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Inexhaustible Pen

One translation of the Turkish name for the object known in English as biro is inexhaustible pen. Probably because the main body of the pen still stands even after the ink has run out. I like that name; it makes me feel that what I’m holding is a magic wand with inexhaustible powers. Powers that no oppression, prohibition or obstacle is capable of exhausting.

Except, in countries like mine, there are pens unable to write even with a full reservoir of ink. That’s because what they write is regarded by the government as ‘dangerous’, ‘criminal’ or ‘sinful’… It drags the author to the courts, prison, exile, or death; or it silences, it sacks.

All I did was write throughout my whole life. Made my living with the black letters I scrawled on white sheets of paper… I started out reporting the news; then wrote reviews, books, lyrics, scripts, librettos, plays, poems… As we moved from the last century to this one, my fingers witnessed the move from the typewriter to the computer. Then came the day when I had to return to my old mate the ballpoint pen, in a cell where I had lost contact with the world. I was grateful that the pen didn’t run out.

I always had a great relationship with it: that’s what I owe my work and even my wife to… It gave me bread for years; it fed me. It took me to awards ceremonies as well as the prison… That’s why I’m an exile today.

In some corners of the world, you raise monuments to yourself with your pen, in others, you dig your own grave as you write… Every line you write digs that hole deeper, but you can’t stop: it’s inexhaustible.

Looking back now, I realise that my pen was fuming at times and emotional at others; now it roared and then it was calm. One thing it never did was fall silent…

Five years ago, I was exiled not only from my homeland but also my mother tongue. Today, no newspaper or book publisher will publish me in the land where I wrote non-stop for forty years. What I do have, on the other hand, is an opportunity that exiles of the previous century never had: the network of computers known as the Internet offers an inexhaustible chance to communicate. The black letters I write on the screen spread across the world thanks to underground cables or frequencies in the clouds invisible to me. Crossing borders, obstacles and barricades, they reach their readers. Like the leaflets dropped from aircraft in the past, they fall on distant screens under the astonished stares of the thought police. Writing expands its reign on paper to the screen. The bullies of paper struggle to darken screens.

When we wrote for newsprint, readers would look for us as they would in a supermarket: checking a number of shelves to find and read us. Now, some occupants of those shelves have opened their own shops. There are no pages that fold one after the other here, nothing between readers and us: no bosses, editors, typesetters, proof-readers, or interfering authorities. At long last we’re alone with our readers.

Once I finished writing this bulletin, I will press a button to meet you directly. As intimate as a letter, yet in full view of everyone… No longer are we tucked in on the rear ‘shelves’ of a thick newspaper or between the pages of ads in a magazine… We’re only a click away from you.

 We look lonely, don’t we? Yet we are not.

Yes, it is true that we have moved from team sports to an individual one: but now we are far more independent, far freer; we are in a direct, one-to-one relationship with our readers, just like pen pals.

Now is the time to prove the appeal, power and uniqueness of writing. That’s because instead of a newspaper, you will be picking up writers and their words. You carry on reading if you like them. Perhaps even support them so that they can write better and carry on writing. You will be a voluntary backer so they don’t need a boss.  Welcome to the age of writers whose salaries are paid by readers. In an age where a handful of despots try to silence the public whilst those demanding to be heard can support others prepared to risk all.

A gigantic family formed by readers meeting under the ‘freedom of thought’ banner… What a fantastic opportunity for writers who have been silenced, sacked, imprisoned, or exiled!

Platforms such as this one allow us to defy all manners of prohibitions, platforms that give a rostrum to those of us with something to say. A spot where I can endeavour to prove the inexhaustibility of the pen.

Once a fortnight, I will be covering the challenges and opportunities presented by exile, exiles and the consequences of being wrenched from one’s soil.