My name is Karker Encü
My name is Karker Encü
My name is Karker Encü
As you may know, a baby is believed to make its way in the area where his/her navel cord is thrown after being cut once he/she is born. My family didn’t have the chance to throw my navel cord in the garden of a university. Who knows which work my father was doing when I was born.
In this territory, where everybody works like a hired man, my navel court must have been thrown into the crops which people raised with great efforts as I have been working for as long as I’ve known myself.
Furthermore, they gave me the name Karker. This must be what they mean with “true to his name”.
Karker; worker, laborer, the man of the land, wheat and “smuggling” in other words.
Working as sheepherder, footboy, construction worker and lastly “smuggling” at the border…
Several days ago, I happened to pass a place far from my home. For work, of course. However, longing was the most difficult thing when away from home. I missed my mother and my father never went out of my sight. I longed for my sister Özlem and I returned because I couldn’t stand it.
I returned because I was going to be with my family despite dealing with this “smuggling” work, I was going to go to the border at night but I was going to return home back. I was going to “smuggle” as the state calls it. However, as God also knows, this was our fight for bread, not smuggling.
I am Selahattin Encü.
My mother calls me Karker and my identity writes Selahattin but I am actually one of the 34. I am one of those who were murdered and buried very late. I am one of those who buried their longings under the cold soil and died with their donkeys.
…
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.
As you may know, a baby is believed to make its way in the area where his/her navel cord is thrown after being cut once he/she is born. My family didn’t have the chance to throw my navel cord in the garden of a university. Who knows which work my father was doing when I was born.
In this territory, where everybody works like a hired man, my navel court must have been thrown into the crops which people raised with great efforts as I have been working for as long as I’ve known myself.
Furthermore, they gave me the name Karker. This must be what they mean with “true to his name”.
Karker; worker, laborer, the man of the land, wheat and “smuggling” in other words.
Working as sheepherder, footboy, construction worker and lastly “smuggling” at the border…
Several days ago, I happened to pass a place far from my home. For work, of course. However, longing was the most difficult thing when away from home. I missed my mother and my father never went out of my sight. I longed for my sister Özlem and I returned because I couldn’t stand it.
I returned because I was going to be with my family despite dealing with this “smuggling” work, I was going to go to the border at night but I was going to return home back. I was going to “smuggle” as the state calls it. However, as God also knows, this was our fight for bread, not smuggling.
I am Selahattin Encü.
My mother calls me Karker and my identity writes Selahattin but I am actually one of the 34. I am one of those who were murdered and buried very late. I am one of those who buried their longings under the cold soil and died with their donkeys.
…
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.
