“I went to bed an academic and woke up branded a terrorist.” Murat* lowers his eyes as he describes how his life changed after the failed coup in Turkey in 2016. On the night of 15 July, rebels attempted to overthrow President Erdogan’s government. At that time, Murat had been working for over ten years at one of Turkey’s largest state universities, where he’d earned his bachelor’s, master’s and PhD degrees. “I never had any reason to believe that I’d done anything wrong in the eyes of the authorities. I had never been warned, punished, summoned to the police station, investigated by the law. I simply did my job, working on various research projects and attending international conferences. I’ve seen a lot of the world; I’ve been to the United States, China and various European countries.”
Fired
The coup was quickly put down, but its aftermath was “devastating”, Murat explains. Erdogan published list after list of names of people who were to lose their jobs, branding them as terrorists. The longest list included some 50,000 names. “More than 250,000 people in total were affected”, says Murat, from civil servants, teachers and academics to judges, journalists, police officers and doctors. A few months after the coup, Murat was shocked to find his own name listed. “There I was, with my job title, the name of the university, the department where I worked. I was fired. Just like that, everything was over for me.”
Terror
He never found out why he was no longer allowed to work in academia. Murat brings up the documentary A Gift from God, which suggests that Erdogan may have orchestrated the coup attempt “to expand his power. I heard that the lists of names had been compiled before the coup. I guess that one of my colleagues was suspicious of my international research activities and reported me to the authorities.” The impact was profound, “traumatic”, Murat says. “I lost my identity, my source of income, my health insurance and the right to work. My passport, as well as my wife’s and children’s, was confiscated. It felt surreal and unfair.”
He was overcome with anger, disbelief and fear. “I lived in constant terror of being arrested as they had labelled me as a terrorist. So many people were imprisoned, tortured physically and psychologically. Many died.” He describes what happened in Turkey after the failed coup as ‘genocide’. “It was a persecution, a systematic mistreatment of highly educated people. Turkey has signed the European Convention on Human Rights, but that means nothing. I no longer had the right to live as I wanted, freedom of thought and expression, respect for my private and family life, the right to a fair trial – none of it.”
Painter
He couldn’t go back to his job. “I spoke to my supervisor after I was fired. He said, ‘I know you’re innocent. Be patient and carry on with your life.’” Even knowing it was futile, Murat applied for positions at other universities in Turkey. “They were impressed by my CV, but they were afraid to hire me. I’d been labelled a monster.” Former colleagues ignored him on the street, fearing for their own jobs. Friends dropped him, too: “The impact on my social life was just as profound.” His only option was to work with his hands, as a painter and construction worker. “Relatives chipped in financially.”
Evros River
After four years, Murat couldn’t take it anymore. Without his family, he embarked on the perilous journey to Greece with the help of smugglers. During the coldest time of the year, he spent two days on a plastic boat, crossing the Evros River to the Greek mainland. “I didn’t know if I would survive. I’d read stories about how dangerous it was – you could drown, be captured or killed.” But his longing for freedom outweighed all else. “In Turkey, I felt like I’d been imprisoned in a tiny cell. I couldn’t stand it any longer.”
During his stay in a refugee camp in Greece, he managed to remain hopeful. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”, he told himself. He focused on the future, looking into European democracies that respected human rights, and universities that might hire him. Using a fake passport (“the first and only time I’ve ever done anything illegal – I had no choice”), he set out for the Netherlands. “I would’ve done anything to be free again. Freedom is like air or water to me; I can’t live without it. Universities are bastions of freedom, where discoveries are made, and anything can be researched. Turkey has lost all of that.”
Asylum seekers’ centres
Life in various Dutch asylum seekers’ centres – Murat rattles off a list of cities and villages, “I’ve been all over the country” – was emotionally challenging, he says. “You have no work, no money, no social or economic status. People from different backgrounds, cultures and languages are thrown together. I was grateful to have a roof over my head, but it was a difficult time. People often didn’t understand each other. I had no private life, sharing a room with two or four others.” Few understood Murat’s desire to work at a university. He’d already reached out to several Dutch academics, but without a residence permit, there was nothing he could do.
Then he learnt about the Hestia Grant from the Dutch Research Council (NWO), a grant that enables refugee academics to continue their careers in the Netherlands (either full-time for one year to eighteen months, or part-time for two years). “There was a spot at Maastricht University. I arranged an online meeting with the project leader, a UM professor. We submitted a proposal together.” Six months later, in March 2023, he heard that the proposal had been accepted. “I just cried and cried. Returning to academia was my biggest dream. I’m so grateful for the project leader’s support and the opportunity the Dutch Research Council has given me.”
Reunite
What about his family – his wife, his children? It had been months since the last time he saw them and held them. “They were my other priority.” It wasn’t easy, but they eventually managed to get their confiscated passports back and fly to the Netherlands to reunite with Murat.
He still fears the “long arm of Erdogan”, but he was eager to share his story. He wants to call on the Dutch government and the academic world to give refugee academics a chance. “Looking at myself and other Turkish people I met in Dutch asylum centres, I’d say that over 95 per cent of Turkish refugees are highly educated. They hold bachelor’s and master’s degrees, sometimes even PhDs. Companies, universities and hospitals could benefit from hiring us. We don’t want to be a burden – we want to contribute to Dutch academia, society and the economy. It’s not about the money I earn here; it’s about freedom.”
*Murat is a pseudonym. He prefers not to share details about his family, his discipline, the university in Turkey where he used to work or the name of his current supervisor at UM