“He sent me a photo of his penis, peeking from green and purple plaid boxers, with the message ‘see how it stiffens at the sound of your voice … you must come … and take care of it,’” an author known as “Franz Kafka of Turkey” sexted a novice writer 12 years ago. This gruesome scene in a detailed account of author Nazli Karabiyikoglu is one of the many testimonies by women who took the pen — and the keyboard — to name and shame sexual predators in Turkey’s literature and publishing sectors.

Ever since Dec. 8, the hashtag uykularinizkacsin (liberally translated as "loseyoursleep") has turned an accusing finger at half a dozen male authors with skeletons in their closets. The disclosures were followed by a flurry of recalled awards, publishing house statements on “parting ways with the men charged” and, tragically, the overnight suicide of one of the men accused. After a week, this belated Me Too movement in Turkey shows no signs of slowing. On the contrary, there are signals that it could spill over into academia and the world of journalism.

In an article aptly titled “We could not even dare admit to ourselves that we were harassed,” Karabiyikoglu explains how she sought the mentorship of Toptas, an award-winning author, when she was in her early 20s. She recalls her confusion, despair and self-blame when the author she considered a "demi-God” started telling her of his marital troubles, his need to “breathe in” her reckless youth and his desire to have sex with her.

“It took me 12 years to realize that what he had done was harassment,” she wrote. “Pelin (Pelin Buzluk, another author who said she had been harassed by Toptas) and I hung ourselves every night [thinking it was somewhat our fault] … because the Master, by definition, was above reproach. … Living with the guilt and the sense that ‘I deserved that,’ we bowed our head whenever a man approached us and dared not speak out, even to friends and family.”