Dissens: Tilbake til fremtiden

Injuria.no • 16. desember 2019

Tekst: Sarita Disha Prabhakar

Så her sitter dere og koser dere med 50 år gammelt lesestoff? Dere er litt søte altså, når dere både fysisk blar fra en side til en annen og leser hvert ord på hver side. Humrer litt over hvor gammeldags alt var for to eller tre tiår siden. Er jeg like søt når jeg ser på dere fra 2070 og humrer over hvor gammeldagse dere er? Jeg går iallfall utfra at dere synes jeg er søt nok til å fortelle en liten historie.

Det tok meg unaturlig lang tid å prosessere den nye klagen advokatfirmaet mitt mottok. Navnet mitt er Rabota og jeg arbeider for et av landes mest anerkjente advokatfirmaer. I utgangspunktet spesialiserer jeg meg ikke innenfor noe, men firmaet mitt håndterer for det meste økonomiske tvister. Kanskje det er fordi det er de eneste konfliktene vi har nå om dagen? Dette var grunnen til at jeg fikk så mye sjokk som jeg gjorde da jeg fikk beskjed om at det var begått et brudd på menneskevelferdsloven § 3, hvor det heter at «[m]ennesker har egenverdi uavhengig av den nytteverdien de måtte ha for roboter.» I utgangspunktet kunne jeg ikke bry meg mindre om denne klagen og jeg ville bare tømme den ut av systemet mitt. Forskjellsbehandling? Roboter er smartere og mer effektive enn mennesker, naturligvis vil de ha bedre standarder. Men det var som om en liten alarm gikk av i meg, og jeg bestemte meg for å sette meg inn i saken.

Hun så seg rundt med ren frykt og forvirring i øynene. De var overalt. Hun hadde i flere år visst at denne dagen ville komme, men hadde ignorert problemet så lenge hun kunne. Nå som hun var tilbake for å besøke stedet hun lærte tilbragte 5 av sine beste år, var det ikke lenger noe som kunne ignoreres. Dragefjellet hadde blitt en maskin. De en gang moderne skyvedørene til hovedinngangen hadde blitt erstattet med en dings som scannet deg før du i det hele tatt nådde døren. Med en gang du tredde inn ble du ikke lenger møtt av en 30-70 fordeling mellom gutter og jenter, men en 50-50 fordeling mellom mennesker og roboter med kunstig intelligens. Hva hadde skjedd siden hun studerte her for 20 år siden?

Første steg var å programmere dronen og sende den avgårde. Dronen skulle bare scanne situasjonen, se hvordan omstendighetene var og hva problemet i realiteten var. Jeg ante bare fred og ingen fare, men fikk meg et temmelig stort sjokk da bildene kom tilbake og viste en situasjon som ikke hadde fått noen klager siden 2050. Et menneske hadde vært sent ute med å fordøye den teknologiske utviklingen, overfloden av roboter kom som et stort og plutselig sjokk, mennesket klarte ikke å henge med og følte seg følgelig ukomfortabelt. Denne ukomfortabelheten resulterte i en klage til meg. Men det var lenge siden noe slikt hadde skjedd, og jeg var veldig usikker på hvilke handlinger jeg skulle foreta meg. I øyeblikkets hete programmerte jeg et hologram og sendte det avgårde med dronen. «Bli vant til det. Verden er deres nå.»

Sjokket ble større da hun tredde inn i nybygget. Alt som tidligere hadde vært koselig og fint hadde blitt mekanisk og grått. Kantinen hadde en seksjon for mennesker og en for kunstig intelligens. Menneskene oppførte seg likevel mer mekaniske enn robotene. Det var nesten forstyrrende å være vitne til.  I auditorium 1 var det ikke lenger en pent kledd foreleser, men et hologram av en person. Eller kanskje en robot. Det var vanskelig å skille, spesielt når de ikke engang var fysisk tilstede. Hun tok opp mobilen for å sende en klage til det eneste advokatfirmaet hun visste ennå kunne løse situasjoner som dette. Det var ikke greit at hennes eneste «safe space» skulle bli tatt over av teknologien på denne måten. Men reaksjonen hun fikk på klagen var langt ifra det hun forventet; et hologram   som sa: «Bli vant til det. Verden er deres nå.»

Det var ikke før dronen var sendt avgårde at jeg innså hva jeg faktisk hadde gjort. Dette var akkurat den responsen jeg hadde fått da jeg klaget på akkurat samme situasjon for 30 år siden. På den tiden hadde fakultet blitt tatt over av kunstig intelligens og deres holdninger. Da jeg ville gjøre noe med situasjonen, fikk jeg bare et hologram som fortalte meg at jeg måtte vokse opp og venne meg til det; det  var deres verden nå. Etter den tid plantet holdningene deres seg i rett inn i hodet til oss alle, deriblant hodet mitt. Nå hadde påvirkningen nådd det punktet hvor jeg ikke lenger klarte å skille mellom meg og dem.  

For 50 år siden var det en debatt om jussen noen gang kom til å bli teknologisert. Svarene ekspertene ga oss var nei. Jurister var for essensielle. Men de så aldri lenge nok på hver enkelt medvirkende faktor. Nå sitter jeg i en verden hvor jeg ikke lenger klarer å skille mellom meg selv, et menneske, og kunstig intelligente roboter. En verden hvor jeg er mer mekanisk enn dem.

Så hva synes dere om meg nå? Er jeg fortsatt like søt?

 

 

Av Hannah M. Behncke, Eylül Sahin and Sabrina Eriksen Zapata – ELSA Bergen, Human Rights, Researchgruppen 24. april 2025
Oppression isn’t always loud - it can be the quiet erasure of culture and language, stripping minorities of their freedom to express who they are. Language and culture are two of the most important means to keep one's identity alive. Unfortunately, many minorities face extreme repression regarding their background. The Kurdish ability to perform their culture in Turkey has been a long struggle. This is still the case today, where the Kurdish minority face backlash for speaking their language. This article will look into the Kurdish fight to protect their identity in Turkey. To gain a deeper understanding of the diverse perspectives on this issue, we interviewed a Kurdish and a Turkish citizen of Turkey about their views on the Turkish state's treatment of Kurds. Legal basis Although several international legal frameworks exist to protect minority cultures and languages, Turkey has not incorporated them into its legal system. Article 27 of the International Covenant of Civil and Political Rights explicitly states that “minorities shall not be denied the right […] to enjoy their culture, [...] or to use their own language.” However, despite ratifying the ICCPR, Turkey made a reservation excluding Article 27. Similarly, the European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages requires minority languages to be accessible in education, judicial court proceedings, and in the media. However, Turkey has not ratified this charter. Domestically, the Turkish constitution does not recognize Kurds as a minority. In fact, article 42 explicitly prohibits the “teaching of any language other than Turkish as a mother tongue to Turkish citizens”.1 As a result, the Kurdish language lacks legal protection, unlike Ladino, Greek, and Armenian, which are safeguarded under the Treaty of Lausanne (1923).2 Historical overview After the Ottoman Empire's collapse, the 1920 Treaty of Sèvres promised Kurdish autonomy, but the 1923 Treaty of Lausanne nullified it, dividing Kurdistan among Turkey, Iran, Iraq, and Syria without self-rule.3 Under Atatürk, Turkey enforced homogenization, banning Kurdish in public, closing Kurdish schools, renaming villages (1924) and forcibly relocating Kurds—even though most Kurds did not speak Turkish.4 The state criminalized Kurdish, promoted Citizen, Speak Turkish! and justified relocations as a tool to suppress identity.5 The Sheikh Sa’id Rebellion (1925), led by Kurdish nationalists and Islamists, was brutally crushed, triggering long-term conflict. Martial law and mass deportations lasted until 1939, while uprisings in Ararat (1930) and Dersim (1937–38) faced massacres, bombings, and poison gas, drawing parallels to the Armenian Genocide.6 Allegations of British support for Kurdish rebels persist, but remain debated.7 Kurdish political movements resurfaced in the 1960s and 1970s, with the Kurdish Democratic Party of Turkey (1965) and the Marxist-Leninist PKK (1978) engaging in armed resistance. Turkey designated the PKK a terrorist group in 1997, followed by the US and EU.8 Forced displacement continued, with over a million Kurds migrating between 1950 and 1980 due to state violence and poverty.9 The 1980 military coup further suppressed Kurdish politics, banning education (1982) and publications (Law No. 2932, 1983).10 Despite lifting the language ban in 1991, Kurdish broadcasting remained illegal until 2002. From 1984 to 1999, Turkey destroyed 4,000 Kurdish villages, displaced three million people, and killed tens of thousands in its campaign against Kurdish insurgency.11 The 1991 language bill allowed limited private Kurdish use, but public use remained restricted. Some progress followed in the 21st century, including Kurdish-language broadcasts (2004), a state-run TV channel (2009), and Kurdish as an optional school subject (2012), though full linguistic and cultural rights remain elusive. Oral storytelling (Dengbêj) persisted despite restrictions. Between 2013 and 2015, Turkey’s peace talks with the PKK, involving Abdullah Öcalan, PKK commanders, and pro-Kurdish HDP intermediaries, collapsed—renewing conflict in southeastern Turkey.12 Arbitrary arrests, imprisonment, torture, and land dispossession persist, as security forces often fail to distinguish civilians from PKK members.13 How is the situation today? An estimated 12–20 million Kurds live in Turkey, making up approximately 14–23% of the country's population. The wide range in estimates is due to the absence of ethnicity-related data in official statistics and the social and political stigma that may lead some to conceal their identity.14 As Kurds originate from various countries, most today identify with the state in which they reside. Surveys suggest that many Kurds feel a strong sense of discrimination. Only 28% believe they are treated equally to ethnic Turks, while 58% report experiencing discrimination. Some have even been denied medical services and housing due to their ethnicity.15 To better understand these challenges, we spoke with a Kurdish individual from Elbistan, Turkey, who spent most of his life there before relocating. When asked if he had ever felt pressure speaking Kurdish in public, he recalled visits to public institutions where his family, unable to speak Turkish, had to use Kurdish, but were not allowed to. “It always made us feel fear and anxiety”, he said. He also described restrictions on Kurdish culture: “Whenever we listened to Kurdish music or played traditional games outside, we knew we were being watched. Some of my friends were even detained just for playing games with Kurdish music. It felt like our culture was a crime.” In contrast, a Turkish conservative nationalist offered a different perspective. While personally holding nationalist views, he answered the questions in general terms, arguing that Kurds are integrated into society and do not face systemic barriers. When asked if there was tension between Turks and Kurds in daily life, he dismissed the idea: “Generalizing Turkey’s sociology is difficult, but I don’t see any real barrier. I have Kurdish friends and colleagues, and background doesn’t matter to us. In cities like Istanbul, people aren’t judged based on race, religion, language, or culture.” Even though he acknowledged past discrimination, he viewed it as a historical issue rather than an ongoing one. While the two perspectives differ, they reflect broader discussions on the extent of cultural and linguistic inclusion in Turkey. Surveys suggest that many Kurds report experiencing discrimination, while some view Kurdish cultural expression as unrestricted. The extent to which Kurdish identity is freely expressed - or whether challenges remain - continues to be a subject of debate. The survival of Kurdish culture in Turkey In a survey conducted regarding Kurdish identity, only 30% of Kurds reported their Kurdish language skills to be “good”, and of this 30%, only 44% of them reported that their children had the same strong language skills.16 This suggests that it is harder for each passing generation to maintain and teach the Kurdish language. So how has the oppression impacted Kurdish ability to maintain their language? According to the latter interviewee “Kurdish is spoken openly, cultural traditions are practiced, and there are Kurdish-language newspapers and TV channels”. Media As mentioned above, the Turkish government continuously violates the “freedom of expression”. In 2021, Turkey was the country with most cases regarding violation to “freedom of expression” before the European Court of Human Rights.17 Regarding Kurdish media, there has been a consistent crackdown on Kurdish media platforms. There has also been consistent imprisonment of journalists either writing in Kurdish or regarding Kurdish repression. For instance, Nedim Turfent was sentenced to 8 years imprisonment in 2017 for covering the clashes between the Turkish army and the PKK. In his sentence, he was charged with “membership of a terrorist organization”.18 Education The Educational accessibility to teaching Kurdish has improved in the years. Students in cities with a high population of Kurds, can choose Kurdish as a subject in primary- and secondary school. In addition, some state level universities offer Kurdish programs. However, these educational means have been greatly criticized by Kurdish activists, in regard to the government lowering the quality of education by not supplying enough teachers and appropriate materials needed for the classes.19 Final remarks Language is not just a means of communication; it embodies history, culture, and identity. The Kurdish struggle for linguistic freedom in Turkey is a fight for existence, where legal barriers and social stigmas persist despite claims of progress. While the government insists on inclusivity, Kurdish activists highlight ongoing repression, and for many, fear and anxiety remain. The future of Kurdish identity depends not just on legal reforms but on broader acceptance within Turkish society. Whether true equality is within reach - or remains a distant hope - ultimately depends on who you ask.
Av Injuria 24. april 2025
I denne utgaven: Nordtveit, Ernst - " Rettar til nausttomt " - 1982