DUMBBELLS (English slang for stupid fools)
DÜMBELEKLER (Turkish slang for stupid fools)
I sing what
was lost and dread what was won,
I walk in a battle fought over again,
My king a lost king, and lost soldiers my men;
Feet to the Rising and Setting may run,
They always beat on the same small stone.
Willam Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
I read the news today, oh boy. Here's what
Reuters said:
"Prime Minister Tayyip Erdoğan has applied to
Turkey's constitutional court on Friday to challenge the alleged violation of
his and his family's rights by social media, a senior official in his office
told Reuters."
Isn't it grand, this so-called rule of law.
The prime minister is correct in his action. Long ago his family's rights were
well-established as were his. When the fox owns the chicken coop every day the
menu-du-jour is chicken. We and the world know the quality of those who rule
this sad country.
But who's to argue? Not the sheep. If they whimper, they're next. And besides,
they're well-bribed with food and coal and things magical from the bountiful
Ankara sky. They have indeed learned to deeply love their Big Brother. They
repay with their pathetic ballots. So, who? Perhaps young people who, like all
young people everywhere, thought they had a future? Sorry. Enough of them have
died and been maimed. Maimed by the prime minister who now frets about his and
his family's rights.
Hah! So surely it will be the political opposition who once thought they had a patriotic responsibility, even a cause? No cause. No thought. No brains. No nothing. The military? The ones with the soundest, strongest emotional and ethical legacy? Nope. Folded up like a cheap suit. Hardly a whimper. Generals now bow their heads to thieving politicians. Cowardly submissive stuff like that makes one wonder if they ever received an education (and at taxpayer expense).
Atatürk? Huh? Please, we must not speak
aloud of such things. So who's left to argue? Media? Ha! Sold-out.
Universities? Ha! Ha! Expounding on pet obscurities, historical quirks, dead
poets and deader laws and what once was and now will never be. There is no time
left for history and literature and law and medicine and philosophy and too
many more words. Speaking of which, what about writers? Well, who reads? The
world is too much with all of us, and we are all too late.
So who will care? Care enough to act, to really act? To stand up and say that
this is enough. That the people will no longer be governed by a corrupt
political process. Nor by numbskull, repetitive political opposition parties
nor by America's CIA gangsters? Is that too much to ask?
It seems so. Time grows short. Another crooked election is coming, this one
presidential. One way or another the same small people will throw the same big
stones at us. Ah Turkey, the saddest country with the saddest people with the
saddest stories. Always beating on, always being beaten. Ah, dear Turkey,
Atatürk's children deserved so much more. So did Atatürk.
James (Cem) Ryan
Istanbul
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