How Turkey’s Parliamentary Peace Commission Failed its Democratic Promises
by Nisan Alıcı & Güley Bor
Parliaments can aid peacebuilding and transitional justice processes not only through their legislative functions but also as democratic mechanisms where different views over conflicted periods are represented, contributing to dialogue and social consensus on peaceful co-existence. In this blog post, we focus on one such parliamentary mechanism in Turkey – the National Solidarity, Fraternity and Democracy Commission (hereafter, the Commission) established under the Grand National Assembly of Turkey – specifically regarding civil society participation, gender equality, and transitional justice demands. We draw on findings from our September 2025 report on the Commission as an ad-hoc mechanism, published by the DEMOS Research Collective, as well as recent developments in the peace process.
Turkey’s New Peace Process and the Commission
The peace process between the Turkish state and the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) has been progressing slowly, with few concrete steps by the government until now. Announced unexpectedly by the ruling Justice and Development Party’s (AKP) coalition partner, the far-right Nationalist Movement Party (MHP) leader Devlet Bahçeli in October 2024, the process has largely unfolded through top-down and backdoor negotiations, with clear tensions on expectations from this process. The government has adopted a strictly securitised conceptualisation of peace, what they call ‘Terror-free Turkey’, focused entirely on demilitarisation. This is an extension of the Turkish state’s historical securitisation of the so-called Kurdish issue and the current government’s intensified crackdown on the Kurdish political movement amidst a decade of worsening authoritarianism. In contrast, the PKK has put forward a vision of ‘Peace and Democratic Society’, seeking to address certain inequalities that led to the conflict. Despite these fundamental disagreements, negotiations are proceeding, albeit slowly. Following jailed PKK leader Abdullah Öcalan’s call to lay down arms in February 2025 and the party’s decision to disarm and disband in May 2025, a group of PKK members symbolically burned weapons in southern Kurdistan with civil society representatives present as observers in a historic ceremony in July 2025.
Partly responding to calls to ground and secure the process democratically, the Commission was established in August 2025 as an informal parliamentary body, consisting of MPs from all but one parties represented in the Parliament. Per its bylaws, the Commission’s objectives were ‘to completely remove terrorism from Turkey’s agenda, strengthen social cohesion, reinforce our national unity and brotherhood, and undertake efforts in the areas of freedom, democracy, and the rule of law’ through working on legislative proposals and informing the broader public on the process.
As the only tangible mechanism through which civil society could contribute, the Commission raised expectations that this peace process could promote democratisation after all. Yet its mission and working methods remained unclear, even to its own members. Established almost a year into the process, it offered an official but invitation-only channel for civil society and conflict-affected groups to present their views, inevitably raising questions about access and inclusion.
Following 21 sessions in which a total of 137 persons were heard, the Commission concluded its work in February 2026 – a surprisingly short amount of time for a Commission with such ambitious goals. Its concluding report reflected the ‘terror-free Turkey’ framework, with its language heavily securitised; it provided broad recommendations regarding legislative proposals for the peace process, such as demilitarisation, reintegration, and legal assurances to those involved in the negotiations. Importantly, the report only briefly touched upon democratisation demands, recommending (in a total of four pages) strengthening fundamental rights and freedoms and reforming the penal execution regime and the counter-terrorism framework, among others. It made no mention of cultural rights, for instance. The report highlighted a ‘unique and national perspective,’ supported by government representatives’ repeated emphasis on a home-grown process with zero interference from third party countries, mediators, or guarantors. While locally grounded and context-specific processes are essential, this framing also suggests an attempt to retain total political control over the process through an authoritarian conflict management approach, limiting broader participation and scrutiny. Despite being framed as a home-grown process, there has been little meaningful space for community actors, victims, and survivors to shape its direction.
The Commission’s work reflects this limitation. It failed to generate social ownership of the Commission’s work or the peace process, rather functioning largely as a platform to collect demands without concrete next steps. The lack of meaningful participation, insufficient attention to gender, and the failure to address transitional justice demands undermined the Commission’s legitimacy and led to a missed opportunity to socialise this peace process.
What is Missing from the Commission’s Work?
Firstly, the participation of affected groups and communities and civil society remained symbolic. While the Commission heard a range of voices, it excluded others and failed to ensure meaningful participation. The criteria used to determine invitees was unclear, with the final list appearing to represent a middle ground. For instance, among the first to be invited were organisations of soldiers and law enforcement and their families, as well as the Saturday Mothers/People (movement of activists and families of the forcibly disappeared) and the Peace Mothers (movement by mostly Kurdish mothers who lost their children in the conflict). However, the Commission did not permit Peace Mother Nezahat Teke to address the Commission in her mother tongue, reproducing structural inequalities against the Kurdish language and identity. Meanwhile, LGBTI+ organisations were not invited despite having been recommended by some political parties and the LGBTI+ movement’senthusiastic engagement with the process, which is unsurprising given the government’s targeting of this community. These examples demonstrate the boundaries of acceptable inclusion within the process.
Secondly, attention to gender equality was lacking both in the Commission’s structure and outputs. Although women’s and LGBTI+ movements have consistently asserted their role in peacebuilding and insisted on being included from the outset, only 9 of the 51 Commission members were women, and while some women’s and youth organisations participated in hearings, the final report makes no reference to gender equality or a gendered perspective on conflict and peacebuilding. This absence is not simply a matter of representation but reflects a broader rejection to integrate gender as a substantive dimension of disarmament and the peace process amidst the government’s worsening anti-gender politics.
Thirdly, the Commission barely engaged with transitional justice demands, even with regards to enforced disappearances, one of the issues raised by victims-survivors of the conflict in their initial submissions. The Saturday Mothers, during the 5th session, demanded truth and justice for their forcibly disappeared relatives, accountability of perpetrators, and the establishment of a truth commission under the Commission. Despite the wide media coverage of this session and the significance of these demands in building a democratic future for the country, the final report made no reference to transitional justice mechanisms, truth commissions, or dealing with the past. This represents one of the Commission’s most significant shortcomings, especially given the centrality of truth and justice demands among those most affected by the conflict.
Conclusion
Although the Commission initially raised expectations that injustices at the heart of the conflict would be publicly and substantively addressed, its work remained limited. Rather than transforming participation into influence, it appears to have functioned largely as a mechanism to appease communities affected by the conflict and respond to broader social opposition to authoritarianism. Despite the opportunities that this formal space for participation presented for peacebuilding, the Commission showed once again that formalistic participation does not equal meaningful inclusion or impact. The Commission appears to have failed the objectives it set for itself to strengthen social cohesion and promote democratisation.
This also raises questions about the broader parliamentary and political context. The effectiveness of such ad hoc mechanisms depends on political will and genuine openness to pluralism. In the current context of systemic weakening of the opposition, evidenced most recently by the politically motivated court decision to remove Özgür Özel, the elected chair of the main opposition party, and the crackdown on social movements opposing the NATO Summit held in Ankara, the Commission reflects the limits of parliamentary involvement in peace negotiations by a government with no political will for democratisation. In the meantime, the key legal framework for the advancement of disarmament is expected to be brought to the parliament before the summer recess. This new legislation is likely to affect thousands of individuals including the PKK fighters, those imprisoned for PKK-related charges, and those in exile, therefore will mark a crucial milestone in the peace process. However, there are concerns that the government’s proposed legislation may have a narrow scope on laying down arms rather than paving the way for democratisation, pointing yet again to differing expectations and conceptualisations.
Considering the failures of the Commission that was tasked with contributing to social cohesion, democracy, and freedom, there appears little prospect that the proposed legislation will account for ways forward for democracy and social peace. Without civil society taking ownership and victim-survivor groups becoming leading actors, this ‘unique and national’ process risks remaining confined to a top-down framework, which will hinder any possibility of achieving sustainable peace.
