Everyday Life for Kurds in Turkey.
Words and Pictures by Hevallo
Metin set out for work on his moped. He was going to paint his uncle's house. As he approached the location of the house, a car overtook an oncoming car and headed directly at Metin. Metin had to swerve to avoid it, narrowly escaping being run down. Furious, Metin screamed abuse at the driver. The car jammed on its brakes, did a u turn and began to chase Metin.
Finally cutting him off and jumping out of his car, the off duty policeman pulled out a revolver from inside his jacket and began to pistol whip Metin in the street. "Don't you know who I am! You fucking filth are killing our brave soldiers in the Southeast...how dare you swear at me in front of our police station. The Turkish policeman dragged Metin to the nearby police station and continued to beat Metin till he was black and blue.
After spending the afternoon in a cell Metin was released in the early evening and came straight home. He arrived through the door shaking, and told us all about his ordeal.
Metin is my brother in law and I was in Turkey to be with my wife's family. I was witnessing again, first hand what it was like to be a Kurd in a Turkish city. "Its because he looks Kurdish. It's normal, they try to intimidate us." said Nisbet, my mother in law after a few moments of deep thought. She said it with a mixture of anger, pride, humiliation, sadness and determination: "We will report it tomorrow to the human rights association." They reported it the following morning.
Nisbet's other son, was tortured, years ago, when the police intercepted a completely innocent telephone call from his wife asking him to "empty the washing machine". His only crime was to support a Kurdish Party. The police arrived at the flat with portable electric torturing equipment and got down to the job of torturing him in his flat. "What was in the washing machine?" "Where is it now?"
The truth, that it was his clothes, and they were now on the washing line did not seem to satisfy them.
The Kurds make up half of the population of nearly 3 million in Izmir and as in every other Turkish city, they do many of the dirty, hard jobs that no one else will do. Three of my wife's cousins come from Van in Kurdistan to work on the building sites.
They work 57 hours a week and have to live on the construction site. There is no hot water, no beds and after they have sent most of the money home to support their family in Kurdistan they are left with barely enough to survive on.
Ali, the youngest at fourteen gets approx £80 a month. "There are about 500 workers on our site" Says Seyhan, sixteen. "Nearly all of them are Kurds." I ask if they all support the Kurdish Freedom Struggle and Seyhan, looks surprised at the question, "Of course they do. We had a meeting the other day. A DTP official came to talk to us. There were about 70 people at the meeting. Everybody supports the struggle but some have more commitment than others."
As soon as Ali, Seyhan and Firat have finished work they go straight to one of the many DTP branch offices dotted around Izmir. Ayhan, who proudly says that Turkish is a foreign language to him and speaks only Kurdish, says, "We want to give up work and work full time for DTP, but our families are relying on us. Even so we may do so very soon."
DTP is very active. One day we went with the DTP youth section to a Kurdish engagement celebration. Carrying plastic bags full of traditional Kurdish clothes we drove through the centre of Izmir in a Dolmus, passing huge Turkish flags and monuments to Ataturk everywhere.
We arrived in a poverty stricken area where it seemed the population was split 60% Kurds 40% Turkish living side by side. Most of the time there seems to be an apparent peace between Turk and Kurd in working class areas. However, it seems that this generally depends on non discussion of The Kurdish Question and/or politics.
The youth group went into a house and changed into their Kurdish dress. There was a bag of Kurdish magazines, (Ozgur Halk and Azadiya Welat) being distributed along with the glasses of lemonade. Then the Zurna (Kurdish flute) and the drum came to life and drew the dancers out of the house. They came out tall and proud, in beautiful costumes of red, yellow and green with both hands in the air proclaiming 'Zafer' (victory).
For the next half an hour they danced with such incredible power and energy. The Zurna, the drum and the dancers fused into one power. Having transfixed all who were watching, they were gone, suddenly again with the sign of victory and to loud applause. I have never seen such dancing in Europe, simply buzzing with the spirit of the Kurdish Freedom Struggle.
Mardin Castle and Kurdish Resistance.
At the base of the flagstaff that flies the official Turkish flag in the Kurdish Quarter of Izmir, Kadife Kale (Velvet Castle) someone as painted 'Kale Mardin' (Mardin Castle) in between to AK47's and just above is scratched the three letters, 'PKK'.
Here was the centre of resistance. Many Kurds came to Izmir from around Mardin many years ago. Their villages burnt and livestock killed they were forcibly displaced as part of the Turkish regimes assimilation policy.
When they arrived the Kurdish women built their traditional baking ovens and organised themselves collectively. But the Turkish state could not tolerate these 'terrorist ovens' and self organisation. They smashed the ovens to pieces. The women built them again, and again they were smashed. The Kurdish women rebuilt them every time they were smashed and now the state has finally given up and they now stand all around the ruins of the castle, symbols of the Kurdish resistance.
It was here that I had come to meet Abdulbakir Alparslan. Abdulbakir works with the Izmir MKM ( Mezopotamian Cultural Centre, for legal reasons it cannot be named the Kurdish Cultural Centre, hence the name.) and has struggled for Kurdish rights all his life. Abdulbakir's son is a Kurdish martyr. Fighting as a PKK guerrilla fighter in 1992, his son was killed by napalm, a weapon which is supposedly banned by international laws.
His body was examined by a state doctor and Abdulbakir possesses documents stamped by the state authorities detailing the 80% burns on his son's body. There were no bullet wounds on his body. Abdulbakir began legal action against the state for this illegal act.
For his fight for Kurdish rights Abdulbakir spent seven months in prison in Nusaybin in 1994. He had been jailed after non-stop torture for 15 days. The torture was horrific and all too frighteningly familiar. His teeth smashed, he was then forced to swallow them. Electric shocks, beatings, falaka, the Palestine cross, hangings, powered water hosing etc.... He was in such a state when finally put before a judge that his lawyers even managed to persuade the judge that he had had his 'confession' beaten out of him and was false.
However no sooner had he walked out of the courtroom than he was arrested again and walked straight into the same courtroom after the police had a word with the judge. He was convicted and sentenced. On the way to prison the police told him he was lucky he was going to prison as they had seriously considered killing him there and then on the courtroom steps.
While he was in prison, Abdulbakir's wife came to visit him. As she was leaving the prison one afternoon, a Turkish armoured personnel carrier ran her over, flattening her body and killing her instantly. When Abdulbakir was released he took the army to court for damages for his wife's death. After pursuing them in the courts and a lengthy legal battle the Turkish state finally offered him compensation for his wife's death, £1.50!
Speaking of his son's and his wife's deaths Adbulbakir uses a Kurdish expression, "Their blood will not be left on the floor!" He continues, "Our lives are not important, we have no fear, it is the Kurdish struggle that is important and I will continue to do all that is necessary for our national struggle."
While we were with Abdulbakir, we paid a visit to the place where Rewsen, the Kurdish martyr, burnt herself in protest at the Turkish state's genocidal policies against the Kurds. Again, even here there was no peace even for the dead. Many memorials had been laid at this spot but no sooner had they been laid than they were destroyed by the police or army. My mother in law crouched down and laid some pebbles and small twigs on the spot and said a long prayer.
Tears rolled down my face.
If any readers have a personal story to tell of their own experience of being Kurdish and living in Turkey, please write it down and send it to me at
Hevallo@gmail.com. Each experience helps to explain The Kurdish Question.
Abdulbakir:
http://hevallo.blogspot.com/2008/04/eve ... urkey.html