by YAVUZ BAYDAR
More than anything else, it’s the central question that takes a grip on you: “Will I ever be able to see Turkey, my homeland, again?”
This was the feeling that caught me as I crossed the 15 July Martyrs Bridge over the Bosphorus just days after the failed coup attempt.
Before the failed coup it was known as the First Bridge. During the coup it was one of the centers of bloody scenes that marked the beginning of nationwide chaos and trauma that is still unfolding.
I knew I, just as my nation, was heading towards the unknown. At the time, the only thing that mattered was freedom – perhaps the most precious element in any journalist’s existence.
I knew, even as the tragedy for Turkey played out on the streets, that no matter the outcome, among the first victims would be our freedom, which had been fragile for years. Before the coup, we had been forced to deal with the monster of intolerance deeply embedded in the upper echelons of the state. The fierce power struggle had snowballed into a putsch.
As I watched the sun rise on 16 July, I knew without a doubt that the Turkey’s weary journalists — including me — would be rounded up sooner or later.
Freedom mattered. Freedom to be. Freedom to do. My most vivid thought, crossing the bridge, was to move to a free domain, to be able to do what I should: to observe, to listen and to write Turkey’s interesting and baffling story.
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