Relatives cry at the funeral of victims of the October 10, 2015 Ankara bomb attacks | Burak Kara/Getty Images Dispatch Atrocity in Ankara The Turkish government is accused of complicity, as bomb victims are buried.

ANKARA — At a funeral for the victims of the October 10 bombings in the Turkish capital, hundreds of people who gathered the day before in the name of peace repeat their call. “No to war, shoulder to shoulder for peace!” they chant. Then a young man starts up: “Murdering state will pay the price!”

The crowd takes up the cry enthusiastically. Although the government has announced that the two suicide bombers were most likely members of Islamic State, everyone at this funeral is convinced that the bombing was a provocative act staged or facilitated by the government to stoke panic ahead of November’s snap election, which was called by President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan after his former party, the Justice and Development Party (AKP), lost its ruling majority in June.

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“They murdered us in Diyarbakir,” shouts one middle-aged man with a microphone, standing on an open-topped truck. “They murdered us in Suruç. And they murdered us here.”

Again, the crowd shouts its agreement. The man is referring to the bombings of Kurdish supporters of the Peoples’ Democratic Party (HDP) over the summer, first at a HDP rally two days before general elections on June 7 (at which the HDP crossed the 10 percent electoral threshold, contributing to the AKP’s loss), and second at a border town in September, targeting young activists delivering aid to war-torn Kobane. Among the community supporting the HDP, most believe both attacks happened with the collusion of the AKP.

Together with the 128 killed on October 10, the death toll from all these bombings stands at nearly 200, not counting civilians killed protesting the resurgence of fighting between outlawed Kurdish militants and Turkish troops, which resumed after the Suruç bombing. Meanwhile, several of Ankara’s hospitals near the scene of the latest bombings are full of badly injured victims, as their friends wait for news outside.

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“Why didn’t any police die yesterday?” asks one red-eyed woman at the funeral, turning to her neighbor. “Because there were none there. They arrived afterwards, they came with their tear gas for us.”

Sitting near the coffins, an elderly woman in a headscarf is wailing softly, pushing away a sympathetic group of bystanders who are trying to make her drink from a water bottle. She is a Kurd from a village in the east of the country, and flew alone to the capital yesterday after she heard of the death of her daughter, who had just started university here.

The atmosphere among the mourners is one of communal grief, reflecting not only the solidarity which usually marks a Turkish funeral, but also the particularly socialist nature of the crowd, which is composed of trade unionists and leftist groups, as well as HDP supporters. “Comrade,” an absurd word to the Anglophone ear these days, is used sincerely among strangers who embrace each other in tears.

A young man is taking his turn on the microphone, reading out the names of the dead, one by one. After each name, the crowd shouts: “She lives!” “He lives!” The funeral is taking place in a cemevi, an Alevi place of worship that is not officially dignified as such by the state, which recognizes only Sunni Islam. There are an estimated 15 million Alevis in Turkey, making them the largest religious minority in the country. They are tradictionally left-wing and secularist, long-time voters for the Republican People’s Party (CHP), which decided to recognize the cemevi in January this year.

This particular cemevi is in Batıkent, a largely Alevi suburb in northern Ankara, and Turkish flags pepper the balconies of high-rise apartment blocks nearby, a show of support for the dead. It is incongruous to see this display of nationalism among people supporting a party which vociferously speaks out for Kurdish rights, as the HDP does. Yet desperate times call for unusual alliances, and many minorities — as well as traditional CHP voters — believe the HDP is the country’s best chance for peace.

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After the funeral, on the bus to the cemetery, I ask Deniz, a 56-year-old Alevi Turk, who she voted for in June. She whispers something inaudible, so I ask again.

“HDP,” she mouths. I ask her why she is whispering when everyone at the funeral we have just attended supports the HDP anyway.

She smiles, self-mockingly, then answers seriously: “We live in fear. All we did yesterday was march for peace, and they killed us. That was it — we just wanted peace. We are afraid to say anything.”

In the aftermath of the bombing, wild conspiracies abound on social and mainstream media as to the identity of the suicide bombers, and who really orchestrated the attacks.

In a country where the president has brought hundreds of lawsuits against members of the public who insulted him, including a 16-year-old schoolboy, she has a point, though her willingness to attend both the October 10 meeting and the funeral the next day show the power of solidarity in Turkey today — the “comradeship” spoken of non-ironically by the leftists who gathered over the weekend, and the belief that minorities are better off uniting under the banner offered by the HDP.

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In the aftermath of the bombing, wild conspiracies abound on social and mainstream media as to the identity of the suicide bombers, and who really orchestrated the attacks. While Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoğlu has listed a few possible suspects, including the PKK and the DHKP-C, a far-leftist anarchist group, the top suspect is now ISIL, although shortly after the bombing ISIL posted their congratulations to the bombers without claiming the attack themselves.

Turkey’s EU minister Beril Dedeoğlu suggested the attack was planned by “foreign powers” and coordinated by the PKK and ISIL working together, flying in the face of general wisdom that the PKK has been fighting ISIL via its affiliate, the YPG.

Before the bombings, the PKK had announced its intention to call for a unilateral ceasefire, promising it would not attack Turkish troops unless directly provoked. This was immediately scorned by deputy PM Yalcin Akdogan, who called it an “electoral tactic” despite the fact that the PKK is not a political party, thus implicitly crediting the government line that the HDP speaks directly for the PKK.

In the wake of the bombing, many feared the group would renege on its promise, but a few hours after the bombing the call for ceasefire was made. The same day, Turkish air strikes hit PKK targets in the eastern province of Diyarbakir, and strikes continued on Sunday, after Prime Minister Davutoglu called for three days of national mourning. "The PKK ceasefire means nothing for us," one senior Turkish security official told Reuters. "The operations will continue without a break."

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Before attending the funeral, HDP co-chairs Selahattin Demirtas and Figen Yuksekdag attended a meeting near the site of the bombing in Ankara. Demirtas addressed a vast crowd, including survivors of the blast, and was explicit in linking the government to the bombing. His message was typically defiant for a man who has been accused by the government of insulting the president and supporting terrorism: “We are so many that if we stamp our feet we’ll shake the windows of the palace!” he cried to roars of support, referring to the $615 million presidential palace Erdoğan built last year.

Yet he was also insistent on the need for peace. “Peace, we need to stand shoulder to shoulder for peace.” This was the message repeated by those who took the microphone after him at the funeral, a kind of mantra for the survivors, and for HDP supporters for the next three weeks until elections.

The next day, pro-government daily Yeni Safak published photos of the two HDP co-chairs smiling as they attended the cemevi funeral in Batikent. “A very happy HDP delegation,” announced the gleeful headline. “Smiles left, right and center.” On the day of the bombing, the interior minister announced that there had been “no security breach” and dismissed calls for his resignation. On social media, there was an outraged response, with Human Rights Watch researcher Emma Sinclair-Webb tweeting: “Turkey's Interior Min says no security lapse contributed to Ankara bombing killing 86. What does that mean? Things went as planned? By whom?” It was retweeted 380 times.

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In a whirl of accusations and counter-accusations, it's unclear what will follow in Turkey. Plans for Turkish jets to strike ISIL targets have been floated, in addition to the ongoing strikes on PKK targets. The HDP have canceled all further campaigning, citing security risks. In the south-east, three children under the age of 10 have been reported killed in protests which resulted from the October 10 bombing. As elections loom, the restraint shown by survivors of the bombing in Ankara has been impressive — if it lasts. For now, angry HDP voters believe that this is the only chance they have for peace.

Alev Scott is the author of the book “Turkish Awakening” (Faber & Faber, 2014) and a freelance writer based in Istanbul. Follow her on Twitter @AlevScott