Activist – Akam Omar Mohamad
From here, I want to declare that the bullet that killed Sardasht Osman was not an isolated act of violence, but rather a manifestation of the systemic terror wielded by the ruling powers in the Kurdistan Region. This terror targets the most vital force in society: the youth. Sardasht Osman, like Soran Mama Hama before him, and later Kawa Garmiyani and Widad Hussein, were victims of a formalized system of repression. These young men believed in a future where power would be reclaimed by the people, not inherited like royalty. For this, they were silenced.
Sardasht was killed — but why? Because he dared to criticize the Barzani family? Because he dared to question their wealth, their politics, and their unchecked power? Because he refused to accept a reality in which state power serves a family, not a people?
Sardasht dreamed of becoming Masoud Barzani’s son-in-law — not out of personal desire, but as satire, as a mirror to expose a regime where access to opportunity depends on family ties, not merit. He condemned a society where education does not lead to employment unless one is connected to a powerful official. He rejected a system where those in the presidential palaces live in luxury while the peshmerga — those who defend the land — are left with nothing.
His father, who once shared shelter with Idris Barzani in the mountains, is now without work or bread. Sardasht questioned this injustice. He wrote: “If I cannot find a future in this system, then let me vanish — let me die.”
Tragically, he was taken seriously.
Sardasht’s pen, his voice, his ideas, reached far — too far for those who fear truth. They could not tolerate a writer who dismantled their tribal pride and feudal narratives. But he gave us more than critique — he gave us vision. He made young Kurds believe in the possibility of change, even if he was denied the right to bring that change to life.
Sardasht showed us the right path, even though it was dark, narrow, and dangerous. I got to know him through the pages of his writing — it was there I first read his words, there I first greeted his soul, and there I now honor him.
I don’t believe he is truly gone. No truth he wrote was empty, and the only thing he did wrong was speak that truth.
His death is a tragedy for every voice that is silenced by those who refuse to hear the call of justice. In Kurdistan’s capital, they wash their hands of Sardasht’s blood, pretending they are not responsible, while the same forces continue to suppress ideas, to commit spiritual assassinations, to strangle the minds of the free.
Sardasht was not just the son of Osman. He was the son of a people — a nation that has struggled for decades to find peace, justice, and pride. His writings reflect the story of that nation, fighting tyranny yesterday in the mountains, today in the cities — against regimes and corporations alike.
Those like Sardasht always live under the shadow of death. But still they choose truth. In an occupied homeland where people are thrown into prison cells and tortured for nothing, how can one not choose death over humiliation?
Totalitarian systems turn society into a zoo. Sardasht refused to become an animal. He said, “I cannot live like this. I am a human. I will not accept this system.” And because he chose dignity, they refused to let him breathe the same air as them.
A thousand salutes to Sardashts of yesterday and Sardashts of today — those who keep walking the hard path toward freedom. Martyrdom in the name of justice does not end, so long as freedom has not been fully won.
Sardasht, rest in peace. Your blood will not be forgotten. We will follow your path, not as mourners, but as those who carry your hope. You preserved the philosophy of journalism for us. That is why I say: may your grave be filled with light.