TURKEY: A small band of conscientious objectors wishes to challenge the dogma that a man cannot be a man without being a soldier, writes Nicholas Birch in Istanbul
In a nation of soldiers, it's tough being a pacifist.
If Osman Murat Ulke leads a quiet life, it's because he has little choice. He has the right to neither passport nor bank account. Officially, his two-year-old son is not his and he can't marry the child's mother.
Even a weekend trip with friends is fraught with danger. "Book into a hotel and I could be arrested," he says.
His crime is to be a conscientious objector in a country which prides itself on being a nation of soldiers.
But Ulke differs from the rest of Turkey's small group of declared pacifists in one respect. He has just taken his case to the European Court of Human Rights and won it.
"The clandestine life amounting almost to 'civil death' which the applicant has been compelled to adopt is incompatible with the punishment regime of a democratic society," the court declared on January 24th.
It ruled that Turkey is in breach of the European Convention on Human Rights it has signed and ordered it to pay damages of €10,000.
The problems started for Ulke in 1995 when he publicly burned call-up papers for the compulsory 18-month military service.
He spent two of the next four years in jail, convicted eight times of disobedience, desertion and "alienating the people from the army". The vicious circle of prison, forced enlistment and prison stems from the fact that Turkey does not legally recognise conscientious objection.
While Israeli or South Korean pacifists risk imprisonment only once, pacifism could theoretically wreck the rest of a Turkish pacifist's life.
"I won my case, but in Turkey I'm still officially a deserter, which means I should be imprisoned," Osman Murat Ulke says. The army knows where he lives but has left him alone for six years, probably to avoid further controversy. Several other conscientious objectors are in a similar situation.
According to Ulke's lawyer, Irishman Prof Kevin Boyle, it's a contradiction with which the European court decision leaves Turkey no choice but to solve.
"Forty-five out of 46 Council of Europe states have found a solution by offering alternatives to military service," he told Turkish daily Zaman this month. "What is to stop Turkey [ the 46th CE member] from doing the same?"
That may not be as easy as it sounds. From the start of their school education, Turkish children are encouraged to exalt the army. In the second year of high school, all students attend a compulsory class on "national security" taught by a military officer.
Written by the army, the textbook used describes military service as "the most sacred service to the nation". A person who has not done it, it adds, "cannot be useful to himself, his family or his homeland."
The attitude is widely echoed in traditional Turkish society, where men who have not done their military service are often considered unfit either to work or to marry.
Ayse Gul Altinay, the author of a book on Turkish militarism, thinks the state "has painted itself into a corner".
"When you have presented [ military service] as an essential part of national identity, how do you go about changing it?" she asks.
Attitudes are nonetheless changing.
Osman Murat Ulke remembers that when he decided to declare his conscientious objection in 1993, even like-minded people thought it was "an act of insanity".
"Now human rights organisations, parties and individuals are beginning to show sympathy, even if only passive," he says. "The taboo has been broken."
The pacifist bug has even spread beyond its traditional stamping grounds on the political left. One of Turkey's best-known conscientious objectors is Mehmet Bal, a former right-wing nationalist convicted of murder whose life changed when he shared a prison cell with Ulke.
While people avoiding military service in Turkey are thought to number in the hundreds of thousands, conscientious objectors remain a tiny minority, with only about 80 men openly stating their convictions.
"That hasn't stopped almost all Turks hearing about us," says Ugur Yorulmaz, who studied in a military high school before turning pacifist.
"We are a cost-effective bunch."