“Don't play politics,” they say.
It's like a magic word.
When it is said, the pain will lessen, the deaths will be reversed, life will resume.
But it doesn't.
Because there are some sentences -
It hurts us more not the more it is said, but because it is said.
One day the footsteps echoing in the corridor of a school stop.
One row remains empty.
A bag can't be opened again.
A child is missing from life.
Someone asks: “How did it happen?”
Someone whispers, then raises their voice:
Don't play politics.
At night, a city shakes.
First the walls tremble, then lives.
A building collapses - but it's not just concrete, it's years of neglect.
A mother calls out from under the rubble.
A child cannot answer.
Someone asks: “Why?”
The answer is ready:
Don't play politics.
A woman looks back as she walks.
He sends a text: “If anything happens to me...”
The sentence is incomplete, like life.
Then a news story hits the screens.
One less name.
Someone is asking: “Why wasn't it protected?”
Someone is saying the same sentence again:
Don't play politics.
A door won't open.
There's no alarm going off.
It is as if there is no way out.
Smoke is rising.
People cannot escape.
The flames illuminate not only a building but also negligence.
Someone asks: “How is this possible?”
And that familiar sentence, again with the same coldness:
Don't play politics.
But we are not doing politics.
We ask as we mourn.
We try to understand when we are losing.
As we are diminishing, we want to know why we are diminishing.
Is this politics?
If that's it, yes -
politics.
Because that's what you call politics,
is about a child going to school in the morning and not being able to return.
It is about a woman saying “protect me” and not being heard.
It is about a building becoming a tomb for its inhabitants.
Politics is at the center of life.
And life is on fire,
politics must be on fire too.
“Those who say ”don't" actually want this:
Let's not talk.
Let's not ask.
Let's forget it.
Because it is easy to forget.
Forgetting doesn't bother anyone.
Forgetting does not break the order.
But remembering
Remembering is heavy.
Remembering is a responsibility.
Remembering requires change.
So that not one more child is lost,
so that not one more woman is silenced,
so that another building doesn't become a grave -
someone has to speak up.
Just keep bothering me,
insisting,
Reminder by reminder.
Maybe the point is this:
No one dies because we speak out.
But as long as we remain silent,
something always stays the same.
And some things stay the same,
someone's always missing.
So let's leave this sentence where it is:
“Don't play politics.”
Because there are times,
not shut up -
Speaking is the last remaining conscience of man.