"Confessions of a Man Awakening from Propaganda"

I was once someone who trusted the military implicitly. Phrases like "The country will collapse without the military," "The nation would crumble into pieces if the military does not exist," "The military saved the country from the brink of disaster in 1988," and "The military is the guardian of our race and religion" were not just slogans to me. They were my convictions. 

These beliefs were woven into not only my way of thinking but also my professionalism, my dignity, and my very identity. When I put on the uniform, I felt I was not just doing a job but fulfilling a sacred mission. I believed that just as people feared a soldier, they should also respect him.

We were always taught that a soldier is someone who lays down their life for the country. We were told that a soldier is the most selfless servant, on duty twenty-four hours a day, and that only the military can perceive the threats invisible to the public. In these beliefs, there was no room for questions, and certainly no room for doubt.

Inside the military, everything is black and white. Our side is always right, and those outside are always wrong. We easily dismissed the desires and voices of the outside world as "political chaos" or "organizations instigating the public." In this way, I came to believe in myself as a "protector of the nation."

When we talked about 1988, we felt no empathy for the people’s pain. We dismissed the deaths of thousands with a single sentence: that the country would have collapsed if we had not intervened. In that way, we easily turned human lives into mere justifications. At the time, I didn't think I was being cruel. I was just an unborn child then, not having experienced it myself. But looking back now, I realize I was simply being shielded from the truth.

Propaganda does not simply turn a person bad; it renders them incapable of feeling. At that time, I was not the one pulling the trigger, but I was someone who never questioned the killings. This does not make me innocent. My awakening did not start with a book or someone else’s words. It began the moment I saw with my own eyes the military starting to kill the people.

On that day, the orders came in just as they always had: 'Disperse the crowd,' 'Neutralize dangerous organizations,' and 'Take necessary actions for the country.' The words remained the same, but the reality no longer fit the narrative I had been fed. These were unarmed people, merely shouting and protesting. There were women; there were youths. Some of them collapsed right there on the pavement.

At that moment, the question 'Is this truly protecting the nation?' entered my mind for the first time. It didn't change me instantly, but a tiny crack appeared in the foundation of everything I believed in. That crack widened day by day. At night, I could no longer sleep. The faces I had seen during the day began to haunt my dreams

In the military, such feelings are labelled as "weakness." So, I suppressed my own doubts, telling myself that I simply didn't understand yet and that my superiors knew better. Propaganda doesn't need to force a person to commit injustice; it only needs to make injustice appear as justice. But after seeing the blood of the people, those justifications could no longer shield me.

I began to realize that the military is terrifying not because of its weapons, but because of its words. Terms like 'enemy,' 'danger,' 'nationalism,' and 'religion' have the power to dehumanize. After that day, I continued to follow orders, but in my heart, I had already taken a silent step down a path from which there is no turning back.

Deciding to join the CDM was not an act of grand heroism, nor was it a decision made after long deliberation. At that moment, all I could do was stop lying to myself. I realized that if I stayed in the military, I would be complicit in murder, even without a weapon in my hand. I simply couldn't stomach that anymore.

At first, the term 'CDM' terrified me. I feared I’d have no future and that my family would suffer because of my choice. But staying in the military and slowly killing my own conscience was far more frightening. So, I left. When I finally walked away, I didn't feel like a hero or a victor. I was just a frightened, guilt-ridden man.

But one thing had changed: I could finally sleep at night without lying to myself. As a civilian, I began to experience the very things I had once only heard about in the news: the sleepless nights, the way I'd startle at every sound, and how my breath would catch at the sight of a military truck on the street. It made me wonder: 'Is this what our ethnic people have been enduring for decades?'

In the past, I only knew that there were battles in the border areas. Now, I have come to see how people actually survive in those regions. I realized that living in fear, fleeing, and hiding is not just a temporary hardship, but a lifelong reality for them. As I lived within the ethnic armed areas myself, every word I once believed in collapsed, one by one.

The claim that the military is protecting the country from collapsing feels like a cruel joke in these regions. The people here are not protecting the nation from disintegration, they are simply struggling to protect their own lives every single day. When a military truck is heard near a village, the children are the first to hide. Women clutch their children and flee into the forest. This is not an exceptional circumstance of war, it is their daily life.

I once asked why they were so afraid. The answer was very simple, they said they don't know what might happen when the military is involved. This single sentence pierced my heart. In the past, we lied to ourselves and said we were in the border areas because of illegal armed groups or for security. Now I know the truth, the thing that makes people afraid is not the armed groups, it is the military itself.

Villages being torched, women being raped, and innocent civilians being arrested and killed are not just headlines in the news, they are the actual lives of thousands of unnamed people in these regions. At that time, I realized that many people have endured such lives for decades. If those of us from the cities feel so much pain after only a year or two, I cannot imagine how much these people have suffered.

I feel deeply ashamed that I once wore the military uniform with pride. It is not because of hate or blame, it is because I was blind to the truth. The military did not protect the country from collapsing, it only held the nation captive through fear.

To the people reading this, I was once someone who never questioned the military. I believed their narrative was for the good of the country, and I felt that the oppression of the people was a necessary evil. For that, I share responsibility for the pain the public is suffering today. I am not writing this to cleanse my conscience or to act like a hero, I am writing this because I can no longer remain silent. I have realized that staying silent after witnessing the truth is, in itself, a crime.

As a civilian, I have come to realize that the most terrifying thing is not a gun, it is the propaganda that renders people incapable of feeling. There were many people like me trapped under that propaganda, and there still are. I am not writing this to blame them, because I once stood where they stand. But I want to say one thing, if you witness a person being killed and still believe it is not wrong, that is not faith, it is blindness.

When an organization that claims to protect the nation treats its people as enemies, that organization becomes the enemy of the country. I could never have said this while I was still armed. Now, after feeling the fear from the perspective of a civilian, I feel compelled to speak these words. After seeing people whose homes were torched and who have been running for decades, I can no longer talk about 1988 with pride. I cannot help but question how many lives were lost behind the words of saving the country.

I also want to tell those still in the military that I did not leave because I am better than you, I left because I could no longer lie to my conscience. One day, you too will face a single question, 'What am I actually protecting?' When that day comes, do not choose to remain silent.

Finally, I want to say one thing to the public. We were people who once believed a lie to be the truth, but if we fail to change after seeing the reality, it is worse than the original mistake. This letter is not the end, it is a confession. It is the long-overdue voice of a man awakening from propaganda.

This article is selected, edited, and presented to strengthen the revolution and to encourage diverse perspectives among the public. The views expressed are solely those of the author, and they do not necessarily reflect the official position of People’s Goal. We welcome comments and discussions on the content of this article.