'Cut one braid, a thousand more will grow': Solin Nirvana on the defiant power of Kurdish women's hair as a symbol of resistance

In Kurdish culture, a woman's braid is more than just a hairstyle — it symbolises beauty, history, identity, and resistance, and it has even appeared in literature, poetry, and 19th-century Western art, such as painter Frank Insati's No. 24 (1832), depicting a Kurdish woman from Amed.

The braid's symbolic weight makes it all the more devastating that a deceased Kurdish fighter from the Women's Protection Units — an all-female force established in 2013 that helped combat the Islamic State group (IS) — had her braid violently cut off by a man.

Although the woman's exact identity has yet to be confirmed, the man in question is Rami Addahesh, a member of the Syrian Army, who appeared in a video that surfaced on 23 January, in which he bragged about cutting the fighter's braid and parading it as a war trophy following clashes between the army and the Syrian Democratic Forces in Raqqa.

Not expecting the video to go viral, Rami claimed the braid was fake — yet few found his confession amusing, especially since he is the father of five young girls. 

Outraged and hurt, women — and men — took to the streets from London to Erbil, braiding their own hair or others' in public as a form of protest in what has come to be known as the 'hair braiding campaign'.

Chanting 'Jin, Jiyan, Azadî' — which means 'Women, Life, Freedom' and gained global prominence after the 2022 killing of Jina Mahsa Amini in Iran for not wearing her hijab — the campaign has come to symbolise protesters' transformation of a personal cultural practice into a collective act of resistance against oppression.

And whether it is flowers woven into the braids, ribbons in the colours of the Kurdish flag carefully wrapped around them, or bright green leaves threading their way through the hair like new shoots, the message is clear: cut one braid, and a thousand more will grow.

The campaign is more than a message — it confronts the alarming impunity of gender-based violence, especially in digital spaces where perpetrators face few consequences.

One stark example is the way the IS, at the peak of its power, used its platforms to traffic women and girls — particularly Yazidi women — facilitating their sale into slavery and death.

Fearing a resurgence of such war crimes, activists are leveraging the campaign to pressure authorities to prosecute perpetrators, strengthen laws against gender-based violence, and combat online hate speech.

In doing so, the campaign has therefore also become a statement on protection standards that transcend administrative boundaries — a message made especially urgent as the political transition in post-Assad Syria creates new vulnerabilities for women in displaced and minority communities.

As protests and acts of solidarity continue, The New Arab speaks with Kurdish artist Solin Nirvana, based in Erbil and long exploring the significance of the Kurdish hair braid in her work. She explains why the braid remains such a powerful symbol of resistance for Kurdish women, and for a people whose defiance, like their braids, cannot be undone.

Cutting hair, breaking spirits

"It's a very sh*tty reason to be killed. She sparked resistance. She sparked a revolution." Solin says this very plainly, but in fact, she's reflecting on her 2022 artwork Hair Massacre, inspired by Jina's killing for not wearing a hijab, and how she recently shared it again on social media to highlight the ongoing oppression of Kurdish women, like the recent case of a soldier cutting off a female fighter's braid.

"For Kurdish women, this wasn't the first time we were labelled as 'Kafir", as non-religious," Solin tells The New Arab. "So, I put the colours of the Kurdish flag in the artwork, because when Daesh [Arabic acronym for the Islamic State group] was capturing the girls, they humiliated them by pulling and hurting their braids. Recently, we saw that one of them cut a braid after killing her, and he was proud to have it. Hair represents femininity, of course, and for all women — and especially for us — it is something very valuable."

Solin notes that the artwork itself was made using her own hair, emphasising, "All our female fighters wear braids. It doesn't distract them from fighting. It is practical, yes — but more than that, it is symbolic. It is a strength. It is grounding. To cut a braid, especially after someone has been killed, is not just the humiliation of one person — it is an insult to an entire people, an entire community.”

As Solin describes, this community spans generations — even including her grandmother, who always wore her hair in two braids with pride.

Looking back, Solin recalls, "When my grandmother brushed her hair, and strands fell out, she never threw them away. She kept them — in a bag or in her pocket — until she found a proper place for them. Hair was never considered waste."

Solin also draws a connection to Kurdish women who wear the Hawri, a thin, silk-like scarf with traditional patterns that covers the chest while allowing braids to fall neatly beneath it. "The women who wear the Hawri take good care of their hair. Even if the ends get weak or worn, they only trim a little — they never give up their hair because it's precious to them," Solin explains.

"Their long braids are always kept under the Hawri, and if they get too long to stay neatly tucked, they simply tie them twice, so they don't slip out."

Seeing through these two individuals just how precious hair is to Kurdish women, Solin says that if she could speak to the man who cut the soldier's braid, she would tell him: "I have so much anger. I have so much rage. But this is where they are raised — this is a culture that humiliates people.

"War itself does not force you to humiliate others. It's about two people, two sides, representing two nations, and one of them may be killed for the land. That is the concept of war: you fight, and whoever wins, wins. That's it. There is no need to humiliate. But what we saw here — this act — was something we had only ever seen in Daesh."

Blooms of defiance

Turning to the widespread participation in the hair braiding campaign protests, Solin feels both pride and heartbreak — moved by the solidarity they inspire, yet painfully aware that Kurdish women continue to be humiliated and forced to display their suffering for the world to recognise the atrocities committed against them.

Still, Solin emphasises the campaign's importance. From the very beginning, when the protests first emerged, to this day, she has never missed a single call to the streets of Erbil. Proudly, she holds one of her newest artworks —  inspired by the cutting of the braid — high for everyone to see.

Titled Kezî û roj, berxwedan û jiyan (Braid and sun, resistance and life), she describes the piece as a tribute to Kurdish women, whom she calls "children of the sun, connected to the earth, grounded in resistance, loyal to our land — and whose braids honour femininity."

According to Solin, this time she used her mother's hair instead of her own. Placing it on a canvas, she added leaf-shaped fabric to show "how hair grows and how it blooms," and to reflect a slogan that emerged from the campaign: 'If you cut one braid, a thousand more will grow'.

As for her other recent piece, titled Berxwedana kezîyê ye, ji bo aştiyê (Resistance of a braid, for the sake of peace), Solin honours Kurdish women fighters with a collage that places a braid alongside a rifle, creating a powerful visual statement of femininity and resistance united in the struggle for their people's freedom.

Reflecting on the artwork, she shares its overall message: "Where her braid resists, her soul blooms, her enemy fears, and her people rise."

Defying betrayal 

Looking ahead — especially amid ongoing clashes across Syria — Solin believes the Kurdish people have moved beyond the phase of surrender. "At this moment, Kurds are united," she says. "Everywhere we shout 'Bijî Kurdistan' — long live Kurdistan, long live the Kurdish people."

She explains that this unity has been forged through repeated betrayals. For decades, Kurds have sought coexistence and demanded their rights, only to see those efforts fail. She points to the fight against the IS, in which Kurdish forces — including women fighters — played a decisive role, only to be abandoned afterwards by former allies such as the United States.

Kurdish women, she notes, remain especially vulnerable, facing danger as fighters, activists, and symbols of resistance. For Solin, this reality has led to a hard conclusion: Kurdish people — and Kurdish women in particular — cannot rely on others for protection.

She explains that the new generation of Kurds has decided they would rather remove the white stripe from the Kurdish flag — the stripe that represents peace with other nations and communities — because after repeatedly choosing peace and coexistence, only to be met with betrayal, they have turned their focus to defending their nation and their land.

Zainab Mehdi is The New Arab's Associate Editor and researcher specialising in governance, development, and conflict in the Middle East and North Africa region 

Follow her on Instagram: @zaiamehdi_/@zainabmehdiwrites_