➣PEN International and 18 other human rights organisations had previously called for his release and an end to judicial harassment. Furkan's recent arrest concerns his reporting on the legal case concerning the imprisoned Mayor of Istanbul, Ekrem Imamoğlu.

➣Karabay was recently featured as an Empty Chair on our Day of the Young Imprisoned Writer Campaign with his peers at PEN Nigeria writing solidarity poems for him.

➣ You can read more of his stories, written behind bars, translated and published on Tomorrow Club in collaboration with PEN/OPP magazine: "I Will Never Forget You, I will Immortalize You"

 For years, my brother and I have watched every Fenerbahçe match at home; we don't have the habit of sitting outside to watch games. We met at Enes's house, and my brother arrived wearing his jersey again. "Oh, I'm comfortable, my two lawyers are with me, and you two even went abroad together last time, without any shame! What would I have done if they arrested me while you weren't here?" I teased my brother. "You should calm down," my brother said, pouting. "Why calm down, son? Let them calm down, I'm perfectly comfortable," I said, turning and lighting a cigarette. Smoking isn't always as enjoyable as in prison; sometimes I put it out before I'm halfway through. 

 I'm sick these days, and ever since I got out of prison, there hasn't been a day I haven't been ill. I can't get better; I get dizzy easily, and my stomach gets upset when I eat. Oh well, never mind, we need someone who works, not someone who goes crazy at the sight of food. Are we the kind of people who whine? The match ended, I lit another cigarette, and said, "That's enough. I'm going to bed. We're going to Silivri tomorrow for Professor Ahmet's trial." 

 I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or going crazy because I had a fever. I heard voices saying, "Yes, it's me, Furkan is here," and I couldn't tell if I was awake or asleep. "Furkan, wake up, they've come to pick you up," Enes said. "What's going on? What are they talking about?” “The Financial Crimes Unit came," he said. "What Financial Crimes Unit?" I burst out laughing. A Financial Crimes Unit was all we needed. I saw the police at the door, put on my leather jacket, and left the house. In the elevator, I turned to the officer in the vest and said, "Sir, we've never worked together before, look, our government is always throwing new things at us." The officer smiled. I put a cigarette between my lips at the apartment exit; after all, I don't know how many days I'll be in jail, so I need to smoke whenever we get the chance. "Don't light a cigarette now," the officer said. Okay, fine, I won't. "We'll take a video of you getting into the car," he said. "Okay, go ahead, I've always loved short films, let's shoot a short film," I said, trying to be silly in my sleepy daze.  

After a medical check-up at the hospital, when I opened my eyes, Vatan Police Department was in front of me. "Wow, I missed everything but you!" I said as I stepped inside. We went to the office, I pulled up a chair, quickly untied my shoelaces, took off my watch and belt and placed them on the table. I placed my amber prayer beads, which I'd had with me since I got out of prison, on the table after twirling them around my fingers. "We're going to the detention cell anyway, I'll take them off beforehand, so we don't have to deal with it," I said, and the officer smiled. I looked at the charges against me; the investigation file number was 2024/228233. "Damn, I've been added to the main Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality file," I said. "Come on, boss, just put me in the detention cell so I can sleep."  

We went to the organization's wretched underground detention cell, where three of us lay side-by-side in a space of three steps. "Damn," I said, "the filth here is unlike anywhere else; the moment you lay your ass down, it starts itching immediately." Luckily, I can sleep anywhere, under any conditions, so I lay down and slept. When Orthodox Aslan was in prison with me, he used to say, "Son, you fall asleep the moment you put your head down; I envy you so much." "Of course I sleep, brother," I would say, "I don't have any regrets to keep me awake at night; my mind is at ease."  

"We're going to shit our pants, open the dungeon!" the young men shouted. I opened my eyes crusted with dirt and dust. To go to the toilet, the iron bars had to be unlocked, and the police officer on duty only came around about once an hour. "We've been here for 3 days, enough is enough, what is this? I'm infested with lice, I'm itching, I smell awful. Take me, arrest me, let me go to prison so I can clean myself up, what kind of torture is this?" the young men were shouting. That's what the detention cell is like; people dream of being arrested to escape from here.  

Another person was detained because of sharing my news on a Twitter account. I thought, "I've gotten this guy into trouble too." "Getting him into trouble? It's not like we did anything wrong, of course they'll share the news, so that people can see what these scoundrels do to the honest," I said to myself. It's a habit I picked up from prison; sometimes I go crazy, I talk to myself, and mostly I belittle myself. You always must push yourself, always get better. You must row against the current, breaking the oars as you go.  

It turned out that the owner of the account that shared my news wasn't the person I was detained with. I learned this while waiting in the cell at Çağlayan Courthouse, where we were hastily taken after a health check, following our bustling recovery from the lice infested sponges. He was a 40-year-old courier, living with his father, girlfriend, and sister. "So you sold the account, and when posts were made from that account, they came to arrest you thinking it was yours?" I said, after rubbing my constantly itchy eyes. 

 The man, his hair disheveled from the detention, sighed. “It was like this a few years ago, brother. They took me, held me in custody for days, then released me. The account wasn’t mine; I sold it 10 years ago. But they came and took me again as if it were mine,” he said, bowing his head. He started to cry; the big man was sobbing right in front of me. “My mother and brother recently passed away, and my father isn’t doing well. We live together, and I work so much that I can’t even spend enough time with my girlfriend. While I’m trying to take care of my family, the police came to my door one night and took me away, brother. My father is already not well; he’s gotten much worse. What if he has a heart attack or something? Who will be held accountable?” he said, trembling. I didn’t know what to say. I gritted my teeth, thinking about the prosecutor who lied to my face, and I imagined those who did this to him sitting opposite me, never to leave my sight. 

 “Brother, we came to the courthouse, your lawyers and friends greeted you, but I have no one. Seeing that hurt me so much… Don’t misunderstand, it’s a good thing that you’re loved like this, but brother, we have no one. And brother, if they called me, I would come. Why are they putting me, my father, and my family through this?” he said. 

 I don't know, my dear, I don't know why they're putting you through this. But we won't hesitate to go through this so that you can live your life.  

Greetings to those who gave their lives to keep life alive, to Tayfun, Can, Emrah, Selçuk, Osman, Selahattin, Mehmet, the prisoners…