From an interview, conducted by Nadire Mater, with a thirty-year-old
former soldier who served in Turkey's military between November 1995
and April 1997. The interview appeared in Mehmed's Book, a collection
of Mater's interviews with soldiers who fought in Turkey's war against
Kurdish separatists.

In September [2000], an Istanbul court overturned the government's ban
on the book and dismissed charges that could have imprisoned Mater for
twelve years, for "insulting and belittling" the Turkish military or
government. Kurds make up 25 percent of Turkey's population.
Thirty-five thousand people have died in the Kurdish war, which began
in 1984 and represents the largest use of U.S. weapons anywhere in the
world by non-U.S. forces.

Mater writes for the news agency Inter Press Service. Translated from
the Turkish by Ertugrul Kürkçü.

MY OWN TRUTH

Our initial training was quite heavy. They took sixty-five of us to
Çatalkaya to be trained on village raids, and they told us what the
people they call terrorists did. They told us that terrorists would
put hand grenades inside glasses. That we should not kick metal
containers of any kind, as they might contain bombs. That we should
not touch the dead. That when terrorists are wounded, just before they
die, they place a hand grenade under their stomach area, so that when
you turn them over, it explodes: you can die then and there; instead
of turning them over yourself, they said, you should tie a string on
their feet and turn them by pulling. That we should be cautious about
where we put our feet when we walked.

Perhaps because our family originally came from the East, I used to
believe that people in the East were right and that they faced
injustice. In the military I was told the opposite story. They told us
these terrorists wanted to divide our country and that they killed
children. I have a special love for children, so I started to change
my ideas.

When I myself went to the East and saw what was happening there, I
realized that soldiers in fact did many of the things they attributed
to the terrorists. I saw both sides. And in this way I found my own
truth.

I am a musician, so I was given a position at the military's
recreation facility in Diyarbakir, as a guard at the entrance door. We
checked the identity cards of those going in and out. According to
orders, everyone was obliged to present their identity cards. If you
had the slightest suspicion, you were ordered to shoot. The captain
who gave us orders used to say: "You should be like terrorists; people
should fear you." We used to pull people from the outside and hit them
because they had stared at us. "Don't hit too hard," the captain would
say. When the people we hit left, he'd say: "That's exactly what you
should do."

The first person I hit was a small child. He was throwing stones. Five
or six of us hit him. He was maybe thirteen years old. There was a
wall there, and we used to hit them behind the wall. For instance,
suppose we say that a child was picking our flowers. The colonel would
shout: "Can't you see that he has picked those flowers?" We would say:
"Yes, we have seen, sir." "Pull him in then," the colonel would
respond. We would call the child and pull him in. We would be pumped
up and hit him hard with the butts of our ruffles. Then we'd have him
wash up and leave.

At one point I said, "It shouldn't be this way. This isn't me." I
started to pull myself together. Then I was criticized because there
were no disturbances, no terror, and no complaints, at the door. I was
put in jail for a week on the charge that I wasn't performing my duty.
If there are disturbances at the door, I realized, then everything
looks in order. I used my brain. So they wanted unrest at the door?

I started interrogating the officers. "You should show your I.D.!" I
would say to those who didn't. Some of them would pull out their guns
in response. I started to lose my integrity. They told me to see a
doctor. But the major was happy, and he didn't mind what the others
said.

When I messed with the high-ranking officers, I faced problems. Even
when they were in uniform, I had the authority to ask for I.D. cards.
One day, they were expecting a brigadier general in a civilian
vehicle, from Malatya, I think. I was on duty at the door, but no one
had told me that a general would be coming. A car stopped, a really
nice car. The doors opened and an old guy stepped out. I wasn't sure
whether I should ask for I.D. or not. He was obviously a high-ranking
officer. But I decided to ask. I told him I needed to see his I.D.
"Son, I am a pasha," he said. I said, "You might be a pasha, but I
need to see your I.D.." "Son, I am telling you that I am a pasha," he
replied. My friends were making signs to let him in. "It doesn't
matter," I said. "I need to see your I.D. I can't let in everyone who
tells me they are a pasha. If you are a pasha, this is for your own
security." The pasha said, "Well done, stubborn," and showed me his
I.D. When I realized what his rank was, I changed my posture and said,
"Thank you, sir." The major came and congratulated me--the pasha had
praised security at the door. If he had complained, I would have been
in trouble.

There were times when we hit women. One was mentally disabled, but we
didn't know. When I was given an office job as a clerk, I had to train
my friend who was taking my place at the door. This lady was harassing
him. We told her to go, but she wouldn't. Normally, we were ordered to
stay at least five meters away from people: if you're too close, you
can be stabbed, or they could be carrying a bomb. Because she wouldn't
leave, my friend pushed her, and then we did, too. The woman started
shouting and throwing stones. We hit her a couple of times and sent
her away; she came back again and we hit her again. We had lost
ourselves. We didn't know what we were doing. We must have kicked her,
and even hit her with the butts of our guns. "Are you crazy?" some of
our friends said when they saw what we were doing. We were so
brainwashed. But you have to obey orders. If you don't, the punishment
is clear. You get a disciplinary punishment and get tried at the
military court. The rules were hard. When I went to bed I thought
about it: Why did I do it? Can I find her and say I'm sorry?

I became a clerk. I started reading the documents that came from
intelligence. As a clerk, I had the authority to read them. Some were
secret documents. They contained information about incidents in the
region. They included calendars that the terrorists used, their
photographs taken on snowy mountains, poems they had written. The
colonel would joke with me, saying, "Look at the bastard, he's even
written poems." Even when I liked the poem, I would pretend not to and
say, "Right sir, look at what the bastard has done." That's how I had
to present myself.

Before I went to Diyarbakir, the Bolu commandos camped close to our
unit and showed us videos from the operations they had participated
in. In one of the videos, they ask a terrorist boy, "Where are the
others?" They tell him that he'll be set free if he tells the truth.
The child tells them things. Then they throw him out of the
helicopter. They kill him there. That is what I witnessed. I saw
transparent things in the commandos' hands and asked what they were.
One of the commandos said, "These are ears, man." "Ears?" I asked.
Apparently, they cut the ears off the terrorists they kill, put them
in Coca-Cola until the cartilage comes out. Then they use them as key
chains.

They told us about how they raped girls in the villages. When they
went into a village, their captain would call to the women in the
village and ask, "Where are your men?" "They are in Istanbul,
working," the women would say. He'd reply, "Bull. . ."--I don't want
to say the slang--"they're in the mountains, fighting." Then he would
tell his soldiers they could do whatever they wanted.

While doing my military service, I used to pull my gun on everyone
around. I had totally lost it. I even pulled the trigger once, but the
gun didn't fire. They asked me, "Are you crazy?" The officers started
fearing me. They started pulling out their I.D.'s meters in advance. I
became a terrorist. Like they said, I became a real terrorist.

We were wasted for nothing. It wasn't clear whom we were serving and
whom we were fighting against. The people we face are also people of
this country. Against whom are we directing our weapons? Those people
have a reason to fight in the mountains. Why am I in the military?

I started searching for legitimation. I was seriously considering
going to the mountains myself. They thought I was joking. They started
calling me a terrorist. I wanted them to think I was a psychopath. I
extinguished a cigarette on my arm. I wanted to break my shoulder so
that they would send me away. I had the guys kick me to break my
bones.

At that point they gave me leave for twenty days and told me to stay
there. I started to drink alcohol. I got married, and now we are
expecting a child. My life has changed; now I have more
responsibilities. I don't find myself too nervous anymore. My mom was
always angry with me that I didn't do something to cure myself, but I
have found my own cure. I told myself that I should be good. I
internalized the idea that "the sun shines after every storm."

Now, if I'm sad, I know it will be fine in a couple of days. Now I am
doing well. I have no more problems.

From Harper's Magazine, January 2001, p18-22.

More info about Nadire Mater and her book can be found at:

http://www.nadir.org/nadir/initiativ/kurdi-almani-kassel/kultur/mehme...

http://www.mv.helsinki.fi/helsinkiforum/english/people/mater.html