Born 1989 in Diyarbakir, TR – lives and works in London, UK

The year 2015 will be remembered as a critical point of no return in Turkey’s tumultuous political history: after the AKP-led government unilaterally cancelled long-awaited talks with Kurdish politicians and aldermen on resolving the Kurdish conflict, the pro-Kurdish HDP party won representation in parliament by passing the required ten percent election quota. Soon thereafter, calls for regional autonomy by young Kurdish initiatives were met with an illegal lockdown in southeastern Turkey, during which the Turkish army, special police forces, and paramilitary killed hundreds of people, including civilians, forced hundreds of thousands from their homes, and destroyed major Kurdish cities and their historical neighborhoods.

Zehra Doğan, a Kurdish artist, activist, and journalist who cofounded the feminist press agency JINHA, witnessed firsthand the unprecedented violence unleashed by the lockdown. As JINHA’s activities were banned along with other independent, critical media, Doğan decided to create a painting of the agony she had observed and felt. Based on an image showing Turkish flags on destroyed buildings in Nusaybin, her painting portrays the accompanying Turkish military vehicles as scorpions. The image had been widely circulated on social media by accounts supporting the military operation. This led to Doğan being imprisoned, accused of creating “terrorist propaganda.” In prison, she began to work on a graphic novel in Kurmancî Kurdish in a style recalling dengbêj narrative forms, an ancient tradition of oral storytelling in Kurdish society used to communicate history across the generations and keep the mostly unwritten language alive. As an act of commemoration, the novel relays the witnessing that brought her to prison and her conversations with other political inmates, all of which is contextualized within the historical background of the Kurdish struggle in Turkey that began in 1980s—in prisons where many Kurdish intellectuals and activists were brutally tortured. Doğan’s graphic novel is a greeting sent to the thousands who worked for peace and the resolution of the Kurdish conflict—as elected MPs, mayors, human rights activists, and journalists—and are currently incarcerated in Turkish state prisons.

Övül Ö. Durmusoglu

Translation from Kurdish Kurmandji by Aladdin Sinayiç

(Image 1)

And here is the dormitory. There are 22 bunk beds, but we are currently 33 people. Therefore, 11 of us sleep on the floor. Also, a few comrades sleep on the kitchen floor. It is very hot in the summer and very cold in the winter, and there is only one radiator and one fan. This is a place for reading, researching, deep thinking, and also sleeping, so we sometimes spend up to 9 hours in this space at a time.

(Image 2)

No text

(Image 3)

The most beautiful time in Amed is the morning. Ahura Mazda adorns the ancient and holy city of Amed with the light of dawn.

[Middle left]: The sun is still beautiful from inside Amed prison. The sound of birdsong can be heard from all around.

[Right]: Sevgi: “Good morning, comrades!”

[Bottom left]: Zülfiye [thinking aloud]: “Where am I?”

[Bottom right]: We rotate the role of maintaining the daily routine between us, and every day a different comrade is in charge.

(Image 4)

Our ward wakes up every morning at 7.30am. The comrade in charge starts cleaning and we get dressed and start waiting in line to use the one toilet.

(Image 5)

[Top speech bubbles]: Mizgin: You’ve been in there for 10 hours

[Middle box]: The queue for the toilet is always long, and comrades are always annoyed whilst queuing. Just like with everything else, there are also rules for using the toilet.

[Bottom left]: First, to make people aware that you are in the line for the toilet, you have to display a piece of toilet paper in your neckline

[Bottom right]: Secondly, the hem of your trousers must be hoisted up above your ankles and you must wear your designated bathroom socks.

(Image 6)

When you’re on a ward of political prisoners, the most shameful thing you can do is to eat alone. Meals are always eaten all together and the food is shared equally between everyone. Eating together is a real joy. Every morning we have our breakfast with a smile on our faces and happy, lively conversations around the table. At 8 am the guards come in to count us but we act as if they don’t exist and just carry on as normal.

(Image 7)

[Top right]: After breakfast it’s cleaning time and some comrades clean the yard.

[Bottom left]: Two comrades wash the dishes in the kitchen

[Bottom right]: And two other comrades wash and fill the containers that hold our bathing water.

(Image 8)

[Top]: 9 am is education time. We study books alone, or we discuss topics in groups.

[Middle left]: Once a week Mizgin teaches us Kurdish, using the mirror as a blackboard.

[On the mirror]: Kurdish language [in small box]: Module Name: Martyr Seve

[Middle]: Some friends fall asleep while reading.

[Book title]: How to Live

[Bottom]: Our daily routine in prison is as follows:7.30: Wake up, 9.00-11.30: Education, 12.00: Lunch, 14:00-16:00: Education, 16:00: Dinner followed by reading the newspaper, 20:00: Education, 22:00: Tea and snacks, followed by teeth brushing. 23:00: Reading time, 00:00 Lights out, time to sleep.

(Image 9)

[Newspaper back page, in Turkish]: Free Media Cannot be Silenced.

[Bottom box]: Every evening we gather together as a group and read the newspaper together.

Every month one comrade is in charge of reading the newspaper and at 16:00 she calls us and says “Comrades, newspaper time”. That person chooses a comrade to read the newspaper out loud and we all listen to her. At the end of the month, that comrade gives us a summary of the situation and developments of the past month and we all comment on this. In this way we are aware of current affairs. The prison administration make it difficult to bring certain newspapers inside, and some newspapers are not allowed – likewise, some books. Yeni Yaşam, Evrensel and Birgün newspapers are not given most of the time and sometimes even Cumhuriyet newspaper is not given.

Born 1989 in Diyarbakir, TR – lives and works in London, UK

The year 2015 will be remembered as a critical point of no return in Turkey’s tumultuous political history: after the AKP-led government unilaterally cancelled long-awaited talks with Kurdish politicians and aldermen on resolving the Kurdish conflict, the pro-Kurdish HDP party won representation in parliament by passing the required ten percent election quota. Soon thereafter, calls for regional autonomy by young Kurdish initiatives were met with an illegal lockdown in southeastern Turkey, during which the Turkish army, special police forces, and paramilitary killed hundreds of people, including civilians, forced hundreds of thousands from their homes, and destroyed major Kurdish cities and their historical neighborhoods.

Zehra Doğan, a Kurdish artist, activist, and journalist who cofounded the feminist press agency JINHA, witnessed firsthand the unprecedented violence unleashed by the lockdown. As JINHA’s activities were banned along with other independent, critical media, Doğan decided to create a painting of the agony she had observed and felt. Based on an image showing Turkish flags on destroyed buildings in Nusaybin, her painting portrays the accompanying Turkish military vehicles as scorpions. The image had been widely circulated on social media by accounts supporting the military operation. This led to Doğan being imprisoned, accused of creating “terrorist propaganda.” In prison, she began to work on a graphic novel in Kurmancî Kurdish in a style recalling dengbêj narrative forms, an ancient tradition of oral storytelling in Kurdish society used to communicate history across the generations and keep the mostly unwritten language alive. As an act of commemoration, the novel relays the witnessing that brought her to prison and her conversations with other political inmates, all of which is contextualized within the historical background of the Kurdish struggle in Turkey that began in 1980s—in prisons where many Kurdish intellectuals and activists were brutally tortured. Doğan’s graphic novel is a greeting sent to the thousands who worked for peace and the resolution of the Kurdish conflict—as elected MPs, mayors, human rights activists, and journalists—and are currently incarcerated in Turkish state prisons.

Övül Ö. Durmusoglu

Translation from Kurdish Kurmandji by Aladdin Sinayiç

(Image 1)

And here is the dormitory. There are 22 bunk beds, but we are currently 33 people. Therefore, 11 of us sleep on the floor. Also, a few comrades sleep on the kitchen floor. It is very hot in the summer and very cold in the winter, and there is only one radiator and one fan. This is a place for reading, researching, deep thinking, and also sleeping, so we sometimes spend up to 9 hours in this space at a time.

(Image 2)

No text

(Image 3)

The most beautiful time in Amed is the morning. Ahura Mazda adorns the ancient and holy city of Amed with the light of dawn.

[Middle left]: The sun is still beautiful from inside Amed prison. The sound of birdsong can be heard from all around.

[Right]: Sevgi: “Good morning, comrades!”

[Bottom left]: Zülfiye [thinking aloud]: “Where am I?”

[Bottom right]: We rotate the role of maintaining the daily routine between us, and every day a different comrade is in charge.

(Image 4)

Our ward wakes up every morning at 7.30am. The comrade in charge starts cleaning and we get dressed and start waiting in line to use the one toilet.

(Image 5)

[Top speech bubbles]: Mizgin: You’ve been in there for 10 hours

[Middle box]: The queue for the toilet is always long, and comrades are always annoyed whilst queuing. Just like with everything else, there are also rules for using the toilet.

[Bottom left]: First, to make people aware that you are in the line for the toilet, you have to display a piece of toilet paper in your neckline

[Bottom right]: Secondly, the hem of your trousers must be hoisted up above your ankles and you must wear your designated bathroom socks.

(Image 6)

When you’re on a ward of political prisoners, the most shameful thing you can do is to eat alone. Meals are always eaten all together and the food is shared equally between everyone. Eating together is a real joy. Every morning we have our breakfast with a smile on our faces and happy, lively conversations around the table. At 8 am the guards come in to count us but we act as if they don’t exist and just carry on as normal.

(Image 7)

[Top right]: After breakfast it’s cleaning time and some comrades clean the yard.

[Bottom left]: Two comrades wash the dishes in the kitchen

[Bottom right]: And two other comrades wash and fill the containers that hold our bathing water.

(Image 8)

[Top]: 9 am is education time. We study books alone, or we discuss topics in groups.

[Middle left]: Once a week Mizgin teaches us Kurdish, using the mirror as a blackboard.

[On the mirror]: Kurdish language [in small box]: Module Name: Martyr Seve

[Middle]: Some friends fall asleep while reading.

[Book title]: How to Live

[Bottom]: Our daily routine in prison is as follows:7.30: Wake up, 9.00-11.30: Education, 12.00: Lunch, 14:00-16:00: Education, 16:00: Dinner followed by reading the newspaper, 20:00: Education, 22:00: Tea and snacks, followed by teeth brushing. 23:00: Reading time, 00:00 Lights out, time to sleep.

(Image 9)

[Newspaper back page, in Turkish]: Free Media Cannot be Silenced.

[Bottom box]: Every evening we gather together as a group and read the newspaper together.

Every month one comrade is in charge of reading the newspaper and at 16:00 she calls us and says “Comrades, newspaper time”. That person chooses a comrade to read the newspaper out loud and we all listen to her. At the end of the month, that comrade gives us a summary of the situation and developments of the past month and we all comment on this. In this way we are aware of current affairs. The prison administration make it difficult to bring certain newspapers inside, and some newspapers are not allowed – likewise, some books. Yeni Yaşam, Evrensel and Birgün newspapers are not given most of the time and sometimes even Cumhuriyet newspaper is not given.

Born 1989 in Diyarbakir, TR – lives and works in London, UK

The year 2015 will be remembered as a critical point of no return in Turkey’s tumultuous political history: after the AKP-led government unilaterally cancelled long-awaited talks with Kurdish politicians and aldermen on resolving the Kurdish conflict, the pro-Kurdish HDP party won representation in parliament by passing the required ten percent election quota. Soon thereafter, calls for regional autonomy by young Kurdish initiatives were met with an illegal lockdown in southeastern Turkey, during which the Turkish army, special police forces, and paramilitary killed hundreds of people, including civilians, forced hundreds of thousands from their homes, and destroyed major Kurdish cities and their historical neighborhoods.

Zehra Doğan, a Kurdish artist, activist, and journalist who cofounded the feminist press agency JINHA, witnessed firsthand the unprecedented violence unleashed by the lockdown. As JINHA’s activities were banned along with other independent, critical media, Doğan decided to create a painting of the agony she had observed and felt. Based on an image showing Turkish flags on destroyed buildings in Nusaybin, her painting portrays the accompanying Turkish military vehicles as scorpions. The image had been widely circulated on social media by accounts supporting the military operation. This led to Doğan being imprisoned, accused of creating “terrorist propaganda.” In prison, she began to work on a graphic novel in Kurmancî Kurdish in a style recalling dengbêj narrative forms, an ancient tradition of oral storytelling in Kurdish society used to communicate history across the generations and keep the mostly unwritten language alive. As an act of commemoration, the novel relays the witnessing that brought her to prison and her conversations with other political inmates, all of which is contextualized within the historical background of the Kurdish struggle in Turkey that began in 1980s—in prisons where many Kurdish intellectuals and activists were brutally tortured. Doğan’s graphic novel is a greeting sent to the thousands who worked for peace and the resolution of the Kurdish conflict—as elected MPs, mayors, human rights activists, and journalists—and are currently incarcerated in Turkish state prisons.

Övül Ö. Durmusoglu

Translation from Kurdish Kurmandji by Aladdin Sinayiç

(Image 1)

And here is the dormitory. There are 22 bunk beds, but we are currently 33 people. Therefore, 11 of us sleep on the floor. Also, a few comrades sleep on the kitchen floor. It is very hot in the summer and very cold in the winter, and there is only one radiator and one fan. This is a place for reading, researching, deep thinking, and also sleeping, so we sometimes spend up to 9 hours in this space at a time.

(Image 2)

No text

(Image 3)

The most beautiful time in Amed is the morning. Ahura Mazda adorns the ancient and holy city of Amed with the light of dawn.

[Middle left]: The sun is still beautiful from inside Amed prison. The sound of birdsong can be heard from all around.

[Right]: Sevgi: “Good morning, comrades!”

[Bottom left]: Zülfiye [thinking aloud]: “Where am I?”

[Bottom right]: We rotate the role of maintaining the daily routine between us, and every day a different comrade is in charge.

(Image 4)

Our ward wakes up every morning at 7.30am. The comrade in charge starts cleaning and we get dressed and start waiting in line to use the one toilet.

(Image 5)

[Top speech bubbles]: Mizgin: You’ve been in there for 10 hours

[Middle box]: The queue for the toilet is always long, and comrades are always annoyed whilst queuing. Just like with everything else, there are also rules for using the toilet.

[Bottom left]: First, to make people aware that you are in the line for the toilet, you have to display a piece of toilet paper in your neckline

[Bottom right]: Secondly, the hem of your trousers must be hoisted up above your ankles and you must wear your designated bathroom socks.

(Image 6)

When you’re on a ward of political prisoners, the most shameful thing you can do is to eat alone. Meals are always eaten all together and the food is shared equally between everyone. Eating together is a real joy. Every morning we have our breakfast with a smile on our faces and happy, lively conversations around the table. At 8 am the guards come in to count us but we act as if they don’t exist and just carry on as normal.

(Image 7)

[Top right]: After breakfast it’s cleaning time and some comrades clean the yard.

[Bottom left]: Two comrades wash the dishes in the kitchen

[Bottom right]: And two other comrades wash and fill the containers that hold our bathing water.

(Image 8)

[Top]: 9 am is education time. We study books alone, or we discuss topics in groups.

[Middle left]: Once a week Mizgin teaches us Kurdish, using the mirror as a blackboard.

[On the mirror]: Kurdish language [in small box]: Module Name: Martyr Seve

[Middle]: Some friends fall asleep while reading.

[Book title]: How to Live

[Bottom]: Our daily routine in prison is as follows:7.30: Wake up, 9.00-11.30: Education, 12.00: Lunch, 14:00-16:00: Education, 16:00: Dinner followed by reading the newspaper, 20:00: Education, 22:00: Tea and snacks, followed by teeth brushing. 23:00: Reading time, 00:00 Lights out, time to sleep.

(Image 9)

[Newspaper back page, in Turkish]: Free Media Cannot be Silenced.

[Bottom box]: Every evening we gather together as a group and read the newspaper together.

Every month one comrade is in charge of reading the newspaper and at 16:00 she calls us and says “Comrades, newspaper time”. That person chooses a comrade to read the newspaper out loud and we all listen to her. At the end of the month, that comrade gives us a summary of the situation and developments of the past month and we all comment on this. In this way we are aware of current affairs. The prison administration make it difficult to bring certain newspapers inside, and some newspapers are not allowed – likewise, some books. Yeni Yaşam, Evrensel and Birgün newspapers are not given most of the time and sometimes even Cumhuriyet newspaper is not given.