I HAD MOTHERS

MY MOTHERS WHOSE CURTAINS HADN'T BEEN OPENED FOR YEARS

Imagine a curtain.
It's morning. The sun has risen. But the curtain doesn't open.
Inside, there's a mother. Her curtain has been closed for ten years.
'I can't open it,' she says. 'If I open it, I feel like life goes on. But for me, life stopped.'
This mother is real. This curtain is real. This pain is real.”

“After July 15, 2016, tens of thousands of people were prosecuted.
Elderly mothers were handcuffed. Sent to prisons.

Military students — young people in their twenties — were tried for life imprisonment.
What did the mothers of these young people do?
They wrote petitions. They wore out doors. They looked for lawyers. They waited for visiting days. They sat at the prison gate. And when they returned home, they didn't open their curtains.”

I HAD MOTHERS,
MY MOTHERS WHOSE CURTAINS HADN'T BEEN OPENED FOR YEARS

“There is a surah in the Quran: Surah Maryam.
Hz. Maryam faced societal pressure. She was wronged. She was left alone.
But Allah did not ignore her. He immortalized her pain, her patience, in a surah that will be recited until the Day of Judgment.

Today's mothers are also alone. Today's mothers are also wronged. Today's mothers are also patient.
Allah sees them. But do we see them?”

“In Islam, incurring the curse of the oppressed is a great sin.
Our Prophet said: 'Beware of the curse of the oppressed. For there is no barrier between him and Allah.'

Did these mothers curse? They have been cursing for ten years.
As a society, did we hear this curse? Did politicians hear it? Did journalists write about it? Did academics research it?
No.
And this 'no' is not just negligence — it is a sin in the eyes of Islam.”

“A hundred years passed.

The hand carrying bullets grew tired. The hand applying henna wrinkled. The hand waiting at the door trembled. The hand that couldn't open the curtain went numb.
But those hands are still there. Still waiting. Still hoping.
What does Islam tell us?

'He is not one of us who goes to bed full while his neighbor is hungry.'

So how can we sleep soundly when there is a mother in the next room, on the next street, in the next city, who hasn't been able to open her curtain for ten years?
This voice is a call to conscience.

We call to the state: Recognize. Repair. We call to the politician: Ask. Change. We call to the academic: Document. Convey. We call to the journalist: Write. Announce. We call to you: See.

Because these mothers have been alone for a hundred years. Let it not be anymore.

I HAD MOTHERS,
MY MOTHERS WHOSE CURTAINS HADN'T BEEN OPENED FOR YEARS.