A Fearless Smile

"We hereby declare that, from now on, women with hijabs or men with any religious indications on their bodies, will not be permitted to renew their university records. Any attempt will be considered a protest and will face a penalty." 

The nauseatingly cheerful voice of the announcer flowing from the radio's speakers filled Fatma's ears. As the speaker uttered these horrendous words, the sounds of a few uneasy steps arrived from the kitchen; Fatma loomed from the living room entrance with detergent stains on her hands. She glanced at the radio, and then she turned towards her weary mother sitting in front of the radio, presenting a face of nothing but sheer shock. As their eyes met in the dim light, her mother wondered why a simple fabric would violently rip the right to education from the sole person in their family ever to achieve a university education. Neither Fatma nor her mother could bring themselves to utter a single word. A stinging stillness merged their anguish as if they were a single individual. 

Until dusk, not even a drop of sleep visited Fatma's eyes. Instead, she watched the blank ceiling with a dazed expression. After a while, the thoughts that twisted her head became excruciating. She slowly got out of bed and wore the hijab her mom gifted her. The harmony of the lime green and the golden engravings always stunned her; it was her absolute favorite. She prayed in the dark to free herself from the weight of what she had heard on the radio. Just as she finished praying and got into bed again with a lighter heart, her mother knocked on the door. She sat on the edge of Fatma's bed. "Please don't go to school tomorrow," she whispered, "I don't know what they would do to you." Fatma shook her head and wearily uttered four mere words "I must face it." 

It was a sunny, warm day at the university. The guards were coated with shiny silver shields with matching pistols clutched tightly in their hands, eyes looking around as if they were guarding a shrine. Fatma approached the place which she previously deemed safe; her university.

As her steps brought her closer to the gate, she straightened her shoulders, fixed her hijab with her face held high, and attempted to pass through the gate. In the blink of an eye, the soldiers with their silver armor broke their noble stance and struck her like hungry vultures, preventing her from entering the university. The familiar breeze collided with the tip of the lime green hijab and moved through the golden engravings. 

They knocked her to the ground; she could not fight back as she endeavored to keep her hijab steady. She tried to stand up, but they knocked her down with sheer hostility as if that soothing lime green was a menace to them. The chaos stirred inside her head and made the world spin. 

***

"The new rector of the Istanbul University invites students with hijabs to sit down for a friendly talk!" read the freshly printed, meticulously edited newspaper with giant, happy letters that struck Fatma's eyes like bullets.

After two months of limiting her contact with the university after they brutally prevented her entrance, Fatma finally built the courage to pick up the newspaper her mom brought that morning. But the moment she read this news; she quickly crumpled the newspaper. No matter what they called it, she knew there was nothing friendly about those interactions. So many of Fatma's friends told her about what they experienced in, as they called it, "the persuasion rooms." Dimmed lights, emotional mobbing, and fierce pressure to remove the hijab. "Look at your bright and gorgeous hair. You cannot hide this beautiful aspect of yours under a piece of fabric; it would be a shame!" said the woman who maintained the "friendly talks" on behalf of the rector. Many of those women didn't take their hijabs off, but they left the rooms with emotional traumas. 

No matter the damage those rooms have caused, those students originated protests and initiated movements to eradicate the consequences of the post-modern coup in Turkey with sheer diligence. People from the right, the left, communists and liberals, anyone with a genuine heart attended these rallies to go against this violation. 

Once the valedictorian students with hijabs started protesting, the movement gained momentum. They weren't allowed to attend their graduation ceremony, to give their valedictorian toasts, their parents couldn't see their daughters graduate with honor. However, one dear friend of Fatma disregarded this rule. She was the valedictorian, she had earned her degree, and her hijab was going to shine while she was giving her toast. She ran up to the stage during the ceremony, but they closed her mouth. "You have no right to speak!" they screamed. They dragged her from the stage. 

Fatma knew what her friend would say. She would scream her pain; she would lament how easy it is to steal the future of a generation. Even though she couldn't physically articulate those words, Fatma and many others comprehended the message she tried to convey by going up to that stage with a hijab on her head. "You have no right to speak" echoed throughout Turkey for years. 

***

"We regret to inform you that your record to our university is terminated upon three unsuccessful renewals. We wish you success with your future endeavors." Fatma stared at the letter she just got, hoping that the wording would spontaneously change in a matter of days, and she wouldn't have to confront this brutal note. Nothing happened. Those months-long intensive protests and rallies hadn't changed a thing. After the new academic year, the government took profound precautions to prevent the protestors. Under no circumstances was the hijab acceptable. 

At this point, like every student with a hijab, Fatma ought to decide. She could remove it and carry on with her education, but she refused. So instead, she tossed the letter to the back of a drawer and promised herself to never open that drawer ever again. She knew she had to move on; no matter how heartbreaking it was, this chapter of her life had come to a sorrowful end. 

Three years of university had matured her emotionally and intellectually. She was eager to find new jobs and grounds to develop herself without a diploma but with her hijab. So, she wrote a book about contemporary Muslim leaders to inspire many. It was her first work, but definitely not the last. 

Years passed, and not only did she raise a modest career, but she also raised three beautiful children and became an outstanding mother who met her kids' expectations. Along with being the best mother her kids could ever want, she preserved her desire to contribute to people intellectually. For that, she kept on writing and producing. But she also planted the importance of maintaining one's identity in her kids' heads. Her biggest wish was to share her productions with her kids when they grow old. 

After eleven years, while she was rising in her editorial career, the government issued a new law allowing people with hijabs to enroll in universities. Even though she was five months pregnant, she renewed her record the day after the government's announcement. She was 32 when she graduated with honor. 

After Fatma graduated, she wrote an article on the 20th anniversary of the 28 of February 1997. This was the first time Fatma could ever cry about the post-modern coup and her stolen eleven years; drops of tears soared through her face as she pressed the keyboard. This was a catharsis for her. She acknowledged that someone out there is listening to her voice, is inspired by her, and most importantly, believes none of it was her fault. 

***

The word inspiration has many equivalents in many languages. But to me, it can only be associated with a feeling; the pride I felt when I placed my mother's pictures when she earned her Ph.D. into our family albums. When she smiled fearlessly, wearing the lime green hijab with golden engravings on her head, holding her degree, she was no longer Fatma; but Dr. Fatma. 

It has been 25 years since the 28 of February 1997, the post-modern coup announcement. For these 25 years, no one could grasp why the people with hijabs were targeted. Yet, my mother showed incredible resilience and courage to an unfairness she couldn't thoroughly understand throughout the years. No matter how hard it was, my mother preserved her identity and taught her son to never give up, just like she never did. Growing up with her stories and anecdotes, I recognized that a figure, a mother, in my life showed me what strength is. 

The smile that she wore as she fought for everything she believed in throughout the years never ceases to fill me with mere inspiration along with the will and courage to fight for others—my mother's fearless smile.