uma reunião clandestina (3) ('Europe is our future, and the future of our humanity')

tal como a referi aqui, no cap. 31 de Snow, Pamuk:

It was so crowded inside that Kadife at first thought they’d come to the wrong room. Seeing Blue sitting glumly near the window with two other Islamist militants, she took her father across the room and sat him
beside them. A naked lightbulb hung from the ceiling; on the table was a lamp in the shape of a fish, but the room was still inadequately lit. The fish was made of Bakelite; propped on its tail fins, it held the lightbulb in
its mouth, and a state-owned microphone was hidden in one of its eyes.

Fazıl was in the room too; the moment he saw Kadife, he jumped to his feet, and when the others rose to pay their respects to Turgut Bey, he remained standing. He looked stunned, as if someone had cast a spell on him. A few in the room thought he was about to speak, but Kadife didn’t even notice him. Her eyes were on Blue and Turgut Bey, whose eyes were on each other, and the atmosphere was tense.

Blue had decided the West would take the statement more seriously if the Kurdish nationalist who signed it was also an atheist. But the thin pale teenager who’d reluctantly agreed to sign had a difference of opinion with his Kurdish nationalist associates as to the wording. Now the three of them were waiting sullenly for their turn to speak. Since the associations of angry, hopeless, jobless youths known to admire the Kurdish guerillas from the mountains tended to convene in the houses of individual members, and since association directors were often being arrested, beaten, and tortured following frequent raids on meetings, it was hard to find these youngsters after the coup. But the three young Kurds had an even more pressing problem: The mountain warriors might find their very presence in this room suspect. They might decide that these young men had it too easy in these warm city rooms and accuse them of accommodation with the Turkish Republic. In fact, the charge that the associations were not sending their fair share of guerilla recruits up to the mountains had demoralized the handful of members who had not yet been arrested.

Also at the meeting were two old-wave socialists, both in their thirties. The possibility of a joint statement to the German press had been conveyed to them by the Kurdish youths, who’d gone to the socialists to brag a little and also to ask for advice. Socialist militancy had once cast a long shadow over Kars, but now it was spent; these days no socialist would dare set an ambush, kill a policeman, or start a mail-bomb campaign without first seeking the support of the Kurdish guerillas, and the result was an epidemic of premature decrepitude and widespread depression in their once-formidable ranks. Now here were these old militants who’d come uninvited to the meeting, having heard there were still a lot of Marxists in Europe. At the far end of the room, just beside the oldest socialist, who looked bored, sat a relaxed, clean-faced comrade, who was in high spirits, knowing he would relay the details of the meeting to the local MIT branch. His intentions weren’t malign; he did this to help the ˙associations head off police harassment. He would inform the state of any activities he didn’t like—most of which seemed unnecessary in retrospect anyway—but in his heart of hearts, he was proud that there were rebels out there fighting for the cause, so proud, in fact, that he would brag about the shootings, the kidnappings, the beatings, the bombings, and the assassinations to anyone who would listen. At first no one spoke, so sure were they that the room was bugged and that there were several informers present. Or if they spoke, it was with a nod in the direction of the window to note that it was still snowing, or to admonish someone for stubbing out cigarettes on the floor. The silence lasted until a Kurdish granny unnoticed until that moment stood up and told the story of her grandson’s disappearance (they had come in the middle of the night and taken him away). Even only half listening to this disappearance story, Turgut Bey felt uneasy. He was as appalled to hear of the abduction and murder of Kurdish teenagers as he was angry to hear them described as innocents. Holding her father’s hand, Kadife tried to make sense of the disgust and contempt in Blue’s face. Blue felt he had walked into a trap, but fearing what people would say if he left, he remained, against his better judgment. And then: (1) the Islamist youth who was sitting next to Fazıl, and whose connection to the murder of the director of the Institute of Education would be proved months later, began to argue that the director had been assassinated by a government agent; (2) the revolutionaries in the room made a long announcement about a hunger strike begun by their friends in prison; and (3) the three youths from the Kurdish association read out an even longer statement, in which they threatened to withdraw their signatures from the joint declaration unless the Frankfurter Rundschau published it, thus restoring Kurdish culture and literature to its proper place in world history.

When the granny, who had come to submit a petition on behalf of the missing teenager, asked where this German journalist was, Kadife rose to explain: Ka was indeed in Kars, she said, in a reassuring voice, but had stayed away from the meeting lest his presence cast any doubt on the impartiality of the statement. The others being unaccustomed to seeing a woman address a political meeting with such confidence, she quickly gained their respect. On hearing that Kadife would do everything in her power to get her story published in the German papers, the granny threw her arms around Kadife and began to cry, and then gave her a piece of paper on which someone had written her grandson’s name.

The well-meaning leftist-militant informer chose this moment to present the first draft, which he had written in longhand in a notebook; as he read it, he did his best to look inscrutable. Almost everyone warmed to the title at once: “Announcement to the People of Europe about the Events in Kars.” remembering how he felt at that moment, Fazıl would later smile and tell Ka, “This was the first time it ever occurred to me that our small city might one day have a role to play on the world stage.” (Ka would later use these very words in his poem “All Humanity and the Stars.”)

Only Blue adamantly opposed the title. “We’re not speaking to Europe,” he said, “we’re speaking to all humanity. Our friends should not be surprised to learn we have been unable to publish our statement—not just in Kars and Istanbul but also in Frankfurt. The people of Europe are not our friends, they’re our enemies. And it’s not because we’re their enemies, it’s because they instinctively despise us.”

The leftist in charge of the first draft interrupted to clarify that it wasn’t all humanity that despised them, just the European bourgeoisie. The poor and unemployed were their brothers, he reminded them, but no one other than his fellow socialist was persuaded.

“No one in Europe is as poor as we are,” said one of the three Kurdish youths.

“My son, have you ever been to Europe?” asked Turgut Bey.

 “I haven’t had the opportunity yet, but my mother’s brother is a worker in Germany.”

This provoked some laughter. Turgut Bey straightened his chair. “Although the word means much to me, I have never been to Europe either,” he said. “This is not a laughing matter. Please, would all those in the room who have been to Europe raise their hands.” Apart from Blue, who had spent many years in Germany, no one raised his hand.

“But we all know what Europe has come to mean,” Turgut Bey continued. “Europe is our future, and the future of our humanity. So if this gentleman”—here he pointed at Blue—“thinks we should say all humanity instead of Europe, we might as well change our statement accordingly.”

“Europe’s not my future,” said Blue with a smile. “As long as I live I shall never imitate them or hate myself for being unlike them.” “It’s not just Islamists who take pride in this country, the Republicans feel the same way,” said Turgut Bey. “If we say all humanity instead of Europe, what do we have?”

“Announcement to All Humanity about the Events in Kars,” said the man in charge of the statement. “That might be too bold.”

 There followed a discussion in which they considered replacing Humanity with the West, but the freckled man beside Blue objected to this too. The Kurdish youth with the shrill voice then suggested the more modest An Announcement, and this met with everyone’s approval.

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Pamuk no cap. 31 de Snow.