Agos, 4 August 2006
You’ll all know what it feels like. Sometimes troubles come in droves.
You feel you are caught in a crossfire.
A friend dies, a loved one falls ill, and at the same time, just as you are reeling from a treacherous blow from the state delivered in the political arena, you are devastated by a reproachful slap on the wrist from one of your own, someone you thought would be on your side.
You feel forced into a corner. You feel like crying out, “Enough!” Just then, a hand reaches down into that labyrinth of troubles, pulls you out to greet the dawning of morning light, and whispers these words in your ear: “Come on, keep going, fight back, hold on, never give up.”
***
This is how recent weeks have been for me. One day it was the news that Reha Mağden had passed away, and the next day came the news that we had lost Duygu Asena. One day we heard that Ali Bayramoğlu was ill, then the next day it was Mehmed Uzun. One day the state’s Supreme Court sentenced me to six months for a crime I did not commit and the next day people from my own community — although only a few of them — declared, “Serves you right, you deserved worse.”
This must be how it feels to be trapped in a labyrinth.
But then, hands extend towards you, from near and far. Some you know, some you don’t.
These wonderful people collect signatures, release petitions. They become accomplices in that crime you did not commit, and with the same determination they place you right in the centre of the struggle.
“Come on, keep going, fight back, hold on, never give up.”
One of the people who extended his hand towards me was our Rafi, from Melbourne, Australia. Unable to bear it any longer, he wrote President Sezer a letter. He also sent me a copy. The full text went as follows:
“My Esteemed President,
As I begin my letter, I kiss your hands in love and respect, and offer my prayers for your health and success.
My Esteemed President, I am a citizen of the Republic of Turkey of Armenian descent, who lived in Turkey until the age of 40, and has lived in Australia for the last 18 years. My father worked as a tailor for some of our distinguished leaders, such as the late Celal Bayar, the late Adnan Menderes, the late Cemal Gürsel and the late Cevdet Sunay, and he emigrated here 13 years ago. He passed away 3 years after he came here, longing for and constantly talking about Turkey. My Esteemed President, I speak no language other than Turkish. I am a person who lives alone, with Turkey in my thoughts at all times; I spend my time reading the papers from Turkey, and listening to news from Turkey.
Meanwhile, I find myself stuck between two camps when it comes to Turkish-Armenian relations, and thus I was among those who invited Hrant Dink and Etyen Mahçupyan here.
I listened to, and understood well the speeches Hrant Dink made in 2003 and 2005 in Sydney and Melbourne. The ‘poisonous blood’ phrase for which he was tried and sentenced was aimed not at Turks, but at Armenians. He said, clearly and with great emphasis, “Stop bothering yourself with Turks, expend your energy on the poor people in Armenia.” He drew reactions from many Diaspora Armenians because of this. But the positive outcome of all this was that he managed to convince hundreds of Armenian youth who have grown up here, level-headed people, of his ideas.
And, my Esteemed President, Hrant Dink is an intellectual who wants the people of Turkey and Armenia to live together in harmony, and who struggles and strives to achieve this. Those who declare Hrant Dink an enemy are themselves the enemies of Turkey. They are the ones who for centuries have brought harm upon Turkey.
My Esteemed President, I wrote this letter trusting you would forgive my presumptuousness, and knowing that you are a dignified, modest, honest and exemplary person. My only wish and hope is that, both in your heart and in your conscience, you find Hrant Dink free of any offense.
My Esteemed President, I once again kiss your hands with love and respect, and offer my prayers for your health and success.
Rafael Demirci.”
***
You’ll all know what it feels like. Sometimes troubles come in droves.
You feel you are caught in a crossfire.
A friend dies, a loved one falls ill, and at the same time, just as you are reeling from a treacherous blow from the state delivered in the political arena, you are devastated by a reproachful slap on the wrist from one of your own, someone you thought would be on your side.
You feel forced into a corner. You feel like crying out, “Enough!” Just then, a hand reaches down into that labyrinth of troubles, pulls you out to greet the dawning of morning light, and whispers these words in your ear: “Come on, keep going, fight back, hold on, never give up.”
Thank you, my friends. Thank you, Rafi.
***
How grateful I am for all of you.