Dear Nahit, I wish I could do more than write this article.

I used to live in Turkey before I ended up here. I think it was 2012 when I started my first year in Istanbul Social Sciences High School and 2017 when I left for Canada. I haven’t been back since. I didn’t want to return anyways. At times, I find myself wondering what had happened and how we got to where we are today.

The boarding school I attended consisted of a very tight knit community. It made sense, considering it was also our home for 8 months of the year. There, I developed many skills from learning how to write effectively to forging  my parents’ signatures in order to  go out in the evenings. Like every student, I had some amazing teachers throughout my time at boarding school, as well as some that were… well, not so amazing.

That being said, there was one teacher that I may never forget… Mrs. Sema, the reason I fell in love with Turkish literature. Unfortunately, she passed away this year due to illness. 

She was graceful in the classroom. Mrs. Sema ran engaging discussions on poetry and theatre, gave us her undivided attention, showed patience with our every mistake, and smelled faintly of tobacco. She taught me how to write a research paper so flawless that I could have skipped going to my first year English lectures in university and it would not have made the slightest difference on my grades. I did get to thank her after I started my BA in the University of British Columbia and I am so glad that I sent her that text while sitting at the library alone, missing “home”.

Life is short, but the ways in which we are touched by people lives on. Stories are necessary to carry on these legacies that are left behind. As I write these words, I am intentional that somewhere ­–either on paper or a website page— it will forever say that Ms. Sema was an outstanding teacher who loved what she did and in turn, instilled that love within her students. I am sure we all greatly desire to leave behind a good legacy when we pass away, even if it is as simple as being remembered for our kindness.

At least I know I do.

My favourite place in Istanbul was Beyoğlu. Most would recognize it from the photos of the Galata Tower overlooking the Bosphorus. An iconic building for both locals and tourists in Istanbul. 

There is a well-known myth which says that if two people go up the tower together, they end up getting married sooner or later. I actually went there once with my best friend Ismail. We did end up getting married to each other, but I doubt it had much to do with the myth. Another inexplicable mystery of this universe.

For a very long time, the Galata Tower was a symbol of love for me and associated with my warmest memories. Now I sometimes think of the salty breeze coming from the sea, standing there, and looking up. I feel sorrow. I might even be making up the scene, but like I said, it’s been a while since I’ve been back.

I didn’t know Nahit when I was in high school to be honest. He was an upper year student, he played basketball, and my friend had a crush on him. Even though we shared the same halls at school, I do not remember much of him other than small bits and pieces of information.

His dad was a judge then, who has now been imprisoned for almost 7 years as part of the Turkish government’s purge of government officers. A lot of people have been accused of being terrorists since the attempted coup in 2016 (about 600,000 people give or take) and members of the Gulen Movement were affected most. Kurds and other dissenters were also affected, but to a lesser extent. The witch hunt led to some losing their jobs, being sent to prison, and many were excluded from their families, neighbourhoods, and friend groups because the accusation sticks and doesn’t let go. I would know. The affected were mostly teachers, police, lawmakers etc. Nahit’s dad was only one of those tried unjustly under the Presidential Law.

Nahit suffered from something called a ‘social death’. Stigmatised as a terrorist in his 20s, I can imagine why he could not talk to anyone about what he was going through. 

Imagine the fear of the future eating at you as you think of starting a career while also jumping through hoops to avoid getting profiled in job applications. The anxiety of knowing they won’t accept you if they learn about your dad. It is a drowning sensation and you cannot see the shoreline. People who see you drowning don’t lend a hand, some don’t even look your way and you can’t shout nor ask for help. His roommate of one year didn’t even know Nahit’s dad was in prison and had no idea how much he suffered.

People say Nahit was a kind soul. He was hardworking and silent. He got into the best university in Turkey, Boğaziçi University after he aced the entrance exams. He had a solitary life in his dorm room where he prayed often according to his roommate at the university. He had a tough time after his dad was imprisoned. Injustice made him distressed. Enough to be  diagnosed with bipolar disorder not long after his father was taken away from him and his family, which included Nahit, his younger sister, and his mother.

Nahit committed suicide at Galata Tower on October 12, 2022.

At first, journalists wrote that it was a foreigner who jumped and therefore, irrelevant. When a foreigner dies, it is of no concern to the public.

A week later they wrote that Nahit was simply depressed and sick, and claimed it had nothing to do with the injustice his community had inflicted upon him. Again, no concern of the public – the newspapers said so.

Against all the lies the Turkish media spread about his death, I bear witness to the injustice that killed Nahit. Life is ephemeral but our legacy lives on in people whose lives we touch ­– knowingly or unknowingly. As I write these words, I am intentional that someone, somewhere will read this and know that Nahit was a kind soul, that he tried standing up against the face of injustice, and when he couldn’t anymore, he was murdered in maybe the most public place in Istanbul. A place that used to hold a different meaning for each of us.

I am not sure what the Galata Tower symbolises for me anymore. I thought about pain, resilience, injustice, anger, but nothing summarises what happened to Nahit, especially my insufficient words.

Dear Nahit,

I wish I could do something more than write this article.

In the name of Allah – Al-Ghaffar, Al-Hakam, Al-Adl, As-Shaheed, Al-Muqsit, I pray that you find the justice you have yearned for in this world where you are.

This article was first published in The Muslim Voice Magazine Ephemeral Edition.


A Look Into the Turkish Justice System Through the Broken Glasses of a Teacher

On the night of the attempted coup in 2016, the Turkish Prime Minister Erdogan – without any official investigation had been completed, has accused the members of the Gulen Movement of trying to overthrow the government. This accusation against a large group of civilians has not been accepted to be true by any of the international organizations since then because the Turkish government has failed to provide hard evidence. Even though there isn’t any hard evidence, the Turkish government has been committing many systemic human rights abuses against the members of this group (and many other groups) such as torture, social death through firing them from their jobs, and unlawful imprisonment. My job is not to argue the innocence of the Gulen Movement as a whole but I am arguing for the right of an individual to a fair trial – which has not been the case in Turkey for a long time now. The human rights abuses that have been committed by the Turkish government have all been documented by international human rights watch organizations such as Amnesty International and HRW.

Almost a month after the attempted coup, the previous governor of Istanbul, Kadir Topbaş came up with a horrifying idea: a separate graveyard called the “Graveyard for Traitors” which would be reserved for members of the Gulen movement. Topbaş suggested that all members of this organization should be buried in a Grave of Traitors while withholding their rights to a religious burial. To provide some context, the accused were mostly teachers, government officials, students, and even homemakers who had no idea about what was happening. We will come back to this horrifying concept of a graveyard later in the post.

A photo of the Graveyard for Traitors. This was not only an idea, the government made sure that it became reality.

It was a  few days after the attempted coup when history teacher Gökhan Açıkkollu was fired from his position through an unlawful decree. A day later, the police came to his home and handcuffed him from his behind pushing him to the floor. The building manager was present at this point because he had unlocked the door for the police. His family was not present in the house.

While the cops were pushing him to the floor on his back, Açıkkollu went into diabetic shock. The police then applied an insulin shot but kept on brutally beating him up in that position, continuing with their questioning. At that point, the building manager told the police to take Açıkkollu to the police station instead of torturing him there because he could not stand watching what was happening. The police continued beating him up as they took him into the police car. There are reports of abuse and torture in his official health report as well as the first hand account from the building manager.

History teacher Gökhan Açıkkollu with his students

His wife Tülay Açıkkollu called police stations for the next four days demanding to know where her husband was taken but the reply was the same each time: “We can’t provide you with any information at this moment.” At the end of the fourth day, she was informed that Gökhan was at a police station in Istanbul. Later she learns that Gökhan was sent to the hospital because he got into more diabetic shocks during his time in the cell. The doctors gave a report stating that he can go back to his cell each time. In the next few days, he got panic attacks many times but each time he was sent back to the cell where he stayed with 4 others in a small room with three beds. A forensic specialist who was also in the same cell at the time reports that Gökhan would be taken out of the cell and brought back 8 hours later, severely beaten up. A lawyer who was also present in the cell reports that Gökhan cried on his shoulder many times in those 13 days they shared the cell. The cell mates gave a statement saying that they want to officially witness to the torture but the courts did not accept their statements. The case was closed.

One night, Gökhan gets a heart attack and even though everyone in the cell pleads to the guards, the guards do not take him to the hospital or provide any help for more than 30 minutes. Later he is taken out of the cell by the guards when he shows no sign of life. The surveillance camera records all of this.

A screenshot from the video recording that shows the last moments of Gökhan Açıkkollu. The guards did not help him for more than 30 minutes as he had a heart attack in his cell.

His family is later called to the forensic lab so they can take his body for the burial.

Human life is always simple for the torturers and their enablers -the judges, the medical staff, the guards, the media, and anyone else who stayed silent. They all took a part in an innocent teacher’s death.

Gökhan’s glasses were broken during the brutal tortures so he was not even able to see properly in his final days. Tülay Açıkkollu requests the glasses be returned to her but the police tell her that they threw it in the trash. She writes on her official statement that she did not get the glasses back from the police. The police start an argument with her saying that she can’t write that on the report. She leaves the police station without changing her declaration. 10 minutes later, the police call her back to let her know that she can take the glasses if she changes her written statement.

Gökhan Açıkkollu’s glasses that were broken during the brutal tortures in the police station, now being exhibited in the Tenkil Museum in Brussels.

Thanks to the courage of Tülay Açıkkollu, Gökhan’s glasses are now bearing witness to the police brutality that took his life away in the Tenkil Museum in Belgium. Through his glasses we see the rotten government agencies -the justice system and the police state clearly.

At this point of my post, I would like to take you back to the “Graveyard for Traitors”. After all this, you would expect that they would let this family have some peace right? No. Gökhan’s family had to start another fight against those who wanted to bury him in the Graveyard for Traitors.

The officials told the family that if they want to bury Gökhan within Istanbul, he will be taken into the Graveyard for Traitors where he will not receive a religious burial. I don’t even need to explain this, but for Muslims a religious burial is a very important ritual. The family starts applying to many government agencies saying that the history teacher Gökhan was not even found guilty by any court, how could it be that they could decide to bury him in a Traitors’ Grave? But once the government decides to announce you a terrorist in Turkey, there is no way to clear your name.

Gökhan’s wife Tülay Açıkkollu says that her husband has always wanted to be buried in his hometown in Konya. So in the end, the family gives up and takes him to Konya to be buried.

Two days after his burial the prosecutor reaches out to the village head asking him why they let Gökhan to be buried there. His family thought that they might remove him from his final resting place. Thankfully (!) no one dared to do this.

So in the end, Gökhan was able to rest in his hometown where he wanted to be buried during his life.

A year and a half after his passing away, the courts (government) found him not guilty (not that I believe in court verdicts) and sent a statement to his home saying that he has been reinstated to his teaching position with a simple apology attached.

Yes, what I am saying sounds unbelievable but it is all backed up with written and visual evidence. The government fired him, tortured him, took away his life, refused him a religious burial, and in the end reinstated him and said sorry. They did not even pay attention to the fact that they killed Gökhan before they sent the apology letter to his home.

“They did not even pay attention to the fact that they killed Gökhan before they sent the apology letter to his home. “

A caricature drawn by Carlos Latuff in 2018

There are many more details to his story but I would like to finish by saying that the founder of the Graveyard for Traitors, Kadir Topbaş died because of COVID-19 in the past year. As a Muslim, I believe in only one court of justice where the teacher Gökhan and the governor of Istanbul will be seen as equals. He will not need his glasses to bear witness to him in that court and all oppressors will be judged harshly regardless of the positions they held on Earth.

Note #1: If you would like to look into more examples of police brutality and the death of justice in Turkey, I suggest that you visit the website for the Tenkil Museum where the objects of people who lost their lives to the Erdogan regime are exhibited. There are also objects of those who had to leave Turkey through the Maritsa River in flimsy boats exhibited in the museum. These objects are witnesses to a terrorist state.

Note #2: Most of the factual information on this post (timeline, witness statements, documents, and videos) is from the Bold Medya website which is in Turkish.


“Zahra’s Paradise” and Rationalizing Suffering

During the past two terms, I have been completing my Co-op which is a program at my university where students work full time for a few terms to gain experience before they graduate. Naturally, I have missed going to lectures and learning from other students and my instructors. There is no end to my academic curiosity and I sometimes feel cut off from my life line because I am not taking any courses at the moment.

One thing that gets me through this tough time is my weekly meetings with my friend Sophie where she talks about the Middle East Studies courses she has been taking in the past year. I even check out their required readings sometimes to be able to feel included in the conversation and share my opinions as well. UBC’s History Department is offering a course on “The Middle East in Graphic Novels” which had piqued my interest as I am a huge fan of graphic novels. There are some amazing novels in their reading list which I have really enjoyed in the past. I like reading after all, much more than other things.

I went to the Vancouver Public Library the other day to pick up my books that have been on hold for some time now. As always, I took a look at the graphic novels section to see if there is anything interesting. Sitting on the shelf, I saw “Zahra’s Paradise”. I had heard my friends who are taking the history course on graphic novels speak about this book so I decided to check it out to have something intellectual to speak about whenever I meet Sophie next.

Here is the synopsis: “Set in the aftermath of Iran’s fraudulent elections of 2009, Zahra’s Paradise is the fictional story of the search for Mehdi, a young protestor who has vanished into an extrajudicial twilight zone. What’s keeping his memory from being obliterated is not the law. It is the grit and guts of his mother, who refuses to surrender her son to fate, and the tenacity of his brother, a blogger, who fuses tradition and technology to explore and explode the void in which Mehdi has vanished.” (Goodreads)

I got home, brewed some tea, and got under my blanket.

I had only read a few pages from the book as I felt a knot form in my throat because I realized that this story is very familiar.

My tea was going cold.

As I hit page 86, my tears were rolling down from my cheeks onto the page. I was crying together with the mother Zahra who was now searching for her son in a catalogue of faces in a morgue. Faces that were once lit up with life and hope now lying lifeless within those pages. The people in the panels say “When will politicians stop playing their dirty games? Our children have become their pawns.” 

Zahra’s Paradise, page 86

Zahra in this story, is a mother who does not stop searching for her son who disappears on the day of the protests. Her story intersects with other mothers who are also looking for their children.

Page 138
*Amir explains the power of chanting Allahu Akbar during the 2009 marches in Iran as “in addition to the feelings of strength in unity and solidarity, Allahu Akbar also came to convey a special irony. Repeated chants of “God is the greatest”, theoretically music to the ears of a theocratic regime, came to be understood as a reproach and a taunt by an ostensibly godly, yet illegitimate, regime.”

The Grieving Mothers in Zahra’s Paradise reminded me of Saturday Mothers in Turkey, which is a group that gathers every Saturday at noon since 1995 to ask the government about their missing relatives. The Saturday Mothers were inspired by the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo in Argentina which is a group that also gathers for the same goal: asking about what happened to their loved ones.

Saturday Mothers holding the photos of their missing loved ones in front of the Galatasaray High school in Istanbul

Saturday Mothers ask about the forced disappearances committed by the Turkish state under the state of emergency between 1980s and 1990s. Forced disappearances in Turkey have been symbolized with White Renault Toros cars because the police and military force at the time were officially using this car model. Known as the “White Toros Kidnappings”, a lot of people (mostly in Kurdish areas) went missing because they were illegally detained by the government, tortured, and killed in most cases. Recently the Turkish government has been kidnapping members of the Gulen Movement using black vans in the same way. 

An important note: Hüseyin Galip Küçüközyiğit, a former legal advisor at the Prime Ministry who was dismissed from his position following the 2016 coup attempt, has been missing since 29 December 2020. If you would like to take action against his suspected forced disappearance, you can send an appeal letter to the Turkish Chief Public Prosecutor by following Amnesty International’s model letter.

Saturday Mothers have recently been put to trial in Turkey for “not dispersing in 2018 when they were asked to by the police”. I salute their honourable civil disobedience again as I write this blog post. As we can see from many examples of mothers asking for their loved ones, we know that love and perseverance for them is a character trait shared over borders, languages, and nationalities.

As I neared the end of Zahra’s Paradise, I was faced with the amazing depiction of a mourning mother. Zahra is saying: “Burn, my son, burn with rage, burn through this shroud of lies, burn, burn as only you can burn, burn with all your truth, burn with all your life, burn through this death…” surrounded by memories of her son Mehdi who was brutally tortured and murdered in the Kahrizak Prison. I felt myself burn as I read through this page.

Page 218

I found this book to be very impactful because of the style of its truth claim. The authors are telling us that you can look at facts and figures all you want to decide on what is the truth, but in the end, you need a human story to decide with your heart as much as you do with your mind. 

The choice is yours and where you stand when faced with oppression matters. To decide with the heart is sometimes more difficult than to decide with the mind. You will question yourself, your ideologies, and your beliefs to arrive at the conclusion that human suffering is universal and there are more ways of connecting through our grief rather than tearing each other apart through our differences.

This is also an important point for all of us who are studying any type of social sciences as we sometimes find ourselves rationalizing the pain and suffering of a group of people under the guise of analyzing the issue. Studying experiences as claims to truth should always be an integral part of our academic work when we are searching for the answers to our questions.

Another lesson I got for myself out of Zahra’s Paradise was to write, and to document more stories. Especially to write the silent resistance of people who do not have the ability to reach out.

Page 27

I acknowledge my privilege as I write this blog post from the safety of my home in Canada and I say: the people and their resistance will always turn out to be stronger than pathetic governments trying to play God.

Ending Note: Please share what you think about the effects of ‘rationalizing the pain of others for the sake of our academic arguments’ in the comments or through messaging me. Let’s get a conversation going about this.


From Posting a Tweet to Sleeping Inside the Turkish Parliament: The Case of Ömer Faruk Gergerlioğlu

Ömer Faruk Gergerlioğlu, a Member of the Parliament from the pro-Kurdish party HDP (People’s Democratic Party) was stripped of his MP status last Wednesday in Ankara/Turkey. The court order condemning him to a two and a half year prison sentence was read in the Turkish Parliament while other HDP members banged on their desks in protest. And the reason for the court order? It’s a tweet he shared in 2016.

Gergerlioğlu after the court order has been read in the Parliament (AP)

In his tweet dated 2016, Gergerlioğlu shared a news article by T24. The article is about a PKK (Kurdistan Workers’ Party) statement that says “peace with the Turkish government will be achieved in a month if the government takes a step towards negotiating”. On this news article, Gergerlioğlu  commented “There should be a response to this call because there is no end to this problem”. His tweet was considered “terrorist propaganda” by the courts in 2018 and Gergerlioğlu was sentenced to two and a half years in prison. But why was his sentence approved now in 2021? The answer is clear. It is because he has been making a lot of noise in the Turkish Parliament.

A Short History of PKK and the Peace Negotiations with the Turkish Government

The Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) was formed in 1978 with an emphasis on armed struggle for Kurdish independence in Turkey after the government forced systematic assimilation on Kurds such as banning the use of Kurdish language. The first armed assaults against the Turkish military started in the early 1990s. The attacks later included the killing of the civilian population using tactics like placing bombs in crowded areas or suicide bombings. At the height of the armed conflict between PKK and the Turkish government in 1994, there have been 5000 civilian deaths related to terrorism.

During the peace negotiations between the Turkish government and PKK (2009-2015), the number of deaths decreased drastically to 20-50 per year. Unfortunately, these negotiations started crumbling after the pro-Kurdish political party HDP got 13% of the votes in the 2015 General Elections. The victory of HDP caused the ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP) to lose majority rule after being the leading party for the last 12 years. 

As Turkey got ready for another election due to Erdogan’s inability to form a majority government, the Turkish military intensified its violence in the Eastern regions of Turkey where the majority of the Kurdish population reside. The PKK also started attacking the Turkish forces, and the death of two Turkish policemen in Ceylanpınar created polarization in the population. The peace negotiations officially ended and the number of deaths rose over 500 once again after a long period of peace. As a result, the Justice and Development Party was able to gain the majority of seats in the next election. Since then, Erdogan has expanded his presidential powers in the 2017 referendum and the rule of law has been affected the most. In this political environment, Gergerlioğlu’s tweet calling for peace between the government and PKK posed a threat to the regime and he was charged with spreading “terrorist propaganda”.

Gergerlioğlu as a Human Rights Activist

Gergerlioğlu has been a human rights activist for more than 20 years. In the past, he has advocated for human rights as the President of Mazlumder – an Islamist association found to protect civil rights in Turkey. He has also participated in many other organizations that advocate for peace and minority rights over the years.

In 2016, he was suspended from his role as a medical doctor in a public hospital as part of the government purges against members of the Gulen Movement. Since the attempted coup in 2016, the government has been accusing members of the Gulen Movement of “being a member of a terrorist organization”. This accusation is also being used to oppress others who criticize government policies even when they do not have any ties to the Gulen Movement, which has been the case for Gergerlioglu. The effects of these purges have been drastic. People describe it as being handed a “social death sentence”. Those who have lost their jobs are unable to find any other positions even in the private sector and are excluded from social life in most cases.

After losing his position in the hospital, Gergerlioğlu became a member of the parliament in 2018 and has been bringing forth accusations regarding the human rights violations committed by the Turkish government in the Parliament. He has advocated against torture, arbitrary naked searches, and unsanitary living conditions in Turkish prisons. He is also standing up against the arbitrary jailing of pregnant women and terminally ill patients.

He states that during his election, only 90 thousand people had voted him in, but in these past 2 years, he became someone who represents millions that need representation. People who have been purged from their jobs by unlawful decrees, people with loved ones in prison, others who have been oppressed in many different ways have all found refuge in Gergerlioğlu. He listens to people who have been made to feel worthless in Turkish society and brings forth their problems in the Parliament to make their issues visible. This is why he is being specifically targeted by the media and other members of the Parliament. He is giving people courage to speak up and make change.

What Is Next?

Gergerlioğlu has stated that he does not accept the unlawful court order and that he will not be leaving the Parliament until justice is restored. He has been sleeping in the private room of HDP inside the Parliament and keeps on hosting live broadcasts on Twitter with other human rights advocates and members of the Parliament. I do not know if the government will send police forces into the Parliament to detain Gergerlioğlu or if there will be any kind of resolution without the use of violence. All I know is that he is teaching the people in Turkey and all around the world a valuable lesson on how to resist courageously against injustice and oppression.

Gergerlioğlu (sitting in the middle, wearing a blue mask) with other HDP MPs who are showing their support for him (AP)


My Books Broke My Heart

I was very hesitant to buy any books in my first year in Canada. I only got the essential ones for my classes. I would even say that I was very angry at any book that I had to buy. 

To be honest, I did not want to get hurt by my books. 

Let’s start from the very beginning. Building a library from scratch is special. A library has the ability to take you on a journey through all the phases you went through in life. You grow, and you learn some amazing things along the way. Let’s say that you have Hunger Games or Twilight in your library. They never let you forget that you were once a teenager. I did not have those series because my mom would not let me read them, we had a good collection of world literature instead. (Oh look, even the lack of books in your library is a story on its own.) Anyways, I had an amazing set of Agatha Christie books in my library. Most of it was handed down to me from my sister. Some of it, I bought myself over time. I remember getting scared reading those murder mysteries. “And Then There Were None” made me shiver in my bed at nights. I was really young then; I remember finishing books so fast that my parents would have to hand me whatever book there was at home to read. That is probably how I ended up getting obsessed with the genre of murder mystery at the age of 9.

Great parenting tip: make your children reserve at least one shelf in their cupboard for books. That is what my mom did, and I am forever thankful for that. I had a library before I knew how to read. I made my mom read to me before I went to sleep every night. Yes… every night. She tells me that she was so happy when I learned how to read because it meant that she could finally stop reading the same stories over and over again. All of the children’s books from my sister’s library got transferred over to mine. And as I kept getting more and more books, we started moving my clothes from that cupboard so that I could have more empty shelves.

I started high school and met with the amazing world of academic books. Couldn’t believe that so much knowledge existed in the world. My teachers were giving meaning to the world around me. We read about economy, sociology, history… And oh man, there was no end to how many books you could cultivate. 

But then, we had to move away from my childhood house to a smaller apartment because times were changing. 

It meant that I had to give some books away because we wouldn’t have much space in the new apartment. It’s okay, how bad could it be right? I ended up crying. The books had reminded me of all the good times we had at that home. Found my childhood books and remembered the times I spent with my mom trying to learn how to read. Found some of my old English books and remembered how I used to keep a notebook of all the new words I had learned. Found books that I have never read and just bought because I thought that it would look cool in my library. A lifetime just hidden inside my cupboard like that, how dare my books make me sad? I chose the ones I wanted to keep, and the rest were donated. 

Life was good, I was cultivating more books as I go. I would use my pocket money to order books online. I gave away some old ones to make space for newer ones. I just loved the feeling of having a library of my own because it told my story. The story of someone who cherished learning. I spent a long time writing my story, which books I had would affect who I would become. 

But then, my parents had to move abroad because times were changing.

I would stay behind in Istanbul. But this meant that I had to say goodbye to most of my books because I did not have a home anymore. This time, it only hurt a little bit. In the end, if I could part with my parents, then why would some books matter? Some tears were shed, the unclarity of our situation got us all stressed. I said bye. They got on a plane.

I took the limited number of books to the dormitory I was going to stay in. I had stopped buying books at that point because I knew that I wanted to go to UBC. A year after my parents left, my university applications were done, I got my passport ready, got my Canadian visa approved… 

I was going to Canada knowing that I would not return to Turkey because times were changing.

I gave my books to my best friend at the time and told him to either donate or keep them. I didn’t care about my books at all this time. If I was able to part with the most amazing person I knew, then why would some books matter? Some tears were shed, we didn’t think much of the unclarity of the situation. I said bye. I got on a plane.

My parents and I came to Canada. I was extremely stubborn to not buy any books here because it reminded me of my library staying behind all the times I had to move. It reminded me of a home that I did not have. Reminded me of friends that I could not reach. My books made me angry. Like everything in my life, they were too heavy to carry around with me.

I am realizing now that it was my feelings that were too heavy to carry around, the books did not have a fault. I had decided that I was not going to have a library anymore. Like everything I have cultivated in my life, the books would always have to stay behind in case I had to leave again. 

A library means that you belong to a place. And I did not belong.

I was very hesitant to buy any books in my first year in Canada. I only got the essential ones for my classes. I would even say that I was very angry at any book that I had to buy.

To be honest, I did not want to get hurt by my books.

Over the past few years I have made some amazing friends and they made Vancouver home for me. Without realizing, I started frequenting book shops more. A voice called to me when there was a great bargain happening. It said: build a library, do it.

October 2020, Vancouver

This year, I realized that I open up more shelves to stock books in my small nano studio each month. I am not sure what affected this decision, but I have an idea. I am sure all of us who have moved at least once in their life knows how heavy books are, you simply can’t travel with them. I am reminded of this fact every single time my very good friend Rahma moves around (she moves a lot, don’t even get me started.)

It is funny but I think that what made me interested in a library again was seeing Rahma carry all her books with her when she travels to Dubai or Ottawa. Whenever she decides to travel, I sit with her and we choose which books she should carry. I try to stop her at five books maximum, she doesn’t have a limit. (And I am pretty sure she puts more than what we agreed for into her suitcase whenever I leave her place)

This made me realize that the weight that I could not carry around was not my books. Rahma carries them around everywhere right? The heavy weight was all the anger and sadness I had to carry every time myself or someone else got on a plane and left things behind. At the end of it all, my books leaving my life meant that the people I loved were leaving my life. My books didn’t hurt me. I just put too much meaning into them. Now that there is some healing happening 4 years after losing my homeland, I am building a library again. If I have to leave it all behind, oh well, that’s life.

And yeah, I’m not giving up.

Note: I honestly had no idea where it would go when I started writing this blog post. But eh, everything in life is political right? As always, shoot me a message if you have any issues regarding the content. Cheers.


My Existence was Gifted to the Turkish Nation

In Turkey, when you start first grade you learn a few important things; reading, writing, and the student oath. One morning a teacher comes up to you and gives the exciting news: “In a few days you will be making the whole school repeat after yourself as you read the oath during the morning assembly.” What is the oath one may ask. Don’t worry, we will get to that.

I remember being very excited for this opportunity. After all, it was the moment which I would gain prestige among my peers as a first grader. It had to be perfect, all eyes were going to be on me. I felt like my success with this task was going to determine my future life. Just to remind everyone, I was at the age of 7. I went home and started memorizing:

I am a Turk

I am honest

I am hardworking…

Some background information: Turkey is a multi-ethnic country, not everyone is a Turk. The morning assembly happens every weekday before classes start. Which means that I have been on that assembly saying the same oath approximately 1512 times in my lifetime. I am used to how it goes. You walk up to the stage in front of 700 students and continue:

…My principle is to protect the younger 

to respect the elder, 

to love my homeland and my nation more than myself. 

My ideal is to rise, to progress…

The day I was supposed to read the oath came, I could not contain my excitement. I was walking up to the stage when one of the teachers stopped me. “You can’t go up the stage wearing the phys ed uniform, where is your skirt?” I had PE that day, how could I know that this would happen? They didn’t let me on the stage. I remember crying of rage that day because some other kid got to read the oath. I had lost my chance at proving myself. She said:

…O Great Atatürk ! 

On the path that you have paved, 

I swear to walk incessantly toward the aims that you have set…

Time passed, I probably forgot about all that. I was in 6th grade this time. As always, we read the student oath every morning repeating after the lucky student who got to be on the stage that day. I remember clearly. Someone came near me and whispered the sweet temptation into my ear: “I am not saying some parts of the student oath because I don’t want to. I just move my mouth. Do you agree with what we say every morning?” I thought about his question all day and also decided not to say some parts the next time. There is a certain excitement in defiance even when you don’t fully grasp what you are doing. Is it even considered resistance if you have not yet built the critical thinking skills to understand that the student oath is cultural genocide? I am not sure.

The next morning I am moving my mouth without making a sound. For some parts, I feel brave and don’t move my mouth at all. My heart is beating because I am afraid someone will realize and call me out. 700 children shout beside me:

…My existence shall be a gift to the Turkish existence. 

How happy is the one who says “I am a Turk!”.

The student on the stage ends the oath by saying: “Have a nice day of classes my friends.” 

We reply: “Thank you!”

Students start walking towards classes in army formation because that is exactly how all kids should start their day -with a healthy dose of militarization.

I am proud of my decision as I prepare to go into the school. The PE teacher shouts ‘Ayse walk to the side!’.

Let me explain one thing here. One’s struggle with authority starts at an early age in Turkey. The first enemy is the school administration because they do their best to kill all kinds of individuality. Wearing accessories or colourful shoes with school uniforms is not allowed. Letting your hair down is also a big no. They make sure to check every student each morning before we enter the school building. But there I am, thinking that my uniform is in great condition. I don’t know what is happening nor why I was pulled to the side. This has never happened before.

The PE teacher comes next to me and says: “You weren’t saying the student oath” 

My voice trembles as I mutter “what?”. How did he even see?

“I will write a discipline report if this happens one more time.”

Let me tell you right here. I loved keeping a good relationship with the administration and the teachers in elementary school. They knew my parents, that is a good enough reason to be proper. I was also highly afraid of being punished. I did not say a word against the PE teacher and probably continued saying the oath afterwards. Sadly, this is not a story of my bravery. 

Also to reclaim myself as I am writing this, I can proudly say that I lost the trait of respecting authority once I got to jump the fence at high school to skip classes (I definitely was not hyperventilating at the thought of getting caught). I think I realized that schools put some of the rules to teach you how to question and defy them. It is a learning moment.

So where is this long story about the student oath going towards? 

I just wanted to share my experience with the oath as an ethnically Turkish person. I am leaving it to you to think about the effects of this oath on for example the Kurdish population of Turkey. 

I am thinking how much it must have hurt them to see their presence erased as they were forced to repeat every morning “I am Turkish”. 

Did those children even realize what was happening right in front of our eyes? Or were they just as excited as Turkish students to be on the stage?

Why were our 7 year old existences gifted to the Turkish nation? 

Did the nation state have to remind us every morning that we were their property?

I would like to finish by saying that I am sorry that I repeated this oath 1512 times in my lifetime, I did not know any better. I have a complicated relationship with my nationality, I am not sure if I want to dedicate my entire existence to it.

As always, if my friends who grew up in Turkey have a different experience about this topic, you are welcome to comment under this post. I accept that there might be differences between cities or even schools. But also consider if you were too young to understand what was going on around you instead of quickly refuting my claim. The oath might not have had a huge effect on you therefore the memories might not be as sharp in your mind as it is in mine.

A note on the history of the Student Oath: It was implemented in 1933 and was abolished in 2013, since then it has been reinstated in 2018. The person who wrote the student oath in 1933, Dr. Resit Galip also implemented the Turkish adhan (Muslim call to prayer). And yes, I do not have any respect for either of these reforms.


Transformation of Ayasofya: what does it mean?

Turkey is a secular country with a Muslim majority as we all know. There has always been tension between different political blocs since the Republic was found (it may be about religion, nationalism, minority rights etc.) I can explain more about the history of civil conflicts, military rule, oppression of the hijab in government agencies and universities, history of minority oppression etc. another time if needed. These are all parts of Turkey which are necessary to be understood before making any bold comments about the region. The history of oppression in Turkey is complicated with all parties responsible: both seculars and political islamists. If you ask me what I want out of Turkey, I simply want to live together in peace with everyone respecting each others’ differences, that’s it.

So, what is the situation today? Erdogan has been weaponizing Islam to gain votes for many years now. As his corruption scandal got out in 2013, he has been more vicious than ever, stepping on individual freedoms left and right. A simple example of weaponization of Islam that would make sense to my mainly Muslim following would be how he made people watch the uncensored NZ shooting video in one of his political rallies for votes. I can give a hundred more examples with more details, but I don’t want to stray further away from my point. 

Human rights in my country are at an all-time low, we are the #1 jailer of journalists, have pregnant women in our prisons for made up charges, xenophobia is at an all-time high, the youth is unemployed, the economy is going bad… I am against Erdogan using Ayasofya as a political move in this current climate. Our holy places are not political pawns to be used when someone is clearly messing up. I am not against reclaiming spaces at all; I find it beautiful to undo cultural imperialism. But this action was a politically charged one, it was done to show both the Turkish people and the world that Turkey will not be respecting its minorities’ rights or religious harmony. It was done to get authoritarian people’s votes. It is too simple of a perspective just to accept it as reclaiming back of a Muslim place of worship.  

I would like to ask ‘What does a Muslim person gain out of this action?’. If I want to pray in the Sultanahmet area I won’t be going into Ayasofya where there are mosaics of Jesus all over the walls. I will walk for two minutes instead (I am not exaggerating) and pray inside the Blue Mosque. There are 5 or more other beautiful mosques in the same area at walking distance one may choose to pray in. 

Is it necessary to pray inside Ayasofya which is known for its history of housing different religions? 

Why not leave it as a monument of coexistence in the most beautiful place of Istanbul and let people celebrate all its cultures? As a Muslim, I can go and celebrate its Muslim history without being threatened by its presence as a museum. I believe that Ayasofya’s history as a mosque was not erased at all when it became a museum, therefore there is no reason to reclaim it like this, it is already a part of our Muslim Turkish values as it is. I do not want there to be hatred between Muslims, seculars, or minority groups in my country, it is as simple as that. There is no need to send a message that says ‘you do not belong’ to the minority groups living in Turkey through the transformation of Ayasofya. As someone who has lived in Turkey for most of her life, we are tired of hating each other because of these cheap political moves.

And one last point mainly for my Muslim followers, a much more important issue than Ayasofya’s transformation is that people in Turkey don’t really pray anymore. So many empty mosques without anyone to pray in them, it is heartbreaking. I would suggest that this is caused by the erosion of Islamic values in the past 10 years due to Islam becoming a political weapon in the hands of Erdogan. So, what does the turning of Ayasofya into a mosque actually represent in the current political climate of Turkey? Is it simply reclaiming a Muslim space or is it using the sentiments of Muslims in Turkey just for some cheap votes? While Erdogan weaponizes Islam, the youth is straying further away from it and the polarization and hatred within communities is increasing. I want Islam to be a value that brings my people together, not one to cause rifts between them just because politicians twist it like this. Therefore, the transformation of Ayasofya in my opinion, symbolizes the Turkish society becoming distant to Islamic values rather than symbolizing a religious awakening like Muslims all around the world think. Which is why I would say that the transformation of Ayasofya into a mosque is the wrong thing to do.


Remembering Sarajevo

On the 25th anniversary of the Srebrenica Massacre, I want to write about the country which has affected my soul deeply and tell some of their stories from the perspective of memory and remembrance through monuments. Bosnia has a special place in my heart as the land of the most courageous and beautiful souls I have met.

Visit the virtual museum on the Srebrenica Massacre to learn more:

I got to visit Bosnia and Herzegovina twice, once in 2009 and the other time in 2016. I got to see in between my visits how the persevering Bosnian people rebuilt their land after the horrible war took place between 1992-1995. The first time I went to Sarajevo, the city was pretty much still healing itself. The ruins of what once were the homes of Bosnian Muslims were a usual sight while travelling in the city. Many houses had bullets inside their walls left there because they had not gotten to renovate the buildings yet. The second time I went, most houses were repaired with the exception of a few. I learned that they chose to leave some buildings and monuments as it is to tell the story of war and pain. 

Disclaimer: I will be writing about a sensitive topic therefore please reach out to me if I made a comment which is not correct in your own lived experience. 

I was thinking how one might choose which monuments tell this story in the best way. After all, keeping memories of genocide and destruction within one’s city can have a traumatising effect on the people living there. It is a courageous decision to renovate or leave a building as it is when the stories behind them are that painful. This was not something I ever thought about before I visited Sarajevo. In this post, I will be writing about the two buildings which have a special place in my heart after my visits. I present to you the National Library and Tunel Spasa in Sarajevo and how they aid our understanding of memory preservation.

The National Library is a beautiful building in the middle of Downtown Sarajevo. There are some photos under this post of the National Library both in 2009 and 2016. The library is restored for next generations to benefit. It was newly opened when I went there in 2016, it took a long time to restore, as I remember that they had started the restoration process back when I was there in 2009 as a kid. The message that the National Library gives is clear, we are restoring this building because we look towards a better future for our youth. A library best symbolizes education, learning, and leaving valuable information to the next generations. This library even though it is renovated, still reminds us that remembering what happened is important. 

The sign on the door of the library says: “On this place Serbian criminals on the night of 25th – 26th August 1992, set on fire National and University’s Library of Bosnia and Herzegovina. Over 2 millions of books, periodicals and documents vanished in the flame. DO NOT FORGET, REMEMBER AND WARN!” 

Another important site in Sarajevo that stuck with me was Tunel Spasa which translates to The Tunnel of Hope. This tunnel was dug by Bosnian forces because the city was cut off from resources such as food and humanitarian aid. Dug 800 metres deep, it was wide enough for a person to pass. It is said that during the war 1000 people passed through it to go in and out of the city. President Alija Izetbegovic also got to visit the people in Sarajevo through this tunnel during the war. Tunel Spasa kept Sarajevo alive until the NATO intervention. 

I would highly suggest reading the whole story of this amazing monument of hope and perseverance:

The tunnel is now a museum, they haven’t restored most of the tunnel because it shows the hardship of a city under siege and how the world watched them die without intervening in the situation. (The UN technically intervened in the Bosnian War but the mission was a huge failure) The house by the tunnel is a museum which has stayed the same since the war. The entrance of the tunnel is also open for visitors to see how narrow the tunnel was. “Leaving it as it is” has helped the Bosnian people to convey the memory of war to other generations in Tunel Spasa. I wasn’t even born when the war was happening in Bosnia but when I went there both as a child and a teenager, I got to see the pain. I am thankful that the tunnel was kept as it is even though it might remind people of painful memories. 

I remember asking myself: 

“Is forgetting the pain easier rather than keeping memories alive?” 

“Should we try to forget pain or keep it as a part of our personality?” 

I still do not know the answer.

The decision to restore the library is a nice way of looking at the future as bright. The decision to leave the tunnel as it is, is a way of preserving the past and learning from it. Sarajevo is an incredible city to visit because it is a great synthesis of the past and the present. There is a lot to learn from the people, the monuments, and their stories.


an Extraordinary Eid Prayer in Cologne

Eid is a time to be with our loved ones. Being away from most of my relatives here in Canada, a beautiful story of community and religious coexistence I saw on Twitter has caught my attention. Some background information; in the 60s, Germany requested immigrant workers from countries such as Italy, Turkey, Spain, and Greece because they lacked the labor force to keep their factories working. Due to this reason, a huge population of Turkish workers immigrated to Germany for better pay. Most of them left their families behind, thinking that they would go back to them in a few years after they save some money. When these immigrants first arrived in Germany, they tried their best to keep their religiosity and national identity intact. This is the story of how they got to pray in the Cologne Cathedral in the winter of 1965 and celebrated Eid al-Fitr together as the immigrant community away from their loved ones. 

(Story and photos taken and translated from @diaspora_turk on Twitter –

In the beginning of 1965, the Turkish workers in Germany were in a rush to find a large covered area for the Eid prayer. As they were thinking, the historical Dom Cathedral (Cologne Cathedral) which they walk past everyday crossed their minds. They decide that ‘the cathedral is large enough and technically it is a place of worship’. A committee is created by Turkish workers to undertake this task. This committee starts reaching out to people in charge of the Cologne Cathedral which is an important religious center for Catholic Christians. Their request somehow reaches Cardinal Frings Denkmal. Many arguments ensue within the Cathedral administration due to the remarkable nature of this request. Even the Turkish workers in Cologne can’t decide if this is a good idea.

Cologne Cathedral

Surprisingly, the cathedral administration gives permission for the Eid prayer to happen in the Cathedral on the 3rd of February in 1965. Now the Turkish Committee has another difficult task; they need to let the 15,000 Turks in Köln (Cologne) know that the Eid prayer will happen in 2 weeks at the Cologne Cathedral. Yusuf Topcu and Ibrahim Toparslan write the announcements by hand on 60 fliers which they hang on the walls of dorms and factories that are densely populated by Turkish migrants. They hop on their bikes and go around Cologne in a few days to distribute this announcement. 

For the attention of my dear honorable siblings, 

On the 3rd of February we will congregate in the Dom Church* for the Eid prayer at the end of the blessed month of Ramadan. Please bring your prayer mats and some newspaper with you. We ask you to act befittingly to our honorable religion Islam and our nation without committing any excess behavior. We also request that you let your communities know of this plan. 

Coordination Committee:
Hikmet Uygun, Yusuf Topcu, and Ibrahim Toparslan

The long-awaited day arrives, it is a beautiful Wednesday morning in Cologne. The Turkish workers all get groomed and wear their best suits for the Eid prayer. As they arrive to the cathedral, they cover the sculptures inside with the newspaper they brought. Approximately 700 worshippers gather inside the Dom Cathedral that day. Other than the worshippers, there are many Germans and journalists around watching this historical moment. The prayer ends, everyone exchanges greetings, candy is given out.

In a few days, Kölnische Rundschau publishes this news on their front page: “it was a historical day” as the headline. Die Zeit writes: “Adhan (Muslim call to prayer) in Dom Cathedral, where we once sent off the crusaders.” and they continue: “Turkish workers congregated for their Eid prayer inside the Dom Cathedral and left some money in our donation boxes before they left.”

*Turkish name for the Cologne Cathedral