A Republic Day Letter
The Republic made us grow.
Only someone who has lived it can truly understand its meaning.
I am writing this with no malice towards those who went to private schools. For some of our people, going to private schools was a necessity of their neighborhood, and there are many such people among my relatives. I would not trade the privilege of being raised by dedicated teachers raised by the Republic for anything. For a long time, our people have been receiving education at a similar level and quality across the country. We would realize the value of this later.
My mother always told me stories about my uncles. One of them graduated from Ankara Law School and became a judge at a young age. The other studied under the desk while the first one studied on top of it. They ran in tank tops during physical education classes because they couldn't find uniforms. In winter, they wrapped their feet in diapers. It is clear that these people studied and became first-class people and citizens. There is no more virtuous point in terms of human development.
I went to the same schools and sat in the same desks. In winter, we lit our stove and cleaned our classroom together. I will always remember our L-shaped classroom. For those sitting at the back, the teacher would sometimes disappear. He took us off the stage. But none of us complained or whined for a single day. We just sat and worked.
I couldn't sleep at night when I didn't finish my homework, and it wasn't because I was afraid of a harsh punishment. I was worried about embarrassing my teacher. And most importantly to my friends...
We were passionate about each other.
Above all, the Republic instilled in us a sense of purpose as human beings and citizens, a kind of collective determination to develop. It taught us that we are responsible persons with equal rights with others, without privileges. He encouraged cooperation and solidarity. For example, he made everyone wear the same coloured aprons and gave everyone lunch boxes. Everyone wore and ate the same things. We shared our bread, played in common areas and grew up together without envying each other.
Years later, the term uniformisation was coined to describe this process of domination and oppression. They had no way of knowing that equality, a controlled and supervised equality, was perhaps the only power of children with nothing but torn-knee pants. It is clear that they could not understand that growing up sharing common feelings would never make you feel excluded or alienated.
The Republic taught us to play chess in primary school, to play instruments in middle school, and to read Dostoyevsky, Victor Hugo and Plato in high school. I saw my first Plato book in the glass section of the library in the first grade of middle school. I wrote the name down somewhere, despite the glass partition between us. They played games together, spent recess minutes together, cut birthday cakes together, celebrated the winners of essay and poetry contests together and presented them with a memory book, a fountain pen and a stamp book.
Even today, when I hear the word "Republic", I get emotional and my nose starts to run. Those days have left an indelible mark on my life.
We may have had differences of political opinion, but we never discussed the republic. The mere thought of it was unthinkable. This was clear even in the first years of university. We had some minimum values. The ground was the foundation for relationships. It is clear that these values eroded and crumbled day by day, and everyone drifted apart. People were divided into strange cliques and groups. It is clear that unlikely personalities could do all kinds of evil to each other for political ambition and self-interest, and they did it without batting an eyelid. It quickly became clear that social degeneration was much more widespread than we thought, and that no one was or could be completely trustworthy.
It is clear that this sad state of affairs became accepted as "normal" after a while.
It is clear that everyone lives with their own "normals". Those who cannot adapt to such "norms" are called "misfits". I am a "misfit". I have never betrayed what I have learned. I have always questioned what I have been through and held it to account. I could not do otherwise; I could not bear it. I have lost a lot in the process. As Edith Piaf said, I do not regret it.
I share the same environments as some of my young friends. I can assure you that some of them have good intentions and enlightened views. It is immediately obvious that they have not experienced those years, that devotion, that sense of solidarity. A gesture, a movement, an eye contact, a behaviour... I understand the situation immediately. Opportunistic and self-centered tendencies are evident, but I don't show it. However, I still have a vague cloud passing in front of my eyes. My heart burns. Things are already over. This situation is brought to my attention at every opportunity. I refuse to be angry with young people, children. I know exactly who did what, who turned a blind eye, and what they turned a blind eye to. They did it right in front of our eyes. I cannot reproach these children.
Small accounts, small interests, titles, titles, whims, efforts to prevent each other, intrigues and those huge egos...It's clear to me now that this situation began at the beginning of the new millennium.
I wish things were different. We should live differently. Yes, we didn't have everything, but we had most things. Who of us has everything? Let me be clear: we never had everything. My books were covered with calendars and plastic wrap. We didn't have hundreds of pencils. You couldn't buy another one before one ran out. We used to write until the end, until the pen was invisible in our hands. We had notebooks with yellow, straw-leaf notebooks. We were grateful to find them. I remember patching pants.
We had an alternative, and I can't articulate that alternative in words. But I really miss it. We should never have lost that something else as a society.
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