CrossFireArabia
Erkul’s illustrations blend satire with activism, highlighting injustice of the Palestinians. Whether addressing war, disaster, or political hypocrisy, Erkul’s art amplifies the voices of the silenced.
By Yusuf Kamadan
A slice of watermelon pierced by knives. A faceless figure in a suit, draped in the American flag, steering a cart off a cliff and into the flames. A set of scales, balancing Hitler on one side, Netanyahu on the other. A shapeless globe, caught in the grip of a monstrous, many-limbed octopus.
These are the unmistakable images of Muammer Erkul, the Turkish illustrator and journalist whose work—at once bold, unflinching, and darkly satirical—has spread widely across the social media. His drawings do not whisper; they speak loudly.
The satire is biting, but the implications are serious. At a time when many artists sidestep controversy, wary of political consequences, Erkul embraces it.
“I have an idea and I want to convey it to the other party. I want to pass on my feelings. One of the most effective ways to do this is to draw a cartoon,” he says.
His illustrations have become a kind of visual journalism, a counter-narrative to the political abstractions that often obscure the human cost of war.
Since the 1970s, Erkul has carved out a space for himself in Turkish newspapers and magazines, his work known for its wit, precision, and unrelenting social critique.
His drawings do not merely document suffering; they bear witness.
Scenes of bombed-out homes, grieving mothers, children clutching stones — his work captures the devastating realities of occupation while also portraying the quiet, stubborn resilience of a people who refuse to be erased.
“Millions of Palestinians have lost everything — their homes, their families, their lives,” Erkul says. “More than 150,000 bodies have been destroyed, and 50,000 of them have been martyred—most of them children and women.”
His words, much like his art, do not flinch from the brutal arithmetic of war. Beyond his artistic talent, Erkul has always used his work as a platform to address important issues.
Why cartoons?
For Erkul, caricature is more than just a humorous art form; it is a means of resistance.
“Caricature is the easiest and most effective way to explain some things,” Erkul says. “A cartoon is drawn in a day and understood in an instant. It’s like the longest-range missile, and it sticks to its target.”
In an age of social media, where information moves at a breakneck pace, this immediacy is crucial. A single drawing, shared widely, can cut through the noise in ways that editorials and essays often cannot.
“I have an idea, and I want to convey it,” he says simply. “One of the most effective ways to do this is to draw a cartoon.”
Erkul has long been engaged in magazine publishing, serving as the editor-in-chief of Divanyolu, a cultural and literary magazine, until 2018.
Following the devastating 2023 earthquake, he shared his artwork on social media and made it freely available to magazines, believing that art can serve as a powerful tool for remembrance.
Reflecting on the disaster, Erkul described it as one of the most catastrophic earthquakes in history, emphasising its unprecedented scale and impact.
He recalled the initial shock and fear that gripped him, along with the overwhelming sense of helplessness. Wanting to contribute in a meaningful way, he turned to his art, realizing that while the disaster would eventually fade from public memory, visual documentation could ensure that future generations would not forget.
Early in his career, his cartoons blended humor with cultural commentary, but over time, his focus sharpened, his pen increasingly turned toward the struggles of the Palestinian people.
“Art is not neutral; it must take a side”
Erkul is not just chronicling injustice, he is building solidarity.
His illustrations are not just critiques; they are rallying cries. Erkul’s work does more than capture the suffering of Palestinians — it interrogates the machinery that sustains it.
His cartoons often expose the uneasy entanglements between Western nations and Israeli aggression.
“Everyone knows the closeness of the US and Israel,” he says. “But never in any period of history has this secret game been played so openly. It’s a chicken-and-egg story — an Israeli egg hatches from an American chicken, an American chick hatches from an Israeli egg, grows up, and lays Israeli eggs again.”
He believes artists have a responsibility to engage, to use their platforms to amplify the struggles of the voiceless. In his view, art is not neutral. It must take a side.
For Erkul, that side has always been clear: art is not just a means of entertainment; it is an act of defiance against injustice.
In his view, every artist has a responsibility to stand for justice and use their craft to fight against oppression.
His work is particularly significant in an era where digital media spreads messages rapidly, ensuring that his depictions of Palestinian suffering and resilience reach a global audience.
His legacy is not just one of artistic achievement, but of moral conviction.
His pen, like the voices of Palestinian poets, filmmakers, and musicians, is a tool for preserving memory, for fighting erasure. He firmly believes that the more artists engage with these issues, the stronger the message becomes.
“The more cartoonists and artists we have, the stronger our ideas will be,” he says.
