The following piece is something I wrote last year, and hence might be something some of you may have already read, but I wanted to share it here, on the Odyssey, because it was and is very meaningful to me. I am so thankful for the Friends of Ibrahim I have at home, and for the community I've come to be a part of here, at North Central College. The strength and power of your love and support throughout my life thus far is more than you could possibly know. Thank you.

I believe in the strength of love, and its ability to help one grow from rather than crumble at the hands of great difficulties. As a young girl, I sat on my Hala’s lap waiting for my father to enter the room. I watched as a guard guided him to a seat across from us. He was dressed all in orange, not his color. He sat down, and my heart throbbed, for I longed to hug him. I longed to feel his embrace, but there was a wall of glass between us, and we had to talk through ugly black phones. What mattered was that I could see him, and him, me. He pressed his hand against the cold glass that separated us. He had written “I love you” on his palm. My mother had taught him how to write this so that I could read it when I came.

This may seem like a trivial gesture in the midst of such an intense situation, but it was incredibly meaningful to me. Naively, I placed my hand on his, nay, on the glass. It was cold. I shivered. I expected to feel the warmth of his love, of his touch, but was met with a chill. This moment, however, was between us, it was personal, and no one else could have it, invade it, or take it away. Such is the power of love.

Love is transcendent of any barriers physical or otherwise that arise between beings, and fortifies itself when such separations persist. The consciousness of this love accompanies one, and strengthens one in all situations painful or not, allowing one to grow rather than broken by overwhelming hardships.

Only in court could I feel my father's embrace, but his love was ever-present in my heart, and mine in his. It was this mutual affection that allowed me to grow from this situation into a stronger, more compassionate individual that I might not have otherwise become. I am thankful for the difficulties that we have faced, and our love that has persisted, for the combination of the two have fortified my being beyond comprehension.

My father always said, “If you know you are clean inside, and someone throws mud at you, you can’t be marked.” He has been imprisoned. He has been tortured. He has been sentenced to death, and he has escaped only to be arrested once again. He has done nothing. He has lived, loved, and lost. He has always known himself, known that no matter the accusations, he is innocent. He is a free man within, and has always sought freedom without. By knowing himself, and loving himself, my father has been able to strongly survive all of the trials and tribulations he has faced. He has never been deterred, for he has tasted freedom, and claims “it is the most addictive drug there is.”

As Barbara Andrew asserts in her essay, “Self-Respect And Loving Others,” "Private virtue, not a conceited show of sentiment for the sake of reputation, inspires a just society” (195). My father has needed no outward recognition for his selfless acts as a freedom rights activist in Turkey, or as a caring member of the community giving his jacket to a cold homeless man. He is the epitome of one who posses true “private virtue.” He merely desires a just, free society, and has done everything in his power to find it. Now, he has, in the hearts of the Friends of Ibrahim.

The community’s love for my father is such that he has never, and will never feel alone, or defeated, because they will fight, fueled by love for him and hatred of injustice, until the cold, oppressive hand of the government lets up, and allows him to “breathe free air” at long last. The power of this collective appreciation is expressed in Andrew Fitz-Gibbon’s essay, “The Beloved Community: A Neo-Aristotelian Perspective,” as he describes how Martin Luther King Jr. expressed a new concept called the “beloved community,” which in context means "a completely integrated society, a community where everyone counts simply by virtue of their humanity, a community characterized by love and justice” (140). The “Friends of Ibrahim” embody such a community as King expresses. They were overwhelmed by the incredible injustice put upon my father, whom they knew was a kind, helpful, active member of the municipality. He was a strong addition to the town, and had now been noticeably subtracted. This “beloved community” got my father out of jail, and has been working ever since to end his seemingly endless battle against the fears of the state. They are truly "a community characterized by love and justice" as King would say.

I am presently beginning to embrace the community that is North Central College, and can already feel the warmth and appreciation in the hearts of those around me. It is this ever-present love that is aiding me currently as my father’s situation fluctuates so dramatically. This conscious love is constant, and acts as a source of support maintaining my optimism and faith that all will be well. I know myself, I love myself and all that has created who I am today. I love the communities I have come to be a part of, for they have harbored love, faith, and appreciation without which I would likely be lost in fear and despair. I love love, and its rather unfathomable ability to strengthen one in the face of adversity.