The final statement
‘One cannot seek justice only for oneself and silence one’s conscience when justice is violated in regard to others.‘
Soon, the sentence will be read aloud, which will formally be considered the result of a six-day trial. But many people, myself included, know very well that the sentence came first, and only afterward did we get this two-act play called the investigation and the trial.
Of course, the verdict will, in some fashion and peculiar interpretation, reflect what was said here. But the words will be selected in such a way as to justify the already dictated concluding part of the sentence: ‘Found guilty…, sentenced to…’. And this will be repeated for the sixth time now, and for the formal charge of slandering the Soviet state and social system—for the third time.
In every similar trial, I have had to petition and demand—always unsuccessfully—that the specific facts and events described in the statements, appeals, or other materials, for which I am being accused of authoring or distributing, be investigated. After all, a document can only be considered slanderous if it is verified and proven that the events and facts it describes did not actually occur. But once again, I am forced to recognize that in trials involving political matters, a different standard is applied.
Here, the only absolute truth is what the authorities and their instruments of information and propaganda declare to be the truth. Only those socio-political views that originate from Kremlin leaders or propaganda centers charged with justifying and glorifying their power are deemed correct. And if anyone dares to say or write something—even to their own daughter—that contradicts their dogmas and directives, that person is a slanderer and a criminal to be locked away in dungeons and behind barbed wire.
How much hypocrisy and contempt for the truth does it take to claim, for instance, that there is no problem regarding the Crimean Tatars, and that statements about their rights being trampled are slander against the wise policies of the Soviet leadership?
A people deprived of their homeland, statehood, their centuries-old national culture, and sacred sites; a people who, as a result of a monstrous crime against them, lost a huge proportion of their population and now stand on the brink of total assimilation and disappearance as a nation—such people supposedly have no problems and should harbor no grievances against those who brought them to this state.
Driven to the limit by the cynical tyranny and mockery of the Crimean authorities, Musa Mamut made the desperate decision to set himself on fire in protest—to awaken the conscience of those perpetrating the injustice through the agony of his burning flesh and torturous death. But conscience remained silent. Instead of stopping the injustice, the authorities repressed those who tried to inform the public about it.
There were many questions here about what connection issues like the abuse of psychiatry, the fate of Sakharov, Orlov, the trials of the Adventists, or the events in Afghanistan have to the national problem of the Crimean Tatars, all of which were touched upon in letters and documents I wrote or that were found during searches.
A Crimean Tatar testified here that he was placed in a psychiatric hospital merely for appealing to central authorities about the national issue. Many know of Sakharov’s and Orlov’s public support for the rights of Crimean Tatars. Someone even counted that more than 130 young Crimean Tatars from just the Samarkand region have already died in Afghanistan. But that is not the main point.
Justice, like freedom, is indivisible. One cannot seek justice only for oneself and force one’s conscience into silence when justice is denied to others. There can be no calculations like ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.’
It’s understandable that the authorities want to divide and isolate all human rights movements, as it is easier to suppress each one individually. Hence their hypocritical sermons urging us to focus only on our own issues, not interfere with others, claiming that this way we’ll resolve our own problems faster. Such reasoning might convince only the very short-sighted.
The indictment states that I have been repeatedly tried but have drawn no proper conclusions. That is, of course, untrue. After every trial, I draw the necessary conclusions for myself or adjust those I have already made. Today, a verdict will be pronounced that will again separate me from my compatriots, family, and loved ones for a long time and then send me far away, making things as difficult as possible not only for me but also for my family. From this too, I will, of course, draw appropriate conclusions. The only question is what conclusions are considered “appropriate.” The authorities, of course, would like me to finally submit to their power, to give up, and to limit my demands to purely personal interests. But that will not happen.
Fourteen years ago, at the end of a similar six-day trial in the Tashkent City Court, I swore in my final statement that no one, ever, under any circumstances, would make me abandon my duty and the obligations imposed by honor, conscience, and national dignity.
Today, I can repeat that oath again, and I hope I will have enough strength of spirit to remain true to this principle until the end of my days.
After finishing his speech, Mustafa Dzhemilev sits down. The courtroom erupts in applause and shouts: ‘Freedom for Mustafa Dzhemilev!’ People throw flowers toward the defendant. However, soldiers, police, and plainclothes agents swiftly intercept the flowers, throwing them to the ground. At the same time, police begin twisting the arms of those throwing flowers and chanting slogans, trying to push them out of the courtroom. The judge hurriedly orders the defendant removed and the courtroom cleared, announcing that the court is retiring to deliberate the verdict.
A few hours later, Dzhemilev is brought back into a courtroom packed to capacity. He is immediately surrounded by a tight ring of armed guards, making him nearly invisible to the public. The judge begins reading the verdict. After announcing the sentence—three years of imprisonment in a strict-regime labor camp—dead silence is shattered by loud voices of outrage and protest. Once again, flowers are thrown to Dzhemilev. Soldiers handcuff him and quickly lead him out of the courtroom.
The trial is over.
Tashkent Regional Court, Tashkent, Uzbekistan
15 February 1984
Source: Memoires of Gulag
More about the case: The sixth trial of Mustafa Dzhemilev
Photo: Konstantin Grishin/REUTERS/Forum.
