After
a month at the prison depot, I was transferred to (3/July/1982)
11, Landesgericht Strasse to be judged and sentenced on the 8th
of July at 9:30am. I prepared my defense assiduously and awaited
the trial with an emotion approaching enthusiasm. The day before the
fateful confrontation with the judge, on the 7th, I was summoned
into a room and confronted with 2 men and 2 women, from the ministry
of justice. They informed me that anything that I had to say
meant nothing to them, that the complaint lodged by the poor S. and
her racist father was all that counted. They had drawn up a confession
that they pushed across the table for my signature. I told them that
we would see whose arguments carried the most weight when I was accompanied
by an attorney at the trial the next day. I prepared to leave. It
was then that they informed me there would be no trial in the framework
of a new and more "efficient" procedure concerning
cases such as mine. I shouted that I was in a position to demand a
fair trial, that I had been robbed and abused, that I was a student
of the fine arts and that the truth in my case should be made known.
A man, dressed like a tap dancer in a white
suit and red tie, who up to then had said nothing, took this occasion
to inform me that it was he, the presiding magistrate, who would decide
what had to me known and told me that it was in my own best interest
to sign the confession and to speak out as little as humanly possible
insofar as Austria and the Austrians had no need whatsoever of Turks
in their society. He continued saying that the best place for me as
well as for all Turks was a country called Turkey and that he would
do his utmost so that all Turks who crossed his path found there way
back to that land. He concluded saying that there would be no trial
because there was no point in having one!
P.G.Haus-Vienne
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I
was deeply shocked and barely able to move. I shivered as I
answered him, saying that even if I had to spend eons in his
filthy prison, I wouldn't sign away the rights that I knew were
mine, even as a foreigner. "As a duly empowered magistrate,
you must know that the racist commentary you've just broached
is perfectly unconstitutional", I told him, and continued
saying, "I've wondered in recent days how the testimony
of a psychologically weak young woman and her xenophobic father
could sway an entire institution. It is clear to me now why
it's been so easy".
 poety-turkich
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At
cell number 27a |
| He
proffered the confession one more time and when I shook my head
in defiance, he waved me out with the flick of his wrist, as
if batting away a fly. I returned to cell number 27a, a zone
reserved for those destined to be extradited. I saw a public
defender on two occasions, just long enough to understand that
the state had no tangible criminal charges against me and I
hoped for release and a little time to gather my poor lost paintings
together before I was expelled from the country.
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