Every­where, urbi et orbi, since the begin­ning of this dead year, peo­ple have rebelled against injus­tice and the priv­i­leges of the cor­rupt gorg­ing with all their might, except, today, in Turkey where dark­ness reigns.

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I can’t start men­tion­ing all the peo­ples from Sudan to Chili, from Lebanon to Bolivia, from Hong Kong to Alge­ria, and even in France who expressed their anger in 2019 against their States pro­tect­ing share­hold­ers of this preda­to­ry cap­i­tal­ist world.

And, every time, women were in the forefront.

These rebel­lions take up with a recon­sid­er­a­tion of a sys­tem which isn’t sat­is­fied with being inequitar­i­an but destroys every­one’s plan­et for the sake of the holdy and sacred mar­ket. And, just like in Jacques Brel’s song where “you hear big slurps”, the soup of news pro­duces images that pass quick­ly on the TV screen…that pass, that pass…And noth­ing stops.

You know, each TV sta­tion does a year-end ret­ro­spec­tive or col­lec­tion of bloop­ers. The for­mat is uni­ver­sal. In it, peo­ple’s strug­gles are briefly men­tioned, as if they had already been thrown into the garbage dump of his­to­ry and were gone…urbi et orbi.

In our region, where the grey wolves have invad­ed the bor­ders, cur­rent­ly dis­guised as Jihadists, and tear at bod­ies with their nation­al­ist fangs, the rumors con­cern­ing the upris­ing in Gezi five years ago have been replaced by mil­i­taris­tic howl­ings, accom­pied by war­like Koran­ic surates. No more rioters.

urbi et orbiKemal’s cap of wolf fur dec­o­rates the arrow of minarets. And the por­trait has an hon­ored spot in the Reis’ office.
And when a dis­si­dent one rais­es his or her head, it is always from with­in a prison cell, toward the barred window.

Just recent­ly, when a few women dared to dance in the street, like the women in Chili, denounc­ing fem­i­ni­cides, they were placed in cus­tody, dragged through the mud by some of the so-called Left, and accus­es of being West­ern fem­i­nists. They were lucky not to be accused of being Kur­dish or Armenina…

Ene­mies are cir­cling Turkey and infil­trat­ing it…Let’s all rush to the Dar­d­anelles and save the Republic!

In pass­ing, you can take the oppor­tu­ni­ty to dig a shov­el­ful for the future Bospho­rus canal.

Not con­tent with rias­ing sources of blood on the Syr­i­an bor­ders where the Turk­ish sol­dier, the child grey wolf, teams up with recy­cled mem­bers of ISIS, the Reis is now dream­ing of a Libyan adven­ture, no doubt in search of the Empire’s lost territories.

His already ex-best friends in Idlib are rinsed with chlo­rine by Russ­ian and regime Syr­i­ans, vio­lat­ing the Astana process he ini­ti­tat­ed; no mat­ter, Erdo­gan wants to go saber rat­tling against of a knight­ed mar­shal around Tobrouk …Urbi et orbi… The tale does­n’t men­tion if he’ll eat don­key sausage first, to build up his strength. Robos­ki don­keys1, this goes with­out saying.

Plus, there are those women and chil­dren in West­ern Africa, reg­u­lar­ly assas­si­nat­ed by obscure ones, Islam traf­fick­ers of forced sex and cig­a­rettes, offer­ing an excuse for ex-colo­nial armies to defend, here some min­ing inter­ests, there some influ­ence trafficking…Most orbi in this case.

While vom­it­ing this year of 2019, I saw all this go by, and more, in the gut­ter over which I was lean­ing. And I had a thought for tomor­row’s trash col­lec­tors. Will they be Chil­ians, Alge­ri­ans, Lebanese, or still Kurds…?

In 2020, I promise, I’ll stop paint­ing every­thing black. I’ll turn to red.

Translation by Renée Lucie Bourges
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