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DIYARBAKIR, Turkey, July 14 (AFP) - 4h43 - He
may be unknown to the Nobel Prize committee, but
Sait Sanli, a butcher in this southeastern Turkish
city, has brokered no less than 397 peace deals over
the past five years.
Local men in baggy pants, thumbing worry beads, wait
in the hall, which Sanli rents for such occasions,
for an audience with the man who has won fame for
doing what the law fails to do -- end blood feuds.
Sanli, a 61-year-old Kurd, is one of several
mediators who shuttle between enemy clans to resolve
hostilities, sometimes decades-old, in Turkey's
mainly Kurdish southeast where feudal traditions
persist, illiteracy is high and many see the gun as
a legitimate tool to settle scores and defend one's
honor.
The mediators are supported by community leaders,
religious figures and local and central government
officials, all keen to ease social unrest in a
region already traumatized by two decades of
bloodshed between Kurdish rebels and the army that
has claimed some 37,000 lives.
"People today travel to outer space while we still
shoot each other for nothing," grumbles the
diminutive, cheerful Sanli, frequently interrupted
by the buzzing of his busy mobile phone.
Many feuds start with a trivial incident, he
explains, such as a cow straying into a neighbor's
garden; others are sparked by girls eloping with
undesirable grooms, by land disputes or by unpaid
debts.
The clout he enjoys that forces people to reconcile,
Sanli says, stems from the respect he enjoys as a
wise and just person.
His ability to ignore insults by the belligerent and
deal patiently with the stubborn is also an
indispensible asset.
In his toughest case so far, Sanli said, he spent
seven months shuttling between six villages that
were home to the 11 families involved in a feud that
began when a garbage fire accidentally spread to a
neighbor's field.
The feud resulted in eight deaths over the years.
In many cases, Sanli is asked to interfere before a
brawl involving death or injury degenerates into a
vendetta.
The impact of perceived collective liability -- the
custom of blaming an entire family and its progeny
for the deed of a single member -- can be
devastating.
Fear of revenge sometimes forces entire clans to
abandon their villages, while kinsmen of the dead
torch the homes of rival families and pursue them
for years, wherever they may try to escape.
Peace-making has its own rules: Sanli agrees to
mediate only if the person who pulled the trigger
surrenders to the authorities and if widowed women
are guaranteed a home to live in -- a way of paying
off "blood money" to bury the hatchet.
If the liable party is poor, Sanli turns to local
businessmen and philantropists to raise the money.
Blood feuds characteristic of the southeast are also
seen in some parts of Turkey's Black Sea coast and
have spilled over through migration to the country's
urban west, and even to Europe.
No statistics are available on the number of deaths
vendettas cause.
But a study conducted last year in Viransehir -- a
district of 200,000 people in Sanliurfa province --
where the problem is particularly rife, showed that
about 300 people had died and 600 more been wounded
in 248 blood feuds over the past 50 years.
Once a peace deal is struck, the foes meet for a
"peace meal" attended by officials of local and
central governments and military commanders.
Although officials encourage the mediators, critics
say the practice only confirms the state's inability
to deal with vendettas.
"When we go to peace meals, we're like movie
extras," said a senior government official in
Sanliurfa, who requested anonymity. "In fact, we are
proof that the law is not working.
"The traditions and the social pressure are so
strong that I've seen even educated people -- a
judge and a prosecutor in one case -- dragged into
blood feuds," he said. "Although the bloodshed has
lessened in recent years, the pace of change is too
slow -- expect no short-term solutions."
AFP
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