Türkçe Evrensel | Français | English

By Ayşen Şahin, pub­lished on July 11 in Turk­ish on Evrensel.

To the author­i­ties concerned…

Have you ever had to go scroung­ing for your bread mon­ey sev­en storeys underground?

You, have you ever had to bury your col­leagues with your own hands because the mines that were sup­posed to belong to the State had been pri­va­tized and that the cap­i­tal’s back was being stroked, such that job safe­ty was not introduced?

You, have you ever gone to Ankara, not com­fort­ably set­tled in mil­lion dol­lar, bul­let-proof vehi­cles, but on foot, in the cold and the storm, or with the sun scorch­ing your forehead?

You, have  you ever called for jus­tice before the tri­bunal, or at the door of your own par­lia­ment where you were denied entry?

You, have you ever attempt­ed to look 453 chil­dren in the eyes after they were left father­less because of negligence?

You, have you ever earned mon­ey at the sweat of your brow?

You, have you ever slept on the con­crete to obtain your rights

You, have you ever had to dri­ve along a an end­less road for days, with­out suf­fi­cient sleep?

How many tombs have you vis­it­ed in your life, you?

They marched to Ankara exact­ly 16 times, because you have ignored the rights of 888 work­ers, while eras­ing mil­lions in tax debts for those horse­trad­ing among them­selves lands worth hun­dreds of millions.

You have wrapped and cov­ered up bil­lions in lies, but you haven’t kept your word for 25 mil­lion you had promised for rights on real jobs.

They lay on the con­crete for 6 days, you were able to look them in the eye and say: “If we grant you your rights, it will cre­ate a prece­dent for others.”

Where­as at the Izmir earth­quake where your min­is­ter per­formed a show in front of the cam­eras, risk­ing in this way to waste the pow­er on the phone of some­one still buried under the debris, the min­ers broke off their resis­tance, so they could work at the res­cue effort.

Not in order to obtain bonus­es, not by cut­ting off the traf­fic with pro­to­co­lary con­voys such as yours — putting the lives of hun­dreds of peo­ple at risk — but so as to save even only one life by putting their own on the line.

You, you have nev­er gone down in the mines and have nev­er asked what were their problems.

Shar­ing the min­er’s grief and woes does­n’t mean wear­ing the same shirt two days in a row. You, you don’t have a clue what it means to share grief and woes.

You know, the weapons you’ve hand­ed out like bread­rolls are reveal­ing them­selves now. Now, the wheel of jus­tice is turn­ing in your direc­tion. Now, con­front­ed by all those clam­or­ing for their rights, you are blind, deaf, you are tear gas and rub­ber bul­lets. Now, you in your man­sions under high sur­veil­lance, in your con­voys ten vehi­cles long, in your crowd­ed meet­ings, in the good-sol­dier media under your orders, you think of your­selves as the impor­tant ones, the ones that matter.

Although they know they are the tar­gets of the weapons you dis­trib­uted, armed with the strength of throw­ing a mon­key wrench in your wheel, of stand­ing upright before your secu­ri­ty forces, of work­ing for their com­rades rather than for them­selves, not expect­ing even one cen­time of per­son­al prof­it, of resist­ing for their rights, good orga­niz­ers, love­ly per­son, they are Tahir Çetin and Ali Faik İnt­er who were the tru­ly impor­tant ones, the true lead­ers. They died because of you. Know this for the fact it is. Next to lead­ers of work­ers’ resis­tances, what are politi­cians that come and go?

This is the short­est arti­cle I’ve ever writ­ten in my life.

Because mourn­ing is harsh, it swal­lows up long words.

Because these are days where anger can­not fit inside the words.

Because the more love­ly per­sons die, the more we remem­ber that our time is limited.

Now, if you looked at oth­er sources that your bought medias, you would see and hear the sen­tence “their mem­o­ry lives on in our strug­gle” and would not even stop to think about it. Know that the bur­den of this sen­tence is heavy for those who say it.

It means shoul­der­ing their strug­gles. What is tak­en on is the stub­bor­ness, the courage, the heart and the dreams of two union leaders.

In oth­er words, you might read this as fol­lows: hence­forth, the objec­tive is to carve their names at the entrances of nation­al­ized mines so that their mem­o­ry will live on, your pho­tos will be removed from the walls, your brass name plates pulled off your doors,  and your names list­ed as those respon­si­ble for all these deaths will be found on the envelops of let­ters addressed to pris­ons, just above the num­ber of your cell block.

Their mem­o­ry will live on in our struggle.

With us, when we say we will not for­get, we do not forget .

We will not forget.

For your information…

Ayşen Şahin


Translation by Renée Lucie Bourges
You may use and share Kedistan’s articles and translations, specifying the source and adding a link in order to respect the writer(s) and translator(s) work. Thank you.
Auteur(e) invité(e)
Auteur(e)s Invité(e)s
AmiEs con­tributri­ces, con­tribu­teurs tra­ver­sant les pages de Kedis­tan, occa­sion­nelle­ment ou régulièrement…