My name is Adem Ant
My name is Adem Ant
My name is Adem Ant.
I am not a statistic.
I am a “human being”!
And I have a story too…
I was the first child of my family, the first flower of the spring…
Dear Sir, it is a difficult thing to provide for a twelve member family in a droughty and mountainous territory which is suitable for neither industry nor agriculture!
My father is not capable of doing any work as he was operated on both his eyes. It was therefore me who used to go smuggling regardless of the warmth and dust in summer and the snow, mud and dry cold in winter…
Do not underrate smuggling! People get tuckered out while going smuggling in the depth of winter, darkness, minus degrees, rain and snow!
Our hands used to freeze until we turned back home. Our mothers used to take our watery shoes off, take us to bathroom and bring us back to life with warm water…
I was engaged with Garibe. We were going to green a heavenly home in this territory which is a completely rocky place. We weren’t planning or dreaming about being rich. It would be enough for us if we could have a two-roomed house, two children and live without leading a hungry and homeless life…
We rented a house in Þýrnak and bought some furniture with a very small amount of money. We were going to get married this summer and then I was going to join the army. My dear Garibe was going to wait for me while sometimes staying with my family and sometimes with her’s.
I was wounded with the fire opened on us when we went to smuggling at an earlier date. Garibe and I started to have discussions after that day. She threated me with breaking off the engagement if I happened to go smuggling again. “You never know what the state will do. What will I ever do if they kill me!”, she asked me one day. I therewith promised Garibe to not to go smuggling again…
A young relative of mine was going to go smuggling that day, and I had to go, to not to leave him alone …With that money, which would possibly be the last money I would earn from smuggling, I was going to buy earrings to present to my Garibe… And this was going to be the last time, whoever says whatever! However, this time it was the end of us.
The bombs were rained on us like hell ! I was injured. I leaned my back on a rock while waiting for someone to come for help… My Garibe came in a white wedding dress, she was standing before me and smiling at me. This is the story of the smile that remained on my lips…
I couldn’t keep my promise to Garibe…
I couldn’t protect my relative after whom I went smuggling to not to leave him alone and to not to make him be afraid…
The donkey wasn’t mine, I had taken that of someone else.
I was ashamed three times…
This may annoy you but I have several words to say;
I demand justice,
If the bombs that killed me didn’t kill the justice too…
Doesn’t everyone have the right to justice?
Or,
Should I apologize to the state because it has warted those huge, expensive bombs for killing me,
Should I thank the General Staff for not missing the target and for killing me!?
* Platform for Justice for Roboski publishes the life story of 34 people from the villages of Roboski and Gülyazý who were killed by bombs on 28 December, 2011. These stories which will be published for 34 days are also sent to the offices of President, Prime Minister, Ministry of Justice and Interior Ministry via fax and mail.
I am not a statistic.
I am a “human being”!
And I have a story too…
I was the first child of my family, the first flower of the spring…
Dear Sir, it is a difficult thing to provide for a twelve member family in a droughty and mountainous territory which is suitable for neither industry nor agriculture!
My father is not capable of doing any work as he was operated on both his eyes. It was therefore me who used to go smuggling regardless of the warmth and dust in summer and the snow, mud and dry cold in winter…
Do not underrate smuggling! People get tuckered out while going smuggling in the depth of winter, darkness, minus degrees, rain and snow!
Our hands used to freeze until we turned back home. Our mothers used to take our watery shoes off, take us to bathroom and bring us back to life with warm water…
I was engaged with Garibe. We were going to green a heavenly home in this territory which is a completely rocky place. We weren’t planning or dreaming about being rich. It would be enough for us if we could have a two-roomed house, two children and live without leading a hungry and homeless life…
We rented a house in Þýrnak and bought some furniture with a very small amount of money. We were going to get married this summer and then I was going to join the army. My dear Garibe was going to wait for me while sometimes staying with my family and sometimes with her’s.
I was wounded with the fire opened on us when we went to smuggling at an earlier date. Garibe and I started to have discussions after that day. She threated me with breaking off the engagement if I happened to go smuggling again. “You never know what the state will do. What will I ever do if they kill me!”, she asked me one day. I therewith promised Garibe to not to go smuggling again…
A young relative of mine was going to go smuggling that day, and I had to go, to not to leave him alone …With that money, which would possibly be the last money I would earn from smuggling, I was going to buy earrings to present to my Garibe… And this was going to be the last time, whoever says whatever! However, this time it was the end of us.
The bombs were rained on us like hell ! I was injured. I leaned my back on a rock while waiting for someone to come for help… My Garibe came in a white wedding dress, she was standing before me and smiling at me. This is the story of the smile that remained on my lips…
I couldn’t keep my promise to Garibe…
I couldn’t protect my relative after whom I went smuggling to not to leave him alone and to not to make him be afraid…
The donkey wasn’t mine, I had taken that of someone else.
I was ashamed three times…
This may annoy you but I have several words to say;
I demand justice,
If the bombs that killed me didn’t kill the justice too…
Doesn’t everyone have the right to justice?
Or,
Should I apologize to the state because it has warted those huge, expensive bombs for killing me,
Should I thank the General Staff for not missing the target and for killing me!?
* Platform for Justice for Roboski publishes the life story of 34 people from the villages of Roboski and Gülyazý who were killed by bombs on 28 December, 2011. These stories which will be published for 34 days are also sent to the offices of President, Prime Minister, Ministry of Justice and Interior Ministry via fax and mail.
