Sing That Song

By Selim Cürükkaya

In the years from 1980 to 1987, the author of this book was taken into custody to the prison of Diyarbakir, Kurdistan.
This striking story is about Adem, a man of Armenian and Kurdish origin and the happenings that he has endured during his time as a prisoner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: epubli
• Release date: Aug 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9783737505369

Selim Cürükkaya

İnglisch: M.Selim Çürükkaya was born in Bingöl in 1954. He graduated from a teacher training school. He spent 11 years in prison for political reasons. He is a member of PEN. He worked as a manager and columnist in some newspapers. He has twelve published books. He was the director of the documentary film "Veywek". "What the Hell?" and “Ma Dojeh Chiye?” He prepared TV series and movies for broadcast. He speaks Zazaki, Turkish, Kurmanji and German.

Book preview

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