that while they are gone, their dream is fiercely alive.
As the honorable Kurdish women and men applauded the recognition of my lifelong dedication to Kurd-Baloch unity, a profound duality washed over me. While I sat physically present in that room, my soul was spiritually linked with my late mentors, who embraced me with love and pride, whispering, “You made it; we knew you would.”
On June 6–7, 2026, over 300 delegates representing more than 70 Kurdish organizations and global diaspora groups convened in the Netherlands for the KNK’s 24th General Assembly. The assembly focused on cementing political cohesion and aligning strategies to navigate shifting geopolitical realities in the Middle East.
The annual conference served as a vital forum for Kurdish political leaders, intellectuals, and institutional representatives from all parts of Kurdistan and abroad to meet and build solidarity. Operating under the theme of “Democratic National Unity,” the event emphasized that strengthening collective unity and building joint diplomatic approaches are the strongest guarantees for protecting Kurdish political achievements in a rapidly changing world.
By bringing diverse member organizations to a shared understanding, the KNK provided a platform for representatives to address escalating regional and international challenges through cohesive institutional action.
For me, the Kurdistan National Congress (KNK) annual conference became a profound emotional experience that resonated in the deepest corners of my soul. It awakened buried pains, broken dreams, and frozen desires. It surfaced the collective defeats and betrayals born of colonial mindsets and global power struggles, the generations of loved ones we have lost, and those still enduring the prisons and torture cells of occupying regimes. I felt the agonizing distance from my homeland, the ache of missing the fragrance of Baloch soil after a fresh rain, and a deep yearning for the rhythm of drumbeats and the circles of Chaap; dancing Baloch legends. Slowly, layer by layer, these generational sorrows washed over me.
Yet, in that vulnerable emotional state, looking upon the faces of my beloved Kurds brought a shift in the atmosphere. They glowed with the luminance of the sun and moon, adorned in traditional Kurdish attire, and carried themselves with cultural grace, mutual love, and deep respect. Each person bore a story of intergenerational trauma, yet simultaneously stood as a living declaration of resistance, a walking promise of ongoing struggle until liberation. The energy in air was palpable, elevating the soul from the human to the divine.
There is always a uniquely transcendent power in gathering with like-minded people. Whether it is the spiritual unity of a pilgrimage, or the cultural renewal of the Nauroz festival, anytime people unite with pure hearts and a shared vision, a multiplied energy emerges. It brings an elevation of the spirit that is entirely different from practicing alone. My most profoundly uplifting experiences are rooted in my own Baloch struggle, united by an unyielding sense of national responsibility. In council sessions of the Baloch Students Organization (BSO) Baloch political parties; BNP, BRP and BPC, our political discourse was treated with sacred reverence. Engaging in continuous, day-and-night strategy sessions brought us boundless energy rather than fatigue. Fueled by dignity and national pride, we spent our time drafting actionable plans and slogans, driven by the shared vision of breaking the chains of oppression and leading our people toward a dignified future.
The last moment of this solidarity I experienced in 2013 in Kabul, where Baloch leaders from across Afghanistan’s 26 provinces convened to shape their collective destiny. Having traveled and networked extensively with them beforehand, I felt a truly electric atmosphere of shared hopes and dreams. When I asked the assembly to raise their hands in support of an independent Balochistan, the response was unanimous, with many passionately raising both hands, embodying their deep devotion to a free Baloch country.
A decade of nostalgia across the Americas and Europe left me starved for the very energy that fuels my soul. Walking into the KNK conference changed everything. For many, it’s an important annual milestone; for me, a thirsty bird crossing continents, finally touching down on a freshwater lake.
I was surrounded by my own people again, feeling that familiar, sacred pulse of national solidarity. But this gathering carried a deeper, electric thrill, I was reuniting with the other part of our tribe that had been separated for centuries, layering the joy of reunion on top of our shared ancestral bonds. It was a spiritual and emotional resonance, a space where political resolve and ancestral memory converged, creating an atmosphere of shared resilience that elevated the soul unlike any gathering I had ever known.
Every encounter with a Kurdish soul, young, old, man, or woman, ignited a quiet tremor in my chest. It became a silent, burning prayer: “May your years be long. May your suffering finally cease. May your next Newroz be celebrated in a free and peaceful Kurdistan” Our eyes exchanging a silent vow of solidarity. While parallel history lanes raced through my mind. Four decades ago, Agha Naseer Khan Ahmadzai Baloch, the former senior minister of the last Baloch kingdom and the ultimate custodian of our history, laid a sacred weight upon my shoulders.
“You owe a national duty,” Agha had told me “Find our lost Kurds. Reunite the Kurd and the Baloch.”
He called me Tuba, after the celestial tree in paradise famed for its sweet, expansive shade. “You will be the Tuba for the Baloch nation,” he prophesied. Back then, I non-seriously took it as mere admiration for a rebellious girl navigating a fierce, tribal patriarchy alone, whose heart fiercely set on a unified, independent Balochistan.
“How do I find them?” I countered. It was the 1980s; Balochistan had no internet, no digital maps. “And why does it matter so much?”
“I do not know how, but I know you will,” Agha replied with absolute certainty. “It matters for two reasons. First, they are our own blood. Second, we share the same tragedy, our homelands, Balochistan and Kurdistan, sliced up and occupied by greedy neighbors fueled by colonial designs. We need each other. We need a joint struggle, a shared vision, and a meticulous roadmap to liberation.”
To seal this covenant, he handed me the ancient receipts of our shared lineage: the centuries-old History of Mardukh Kurdistani, Akhund Saleh Zangana Kurd’s Kurdgal Namek, and his own monumental eight-volume History of Balochistan.
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I felt the kind hand of Mir Abdul Rehman Kurd on my head, felt like a blessing. A revolutionary poet and elder of the Kurd tribe in Balochistan, his life was a testament to the Baloch struggle, his family’s history written in blood, sacrifice, and the walls of prisons. I can still vividly hear him explaining how Balochistan was once Maadistan: a cradle for the Kurds, led by the descendants of the eight sons of our great ancestor, Maad Kurd Jr. In ancient times, before vast migrations of other communities fractured our geography, this land stood connected to Luristan and Kurdistan. To the Kurds, Maadistan/Balochistan was always home, a sanctuary in times of peril. It was this bond that drove the great migrations, from the Caspian shores, Balajgan, and the Alborz mountains eight centuries before Christ, to the arrival of the 44 Rind tribes from Aleppo and Halabja in the 8th century.
In my mind’s eye, the gentle face of Dr. Taj Raisani emerges. Though a senior doctor by profession, he is a healer of our culture, a writer and mentor who shaped a generation of young Baloch minds. Dr.Taj explained to us the similarities in rock carvings and paintings, common linguistic roots, common names of places and tribes across Balochistan and Kurdistan. From Mount Chiltan, Bolan to Mount Zagros our national animals are Markhor (Ibex) golden eagle and Partridge. From his teachings, I came to understand the true origin of our flag. The historic banner of Balochistan was identical to the Kurdish flag: red, white, and green, with a sun burning at its center. This was the flag in the strong hands of Noori Naseer Khan, our greatest king, who compelled neighboring empires to respect Baloch borders. For over five centuries, from 1410 to 1933, this sun-centered standard flew over a sovereign nation. It was only during the last era of Sovereign Balochistan, swayed by colonial and religious pressures who argued that the sun was a non-Islamic symbol, he replaced it with the crescent. Altering the ancient soul of the Baloch nation was a trespass the people never accepted. Just like they rejected forced inclusion of Baloch territories in Iran and Afghanistan by the colonial lines of Goldsmith and Durand, as they rejected the Enforced Annexation under duress after the military invasion of Pakistan on our independent country of Balochistan on March 27, 1948. The nation responded by taking up arms under the leadership of Prince Agha Abdul Karim, the younger brother of the king, and the Baloch people declared a war of resistance against the annexation. Undeterred by the military occupation, he attempted to establish a Baloch government in exile. However, his efforts were thwarted when the Soviet Union and India withheld their support, choosing instead to appease Iran.
After seven decades of oppression and betrayals, the Government of Balochistan in Exile has been established to reclaim sovereignty and has adopted the radiant sun, a 25,000-year-old Baloch Kurd symbol, as its emblem.
This emblem traces back to the ancient Mehrgarh the Baloch Kurd civilization 7000–9000 BC in Balochistan, the earliest urban civilization and a matrilineal society. Discovered by Baloch Chief Nawab Ghous Bukhah Raisani and internationally recognized in 1974 by the French archaeologists Jean-François and Catherine Jarrige, Mehrgarh was a center for pottery industry, agriculture, town planning, dentistry, and time management. Today, the geometric designs originally painted by Mehrgarh’s society are still woven into everyday Baloch embroidery and carpets. The GoBE celebrates this heritage. The movement draws strength from the great mothers of Mehrgarh, who are once again guiding the Kurd Baloch nation to break patriarchal chains and reclaim our historical legacy.
A respectful opening to the anthem of Kurdistan set the stage for an extraordinary KNK assembly. Rather than claiming the spotlight, Co-chairs Mamosta Zainab Murad and Mamosta Ahmet Karamus embodied true democratic leadership, stepping aside to let an elected committee lead.
Welcomed with moving words by Mamoste Ahmet Karamus in my capacity as Prime Minister of the Government of Balochistan in Exile, and promise to keep standing in honor besides the Baloch struggle for liberation. I was deeply inspired by the leadership on display. Refusing stiff, bureaucratic VIP protocols, the Co-chairs sat among the people, answering inquiries with patience and data, and teaching the youth that leadership simply means working harder than anyone else.
As the proceedings unfolded in Kurmanji, Sorani, and Hawrami Zazaki, I experienced a profound revelation. Listening to the debates, I was amazed by the countless Balochi and Brahui words woven through the Kurdish dialects. The more I learn, the clearer it becomes: despite centuries of separation, Balochi and Brahui are undeniably connected to the Kurdish language family. I remember, in 1997, in a Baloch town bordering Sindh, I was talking to my kids, and someone said to another fellow in Sindhi that they are Kurdgal, which means they are Kurdi speaking people. Me and my kids looked at each other with amazement that a common person of Indian origin recognized Brahui language as Kurdish.
In the opening session of the conference for the representatives and guest delegates of various Kurdish parties, I was deeply honored to be the first to speak. I delivered my initial remarks in Kurmanji, conveying love and solidarity from Balochistan, and recognized the crucial role of the Kurdistan National Congress in uniting Kurds worldwide. I paid tribute to their significant diplomatic achievements and gave a brief description of the ongoing Baloch genocide by Iran and Pakistan, emphasizing the vital need for Kurd and Baloch unity to protect our people, land, and identity.
Speaking about the ongoing crimes against humanity in Balochistan is always painful. As I spoke, my comrade Shilan Aminolla stood beside me, her calm and strong presence felt like standing beside a Baloch mountain.
As I stepped down from the stage, KNK Co-Chair Ahmed Karamous, Zainab Murad, Mamosta Siamond, and the rest of the leadership stood in solidarity to shake my hand. The warmth in their eyes and the glowing faces across the conference hall proved my mentors and teachers were absolutely right: “Kurds are our own blood. We feel each other’s pain as our own, and we celebrate each other’s victories as our own.”
While we can find allies globally for common interests, the connection between our peoples is unique. Only Kurds and Balochs will stand with each other unconditionally in pure love, consanguinity, and familyhood.
Comrade Nilufer Koç, a dedicated, visionary Kurdish leader and spokesperson of foreign affairs for the KNK, was on stage delivering Abdullah Öcalan’s message: Kurdish unity across all four parts of Kurdistan, the vital role of women in leadership and all walks of life, peaceful coexistence with neighbors, democratic civilization and enhanced diplomacy to create more opportunities for Kurdish existence and development. Listening to his message reopened that sorrowful night in my heart, anger was burning within our chests as we received the news of a Turkish court’s death sentence against Abdullah Öcalan. In our living room, well-known Baloch writers, teachers, artists, journalists, and students were busy making placards and banners for tomorrow’s protest against the sentence and for the immediate release of the Kurdish leader. Dr. Salim Kurd was managing the protest. In my childhood, when Dad told us the story and struggle of Dr. Che Guevara, Dr. Salim Kurd became my Che of Balochistan. At a young age, he played the role of running blood in the veins of the resistance movement of the 1970s, connecting the struggle of the mountains to the cities.
My four-year-old son, Kurdak, had his hands soaked in paint, pressing them in the colors of the Kurdish flag onto the placards and banners. When I asked him to come with me so I could put him to sleep, he refused, saying, “They are killing my Kurds, I cannot sleep.” The pain and anger in his eyes were the last thing a mother ever wants to see in her child. Those who inflict this pain on us ensure their own children stay happy and play, while ours grow up in protests, anger, uncertainty, and helplessness.
I have always reflected on the duty assigned to me: how can we find our lost Kurds? As Paulo Coelho wrote in The Alchemist, when you desire something deeply from your heart, the universe conspires to make it happen. Rêber Öcalan became that light, just like the lamp we leave burning outside our Gidan (Baloch nomadic tent) on dark nights to guide our loved ones safely home. Our protests gained international coverage, raising questions in many minds: Why are people, including women and children, protesting for a Kurdish leader in the far-flung, forgotten land of Balochistan? This caught the attention of Kurds from various backgrounds worldwide, who began contacting us to learn more about the Kurd-Baloch bond. After a few months, a young Kurd, Saqi Barzani, visited our home. He wondered why we were campaigning for Öcalan. I told him: “Simply because we, the Baloch, are Kurds and we feel the pain of our fellow Kurds who are facing injustice and persecution.” He was deeply moved and we continued to correspond after he returned to the USA.
Later, the ISIS attacks on the Yazidi Kurds and Kobani shook our souls. Protests and marches erupted globally, and we joined the rallies in Vancouver Canada. For the first time, the world saw the Kurdish and Baloch flags raised together. The Kurds welcomed our solidarity, but it was news to many that the Baloch shared this bond and had marched out of national duty. Social media worked like sorcery; after seeing our solidarity, Baloch communities worldwide began joining Kurdish protests, and more and more Baloch flags were raised alongside Kurdish ones.
The expression of unity touched the sky when protests erupted in Sistan Balochistan against the brutal killing of a Kurdish girl, Jina Mahsa Amini, by Iranian forces. Baloch demonstrators rallied against the state, setting government properties ablaze and chanting, “Namoos-e-Kurd, Namoos-e-Baloch” meaning, “Kurdish honor is Baloch honor”. During the crackdown, 179 were killed by the direct gunfire of Iranian security forces. Many of the wounded refused treatment from state-affiliated doctors and succumbed to their injuries days later, the total count of martyrs of Jumma e Khooni Zaheda stands at 400. Their bodies were handed over to grieving families in the middle of the night, strictly conditioned on burying them covertly without holding public funerals.
The famous singer and dancer Khodanour Lajjai Baloch was among those who bled to death. In their darkest hour, the primary support they received came from Kurdish doctors and teachers who traveled to the region with medicines and donated blood.
At the end of the first day of the conference, flames from the traditional sacred fire called everyone to receive their ancestors’ blessings. The magic of fire on a Baloch heart is immeasurable and uncontrollable. On the high peaks of the Baloch mountains, you will find an Atishkada, a sacred place where fires once burned day and night across every season for thousands of years. According to tradition, the Baloch never jump over the fire, never spit on the embers, and never tell a lie before the flame.
The free bird of my heart soared with the magic of the fire and the Kurdish music. Despite jetlag and a long, active day, I did not want to sleep. I wanted to absorb every beautiful energy of this precious gathering. We sat near the fire until a white layer of ashes covered the redness of the glowing embers. It was 2 a.m. when we finally retired to get some rest before beginning the conference’s final day.
That night’s long discussions spanned from cosmic energies and spirituality to the Kurdish freedom movement, the peace process, and the lingering risks of historical betrayals. We journeyed across human history, from Mehrgarh to Babylon and the present day.
A young Kurd, Sinan Önal, was the soul of that magical night. Sinan is a learned, knowledgeable, and open-minded individual, deeply tethered to the dream of Kurdish liberation. Such youth are a treasure to any nation; yet, Sinan’s perspective transcends borders, embracing all humanity with thoughts as limitless as the cosmos. While I had engaged in deep discussions regarding the political philosophy of Abdullah Öcalan with Mamoste Ahmet Karamus and Heval Nîlûfer Koç, Sinan unveiled an entirely untouched dimension of Öcalan’s transformation. He spoke of the spiritual metamorphosis of a guerrilla fighter, evolving into a universal soul capable of feeling the profound pain of an enemy’s mother. He knows how a jailer himself is held captive within an invisible cage, and how this advocate for women’s equality is profoundly connected to the creative, feminine powers of the universe. When Sinan lovingly touched the handwritten scripts of Öcalan’s book, the 10,000 pages that emerged from the prison cell, it fundamentally transformed his view of his leader, elevating him to a far higher and more deeply loved stature.
That night, for me, Reber Öcalan truly became Reber Apo.
