Speech Has a Price — So Does Silence

Rastinews — I met Rastî at a moment when I badly needed to express myself, in an atmosphere where pressure on freedom of expression has grown broader and more varied. Finding it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. I begin by extending my warmest greetings and respect to Rastî's founders, its longtime staff and its readers. I will now try to contribute to this outlet as best I can, writing on current affairs as they come to my pen.

I am a lawyer, but I will not speak as an expert or an authority on any subject, law included. I will speak instead as an ordinary person — though one who speaks according to the weight and demands of the identities he carries. I am a Kurd, a father, a husband, a brother, a lawyer, a socialist, a democrat by my own lights, a human rights defender. Every person's most important identity is surely the one that goes unaccepted, rejected, pushed to the margins. That is why, in this life, I have spoken — and will go on speaking — first from my rejected identity, not from the ones that are already accepted and answered.

If these are the days when Kurdish identity is making global headlines more than ever, then that will be our subject too. We will talk about literature, music, philosophy, technology, human history and much else besides, whenever the moment calls for it. But as long as our existential identity as Kurds is denied and rejected, we will go on living bound to that identity, almost imprisoned by it. This is the pain of existence itself, and until it is resolved, we remain incomplete — and will stay incomplete.

At the outset, one feels the need to take stock: how did we get here, where do we stand, what do we have to show for it, what has all this brought us and what has it cost us. Let us sketch the picture in broad strokes, clear our heads, and only then turn to the question that never goes away, whatever the problem: what is to be done? The answer to "what is to be done" may have to wait for later columns, since this one may not even suffice to lay out the picture in full.

We have arrived here through massacres built on denial, unsolved murders, burned villages, endless arrests, torture, exile, political bans and party closures. The armed uprising's toll is heavy too: close to 100,000 dead on both sides, more than 100,000 held in prison, more than 3 million refugees, 3,500 villages emptied, more than 17,000 unsolved killings, close to 15,000 dead in the war against ISIS in Rojava, and around 3,000 killed during the occupation of Afrin…

Even before the PKK's armed struggle, Kurds spent the whole of the Republic's history refusing to accept the fate assigned to them and the denial imposed on them. They barely paused: they organized according to the conditions of each era, rose up, sometimes took up arms and sometimes the pen — but they never stopped.

At this point, as repression and denial continue under the mullah regime in Iran, a linked process is under way in Turkey and Syria. In Syria, what was once a bright picture has shrunk to talk of scraps of rights, and even what those amount to — or will amount to — is still unclear. In Turkey, as the authoritarian regime grows ever bolder, the Kurdish question is being reduced to nothing more than disarmament. And in Iraq, the relatively free, autonomous — even federal — structure that has stood for thirty years still has not broken free of the grip of partisanship and tribalism.

That, more or less, is the picture. What is being done, said and written today makes our heads pound, upends what we thought we knew, clouds our minds, and at times drives us to rebel against everything and everyone.

POLITICAL CONFUSION

Even if the process under way in Turkey were a genuine peace process — which, to my mind, it never is — or even if it amounted to nothing more than disarmament, the toll alone calls for a period of mourning. In that frame of mind, I have lately found myself listening to songs from the 1990s — "Vaye PKK Rabû," Ciwan Haco's "Lawê Min," Şivan Perwer's "Lo Me Çi Kir" — playing them over and over in a mood of mourning, with an inconsolable grief. But driving the other day, I suddenly remembered Cem Karaca's "Beni Siz Delirttiniz." Its lyrics still ring true today, and hearing them in Karaca's own voice — the voice whose echo carries the words and the melody straight into the soul — I found myself thinking about his final years. "You wronged yourself too," I said, and felt sorry for him as well. In short, it is hard to keep hold of our senses when so much around us is enough to drive anyone mad.

Then I searched for the word that would describe the state I was in, mentally and spiritually, and the only one that fit was confusion. Confusion is a medical term, but nothing stops us from using it by analogy. Its clinical definition can be summed up, broadly, as clouded consciousness, impaired perception, an inability to gather one's thoughts, and difficulty making decisions. That is precisely what we are living through. We may not be clinical cases, but it is plain that we are experiencing a mental fog severe enough to cause memory loss, and the sole cause of it is political developments. That is why I call it political confusion.

At times like these, expressing oneself is just as hard. It is not only our minds that are clouded — everything we see is clouded too. We rub our eyes and look outward again and again. Neither the world outside nor our own minds grow any clearer, because the air is thick with perception operations, manipulation, efforts at legitimizing, and attempts to save face. Naturally, our nerves fray.

It is difficult to act with a clear head, to express our thoughts, without wronging anyone or giving in to anger. If avoiding injustice is not one of our concerns, then causing discomfort becomes unavoidable — because in times like these, the truth itself is the most uncomfortable thing there is.

Those who obscure the truth replace it with insults, barging in like a bull in a china shop. At the same time, some circles who imagine they are the ones speaking the truth resort to insults instead of it, or alongside it. The truth ends up under siege from both sides, and suffocates. Yes, expressing our thoughts is hard enough, but resorting to insult is a form of helplessness — it means having no thought to express, or being unable to counter opposing views. Unfortunately, in this climate of mutual insults, the voices of those actually trying to express a thought go unheard.

THE FACTS CLOUDING OUR MINDS

Every person passes through many upheavals over a lifetime. These are episodes — recounted, left behind, recalled only when some reminder brings them back, and by the time they are remembered, the distance can even bring a smile, because life is tragedy when lived and comedy when told. But the identities that have shaped our lives, defined our stance, given meaning to our existence are not episodes. They cannot be left behind. Even the most apolitical Kurd cannot leave Kurdishness behind. For a sincere democrat, democracy is indispensable; and for anyone conscious of what it means to be human,

human rights — which ensure that everyone is seen and measured by the same standard — are an indispensable value as well.

All of these are under intense attack — targeted for destruction, intimidation and suppression. And this is not a short-term assault: the violence against them has been building for years. There is no will on a global scale to protect these values, either, so those who defend them have been resisting and fighting for a long time. Naturally, everyone is worn down, exhausted, battered by upheaval. To borrow the title of a film currently in the news, it is "A battle after another," without a pause.

But what produces this political confusion is not only the intensity and constancy of the attacks, or the exhaustion they cause. It is also the way one's own line turns into zigzags, the erosion of political demands and theses, the slide from once-grand claims to a point where even the bare minimum no longer holds.

No one can look someone who views the world with a sober, clear mind — someone who is weighing events on their merits — in the eye and say "everything is fine." No one can say "gains equal to the balance sheet have been achieved." No one can say "what we defended yesterday, we defend today as well." No one can say "an effective, results-oriented policy has been produced; the right moves have been made; the right diplomacy, the right organizing, has been carried out." No one can say that in the calls, the perspective, the meeting notes and the teleconference contents we have managed to access throughout this new process, there is no problem whatsoever — that everything is as it should be, everything is in its place. And most of all, as we so often encounter, no one can say "why are you speaking, what are you criticizing, what have you done," or "this is none of your business."

Set aside the right to speak that comes from seeing oneself as part of the problem — as someone who owns it, who lives it. Purely on an intellectual level, as a matter of an intellectual's responsibility, anyone should be free to voice their views and assessments on a problem, no matter where in the world it occurs. Besides, most of those who raise uncomfortable opinions are not out to wear anyone down. They speak because they are hurt by what is happening, because they are disappointed, because they do not want mistakes to be made.

Just as we invite the other side to confront the truth and name the problem correctly, we too must manage a courageous confrontation with ourselves. Whoever made the mistake, we must accept that a mistake was made, so that the truth can be found — otherwise there is no way out of this interregnum.

Writing in more detail about the issues fueling this political confusion is a matter for another piece, but a few examples are worth citing so the points we cannot avoid discussing are understood in outline. Many of us, for instance, believed violence should have been ended long ago, and at the time those who said so were sharply put in their place. Today we learn from the meeting notes that Öcalan told the parliamentary commission, "I meant to end it in '93, but it didn't happen."

The notes from the İmralı meetings held throughout that first round of negotiations, shelved in 2015, are in the hands of almost anyone who wants them, or within anyone's reach. Those who want to refresh their memory can go back and see how, in those notes, Öcalan called on his interlocutors to take things seriously, and what he said would happen — what he said he would do — if there was stalling and the process collapsed. They can see how declarations of autonomy and self-governance led straight into urban warfare. Back then, people like me, who said arms should never be taken up again, were turned into objects of hatred. Today Öcalan describes administrative autonomy and culturalist demands as a swing toward extreme nationalism, and can even say that culturalist demands do not fit the sociology of historical

society. It must be said plainly: I don't think anyone has paid enough attention to — or understood, or is pretending not to understand — the written texts that have come out of İmralı.

It is fair to say that almost everyone followed the process assuming the written texts didn't really matter, burying their concerns in the expectation that some agreement surely existed behind the scenes and that serious steps would follow — only to break away from that belief once they saw what the government did in Syria. Everyone knows who aimed the barrel at whom in Aleppo, and on whose orders the trigger was pulled. Everyone also knows who has kept Kobani under siege, despite the process, despite the sermons on brotherhood. Two years ago Bahçeli said, "The Arab tribes must act together with HTS" — and did that happen? It did. At least a year and a half ago Bahçeli said, "Syria's new name should be the 'Syrian Arab Republic'" — and did that name appear on the backdrop at the press conference held by Hakan Fidan and al-Shaibani? It did. While the process was under way, did Bahçeli say, "Turkey has never had a Kurdish problem, and it never will"? He did. And in the end, did that claim turn up almost as a thesis in the MHP's commission report? It did. Meanwhile, at home, law and democracy have been steadily shelved, and Akın Gürlek became justice minister — what more is needed? Is it really possible not to see the intent, not to understand what is being attempted?

It is quite clear that the process has been turned into a trade in hope, and the message being sent is that even the smallest steps will be taken only once everything has been settled to Erdoğan and Bahçeli's liking. There are countless undemocratic, unlawful practices that need no legislation at all to end — ending them depends solely on a declaration of will. That declaration is even made, yet the practices are not ended; instead the message is, "Fine, we'll do it, but there's time, we haven't gotten there yet — you just go ahead and do everything required of you."

If our position is truly so powerful, shouldn't we act with that awareness? If we know that the Erdoğan-Bahçeli alliance is in a difficult spot both at home and abroad — the economic crisis cannot be overcome, a formula for getting Erdoğan re-elected is hard to find, and even if one is found, winning the election is hard — shouldn't we take care not to become partners in the wreckage they have created, not to lend them strength and legitimacy even when talks are held? Is there no other possibility? Is this power, as Fukuyama put it, "the end of history"?

Do those running this process today — the same people who, in the recent past, said "the Kurdish problem cannot be solved without democratization; democracy for Turkey, status for the Kurds" — not see that both have been utterly destroyed? Isn't what has been done in Syria aimed at making sure the Kurds don't get so much as a village headman, if that can be helped? Isn't the sole reason for what has been done to the CHP the fact that the CHP is, or could become, an alternative candidate for power?

Since the process began, I have written pieces assessing it, and my basic approach has never changed. I have said, over and over, "As with everyone else, one can talk to them too — but they cannot be trusted, they must not be given credibility, one must not smile in their face."

Faced with today's political situation, countless people are being forced to choose between "being a good party member" and "being a good Kurd" — or even "being a person committed to the truth." It's fair to say that countless people are caught in a dilemma, weighing every last detail so as not to be unjust, trying to do what is right.

In the pieces that follow, then, I will try to assess in detail the examples above that create political confusion, the direction and intent of those in power in Turkey, and the call, the meeting notes, the messages and statements coming out of İmralı — to explain what has been said, or what I understand by it, and

what results these have produced, or their share in today's picture, and to try to share my thoughts on what the process might bring from here on. As I said above, I think the call, the perspective, the meeting notes and the other statements have not been properly understood, or that hardly anyone is interested in their content. Admittedly, behind the need to interpret and explain what has been said, and behind the fact that no one is actually debating it, lies the fact that people cannot put forward their own view against it. We know the need for interpretation arises precisely because no one has had the chance, or the opportunity, to openly debate it with whoever made the statement.

Not only on political matters — whenever it's relevant, I will also share my thoughts on legal issues, where I think I know at least a little, and on other current topics.

Let me say one last thing: if I am saying we are in political confusion, then naturally this piece has taken its share of that too. I found it quite hard to gather my thoughts. I tried not to lose all sense of proportion, but I can't say whether I managed it or not. Respectfully…

In the end, let me say I will share the Kurdish translation of everything I write, every time.

Our task is to reflect on truth, to write for the light; truth spreads through reason, light through the word — may the road of Rastî stay open...

Respectfully... Respectfully...