Waking up to snow and purges

We went to bed with snow falling in Istanbul.
There was scholarly debate as bedtime approached: ‘Will it settle because it’s snowing like mad?’ – ‘Uh-uh. It won’t. There’s slush underneath.’
We woke up to the sound of Ahmed Arif saying, ‘My country is under snow.’
There is snow as far as the eye can see. Nature’s white blanket has covered the ugliness of mortals’ eyesore buildings.

And, for a child of the Aegean such as me, snow brings with it an unaccustomed beauty.
Can it but give us delight?

So, what gives rise to this deep-seated sorrow and anger?
What is this sense of ‘something missing’ that builds up inside you as you survey the trees, gardens, scurrying dogs and the absolutely car-free road from within a warm flat?
Why does the image of a cold, very cold, Syrian child not vanish from before your eyes?
It is not only Syrian children that feel the cold. You know that for sure. But, even so, a child, a Syrian child, is constantly before your eyes and the snow is unable to give you delight.
Is this cheap populism? Milking poverty for all it is worth from a warm room?
Let us suppose so.

Even so, that cold, very cold, Syrian child is constantly before my eyes.

***
The decree with the force of law assault that for 45 days appeared to have halted was also seemingly awaiting the snow storm. Three decrees with the force of law were proclaimed one after another. In the depths of winter, the implacable ‘monster in power’ has in a single stroke deprived thousands of people, most notably the academics who signed the Peace Declaration along with police officers and soldiers, of employment, sustenance and prospects.
Political purging has once again moved into full swing.
Almost six months have passed since 15 July. The legal process that should have been restricted to those who actually took part in the coup and committed crimes has long since degenerated and investigations purportedly restricted to FETOists and FETOism have turned into a vengeance operation that perceives all those who oppose the AKP, do not pay homage to Tayyip Erdoğan and do not bow before those in power to be enemies.

***
It is no easy matter to put the column together when I sense the mentality breathing down my neck that, for example, and being just one example, separates Melek Göregenli from her students in Izmir and Ömer Faruk Gergerlioğlu from his patients in Izmit and with nature’s white blanket serving up a beauty that is unable to give me delight. You are either going set out in words what you feel deep inside you, in which case you will inevitably find yourself standing before the public prosecutor, or will vacuously mutter away about something or other like now.

I throw in the towel.
I mean, I am done with muttering.
I am the cold, very cold, little Syrian child in the depths of winter.

AYDIN ENGİN