Today, if people talk about the metaphor of “CHP aunts on the street”, this is not a coincidence.
This word is not a label that some executives try to belittle; it is the name of women's labor, the backbone of this party's 102-year struggle.
Those women are the real laborers who distribute leaflets in the rain during the election period, shoulder the flag at rally squares, brew tea and hang posters in party buildings, go door to door and give life to the organization.
They do not seek office, they do not seek honors, but they are the bearers of the invisible pillar on which everyone else leans.
The CHP's survival comes not from the seats in luxurious rooms, but from the sweat, patience and faith of those women whose pulse beats in the streets.
“The term ”aunt from CHP" has never been a term of contempt in the language of the people; on the contrary, it is a symbol of respect, trust and loyalty.
Because in the streets of this country, the pulse of the party beats in their hearts the most.
In recent years, however, a different mentality has emerged in the party:
An understanding that sees women, especially working women, as “masses”, as “marabouts”, that remembers them only during elections, that turns the organization into a career ladder...
This mentality does not know women's labor, it knows how to calculate seats.
This mentality knows delegate arithmetic, not struggle.
What this mentality fails to see is this:
The real power of the CHP is not in the lobbies, but in the breath of women rising from the streets.
However, in the history of this party, women are not ornaments; they are founding elements.
Atatürk's raising the Republic on the shoulders of women is not a romance; it is an organizational reality.
The descendants of the women who carried bullets in the War of Independence are the women who carry ideas to party buildings today.
They are the conscience of the Republic, the yeast of the organization.
And this is precisely why the upcoming congress is not just a change of leadership; it is a test of whether the CHP will pay its debt to women's labor.
Increasing the number of women in mayorships, council memberships, provincial and district administrations, Party Assembly and all decision-making mechanisms is no longer a favor; it is a historical necessity.
Making women carry the burden in the field and ignoring them at the decision table is neither justice, nor organizational culture, nor the founding spirit of the Republic.
If the CHP really wants change, it must first carry the voices of the invisible heroes of the organization - the women on the streets - to the decision-making mechanisms.
Not the showcase women who are applauded in the hall; the women of the organization who have been paying the price for years should have a say.
There can be no democracy without justice of representation.
Without democracy, this party has nothing to say to the people.
Silencing these women is not just about silencing an individual.
This is to close the conscience of the party, to stop the heart of the organization.
When the woman is silent, the neighborhood is silent; when the neighborhood is silent, the organization dies; when the organization dies, the party is just a signboard.
Congresses end, seats change, names come and go...
But the real heir, the bearer, the memory of the CHP is those women who distributed leaflets in the rain during the election period.
The party sometimes loses its direction, but those women never do; because their compass is not the seat, but the country.
Their politics is not career; it is conscience.
Their partisanship is not interest; it is struggle.
If the CHP is to return to its essence, it must first understand the hearts of those women and make space for them in every pulse.
Because when that heart is broken, not just a woman is broken - a history is broken.
A struggle goes silent.
A Republic falls silent.
And it should not be forgotten:
The future of the CHP lies not in the noise of men on the rostrum, but in the breath of women on the streets.
When that breath grows stronger, the party makes history; when that breath is cut off, the Republic becomes isolated.