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"Of course, we all support the PKK," says Cevat, 17. "Every family here has
someone in the PKK. "
The rioting in March and the brutal response of the Turkish security forces
have worked as an effective recruitment drive for the PKK. "We're fed up of
the discrimination. It doesn't have to be like this," says Cevat. "But every
time they do something like this, more people go into the mountains."
"Going into the mountains" is a common phrase in Diyarbakir. It means going
to join the PKK fighters, thought to number around 5,000, in their bases in
nearby northern Iraq.
At least 100 local youths have gone into the mountains in the past month,
says Mr Ozsoy. "Guys I know have just disappeared. They're like ghosts. You
would see them in the cafes and now they're not here."
Selamettin Ata, a 44-year-old grocer whose seven-year-old son, Enes, was
shot dead by Turkish police on March 30, said at least 90% of the city
sympathised with the PKK. Enes had told his father he was going to visit his
aunt 200 metres away. He became curious about the protests and went to take
a look - only to receive a bullet in the heart. Enes was the youngest of the
10 civilians to be killed during a 48-hour period. The oldest was 78. Five
of the dead were teenagers, one of whom died from a cracked skull. Another
500 people were wounded.
The clashes were the worst experienced here in more than a decade. Their
consequences and the general poverty in a city simmering with pent-up
frustration help to explain why a youth-led intifada could explode with
greater force at any time.
During and after the trouble, 180 under-18s were detained. According to a
report from the Diyarbakir bar association based on witness statements and
medical reports, all of them were subjected to severe abuse in detention.
"Mistreatment and illegal torture was applied. The unlawful behaviour of the
police lent a new dimension to the situation," the report says.
The teenagers said they had been repeatedly beaten, threatened with death
and rape, stripped naked, immersed in cold water, subjected to high pressure
hosing and had cigarettes stubbed out on their bodies.
Three-quarters of the detainees were originally from hill villages
surrounding Diyarbakir, their militancy a legacy of the dirty war that
peaked in the early 1990s in this region when the Turkish army used a
scorched earth policy to depopulate thousands of Kurdish villages in the
mountains.
As a result 1.5 million Kurds were displaced, pouring into cities such as
Diyarbakir, which has tripled in size in little more than a decade.
Unemployment is almost 70% and there are estimated to be 28,000 children
spending most of their lives on the streets - 700 of them scratching a
living from combing the city's rubbish dumps.
The Turks emptied the mountain villages partly to try to destroy the rural
base of the guerrillas. Instead, they have created an urban guerrilla
movement.
Faced with this crisis, the Turkish government of Recep Tayyip Erdogan
appears to be at a loss. Mr Erdogan has won plaudits for coming to
Diyarbakir twice during the past year, signalling a policy shift towards
conciliation and concession. But he has not followed up the promises and the
Kurdish political leadership is disenchanted.
The Democratic Society party (DTP), the main Kurdish nationalist party
generally seen as the PKK's political wing or the Kurds' Sinn Féin, runs 56
town halls across south-eastern Turkey. But the real power in the region is
wielded by the Turkish military and Ankara bureaucrats dispatched as
regional governors.
The Turkish electoral system is structured to keep the Kurdish nationalists
out of parliament in Ankara. A party needs 10% of the national vote to enter
parliament. The DTP, which gained 45% of the vote across much of the
south-east in the last election in 2002, cannot obtain 10% nationally.
In the absence of political channels, the men of violence on both sides hold
sway. The children of Diyarbakir are growing up to swell the ranks of the
"terrorists".
In the centre of Diyarbakir hangs a red and white banner draped across a
main road. "Happy is he who is a Turk," it reads, a mockery to Selamettin
Ata mourning the death of his son. "I'm not allowed to say I'm a Kurd and be
proud of it," he says.
Ian Traynor in Diyarbakir(AMED), Turkey
Monday June 5, 2006