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No: 100, Juillet - Temmuz - July 2018

les actuels || günceller || actuals
18 July 2011

AI Index: PRE01/350/2011

The Turkish authorities should halt a series of heavy- handed forced evictions which have already resulted in a number of vulnerable families in central Istanbul effectively being made homeless, Amnesty International said today.

Dozens of families in the Tarlabaşı district are facing forced eviction as a result of an urban regeneration project. They told Amnesty International they have been subjected to intimidation and threats by the local Beyoğlu municipality and law enforcement officials. In some cases those officials forced them to sign eviction notices without being allowed to read them, or told them that failure to sign the documents would result in their immediate eviction.

Samedi, 21 Février 2004 09:13

Breen, Steve


Born 1970 in Los Angeles/California is a nationally syndicated cartoonist. He twice won the Pulitzer Prize, in 1998 and 2009.

He graduated from Huntington Beach High School in 1988 and attended the University of California, Riverside, where he earned a bachelor's degree in political science. It was at UCR that he started drawing editorial cartoons for his school paper, The Highlander.

In 1991, Steve won the Scripps Howard Charles M. Schulz Award as the top college cartoonist and the John Locher Memorial Award for Outstanding College Editorial Cartoonist. He was influenced by cartoonists such as Jeff MacNelly, Paul Conrad, Pat Oliphant and Don Wright.

Breen was about to become a high school history teacher when the Asbury Park Press offered him a job in the art department in July 1994. He became the full-time editorial cartoonist there in 1996.

In July 2001, he returned to his home state to join the staff of The San Diego Union-Tribune. His editorial cartoons are nationally syndicated by Creators Syndicate, who acquired former syndicate Copley News Service in 2008. They regularly appear in The New York Times, USA Today, Newsweek and US News and World Report. His comic strip Grand Avenue appears in more than 150 newspapers across the country, syndicated by United Features Syndicate.

He is the author and illustrator of three children's books: "Stick," "Violet the Pilot," and "The Secret of Santa's Island."

Vendredi, 22 Octobre 2004 07:58

Kıcıklar, Serdar



1963’te İstanbul’da doğdu.

Sanat hayatına karikatürle başladı (1978 ). Gıgır, Çarşaf, Karakedi, Mikrop, Fırça dergilerinde karikatürleri görüldü. Karakedi dergisinde (1979-1980), Çarşaf dergisinde (1980-1981) çalıştı.

Dimanche, 12 Décembre 2004 18:10

Acar, Adnan Onur


1984 yılında Osmaniye’de doğdu. Marmara Üniversitesi Hukuk Fakültesi’nden mezun oldu. 2005 yılında Marmara Üniversitesi Fotoğrafçılık Kulübü’nün kuruluşuna katıldı. 2007 yılında profesyonel fotoğrafçı ve fotoğraf eğitmeni çalışmaya başladı. Bir çok farklı kurumda fotoğraf dersleri verdi. Fotoğrafları Türkiye ve yurtdışında gazete ve dergilerde yayınlandı. Photoline dergisinde fotoğraf makineleri ile ilgili değerlendirme yazıları yazdı. 2012 yılının Ekim ayında bir TIR şoförü ile ilgili yaptığı foto-röportajı hazırlama süreci uluslar arası Al-Jazeera Documentary kanalı için belgesel film haline getirildi.

2009 yılından bu yana kuruluşuna da katıldığı Kumbara Sanat Merkezi’nde düzenli olarak fotoğraf dersleri veriyor ve Nar Photos fotoğraf ajansı için foto muhabiri olarak çalışıyor.
Vendredi, 30 Janvier 2004 23:17

Kutal, Firuz


Türkiye doğumlu. Boğaziçi Üniversitesinde matematik ve endüstri bölümü okudu, ancak askere gittikten sonra kendisini sanata verdi. Master yapmak üzere gittiği Norveç, Oslo'da 1600 kişinin başvurduğu ve sadece 16 kişinin alındığı Tatbiki Güzel Sanatlar Okuluna girdi ve illüstratör ve grafik tasarımcısı olarak master derecesiyle mezun oldu. Daha sonra Norveç TV'nda 200'ün üzerinde dijital animasyon hazırladı. Siyasi çizerliği uzun süredir sürdürüyordu, o yüzden bağımsız çizer olarak hayatını sürdüreceği stüdyosunu açtı. Stüdyosu bugün, aynı zamanda resim sergilerinin de olduğu bir galeri işlevini sürdürüyor. Oslo'da yaşıyor.


D’origine turque, Firuz Kutal est parti faire ses études en Norvège pour être concepteur graphique et illustrateur. C’est un artiste indépendant depuis 1990. Ses dessins sont publiés dans plusieurs journaux turcs, norvégiens et grecs comme Ny Tid, Klassekampen, Dagbladet, Forfatteren, Birgun, Seruven, Lacivert and Ozne, Independent Media Center, Comedy Corner, Amnesty Magasin etc. Il est également membre de la Federation of Cartoonist Organizations de Norvège et membre du Don Quichotte Cartoon Committee. Il est aussi membre de "Dessins pour la paix"


Firuz Kutal was born in Turkey. In 1985 he moved to Norway, where he studied at the Oslo National College of Applied Arts and graduated with MA degree after 5 years education as Graphic Designer and illustrator- Firuz Kutal collaborated as political cartoonist with many newspapers and magazines in Norway, Turkey, Greece, Spain, England, etc. Since 1990 he is working as professional freelancer in his studio in Oslo. The studio's front room is also working today as a Art Gallery. He creates comic-strips and some animations as eel as cartoons and illustrations. He is a regular cartoonist in a weekly news-magazine in Oslo, Ny Tid, He is also chief editor of Fire, bi-monthly international humor magazine. He presented his artworks at individual exhibitions in Oslo, Istanbul, Graz in Austria and participated in many collective exhibition in Izmir, Ankara, Athens, Berlin, Barcelona, Paris and Madrid. He was awarded with one of the United Nations annual "Citation for Excellence" which is given to the works that "reflects principle and spirit of peace" in 2009 and got 1st prize in video section of Fax for Peace and Tolerance in Italy in 2011. He is a participant, juror, and winner of international competitions in editorial & satirical drawing. He is member of Cartooning for Peace and FECO Norway. Firuz Kutal is living and working in Oslo, Norway.

Vendredi, 30 Septembre 2011 09:19


[translated by tarık günersel]

when a child
is taken into the operation room
his toys
knowing that life is a game
easily spoilt
wait for him
behind the door

Vendredi, 30 Septembre 2011 09:32

father don't shout at me

[translated by cevat çapan]


---------------------to those who open their umbrellas
---------------------to keep the road dry...

father don't shout at me
you've driven away the nightingales from my forests
you've blown up the doors of my ears
the doors father the doors have gone away
--------------taking the windows with them
the tenors have run away from the vocal chords
the mini dictators are all over the place
so many sopranos wanted to have you
--------but we could not part with you

father don't shout at me
tell me the tales of eagles that perch on a flag pole
how they were unable to see the hunters alas
-------------------------with their piercing eyes
chance is a lie characteristic of the stars father
you've turned the stars into planets by spitting at them
you've hung fighting people on the neck of the world

I've written down the lies in my notebook never forgetting them
the Ministers  who mistook radiation for radio station
the ruffian who sealed the ceiling of the Parliament with
----------------------------------raw meat balls
the postnatal pains of women who give birth to dwarf nations

I've never forgotten
the men who forgot their faces in their beards
and their beards in their faces
and the scattered pieces of the bomb in the fields of stinging nettle
-------------------that turned Uğur Mumcu into each one of us
I've never forgotten
all those traps father far and near
you are a toy lorry crushed by the road
a tree of grief broken by the weight of heavy snow
you've lent the spring to the stupid
and they haven't brought it back
how can we understand o father
whatever happened to the sun if we don't have our spring

father don't shout at me
your words enter through one ear
-------------but deafen the other one
I say to myself that I would like to be in Buenos Aires
-------------------------on Eva's peron
a train that steals birds from darkness
a fugitive from knives
in the city where legs are thrown up by tango
but it's good to be here, here without forgetting anything
where knowledge is more painful than ignorance
here, opposite you
time was something like castor oil in prison
hours sailed on like vessels of thick blood in hospitals
somewhere there were men who coucealed
--------------the honour of their wives in their tongues
the children who were lost in TV channels
the fish that clung to the sea in order not to fall into the sky
and there were Lenin statues stored in basements
-----------------------------------in Soviet Russia
why don't you put the walls in your head
into your pockets father

father don't shout at me
you are not aware
that the world is a postage stamp
------the sticky side of which is wetted by the oppressed
until a black hole in the space swallows us
you are a cat pushed over to the elevator cavity
now is the time to say it
the condition of the country is the work of the parties
-------------------you voted for father
but I am here, here without forgetting anything
standing alert for life and our recent history

father don't shout at me
if a poem is wounded on its leg
how far can it get
father don't shout at me
shout at yourself
otherwise everything may come to an end

Vendredi, 30 Septembre 2011 10:14

what is peace my love

[translated by cevat çapan]


do you know
-------what peace is my love
is it a bridge that collapses shadows fall over it
a company that goes bankrupt
-------before its shares are sold to the public
is it a tea-break between two wars
the last words of a child to ironmonger
--------------when his bicycle is run over
tell me my love
is peace the letter Einstein wrote Roosevelt
is it the telephone call from Lausanne for Mustafa Kemal
or is peace a street whose litter is swept away by science

tell me my love
say that
peace  is nestling bird and the balcony it perched on fell
-----------------------------------into a precipice
a public clock that cannot be wound
--------------because the clock-maker is in prison
an angel who pulls out the rusty nail stuck in our foot
say that
peace is the song of the fools
the dream of those who are deceived
it is Asian tiger whose teeth are pulled out
---------------------in the circus of capitalism

tell me my love
that peace is a hand torch with stale battery in it
the prosphorecent traces of snails on flags
peace is an imaginary white cloud that hits a fortress and disappears
it is notebook soiled by the menacing writings of a blind society
something which one lacks but hopes to find in others
is a state that falls over its own people on difficult curves
it is a letter that dies in a post-box because no one ever opened it
it is the ball that explodes at the last minute and kills the spectators

if none but none
of these are peace
tell me my love
in places where war sets up its dreams
what kind of a creature has invented
this word peace favourite of all tongues

Mercredi, 21 Mars 2012 19:48


[translated by tuğçe ayteş]




Hayriye Tüccari Street

Nisanca Bostani



Imrahor Hamami

Natir Kizi


Havuzlu Hamam Street





Lalelide oturur

Laleli lale kokar lalelimden

Laleliden geçilir

Lalelimden geçilmez [2]


(My laleli

lives in Laleli

Laleli smells lale through my laleli

You can walk away from Laleli

But you cannot walk away from my laleli)



The night has come, the rain has just subsided; an attractive, brown haired, slim and tall woman passes by the fairly desolated streets of Laleli with their blackened shop windows, her name’s Lila, Turks call her Leyla…

Morning bargains are over, now it’s time for night bargains…

Ludmilla, Mariya, Natalya, Tatyana in the streets,

on the shop windows long legged, wasp waisted, round breasted models,

stylish with trendy clothes, appetizing when left naked…

Olga, Vera, Tanya, Katya in the hotel rooms,

shop windows showy,

multifarious, varicoloured shorts, capris, bermuda shorts, skirts trousers dresses jackets displayed on showy shop windows.

Laleli’s altogether trade, everything is trade in Laleli.


Lila Leyla returns to the hotel,

to her room, to her loneliness…

for how many nights she opened a bottle of Russian vodka, one of the cheapest,

she puts two glasses on the table, as if there were someone else than her, she sits, she proposes a toast, c’mon, says she, let’s drink.

She’s alone though, there’s nobody else in the room than her.


Hotels hotels hotels in Laleli. Break ups, coming together, escapes, rendezvous, money counting… Some are ostentatious, some are four-star. Customers are Roman, Russian, Azerbaijani, Georgian, Ukranian. Wholesaler, retailer or suitcase trade…

However the goods are breaking away to the West, China is taking the customers in, Russians are blocking the shipments time to time, and the money is running short… Once in a while shrieking news in the press: Laleli is down in the mouth! Why is it so? Come on, questioning all over with a delayed self-criticism… What have we done that this happened in the end?

We were the best to bambozle, we had the trade with the biggest bag of lies. Moreover, haven’t we labelled every Russian woman as Natashas?

These are sayings that have become the subject of gossiping. But nothing has changed at the Laleli front! The cash flow has stopped, the currency is dropping, sixty percent of the cheques are dud, the crisis is going on and on.


The night has come, loneliness is deep.

Lili Leyla is mumbling a song in Russian, maybe “Oçiçorniya”. Then she smiles at the blankness,

“C’mon, let’s drink!”


“Didn’t you love me even a little?


“Do you know I loved you so much?”


“Even if you say, aren’t you Russians, girl, bitchiness has penetrated to your bones, all of you are whores…”


“Even if you go back to your wife in spite of me…”


“I loved you so much. C’mon naszdrovya!”


Lili Leyla always drinks till midnights like this.

Istanbul has already seduced her, hazy smoky Istanbul.

Some guy, salesman at Laleli, gone through the mill, someone like that. Gradually he left every other man out in Lila’s life, then exploited her and then went back to his wife. Is this the way?

Every time she’s dumped, Lila Leyla misses Moscow, her childhood, the communism, walking on the snow… It doesn’t snow much in Istanbul…


The famous stores of Laleli with their stylish, big shop windows… Russians love to dress in an exaggerated, sexy and pompous way. Leopard patterns are the favourite. That the European Union has abolished the quotas applied on Chinese textile, threatens fifteen percent of the eight billion dollar exportation of Turkish suppliers. Remedy seeking designers settle in Moscow and introduce Mevlana [Rumi] to Russians in “Modda 4 You” fair.



She stands all day, Lili Leyla tries to make sale for other Russians,

as soon as she comes back on the evening, even when she’s tired to death, first she fixes herself up, then she sets the table in her most immodest dress, she looks at the picture of the guy all night long, she says let’s drink and drinks.

The guy went back to his wife, it cannot be helped.

Are you crying Lili Leyla? Come on, you’ll feel better if you cry. Man is always a man wherever he is. Wasn’t your husband the same, wasn’t he ruthless like him? Older Russians were so called different, Natalya, her grandmother must be confusing them with fiction heroes. For instance, her grandfather, she remembered vaguely, one of the virtuous officers with glorified epaulettes, old Andrey, keen and active, kind, handsome, then Natalya’s husband, a good lover, a brave man Mihail… Nowadays Russian guys drink and drink vodkas and zonk out in a corner, women are already taking care of the houses.


In rows of stores under the Laleli Mosque, the deals are severe and fast. Beautiful women have besieged the streets. Byzantium-style Bodrum Mosque is lost in backstreets; a cistern which remained from the Ottomans is converted into an inn. Furthermore… In Laleli…

What matters is hot money.


A little vodka was left at the bottom of the bottle,

Lili Leyla lets her make up run, her mascara mix up in her tears.

“Let’s drink, c’mon.”

The sounds of bangs and flytes outside…

“I know you’re going to be delirious about me…”

Suddenly some people… maybe drunkards… the silence of the hotel being corrupted.

“You’ll remember me in the arms of your wife.”

Are they having a fight or what?.. The scream of a woman… Then begging in Russian, curses in Turkish…

“Every night you’re going to make love not with her, but with me.”


Lila Leyla stands up and goes to the window, the wind hits the windows roughly, the noises are getting further gradually, Laleli streets are sinking in the deserted, quiet darkness at this hour of the day.

Lili Leyla to the darkness, untearableness of the passion.

Her head spins, an ache on the back of her head, she throws herself into the bed, the bed is cold as ice, the bed chills. As her eyelids are closing slowly, Lili Leyla is making love with herself.


So many trousers, blouses, dresses, skirts, jackets on the stands are waiting to be sold.

So many delayed hopes in this desperation age.

No lales in Laleli. Laleli is so devoid of lales.

[1] Laleli is a district of İstanbul. It means “with tulips”. “Lale” is “tulip”.

[2] An Orhan Murat Ariburnu poem.

Vendredi, 10 Février 2017 16:30

bashi-bazouk /un bachibouzouk



Jean-Léon Gérôme (French, Vesoul 1824–1904 Paris)




Oil on canvas


31 3/4 x 26 in. (80.6 x 66 cm)



Credit Line:

Gift of Mrs. Charles Wrightsman, 2008

Accession Number:


On view at The Met Fifth Avenue in Gallery 804

This arresting picture was made after Gérôme returned to Paris from a twelve-week journey to the Near East in early 1868. He was at the height of his career when he dressed a model in his studio with textiles he had acquired during the expedition. The artist’s Turkish title for this picture—which translates as "headless"—evokes the unpaid irregular soldiers who fought ferociously for plunder under Ottoman leadership, although it is difficult to imagine this man charging into battle wearing such an exquisite silk tunic. Gérôme’s virtuosic treatment of textures provides a sumptuous counterpoint to the figure’s dignified bearing.


iç/in U-T San Diego / 21.02.2014

Samedi, 22 Février 2014 20:17

water conservation / su tasarrufu


Oui , je suis sûre que le Maire apprécie que tu essaies d'économiser l'eau, mais tu prendras un bain encore ce soir ! [traduit par Claudie Nedelec]

Elbette Belediye Başkanı senin su tasarrufu çabanı çok beğenecektir; ama bu, bu akşam yıkanacağın gerçeğini değiştirmiyor. [çev. Reha Yünlüel]

iç/in U-T San Diego, Feb, 2014

Vendredi, 31 Janvier 2014 22:30

abdi ipekçi


Abdi İpekçi (9 August 1929 – 1 FEBRUARY 1979) was a Turkish journalist, intellectual and an activist for human rights. He was murdered while editor-in-chief of the Turkish daily newspaper Milliyet by two members of the ultra-nationalist Grey Wolves, Oral Çelik and Mehmet Ali Ağca (who later shot pope John Paul II), Abdi İpekçi was murdered in his car on the way back home from his office in front of his apartment building in Istanbul.

Vendredi, 10 Octobre 2014 20:04

mehmed uzun



Remembering Mehmed Uzun (1953 - October 11, 2007) who was acontemporary Zaza-Kurdish writer and novelist. From 1977 to 2005 helived in exile in Sweden as a political refugee. He was a member ofthe PEN club and the Swedish writers association.Mehmet Uzun.
'Türk çocuklarıyla Kürt çocuklarını öldürmeyin' diyen biryazar. Kimsenin okumadığı bir dilde yazdı inatla.


Mercredi, 28 Mai 2014 12:36

silent protest for taksim



SILENT PROTEST for TREES in TAKSIM SQUARE: Police forces attacked
Taksim Gezi Park protesters in Istanbul at dawn with tear gas and
violence for a second consecutive day this morning...


Lundi, 07 Juillet 2014 12:04

Ethem Sarısülük'ü düşünüyoruz



My ETHEM SARISÜLÜK portrait: Another human killed by arbitrary police violence in Turkey.

Ethem Sarısülük'ü düşünüyoruz, adlı çizgim. "Yargılıyoruz diye aklamaya çalışanlara dur de! — 7 Temmuz'da Ankara Adliyesi'nde ol..."



Jeudi, 02 Juillet 2015 16:30

untitled / isimsiz [064CAR-001]

The Sivas massacre, Madımak massacre refers to the events of July 2, 1993 which resulted in the killing of 37 intellectual people in Turkey.

Mardi, 19 Janvier 2016 18:26

untitled / isimsiz [070CAR-001]

"No democracy without freedom of expression!"
"Ifade özgürlügü olmadan demokrasi olmaz!"
"İfade özgürlügü olmadan demokrasi olmaz!"

"No democracy without freedom of expression!"
Dimanche, 29 Novembre 2015 18:54

untitled / isimsiz [069CAR-001]

Tahir Elçi, a prominent Kurdish lawyer and peace and human rights activist has been shot dead in Turkey's south-eastern city of Diyarbakır