©
Ceylan
Orhun
Translated
by Özlem Ezer
If I were to describe Şirin in one
word, it would be “charismatic.” Period. Aphrodite’s three attendants—kharis—represent grace, beauty, and
benevolence. The word’s derivation—charisma—has
come to mean a natural power of authority and leadership. As befits a Pisces,
Şirin embodied
both meanings equally in every aspect of her life. However, no single word,
page, or book can capture her. She deserves to be described in the 4Cs
essential to determining a diamond’s value: colour, clarity, carat, cut. She was a rare diamond.
Şirin had a brilliant mind, remembering each and every minute detail,
expressing herself clearly. She defended her ideas eloquently and without any
compromise; she made it clear what she did or didn’t want. Well, mostly what
she didn’t want. Though she had suspicions about the state of her lungs,
she wouldn’t agree to have them examined. She would berate the doctors and
leave the hospital in a fury, saying “These doctors have no idea what they’re
talking about.” Anyone around her who sided with the doctors would get a share
of her anger as well. She could become as enraged about health issues as she
could about political views. We were hesitant to upset her, even for her own
sake; the last thing we wanted was to offend her. But she was clear about what
she didn’t want, including the will to live.
Şirin had incredible discipline; she was a woman of principle and
ethics, of daunting stubbornness, and always remained both an unshakeable
democrat and incorrigible optimist. Two weeks before her final hospitalization,
she came to have lunch at my place. As usual, we caught up on what we’d been
doing since we last met and soon the conversation turned to politics. Always a
passionate follower of French politics, she defended her opinion of Macron’s
recent election and expressed her optimism about what it meant for France and
Turkey. I could no longer hold my tongue and said, “My dear Şirin, you’d
know better whether such a term exists, but listening to this optimism, I’m
starting to think I’m a liberal dictator.” She cracked up!
Şirin was a
natural leader. Rather than use her power as a weapon, she used it to build
others’ strength and confidence and
empower them to soar on their own. She couldn’t bear any kind of violence and
reacted strongly to what she called “fascist tendencies” between groups of
women. People who would otherwise never get together would join hands as one
around her. Hers was a magical magnetism, but she preferred to step aside, encouraging
and praising those around her. Her watching and listening to others were not
just admirable qualities, but inherent to her nature. Her observations,
interpretations, and evaluations expanded horizons and gave fresh hope.
Moreover, she was a very perceptive observer.
She was a humanist, a benevolent and true
philanthropist. She not only donated her estate to the women’s NGOs she had
founded, but also demonstrated her deep faith in science by donating her body
for research. In this way, my atheist friend also avoided an unwanted religious
burial ceremony. Şirin was a
true friend, generous and courageous during difficult times. When I had to put
my dog Gece to sleep, Şirin and my mom stayed by Gece’s side, petting
her until she drew her last breath. Şirin even took on the sad task I couldn’t face
and accompanied Gece as she was placed in her grave.
“Grace” is an inadequate word to describe what Şirin brought to every aspect, every moment of her life. There was a finesse to everything she did, said, or wrote. Even when she decided to give up silk for flannel, there was still an air of haute couture about her. Never seen without well manicured and polished nails, she was always perfectly groomed, elegant and charming. But nothing was ever overdone. She always remained modest and unaffected in all things, even her simply decorated home.
She was best known for her accomplishments —from
associate professor, writer, translator, and political specialist to women’s
movement doyenne— but beyond these she was also an artist, musicologist,
art lover, critic, reader and thinker. Though known for her devotion to cats,
she also had a love of dogs. She was an enthusiastic drinker with an amazing
capacity, never losing her dignity no matter how much she imbibed. She was a
good cook and showed a gourmet’s sensitivity in her appreciation of elegantly
set tables and refined food. Even so, she ate like a bird. She was a secret gastronome,
a shy bon vivant, a closet bohème: When she visited me in Buenos
Aires, she would announce, “I’m going out to explore your neighborhood,” and
disappear for a few hours. When she returned she was filled with stories of
where she went, what cafe-bar she discovered, the people she met, what they
talked about, and what she drank, all while reaching into her purse for napkins
and placemats she had used for portraits and sketches of the people and places
she had seen. Unfortunately, she never wrote her memoirs: she was too much of a perfectionist.
She had child-like enthusiasm, curiosity and
fearlessness. As she described her delight at parasailing as a 70-year-old, her
smile had a child’s mischievousness. In the intensive care unit, when Deniz
Türkali held Şirin’s hand
and sang “Kadınlar Vardır”[1]
(“Women Exist”), that luminous smile of hers spread across her lovely face one
last time. Even under the worst, most difficult conditions, Şirin was never without a smile. She
was a smiling feminist.
She had absolute trust in people. Although she
was often hurt, I never saw her cry. Perhaps she (like my mother whom she loved
a lot) had learned not to cry: crying is
not appropriate for feminists. Her mischievousness and teasing were aimed only
at herself; she enjoyed her connections with the children in her life and in
the lives of those around her. She planned her life’s “end game” like a gifted
child, down to the last detail. She was born one of those “old souls,” but died
a young one.
Your brilliance will endure, my beloved friend,
my “sixth sibling”:
May you rest in peace and love.
20 June 2017, Mazı, Turkey
PS: Special thanks and gratitude go to Mary Ann Whitten for editing the final translation.
[1] “Kadınlar Vardır”(1989) is a song written
and composed by the Turkish feminist Filiz Kerestecioğlu, Tekeli’s lifelong friend and a feminist lawyer who was elected as a
member of parliament from HDP in the 2015 elections. It became a symbol for the
Women’s Movement in Turkey and has been sung collectively.
