My name is Bedran Encü
My name is Bedran Encü
My name is Bedran Encü.
I am not a statistic.
I am a “human being”!
And I have a story too…
I was the eldest son of a nine member family, but don’t misread “the eldest” word here as I was still at the age of 13…
Just like they say in films, we have a “poor but proud” family… The eldest son of a family is the right hand of the father. I was the one who was with my father all the time and everywhere. He used to entrust my siblings to me when he was away from home. I was the deputy of my father who used to trust me very much…
I was a student at eight class. The lack of justice manifests itself at very young ages in this territory and I was therefore dreaming about being a lawyer…
As you may not know, poverty chills the people when it joins with the cold! I told my father that I needed new shoes to replace my torn ones and that I wanted to buy my books, shoes and pencils with my own money from then on. It was quite difficult to convince him, but I managed it…
I was together with my life friend, my cousin Þivan that night when we suddenly witnessed the blaze in the heaven. We wanted to interpret the blaze favorably but bombs were dropped from the heaven as we were waiting for a smiling moonlight…
I heard screams, Þivan’s was the bitterest one. I was crying and I was glad that my father didn’t see me in that situation as the scream of his eldest son would no doubt deeply upset him. We run towards our friends. My father had entrusted me to them but they could protect neither me nor themselves. Groaning, bodies torn into pieces and a strong smell…
I was about to die of fear but the bombs dropped on me didn’t allow me to die of my fear. I died with anger, not fear!
My father found the right upper part of my body. He found 20 TL and a cake in my pocket which I was going to eat if I got hungry on the way.
He looked for my legs for a long time but he couldn’t find them. My legs “stroke root” in the soil so that they would not be able to “uproot” us…
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 eldest son of a nine member family, but don’t misread “the eldest” word here as I was still at the age of 13…
Just like they say in films, we have a “poor but proud” family… The eldest son of a family is the right hand of the father. I was the one who was with my father all the time and everywhere. He used to entrust my siblings to me when he was away from home. I was the deputy of my father who used to trust me very much…
I was a student at eight class. The lack of justice manifests itself at very young ages in this territory and I was therefore dreaming about being a lawyer…
As you may not know, poverty chills the people when it joins with the cold! I told my father that I needed new shoes to replace my torn ones and that I wanted to buy my books, shoes and pencils with my own money from then on. It was quite difficult to convince him, but I managed it…
I was together with my life friend, my cousin Þivan that night when we suddenly witnessed the blaze in the heaven. We wanted to interpret the blaze favorably but bombs were dropped from the heaven as we were waiting for a smiling moonlight…
I heard screams, Þivan’s was the bitterest one. I was crying and I was glad that my father didn’t see me in that situation as the scream of his eldest son would no doubt deeply upset him. We run towards our friends. My father had entrusted me to them but they could protect neither me nor themselves. Groaning, bodies torn into pieces and a strong smell…
I was about to die of fear but the bombs dropped on me didn’t allow me to die of my fear. I died with anger, not fear!
My father found the right upper part of my body. He found 20 TL and a cake in my pocket which I was going to eat if I got hungry on the way.
He looked for my legs for a long time but he couldn’t find them. My legs “stroke root” in the soil so that they would not be able to “uproot” us…
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.
