Oh my poor Ceylan

Then there was also the referencing of international legal frameworks during the course of a case in which both members of the military and civilians are being tried in the third chamber of the Military Court of Appeals. Or what about the revelation from former Bingöl Felicity Party (SP) deputy Hüsamettin Korkutata, who said a report prepared on JİTEM in 1995 was prevented from being presented in Parliament. Or perhaps the admission by former Parliament Speaker Hüsamettin Cindoruk that then-President Süleyman Demirel had called him in to tell him, “The commanders are calling me. Please do not pursue this topic any further.”

Just today, two pieces of news were covered in Zaman, one on incredible disclosures recently made by a retired military officer regarding the existence of JİTEM and the other about some banners strung between mosque minarets meant to be blown up during the democratic initiative process. The only problem is, which of these should I write about?

I decided to write today about Ceylan Önkol because the story of her death shook me the most. I will write about this 12-year-old Kurdish girl who was killed while tending her animals in front of her house because her innocent dark eyes say to us: “Is this not enough for you? Never mind all the stuff about Kurds and Turks, or believers and non-believers, are you not human? Don't you also have children, grandchildren, nephews, nieces, loved ones of my age whom you love to hug and kiss and whose hair you love to tousle? Don't you know what it is to cry, to be devastated? Are your tears already dry? How can you be such animals? How can you be so immune to feelings, so insensitive, so strict, as tough as a bullet?”

Ceylan was tending her sheep on Sept. 27 in the tiny village of Paşaciya, which is on the outskirts of the larger village of Şenlik, itself located in the district of Lice, Diyarbakır province. She was only 200 meters from her home when a terrible explosion took place. Ceylan's body was ripped to shreds, flying through the air to even land on tree branches. The same fate occurred to four of the sheep she had been tending. Immediately after the incident, her family went to all the official bureaus to tell of what had happened. The local prosecutor and gendarmes did not go to the scene of the event, on the pretext that it was “not safe.” So Ceylan's destroyed body actually had to wait for six hours at the site where her death occurred. Later, the village imam arrived at the scene with a video camera and the prosecutor then carried out his investigation using images captured on this camera. Local villages are alleging that what killed the girl was mortar fire from the nearby Tapantepe battalion unit. But the head of the General Staff department of communications, Brig. Gen. Metin Gürak, said his bureau has determined that there was no mortar fire in the area at the time of the incident. The autopsy report has revealed that little Ceylan's body was filled with pieces of shrapnel.

What sort of nation has Turkey become? Why do the authorities, the state, the government not work to illuminate the death of this child? What is this silence we witness in the press, the public, civil society organizations and political parties, in Republican People's Party (CHP) leader Deniz Baykal and in Nationalist Movement Party (MHP) leader Devlet Bahçeli? What is this seemingly willful desire to ignore what took place?

If mortar fire was not responsible for Ceylan's death, what was? A mine? And if it was a mine, who planted it? The military or the Kurdistan Workers' Party (PKK)? Again, if it was a mine, was it an old one or a newly planted one? We are facing yet another provocation in the face of the new democratic initiative. Why is it that the military always remains or falls under suspicion in events like this? Why does the military not move more quickly to allow its real face to emerge? The public is awaiting answers to these questions.

Oh my poor Ceylan, you left your home reading the Quran. You told your mother, “Please, cook some pasta so I can eat when I get home.” You were set to go to school the next day. Your sheep were lined up before you, and you had only gone a short way from home when that explosion occurred. Your body was blown everywhere, even into the nearby trees. Did you know that your older brother Rıfat came after you? He yelled “Ceylan, Ceylan!” and his voice echoed through the surrounding mountains and fields. He covered your dead body with his jacket so that your mother, Saliha, would not have to see you like that. But your mother wouldn't listen; “I am a mother,” she insisted, and she lifted the jacket, and just looked and looked at you. The whole place was soon filled with the sound of weeping and wailing.