The Destar: A Kurdish Emblem of Community and Connection to the Land

Erbil (Kurdistan24) - In the dappled sunlight of a village courtyard in Sarnijmar in Eastern Kurdistan, a scene of profound and timeless simplicity unfolds. Against a weathered brick wall, four women and a man, mothers and fathers of the village, are seated on the ground in a semi-circle. Dressed in the traditional Kurdish attire, their presence is one of quiet dignity and focus. At the center of their gathering, an ancient tool dictates the rhythm of the afternoon: the Destar, a traditional Kurdish hand-mill.

One woman leans forward, her hands firmly grasping the wooden handle, and begins to turn the heavy upper stone. The sound that rises is elemental and rhythmic, a soft, grinding whisper of stone against stone, a sound that has echoed through the valleys of the Zagros mountains for millennia.

As she works, her companions watch, their conversation flowing easily, a young boy darting playfully in and out of the frame. This is not merely a chore; it is a ritual, a communal act of transformation that turns the bounty of the earth into the sustenance of life, and in doing so, tells the enduring story of the Kurdish people.

This ancient hand-mill, traditionally crafted from two round, heavy stones, is far more than a simple agricultural implement. It is a powerful emblem of a deep-seated agro-philosophy and a focal point for the communal values that define Kurdish society.

The Destar's construction is elemental, consisting of a stationary lower stone, the binik, and a rotating upper stone, the ser. As the ser is turned by hand, its weight and friction meticulously grind wheat, barley, and other grains into life-sustaining flour. While modern milling techniques have become widespread, the Destar has persisted, its significance re-emerging with potent force during times of hardship.

In periods of political embargo and severe food shortages, this humble tool has become a vital instrument of survival, a powerful symbol of Kurdish resilience and unwavering self-sufficiency.

The importance of the Destar is inextricably linked to an agro-philosophical worldview that sees the seed as the sacred genesis of life and the land as a divine provider. The lands of Kurdistan are part of the Fertile Crescent, the very cradle where, some ten thousand years ago, humanity made the monumental transition from a nomadic hunter-gatherer existence to a settled agricultural life.

This history is not confined to archaeological textbooks; it is a living heritage woven into the fabric of mythology, oral histories, and folklore.

As research from Diyarbakir's Memory, a historical project, has shown, the region around Karacadağ is where DNA evidence indicates Wild Einkorn wheat was first cultivated. The journey from gathering wild grasses to consciously planting and harvesting them is a narrative that fundamentally shaped the course of human civilization, and it began here.

Archaeological findings from sites like Çayönü Tepesi, dating back nearly 12,000 years, reveal the gradual but profound integration of grains like Emmer and Einkorn wheat into the daily diet, evidenced by the discovery of stone hoes, sickles, and the remnants of consciously stored piles of wheat.

For the women of Sarnijmar, the rhythmic turning of the Destar is the final act in this ancient narrative. It is a form of communion with the earth, a continuation of a story that begins with the planting of a single seed.

Wheat, in particular, holds a hallowed place, symbolizing nourishment, abundance, and the sacred. Bread is never just food; it is a blessing, and the process of its creation is treated with reverence. The grinding of the grain is a physical manifestation of this respect, a tangible expression of gratitude for the land’s bounty.

Crucially, the sound of the Destar is rarely a solitary one. As seen so vividly in the Sarnijmar courtyard, it is a communal heartbeat. The often arduous task of grinding grain was traditionally a collective activity that brought the women of the village together.

As the heavy stone was turned, the courtyard would transform into a vibrant social space. It was here that stories were shared, songs were sung, news was exchanged, and the powerful bonds of kinship and friendship were reaffirmed and strengthened.

This shared labor turned a mundane necessity into an event that reinforced the social fabric of the community, a space where support was offered and traditional knowledge was passed from mother to daughter.

The flour produced was then used for communal baking, the resulting bread shared during festivals and ceremonies, reinforcing the mutual dependence that is a core value of Kurdish society.

Yet, this story of abundance and community is also deeply etched with the memory of hardship and struggle. The history of wheat in Kurdistan is a political and economic one as well. As historian Dr. Uğur Bayraktar notes, the 19th and 20th centuries saw dramatic shifts in land ownership, with the Ottoman Land Code of 1858 and the later seizure of abandoned properties leading to the concentration of vast, wheat-producing lands in the hands of politically powerful beys and aghas.

This created a social structure of exploitation, and the very grain that symbolized life could also become a source of immense suffering. In the late 1870s and 1880, a devastating famine, exacerbated by the Russo-Turkish War, drought, and a harsh winter, led to the deaths of tens of thousands in the Diyarbakir region.

A letter from a community leader published in 1880 paints a harrowing picture: "The people are devastated because of a great famine; the price of bread is at least sixteen-times higher than normal... the streets are full of beggars and many of them perish in hunger." This crisis culminated in the Diyarbakir bread riot of 1880, a desperate uprising against merchants who were stockpiling grain and selling polluted flour at exorbitant prices.

Viewed against this historical backdrop, the scene in Sarnijmar takes on an even deeper resonance. The simple, self-sufficient act of grinding one’s own grain is not just about tradition; it is an act of independence, a quiet declaration of the ability to provide for one's family outside of fragile and often unjust economic systems.

The Destar is overwhelmingly a tool of women, and its continued use is a profound testament to their vital role as the custodians and transmitters of cultural heritage. In a society that has often been patriarchal, the domain of food preparation has remained a space where women’s knowledge, skill, and authority are paramount.

Through the simple act of turning the stone, generations of Kurdish women have not only nourished their families but have actively preserved ancient practices, fostered community, and ensured the survival of their culture through the darkest of times.

The knowledge of how to select the right stones, the specific technique required for different grains, and the stories that accompany the work are all part of a rich inheritance passed down through the matrilineal line.

The rhythmic, scraping sound that rises from the courtyard in the village of Sarnijmar is therefore more than the sound of grinding grain. It is the sound of history, the sound of community, the sound of survival.

It is the enduring song of a people, a testament to their unbreakable bond with the land and to the quiet strength of the women who have always been the keepers of its most vital traditions.