Syria's feminist fortress

In a society riven by conflict and misogyny, the autonomous region of Rojava in north-east Syria has a government with perhaps the most complete gender equality in the world

- Natasha Walter in Rojava

"Woman, life, freedom"

BEING A WOMAN," says the woman standing on the stage in front of me, "doesn't mean I am just here to raise children. Being a woman means that I am here to write history. Women can speak. We can sing. Nobody will silence us." There is a roar of approval around me.

I'm in a huge conference hall in Hasakah, a city in north-east Syria. The woman on the stage, a singer called Mizgîn Tahir, has bobbed curly hair and wears boots and a skirt, while the women around me are dressed in varied styles - some in floor-length Kurdish dresses with sparkling embroidery, others with headscarves and plain coats, others sporting Yazidi headdresses with hanging beads. All are cheering. Tahir has finished her speech and is about to return to her chair, but the women in the hall won't let her. "Sing for us!" they call. "Sing!" She goes back and sings, her rich voice flowing through the audience. When she has finished, the hall of women rise to their feet to chant "jin jiyan azadi" ("woman, life, freedom") with their right hands raised in a victory sign.

I've come to this conference hall on my second day in northeast Syria, an area also known as Rojava. My journey here took me from Iraqi Kurdistan across the Tigris river, where white egrets tread the slow water, and then into the bleak landscape that is northern Syria in winter. Here, treeless fields stretch out into the distance, the air is smoky with burning oil and armed men at checkpoints scrutinise you every few miles. So I feel warmed and energized to find myself among so many determined, passionate women.