On July 20, in the mainly Kurdish border town of Suruc, a suicide bomber claimed the lives of 32 and injured over 100 peace activists who wanted to contribute to the reconstruction of Kobani, the Kurdish town that survived the Islamic State (IS). The suicide bomber, Seyh Abdurrahman Alagoz, an ethnic Kurd and citizen of Turkey, was allegedly an IS member.

As mainstream media outlets blamed IS for the attacks, the outlawed Kurdistan Workers Party (PKK) executed two Turkish police officers in their homes on July 22. While the PKK assumed responsibility for the deaths of two policemen, so far no accomplices of the Suruc suicide bomber have been arrested. Several individuals who were protesting the bombing were taken into custody.

Allegations have come from the left-wing, pro-Kurdish Peoples' Democratic Party (HDP) and the Republican People's Party (CHP) that the Turkish government and National Intelligence Agency were behind the Suruc massacre. Meanwhile, access to several Kurdish media outlets such as Dicle Haber and Firat News has been blocked in Turkey. Internet service slowed on and off for several days at the end of July.

Since the Suruc massacre, 23 security personnel have reportedly been killed by the PKK. Incrementally, TV news is focusing solely on stories of those who were killed, kidnapped policemen, attacked government buildings and assets, along with bomb threats. Turkish audiences have not seen this many funerals since the early days of the conflict in the late 1980s. For decades, the governments have silenced the press from reporting on the funerals of terror victims — particularly if they are security officials — for various reasons, including showing the weakness of the Turkish state and highlighting the failures of military policies against the PKK terror. Hundreds of families have buried their sons quietly and grieved alone. Indeed, Turkey has seen the Veterans Agency under investigation, its chairman arrested and veterans struggling without government support. In one well-publicized case, as recently as November 2014, the government sought to reclaim the prosthetic leg of a veteran who could not pay for the operation. There was a time not many people wanted to hear the stories of those who were killed, of their loved ones left behind or of veterans’ post-war problems. Today, funerals are packed with the top echelon of the Turkish government, as Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoglu and other ministers are photographed holding the hands and drying the tears of victims’ families. The media gives the names of the fatalities, details their stories and elaborates on how they died fighting for their country.