Beat that handcuff too Aaron Tokak column |

Hit that handcuff too

Outside, the wind is blowing itself to the ground, tearing your chest and head. It mourns like an air song. We are on the road again with some old friends. Night and cold took us to the house of Oznur and Hamdullah couple. They greeted us with their two beautiful puppies. Fatih, who is only ten years old, is a mature and dignified boy like a twenty year old. Five-year-old Bahar never leaves his mother. “Spring loves you so much.” We tell Mrs. Oznur. “She’s afraid of losing me, baby.” “Why that?” “I was a sociology teacher,” said Oznur Haneem, who still bears deep marks of the pain he felt on his face. He started telling his whole story …

“July 15 was our spring and our winter. Bahar was born on 15th July. We were being followed step by step. We used to practice taking home every day now. What do we do when the police come, how do we meet them, what do we take with us, to whom do we hand over the children … When the circle shrinks, they tell us, ‘You go to your town.’ They said. We went to our family. Our relatives told us, ‘You are always on vacation for three or four days, staying here for a few days.’ They begin to speak. We were with my parents for three or four months. My father’s overgrown house became desolate like a dilapidated temple. No one was coming. I said to my father, ‘You send these children well.’ They were saying. My son Fatih does not leave his father morning and evening. He hugged, sniffed, kissed her face and eyes as if he felt something.

It was a cool autumn day. The police raided our house. They took Hamdullah Bek before our eyes. That day Headman called our house. “The police came and went to search the house.” He said that on that day the police chief brought five or six policemen. They started searching the house. ‘I’ll leave my son downstairs so he can’t see it.’ A female police officer asked, ‘Who are you?’ Said ‘I am the wife of Hamdullah Bay, whom you have just taken. Said. ‘You can’t leave the house, ma’am. There is an arrest warrant against you too. ” Said my son hugged me. I saw fear in my baby’s eyes. Tie my knees. They arrested me knowing that my son and Bahar’s parents would be without me. I left my son with my parents. As I drove my little girl to the police car with some belongings, all the residents had their windows open and were looking at us.

The first snow of the season was falling. The roads were white. At that moment, I felt like the Virgin Mary. My baby in my lap, ‘My mother is innocent!’ I wanted him to shout, to awaken fear in the hearts of the oppressors. But it did not happen. We reached the station. The car was drenched in sweat. There was no way to change it. A police officer asked, ‘How old is the baby?’ Says ‘seven months old.’ ‘Don’t be afraid, they will leave.’ They took my baby in their arms and threw me behind bars. The cellar is very dirty, unsuitable for sitting. There was a blanket but it was terrible too. I was in the same police station with my wife Mr. Hamdullah. We were at home last night. We had a happy home. Now we were in the same police station, in a different cell. What was Fatih doing? Did he cry a lot behind us? Was he waiting for us with his face by the window? ‘I want my mother, I want my father.’ Did he destroy the heavens and the earth? They told me they would interrogate me. When a policeman took Bahar to his father, he was terrified and cried a lot. They didn’t let me take it. At the sound of the iron door I realized that Basant had met his father. If my wife was not there that evening, who would I leave my baby with during the interrogation?

My wife and I were in the police station. Everyone seems to be sitting at home in innocence and peace. We were criminals in the big city. The policeman, with a thick coat on his back and a beret on his head, asked me, ‘Is the child cold?’ “Are you a member of the organization?” Did you take part in the coup? From whom did you take the order? ‘ Ask such questions. Each interrogation took an hour and a half, two hours. The bar attorney didn’t even look at me. ‘Sorry, take your child away.’ They were saying. ‘I have not committed any crime, what will I regret?’ I was saying. ‘Look, you have a baby. You get fifteen years. At least be kind to your child. ‘

At that moment, I felt the power of prayer in my heart. ‘O Allah, do not hinder any of our brothers in trying to protect our service! If our service is damaged, give my life to my teacher. ‘ Bahar cried incessantly until morning that night. I was losing myself as my baby cried. I had a terrible headache. The next day, we took Hamdullah’s bike to court. This is our first time before a judge. Judges on a high pulpit looked horrified, wearing black dresses with stand-up collars on their backs. I never stopped Bahar during the trial, he was always crying.

The judge pronounced his verdict. ‘Hamdullah for the arrest of the servant …’ My wife and I met. ‘Don’t be upset!’ He said, ‘Take care of Bahar!’ He walked among the soldiers. At that moment, I was reminded of those tragic scenes from the novel Minielli Abdullah. As Nayak Abdullah was walking among the soldiers, his wife Sevade shouted, ‘Down with Cairo, down with Mini!’ He was saying. I can’t say this for my city, which has been a scene of great service in the past. I restrained myself but could not hold back the tears. My wife slipped from the palm of my hand.

I thought they would leave me. Bahar was constantly throwing at the judges in my lap. He was saying something, but it was incomprehensible. It was very hard to hold on to my lap. They also asked the same question that was asked at the police station. Sitting in the high chair, the judges pronounced their verdict on me. ‘For the arrest of Oznur’s servant …’ My father collapsed on the spot. Both of them are crying and ‘Don’t be sad girl!’ He was saying. And I said, ‘Dad, don’t be sad!’ I was saying, but my eyes were generously pouring out my mind. We entered the prison on a snowy day with Bahar in our arms. The iron gate and the guards greeted us. I will never forget the sound of that iron door closing on us like lightning. It was a terrible voice that my freedom was over.

‘You’re lucky.’ Said the warden. ‘You have kids, you won’t be in the cell.’ The ward door opened. My God! With nowhere else to sit, twenty women and girls lined up like birds on the telephone wires at the end of the bunk bed. Everyone’s eyes were on me then. ‘Oops, another baby has arrived.’ One of them said.

It was seen that every time they entered there they were praying, ‘Oh God, let this be the end! ‘I knew for myself what each person’s prayer was,’ God, finish me off! ‘They made dinner for me. They all turned around and stopped. Spring was crying endlessly. It used to be a men’s ward. At the end of the process it was allocated to women. Matt pillows from dirt. You’re a woman, you’re sleeping in a men’s bed, there were all kinds of smells. The poor walls, witnessing every pain and every sorrow, were sweating cold like the patients of acute migraine on a winter’s day. Everyone was drying clothes in this narrow place. Every time the guards come, they say, ‘It’s a bad smell inside, breathe!’ They were saying. We couldn’t open the window, there were children.

We were in the same jail with my wife, but we only got to see each other on the day of the reunion. Every time we meet, we ask, ‘Is it okay to go out, are you okay?’ He was saying. I once let Bahar go to the bathroom with a friend. He pushed the glass in front of him with his left hand and the tea fell on him. I ran out screaming. There was no doctor in the infirmary. We wanted eggs, they didn’t give us because raw eggs are forbidden. “Let’s take him to the emergency room.” We said. ‘You can’t go together.’ They said. In these moments a person feels the value of freedom more deeply. To close the iron door once for you. You live a completely captive life. That night I fell asleep, tired of crying outside.

We often cleaned the ward from head to toe. First thing in the morning, we asked each other, ‘Has anyone had a dream? He had a question. When all the windows and doors were closed on the person, the windows opened in the realm of example became breathless. The inability to see flying birds, trees, vast green dreams; Black color, high impenetrable walls, castle means captivity. ‘Send birds, O God! ‘We were praying. One day, we made the word shine again. One of our sisters woke up in the morning full of emotion. She could not explain her dream because of crying. It was overflowing like a fountain, swelling at every moment. She went into a weeping fit. That night he dreamed that the Prophet (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) was cleaning his house. Our sister was praying so much that I had never heard of her before.

We used to make Hatim every three days. That narrow ward turned into the complete Madrasa-e Yusufia for us. We were constantly reading and praying. We were wondering if it was possible to run in hijme, and we were training to run again. It is as if our Prophet (peace be upon him) was wandering in his ward one by one. ‘Spruce yourself up!’ He was saying. Ramadan; We felt the atmosphere with Tarabih Dinner, Sahoor and Iftar that I can’t explain. On the eve, we opened the window, and the lament “Hüzünlü Gurbet” began to rise in chorus from all the wards.

On the morning of the festival we all mourned. We were far away from our loved ones, from our homes. The guards appeared with biscuits in their hands. We also made potato salad with onions. Two months later, ‘You’re going to another city.’ They said. We said goodbye to our ward friends. One hand on my lap, the other hand my bag. I was having trouble walking. The guard wanted to help. Prison Warden ‘Mind work! Says the director’s heart did not cool by representing the wild and cruel face of the state. Soldier, ‘Hit this handcuff too!’ The soldier looked at a prison warden and then looked at me and said like a boy, ‘It’s too late, sister!’ Says

The new prison was no different from the previous one. There were bunk beds on three floors up to the roof. There were no stairs. The fluorescent lamp, which could hardly illuminate itself, lasted for 24 hours. There was no place to pray. In the bathroom, the second person could hardly turn around, half an hour of water flowing every day. We were praying in front of the toilet.

Nine months later we went to court again. The judge lady is not looking at me. Bahar was trying to say something to the judges. The judge said, “Get that baby out!” Didn’t I tell you that you would never come with this boy again? ‘ Says the soldiers forcibly snatched me out of my chest. Bahar’s separation from me must have taken something from the lady’s heart to the judge, because without lifting her head, unexpectedly, she said, ‘Wheel of weight, release.’ Said when we took Bahar out in our lap, Bahar showed the sky and flying birds with his hand and said, look mother, look! ‘He was saying.

The night is far ahead. The wind was blowing from the ground outside. He was shaking his head. Our hearts were also very tired at night from what Oznur Haneem told us. Salih Oz’s elder brother’s crying did not stop at night. He was sublingual again. “Enough, sister,” we said, “enough.”

“Enough Nesimi, this wail is enough

I know, it’s worse than Keram

Every time you sigh, your smoke will burn

Pain in my soul, not in my body “

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