We got married there, in the exact same place I now see on the screen. It was a happy occasion, my father-in-law who was quite ill put on a brave and noble display. My wife’s younger sister tried to translate the proceedings to me but was too nervous and just spoke gibberish, bless her. Afterwards we went to a small tea house in the park and began our married life.
But now there is no food, just half naked miners pleading to be paid. A once beautiful sight is now ugly. Having not been paid for 6 months, they are reduced to rubble. A miner holds out a very basic shopping list from his wife to the media. Potatoes, onions, tomatos, the child wanting a small toy as well. But he and his colleagues have nothing. Their faces are contorted in grief, rage, disbelief. They are like tortured animals hemmed in behind police lines. Not eating, their eyes burning with pepper spray. They can’t go back home with nothing, proud people, they are like lambs too the slaughter. It is now 14.15pm.
Yesterday Galatasaray gloriously won the İstanbul derby, and I attended my local football teams’ game, who have a real chance of making the play-offs. The crowd, as ever where I live, are kind and courteous to me. I feel a responsibility and duty to stand with my people. That is why I am angry and I fear the rest of this article will just be full of colourful swear words, maybe ones translated from Turkish, which are simply the best.
5:15pm. The shirtless miners are sitting down, the sun burning their skin. There is a loose police presence.
They are banging the floor with their helmets rhythmically, summoning up mother nature to come to their aid.
Sunset
I find out that this is their 8th day of hunger strike and they sleep in the park each night.
I naively hoped -thought- they would have a bed, shower and food each night. But they wait patiently just to be allowed to protest outside of the ministry.
Some may say the mining company has offered them something and that should be that.
But, as the day fades, I see them not wanting to be there, not reduced to this, wanting to hold their love ones and to kiss the head of his son holding the toy he promised him.
There is Dignity in Labour, and that’s why they are there.
Epitaph
The following day was like the confetti that was thrown over us where the miners sit now. Little bits of paper and Chinese whispers circled in the wind. Somebody told somebody else that they would be paid. Nobody knew who this somebody was and the night was drawing in, the police remained and the miners’ bank balances remained, empty.
Wait... Wait… Wait…
Stop all the clocks…
It’s 7pm on Tuesday the 28th of April 2026 and the deal is done. Blood sweat and tears have won the day and no more. The shopping list will be bought and the children will have their toys and fathers back. As it should always have been. It’s just some people are just so fuckin wrong & mean.
(*I did say I’d swear.)
