Elected Agha

This is not a fairy tale.
Because when fairy tales end, the good guys win.
This is just a familiar story.
In a land not far away, there is an agha. But this Agha was not forced into power. He was elected. The villagers elected him. And many times. The agha has many villages in his hands; he has the land, he has the crops, he has the decision.
The peasants work, the agha rules.
Agha is tough.
He behaves in a bullying way.
But he is smart.
He is generous to the peasants who support him. He gives them fields, tenders, opens doors. Other villagers are oppressed by them.
It divides villagers according to their identity: faith, origin, lifestyle...
Everyone looks at each other.
Nobody looks up.
While the fight is going on below, life is completely different above.
The Agha's house is like a palace. It has high walls; guards stand guard at the door. Inside there are those who eat, drink and laugh. They are “our people”. The lights never go out. The tables are never empty.
In one of these villages lives a man named Adil. He is educated. His father is poor.
He knows the land. He knows poverty. Knows injustice.
For a long time he has been thinking why this order is like this. Finally he comes out and says:
“This can't go on like this.” It doesn't shout. He doesn't scare. He doesn't threaten.
He only says this:
“I will not move into that palace. Everyone will live in their own house. Land will be divided fairly. Punishment will be fair and reward will be fair. We will live as brothers. Because we all have the same problem.”
This is the first time the word justice is spoken so loudly in the village square.
And justice, once it is in one's mind, is not easily removed.
With Adil's patience, a table is set up with representatives from each village. At this table, people who are nothing alike sit side by side. There are peasants of all ideologies at the table. So that they get to know each other, complement each other and at the same time supervise each other...
Everyone says “unity”. “Together we will win,” they say. For the first time, the villagers believe that the agha can be defeated. For the first time, the lights in the palace shine a little more carefully.
But there is one person who can't stay at the table for long: Fate.
One day he pulls out his chair. He gets up from the table. He speaks loudly as he leaves. He closes the door hard. It is not clear whether he will return or not. The villagers are surprised. Hope cracks in a thin place.
Demoralization.
Blind luck most often retreats when it is close.
The villagers are surprised, angry.
But despite everything, Adil continues. Slowly but stubbornly.
Meanwhile, a few other candidates emerge. They are neither right against Adil nor right next to him. They wait. They wait until the last moment.
The villagers think they are locks.
They are also aware of this.
The last day comes. They put their weight on the scales. But that pan is the Agha's side.
And then there are those who hang around Adil. They pretend to be with him. They talk in the squares. They wave to the villagers working in the fields. But at night they dream other dreams. The lights of the palace never leave their eyes.
One of them is Mashallah. He is someone Adil likes and trusts. His sympathy among the villagers rises rapidly.
But his dream is not to sit at the same table with the peasants. He wants superiority, not equality. His goal is not to change the corrupt order, but to take over the order.
“If this order collapses,” they say among themselves,
“we can't do what we want. We have to take power. The peasant fears the powerful. He loves and respects because he is afraid.”
“Adil is a good man...But he wants to equate us with the peasants.”
And of course there are the Chic Chic's. The people have given them this name. They chant slogans “for the people, despite the people”. Supposedly for the good of the people, they are on the side of the oppressed against the oppressors, even if the people do not want it.
They always talk about labor and the people.
But they do not live with the people.
They dress interestingly.
They talk interestingly.
They come and go everywhere.
They say to the villagers:
“Adil is a good man, an honest man, but he cannot win.”
Nobody asks: Why?
Because if the real question is asked, the answer is uncomfortable.
And at that point, Adil's friends and comrades come into play. They softly spread the black propaganda that “the candidate cannot win”. They deliberately sow this evil in the minds of the villagers sweating in the fields.
Because no one really wants the fields taken from the peasants to be redistributed to the peasants. The idea of giving the gold stolen from the peasants back to the peasants frightened the gangs and those who secretly divided the gold with those gangs.
Fear is stronger than ideology.
Interest is more decisive than friendship.
And
Winning
For what?
Against whom?
At what price?
For whom?
These things are not talked about.
While those at the table struggle with the table, those next to them struggle with the seat, and the Chic Chic struggle with the bill, the agha waits.
Quietly.
Because he knows:
Hope that is shattered cannot be united.
Doubt eats away at faith.
The peasant whose faith has been eaten away is alone when he goes to the polls.
Election day comes.
Villagers go to the polls.
Some out of fear. Some out of habit. Some say “at least we know”.
Some vote because of a last-minute suspicion that “the candidate cannot win”.
The Agha wins again.
And...
The lights in the palace shine brighter.
Tables are set. Doors close.
Adil returns to his village. It is quiet.
Those who leave the table look at other tables.
Mashallah is happy.
The Şık Şıks traveled from village to village, shouting slogans for Maşallah, the Mashallah that best suits them to be the new agha. Even before the ballot box had cooled down, the speeches of counter-revolution began to rise. They belittle the votes of the villagers who voted for Adil. They wag their fingers and threaten those who say “why did you do wrong” to Adil.
And the villagers
The next morning he goes to the field again. He works and toils. But the crop is diminishing day by day. Those who stand next to the Agha are joyful. Those standing next to Maşallah are even more joyful.
This is not a fairy tale.
This is the story of an objection that was lost because of the agha enthusiasts. Because while some wanted to change the order, others just wanted to change places with the agha.
The most painful thing is this:
The villagers who voted for Adil were not upset about the election they had lost, but about the faith that had diminished in them.
The just have been hurt the most not by those they oppose, but by those they thought were on their side.
And so, justice, which for a moment seemed possible, has dissipated like sand slipping through the hands.
What remains is the silence and resentment of an unrealized possibility. But possibility does not disappear.
It is only postponed.
And one day, if the villagers remember to look up again, this story could be written differently.