Are Turks and Kurds brothers?

There are those who know the answer to this question, and those who do not.

Bombastic speeches, claims that we are like flesh and nail, and algorithms with unclear concepts—such as 'we have a Kurdish President, academic, and general, what more could you want'—have been throbbing in our heads for 50 years.

Of course, this friction existed before, but given my age, I am more familiar with the last 30-40 years.

From what we have read, we are certainly aware of the conflict over the last 150-200 years.

I am not concerned with that aspect of the matter.

The problem that has persisted for years never seems to evolve into the stage the imperialists want, nor does it reach the desired consistency.

They, too, are astonished, wondering why the big bomb has not yet exploded. 

Yet, according to the manual they hold, people should have been at each other's throats long ago.

They had succeeded in other geographies, so why couldn't they stir up Anatolia?

Why did the white man, who turned the south of Mesopotamia into a ring of fire, fail in the north?

He is still looking for the answer; he has not given up.

He continues to try to spark a fire in his own way.

He is doing everything he can, thinking, 'It's about to happen, it's about to happen.'

He brings people together at funeral ceremonies, hoping to incite chaos,

But at every martyr's funeral, the chant 

'Turks and Kurds are brothers, the PKK is treacherous'

The slogan is shattering their hopes.

Are Turks and Kurds really brothers?

After the true story I am about to tell here, you will be able to decide more easily who is a brother and who is not.

It was 2014.

With the resolution processes and such, things were complicated.

FETÖ had infiltrated the system, seized the state and the government, and was making its final preparations to hand over modern Turkey, which had just completed its first century, to the infidels without any resistance.

The Southeast had been completely terrorized, and they were pouring gasoline on the situation with barricades reinforced by remote-controlled bombs.

Right in the middle of this, I was assigned to the province of Şırnak for an Open Education exam.

Along with a team of 6, including myself, we collected the necessary exam documents and began our flight toward Cizre Airport.

When we landed at the airport, the atmosphere had changed instantly.

The area was filled with military helicopters.

Military mobilization was at its peak.

It was an environment reminiscent of Saigon in Vietnam, as we see in American movies.

The question, 'Can an exam even be held here?' crossed my mind, but since I had just become a professor, I didn't want to cause any trouble right away.

Upon exiting the airport, we found the vehicle sent from Şırnak University.

The university driver said we had a one-hour journey ahead of us.

I said fine, and added that we should go with police protection as well.

Because in the hundreds of exam assignments I have attended, police protection was provided to the exam team for both our safety and the security of the questions.

For some reason, the newly appointed administrators, who would later be dismissed from public service, had not organized this for Cizre, Şırnak.

Without making a scene, we reached Şırnak without protection.

After the 4-5 day exam assignment, it was time to return.

The university driver, who acted as our guide throughout the assignment, was also our escort on the way back, bless him.

After being a gracious host, the rector even poured water behind our minibus as we departed.

May God have mercy on his soul; he recently passed away.

When we approached Cizre, things were chaotic again.

The barricades, propane tanks, cables, and uprooted paving stones I had seen at the schools I visited for exam duty caught my eye here as well.

Then, the police blocked the road.

After checking our IDs, the police told us to wait.

There was some commotion up ahead.

After waiting for an hour, the road was opened.

The police stated that the ring road was not safe and told us to take the city route instead.

We moved out from the police checkpoint in a convoy along with hundreds of other vehicles. 

Just as we entered the city, a terrorist with a Kalashnikov in his hand blocked the path of the convoy.

He had his man collect the vehicle keys from the convoy he stopped within thirty seconds.

They separated our minibus from the rest of the convoy.

They made us all get out of the vehicle and took us to the tunnels in the back streets.

They did not detain anyone else but us.

It seems it was a targeted operation.

They did not mistreat us in the place where we were held.

I asked one of the terrorists to call a student of mine from Cizre, whom I had called when I was assigned to Şırnak to get information about the region.

He had told me, 'Professor, call me if there is any trouble.'

There was trouble, so I called.

They spoke for a minute or two.

I naively thought that perhaps my former student would come and pick us up.

But that is not what happened.

The call ended, and he gave my phone back.

The terrorist added, 'Professor, your student is useless.'

They did not take our phones.

There were those in the team who were afraid and crying.

As the team leader, even though I was afraid, I didn't show it much.

I called the rector and explained the situation.

The rector said, 'Professor, just keep your phone on, don't worry, I will call you shortly.'

Our driver was also very calm.

It was clear he wouldn't leave us at the mercy of the PKK.

He was a brave man from the region.

We are still in touch.

I, too, was trying to remain calm.

The rector's attitude helped me relax.

While waiting, I told the terrorist that I would call Demirtaş.

Do you know him? he asked.

I know him, I said, thinking it might be useful.

And it was,

His guard dropped, and he lowered the barrel of his gun from my head toward the floor.

Meanwhile, 2-3 people arrived at the abandoned building where we were being held.

He told me, 'Come on, we're going.'

My heart stopped.

When he said the driver would also be coming, my fear subsided a little.

I regained my pulse.

I came back to life.

We went to the PKK court.

It turned out that an indictment had been prepared against us in absentia and a decision had been made for our arrest.

We were going to be taken to the mountains.

The rector intervened.

There was quite a bit of negotiation.

The late rector put his own neck on the line for our lives.

I had spent quite a lot of time with the rector during my tenure. 

Alongside academic matters, we had also evaluated the regional agenda. A warmth and friendship had developed between us. He never left our side. We constantly ate our meals together.

We even had private kebab parties in the evenings.

Anyway, following an appeal, the higher court decided to release us but ordered the "confiscation" of the minibus.

We left the abandoned building.

We walked out of Cizre onto the road to Şırnak.

We began waiting for the next vehicle at a bus stop we found near a village.

While we were waiting, the village headman invited us into the village.

They offered us water and ayran.

The headman wanted to give us money,

 We said, 'Thank you, we have money.'

The hospitality was at the highest level.

Our vehicle arrived, we said our goodbyes, but the headman wouldn't let us go.

He understood that we were afraid, even though we tried not to show it.

He got into our newly arrived minibus and escorted us all the way to Şırnak.

His private vehicle, driver, and security detail also followed us to Şırnak.

Meanwhile, none of the relevant managers at the institution where we worked—who would later be dismissed due to FETÖ—called or checked on us.

They didn't even offer their well wishes upon our return to Eskişehir.

Of course, they were not dismissed from public service for this reason.

Now, you decide who is a brother to whom and who is not.