{"id":1509,"date":"2025-03-07T12:09:09","date_gmt":"2025-03-07T09:09:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/?p=1509"},"modified":"2025-10-08T17:10:59","modified_gmt":"2025-10-08T14:10:59","slug":"the-self-in-self-censorship","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/the-self-in-self-censorship\/","title":{"rendered":"The self in self-censorship"},"content":{"rendered":"

FIRAT Y\u00dcCEL<\/strong><\/p>\n

We often believe ourselves to be free and independent creators, taking pride in that notion. Yet, there is no denying how deep your decisions, ideas, projects, and dreams are shaped by the political climate surrounding us. The direction of the wind \u2013or more tellingly, where it doesn\u2019t blow\u2013 defines the limits of what we can do, especially for those who identify with the societal opposition. When we break down Turkey\u2019s recent history into distinct periods, the constraints on creativity become even clearer: before and after the 1980 coup; before and after the Gezi Protests in 2013; before and \u2013arguably\u2013 after the presidential decrees that led to the dismissal of thousands of public servants, including academics at universities; and before, during, and after the pandemic… All the issues that left their mark on a given period have seemingly been set aside, only to resurface \u2013inevitably\u2013 later. Multilingual films have given way to unilingual ones, radical political imagination has been replaced by an emphasis on cultural embellishments, the idea of equality has been replaced by fraternity, and protagonists have been relegated to the role of side characters. The period has changed, some people were imprisoned, others remained free, and many projects were shelved… The subjects of these sentences are deliberately concealed.<\/p>\n

This is how self-censorship works. Its very name contains a subject \u2013 \u201cauto,\u201d meaning \u201cself\u201d in Greek. As in \u201cautobiography,\u201d the story of one\u2019s own life. As in \u201cautonomy,\u201d the act of self-governance. Yet, when we speak of self- censorship, the subjectis almost always absent. We refer to the climate, the era, the prevailing mood \u2013 but the person we are speaking of remains hidden. Rarely will anyone say, \u201cI have practiced self-censorship.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Susma (Speak Up) Platform, which requested me to write this article, was established in 2016 to confront silence and censorship. It publishes an annual report titled \u201cCensorship and Self-Censorship in Turkey.\u201d Yet, despite the emphasis on self-censorship in both the platform\u2019s name and the report\u2019s title, actual instances of self-censorship are rarely documented. Self-censorship has a name but lacks a clear object; it compels a verb while evading a defined subject. Every sentence about self-censorship carries an unarticulated subject, one that remains implied.<\/p>\n

But here\u2019s one point of consensus: self-censorship dominates the landscape of political, audiovisual, and cultural production in Turkey today. In one of her first interviews following her release from eight years in prison, G\u00fcltan K\u0131\u015fanak said that the \u201cclimate of self-censorship\u201d was among the first things she noticed, comparing it to the atmosphere that followed the 12 September 1980 coup. In fact, she had already begun reflecting on this while still behind bars. In her book \u201cFirari Yaz\u0131lar\u201d<\/em> 2 (\u201cFugitive Essays\u201d), she writes: \u201cThe issue of censorship and self-censorship takes on entirely new dimensions in prison. You are constantly thinking about how to get your writing out. (\u2026) You can defend your beliefs incourt by taking a risk, but when you write them down, you can\u2019t get them out.\u201d K\u0131\u015fanak describes a striking paradox: a moment when freedom of thought can feel more attainable inside prison than outside. Her words point to a kind of social retreat, one that keeps ideas formed in confinement from ever making it \u201cpast the prison walls.\u201d<\/p>\n

Self-censorship refers to an individual censoring, limiting, or categorizing themselves \u201cin the absence of any direct or overt pressure.\u201d It is the subject themself who voluntarily chooses to impose censorship without any official ban, decree, notice from the governor\u2019s office, email, or other external forms of pressure. They blame \u201cthe times we are living in,\u201d they blame \u201cthe government,\u201d they blame \u201call the trouble that has happened to many others.\u201d 3 However, in today\u2019s Turkey, it is challenging to find cases that do not involve \u201covert pressure.\u201d At most, we can speak of the ambiguity surrounding who enacts the censorship, and when. For example, who exactly was responsible for censoring the documentary \u201cKanun H\u00fckm\u00fc\u201d at the 60th Antalya Golden Orange Film Festival? Was it the organizers, the ministry, the judiciary, the governor\u2019s office, the sponsors, pro-government trolls, or law enforcement? When exactly did the censorship occur, and does it have an expiration date? What is necessary for screening \u201cKanun H\u00fckm\u00fc\u201d?<\/p>\n

Does it require a Constitutional Court ruling on a violation of freedom of expression? Or for the film to be officially registered? Or, simply, to be screened without police interference at any event? None of this is settled. Furthermore, censorship in Turkey often takes place during production, or even earlier, in the financing stage, through subtle, unprovable means. This might involve a phone call that disguises a threat as a \u201cpolite request,\u201d a piece of advice, or even a suggestion.<\/p>\n

Given this ambiguity, it becomes nearly impossible to determine whether any given case constitutes censorship or self-censorship. Additionally, when the source of censorship is ambiguous and may potentially be enforced by any government, corporation, or paramilitary group, self-censorship becomes a more intricate phenomenon. It moves beyond the question of whether the act is blatant, visible, or invisible; instead, it takes the form of a pervasive mood imposed on the individual. For this reason, self-censorship in Turkey today amounts, at most, to this: the fear felt by those who have not personally faced censorship (or who have neither paid a price for it, nor dared to). One example is treating the documentary \u201cYery\u00fcz\u00fc A\u015fk\u0131n Y\u00fcz\u00fc Oluncaya Dek\u201d (\u201cLove Will Change the Earth\u201d), which was censored by the Golden Orange festival committee in 2014, as though it were officially banned \u2013even though it wasn\u2019t\u2013 and overlooking the fact that it has since been screened multiple times at various venues without incident. In other words, self-censorship can equate to an inability to recognize the relatively free spaces that still exist while accusing those who make use of these spaces of \u201cplaying the hero\u201d or \u201cfailing to grasp the circumstances.\u201d It involves internalizing the state apparatus\u2019s \u201cpre-censorship\u201d practices \u2013 which the Constitutional Court has ruled a violation of rights\u2013 and tailoring one\u2019s work accordingly. In Turkey, self-censorship as a concept permeates the financing, production, and distribution of cinema. As a result, it is often framed as a moral issue, positioned somewhere between bravery and heroism. The issue is, on the one hand, overly personalized, and on the other, insufficiently examined through the lens of political subjectivity. Both its practice and the resistance to it lack a coherent political or strategic framework. This is the main reason why self-censorship continues to lacka clear subject, or a defined \u201cself.\u201d<\/p>\n

Self-censorship, by definition, is not a tangible process; it is a practice often confined to the minds of creators, one they may be unwilling or unable to admit even to themselves. In his novel \u201cGece\u201d (\u201cNight\u201d), Bilge Karasu captures the pervasive mood following the 1980 military coup. This atmosphere seeps into every household and mind. Thoughts like \u201cThey are taking people to prison, maybe I am next,\u201d \u201cWhat happened to others could happen to me,\u201d and \u201cI could draw the short straw, too,\u201d echo throughout. But then comes the question emerging from some unexpected place, the central question that casts the color of night over Karasu\u2019s novel: What if they don\u2019t take me in? What if nothing ever happens tome? What if I spend all these years not doing what I want, not saying what I need to say, and nothing happens? How willI account for all that was left undone and unsaid, not to others, but to myself?<\/p>\n

Oppression leads to isolation. It involves the state or corporate entities shutting down or restricting the activities of labor unions, collectives, associations, centers, and student clubs. It means budget cuts, strike bans, and a complete silence of once-active WhatsApp groups where we debated politics day and night being left alone in the cutting room with that decision which could make a lot of trouble for you. It means being left alone in the editing room, facing a decision that could land you in serious trouble.<\/p>\n

If oppression is isolation, then the only way to address self-censorship \u2014 oppression turned inward\u2014 is by invoking its antidote: collective will. No one openly admits to practicing self-censorship. The subjects remain concealed. Self-censorship cannot be identified or documented. If there is to be reporting or compilation of statistics on this subject, many of us would likely seek answers to the questions raised in Bilge Karasu\u2019s previously mentioned novel: Will more people suffer if we choose to speak out, or if we decide to stay silent? If we stay silent, will it eventually be our turn as well? Then, the same question arises again, lifting its head from the sand: What if it isn\u2019t?<\/p>\n

What if I continue living this way, enveloped in a comforting silence? What if I forget even the things I never said?<\/p>\n

Perhaps one of our central questions is this: In a climate so dominated by fear, is there room for the fear of \u201cwhat if nothing happens to me?” Can we speak of such a fear? Can it ever take on a collective form?<\/p>\n

To answer this, we might need to move beyond the assumption that admitting fear equals a total absence of courage. Exposing our vulnerability may require a greater level of bravery. To reframe the question: Can an artist carve out a greaterspace for freedom by first acknowledging their lack of it? In classical dystopias, the paramount deadlock individuals face stems from forgetting the very fears that once defined their reality. The protagonist must rediscover these forgotten fears torealize that what seems normal or natural is, in fact, a construct of a broader system governed by fear.<\/p>\n

To expand on this idea, if escaping from a dystopia requires rediscovering fear, then during times of increased oppression and violence, shouldn\u2019t artists consider \u201cwhat they can\u2019t do and how they can approach it differently,\u201d instead of merely saying, \u201cI\u2019ll just keep doing what I do\u201d? Shouldn\u2019t they ask themselves: Why did I shelf that project? Why couldn\u2019t I finish it? Why did I stop midway? What motivated my actions instead of pursuing other options? And why didn\u2019t I include that image in this book? Shouldn\u2019t we be discussing what we did not \u2013or could not\u2013 do, and why, at a time when home raids have become routine; documentary filmmakers are imprisoned for their work; screenwriters, cinematographers, and agents are arrested; public administrators instantly seize institutions built over years; audiences are detained at LGBTI+ film screenings; and the film industry fails to take a stronger stance to defend its participation in the Gezi Protests?<\/p>\n

The \u201cG\u00f6r\u00fcn\u00fcr G\u00f6r\u00fcnmez\u201d (\u201cVisible Invisible\u201d) video series by Altyaz\u0131 Fasik\u00fcl emerged from questions like these: What if, when creating art, we laid bare our hesitations, fears, and anxieties, not to mention the over-the-top bravery we later find embarrassing? What if we revealed the questions we posed in moments of enthusiasm or anger \u2013only to delete them for being untimely\u2013 along with the letters, messages, and diary entries written in desperation or frustration, their recipients unknown; the endings we shelved for being too hopeful or too bleak; and the files we closed without hitting the save button? In short, can we restore the subject to self-censorship? And what would happen if we did?<\/p>\n

Interestingly, a video named \u201cDuvarlar\u201d (\u201cWalls\u201d) serves as the unifying thread in the \u201cG\u00f6r\u00fcn\u00fcr G\u00f6r\u00fcnmez: Bir (Oto) Sans\u00fcr Antolojisi\u201d (\u201cVisible Invisible: A (Self-)Censorship Anthology\u201d) exhibition series, forging a powerful link between those behind bars and those on the outside. The video documents a form of protest in which prisoners assert their right to write and publish books by inscribing messages on their courtyard walls. I\u2019m not sure how we arrived there, but at some point the glue holding theVisible Invisible collective together became \u2013in K\u0131\u015fanak\u2019s words\u2013 the act of \u201cgetting out\u201d political prisoners\u2019 own words to the outside world. The courtyard images in \u201cDuvarlar\u201d (\u201cWalls\u201d) link the six videos in the exhibition \u2013\u201cTeredd\u00fctler\u201d (\u201cHesitations\u201d), \u201cDuvarlar\u201d (\u201cWalls\u201d), \u201cEksik Belgeseller\u201d (\u201cMissing Documentaries\u201d), \u201cSevgili F\u201d (\u201cDear F\u201d), \u201c\u00c7ark\u201d (\u201cTheWheel\u201d), and \u201cSevil\u201d\u2013 into a cohesive whole. At the film\u2019s end, an unfinished inscription reads: \u201cOur right to publish books cannot be prev\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Prisoners who write on courtyard walls are prosecuted by the state for \u201cdamage to public property,\u201d which effectively recasts prisons as public spaces. Ideas forged behind bars must be \u201ctaken out\u201d to the public. But the atmosphere beyond the walls is thick with self-censorship. This leads us to facing a new question: If the true barrier lies outside -rooted in the inertia of societal opposition or a communal presence that blocks change- then questions of what wecannot do, and how, become not just individual dilemmas but collective ones. Accordingly self-censorship is no longer simply about an artist\u2019s personal freedom, courage, or fears. It defines the contours of political imagination, where it begins and where it ends.4<\/p>\n

It is difficult for artists to let go of the myth of individual freedom. Doing so means accepting that we are not \u2013and cannot be\u2013 truly free, and that our ideas may be even more imprisoned than those behind bars. Reinstating the subject (the \u201cself\u201d) into self-censorship is only possible through a collective process of empowerment. Only then can we begin to confront the true political fear \u2013the fear of \u201cwhat if nothing happens to me?\u201d\u2013 and find a form of courage guided by that very fear.<\/p>\n

1 \u00a0 \u201c8 y\u0131lda ne de\u011fi\u015fti? G\u00fcltan K\u0131\u015fanak anlat\u0131yor\u2026\u201d , \u0130rfan Aktan ile D\u0130PNOT https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=mhLahL3lA34<\/a><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

2 \u00a0 G\u00f6r\u00fclm\u00fc\u015ft\u00fcr Kolektifi, \u201cHapishanede sans\u00fcr ve oto sans\u00fcr… Tutsak yazarlar anlat\u0131yor…\u201d, Firari \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yaz\u0131lar, Klaros Yay\u0131nlar\u0131, 2021, https:\/\/gorulmustur.org\/icerik\/hapishanede-sansur-ve-oto-sansur-tutsak-yazarlar-anlatiyor<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

3 \u00a0 \u00a0Yeri gelmi\u015fken Vikipedi ansiklopedisinde yer alan otosans\u00fcr tan\u0131m\u0131n\u0131 da aktaral\u0131m: \u201c[A]\u00e7\u0131k bir bask\u0131 olmadan, ba\u015fkalar\u0131n\u0131n hassasiyetlerine sayg\u0131 g\u00f6stererek, herhangi bir makam\u0131n ve yetkili kurumun engellemesi olmad\u0131\u011f\u0131 halde, ki\u015finin kendi \u00e7al\u0131\u015fmalar\u0131n\u0131 (blog, kitap, film veya di\u011fer anlat\u0131m ara\u00e7lar\u0131 gibi) sans\u00fcrleme veya s\u0131n\u0131fland\u0131rmas\u0131 eylemidir.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

4 \u00a0 T\u00fcrkiye\u2019de g\u00f6sterimi engellenen S\u00fbr: Ax \u00fb Welat\u2019\u0131n y\u00f6netmenlerinden Zana Kibar, \u015fu an T\u00fcrkiye\u2019de mevcut olan otosans\u00fcr iklimini tarif etmek i\u00e7in Fransa\u2019daki ku\u015f avc\u0131lar\u0131n\u0131n bir y\u00f6ntemine at\u0131fta bulunuyor: \u201cAvc\u0131lar avlanman\u0131n yasak oldu\u011fu d\u00f6nemde, orman\u0131n \u00fcst\u00fcne tel \u00f6rg\u00fcler at\u0131yorlar. Ku\u015flar bu tel \u00f6rg\u00fclere tak\u0131la tak\u0131la y\u00fckse\u011fe, uza\u011fa u\u00e7mamaya al\u0131\u015f\u0131yorlar. Tel \u00f6rg\u00fclerin s\u0131n\u0131r\u0131 g\u00f6ky\u00fcz\u00fcn\u00fcn s\u0131n\u0131r\u0131 olarak zihinlerine kaz\u0131n\u0131yor art\u0131k. Av sezonu geldi\u011finde o tel \u00f6rg\u00fcy\u00fc kald\u0131r\u0131yorlar. Ku\u015flar \u00f6nlerinde bir engel olmasa bile, art\u0131k tel \u00f6rg\u00fclerin belirledi\u011fi s\u0131n\u0131rlar\u0131 ve dolay\u0131s\u0131yla avc\u0131n\u0131n avlanma mesafesini ge\u00e7miyorlar, \u00f6tesinde bir tahayy\u00fclleri yok. Bizim durum da biraz \u00f6yle.\u201d Sibil \u00c7ekmen, \u201cG\u00f6ky\u00fcz\u00fcn\u00fcn S\u0131n\u0131r\u0131\u201d, Zana Kibar ve Erhan \u00d6rs\u2019le s\u00f6yle\u015fi, Altyaz\u0131 Fasik\u00fcl: \u00d6zg\u00fcr Sinema https:\/\/fasikul.altyazi.net\/seyir-defteri\/gokyuzunun-siniri\/<\/a><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

“In Turkey, self-censorship as a concept permeates the financing, production, and distribution of cinema”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1511,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2754],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1509","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-articles-interviews"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1509","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1509"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1509\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1568,"href":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1509\/revisions\/1568"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1511"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1509"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1509"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susma24.com\/en\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1509"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}