- Oct 3, 2018
- 3,384
Under the fluorescent lights of Bangkok International Airport, the ebb and flow of travelers created a ricocheting sound from the symphony of hurried footsteps and muffled conversations. Amid the throng, two figures emerged, travelers. Kâzım Özalp, a man in his mid-thirties with a neatly trimmed beard, held Nebahat Çehre's hand as they navigated through the terminal. She was a striking woman as her dark hair cascading over her shoulders.
To the casual observer, they were merely a young couple, the two were rather quiet as they waited patiently to pass through the line.
“Did you remember to pack the documents?” Nebahat asked, her voice light but her eyes scanning the bustling crowd. The question was innocent enough, it kept Kâzım on task, reminding him of their cover story while allowing her to gauge the reactions around them.
“Of course,” Kâzım replied, flashing a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ll be safe here, don’t worry?” He said, holding her hand tight.
“Right,” Nebahat replied, a flicker of amusement dancing in her gaze.
As they approached the immigration checkpoint, he slid his Türkiye passport across the counter. “My name is Arif Aydan,” Kâzım said, meeting the gaze of the officer. “I am seeking political asylum. My wife and I are civil servants being persecuted in Türkiye for the simple belief that people deserve a dignified life, and for the curse of working for a government that belongs to its people.” He sighed heavily, handing the Thai officer the necessary documentation—his badge as a member of Türkiye’s Ministry of Labor, his wife’s as part of the Presidential Office, and any other paperwork required for their case.
Kâzım gaze drifted to the people around them. A family with children, a businessman on his phone, a pair of giggling teenagers.
If they were allowed through, they would move past the checkpoint and enter the country.
Meanwhile in Bangkok
The routine sound of the alarm clock woke Durak Bardakci up from his much-needed sleep. He slithered to side of his bed where he pulled himself from the warm aura which shielded his bed from the pinching cold that engulfed the room. As parts of his body were gradually turning on, he rubbed his eyes, stretching his arms as he slipped his feet into his warm slippers. He leaned over his desk as he stood up, the young Turkish stared down his schedule as he ruffled the curls of his hair. He picked up his rounded glasses, slipping them onto his face as he trodded over to the bathroom where he washed his face, brushing his teeth as he stared into his reflection through the mirror. Now awake, he cleaned the surface of his sink as he turned back to his room.
His desk was largely devoid of memorabilia. On the corner stood a frame, in it it could be made out of three men and two women, most likely the man's family. On his desk was a mess of papers, normal for a student. The winter break had gone through too quickly as he prepared to go back to school. It was a weekend today, giving him the chance to explore more of Bangkok as he tried to refresh his mind. Ridden with blocks and knots which impaired his thinking, the young man packed some books into his back pack, along with his laptop.
He slipped into a pair of dark blue shorts and a loose white linen long-shirt as he ruffled his hair and looked around his room, tapping his pockets and making sure he had everything he opened his flat door, making sure to lock it as he went down the stairs. He wondered as he walked down the stairs if he had closed the lights, but, nonetheless he figured his mind was just trying to trick him. Walking down the lobby, he walked towards the mailboxes inside. Searching for his name and flat, he found it. 4B, Durak he opened it to find just a handful of flyers from the local political office and other news about the revolution in Thailand. Shuffling through them, he put them back inside as there was nothing of importance.
Durak walked through the door, merging into the crowds that filled the thinned roads. The sun beat down onto him despite the winter respite that should have normally filled the air. His hands sweaty and eyes irritating from the heat, he walked briskly towards the bus station as he waited for the bus. He waited patiently at the station, observing the people as they came and went. Listening to a Turkish song on his earphones, he could hear the murmuring in the background as the sound of the city was congealed from the rumbling of motor engines, the chatting of pedestrians, and whirling wind.
The sun always shined in Bangkok but even as it shined bright over the city, a cold shiver came down over him. Alas, Durak managed to get onto his bus, the cool interior offering him a refugee. It was times like these where he missed the mediterranean embrace of his homeland, the coarse sea salt a refugee from the city of marble and stones, the green lush palm trees which shielded the house in lieu of the grey industrial vibes of the city. How he yearned for the chance to return to his homeland. Such was the experience he had hoped to gain while abroad. Now he was a prisoner away from home, forever banished. On the bus he opened his bag, pulling out a book, laced in a red and black cover as he opened to the page where he had last left.
It was a book on the revolution and the social change inside of Thailand. Durak, during his time as a student here, had become attuned to the global debate on socialism. Indeed, in his home country, he saw the vast economic inequality in society. How could people dine over fancy caviar and dishes made of gold while others went hungry. How could a few decide who leads the many. He didn't consider himself a socialist, just a humanist, and what he saw in Thailand shattered much of his worldview as a young Turkish man in Thailand.
A nation which had in recent months been a staunch ally of Türkiye was now his only refugee from a vengeful military seeking to purge every last vestige of the left. If he wasn’t a socialist before, Durak was one now. Durak heard his stop, ringing the bus and stepping out to the bustling streets that joined the many people walking through the park.
Bangkok, the previous night
Winter had settled in Thailand, blanketing the vibrant streets with a cool air that hinted at the simmering unease beneath the surface. Ergenc Akdari and Tolunay Baydar strolled through the open air courtyard of their communal home. The cool breeze, the scent of flowers and the chirping of birds add to the delightful ambiance. The walkway is lined with trees, and the garden is adorned with colorful flowers. It's a perfect place to take a peaceful stroll, relax, and enjoy the pleasant weather.
Yet one would not find peace in this garden as the two walked through the trail, in hushed voices, people talked softly as they walked by. Ergenc had wondered many years ago if it was truly possible that the ballot could produce change in Ankara. He and Tolunay had watched what was happening here back home during the genocidal nationalist years and pledged to take up the armed struggle against the fascists. At the time, they thought the bullet was the only answer. Yet, when Eda told them they’d take power through the ballot there was an unease for many of the young fighters of the leftist militias.
Tolunay had been unease over Ergenc’s radicalization whilst in the caves of the Southwest. It was not unknown that Tolunay had been apart of the reformist wing of the militia but many others only saw violence as the only answer, he tried his best to support the moderation of the movement.
It was without a doubt if Ergenc or Tolunay returned to Ankara the military would whisk them away. With their residency in Thailand they knew that there was no peaceful return to their homeland.
Thousands upon thousands of civilian officials from the Ministry and other public bureaus were removed. It was fast, brutal, and deadly. The army had begun dismantling the various appointees and civil servants that had sworn allegiance to the party, not the state. Indeed, many were caught in the cross fire. The moves targeted anyone, not just card carrying members of the TİP, who had ties to the communist regime. The move also put an end to the peace that had been established with the PKK.
As dusk turned to dawn, Ergenc excused himself from his small group of Turkish colleagues who all considered Thailand their home, and returned to his apartment. He returned to his private chambers where he felt most secure. Inside his office there were stacks of memos and reports that seemed to grow taller by the day.
His mind was particularly preoccupied with the news back home. The rumors the military would stop elections scheduled for later this month as the social democrats made progress was enough for Ergenc to realize peace was not an option.
"A Sellout" Ergenc muttered as he saw the social democrats become another capitalist stooge and upholder of oppression. They were no different from the rest he concluded. The ballot box would not save him or the Turkish people. Like the serfs before them, only revolution would emancipate them. They needed to come back in force.
Just then, Tum, a beautiful looking Thai lady walked into the room, her transparent robe unveiling her. Her hands touched the back of Ergenc’s head sending warmth through the back of his body as she gave him a light peck. "What is on your mind my love" she asked rather cutely as she moved her small hands across his broad Turkish shoulders.
Ergenc remembered it as if it was yesterday. The day he met Tum, at a local communal political meeting, the room was packed with so many people in a language so different to him. Tum stood out so boldly to him. He returned to the present. "I feel so hopeless my love. I look back at my country and I...I feel so much pain."
Tum moved herself onto his lap as she kissed him patiently and looked him in his eyes. "Thailand is not a nation-state my love...it is a revolutionary state...it is a state for all.This is your country.
Ergenc smiled, but looked at himself, "my love, look at me, I am so different." Tum put her hands on his lips, shushing him. "Do not let the white man's lies corrupt your mind. You may be physically different, but your heart," she said putting her hand on it, "is red like the revolution that flows through our veins. You are a citizen of the globe, not some nation that exists in time and space."
Ergen nodded. "I still want to free my fellow people from this oppression. I really do." Tum nodded. "Lets enjoy this night together for now."
The Turkish Embassy in Bangkok had always been a place of sanctuary but now, as the evening sun bathed the grounds in amber, it felt more like a prison than a haven.
Ambassador Berhan Ekinci stood at the entrance of the Embassy’s marble-floored courtyard, watching as the masses gathered outside the high iron gates.The news inside was a constant reminder of the coup that had torn through his homeland, the coup that had shattered the fragile peace of Türkiye.
His years as a diplomat, as a servant of President Aysa Arslan’s regime, seemed like a distant dream. The world he had known had crumbled into dust, swept away by the brutality of the military’s iron fist.
Outside, the scene was chaos, refugees, young and old, streamed into the country by the thousands. Many had made the perilous journey from Türkiye itself, their homes torn apart by the purges, by the brutality of soldiers sweeping across the country to rid it of communism. And many more had lived here for years, their lives interrupted when the regime fell, and now unable to return home. Forever tainted with association with Thailand.
Berhan was accustomed to the sense of quiet disarray that always followed political turmoil. He had dealt with it for years, Türkiye’s covert interventions, its constant back-and-forth with its neighbors, the tense calm that always seemed to precede disaster. But this? This was something else. These weren’t just refugees; they were the last remnants of a broken country, a country in which he had once believed.
"Ambassador," came a voice, cutting through his reverie. It was an odd title to keep even though Berhan was technically no longer the Ambassador.
He turned to find Hasan, the head of security, standing nearby, his face taut with strain.
"They're asking for you," he said softly.
Berhan nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to the sea of bodies outside. His people were fleeing a government that would not show mercy, a government that had not shown mercy to anyone who dared question its grip.
"Coming," Berhan said. His voice was low, steady, but the weight of it felt heavier than it ever had before. He trailed off, the rest of the thought unspoken. They both knew what was awaiting those unable to escape. Arrest. Imprisonment. Death. President Arslan and her cabinet were mostly detained and tens f thousands of TİP officials were rounded up across the country. "
As he began to walk toward the gathering, the familiar sound of his phone buzzing broke the momentary silence. He glanced down, frowning at the unfamiliar number flashing on the screen. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the screen.
"Is it a good idea to take that call?" Hasan asked, his voice low, full of concern.
Berhan glanced at him and then back at the refugees. His mind churned through the possibilities, nothing good ever came of a mysterious call, especially not now. Still, he had learned not to ignore certain things in his field of work.
Berhan turned quietly to Hasan. “I'll be back in a moment.”
He stepped away from the crowd and moved toward the far corner of the courtyard, where a shadowed alcove provided a brief moment of privacy. As he answered the phone, he didn’t speak immediately. The line crackled with static, the sound of a voice barely discernible through the haze. But then it came.
"Berhan," the voice said, sharp but familiar. "It’s Eda."
His heart stuttered. Eda Yıldırım, the former Prime Minister, and once, a close friend. She had disappeared in the aftermath of the coup, assumed to be either captured or executed by the army. To hear her voice now, alive, was a jarring shock.
"Where the hell are you?" Berhan’s voice was low, worried if he said it too loud someone would hear it on the other end. "I thought you were dead."
"I’m alive," Eda said quickly, but her tone was anything but reassuring. "But barely. I’m hiding, Berhan. I’ve been running, trying to keep a step ahead of the soldiers. I’ve barely managed to get any information. The blackout’s total. You’re the only person left I could reach."
Berhan felt his grip on the phone tighten. He had once admired Eda, her idealism and her fire,. But then her government had made deals that had slowly bled Turkey dry, before she had pushed for policies Berhan couldn’t support.
The long silence between them seemed to stretch on forever before Eda spoke again.
"How bad is it, Berhan? What’s going on over there? I can’t trust anything I hear. Is it possible to get the Thais to help us? I need to know if we have allies left. If there’s anyone who’ll listen."
The Thais? He hadn’t considered it to be frank. Thailand had, indeed, supported him and his family, protecting them from forced rendition back to Türkiye. The Thais even went further to close their presence in Türkiye. However, the Thai people seemed disinterested in foreign intervention. There was no doubt his failure to stop the withdrawal vote was instrumental in allowing the army to overthrow the regime so quickly.
“Eda,” Berhan said slowly, shaking his head as if she could see him, though she couldn’t. “You think Thailand’s going to risk causing a new European crisis over us? Over you?”
There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, before Eda spoke again, this time with a more urgent edge to her voice.
"Berhan, you don’t understand. They’re not just coming for me. They’ll come for all of us, all of you. This isn't just about the coup anymore. The military’s out of control. If we don’t do something now, we’ll be wiped off the map, buried under their boot. The Thais have to help us."
Berhan clenched his jaw. The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Thailand had been the sanctuary for so many Turkish exiles, but even he knew how delicate the situation was. They could hardly afford to anger Europe after the Italian crisis, not when a delicate balance was holding everything together.
"I can speak with the Ministry and ask them for their views. But Eda. I will be frank. They do not like you.” Berhan’s said. "You’re the one who led this country into chaos. This mess is your doing Eda, in their mind.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, as if Eda had taken the slap of his words, or maybe she was too weary to argue. Finally, her voice came through, quieter, more measured.
"I know it’s my fault," she said, her words soft but edged with regret. "But you’re wrong, Berhan. I never intended for this to happen. I thought I was doing what was best for the country, but I see now... I see how far we’ve fallen.
"You think we have people still out there?" he asked.
Eda didn’t hesitate. "Yes. I know they are. They’re scattered, but they’re there. I have men and women ready to act. We just need a way to coordinate. But we need the Thais. If they can help, even a little, we might be able to organize something."
Berhan exhaled sharply, stepping back from the alcove. He glanced out over the courtyard again, where the chaos of the refugees was spreading. It seemed to stretch on forever, people in desperation, people whose lives had been shattered by the same forces that had torn Eda from power.
And still, she asked him to trust her.
Eda continued, “I need your help, Berhan. I know you’re the one who can get us the access we need.”
Berhan rubbed his face, feeling the weight of the moment. The phone call ended with her final words hanging in the air between them. "We’re running out of time. Berhan, I’ll be in touch. Please. The revolution needs you"
Berhan remained where he stood, the phone still pressed to his ear long after the line had gone dead. His mind churned, as he exhaled a deep sigh while lowering the phone.
Maybe Eda still had loyalists who could rally to her cause. But Berhan wasn’t sure if there was enough left to save them, or if they were just going to die trying. And, despite everything, he had the nagging feeling that, somehow, his choice would shape the future of more than just his own life.
He did the only thing he could do. Schedule a meeting with the Thais at their convenience.
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