My dear son Can.
My life has been without you for six years now. I miss you. I search for you. But everywhere I look, I see only this dark emptiness. I feel this heavy burden – my pain and my longing. I find no relief.
How much I miss the time we had together. I seek comfort in my memories, and I could talk for hours about how you filled my life with beauty.
Now I am here without you.
And I feel a deep pain that I can no longer share my love with you. And you – I assume you are now in a beautiful place called the Kingdom of Heaven. A place where there is no persecution, where the lives of children are not disregarded, where there is justice and conscience. At least I hope so. I want to believe in that. I try hard to believe it. Because with your cruel death, I lost all my certainties along with you.
If only we taught people empathy instead of categorizing, judging, and dividing. Perhaps then we wouldn’t have to endure what is now our reality.
And this reality is hell for us. For six years, we have fought for justice, struggled, suffered, cried out – against all resistance – while those involved in this attack continue to go about their lives undisturbed and unhindered. Still active in their Nazi networks. The accomplice Philip Körber, who enabled the attack by illegally selling the perpetrator the weapon and ammunition, was released early from prison a year ago – and we were not even informed.
They say there’s been no progress in the investigation. But it was obvious they wanted to close the case as quickly as possible, even though there were many leads and witness statements from within the Nazi scene that could have been followed up on. For them, the case is closed, but for me, it is not. Because as immigrants, we continue to be threatened, still exposed to deadly racism. Yes, that makes me nervous. It deeply unsettles me.
We’re told that our feelings are shared, that we can use the tools of this pseudo-democracy – but also that we must obey and submit. In reality, that means: you have to live with the fact that people like you are targeted for murder – and when it happens, you must accept your fate.
I’m also expected to obey and submit when it comes to organizing the annual memorial event. As a bereaved parent, I have no say in who is allowed to speak and who isn’t. Every year, we are met with a wall of silence, behind which the city of Munich hides from us. Even my legal counsel was denied by the city.
I have learned in these six years that there is no justice and no order to move forward. That pains me. People who commit crimes against humanity are protected. Such deep injustice wounds me profoundly. This system lifts up people who have committed crimes against humanity.
This is a dangerous world, where in the name of “humanity” there exists a community of internal hypocrisy, which does not value being good people, doing good for others, or appreciating them. This community does not shy away from doing evil – or letting others do evil.
And in this world, there are people who remain silent in the face of it all – and believe more firmly in their righteousness the quieter they are. The injustice in this country is evident in the fact that we must fight for justice ourselves. And if we don’t fight and instead leave it in the hands of the police and politicians, I fear immeasurable suffering will continue to occur. I no longer have any trust in the justice system or the state authorities.
The German judiciary has failed in the face of right-wing terrorist attacks. Laws were trampled and then filed away. I’d rather trust people who don’t turn a blind eye and instead show solidarity guided by their conscience and sense of fairness. People who strive for a just and humane society and who do not tolerate injustice or remain silent. I have experienced such sincere compassion from fellow human beings and felt the power of deep connection—it has given me hope and faith again.
And I especially want to say to young people: this world belongs to you. Do not give your future, your dreams, your hope, into these dirty hands.
As long as I see all of you here, I will not give up hope.
My dear son Can. You were killed by bullets, and we will not stop until all those involved are held accountable. We will not be silent, and we will not allow this to be forgotten. As long as people are being murdered, we will not stop pointing out the cruelty that exists.
But you, rest in peace.