Melis Solakoğlu*
Have you ever heard these phrases: Arabs are dirty, rude/lawless, uncultured/ Rents have increased because of Arabs, they live in better houses than we do/ They come here with dollars and spend more than us, living better than us/ We can’t find jobs because Syrians work for cheap, even Syrians have jobs… So, have you ever used any of these phrases at least once? Are these expressions of hate speech, or are they merely simple expressions of thought?
Let’s think about ourselves, our friends, journalists, and academics who consciously defend the rights of marginalized living beings today. For instance, those who argue that animals should live in their natural habitats, emphasize the importance of a green world, or advocate for the rights of women and children and support policies that uphold these values, through writing, drawing, singing, and actions. If such people, despite their proven democratic political views, express a personal opinion about Arabs, Syrians, Kurds, or Armenians, Jews, and if this opinion encompasses the entirety of a group rather than an individual experience, can it be considered hate speech?
The horrific process faced by all Syrians after the child abuse incident in Kayseri reminded me of the fear of a friend’s mother. During the time of Kamp Armen, a friend’s mother, while talking with her peers, said, “I’m afraid, what if one day they come to our door, what will we do, we don’t even have a neighbor to go to, who will stop them?” At that time, I thought to myself, “Come on, it’s not that easy anymore.” Over time, my opinion began to change, and now I understand how easy it actually is. Perhaps a single action, a single sentence, a single word, or a single color of paint could make our home a target, they could come to our door one night and destroy it…
Every action begins with the power of words. Peace, conflict, and chaos can all be initiated by a single sentence. Turkey, in particular, provides a fertile ground and political understanding for practicing these beginnings. Because we have so internalized hatred, we sometimes don’t even think about the content of our sentences in detail. When we can’t walk comfortably in Taksim, we immediately declare “those Arabs who don’t even know how to walk,” without considering the broader context of Istanbul’s population and its connection to tourist areas.
This doesn’t come to mind because for many years we have pursued a policy based on the distinction between friend and foe. The foundations of our policy trace back to the 1930s and Nazi Germany. According to Carl Schmitt (1888-1985), the basic criterion of the concept of politics is the distinction between friend and enemy. This distinction does not have a clear content, nor does it need to. The only thing emphasized in this distinction is that friendship and enmity are between groups. However, these groups do not have to be opposite or similar in a moral, economic, or aesthetic sense. Therefore, there is no clear ground on which to base this distinction in Schmitt. However, the distinction between friend and enemy is necessary to keep the possibility of actual conflict constantly alive. The purpose of this approach is to keep the possibility of real war constantly alive, because according to Schmitt, the possibility of war will serve to control human behavior.
Now, let’s focus on the sentences we construct ourselves; are we knowingly or unknowingly serving the policy Schmitt mentioned? Generally, those who do not actively work with refugee/immigrant/asylum seeker groups but somehow work in academia or the news field first draw attention to the specific lack of concrete immigration policies of the government and, in general, the political figures/parties of Turkey. This emphasis is normal because on the other side, there are people fleeing war, discovering and establishing new living spaces wherever and however they are allowed. This so-called living space is not just about consuming oxygen; it encompasses eating healthily, receiving healthcare, working, owning a business, playing games, going out, painting, singing—all these activities. Yet, the simplest act, reproduction, is used in a derogatory manner against Syrians, ignoring its symbolism of resisting life. While criticisms of government policy failures begin and end with these critiques, statements blaming Syrians for everything are used in between. For instance, a journalist I listened to started by criticizing the lack of a clear policy, saying, “We called them guests,” meaning they were allowed into the country on a shaky ground without a clear program. But the initial term “these” already carries a superior, objectifying tone. The conversation continues: “They set up their own schools, their own neighborhoods, they took over various districts, in some districts of Hatay, it looks like a Syrian city…”
The use of phrases like “they established, they took over…” is so easy but so targeting in content. When I hear these expressions, the lyrics from Bandista’s song “Beton Millet Sakarya” come to mind: “Once convinced of nationalism / The stranger is told to go away / Mosaic isn’t appreciated, even marble is Greek / But fascism in every language is concrete nation Sakarya.” This targeting is precisely like that; once convinced, if you come across a persuasive politician, journalist, or friend, if your reasoning ability hasn’t been supported since your youth, you can easily get carried away. You might use these expressions without realizing their divisive power, while claiming to be a very democratic person. The journalist I listened to started his sentence like this: “There is nothing to legitimize or justify this. If someone says, ‘Oh how nice, they burned the Syrians’ cars,’ tell them to get lost. There is no solution like that.” While calling for common sense and caution against the danger of civil war, the sentences end with the Syrians being the perpetrators.
For a very long time, our approach to people has been growing and being nurtured by a baseless friend-enemy distinction, and we now spread these sentences, influencing those around us. A few months ago, I was confronted with a sentence saying, “Because Armenians are financially well-off, they differ from the general profile.” For example, whoever told my acquaintance this idea is making a statement based on the observation of three or five people as if it were a characteristic of a whole group, without realizing what this statement can lead to, especially in a period of economic crisis. We cannot take an attitude as if we have never experienced September 6-7, or are unaware of the Wealth Tax; we must weigh every sentence.
Let’s think about our discourses shaped by the friend-enemy distinction with the words of Bartolomé de Las Casas: “…it is common to call a man a barbarian when his manner of speech is strange compared to another’s, when he cannot pronounce the language well, or when people cannot understand each other during conversation.” From this perspective, we are also the barbarians of others. That is, when we can’t think on the basis of fundamental human rights, we can simply apply the method of “putting ourselves in someone else’s shoes.” Then we will realize that the discourses we defend will affect us as the barbarians of others. I don’t think anyone in their right mind would think to themselves, “Life imprisonment, is that enough for a child abuser?” We all feel anger thinking about what that child might feel, we tend towards violence. But we must not let what crosses our minds slip into our speech or actions. What will make us human and show consistency, introducing us to our own barbarity and enabling us to look at others with a pluralistic understanding, truly building a peaceful future, giving our children and students honest peace-building lessons, is this self-restraint.
[1] Schmitt, C. (2005). Political Theology. The University of Chicago Press.
[2] Casas, B. d. (n.d.). Bartolomé de las Casas: A Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies. Columbia University: https://www.columbia.edu/acis/ets/CCREAD/lascasas.htm
This article originally was published in Birikim Magazine in Turkish and and translated into English by Politurco.
