Voices Unheard
Poetry workshops with Ezidi participants combined reflections on fears and hopes following the 2014 genocide, leading to some evocative pieces of new works. We listened to the prominence of oral traditions in Ezidi history before channelling thoughts into lyrical pieces of writing, conveying a spectrum of emotions and themes from Shingal to the lack of international action and justice on genocide declarations.
Doors of Shingal
Before, our doors stood open.
Guests arrived with greetings, not hatred,
and were welcomed as they came and went.
Our windows were filled with sunlight.
We had little bread,
but our hearts were open to everyone.
Then genocide came as blood and fire,
leaving nothing untouched.
Now our homes lie in ruins,
and there are no open doors.
The light is still the same light,
but there are no eyes left to behold it.
The days are still the same days in Shingal,
yet many houses rest beneath the soil.
The light remains.
Our wishes remain.
And the voices of the missing remain, forever and ever in Shingal.
Listen to audio here
So began a poem written by four Ezidi participants—Dalia, Sufian, Dildar and Firos— in a poetry workshop in a community centre in Bransinghausen near Hannover. We began these in June 2026, engaging Ezidi as “poetic participants,” some of whom had never written a poem in their life before. It was a moment to reflect on the genocide and its aftermath with an imaginative lens, to channel something that was brutally destructive into something that is vitally creative. Participants on the first day brainstormed what they would like to focus on. The theme of “the future” became prominent. They proceeded by dividing their thoughts in terms of fears and hopes about the future.
In terms of fears, the following themes were covered: most profoundly was the existential struggle in terms of the continuing existence of Ezidi people. Another was the fear of losing their language and its meaning especially in the diaspora. Added to this were changes to the content and names of their language, traditions, and history by not just the Kurdistan Regional Government but also the people in Iraq. Participants felt that there needed to be an effective structure that could represent Ezidi people. They added that even their spiritual and religious organisations had been manipulated by dominant authorities. Controversially was the way politicians both in Iraq and overseas were using people in the name of the Ezidi community. Additionally, the strength of Islam as against the weakness of Ezidi people seemed indomitable in virtually all countries where Shingali Ezidi who suffered the most lived, effectively becoming “a minority within a minority within a minority. This view was compounded with the vitriol of hate speech targeting Ezidi people. The double standard policies in western governments furthered Ezidi ordeals especially when they declared a genocide but then threatened those who had been subjected to it with deportation. The fact of more than 2,700 children and women who are still in captivity somewhere continued to dishearten; as did the dangers that circulated around the IDP camps in north Iraq and the blockades against returning to their homes in Shingal.
Hopes resonated around the relative freedom of the people in western countries. This included the financial support of people in Europe for families in Iraq. The resistance and resilience rejecting the deportation of other Ezidis was also paramount. Increasing international awareness of the Ezidi cause was heartening, helped by Ezidi people who are professionals and/or have gained expertise in western countries as part of various organisations and projects. There were signs of unity emerging as with the Ezidi Cause Alliance; advocates who came together to resist occupation of their homes; and a social media funding campaign to build a football ground in Shingal, where within a few hours, $100,000 dollars was raised. Recognition of Ezidi legal identity in places like Australia and Nebraska in the USA was also a boost.
Based on a constellation of ideas, Darwish, who had been living in Germany since 2023 but who had his appeal to stay in the country recently rejected, wrote the following poem:
Our Shingal
From the deepness of the genocide
It reminded us of 73 genocides
Again they open to kill and massacre
Again they change our demography
And the loss of our language and ethnic identity
The preventing measures of people in the camps
And the impact on our injured Shingal
And the international and fake justice
They disappoint us
But on the holy land it is still clear our perseverance
Our voice is painfully cracking
It has reached to the four corners of the world
From the pain of ferman [genocide]
The injured Shinjar
In the tents of the camp
This year has darkened
Listen to audio here
In the second poetry workshop, we were joined by Nijwan Haji, a poet from Cologne, also studying Energy and Building Engineering at the university. He had arrived in Germany in 2016 after the genocide. He writes his poetry in Arabic and German and was especially inspired by the use of language by Goethe and Nietzsche as well as in Ezidi traditions. Ezidi culture is unique due to its emphasis on orality for both religious and cultural practices. He discussed the import of stories that have passed through generations. Singing about each aspect of culture as well as nature is entwined in their traditions and lives. Even if women did not become prominent as public figures in poetry, song and music, they were crucial in inspiring and supporting male singers and poets throughout the centuries. Singing was common when men went out to fight against genocidaires, for instance. Songs about loss and lamentation were adapted to singing about the many genocides against Ezidi people.
We listened to some stran about the events of a genocide, a chronicle of past events put to poetry and music. Virtually all the participants had been listening and participating in Ezidi songs and poetry since childhood. Now it was time for them to put all this embodied knowledge into creative practice. We include some of their outputs here.
Maher, a survivor from Da’esh captivity and now a citizen working in a German battery-making factory, wrote the following poem:
Shingal: The Sorrow of the Mountains
Oh Shingal, oh sorrow of the mountains when they weep,
And homes drift to sleep upon the breast of ash.
Oh homeland of souls, how many a flower has withered,
and how many a mournful moon has departed.
Your fields used to smile in their silence,
But today, a flowing tear dwells in your eyes.
The mountain called out: "Where are the children?"
And the evening wind burst into tears,
and the stalks of wheat bowed their heads.
The loved ones vanished down desolate paths,
And you remained alone, while longing for fierce combat.
Yet despite the wound, you rise tall and proud,
For the dawn, after the night, is inevitably coming.
Oh Shingal, the warmth of your homes shall return,
And to the ancient dwelling, its people will come back.
And your name shall remain a poem in our hearts.
A beautiful sorrow…
that neither dies nor fades away.
Listen to audio here
One participant, Fawzia, had only escaped Da’esh captivity in 2024 from Gaza where she had been trafficked for a decade since the age of 8. She worked with Farhad to come up with some thoughts and themes. Together they wrote the following:
One Dream, One Voice
I was taken at eight,
carried through shadows and distant lands.
I lost my father,
and my mother remains far away in Shingal.
Some days I am sad,
some days angry,
some days tired beyond words.
Yet I carry one dream:
to see my mother again,
to live together in Germany,
and finally call it home.
I also carry a voice
for the children who were taken,
for the families still separated,
for my Ezidi people who suffered genocide.
I will tell my story,
so the world will know what happened to us,
so the missing are not forgotten,
and so justice may one day be found.
People presented and then discussed the poetry. They felt the power of poetry through the depth of its rhythmic words. They noted how the strongest poem focuses on one idea, rather than try to cover everything. Some could fully imagine and see what was spoken. Others felt satisfied in being able to share one of their creative outputs: “It makes me feel happy when I read it out. It reminds me of things in the camp, sitting down, talking, waiting and waiting…for what we did not know. When I say those words, there are images that come to my mind of those times.”
Others were both happy and sad. Saad, who has also started writing his own novel, said:
“Poetry makes me feel better. But sometimes not. Other people may feel sad, may even cry. Remembering the genocide: no one wants to do that. People want to forget genocide. But for justice we need to go back there. If the International Courts hear us, some of us will need to go back to the genocide for justice.”
Another participant noted how: “12 years later people are tired of genocide stories. But through poetry we can understand from the inside-out, not from the outside. We can try to empathise more with what Ezidi people went through.”
All felt that the workshops were well-organised and that a spark had been ignited to write more poetry. It was another way to continue advocating for truth and justice. We end with a poem by a participant who had also escaped the Da’esh onslaught in 2014, and is now living in Paris.
The Fall and Rise of Ezidi
The fall of Ezidi is like the fall of rain and snow
on the dry Shingal mountain, gentle at first, then heavy, carving rivers through stone.
Mothers search empty roads for daughters stolen,
fathers sit in camps with hands full of nothing.
Thousands missing, swallowed by genocide,
names erased in silence, graves left unknown.
No seats at the tables where power is shared,
no strong voices, no justice, only broken words.
Political winds blow hard against them,
promises fade like footprints in the dust.
Yet from these camps a new generation rises,
children of pain with fire in their eyes.
They speak loud, they name the genocide,
truth-tellers standing tall, refusing to hide.
International light now cuts through the dark,
recognition grows, a steady, growing spark.
The world begins to hear their ancient cry….
a shield against forgetting, a hope that will not die.
O Ezidi future, strong as Shingal stone,
may the missing come home and the camps turn to green.
Let new voices roar louder than fear or pain,
justice awakens, your light shines again.
The peacock angel spreads its wings once more.
Ezidi, you endure. Ezidi, you rise.
Raminder Kaur and Farhad Shomo Roto
