Sing That Song

M. Selim Çürükkaya

       "Translated from the Turkish By Zeynep Simsek,      Yuksel Serindag, Kelly Stuart, Helin Karaca, Erdal Kose and Aliza Marcus"

Sing That Song

M. Selim Çürükkaya
Copyright: © 2014-M. Selim Çürükkaya
published by: epubli GmbH, Berlin
www.epubli.de
ISBN 978-3-7375-0536-9

Cover Design:  Soma Ma Diya Cürükkaya

By Zülfikar Tak

1        

Diyarbekir military courtroom, the Seventh Army Corps Martial law  commander in Seyrantepe. A single story brick and concrete building surrounded by soldiers and tanks. Inside, on the courtroom’s far wall, words etched out of stone declare: “Justice is the Foundation of the State.” Below the words is a bust of Turkey’s founder and first presi dent, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk. His likeness is carved out of gypsum and bronze. His eyes stare out at the court.

It is Apeil 14, 1981. The court is in session. A long wooden table is at the far end of the room, close to Ataturk’s bust. Five seats are at the table. Starting from the left, the first chair is filled by the military prosecutor, Bulent Cahit Aydogan, who wears a black robe and red collar. After him comes Judge Niyazi Erdogan, the only civilian, then two more military judges -- Emrullah Kaya and the Chief Justice, Major Kemal Kavi. They all wear a black robe with a red collar. The prosecutor Aydogan is in his early forties, the youngest at the table. Judges Erdogan, with a red face, and Kaya, burly, and surly with a deep, loud voice, look in their late forties or early fifties. The Chief Justice, who looks in his sixties, never speaks.  A court stenograoher  sits at a table just in front of the judges. She has a typewritter and a stack of files in front of her. The four defense lawyers are a little to the side of the stenographer’s table Two of them are young with mustaches, one is middle-aged with grey hair and the fourth one looks elderly. They are watching the prisoners with a mix of wonder and horror. Their uneasiness is apparent. Behind the lawyers is a place for the media, but just five reporters have entered the builing. No cameras are allowed. One foreign reporter has hidden a small camera in his mouth and he has now moved it into his hand. When he feels it is safe, he snaps a photograph.

On the right and left sides of the court are commandos in blue berets. They hold machine guns that are pointed at the defendants. Their fingers are on the triggers, ready to open fire if needed. The defendants sit facing the court, separated by a wooden railing. They have been brought from Diyarbakir Military prison.The months of torture and abuse have deadened their eyes and slowed their movements. The starvation in the prison has wasted their bodies. Tuberculosis is beginning to spread. But these prisoners haven’t given up. They have refused to accept the military rule that sees to destroy their spirit and strangle their identity.Among of 400 prisoners there are two women Aysel Ozturk and Fatma Celik. Aysel’s husband is also one of the prisoners in the courtroom but Aysel hasn’t yet found him. She looks around, trying to match her memory of her husband against the gaunt faces and hunched bodies of those in the courtroom. She hasn’t seen her husband in six months, not since the torture began in earnest. She knows she has changed. She’s afraid for her husband.

The prisoners are sitting in line. Around them are soldiers shouting: “Heads straight, hands on knees, eyes on the slogan on the wall.” Soldiers raise their batons and smack prisoners who don’t appear to be looking straight ahead. All this is happening in front of the judges and lawyers.  But the court isn’t paying any attention. Prisoners begin to shout: “Your honor, we are being tortured,” and “Your honor we aren’t allowed to use the toilets, we have to urinate on ourselves.”

The judges pay no attention. “My girl,” begins Judge Emrullah Kaya, speaking to the stenogropher, “write that all the prisoners have been brought, in and that everybody has taken their seat. We open the session now, at 9 a.m. and we will start with identifying the defendants..” Judge Kaya turns to the prisoners and says, “We will call you to the front one by one, and you will identify yourself.”

The first prisoner called is Mazlum Dogan. He is seating in the front. He stands. He is about 27 years old, very thin and very pale. Because of the torture, he hasn’t slept more than a few hours at a time in months. He can barely stand. He looks at the judges and prosecutor in front of him, and at the guns pointed at him from the sides and the truncheons danglings from the hands of soldier  Judge Emrullah Kaya calls out to him, “Come to the bench!”              

Mazlum Dogan replies, ”No, I will not identify myself.”

Emrullah Kaya asks, “Why?”

Mazlum Dogan looks at him bitterly. “Everyday there is torture in the jail.”

He points at the guns that are aimed at the prisoners.

“Look at these guns aimed at us before your eyes!”

He points again at the commandos, whose guns are posied to open fire on the prisoners .

“Look at these guns waving over our heads!”

He points to the other prisoners.

“Look at these people’s condition! Can there be a fair  trial in this environment?”

He points at the wall behind the judges.

“Look at what is written behind you. It says that justice is the basis of the state. There is huge contradiction between that and what you see before you! What you see here, our condition, proves that the writing on the wall is false. That this state does not rest on justice but on repression and violence. This means you aren’t a real court. You aren’t interested in justice. Thus, I refuse to identify myself.”

Mazlum Dogan sits down.

Emrullah Kaya calls the next defendant: “Mehmet Hayri Durmus.”

When Mehmet Hayri Durmus stands up, all the defendants turn to look at him. He appears to be even thinner than Mazlum Dogan,  maybe because he’s taller. He is also very weak, the result of weeks of a death fast that many of the prisoners had launched to protest their mistreatment.

Emrullah Kaya nods at him: “Hayri, go to the defendant’s chair and identify yourself. Don’t tell us about any problems. What is happening in the jail doesn’t concern us. That’s for you to discuss  with the prison administration.” M. Hayri Durmus doesn’t move from his seat: “You are imperialist court. Kurdistan is under invasion. You are not free as a court either. You are operating as a tool of the Turkish colonialist powers.You are supporting and helping to implement the policies of torture and degredation. You are working with the fascist state to destroy the Kurdish people. You ignore what is happening to us, especially what is happening to us in the prison. Under these circumstances, I refuse to identify myself.” He sits down. The judge, Emrullah Kaya, calls Kemal Pir. Kemal gets up with a nimble move. His cheeks are sunken. He ignores the judges. He looks to the other prisoners. “I agree with my friends Hayri and Mazlum and I am refusing to state my name.”

With a angry voice Emrullah Kaya calls out the next defendent:

“Ferhat Kurtay!”

Ferhat has trouble standing.

“I will not declare my identity either,” he says, and sits down.

Emrullah Kaya:

“Necmi Oner!”

“I agree with my friend Ferhat,” he says.

Emrullah Kaya calls the next person:

“Mahmut Zengin!”

Mahmut Zengin doesn’t even bother to stand up

“Pass,” he shouts.

Emrullah Kaya points to another person:

“Esref Anyik.”

Esref Anyik stands: “ There are inhumane cruelties happening in Kurdistan. People are dying,” he says, as the commandoes lift their truncheons and start to beat him.

Emrullah Kaya calls out another name:

“Selim Curukkaya.”

One of the two female prisoners, Aysel, turns in shock. That is her husband’s name being called. She looks at the man who is rising to his feet.“Oh my God! What has happened?” she murmers to herself. She doesn’t recognize him. He has tubercu losis and his eyes are sunken, his cheeks sallow. His hair has fallen out, maybe from the slow starvation in the prison, and he is very thin. Aysel rememebered him from before, when he was her husband and they were not prisoners, but the man standing in front of the court doesn’t look like the man she is married to. Even his eyes are dead. 

Selim looks at the court committee.

“Because the torture hasn’t ended and the court here isn’t a real court, I refuse to state my name,” he says, sitting down.

Emrullah Kaya understands that the court will not be able to continue. Prisoners must acknowledge their names and birth places. Without that, the court cannot proceed. He confers with the other judges and then announces:

“It is decided that a letter will be sent to the 7th Commander Corps, informing the commander that the prisoners have refused to cooperate with the court. Until a decision is made how to proceed, the prisoners will be sent back to jail.”

The judges exit through a side door. The lawyers and the few journalists are pushed through the front door. When the court room is empty, except for the prisoners and soldiers, a man in a dark coat, and blue hat, with deep, dark circles under his eyes, barks an order at the soldiers. The man is Lt. Esat Oktay Yildiran, he is in charge of prison.

“Soldiers, do as necessary!” he says.

Soldiers start beating the prisoners with their truncheons. There is screaming and shouting. Prisoners are thrown to the ground and handcuffed. Blood pours from their faces. Some are tied together with a chain and dragged to the van outside. Just before the door of the van is shut, a soldiers comes out of the courthouse dragging one man by his neck.

 “What is your name, asshole?” shouts the solidier

”Adem Nezan,” says the man.

2

In 1982, Adem, a small, chubby, grey-haired man about 45 years old, was arrested on the order of the Court of Martial Law of Diyarbakir. He was taken from his apartment house by miltary car to Number 5 Diyarbakir E Type Prison. When he got out of the military car, the big iron gate swung open noisely. A soldier grabbed Adem by the back of the neck and pushed him through the door.

3

Mustafa Kemal's portrait hung on one of the hall’s grey walls. The first two stanzas of the Turkish national anthem were written on the opposite wall. Underneath the stanzas, a bust of Ataturk had been placed on a thin white column.

The chief sergeant and half a dozen soldiers were waiting for the new prisoner. The sergeant screamed at Adem. "You S.O.B.! Look at the wall on which the National Anthem is written."

Adem looked at the wall

Another soldier shouted, "Stand at attention, you idiot!"
The soldier began to hit him with a stick. Soon, the other soldiers joined in. Adem fell down under the blows of the kicks, truncheons and sticks. Then, as quickly as it started, the beating ended.

"Stand up," said a voice.

Adem slowly dragged himself up.

"Attention!" the voice said.

Adem painfully adjusted himself. “Sing the national anthem.”

Adem sang  the national anthem as loudly as he could.

Fear not, the crimson flag, waving in these dawns will never fade
Before the last hearth that is burning in my nation vanishes.
That is my nation's star, it will shine; That is mine, it belongs solely to my nation. Oh coy crescent do not frown for I am ready to sacrifice myself for you! Please smile upon my heroic nation, why that anger, why that rage? If you frown, our blood shed for you will not be worthy. Freedom is the right of my nation who worships God and seeks what is right. 

4

After he sang the national anthem, the soldiers took him into a long corridor. He walked nervously between the commandos-two on his left and two on his right. He kept his head down but he could see legs to his left and legs to his right. The legs were encased in military fatigues. The corridor was the main route through the building. After a while, they stopped in front of the officer who had stopped the beatings by calling him to attention. The man was Esat Oktay Yildiran, although Adem didn’t know that. All he knew was that the man sounded so differet than those who met him with beatings when he arrived at the prison. The captain was very polite and spoke kindly. "I hope you are okay, Sir," said the captain.

The prisoner was grateful for the attention. "Thank you, Sir,” he answered.

“You have been in detention for a long time, Sir, haven't you?” asked Esat.

"Yes, Sir." replied Adem.

"My son, you look dirty. Perhaps you haven't listened to the news for some time as well. Would you like to be placed in a room with TV or with bath?"

The newcomer dreamed of a room with a bath. "I would like to placed in a room with a bath."

Captain Esat turned to the commando soldiers and gave the order. "Kids come here!" Four commando soldiers stood before him at attention.

Captain Esat said, "This gentleman wants to go to the room with a bath! Help him! Rub his back in the bath! Let him take a nice shower! Afterwards let him have a nice sleep! Understood?" The soldiers replied in unison. "Yes, Sir!"

                                        5

The commandos took the man to a cell in what was known as the 36th ward. The Diyarbakir E type cell section was a four floored structure. There were ten cells on each floor. Every cell was 5.5 meters square and contained a concrete platform that doubled as a bed, a toilet in the back, and two faucets for washing. When the toilet pipes clogged up, the sewage in the cell rose to the prisoners’ knees. Everything in the cell was of iron or concrete. As the smell of urine in the room (which was described to him as having a bath) burned his nostrils, the new comer thought of difference between the captain’s gentle speech and the harshness of the concrete blocks. Suddenly, he heard the soldiers shout: "Allaaah!.. Allaaah!"

6

When the shouts faded away, the commandos stood around him, clubs in their hands. "You SOB! You haven't taken off your clothes yet!" yelled one.

The newcomer was shocked. The dreams of a bath fell collapsed. He shook his head as if just being woken up and stared dumbly at the soldiers. "My name is Akin," said the fat blond one. "Mine is Hunch Back,” said the thin one. "My name is Dark Catasrophe," said the tall one. "My name is Mevlut," said the Sergeant.

Adem screamed. The soldiers were beating him, using clubs, pieces of wood, their hands. Anything they had. “Do you like your bath?” shouted one of the soldiers, hitting him over and over again with a piece of wood. “Is the washcloth soft enough?” 

Adem collapsed under the beatings. Two soldiers – the ones who identified themselves as Dark Trouble and Hunchback -- grabbed Adem, now half conscious, and dragged him through the sewage as though he were swimming in it. Akin walked on top of Adem, using his back as a board so his own feet didn’t touch the sewage. The soldiers used the tips of their boots to push Adem’s head into the sewage. Adem screamed and begged. But no one paid any attention.  Adem, now only semi-conscious, was dragged into the first cell of the 36th Ward. Covered in blood and sewage, and he fell into a deep sleep on the concrete floor.

                                            7                                                                                                                          

Adem sees the same team in front of him the next day. Sergeant Mevlut, the leader, of the team, shouts: "Hey you! Faggot. Haven't you died yet?" The prisoner jumps to his feet and stands at attention, shaking from fear and exhaustion. Sergeant Mevlut ask, "Did you eat break fast, asshole?" The prisoner, unsure what will come next, mumbles, “No.”

He is  taken into a small room next to his cell.There’s a dead mouse in the middle of the room. Sergeant Mevlut orders Adem to stand at attention. Adem snaps straight up. Akin, Dark Trouble and Hunchback surrounded the man. Dark Trouble says, “Did you ever eat any mouse, boy?"

Adem suddenly understands what they are going to force him to do. His stomach churns. He recoils in anticipated pain, not knowing what to do. They begin to beat him. He collapses under the blows. He knows that he has to eat the mouse to escape the torture. He closes his eyes and puts the mouse in his hand. He opens his mouth and stuffs the whole mouse inside. When he starts to chew on the mouse, he vomits and the dead mouse falls out of his mouth. "Continue," shouts Sergeant Mevelut. Dark Trouble starts hitting the prisoner with a club  and Hunchback kicks his groin. Adem, in a cold sweat, eventually swallows the mouse. The commandos make him the clean the floor by having him lick his own vomit. They bring him back into his cell in the 36th Ward. He sits on the concrete and remembers the night he was arrested. The differemce between that memory and the reality of where he is makes him scream out in pain.

                                         8

The sun was about to set. In the big dining room, Adem, his wife, wearing a blue dress, his two daughters, and his beloved son were preparing dinner. Adem was sitting at the dining room table with his wife. His daughters were serving the food and his son was telling the family about his day in high school. Adem’s oldest daughter Zozan was 25 years old. She had a round face and long auburn hair that fell down her back. She was beautiful and wearing a white dress. His younger daughter, Berfin, was 20 years old. She loved sports and when she was home she didn’t take off her sports clothes. She was studying to be a doctor.

When Adem mentioned that he hadn’t been feeling well, Zozan  immediately got up and returned with her pharmacist’s medicine kit, which she kept in the kitchen’s fridge. “Father, don’t bother going to the doctor. I can help you. You know I’ve been working at the pharmacy for two years now,” she said, opening the box in front of her father.

He pushed aside the box. “My Zozan, my baby, I trust you, but one shouldn’t take any medicine without asking the doctor first.”

Zozan laughed. “If you don’t trust me, call Berfin, she’ll be a doctor in two years.” Berfin ran up to her father.

“Father, are you feeling all right?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said. “Both you girls, don’t worry about me so much. Go help your mother instead.”

As the girls left he turned to his son, sitting to his right. “Azad, my son, you aren’t studying your lessons. Are you getting involved in politics again?”

”Please father, what is politics?” he replied. “They torture the people every day. Their screams come as far as Baglar.”

Adem shook his head. ”What