The silence that has not faded: the heavy legacy of Dersim 1938

History does not always end in the past. It continues to live in memory—as an indelible pain, as a burden carried silently across generations.

It is said that in the life of every native of Dersim, there is a story of massacre. Regardless of age, 1938 remains a sharp and unextinguished pain in their memory. Even those who did not live through those years carry its weight, passed down through families.

This memory is not an ordinary story—it is a burden carried with difficulty throughout life.

One of the most profound stories has been passed down within a family in the Zaza language, from parents to children. It tells of July 1938, one of the burning summers of Dersim, when fear had become everyday life.

Villagers lived in uncertainty. Military movements, passing units, distant gunfire—everything was filled with tension.

One day, soldiers brought a group of women and children to the village—without men. They were distributed among homes with a warning: if anyone went missing, the hosts would be held responsible.

These people already knew their fate. They no longer believed their men were alive. They felt that their turn had come.

In those days, they entrusted their valuables and sacred belongings to the villagers—one last hope that something might survive.

A few days later, the soldiers returned and took them away. Then… silence, broken only by gunfire echoing through the mountains.

A week later, when people dared to approach, they were confronted with a horrific sight—bodies left under the summer heat, and the realization that it had all been real.

These are not just stories of the past. They are living memories. Dersim 1938 is not merely a historical date—it is a living pain that has shaped identities.