It is time to stop lamenting!

Exactly 31 years have passed since Uğur Mumcu was murdered by dark circles.

Every year on January 24, though their numbers may be dwindling, his friends, loved ones, colleagues, acquaintances, and those who never knew him personally gather to commemorate Uğur Mumcu.

First, they gather in front of his home, place wreaths and carnations at his monument, and then proceed to his gravesite.

Throughout the day, speeches are made, meetings are held, and his professional and human qualities are recounted; the importance of his books, which pointed to the dangers facing Turkey, is emphasized; and outrage is expressed that this vile assassination remains unsolved despite all these years. Laments are sung, candles are lit, and the song “Uğurlar olsun” (Farewell), which suits him so well, is performed.

Leading figures of the CHP visit his family, and the few remaining loyal readers of Cumhuriyet greet each other in silence as memories are refreshed.

But the next day, Turkey returns to its narrow agenda.

Those who listened to the speeches the day before, those who attended the events, those who joined in the laments and sang the songs—as if they were not the ones feeling the pain of Uğur Mumcu—continue their lives exactly where they left off.

However, it should not be this way!

Let us be more explicit!

Uğur Mumcu did not sacrifice his life to be commemorated every year with the same meetings, the same ceremonies, the same sentences, and the same songs.

He was murdered because he defended a fully independent, secular, and democratic Turkey; because he stood unwaveringly for the enlightened Kemalist Republic against the darkness of the Middle Ages; and because he stood against all forms of terrorism, imperialism, and separatism.

When we look at the current state of affairs, it is clear as day that by merely weeping, lamenting, singing songs, leaving carnations at his grave, and holding meetings and symposiums once a year, we have failed to uphold Uğur Mumcu's ideas or honor his memory.

Let us be honest: after reading his articles and books—if we even read them at all—we have neither taken what he wrote and said into account nor heeded his warnings! Otherwise, we would be living in a very different Turkey today.

Millions had attended his funeral in Ankara despite the rain, snow, and mud. A crowd perhaps hundreds of times larger than the readership of the Cumhuriyet newspaper had flocked there.

On the surface, all of Turkey was standing up for Uğur Mumcu.

Looking at the sea of people in front of the Maltepe Mosque, and the sorrow and anger felt by these people, it seemed as if the entire society had become one body around Uğur Mumcu's shattered body against reactionism.

Naturally, one would expect the political consequences of such a major social trauma to be parallel to the anger felt toward the assassination.

But that did not happen.

In the 1994 local elections, just 14 months after the vile assassination that took Uğur Mumcu from life, the Welfare Party of the Islamist Necmettin Erbakan made a leap forward and won mayoralties in 28 provinces, including Ankara and Istanbul.

The Welfare Party emerged as the leading party in the general elections a year later, and Necmettin Erbakan became Prime Minister. For the first time in Turkish history, the country was to be governed by a government that did not hide its Islamist nature.

What followed is already written in political history books covering recent history.

Today, unfortunately, the country is struggling in the swamp of Political Islam and is rapidly heading toward the darkness of the Middle Ages.

We are living through exactly what is written in the second paragraph of Atatürk's Address to the Youth.

In short, crying, feeling sad, refreshing memories, and feeling sorrow only go so far. We must now stand up in some way and shake off the dust of death upon us.

Rest assured, if Uğur Mumcu were alive, this is exactly what he would want, and he would strive for it to happen.

Let us end our article by saying that the rest is just empty talk.