The pig issue

It was after July 15.

Turkey was in turmoil, and the very marrow and bones of the country had been shaken.

FETÖ members—soldiers, police, judges, prosecutors, doctors, lawyers; whoever they were—had scattered like a flock of birds.

Some had managed to flee abroad, while others, if not today then tomorrow, had dug foxholes and hidden in villages and towns adjacent to the country's borders, so to speak, to make a quick escape.

They were planning to bolt at the first opportunity.

For this reason, on the roads stretching from Ankara to the Aegean and Thrace, the police and gendarmerie were not letting anyone slip through.

Even village roads were under strict control.

Dozens were getting caught almost every day.

There were even those caught in car trunks, tractor trailers, and the beds of pickup trucks.

Law enforcement officers were searching every vehicle they stopped with a fine-tooth comb.

At that time, since I was constantly traveling between Ankara and Bursa, I was frequently getting caught in police and gendarmerie checks.

My legally licensed firearm, which I kept in my car to avoid any trouble or as a precaution against potential danger, was causing problems every time.

They would see my gun license in their tablet system, and for at least half an hour, they would interrogate me about my press card and whether I was affiliated with the cult or not.

In short, even carrying a licensed weapon in those days was an issue.

Late one night, while returning from Bursa to Ankara, my car's windshield washer fluid ran out, and I had to stop in one of the pull-offs on the side of the road at the Mezit pass.

Those who know, know that the Mezit valley is one of the two main roads connecting Central Anatolia to the Marmara Region. It is surrounded by magnificent forests.

Let us continue...

I got out of my car; it was very cold, and it was snowing.

While I was trying to open the hood with a water jug in my hand, seven or eight massive 4x4 off-road vehicles, like pickup trucks, pulled into the same pull-off where I was.

The place suddenly lit up like daylight. Their headlights and fog lights were beaming deep into the forest. As the roar of their engines mixed with the hum of trucks passing on the road, about two dozen camouflaged men got out of the pickups. With double-barreled shotguns, over-unders, pump-action shotguns with laser sights marking the target with a red dot, hunting knives on their belts, and dogs constantly barking and sniffing around; it was as if you were in a movie scene.

I was trying to understand what was happening. Then I noticed blood dripping from the beds of the pickup trucks.

They were talking loudly among themselves, and then they saw me looking at them in horror.

One or two of them must have understood from the expression on my face, as they called out from across the way.

- Brother, no worries, don't be concerned.

Trying to keep my voice from trembling, I managed to ask, "What's going on?"

- We're coming from hunting pigs. Thank God, it was very fruitful. You'll get 4-5 tons of carcass meat from all of them.

I tried to mumble something like, "What do you mean, what pigs?" One of them said, "Come take a look," and called me over.

I couldn't believe what I saw. The beds of the pickup trucks were filled to the brim with dead, bloody pigs. They had piled them on top of each other; their bodies were tangled together, some had their tusks, ears, or legs torn off. Some had their intestines hanging out. Blood was seeping from between them. The sight was horrific.

"What are you going to do with these?" I managed to ask.

At first, they looked at me as if they didn't understand. Then, they laughed at my ignorance.

After I got over the initial shock, I asked, and they explained without any hesitation.

The conversation dragged on; they even offered me tea brewed on the stove burning under a gazebo nearby.

I was at the point of swallowing my tongue at what they were saying. It turns out that wild boar has an incredible market and a large number of customers. Don't think that these customers are five-star hotels hosting foreign guests; the ones who actually buy the wild boars are the meatball shops, pide shops, restaurants claiming to serve home-cooked meals, sausage makers, and pastrami makers located in the rest areas on the main highways in Western Anatolia.

I knew almost all the names they listed, and I had even eaten at some of these places. They were packed, especially in the summer months. My fellow citizens were feeding themselves, their wives, daughters, and children at these places.

But the honor of journalism requires sticking to the truth; Köfteci Yusuf was not among those listed by our pig hunters.

No one mentioned his name either.

They said they had been going on pig hunts in such an organized way for 10 years. Before that, there were those who went for pigs here and there, but even then, if it was their lucky day, they could only return with one or two "carcasses."

Now, with monster-like vehicles modified specifically for hunting, state-of-the-art rifles, walkie-talkies, and so on, this has turned into a small-scale industry.

There were even slaughterhouses in the immediate vicinity that skinned and butchered the pigs.

It was clear they were making good money from this. They were making ends meet; the money for fuel and ammunition was covered. In other words, business was booming.

What about the law, the regulations, the prohibitions... No one cared.

Except for three or five exceptions, they hadn't had any trouble with the Gendarmerie. They didn't even think what they were doing was illegal hunting.

In short, the buyer was happy, and the one who shot and sold it was happy.

Moreover, the villagers were applauding them for killing the pigs that were plundering their fields.

But what bothered me was: how could law enforcement, who made an issue even out of my legally licensed weapon, not see these people walking around with enough weapons to equip a commando team?

It was clear that there was a situation that everyone was turning a blind eye to. It was impossible for them not to be aware of this, from the Gendarmerie to the police, from the prosecutor to the judge.

Apparently, everyone had somehow managed to get their business in order.

When the Köfteci Yusuf issue broke out last week, these things came to my mind.

When there are dozens, perhaps hundreds of places on the roads feeding my fellow citizens pork by hiding behind glorious names, why was the public stirred up with the claim that pork was found at a rate of one in a thousand in samples taken from only two branches of Köfteci Yusuf?

If we look at the rumors on social media, someone had launched a campaign to discredit the brand in order to seize Köfteci Yusuf.

We will understand how true this is in due time.

However...

Here, my fellow citizens, who have found the chance to eat meatballs for a reasonable price for years, did not seem to fall for this setup, whoever created it.

After a day or two of silence, Köfteci Yusuf's branches began to fill up. They are even chanting slogans of support with applause while waiting in line.

Yet, this attitude of my fellow citizens, who see no harm in eating forbidden food but stay away from pork by saying "God forbid," is very important.

In short, the positional opposition that the CHP has never been able to manage is being carried out by the regulars of Köfteci Yusuf. These people are responding with a real show of strength against those who try to treat them like fools. Moreover, they are sharing these on social media without fearing anyone.

In other words, it is a kind of "let's see who is tougher" situation.

Before concluding the article, let us say that for Özgür Özel, just looking at Köfteci Yusuf would be enough to avoid falling into the government's trap, adding a caveat: "if he isn't already eager to fall into the trap," and put a period to our writing.