Snow (42 page)

As Turgut Bey and Kadife made their way among the wooden chairs once draped with red tapestry, they found themselves face-to-face with one of these tatty blondes; Turgut Bey turned to Kadife and whispered, “The Grand Hotel, where Ismet Pasha stayed when he was negotiating the Treaty of Lausanne, was just as cosmopolitan as this,” and with that he took the navy-blue pen out of his pocket. “I’m going to do just what Ismet Pasha did in Lausanne: I’m going to sign the statement with a brand-new pen.” For the longest time, he wouldn’t move; it wasn’t clear to Kadife if he was stalling or listening for noise on the stairs. And when they finally arrived at Room 307, Turgut Bey said, “Let’s just sign this thing and leave.”

It was so crowded inside that Kadife at first thought they’d come to the wrong room. Seeing Blue sitting glumly near the window with two other Islamist militants, she took her father across the room and sat him beside them. A naked lightbulb hung from the ceiling; on the table was a lamp in the shape of a fish, but the room was still inadequately lit. The fish was made of Bakelite; propped on its tail fins, it held the lightbulb in its mouth, and a state-owned microphone was hidden in one of its eyes.

Fazıl was in the room too; the moment he saw Kadife, he jumped to his feet, and when the others rose to pay their respects to Turgut Bey, he remained standing. He looked stunned, as if someone had cast a spell on him. A few in the room thought he was about to speak, but Kadife didn’t even notice him. Her eyes were on Blue and Turgut Bey, whose eyes were on each other, and the atmosphere was tense.

Blue had decided the West would take the statement more seriously if the Kurdish nationalist who signed it was also an atheist. But the thin pale teenager who’d reluctantly agreed to sign had a difference of opinion with his Kurdish nationalist associates as to the wording. Now the three of them were waiting sullenly for their turn to speak. Since the associations of angry, hopeless, jobless youths known to admire the Kurdish guerillas from the mountains tended to convene in the houses of individual members, and since association directors were often being arrested, beaten, and tortured following frequent raids on meetings, it was hard to find these youngsters after the coup. But the three young Kurds had an even more pressing problem: The mountain warriors might find their very presence in this room suspect. They might decide that these young men had it too easy in these warm city rooms and accuse them of accommodation with the Turkish Republic. In fact, the charge that the associations were not sending their fair share of guerilla recruits up to the mountains had demoralized the handful of members who had not yet been arrested.

Also at the meeting were two old-wave socialists, both in their thirties. The possibility of a joint statement to the German press had been conveyed to them by the Kurdish youths, who’d gone to the socialists to brag a little and also to ask for advice. Socialist militancy had once cast a long shadow over Kars, but now it was spent; these days no socialist would dare set an ambush, kill a policeman, or start a mail-bomb campaign without first seeking the support of the Kurdish guerillas, and the result was an epidemic of premature decrepitude and widespread depression in their once-formidable ranks. Now here were these old militants who’d come uninvited to the meeting, having heard there were still a lot of Marxists in Europe. At the far end of the room, just beside the oldest socialist, who looked bored, sat a relaxed, clean-faced comrade, who was in high spirits, knowing he would relay the details of the meeting to the local MIT branch. His intentions weren’t malign; he did this to help the associations head off police harassment. He would inform the state of any activities he didn’t like—most of which seemed unnecessary in retro-spect anyway—but in his heart of hearts, he was proud that there were rebels out there fighting for the cause, so proud, in fact, that he would brag about the shootings, the kidnappings, the beatings, the bombings, and the assassinations to anyone who would listen.

At first no one spoke, so sure were they that the room was bugged and that there were several informers present. Or if they spoke, it was with a nod in the direction of the window to note that it was still snowing, or to admonish someone for stubbing out cigarettes on the floor. The silence lasted until a Kurdish granny unnoticed until that moment stood up and told the story of her grandson’s disappearance (they had come in the middle of the night and taken him away). Even only half listening to this disappearance story, Turgut Bey felt uneasy. He was as appalled to hear of the abduction and murder of Kurdish teenagers as he was angry to hear them described as innocents. Holding her father’s hand, Kadife tried to make sense of the disgust and contempt in Blue’s face. Blue felt he had walked into a trap, but fearing what people would say if he left, he remained, against his better judgment. And then: (1) the Islamist youth who was sitting next to Fazıl, and whose connection to the murder of the director of the Institute of Education would be proved months later, began to argue that the director had been assassinated by a government agent; (2) the revolutionaries in the room made a long announcement about a hunger strike begun by their friends in prison; and (3) the three youths from the Kurdish association read out an even longer statement, in which they threatened to withdraw their signatures from the joint declaration unless the
Frankfurter Rundschau
published it, thus restoring Kurdish culture and literature to its proper place in world history.

When the granny, who had come to submit a petition on behalf of the missing teenager, asked where this German journalist was, Kadife rose to explain: Ka was indeed in Kars, she said, in a reassuring voice, but had stayed away from the meeting lest his presence cast any doubt on the impartiality of the statement. The others being unaccustomed to seeing a woman address a political meeting with such confidence, she quickly gained their respect. On hearing that Kadife would do everything in her power to get her story published in the German papers, the granny threw her arms around Kadife and began to cry, and then gave her a piece of paper on which someone had written her grandson’s name.

The well-meaning leftist-militant informer chose this moment to present the first draft, which he had written in longhand in a notebook; as he read it, he did his best to look inscrutable.

Almost everyone warmed to the title at once: “Announcement to the People of Europe about the Events in Kars.” Remembering how he felt at that moment, Fazıl would later smile and tell Ka, “This was the first time it ever occurred to me that our small city might one day have a role to play on the world stage.” (Ka would later use these very words in his poem “All Humanity and the Stars.”)

Only Blue adamantly opposed the title. “We’re not speaking to Europe,” he said, “we’re speaking to all humanity. Our friends should not be surprised to learn we have been unable to publish our statement—not just in Kars and Istanbul but also in Frankfurt. The people of Europe are not our friends, they’re our enemies. And it’s not because we’re
their
enemies, it’s because they instinctively despise us.” 

The leftist in charge of the first draft interrupted to clarify that it wasn’t all humanity that despised them, just the European bourgeoisie. The poor and unemployed were their brothers, he reminded them, but no one other than his fellow socialist was persuaded.

“No one in Europe is as poor as we are,” said one of the three Kurdish youths.

“My son, have you ever been to Europe?” asked Turgut Bey.

“I haven’t had the opportunity yet, but my mother’s brother is a worker in Germany.”

This provoked some laughter. Turgut Bey straightened his chair. “Although the word means much to me, I have never been to Europe either,” he said. “This is not a laughing matter. Please, would all those in the room who have been to Europe raise their hands.” 

Apart from Blue, who had spent many years in Germany, no one raised his hand.

“But we all know what Europe has come to mean,” Turgut Bey continued. “Europe is our future, and the future of our humanity. So if this gentleman”—here he pointed at Blue—“thinks we should say
all humanity
instead of
Europe,
we might as well change our statement accordingly.”

“Europe’s not
my
future,” said Blue with a smile. “As long as I live I shall never imitate them or hate myself for being unlike them.”

“It’s not just Islamists who take pride in this country, the Republicans feel the same way,” said Turgut Bey. “If we say
all humanity
instead of
Europe,
what do we have?”

“Announcement to All Humanity about the Events in Kars,” said the man in charge of the statement. “That might be too bold.” 

There followed a discussion in which they considered replacing
Humanity
with
the West,
but the freckled man beside Blue objected to this too. The Kurdish youth with the shrill voice then suggested the more modest
An Announcement,
and this met with everyone’s approval.

Contrary to all expectations, this draft was in fact very short. And although no one took issue with the opening lines—to the effect that a coup had been “staged” at the very moment when it had become clear that Islamist and Kurdish candidates stood to prevail in the upcoming elections—Turgut Bey objected that people here were known to change their minds on a whim, giving their vote to the party that stood for everything they themselves had opposed only a day before, and that it would be better not to imply with any certitude that this or that politician was sure to have won.

In response, the leftist-militant informer in charge of the working draft said, “Everyone knows this coup happened in advance of the elections in order to prevent certain people from winning.”

“You have to remember that we’re dealing with a theater troupe,” said Turgut Bey. “The only reason they’ve succeeded is that the roads are blocked. Everything will be back to normal in a matter of days.”

“If you’re not against the coup, why are you here?” asked a boy with a beet-red face seated next to Blue.

It was hard to tell whether Turgut Bey had even heard this disrespectful remark. In any case, Kadife rose to her feet at this same moment (she was the only one in the room to stand up when she was speaking, though no one, certainly not she, saw how strange this was). Her eyes burning with anger, she said that her father, having spent many years in prison for his political beliefs, remained categorically opposed to all forms of state-sponsored oppression.

Turgut Bey quickly removed his jacket and sat her down, saying, “I have come to this meeting because I wish to prove to the Europeans that in Turkey, too, we have people who believe in common sense and democracy.”

“If a big German paper gave me two lines of space, this would not be the first thing I’d be aiming to prove,” said the red-faced young man contemptuously; he would have said more, had Blue not laid a warning hand on his arm.

It was enough to make Turgut Bey regret having come. He mastered his disappointment by convincing himself he’d just stopped by on his way somewhere else. Assuming the air of someone preoccupied with matters far away from this room, he rose and took a few steps toward the door; but then, noticing the snow accumulating on Karada˘g Avenue, he walked over to the window. Kadife took his arm as if to suggest her father might be unable to walk any farther without assistance. For a long time, father and daughter stood there like mournful children trying to forget their troubles, as a horse-drawn carriage made its way down the street.

One of the three boys from the Kurdish association—the one with the shrill voice—succumbed to curiosity and joined them at the window. The others watched with a mixture of respect and apprehension; as they wondered whether there was about to be a raid, the room grew tense. The various factions were soon so worried that they reached an agreement about the rest of the statement in no time.

The statement declared the military coup to have been the work of a handful of adventurers. It was Blue who suggested this, rejecting a broader definition that might give Westerners the impression that the military had taken over all of Turkey. In the end they agreed to describe it as a “local coup supported by Ankara.” Brief references were made to the Kurds who’d been shot or taken one by one from their homes and killed and to the torture and intimidation suffered by the boys from the religious high school. “A wholesale assault on the people” was amended to read “an assault on the people, the spirit, and religion.” And they changed the last line, calling finally not just on the people of Europe but on the entire world to unite in protest against the Turkish Republic. As he was reading out this line, Turgut Bey caught Blue’s eyes for a moment and saw contentment in them. Again, the old man was sorry he had come.

“Now, if there are no further objections, let’s sign this at once,” said Blue. “Because there could be a raid at any moment.” 

By now the statement was a tangle of crossed-out words, arrows, and circled emendations, but this deterred no one from rushing to the middle of the room to jostle for position with one objective: to sign and be off. A few were already heading for the door when Kadife cried, “Stop! My father has something to say!”

This only heightened the panic. Blue ordered the red-faced boy to guard the door. “No one may leave,” he said. “Let Turgut Bey make his objection.”

“I don’t have an objection,” the old man said. “But before I put my name to this statement, there’s something I want from that teenager over there.” He pointed at the red-faced boy, now standing guard at the door. “And not just from him—from everyone in the room. I’m going to ask a question, and I want an answer first from him and then from the rest of you, and if I don’t get it, I won’t be signing this statement.” He turned to Blue to gauge the force of the remark.

“Please, be my guest, ask your question,” said Blue. “If it’s in our power to answer it, we’ll be only too pleased to do so.”

“Just a moment ago you laughed at me. So now I want you to tell me this: If a big German newspaper gave you personally two lines of space, what would you say to the West? I want that boy to go first.”