My name is Mahsun Encü
My name is Mahsun Encü
My name is Mahsun Encü
I am not a statistic.
I am a “human being”!
And I have a story too…
I am someone who extended the meaning of his name to his entire life.
As the village of Roboski witnessed its sad children’s difficult fight for life, I was still at the beginning of a life which was spent with always delayed longings and consumed with impossible dreams.
I was in my first youth while this territory was giving a bitter struggle to exist against death. I had just recently started to understand that existence in this territory was evolving into a struggle and that this struggle was sometimes evolving into death. We had heard that smuggling was illegal but we believed the work we did wasn’t smuggling. The border which was determined with small stones was the place where we earned our living.
As our fight for bread pushed the borders, that day we were perhaps about to finish one more “smuggling work”, engrossed in the maddening diligence of our donkeys that shared the same fate with us, when we heard the bewildering sounds of F-16 warplanes. The moments after that were not any different from an Armageddon.
The weather was cold and it was therefore more difficult to die. On the side of a mountain and in the middle of the winter; it was very difficult to give an end to your life when you are still in your first youth.
I am 17 years old.
I am one of those who surrendered all their dreams and longings to the bombs dropped from the heavens that night, I am one of the 34 people whose bodies with those of donkeys fell to pieces on a mountainside.
I had already learnt that the life was difficult but it was only that night that I understood death was more difficult than life. I was not going to be able to take my brother to doctor tomorrow, to study and to be a doctor in the future. I was not going to grow up, get married, love my children, support a team, cry, smile and even fall in love.
I was still 17 years old and I used to think it was still very early to die…
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 am someone who extended the meaning of his name to his entire life.
As the village of Roboski witnessed its sad children’s difficult fight for life, I was still at the beginning of a life which was spent with always delayed longings and consumed with impossible dreams.
I was in my first youth while this territory was giving a bitter struggle to exist against death. I had just recently started to understand that existence in this territory was evolving into a struggle and that this struggle was sometimes evolving into death. We had heard that smuggling was illegal but we believed the work we did wasn’t smuggling. The border which was determined with small stones was the place where we earned our living.
As our fight for bread pushed the borders, that day we were perhaps about to finish one more “smuggling work”, engrossed in the maddening diligence of our donkeys that shared the same fate with us, when we heard the bewildering sounds of F-16 warplanes. The moments after that were not any different from an Armageddon.
The weather was cold and it was therefore more difficult to die. On the side of a mountain and in the middle of the winter; it was very difficult to give an end to your life when you are still in your first youth.
I am 17 years old.
I am one of those who surrendered all their dreams and longings to the bombs dropped from the heavens that night, I am one of the 34 people whose bodies with those of donkeys fell to pieces on a mountainside.
I had already learnt that the life was difficult but it was only that night that I understood death was more difficult than life. I was not going to be able to take my brother to doctor tomorrow, to study and to be a doctor in the future. I was not going to grow up, get married, love my children, support a team, cry, smile and even fall in love.
I was still 17 years old and I used to think it was still very early to die…
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.
