Lips That Don’t Know the March, Fists Ready to Strike
The characters we once laughed at in the movies have now become the leading figures in politics. The characters change, the settings are updated, and technology leaps forward; but the script remains the same. Because in this country, some names come and go… but the scoundrels never die..
We are such an unlucky, such a hapless generation that we’ve had to experience even the most famous characters from literature and cinema firsthand. Back in the day, there was a character named Zübük; Aziz Nesin wrote the story, and Kemal Sunal played the role. We’d sit in the movie theater, munching on sunflower seeds, and laugh it off, saying, “Wow, what a bunch of con artists.” The movie would end, the lights would come on, and everyone would go home.
It turns out we never actually left the movie theater.
What we were watching wasn’t a movie—it was a preview of our future.
Zübük’s old, analog world gradually changed over time. Then Kubiş came along. Things were still slow in his day. There was television; social media hadn’t taken over yet. Gossip, lies, and incompetence circulated in coffeehouses or dimly lit backstage areas, and it took time for the truth to come out.
But the real jackpot was Cemal, who was miles ahead of Kubiš, and he really hit us hard.
Today, everyone has high-resolution phones, live streams on every street corner, and sponsored posts on every platform. In the past, a scoundrel’s lies would fizzle out at the town limits; today, that same mindset, fueled by algorithms, lands straight in people’s pockets.
Man, you're so lucky, Cemal!
In the past, people used to wait days to hear a politician’s gaffe; today, millions of people watch it live at the same time.
But, man…
What sin did we commit to end up in the same era, the same generation as you?
Besides, it’s not just about technology.
Politics has become so hollow that the claim to govern the country has been replaced by neighborhood slang, memorized slogans, and body language.
I saw it on TV the other day. The young people were singing the Gündoğdu March with great enthusiasm. Our friend Cemal was among them.
I watch; the lips don’t know the words. The rhythm is off. They’re mumbling something they’ve made up.
Just then, the most stirring part of the march begins:
“Our homeland is overrun by fascists—strike them down, brothers, strike them down…”
And just then, the cameras turn to our friend Cemal.
Is he trying to keep up with the march, struggling to catch the beat, or is it just his years of boxing reflexes kicking in? It’s hard to tell.
While watching the video, the following question inevitably comes to mind:
Hey, did you come here to talk to the kids about the future, or is the bell about to ring and the first round is about to start?
Maybe that's just how it seems to us.
Still, let’s face it: when lips that don’t know the words of the anthem are paired with body language that makes you feel like you’re about to step into the ring, the result looks more like a gym promotion than a political rally.
I guess that pretty much sums up the country:
The words go one way, the image another.
Sometimes I think…
What if Zübük, Kubiş, and Cemal had lived at the same time?
That’s when we’d really be in trouble.
On election day, when you went to the polls and opened the ballot envelope, your hand would tremble:
One vote for Cemal, one vote for Kubiš?
Or should we split the vote—one for Zübük, one for Cemal?
Even a stamp would be too ashamed to find a place to press down.
I managed to fit all three of them into a single article.
But fitting all of this onto a single stage is no longer within the capabilities of either Yılmaz Erdoğan or BKM Mutfak.
I don’t know how the Mandra Philosopher would explain this situation.
The only thing I know is this:
In this play, where the characters change and the sets are updated, the plot remains the same.
Because real life has surpassed the imagination of all screenwriters.
In the past, humor imitated life.
Now life has left humor out in the cold.
As for us, we wake up every morning to a new episode of this massive reality show, coffee in hand, staring at the screen:
“I wonder which round is starting today?”
And unfortunately, we no longer care about the answer.
Because we know that what’s absurd about this country isn’t what’s happening; it’s that we’re still capable of being surprised by it.
The type of person Uğur Mumcu described years ago is still among us:
“Those who side with the powerful rather than the righteous are cowards and turncoats. They shift their allegiance as the center of power shifts; they are like weather vanes.”
Maybe that’s why names change, faces change, and slogans change in this country…
The characters change; the role remains the same.