Pınar Selek’s Intellectual Journey of Resistance

Pınar Selek is a pro­minent figure of femi­nism and anti-mili­ta­rism in Tur­key. A friend of Hrant Dink, her socio­lo­gi­cal research focuses on mar­gi­na­li­zed voices in Tur­key, the pro­duc­tion of viri­li­ty, power dyna­mics and struc­tu­ral vio­lence. Through her wri­tings that encom­pass essays, novels, aca­de­mic research, and tales, one can find a unique pers­pec­tive on the Arme­nian geno­cide and the construc­tion of the Tur­kish state, pro­vi­ding fresh insights for Arme­nians’ col­lec­tive reflec­tions. 

In a book­shop in 2015, my eyes were drawn to a book tit­led “Because They Are Arme­nians”. The author’s last name, “Selek,” sur­pri­sed me as it didn’t sound Arme­nian. Rea­ding the back cover, I dis­co­ve­red that not only was Selek not an Arme­nian name, but the author was Tur­kish ! At 19, being admit­ted­ly dis­con­nec­ted from any­thing Arme­nian, I found it incon­cei­vable that a Tur­kish woman would advo­cate for the Arme­nian cause. This chance encoun­ter intro­du­ced me to the remar­kable case of Pınar Selek, an embat­tled Tur­kish intel­lec­tual-in-exile.

Tur­kish autho­ri­ties have per­se­cu­ted Pınar Selek for 27 years. She was arres­ted in July 1998, in connec­tion with an explo­sion at the Istan­bul spice bazaar that killed seven people and inju­red over 100 others. Though an expert report revea­led years later that an acci­den­tal gas cylin­der explo­sion cau­sed the tra­ge­dy, she was impri­so­ned for two and a half years and tor­tu­red to “confess” and renounce her Kur­dish sources. She didn’t break, which she attri­butes to chance : “Not bra­ve­ry or any­thing like that.“

Des­pite four acquit­tals, her pro­se­cu­tion conti­nues ; a Kaf­kaesque trial that seems end­less. “I’m facing irra­tio­na­li­ty, and more than 20 years later, I refuse to get used to it,” she told AFP last year. In 2022, the Tur­kish Supreme Court sen­ten­ced her to life in pri­son and issued an inter­na­tio­nal arrest war­rant. While com­ple­ting her poli­ti­cal science degree at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Stras­bourg in 2014, she was gran­ted aca­de­mic asy­lum. Now a French citi­zen for eight years, Selek is a lec­tu­rer and a resear­cher at Nice Côte d’Azur Uni­ver­si­ty. When I first met her at a lec­ture during the Un Wee­kend A l’Est fes­ti­val –  – which hono­red Arme­nia in Novem­ber 2024 –  – her pas­sio­nate speech left me with more ques­tions than I could ask during the Q&A. We arran­ged to meet the fol­lo­wing month in Nice, my home­town.

The Irres­pon­si­bi­li­ty of the Left 

“To be Arme­nian in Tur­key was to stroll without revolt along ave­nues named after the rulers res­pon­sible for the geno­cide,” Selek says.

Under the com­for­ting Janua­ry sun­light of the French Rivie­ra, Pınar meets me at a cafe, rushing bet­ween her many sche­du­led mee­tings. She greets me with hugs, as if she has known me for years. Although I’m meant to begin the inter­view, her altruis­tic per­so­na­li­ty leads her to ask about me and my life in Arme­nia. When she shares details about her exten­sive Arme­nian net­work, it seems remar­kable given her Tur­kish edu­ca­tio­nal back­ground.

Pınar grew up with many blind spots. The first emer­ged at school, where a denia­list pro­gram is the norm. Her Arme­nian school­mates, whom she calls her “mute com­rades,” endu­red the tar­ge­ted era­sure with resi­gna­tion. During this time, Pınar’s father was in jail. Although she revol­ted against the regime’s lies in school­books and refu­sed to take the dai­ly oath of alle­giance, she ulti­ma­te­ly inter­na­li­zed the same resi­gna­tion as her Arme­nian com­rades and even­tual­ly for­got their names. A ques­tion emerges in her book “Because They Are Arme­nians”: What is the price of for­get­ting ? What becomes of us when we for­get ? Ano­ther blind­spot emerges through an uncom­for­table ques­tion : “I unders­tood that the dic­ta­tor, the bureau­crats, the reac­tio­na­ries, and the gro­tesque pro­fes­sors had done eve­ry­thing to exclude them, but how could the [lef­tist] oppo­nents, in a per­ma­nent struggle for peace, demo­cra­cy, and jus­tice, impri­so­ned and tor­tu­red, have accep­ted the invi­si­bi­li­ty of the Arme­nians?”

Pınar was born in 1971, the year of the second coup of the modern Tur­kish State. She was only nine when the third coup occur­red in 1980, lea­ding to the deten­tion of her father, the lawyer Alp Selek. “When I was a kid, all the lef­ties were in jail,” she recalls. “They almost became ‘Mar­xist revo­lu­tio­na­ry’ idols. They resis­ted, they were vic­tims, and vic­tims couldn’t be cri­ti­ci­zed.” In the mid­st of state repres­sion and simul­ta­neous lio­ni­za­tion, blind­spots could pre­vail even over the most ardent cham­pions of mino­ri­ty rights. “The refu­sal of racial stig­ma­ti­za­tion and their firm inter­na­tio­na­list convic­tions made them insen­si­tive to eth­nic hie­rar­chies in the coun­try where they lived,” she tells me. There was also the refu­sal to give grist to impe­ria­list natio­na­lists who spoke of the “Arme­nian ques­tion” as a pro­blem. Rather than give weight to these poli­ti­cal oppo­nents’ argu­ments, many chose to avoid spea­king of it alto­ge­ther — a ten­den­cy to “avoid” that seems to be a glo­bal, eter­nal issue for lef­tist move­ments.

As Pınar begins dig­ging, she dis­co­vers that the geno­cide isn’t an iso­la­ted event. Its lega­cy led to an entren­ched mili­ta­ry-autho­ri­ta­rian regime and spar­ked pogroms against non-mus­lims in 1955 in Istan­bul, in Marash in 1978, and in Sivas in 1993. This pat­tern of vio­lence culmi­na­ted in the bru­tal sup­pres­sion of Kur­dish pro­tests in the 1990s. During these years, her mee­tings with Hrant Dink and his tes­ti­mo­nies pro­vide firs­thand evi­dence of how Tur­kish socie­ty per­pe­tuates the “Arme­nian trai­tor” stig­ma to ratio­na­lize the 1915 geno­cide.

Des­pite the left’s poli­ti­cal and orga­ni­za­tio­nal defeat in Turkey’s bru­tal mili­ta­ry coup of 1980, Pınar says a new cycle of contes­ta­tion emer­ged by the late 1980s and ear­ly 1990s. The Kur­dish left, a des­cendent of the broa­der Tur­kish left, conso­li­da­ted its posi­tion. She cha­rac­te­rizes this per­iod as a conver­gence move­ment among Arme­nians, Kurds, femi­nists, and LGBT+ acti­vists. It was a signi­fi­cant spark, but not quite a revo­lu­tion : “Although strug­gling toge­ther trans­for­med some things, the ideo­lo­gi­cal hege­mo­ny in Tur­key was way dee­per than we thought,” she says. Among these trans­for­ma­tions — in which Hrant Dink’s news­pa­per, Agos, played a role — Pınar explains that it was a revo­lu­tion in the space for social struggle : “It chan­ged so many things at the base of all these dif­ferent move­ments. Within femi­nists and LGBT+ struggles, we have never tal­ked about geno­cide before. From that moment, it became the culture to talk about it. But this culture will wea­ken if it’s not constant­ly nur­tu­red. It’s not com­ple­te­ly dead, but struc­tures like Agos don’t rege­ne­rate them­selves.” She doesn’t let her voice fade ; on the contra­ry, she speaks joy­ful­ly about the crowd that gathe­red in front of the news­pa­per office just days before for Hrant Dink’s assas­si­na­tion com­me­mo­ra­tion. “It shows a willin­gness,” she states.

But willin­gness alone can’t do much when facing anni­hi­la­tion. “The Tur­kish state has crea­ted an ima­gi­na­ry nar­ra­tive,” she says. “Behind it lies a sup­po­sed anti-impe­ria­list struggle, which jus­ti­fies any­thing the army does and spreads these dyna­mics to the rest of socie­ty.” This new­ly ima­gi­ned nation requires the sub­mis­sion of groups that chal­lenge its foun­da­tions. The Tur­kish sys­tem can­not exist out­side a dua­list, bina­ry fra­me­work (man-woman, culture-nature, etc), lea­ding to the per­se­cu­tion of mar­gi­na­li­zed eth­nic groups, trans iden­ti­ties, sexual pre­fe­rences, and women’s repro­duc­tive free­dom. “Fas­cists unders­tand that pri­va­cy, inti­ma­cy, and sexua­li­ty are poli­ti­cal, and that the way you own your body is poli­ti­cal,” Pınar explains. “That’s why they first focus on control­ling bodies and fami­ly struc­tures. Because inti­ma­cy is dif­fi­cult to control, they main­tain men’s domi­nance over women. Thus, the mili­ta­ri­za­tion of socie­ty extends into the sexual sphere. Kurds, Ale­vis, Arme­nians, and other eth­nic mino­ri­ties dis­rupt this pic­ture by brea­king the homo­ge­nei­ty of a bina­ry culture, dis­lo­ca­ting the natio­nal nar­ra­tive.”

When I share — not without emo­tion — how beau­ti­ful­ly Hrant Dink’s pers­pec­tive chan­ged some of her per­cep­tions, she reframes : “If I’m being honest, the real reve­la­tion about social inequa­li­ties began with femi­nism. This is what led me to think about the geno­cide from a femi­nist pers­pec­tive.” This means consi­de­ring what Arme­nian women endu­red during the geno­cide. “We have to always think about the arti­cu­la­tion of power rela­tion­ships. For a power to find legi­ti­ma­cy, it must rely on other exis­ting power rela­tion­ships that have crea­ted a culture, lan­guage, and way of thin­king. Patriar­chy is an ancient culture now, and it had its conse­quences for the geno­cide. Men orga­ni­zed it. We shouldn’t for­get who decides, who orga­nizes, who’s res­pon­sible, and how his­to­ri­cal­ly it has been pos­sible to occur this way. I’m not saying women were all inno­cent during the geno­cide, but it doesn’t com­pare. It is also impor­tant to see how patriar­chal culture streng­the­ned even fur­ther after the geno­cide, since these forms of orga­ni­zed vio­lence create a col­lec­tive expe­rience that endures through time.”

Pinar often quotes Rakel Dink, Hrant’s wife, who said at his fune­ral : “Nothing will occur, my friends, without inter­ro­ga­ting the dark­ness that makes a baby become an assas­sin.”  

The Tur­kish Mili­ta­ry Caul­dron 

Ins­pi­red by these words, Pinar began her research in 2007, asking : “What social and poli­ti­cal mecha­nisms enable the trans­for­ma­tion of a child into a sub­ject of vio­lence?” This led her to focus on mili­ta­ry ser­vice.

In her most recent book publi­shed in France, “Le Chau­dron mili­taire Turc : un exemple de Pro­duc­tion de la Vio­lence Mas­cu­line” [The Tur­kish Mili­ta­ry Caul­dron : An Example of the Pro­duc­tion of Mas­cu­line Vio­lence, not yet trans­la­ted into English], she demons­trates how mili­ta­ry ser­vice, as a pivo­tal moment in male socia­li­za­tion, creates condi­tions for hege­mo­nic mas­cu­line domi­na­tion through a com­plex pro­cess :

“Dif­ferent mas­cu­li­ni­ties create hie­rar­chies among them­selves and adapt to social contexts, trans­for­ming them­selves and thus enabling their lon­ge­vi­ty. This makes them hege­mo­nic but adap­tive, enabling men to main­tain posi­tions of domi­na­tion.” This hie­rar­chy is legi­ti­mi­zed by the mili­ta­ry super­iors’ jus­ti­fi­ca­tion that “they are stron­ger”. Rituals and codes become esta­bli­shed during this mili­ta­ry ser­vice. “This helps explain how nor­ma­tive mas­cu­li­ni­ty shapes the orga­ni­za­tion of poli­ti­cal vio­lence and the natu­ra­li­za­tion of war, as well as the com­plex mecha­nisms of social and poli­ti­cal struc­tu­ring of vio­lence.” Absor­bed and unques­tio­ned, this vio­lence sup­presses auto­no­my and cri­ti­cal thin­king. “Indif­fe­rence grows, lea­ding both to inac­tion and ali­gn­ment with power. […] This place of confi­ne­ment, in the Fou­caul­dian sense, serves to dis­ci­pline male sub­jects, fra­ming them, nor­ma­li­zing them, homo­ge­ni­zing them.”

Although Pinar focuses on the Tur­kish mili­ta­ry, her cri­tique reveals paral­lels with mili­ta­ris­tic states world­wide, inclu­ding Arme­nia. The vio­lence of mili­ta­ry dis­ci­pline enforces a strict hie­rar­chy of rela­tions which then per­meates broa­der socie­ty. How can we vali­date cri­ti­cism of these rela­tion­ships while ack­now­led­ging the vital need for a strong mili­ta­ry to defend Arme­nian ter­ri­to­ry ? What alter­na­tive approaches of thought and action can we deve­lop to avoid the dan­gers of blind­ly accep­ting a dee­ply mili­ta­rist-patriar­chal culture ?

“Power Demands Sad Bodies”

Resis­ting in autho­ri­ta­rian Tur­key is a dif­fi­cult task. This is what has led to a dra­ma­tic brain drain of Tur­kish acti­vists, jour­na­lists, artists and resear­chers to Europe. Hopes for a fresh upri­sing seem dis­tant. But Pinar offers a more nuan­ced pers­pec­tive : “I used to say that it’s impor­tant to stay in Tur­key and struggle. Now I rea­lize ter­ri­to­ry isn’t neces­sa­ri­ly the most impor­tant part. Who does it belong to any­way ? What mat­ters is that resis­tors are safe and can reu­nite in dia­spo­ras, in other spaces where they can think more trans­na­tio­nal­ly and create move­ments. Bet­ter to not be jai­led or killed, and keep the resis­tance going.” To think about Tur­key as a coun­try to save would be futile. ”We need to stop focu­sing on nation-states.”  Pinar pauses for a moment bet­ween thoughts, gazing at the bright blue sky, bisec­ted by a deep yel­low buil­ding typi­cal of the old town’s archi­tec­ture : “Look how beau­ti­ful the colors of Nice are.”

She gathers her thoughts and, with her deep voice (which she once des­cri­bed as “an alco­ho­lic voice”), conti­nues : “Trans­re­gio­nal, trans­na­tio­nal col­la­bo­ra­tions could help reclaim ter­ri­to­ries and spaces –  – this isn’t a struggle of states, but of citi­zens.” She speaks of Roja­va and Zapa­tis­tas, then offers a more modest example : the trans­bor­der soli­da­ri­ty that emer­ged at the French-Ita­lian bor­der, where people hel­ped migrants find shel­ter and navi­gate paper­work. I find it ins­pi­ring, yet I struggle to ima­gine what such trans­re­gio­nal soli­da­ri­ty could look like in the South Cau­ca­sus. While Geor­gia might once have see­med like a poten­tial hub for trans-Cau­ca­sian gathe­rings, the cur­rent repres­sive mea­sures there dimi­nish this pos­si­bi­li­ty. Thus, we must focus on what alrea­dy exists and works.

Pınar dedi­ca­ted the post­face of “Because They Are Arme­nians” to the acti­vists of Char­joum. She des­cribes them as “a very orga­ni­zed resis­tance move­ment with signi­fi­cant auto­no­my of action, a trans­na­tio­nal vision, and an empha­sis on social struggles. They mobi­lize various resources ; I love them.” Dia­logue exists in less appa­rent spaces as well. The Femi­nist Peace Col­lec­tive, an Azer­bai­ja­ni orga­ni­za­tion esta­bli­shed in 2020 by local femi­nists in res­ponse to the Second Kara­bakh War, main­tains a strong anti-Aliyev regime posi­tion. The recent Azer­bai­ja­ni govern­ment cra­ck­down on jour­na­lists and acti­vists demons­trates that such civi­lian orga­ni­za­tions are consi­de­red a serious threat. Here is an excerpt from their March 8, 2024 joint sta­te­ment bet­ween Arme­nian and Azer­bai­ja­ni femi­nists : “Our bodies, our region, our com­mu­ni­ties — they are not bar­gai­ning chips for poli­ti­cal games. We know this ongoing conflict is not mere­ly bet­ween nations but an assault on our exis­tence. We, the women and queers of Arme­nia and Azer­bai­jan, find our­selves ens­na­red in a web of depri­va­tion, vio­lence, and uncer­tain­ty, all fuel­led by the relent­less mili­ta­ri­za­tion of recent years. Our bodies, our lives, our present and futures — all sacri­fi­ced on the altar of mas­cu­line pride and mili­ta­ris­tic agen­das.”

Connec­tions exist if we know where to look. Pınar remem­bers : “When I came to Arme­nia in 2016, many young people — anar­chists and LGBT+ acti­vists — told me they were in touch with acti­vists in Tur­key. You could feel some­thing was hap­pe­ning in the coun­try. Then 2018 [the Vel­vet Revo­lu­tion] hap­pe­ned. Whe­ther it suc­cee­ded in the long term… that’s ano­ther ques­tion. Still, we’re the pro­duct of all past mobi­li­za­tions. We can’t change a sys­tem qui­ck­ly, but we can conti­nue.” A revo­lu­tion is always some­thing to be remade.

Among the quotes Pınar favors is one from French phi­lo­so­pher Gilles Deleuze : “Power demands sad bodies. Power needs sad­ness because it can domi­nate it. Joy, in conse­quence, is resis­tance because joy doesn’t give up. Joy as a life force leads us to places where sad­ness never can.” I first heard her quote Deleuze at that lec­ture in Paris. Though I agree with the poten­tial­ly sub­ver­sive and des­ta­bi­li­zing cha­rac­ter of joy, I remain skep­ti­cal. I can’t help but contrast her words from a Tur­kish point of view and the Arme­nian expe­rience. Here, this stra­te­gy of joy recedes as the spec­ter of war, pogroms, cultu­ral era­sure, and geno­cide looms near. This espe­cial­ly true now, when our col­lec­tive trau­mas remain unad­dres­sed natio­nal­ly and construc­tive dia­logue bet­ween citi­zens seems absent from everyone’s agen­da. When trau­ma is swept under the rug, how can we move for­ward without a mea­ning­ful, orga­ni­zed poli­tics of mour­ning — one that goes beyond mere cere­mo­nies and fin­ger-poin­ting ? In this context, can we take a step back from our suf­fe­ring to show sup­port and soli­da­ri­ty with others sub­jec­ted to vio­lence ? How can we pro­ceed when our own govern­ment shows exas­pe­ra­tion, even hos­ti­li­ty, to those most nee­ding our soli­da­ri­ty : the refu­gees of Nagor­no-Kara­bakh, whose wounds remain fresh from ongoing eth­nic clean­sing ?

I share my doubts with Pınar, to which she responds : “We must not let pes­si­mism of intel­li­gence over­come us. The key is to act. Oppres­sed people reveal only parts of their fee­lings and thoughts. Their inner expe­rience is dif­ferent, and in this hid­den space lies a form of resis­tance invi­sible to those in power. Suf­fe­ring and wret­ched­ness are not the same. Resis­tance can mani­fest through many dif­ferent mani­fes­ta­tions of joy : humor, dan­cing, gathe­rings, and more. It’s about revie­wing and rene­wing our ways of mobi­li­zing. If the word ‘joy’ seems inap­pro­priate, maybe ‘crea­tion’ is bet­ter. What’s impor­tant in the quest for jus­tice is loyal­ty.” If we fol­low Selek’s hope­ful rea­so­ning, the poten­tial for eman­ci­pa­to­ry social trans­for­ma­tion through ordi­na­ry people’s orga­ni­za­tio­nal capa­ci­ty always exists. Reco­gni­zing our abi­li­ty to act becomes essen­tial in chal­len­ging the notion that only govern­ments can create poli­ti­cal and social change.

“The State’s rea­son is always mili­ta­ris­tic. Accor­ding to it, being rea­so­nable means adap­ting to the irra­tio­nal,” writes Pınar. Armenia’s vul­ne­rable posi­tion means eve­ry govern­ment conces­sion attracts jus­ti­fied, fear­ful spe­cu­la­tion about our safe­ty. Aliyev uses this fear as leve­rage. Azerbaijan’s ter­ri­to­rial claims against Arme­nia inevi­ta­bly wea­ken people’s morale and strength. In this context, we’re for­ced to accept the irra­tio­nal and endure the unbea­rable to sur­vive. There is no room to col­lec­ti­ve­ly ques­tion the roots of a sys­tem that forces us to live in constant fear. Yet, if we cur­rent­ly can’t confront these roots direct­ly, per­haps we can start cut­ting some of its branches — create doors from its wood and open paths toward other means of reflec­tion and action. We could refuse to let a single natio­nal nar­ra­tive and its blind spots domi­nate. We could reshape our means of actions and our struggles in rela­tion to others’ inter­na­tio­nal­ly, like some Arme­nians do. We could col­lec­ti­ve­ly ques­tion our posi­tion as unwilling accom­plices to a mili­ta­rist culture that is itself a source of vio­lence : bet­ween sol­diers, with various cases of sui­cide and inter­nal vio­lence ; against women through domes­tic vio­lence ; against LGBTQ+ people and its many, per­ni­cious conse­quences ; and the las­ting trau­ma that affects sol­diers’ lives. Yet mili­ta­ri­za­tion remains at the heart of Armenia’s iden­ti­ty — a supreme value, a loyal­ty to the fal­len, a requi­re­ment to shape future sol­diers and their exis­ten­tial role for the nation. But how do we address this fun­da­men­tal yet simple ques­tion to a socie­ty that isn’t rea­dy to hear it : why are we dying in the first place ?

Taline Ound­jian

This article was writ­ten before recent events in Tur­key fol­lo­wing the arrest of Istanbul’s mayor Ekrem Ima­mo­glu and the mas­sive pro­tests that fol­lo­wed.

https://evnreport.com/arts-and-culture/pinar-seleks-journey-of-resistance/