The Trump-Turkey Ceasefire and Why ‘Peace’ Has Become a New Weapon in the Era of the Forever War Daniel Brown Follow Apr 8 · 9 min read

US Vice-President Mike Pence alongside President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan

On the 18th of October 2019, US Vice-President Mike Pence announced the brokering of a ceasefire which supposedly signalled a five day pause in the Turkish invasion of Northern Syria. Of course, the ceasefire that the Trump administration had brokered with Ankara, without input from Kurdish authorities, represented a complete surrender to Turkish demands. What’s more, within hours of the announcement of the so-called ceasefire, Turkish bombardment and incursions resumed.

The idea that Syrian Democratic Forces would retreat 32km leaving thousands of civilians in the hands of Jihadists and Turkish soldiers accused of committing heinous war crimes, in return for a ceasefire that barely lasted an hour, was of course ridiculous. Accordingly, the democratic administration accepted the ceasefire but rejected any terms requiring retreat or surrender. The fact that this ceasefire agreement was clearly never going to be accepted by the SDF suggests that the agreement is not a failure of US diplomacy but instead in exercise in denying Kurdish self-determination and covering up Turkish war crimes.

The Trump administration’s increasing alignment with Erdoğan’s regime makes it clear where their allegiances lie. There have been suggestions that Trump’s withdrawal from Syria was not a mistake but part of a wider strategy of enabling the Turkish invasion. Trump has even gone as far as alleging that Kurdish PKK guerrilla forces in Turkey are ‘worse than ISIS’ (despite the PKK’s central role in fighting against the ISIS genocide of Yazidis). It is important then to denounce this agreement for what it is then, not a ham-fisted attempt at diplomacy, but instead an attempt to delegitimise Kurdish self-defence efforts and rehabilitate the reputation of the Turkish state.

This is not just pertinent to Rojava but also to understanding how imperialism operates in the 21st century. We live in an era of ‘forever wars’, conflicts which defy the traditional temporal and territorial boundaries of traditional warfare, as exemplified by the endless ‘war on terror’. These conflicts are symptomatic of a globalised capitalist world-system and understanding them is vital to resisting imperialism in the here and now.

A central feature of these new conflicts is the use of ‘peace’, diplomacy and ‘security’ as tools in the arsenal of powerful states. As Nazan Üstündağ explains in her analysis of how these new conflicts operate in the context of Kurdistan, “Peace in such wars is a continuation of war by other means. Peace aims at neutralizing opposition”. Instead of wars fought over defined territorial or political goals we see instead see conflicts premised on abstract goals; “ending terrorism”, “delivering democracy” and so on. With such abstract justifications, such wars become completely unbounded. Until populations are completely assimilated into a global system of neoliberal capitalism, they remain a target for such offensives.

Since these wars are ultimately against abstract concepts rather than concrete entities a key part of the war is the representational aspect. Üstündağ notes how “consenting spectators must be actively produced who see a personal stake in the war.” This is of course best exemplified by the ceaseless ‘War on Terror’ that has been waged by the US across the globe for almost two decades now. Crucial to the continued operation of the war is a domestic public horrified by the threat of terrorism, and therefore willing to acquiesce to continuous military actions in the name of defeating such horrors.

In such a conflict no peace treaty or agreement can truly end the war. Instead peace becomes a tool particularly in the representational arena. The possibility of an end to conflict becomes a way to demobilise opposition and stifle those outraged by the bloody consequences of these endless wars. The hope of respite and an end to conflict actively sustains the continuation of the war. The US-Turkey ‘ceasefire’ is the perfect example of this. The move is clearly set to both neutralise opposition and reiterate the goals of the Turkish state in its creation of a ‘safe-zone’ to ‘protect’ itself from ‘terrorism’.

In the face of growing global outrage about the sheer brutality of the Turkish invasion, Turkey finds itself facing increasing levels of sanctions, boycotts and diplomatic condemnations. Similarly, the Trump administration was faced with a strong backlash from both Republicans and Democrats. These are not the ideal conditions for waging Turkey’s endless war. The ceasefire however sought to neutralise such conditions. Trump could argue that he had reigned in Turkey, so he could now lift sanctions on Erdoğan’s regime. Turkey meanwhile could start to shift the narrative around the conflict away from the barbarity of their conduct towards the idea of seeking ‘peace’ and ‘security’.

Of course, such assertions were completely baseless, hours after the ceasefire was declared Turkish forces resumed their assaults against Syrian Democratic Forces, with no regard for civilian casualties. The ceasefire had in no way reigned in Turkey’s brutal invasion, and its conditions of surrendering a great deal of territory to Turkey represented complete capitulation to Turkey. The ‘safe zone’ that Turkey seeks to create in its so-called war on terrorism will become the perfect excuse for large-scale repression and ethnic cleansing. Any elements that might stand in the way of Turkish assimilation of the area will be brutally dealt with under the justification of ‘securing the area against terrorism’.

The ceasefire therefore fulfills the twin goals of such a conflict as identified by Üstündağ, namely, to destroy “unhealthy elements of the population” and win “the hearts of those who have not yet been affected by the epidemic of (let’s say) terrorism.” This war against ‘terrorism’ has not just been waged in Northern Syria, but also against Kurds and opponents of Erdoğan within Turkey and Iraq. The ‘safe zone’ is merely an expansion of the area within which the Turkish state applies its brutal repression of resistance. Such an agreement then was never one of diplomatic mediation but rather an assault on the representation of the conflict. A manoeuvre to legitimise Turkish securitisation and repression whilst also countering critics of the conflict by suggesting that peace had been achieved.

It is no wonder then that the agreement has faced a great deal of criticism, in this we see the importance of disproving the manipulative diplomatic manoeuvres of powerful states. The realities of the continuous brutality that will be implemented whether at peace or at war must be made clear to everyone. These wars live or die based on their representation to the rest of the world.

This is made clear by the Zapatista Uprising where such battles over public perception of the conflict was central to the Zapatistas’ continued resistance to the onslaught of the Mexican state. One Mexican general even went so far as to say that the conflict was a ‘war of ink and internet’. The Zapatistas’ efforts in creating international and local solidarity networks were key to limiting the repressive powers of the Mexican state. The conflict also featured repeated peace negotiations wielded as a weapon to demobilise public support for the rebellion and reference to combatting ‘terror’ and ‘criminality’.

Such wars against abstract concepts, with endless scope, rely on a public perception of such concepts as a credible threat that the government can convincingly manage. Resistance against such wars must therefore be able to disrupt such a perception. The success of global solidarity networks supporting the Kurdish movement in disrupting this perception is obvious from the ceasefire. The agreement is an attempt to outmanoeuvre such efforts and should be seen as such.

Similar patterns are clear in recent political confrontations between the Canadian state and the Wet’su’wet’n people defending their sovereign land against illegal expansion of fossil fuel pipelines. Whilst no direct military conflict has occurred, the illegal presence of armed police tearing down Wet’su’wet’n protest camps to allow the pipeline’s construction has strongly militaristic implications. Given, a long history of coercion, broken treaties and ecological destruction such actions are sadly unsurprising from the Canadian state. Faced with a strong and widespread solidarity campaign however, the state appeared to change course with offers of negotiation. Protests lead by indigenous peoples, including militant blockades of ports, trainlines and government buildings across Canada clearly had an impact.

Of course, such negotiations never took place. They were in effect a sham made to demobilise political support for the anti-pipeline protests. Now the state could firstly claim success in ‘solving’ the conflict, demobilising many supporters. When this was inevitably refuted by the Wet’su’wet’n Chiefs the state claimed that they had tried their best to make reasonable negotiations. This was accompanied by a blitzkrieg of PR by the fossil fuel company painting protesters as troublemakers disrupting Canadians’ everyday lives. The fake negotiations then were merely a propaganda tool, a central part of attempts to manage the representation of the conflict between the state and indigenous peoples. This reveals how the logic of the ‘forever war’, namely its focus on representation and ‘managing’ populations who cannot be easily assimilated into global capitalism, seeps into political conflicts even when they are less explicitly militarised. This is of course especially true in a settler colonial context.

These ‘forever wars’ and their logics must therefore be seen as a central feature of 21st century imperialism and colonialism. Our efforts to support resistance against global capitalism and imperialism must contend with this reality. We no longer face the ‘total wars’ of 20th Century modernity which sought to mobilise entire nations in a mechanical fashion against a specific opponent.

Our current era presents us with endless conflicts against abstract and vague concepts. Instead of the generalised state of emergency of the modern ‘total war’ we are confronted by a disorientating mix of ‘normality’ and ‘emergency’. The government is mobilised for the constant emergency of an endless war, but the people are not. Instead, powerful states seek to manufacture the consent of the public. Their role becomes that of “consenting spectators” asked to go on about their daily lives whilst also in constant fear of the enemies of ‘democracy’ or ‘security’.

It is the paradoxes of this state of affairs that should be challenged. International solidarity efforts to support the Zapatistas and Democratic Forces exemplify how effective such an approach can be. After all, there is clearly appetite for an end to such endless warfare. Even Trump has called for an end to such conflicts whilst simultaneously increasing US intervention in many conflicts across the world. Such a manoeuvre characterises the use of increasing desires for peace to support the very conflicts that such desires oppose.

However, in this contradiction lies the very possibility for resistance, highlighting such a manipulative and paradoxical approach is a powerful tool in our arsenal. Efforts to resist imperialism should therefore be grounded in international solidarity, as these conflicts span the globe and implicate the global elite. Disrupting the representation of such conflicts can have a powerful effect, but to do so we must understand the way that they are waged and the role of ‘peace’ and diplomacy as a tool in their continuation. I hope this essay moves towards such a goal but there is certainly more to be done. International solidarity must go beyond supporting resistance movements but also encompass learning from them. Nazan Üstündağ’s work reflects this, the Kurdish movement is keenly aware of this new mode of conflict and has tried to respond to it as effectively as possible with ideas of self-defence and autonomous governance.

The same might be said of the Zapatistas in their struggle against capitalist ‘development’ and the repressive forces of the Mexican state. After all, it was Subcommandante Galeano (formerly Marcos) who declared the post-Cold War context of globalisation to be a “fourth world war”. A global system of constant conflicts and warfare set to assimilate populations and destabilise any possible centre of resistance to globalisation.

Our understanding of imperialism, capitalism and globalisation must draw on the theory and practice produced by those on the frontlines of this war. The role of ‘peace’ and diplomacy in this process of assimilation is clear and the US-Turkey ceasefire produces a striking example of this. It is imperative that we learn from this example. It should be assumed that such diplomatic efforts are in bad faith and efforts to produce international solidarity should focus on revealing the reality of such processes. The disruption of these narratives of ‘peace’ and ‘security’ is vital to unpicking the forever war’s contradictions and therefore such disruption plays a key role in resisting these conflicts.