The price of cherries, the cost of freedom

Yesterday at the market, cherries were 650 liras a kilo! 

Even the simplest, most innocent fruit of the summer season is now a luxury for those on low incomes. Children used to make earrings out of cherry stems; now, it feels like you need to go to a jeweler just to buy a kilo. 

This summer is passing by with a bitter and gloomy air. The sun only warms the streets, not the conscience. 

Neither Bodrum, nor Çeşme, nor Alaçatı has that old festive taste anymore…

Half of the country is condemned to poverty, the other half to fear. And we are still trying to hope, to feel the festive spirit of summer. 

Journalists and politicians are entering prison one by one. Fatih Altaylı, who was abruptly arrested just for expressing his opinion and chasing the truth, continues to practice journalism from Silivri. Because the truth knows no walls and recognizes no barbed wire.

For some of us, journalism is not a way to make a living; it is like breathing, like staying alive. Here are Altaylı’s observations from Silivri; 

“The weekly canteen shopping limit in prison is 3,500 liras. They say they increase it if you have good conduct… As if restricting freedom wasn't enough, there is now a limit on bread, water, and tea as well. 3,500 liras a week, 14 thousand liras a month… That is as much as a pensioner's salary on the outside. But inside, there is no rent, no electricity or water bills, and three meals a day are free. Even so, it is not enough,” he says.  

So, what is happening on the outside?

The price of cherries has reached 650 liras! 

That cherry from our childhood… The one we used to make earrings from and laugh at ourselves in the mirror, the one that told us summer had arrived when our mother put it on a plate! Now it is an ornament on the stall, a dream on the shelf, and absent from the table! A kilo of cherries is worth three days' worth of bread for a pensioner.

A summer as heavy as the price of a cherry!

On one side, those whose freedom is not enough; on the other, those whose tables are left empty… How can a country enter summer like this? 

What does it matter if the sun warms our skin or the sea brings waves?

If a person cannot breathe, if their words are handcuffed, if their wallet is empty and their stomach is hungry, what difference does it make if the season is called summer?

I cannot smile or feel joy this summer. Because I know that hundreds of thousands of citizens are reading price tags at the market and returning home with empty bags.

I know that this summer is not sea-blue, but a dark gray!

But still… Maybe one day… The sun will warm not just the streets, but the human heart as well. A kilo of cherries will be the right of every child. And no one will be sent behind walls for expressing their opinion.

Only then will a real summer begin…