Only Power Rules

It’s a crisp, clear evening on November 16, 2011. Twenty-nine year-old Mülkiye Demir couldn’t be happier as she speeds through the narrow cobblestoned streets of Istanbul’s central Beyoğlu neighbourhood on the back of her friend’s motorcycle.

Mülkiye is excited because tomorrow she’s getting married. She’s also happy because earlier that day she sold a large order of books at her job in the Mesopotamia Culture Centre, known by its Turkish acronym, MKM. The left-leaning MKM promotes Kurdish culture and its bookstore sells highbrow works of literature and political philosophy.

Suddenly Mülkiye and her friend are pulled over by an unmarked police car. She’s nervous because the police have recently been arresting a lot of people she knows, but she’s not scared because she knows she’s done nothing wrong. The police ask for their IDs and take them into custody without explaining why.

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Ten Days in Duhok

April 1 – 10, 2014.

“You should tell your friend you were kidnapped,” says the dark-featured young man I met a short while ago, cigarette dangling from his grinning lips. The car careens down a dusty new highway in northern Iraq. The man has a bulwark of long eyelashes around his murky eyes, and short dark hair with a hint of silver emerging from the edges. “It is April, after all,” he says with a wink. As I peer out the window, oil wells, billboards for Turkish and Russian companies, and craggy mountains whiz by.

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