My name is Hamza Encü
My name is Hamza Encü
My name is Hamza Encü.
I was a smuggler, the work inherited from my father. I used to smoke tobacco on the quiet
I was a brave man true to his name. I used to feel sorry for those who would dare to challenge me in wrestling.
When I was 20, I joined the army to perform my military service in Tunceli with your words and Dersim with mines
Nobody at home got a wink of sleep along my military service for one and a half year. They listened to each news of clashes and death from Dersim with their hearts in their boots. The happiness of thank god it is not him used to be followed by sadness and a wish may god give patience to their families
It was only when I finished my service and got back home where I was met as if returning from pilgrimage that I understood how much they had been waiting for me
It was that period when my mother started to sound me out about marriage as she obviously didnt intend to die without seeing mine. I was also preparing for marriage as I was dreaming about starting a family. As you know, preparations cause expense. The village of Roboski had neither a single factory nor fields for cultivation. Our one and only bread and butter was the work we inherited from our fathers, smuggling with your words
The fire of the first bomb dropped on us was at the same the Apocalypse of Roboski. Each age of me scattered around on the rocks of Roboski
The bad news reached our unfortunate house very early. Berivan couldnt stand this agonizing pain and she stabbed herself. My mother tried to gather the parts of her dearest from four sides of Roboski, but, in vain
I was written on the autopsy report as nonidentifiable arm and leg! It was only two days later that my mother was able to reach ten pounds of her eighty weighted Hamza!
Seventy pounds of my body scattered around on the mountain and hillsides of Roboski. What should my mother do other than praying to mountains and stones?
My name is Hamza Encü. Sirs, knowing the bread doesnt feed man, you should pay a price for taking bread to your table. My life was the price I have paid! Tell me, is this the way I should have died?
This may annoy you but I have several words to say;
I demand justice,
If the bombs that killed me didnt kill the justice too
Doesnt 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 was a smuggler, the work inherited from my father. I used to smoke tobacco on the quiet
I was a brave man true to his name. I used to feel sorry for those who would dare to challenge me in wrestling.
When I was 20, I joined the army to perform my military service in Tunceli with your words and Dersim with mines
Nobody at home got a wink of sleep along my military service for one and a half year. They listened to each news of clashes and death from Dersim with their hearts in their boots. The happiness of thank god it is not him used to be followed by sadness and a wish may god give patience to their families
It was only when I finished my service and got back home where I was met as if returning from pilgrimage that I understood how much they had been waiting for me
It was that period when my mother started to sound me out about marriage as she obviously didnt intend to die without seeing mine. I was also preparing for marriage as I was dreaming about starting a family. As you know, preparations cause expense. The village of Roboski had neither a single factory nor fields for cultivation. Our one and only bread and butter was the work we inherited from our fathers, smuggling with your words
The fire of the first bomb dropped on us was at the same the Apocalypse of Roboski. Each age of me scattered around on the rocks of Roboski
The bad news reached our unfortunate house very early. Berivan couldnt stand this agonizing pain and she stabbed herself. My mother tried to gather the parts of her dearest from four sides of Roboski, but, in vain
I was written on the autopsy report as nonidentifiable arm and leg! It was only two days later that my mother was able to reach ten pounds of her eighty weighted Hamza!
Seventy pounds of my body scattered around on the mountain and hillsides of Roboski. What should my mother do other than praying to mountains and stones?
My name is Hamza Encü. Sirs, knowing the bread doesnt feed man, you should pay a price for taking bread to your table. My life was the price I have paid! Tell me, is this the way I should have died?
This may annoy you but I have several words to say;
I demand justice,
If the bombs that killed me didnt kill the justice too
Doesnt 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.
