Click to read the article in Turkish
* Behind bars in Van Prison since May 2016, journalist Nedim Türfent has been writing for bianet on his column "Pêgermok", which means "pacing back and forth" in Kurdish.
A few weeks ago, in a film whose name I missed, a journalist was talking about what he went through at ground zero of the border.
Even though I am a journalist who reported from the borderline, the expression of "ground zero of borders" disturbs me like a thorn deep in my skin. As you can guess, there is a reason for this. No? I, with this article, will humbly put fingernailed-fingers on this matter.
I will give you a headache by talking at length. I was 15-16 at the time. So, the half of my age now... I don't know, I was perhaps a bit more childlike. Again one of those times when doors were familiar with battering rams and you could see the footprints left behind by combat boots... Again... If my memory doesn't trick me or play cunningly, a severe conflict happened somewhere near Dağlıca [in Kurdish-majority Hakkari's Yüksekova].
At such moments, some plaza journalists would come to where we lived. One could barely count the ones holding their mics to citizens on the fingers of one hand. In an optimistic guess... I saw such embedded journalists in time that even their pimples were military. To such an extent...
The first outside broadcast vehicle
Anyway... Let's come back to our issue without going into side roads. One day, I am in our village right next to the Silk Road and at the entrance to the district center of Yüksekova. I looked at it and the spouse of my uncle shouted: "Nedim; there is a minibus behind the house, take a look at it." (Yes, she said it in Kurdish). At an evening as dark as tar...
When we approached a little bit, I realized that it was an outside broadcast vehicle and, as if we had known the two inside the vehicle, our eyes got stuck on them like a stamp on a letter. The door of the vehicle opened and I saw the microphone of Kanal D. My curiosity rose like a turkey. Even like a cake with some baking soda in it... A person in something seeming like a life jacket approached; he said hellos, we said hellos. He was going to go live soon with Mehmet Ali Birand on Kanal D Main News Bulletin. We were so excited, you should see... As if we would have gone live. Be it so, the place where our house stood would go live after all.
'My name is Cem Tekel'
While they were preparing, our people reminded us that we should ask them whether they needed something. Amid all this excitement and curiosity, we would not have thought of asking this if they had stayed there for forty days. Were they hungry? Were they thirsty? Did they need to use the bathroom? We asked such questions one after the other. Frankly, to my insistent invitations to our house, they responded with a fearful and worried look in their eyes full of question marks. The reporter approached a little bit. I made all types of efforts to convince him with my child language and the first flash of my youth. "My name is Cem Tekel", he said.
I introduced myself. I told him that I was studying at the foreign language section of the high school and would be an English teacher. He welcomed what I said and used the bathroom in my elder brother's house. I think he 'trusted' us a little bit afterwards; he started making the live broadcast under our admiring eyes. Don't expect me to fully remember it, but this is certain and without a doubt: He said, "We are right in the ground zero of the border"! In fact, he was 10-15 meters next to our house and 45-50 kilometers away from the "ground zero of the border."
If I had had a journalist's reflex at those times, I would have of course corrected him right away. But becoming a journalist would not even cross my mind. I couldn't have known what a refutation was!
We all burst into laughter, hearing Tekel talking about the "ground zero of the border". We laughed so much thanks to him. He was exaggerating, in our opinion. Like the dollar or euro now, so to speak...
These fellows talking about "zeros" were right in their own way. Even though the people of the neighborhood knew it, how could Birand and the audience know it? And it was a dark evening. Dark like tar...
Besides, I would say that this tactic of 'ground zero' is still in fashion; it sells like hot cakes, so to speak. But it is very expensive and too sweet. The economy has come to such a point that we cannot use the proverbs any longer. To the attention of Turkish Language Society (TDK) officials...
Let me repeat: If I had had the reflex of a journalist, I would have said, 'You smart cookie, we don't buy that!" No one said it. And our Tekel made the live broadcast like pouring a confetti rain. And our people prepared herby cheese, village yoghurt, village bread and smuggled tea for him.
I served him all these. While they were devouring this organic food, I was savoring the outside broadcast vehicle. You know what they say, idle hands are the devil's playthings... (NT/EMK/SD)
* Photo: etikgazetecilik.org
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