The author criticizes the reactions to having said “may she rest in heaven” following the death of İoanna Hoca, who passed away in recent days. While one camp objected to wishes for heaven and mercy on the grounds that Hoca was Greek, voices rose from the other side saying “she cannot rest in divine light; she will walk in light.” According to the author, these two mindsets, which entrench political positions through death, are two sides of the same blade.
The author notes that the real issue is the monopoly over words. The author questions the labeling of anyone who uses words such as “rahmet” (divine mercy) or “nûr” (divine light) as immediately right-wing, and of anyone who says “human rights,” “equality,” or “democracy” as left-wing. The author acknowledges that this tendency, known in psychology as “mental shortcuts” (heuristics), is necessary for practical life; however, the author argues that being unable to conceive that words can exist independently of political affiliation is intellectual laziness and bigotry. In the author’s view, not everyone who says “may they walk in light” is automatically enlightened, nor is everyone who wishes mercy a conservative. The author emphasizes that secularism, which claims to defend reason and inclusiveness, descends to the same plane as the conservative bigotry it opposes by turning patterns of language into dogma.
Why it matters
The debate shows that polarization is not confined to politics but has seeped into even the most common human moments, such as mourning and condolence. If even in the face of death which word belongs to whom is being policed, this means that the space for sharing a common grief is narrowing. Nor is this policing exclusive to one side; it is argued that two segments using different vocabularies act with the same labeling reflex. The issue therefore goes beyond a death announcement: it concerns language turning into an identity document and people being politically profiled through the words everyone uses in daily life. The question the article leaves open is this: Is it possible to build a common language of condolence without stripping words of their burdens of belonging?