A special letter from Resul Emrah Şahan on his 500th day in prison

Şişli Mayor Resul Emrah Şahan, who was arrested as part of the Urban Reconciliation investigation, wrote a letter from Silivri Prison on the 500th day of his detention.

In his letter, Şahan expressed that the time he spent in prison has fostered a sense of patience and resilience in him rather than hopelessness. Stating that he has had difficult days from time to time, Şahan explained that despite this, he has not lost his hope and that he evaluates life outside and the possibility of change in society with a simpler perspective.

Arguing that social change sprouts not only in squares but also in homes, kitchens, streets, and people's daily lives, Şahan drew attention to the struggle of young people, laborers, and students.

In his letter, Şahan also described the Turkey he dreams of, expressing his longing for a country where people are not divided by their identities, beliefs, and origins, and where everyone can live together on the basis of equal citizenship. Stating that the multicultural structure of Şişli is an important example of this understanding, Şahan expressed that true coexistence can be established on the basis of equality, beyond the concept of "tolerance."

Şahan also argued that the new generation of politics should rebuild the ties broken in society and said that a fair order should be built that produces solutions to the problems of workers, young people, and different segments of society.

In the final part of his letter, Şahan likened his wait in prison to the "patience of the soil," stating that he believes Turkey will reach a fairer and freer future, and expressed that no wall can hinder this hope.

Here is Şahan's letter:

"What has grown in me during these 500 days has not been hopelessness. Let it not be a lie, I have had bad nights too; anger and fatigue also settle into one's soul. But I chose not to be defeated by hopelessness. I lend my ear to the silence here, away from the rush of the outside, and I think about everything more plainly. I think about the voice rising from within tired but undefeated people, and the possibility of another life that can be built together.

Where does change begin? I think about this a lot. Is it in a young person's refusal to surrender to fear, in the simple voice of a laborer seeking their rights, or in a student taking ownership of their future? Perhaps change sprouts in kitchens, homes, and side streets before it does in the squares.

And now, I hear that sprouting.

In the country I dream of, no one is afraid of anyone else. Mothers and fathers raise their children with confidence in this country's tomorrow. Young people can dream without being forced to leave the lands where they were born and raised. Kurdish, Turkish, Alevi, Sunni, young people who grew up in Anatolia or came from abroad, sing their songs in the same square, not to carry the burden of pain again, but to share the joy of a common future."

"PEOPLE MAKE ROOM FOR EACH OTHER"

Şişli taught me this the most. There, how many lives flow side by side under the same sky. In Kurtuluş, the bell of a church meets the call to prayer from a few streets away in the same air; different languages, prayers, folk songs, and stories intertwine. In one street, the memory of old Istanbul lives; in another, the hustle of young people trying to build a new life for themselves. There, you understand that living together is not about tolerating or putting up with one another. Even the word tolerance is insufficient. Because the one who tolerates, without realizing it, places themselves above and the one they tolerate below. Yet, true coexistence is the work of equals. It is to share the same city and the same future fairly, without trying to change, silence, or diminish one another.

That is exactly how the country I dream of is.

A country where no one is diminished in the shadow of another, where everyone can exist with their own voice and their own story…

The new generation of politics that we talk about so much these days is, in my opinion, exactly this: rebuilding these broken ties. It is to bring people who have been pushed apart and made to fear one another back to the same table. It is not just to listen to the fatigue of a textile worker, the anxiety of a mine worker, or the resentment of a young person who has turned their back on the future, but to build a fair order that will truly change their lives.

And I wait. With patience, with perseverance. Because life, which is measured by hours, meetings, and calendars outside, turns into patience inside. I carry this patience like the patience of the soil. Like that spring that prepares unseen throughout the winter and suddenly blooms when the time comes… At first, no one notices. It buds inside. Then one morning you wake up and see that the color of the entire country has changed.

"THEY SAY THE DARKEST MOMENT OF THE NIGHT IS THE MOMENT CLOSEST TO DAWN"

I think we are at that threshold now.

At this late hour of 500 nights, I am waiting for a morning that is not yet visible from my window but that I know is waiting somewhere. I also know that this morning is not only within me. It is also growing in the hearts of those seeking justice in the streets, those who do not bow down, and the millions who have not lost hope in this country.

When that morning comes, Turkey will look at its own future again. We will remember the solidarity in the yeast of Anatolia. We will complete our unfinished stories. We will meet again with all the colors and all the voices of this land. And before we ask each other where we are from or what we believe in, we will talk about how we will build a fair and free life, our common future, together.

Walls can restrict a person's body, narrow the sky, and shorten your steps. But they cannot suppress a country's desire to be reborn. Such things begin in the heart first, and no wall can reach there.

It may be night now. But this nation has long since begun to walk toward the morning, the sun, and the new."

News Source: 12punto