When Bobby Sands and nine other Irish hunger strikers starved themselves to death 21 years ago, they caught the attention of much of the world. The first of the Irish republicans to die in the seven-month protest over conditions inside their Northern Irish prison, Sands had refused food and medical attention for 66 days. Although the grisly deaths led to heightened political tensions back in 1981, historians say the hunger strikes also helped to pave the way for the emergence of Sinn Fein as a major political force in Northern Ireland — and for the current peace process.
But what will the deaths of Cengiz Soydas and his — so far — 44 Turkish comrades come to mean? Soydas died last March, on the 150th day of a prison “death fast” begun in October 2000. A 29-year-old university student who had been sentenced to 15 years in prison for membership in a violent leftist organization, Soydas was the first to die. Other prisoners and some outside supporters joined him in protest and, later, in death. According to the Turkish Justice Ministry, slightly more than 100 people are now on hunger strike in a dozen prisons.
In contrast to the Irish situation, many potential peacemakers are themselves filled with despair. “There is so much ill will that neither side believes compromise is possible,” says Orhan Pamuk, a prominent novelist who had offered his services as a negotiator in late 2000. Echoed Yucel Sayman, head of the Istanbul Bar Association: “Both sides have decided that death is the only solution.” Local journalists say the public has lost heart and lost interest in the “death fast” and its cultish embrace of morbidity. The strikers appear to have mastered the science of dying, taking liquid and vitamins at a rate that permits them to waste away at an incredibly slow rate. As death approaches, supportive “carers” comfort them and encourage their families to accept the legitimacy of the protest tactic.
The strike began in opposition to the proposed transfer of prisoners accused or convicted under Turkey’s antiterrorism law from large, dormitory-style facilities to new single- or triple-bunk cells. The authorities reasoned that they could better maintain order and discipline by reducing the exposure of supporters of the Revolutionary People’s Liberation Party/Front — known as the DHKP/C — to other inmates and to each other. However, the prisoners expressed fear of being moved to smaller cells, even in new, more comfortable buildings. The relative isolation, they argued, would leave them at the mercy of their jailers, who could more easily bully or torture them. There is safety in numbers, the inmates said, and they were prepared to die to protect themselves in a prison system riddled with injustice.
That decision foreshadowed a series of violent, related incidents, including the security forces’ quashing of protests throughout the prison system and the forcible transfer of inmates to the new “F-type” facilities. In the worst clashes, in December 2000, 30 prisoners and two guards were killed. In other incidents, two former inmates blew themselves up in suicide attacks on police, while family members and other sympathizers joined the “death fast.” With the toll of fatalities inching upward and no resolution in sight, the government ponders its options as it continues to pursue reforms that it hopes will please the E.U. “People don’t have a right to die,” says Justice Minister Hikmet Sami Turk, who is responsible for the country’s prisons. Like many in Turkey, he sees the hunger strikes themselves as a kind of terror.
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