I sit in North London, in a flat with windows the length of the floor to the ceiling, overlooking passers-by getting on with their day. Ege Dündar is looking out the window, reminiscing on his life thus far. For a 24-year-old man, he has lived a life not many his age would have experienced in the western world.
I met Ege through my old flatmate in London and was fascinated by his story within minutes of meeting him. Born in Turkey, Ege Dündar hasn’t had the same childhood as most. Coming to London to study Politics at City University when he was eighteen, he may seem like any eager young adult embarking on their further education. But with his father Can Dündar being a famous and controversial Turkish journalist, his stories are filled with that of a young man who has experienced so much in such a short time. Can Dündar was arrested in November 2015 after publishing footage of weapons being sent by the intelligence service to rebel fighters in Syria (without the public’s knowledge and without parliament’s approval). He was sent to jail for 92 days for “revealing state secrets”.
“Me and Dad were sitting in an Indian restaurant when he just got news that Erdoğan was talking about him on live TC”, Ege tells me, sitting at his kitchen table. “We’re just sitting there, eating Indian food and get this tweet, that Erdogan is talking about him… And he’s like “what is this?”. So we open it up and we’re listening to him. And he says: “the man who did this story will pay a heavy price for it, I won’t let him be”. And if you imagine, a president is directly saying things to a journalist… and we were obviously stunned. Dad asked me “how should I answer?” and I replied “defiantly”. So he wrote: ‘The person who committed this crime will pay a price. We won’t let him be’.”
After Dündar’s release, he was shot at outside the courthouse shortly after he was released from jail. “By a gunman, who a approached him and said: “you’re a traitor” and shot at him. And in fact, he was about to make a press statement so we have video from various different sources of the event,”, Ege tells me.
Ege and I move onto his life right now, as well as why he came to London and his position at PEN International. “They reached out to me while Dad was in prison…they were inviting me and my mother to Paris and Norway to speak in different places… after my Dad was released they said: ‘why don’t you come for an internship for us?’”.
Ege takes a sip of tea and continues. “I applied for an internship and I was a volunteer for almost a year which was hard for me because I didn’t have any other income properly. But it went alright, and eventually I got the job of Turkey Consultant. I just kind of campaign for Turkey now, and we try to build up different reactions and there are many ways we campaign, such as translating pieces, running events – as I just mentioned all these different lanes of campaigning.”
And with his work at PEN opening up new doors, such as being able to create Ilkyas (an online platform for young Turkish writers to share their thoughts and opinions), Ege believes that “if maybe, we can do this bridge between the networks that I have come to discover – because I am lucky because I’ve been projected these accounts by people at PEN, and human rights circles… I thought if we can run this platform in Turkey, they would have legitimate links to the world’s writers. We publish pieces from under-35’s, under-15-year-old’s, we’ve got a section for that.”
Not only has Ege Dündar used his job to help create a space for conversation exclusively for young Turkish writers, but he also campaigns to bring awareness about the injustice within Turkey’s crackdown on free expression as well as the judicial system. Ege’s mother, Dilek Dündar had her passport confiscated in September 2016 when she jumped the gunman that tried to shoot her husband right after he was released from jail.
“So, after that, I think as a retaliation perhaps, they (the Turkish government) confiscated her Turkish passport when she was trying to visit my father in Germany. The even more ridiculous but somehow funny thing is, it that the gunman is free. He didn’t get a jail sentence-”.
I stop Ege. “Sorry what?!”. Ege nods.
“He got acquitted. Because he apparently tried to “injure” my dad and not actually kill him… But other than that, he got his passport back. He said in his trial that Erdoğan’s comments about my father influenced his actions. He can go to Berlin, have dinner with my dad but my mom can’t… and that’s really indictive of the state of the judiciary in Turkey today.”
The campaign for his mother’s right to her passport started with “with this video…we’re giving interviews, trying to reach out to influential faces and figures across the world – whoever is interested. There are so many different ways people can creatively campaign for each other”. He tells me he’s looking for “artists who are interested in the concept of family and the concept of mothers”, but ultimately states that what people can do is: “add their voice to mom’s. Perhaps, get in touch not just with mom, but with jail journalists, young writers and academics who are struggling for their rights in Turkey.” Perhaps rather than just talking about these people, it might be an idea to try and talk to them.
I end our conversation by asking Ege if he would go back and give his eighteen-year-old self any advice. “Don’t freak out!”, he laughs. I ask him if he thinks all his experiences have shaped the person he is today. “I think obviously it’s shaped who I am – completely. I don’t think any of us had any choice in this. Mom, dad and me. And somehow… somehow there is this idea that if none of this happened, how I would be and where I would be today, there’s definitely contemplation around that.”