OZGUR TEKE had high hopes after Turkey’s elections in June sent the moderate, pro-Kurdish People’s Democratic Party (HDP) to parliament for the first time. Mr Teke, who owns a small window-blind factory in the largely Kurdish city of Diyarbakir in Turkey’s east, had watched talks between the government and the HDP over a Turkish-Kurdish peace deal make hesitant progress over the course of two years. The militant Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) was observing a ceasefire. Negotiators reached a roadmap to an agreement. Then, last month, the war between the Turkish government and the PKK suddenly reignited. “Just when a solution was appearing, it’s like someone pressed a button,” says Mr Teke.

Since late July, the sound of warplanes taking off to strike PKK bases has resounded daily over Diyarbakir. The PKK has struck back with attacks across Turkey’s south-east. At least 20 Turkish security personnel have been killed, and the violence is spreading. On August 10th in Istanbul, a policeman died in a bomb attack by Kurdish fighters, and two leftist terrorists opened fire on the American consulate.

In Diyarbakir the reigning response is dismay. “We voted for peace; instead we got war,” says one disillusioned resident. Anger has redounded on the governing Justice and Development (AK) party, which many accuse of relaunching the war in order to drum up Turkish nationalist sentiments after an electoral setback. Party officials deny scrapping the peace talks. “We want to continue the process,” insists Muhammed Akar, the AK party’s provincial chair. Rather unconvincingly, he blames other countries for trying to destabilise Turkey.

In Turkey’s south-east, memories of the savage fighting between the Turkish army and the PKK in the 1990s are still fresh. Since it erupted in 1984, the conflict has taken more than 30,000 lives; over 3,000 villages have been forcibly emptied. “In 30 years, we saw that neither side can win militarily,” says Sahismail Bedirhanoglu, a local businessman.

Today Kurds’ feelings about the PKK are mixed. Most say the militants have the right to retaliate. Others resent the roadblocks the group has established, which hurt local trade. PKK attacks are also reducing the HDP’s room for manoeuvre. “People don’t want this war,” says Imam Tascier, an HDP deputy.

Yet every day is carrying Turkey further away from peace. The funerals of security personnel, broadcast on television, inflame Turkish tempers. Some Turkish nationalists vilify Kurds as terrorist sympathisers, deepening the polarisation. Human-rights groups say over a thousand Kurds have been detained in the south-east in the past few weeks. Allegations of maltreatment are spreading.

Many warn that the situation could spin out of control. Young Kurds born in families displaced by the earlier conflict tend to support the militants. In October 2014, protests against Turkey’s lack of support for the Syrian Kurds fighting Islamic State (IS) led to street violence in which nearly 40 people died. Meanwhile the autonomous area carved out by Kurdish fighters in Syria, which they call Rojava, is fuelling dreams on the Turkish side of the border too. In Kurdish towns, the fresh graves of young fighters killed in Rojava, festooned with flowers and flags, testify to the growing numbers joining the struggle.

Civil-society organisations say there is little time left to avert disaster. “The calls for weapons to be silenced have never been so clear or so loud,” says Nebahat Akkoc, a Kurdish women’s-rights advocate. Yet she acknowledges that the peace process has suffered a critical blow.

De-escalation is not yet impossible. In the unlikely event that coalition talks between AK and the Republican People’s Party (CHP) bear fruit, the atmosphere could improve. Giving Kurdish delegations access to the imprisoned PKK leader, Abdullah Ocalan, who has been isolated since early April, would help restore confidence. “I’m not without hope,” says Tahir Elci, head of Diyarbakir’s bar association. “Both sides know that the violence needs to end, but no one knows how to get out of it.”