They are singing that old sweet song in Turkey again, the big, black lie song. Play it again, Tayyip. Except no one listens to you anymore. You, the nation’s prime prevaricator, cannot fool any of the people any more of the time with your nonsensical flights of fancy. The last one did you in, the vintage Jewish-conspiracy alibi last played by your fellow fascist-moustache up north in Turkish Diaspora-land. You have nothing left. Your thugs have taken over. None of us can escape our past. And you cannot escape your future.
Now your primary objective seems to be maiming, and, if appropriate, killing the nation’s youth. It is no secret. We see the cops whose inhuman behavior seems to be from another planet, perhaps Pennsylvania. We see the street gangs that dress like you. These are your thug-people, presumably doing their bloody work in the name of your bizarre hallucination of what Allah would like. Hitler had his Sturmabteilung, the SA Brownshirts, who also specialized in street violence. And they didn’t like Jews either. You and yours are definitely of their ilk.
You call it self-defense—against terrorists, or against foreign powers, or against alcoholics, or against Europe, or against doctors, or against the European Union, or against the Divan Hotel or against, why not?, the Jewish Diaspora. But your nose is much too long now, growing and getting bloodier by the day. It is all so unsightly. Your idiot puppets like the so-called media, and outright jerks Mutlu, Guler, and Atalay and assorted other boobs you’ve scraped up from obscurity still chirp in your choir. You might be so deluded to call it loyalty. But they are nitwits—you know it, we know it, the world knows it. And that’s what nitwits do, chirp nonsense, your nonsense. This is some poor excuse of a government.
Lies, beatings, gassings, shootings, stabbings, slashings, ooof, it’s disgusting and it’s enough! Isn’t it enough? Yet you and your goons persist. For hoodlums like your thugs, even funeral processions are targets. Surely you are joking about being a prime minister. Crime minister maybe, but leading a nation’s people, never. In the great tradition of tragic figures, you will end alone. And you will become comic. That is inevitable. It’s already happening. America is laughing at you on evening TV. Don’t worry, your reaction is normal. Bullies hate humor. Laughs threaten them. So it’s quite alright that you might feel oddly out of sorts. When someone laughs at a bully, the game is over. Turkey is alone too, at least your Turkey. Thanks to you and yours Turkey is a rogue state. Inhuman, conscienceless police violence. A craven army that allows the government to destroy it every time it beats a kid in the street. Rampaging violence on the order of Pinochet. Mayhem in the streets on a Hitlerian scale. Mass arrests to intimidate. It’s all part of the endgame. The increasing chaos only hastens your end. History says so. Your government is drowning in blood while grasping at straws.
And it’s all coming home to roost on your well-protected roof top. The world has seen the pictures of the machine gunners dressed in black that protect you. You will need ten million more of them. The end is nearing. You will begin to hear helicopters in the night. This is how you will leave. Under cover of darkness. And no one will care. You will vanish like the night.
“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.”
Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
Cem Ryan
12 July 2013
The Fall of Saigon, 29 April 1975.
Evacuation of CIA station personnel from roof of US embassy.
