Selahattin Demirtaş-jamal

“I met him at a garbage can; he was shy and timid. It was obvious that he was hungry, yet he was undecided whether to rummage through the garbage or not. … His jet-black eyes had lost their luster, his shoulders were slumped, his lips were chapped. I handed him the first piece of food I found from the garbage; he hesitated, his eyes filled with tears, his throat tightened. … He was trying not to hurt the cornbread I gave him as he bit into it; he obviously knew the value of ‘nan’, he was not ‘ungrateful’. I put a few more pieces of food in his hand; he smiled for the first time, his white teeth lit up his face. We could not speak each other’s languages, but it was not difficult to communicate in the universal language of kindness.”

The street is the last refuge of those who have fallen, those who have been exiled, those who have been left homeless, those who have suddenly “clicked” inside them, those who have been ground into pieces by the gears of a ruthless wheel. There, one experiences the happiness of being/remaining human, of solidarity, of sharing a slice of bread; and the pain of being abandoned, of crashing headlong into the ground. One witnesses the most beautiful and the most evil states of people. But the important thing is not to listen to the “voice” of the street, but to be that “voice” itself.

Because the street is freedom, freedom is in the street