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Conversations with Turkish Resisters

by Greg Payton

n my way to Istanbul to do support work for Turkish conscientious objectors for War Resisters’ International, I expected some combination of the complex politics of the Byzantine Empire and the brutality of the movie Midnight Express. What I found was a modern country that brutally represses both its dissidents and its antimilitarists.

My Road to Turkey
My journey into the peace movement took some sharp bends and curves. In 1967 I was drafted into the U.S. Army. Being a very naive inner-city youth, I went. (Many of my role models had served in the military.) All I had to do was serve my time, do as I was told and I would be home buying a house on the GI bill in no time. Little did I know that the very nature of military service and the abject racism I faced would shape my life to come.

Greg (right) at the Kurdish Cultural Center in Izmir. Photo: Courtesy of Greg Payton

After spending almost 14 months in Vietnam—six months of that time in the Long Binh Jail—I came home to America to fight the war of post-traumatic stress disorder. That postwar fight with the demons of war lasted 15 years. To help heal my spirit I shared my experiences with other Vietnam veterans and joined the ranks of ex GI’s who decided, based on those experiences, that war was not the answer. Some 16 years later I am committed on a global level to working to create a just world without wars.

The trip to Turkey was part of that work. May is the month that the international peace community focuses on conscientious objection, and in May of 2001 the focus was on Turkey, which has some of the most repressive CO laws in the world. As a representative of War Resisters’ International, I was asked to support the CO movement in that region. I flew into Istanbul, went on to Turkey’s capital, Ankara, returned to Istanbul and then went to the ancient and beautiful city of Izmir on the Aegean Sea.

Hard Times for Gay Men, COs and Kurds
Ankara’s many government buildings provide the backdrop for young activists whose choices—refusing to become part of the military complex—have made them targets of the Turkish government. The impact of sharing the modest lifestyle of these young people who are so focused on social change shaped my understanding of what’s at stake and the sacrifices that they endure. Many of the activists have stopped dreaming and hoping for change. Many are trying to emigrate, which is difficult because of both Turkey’s economic condition and the extra restrictions placed on conscientious objectors.

I am always amazed at the level of organization on my many trips abroad. This trip was no exception, with non-stop community meetings, formal and impromptu, in Istanbul (where all my lectures were standing-room-only and one of the most frequently asked questions was about the Stars Wars defense program and the control of space); a rock concert, a labor forum and a gathering at the Gay Social Center in Ankara; and a public meeting at the Kurdish Cultural Center in Izmir.

At the Gay Social Center, several men talked about their experiences with conscription: Gay men are exempt from military service in Turkey, but as proof of homosexuality they have to provide photographs of themselves on the receiving end of anal sex! No photo with a penis in your ass, no exemption; if you are the one doing the penetration, no exemption. But gay men who come out this way to become COs are in a double bind, because repressive Islamic social pressures present real problems for gays (and lesbians) in Turkey.

All the informal meetings gave me a very important opportunity to understand more deeply the struggle these COs have on a personal level. A young couple told me a story of how they will not be able to marry because her father would never consent to an objector for a son-in-law; also, because he is a CO, he can’t find enough work to support a family.

A major event of the weekend actions for International CO Day was the rock concert in Ankara. As the students bobbed to the beat, I talked to one of the young feminists about her viewpoint on resistance. She described the building of a feminist component to the antimilitarist movement and the struggles to get a feminist point of view represented. As we spoke, a young man kept coming over to listen in on our conversation. After about the third time I asked if there was a problem because I am Black. She said that was not a problem, but it would be a problem if I was a Kurd.

That was my first personal encounter—but not the last—with the Kurdish situation. After I got back to Istanbul, I met a young Kurdish engineer who told me it was illegal to give his daughter a Kurdish name because he is required to assimilate into Turkish culture and abandon his own. The Kurds in Turkey also cannot watch TV programs about their culture for fear of arrest—yes, it is against Turkish law to watch Kurdish TV. (For more information about the Kurdish situation, see NVA, March-April 2001, or www.kurdistan.org.)

It is so difficult to convey all of the emotions you experience in this land at the crossroads of the Middle East and Europe. As I made my final leg of the trip to Izmir, the paper announced another hunger striker had died protesting conditions in the prisons. In Izmir, the CO movement and the struggle to improve human rights are sharp and focused. The first war resisters I met were from this region. I felt honored to speak at the Kurdish Cultural Center, where I met Kurds with information on and documentation of their struggle.

A bookstore in Izmir was to be the last speaking engagement on the tour. The afternoon of the event, there was a phone call to the office of the antimilitarist group that was hosting me. We had to leave immediately—the police were on the way, and among the people in the office was a CO who had recently been released from prison and was wanted again by the police.

As we reconnected with other war resisters near the bookstore, we were told that the police had been there. In Turkey, you can only speak in public if you have a permit. The police were willing to waive the permit if they could videotape the lecture and the people who attended. This was not acceptable, so the event was canceled.

All that was before 9-11, of course. While I was in Turkey, I thought about how often we forget the freedom we have here in the United States. Since then, we got the Patriot Act and Homeland Security, which make Turkish-style militarism and repression look a lot closer. Now we have to guard against those who would use this tragedy to get us to forfeit our rights under the constitution and erode our freedoms. For me, the trip to Turkey and the events of 9-11 have combined to give new meaning to “think globally, act locally.”

International peace activist and Vietnam veteran Greg Payton has traveled around the United States and the world sharing his experience of war and speaking out for peace and social justice.