Turkey: The Insane and the Melancholy

This 2015 book comes from Ece Temelkuran, an author and journalist who has already written serious books about controversial issues in Turkey, and who was fired from a newspaper for being critical of President Erdogan and the AKP.

I read it because I want to know more about what is happening in Turkey, and I know that immersive learning experiences (books, documentaries, travel) serve me better than headlines and articles. Temelkuran divides the book into "yesterday" "today" and "tomorrow", in other words, spans a huge amount about the past, present, and prospective future of Turkey. Here are just a few pieces I pulled. Bold and brackets are my own.

On censorhip and language available for the political imagination

After the military coup of 1980, hundred of Turkish words were prohibited. Banned from state TV, these words were gradually dropped from use in social life as well. They include [and this is only a section of the list]: 

active 

answer 

compromise 

coordination 

critical 

describe 

determine 

experience 

experimental 

free 

imagine 

life 

masterpiece 

memory 

movement 

opportunity 

peace 

recall 

relation 

religious 

revolution 

spiritual 

story 

structural 

vacation 

verse 

whole 

Some of these words were replaced with their Ottoman, Arabic or Persian counterparts that had been used prior to the Republic. These words, however, either had no equivalent in the imaginations of Turkish-speaking people or were hazy at best. That was the start of the Turkish speakers’ pitfalls in communicating with one another. Then there were some words that were banned completely, one of which had a profound effect on Turkey’s history: 

Resistance! 

[...] 

Those who forget words surely also forget their meanings and the actions they imply. 

The Gezi protests of 2013 and "security"versus "trust"

For two weeks, the surge of adrenaline was enormous. For those “misfits” who were looking for a country to emigrate to before the protests, Turkey became the only place to be with the uprising. And as for those who were already there, they frequently told each other that they felt guilty even for sleeping for a few hours, as if they were missing out on the action. The Turkish diaspora, with a million voices, cried on social media: “Wish we were there!” Although there were deaths, people lost their eyes and hundreds were injured, thousands of people were still enthusiastic to join the “resistance”. For many, the reason was somehow the pure happiness of solidarity and the thrill of seeing oneself being strong before the cruelty of those in power. 

In the countries where such movements took place, what people emphasized and wanted to be emphasized was this: we are all vastly different from one another, but we all trust each other in wanting freedom, equality and justice. We may have ethnic and religious differences, but we trust one another’s conscience, sense of justice and humanity. During these movements, photographs showing coexisting dissimilarities were the most celebrated and exalted images… no one would think of someone as being crazy for “trusting people”. Because, for weeks, everyone trusted that others were the same as them, or, even if they were different, that they were good people. They chose to believe and trust. They defeated not only their fear of the authorities but that of one another’s differences. We cut down the briars and took a breath of fresh air. That feeling of refreshment was the reason why, despite all the pepper gas sprayed by the police, everyone felt as though they had just taken a deep, expansive breath. Nothing reeks worse than fear. To top it all, we learned that security and trust are inversely correlated. The feeling of trust grew in sprit of the fact that the police attacks obliterated the feeling of security.

[...] 

In a way, it was like returning the feeling of security that had been sold to us and exchanging it for the feeling of trust. And everyone was gracious enough to say, “Keep the change!”

[…] 

we know that the system is well versed in creating a need and then selling it to us. It succeeds in selling us a false feeling of security to compensate for the insecurity it fosters in us, as though it wasn’t the very thing making us rivals and thus turning against one another. We, the world, are tired of this schizophrenic situation. We want to trust. We want to trade in the security farce for the feeling of trust.

On what western Turks learned about Kurds

We were a people made diseased. For as people who were children in the 1980s and 1990s, every evening when we sat down to dinner, we would see news broadcasts from south-eastern Turkey showing the bodies of the Kurdish militants caught in the mountains. In newscaster speak, we would be informed that “terrorists apprehended in their caves were captured dead” and we would go on eating. These people never had faces and there was no other news concerning the region. 

[...] 

I remember that one night after such a news broadcast, my father, who had taught at a primary school in the Kurdish region when he was young, told the following story from the 1960s at the dinner table: 

“When I first went there, I saw that the kids didn’t speak Turkish. We weren’t told. No one told us that the people there were Kurds, that they spoke Kurdish. I wrote to the capital and asked for book recommendations for teaching Turkish to the kids. In turn they called me to the capital. ‘You were deceived, there are no people called Kurds, Kurdish does not exist,’ they said to me.” 

On Kurds and the decade ahead 

The young people sitting across from me [students of Mersin University, an institution favoured by Kurds from south-eastern and eastern Anatolia] were born in the late 1990s. Children growing up during the bloodiest times of civil war, mostly of provincial families forced to relocate to the cities in the mass migration brought on by war. They grew up in the shadows of bombs, fires, poverty, the harassment flights of warplanes and automatic weapons. They set out on life five steps behind in the godforsaken villages of godforsaken provinces. Nearly every one can identify the model of a warplane by its sound. 

It’s almost a miracle that they are here as students rather than up in the mountains as guerillas. Perhaps that’s why they study, read and exist with guerilla-like discipline. They are growing up as the children of a suppressed – and, more importantly, organized – people. Whereas their peers in the West have different opportunities for experience, they take life as seriously as only an organized individual car, as a matter of life and death.  

[...] 

The Kurdish people are an organized society. 

[...] 

In the 1980s’ Turkey, in the midst of the breakdown of all political organizations, the political organization of the Kurds was born…The Kurds brought up an educated generation in addition to the one they gave up to the war. It’s a generation in step with the world, which has had to explain its issues to the world, with the discipline of an organization that is open to the world without forgetting where it came from. 

[...]

I’m talking about a political movement that also has legitimacy and renown in terms of international dynamics. It’s possible now to follow YPG militants fighting against ISIS, especially the Kurdish militant women, in the international press. Even the Turkish TV channels broadcast their news with the organization’s name rather than saying “terrorists” as they used to in the past. An ironic twist of fate: the “Kurdish terrorists” against whom we defended our borders now defend the borders of Turkey against ISIS. 

[...] 

In light of all this, my prediction is that the next decade in Turkey and its surroundings will be the decade of the Kurds. It will be so not only politically but also culturally.

[...] 

Don’t forget that this is the political power of an armed organization that has fought against the second largest army of NATO for thirty years.

Names

canım benim          my darling/ my dear/ my spirit

yavrum          my little baby animal

aslanım benim         my lion

hanım kızım          Miss my girl

Merve / Maryam

These are the names that my 75 year old Turkish granny/supervisor calls me while we are working in the mulberry orchard. It's kind of awesome.

3 Things I Really Notice

...upon returning to Turkey, in particular the southeast, after five days in the Republic of Cyprus.

1. The heat

Before this jaunt to Cyprus, I had forgotten the finicky dampness of the mountains, and the temperature shift that other places experience when the sun goes down. Here the weather is reliably hot. Morning, noon, and night. When I walked down the steps from the airplane in Gaziantep, back into the encompassing heat, I remembered flying into Saudi.

2. The helpfulness

People here are truly helpful. Outside the airport I asked a man how to get to the otogar. He said that the transfer bus should go there, but to check with the şoför, whom he naturally called over. The şoför confirmed, took my bag, and invited me onto the bus. Several people on the bus made sure that I succeeded in getting off at the otogar.

I can't help but compare this to the events the same morning in Cyprus, in which I was stranded in a village because the bus driver opted to drive past me at the village centre bus stop. I was less annoyed with the driver (after all, I was on the wrong side of the street after forgetting about the British system) and more annoyed with the tables full of local men who had observed me sitting on the side of a road with a backpack for 10 minutes leading up to the bus and 10 minutes after it went by, without saying anything.

"Oh, the customer service in Turkey!" someone exclaimed recently. But that suggests that the excellent service is only for customers. It's not. Most of the help I receive is from random strangers who will never benefit in any material way from me. I need to keep reminding myself that the rest of the world is not like this (but probably should be).

3. The ease

Outside the otogar of Gaziantep–I don't even have to go in or ask–a man finds me a bus to Urfa and takes my 20 lira for the ticket price. When I board the bus, an attendant asks for my ticket. I don't have one, I say. I payed that guy outside. Oh, no problem. Such is the degree that you can trust people in Turkey (Note: Istanbul is another country). I am given as much free water as I like. The bus stops for us to rest and eat. The bathroom costs the usual 1 lira, but of course it is reliably clean. The self-service restaurant serves its reliably good stews. Even though I have paid and sat down, it is still not too late to ask for a fresh ayran for which the waiter takes a lira. Fellow passengers and bus attendants let me know when the bus is leaving. Back in Urfa, I walk through dark streets to my apartment without worrying for an instant about safety. I know much of this has to do with speaking some Turkish and having spent time here, but still, still, it's easy.

'Singleness is sultanness'

Bekarlık sultanlık

This is an actual saying in Turkish. I think about it fairly frequently.

My new waxist, aged 18, asked me if I was married or single. Single, I said. Nice, she said. She doesn't like being married, not at all. Her parents both died, though, and all her older siblings are married, so perhaps she had no choice. She's working at the beauty salon to save money for a vacation in western Turkey. At this thought her face lit up.

Yesterday two women and I were walking in the fields outside of a village and we stopped to talk to an old man that was flooding a field for cotton planting. He wanted to know about me. Why don't you marry someone from this village? He asked. I'm not thinking about marriage, I said. Bekarlık sultanlık, he conceded.

Şalgam or ayran?

Basically the question out here.

Astringent juice made of Russian turnips, or frothy salty yogurt water.

I'm not joking when say it's hard because they're both so good.

Political Billboards of Urfa

Is it weird that I take photos of these?

In honour of the local elections on Sunday:

1. Think big

Back in February the AK Party messages were broad and vague. For a while I thought this said, "Big thought" which of course makes no sense. Prime Minister Erdoğan is on the right. On the left is the AK Party man running for Urfa mayor.

2. There's no stopping; keep going

Another AK Party man, this one for Karaköprü mayor. *There are 3 or 4 municipalities within greater Urfa. I am still not clear.

This candidate looks like a hopeful child. I love that his last name means "farmer."

3. While we're talking about awesome names...

Ibrahim "Black Cloud."

He's using the political buzzword of the season, hizmet (service). He's running for a neighbourhood muhtar position, which translates to "chief" or "headman".

4. Seriously?

This man's last name means "screaming". He's running against Black Cloud, and also talking about hizmet. "It's not for money. It's for service," he says.

5. Interrupting this billboard tour to announce that

"Obama is living a forbidden love with Beyonce?"

In case you wondered about Turkish news coverage of the Western world.

6. The BDP, i.e. the Kurdish party

They have so much going for them aesthetically.

A) Awesome colour scheme (which apparently used to be forbidden)
B) Tree
C) The name? "Peace and Democracy Party"

7. Women, smiles!

They also have women running for positions, and people who smile for photographs (this is not even the best example).

A friend tried to explain that in their political system requires a partnership between a man and a woman for every position. All I know is what I see: basically equal representation of male and female politicians.

8. vs... the man parade.

Blech.

9. Osman Baydemir, the BDP's main man

I can't help but like this guy. He's short, kind of balding, and seems like a humble dude (he's the one on the left).

His Wikipedia page does not disappoint. He was a founding member of the Human Rights Foundation of Turkey. He has received dozens of threats and hundreds of lawsuits, including one for writing a New Year's greeting using the letter "W" (forbidden until about a year ago, as it is used in the Kurdish alphabet, but not the Turkish).

10. Xenophobic much?

Here a guy points at Osman Baydemir's face and says something like "Guests are unwanted."

This is about the fact that Osman Baydemir is not from Urfa. He's from Diyarbakir. He's actually Diyarbakir's current mayor.

"The homeowner doesn't ask for anyone," is my rough translation of the second part in red.

Would we expect anything else from the Nationalist Movement Party?

11. This guy has never smiled

He's the leader of the Nationalist Movement Party. He gives me the creeps. I only include him because he's been on TV a lot recently. He has a lot of negativity toward Erdogan, which I find interesting, because it's not just the Left attacking the current administration. Pretty much everyone can and does take the moral high ground these days, after the AK Party's corruption scandals.

12. I trust you, Sanliurfa

In spite of the scandals and the recent craziness of shutting down Twitter and YouTube, the AK Party is apparently poised to win at least some of the main positions in the election on Sunday. We'll see...

Marriage Arrangements in the Hamam

Nerelisin?

Where are you from?

Erkek arkadaşın?

Boyfriend?

Evli misin?

Are you married?

Bekarım. Bakmıyorum.

I'm single. I'm not looking. 

(I don't know if bakmıyorum translates well. Maybe aramıyorum is better; 'I'm not searching')

Later I am sitting on a marble slab, waiting to be scrubbed and massaged. One woman insists on pursuing the conversation.

Isveçli something something.

No, I'm not Swedish. I'm Canadian.

O Isveçli something something.

He's Swedish? Then how did you meet?

Kocamın kardeş something something.

[I will skip past the part when I confuse koca (husband) and hoca (teacher).]

Wait. He's your husband's brother? Then how is he Swedish?

O Isveçli something something istiyor. Sarı saç, mavi gözlü...

[Internal speech:] Oh, now I understand. He wants to marry a Swedish girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. Never mind that I'm not Swedish and I don't have blonde hair or blue eyes. Hey, we're all the same.

Kanada'ya döneyeceğim.

I'm going back to Canada.

O gelsin.

He can come.

Bakmıyorum, ama teşekkür ederim.

I'm not looking, but thank you (hand to heart, a gesture that has become a reflex).

Kaç yaşındasın?

How old are you?

28.

He is 29.

Ok.

Giyindikten sonra, biz fotoğraf çekebilir miyiz?

After we get dressed, can we take a picture?

Ok.

I make a point of leaving quickly and escape without a photo. 

In guide books, I believe I have read about how back in the day women used hamams to seek out potential brides for their sons, or in theory older sisters for their younger brothers. Umm... it's still happening.

Protesters here, organizers there

Notes from a conversation last night

A 15 year old boy

If you have any Turkish friends on Facebook then you know that on Tuesday Berkin Elvan died in the hospital, prompting protests in cities and towns across Turkey. You know that the kid was struck by a tear gas canister launched by the Turkish police during the 2013 summer protests, and the kid spent the nine months between then and now in a coma.

Turkey and Canada

Sometimes when we talk about political leaders I can't help but compare Turkey and Canada. Two prime ministers from conservative parties, both in power for a long time (Harper 8 years, Erdoğan 11), both democratically elected three times (I hope I have this right), both engaged in suppressing journalistic freedom, both critiqued for increasingly authoritarian manoeuvres.

But sometimes the comparison only goes so far

Last night my friend described how he navigated his brother home in Istanbul, over the phone, using Twitter and Google Maps, to avoid attacks by the police. He also described his own experience being beaten under police supervision after a protest a few years ago, and how after, a state doctor wrote that he was one hundred percent healthy, despite being covered in black bruises.

The power of the state is still a very abstract thing for me. I haven't breathed tear gas. I've never been taken off a bus at a police checkpoint. I don't worry about people listening to my phone conversations.

When I came home last night, another friend, an American in Antalya, said that on the way home he was confronted by police for taking photos of the crowds. While one policeman demanded his papers, another grabbed him from behind and raised a stick. Only an American accent got the stick lowered.

Spot the tar sands!

Meanwhile, back in Canada

"I am so sick of the corruption"
"I can't watch the news because I get too angry"
"I can't accept what's happening, but I can't do anything about it"
"I was afraid of being attacked, so I had to leave"

These are the thoughts I hear from immigrants and refugees that I work with towards the states they abandoned.

Likewise, I know a lot of Turks who have given up on the possibility of positive change within their own political system. The options seem to be tuning out or immigrating.

We talk about privilege a lot, but I don't think I have ever been so aware of this crucial privilege–to be able to effect change in your own political system.

Back in British Columbia, I have friends who are taking on powerful new roles to change political decisions, and preparing a citizen's initiative to prevent a pipeline from being built across the province, in spite of federal support. It seems almost cruel to talk about such things in Turkey right now.

Life these days

practicing the local archeological tour / key words: "flint" "adobe" "Roman baths"

Work

Basically, I'm teaching English to villagers who live along a ten day walking path in southeastern Turkey. The goal is that they can better communicate with tourists who come for the path, offering home stay experiences and walking tours.

Money going straight to villagers; the chance to promote other local projects like tree planting, dental health, and primary education; the possibility of real cultural exchange instead of just a tourism service–it's all pretty good.

Walking on the Plains

One nice thing about my work (ok, there are many) is that I can actually walk on the path.

17 km walk to work, from one village to another

a temple several thousand years old

Walking here is obviously very different from hiking in British Columbia. (Notice I can't even call it hiking). There are no mountains, you interact with farmers and shepherds along the way, and you are constantly reminded of past humans. It's just a different experience.

"Local, organic"

Everyone I work with has fields, gardens, orchards, and/or animals. Fresh eggs, homemade yogurt, home cured olives, local bulgur, dried eggplants, tomatoes, and peppers–all have been sent home with me. We roll rice in grape leaves picked in the summer, make salads with pomegranate syrup from the trees out back, and the bread is made from wheat grown in the fields and processed at the town mill.

Social life

In the end, though, I'm not a villager in southeastern Turkey. I don't have three kids already, for example. So I'm pretty stoked to have found in Urfa a small but groovy community of like-minded, equally childless people. And even a climbing gym.

Life is full these days, and time is flowing like water, as they say here. (su gibi geçer)

You can tell that there was a photo-savvy visitor in town. Thank you, Jakob.

Whose job is harder?

The person trying to speak a new language, or the native speaker who has to adapt?

Last night I was hanging out in Turkish with someone who was skilled at slowing down, choosing words I would probably know, and repeating ideas in different ways. It was great. It was like being bathed in exactly the right temperature of water.

I think his job was harder than mine.

I thought back to times when I was the native speaker, as an English language teacher and as a friend and roommate to people from different languages. I remembered the strain of trying so hard to always phrase something in a way that would be understood.

But maybe it depends on how hard the person is willing to work. Some native speakers are useless, and make their jobs easy by essentially not doing them. That is, they don't adapt their language at all, and when the communication fails, they blame the learner.

I am grateful to have found people willing to make the effort.

Another language teacher?

Apparently there is a Koran teacher in one of the villages where I am working. She is teaching the women of the village Arabic so that they can learn to pray properly.

Is it weird that I feel competitive?

She is younger, apparently, and gives homework.

Atatürk on the dolmuş

He really is everywhere still. I love this poster, not only for the chance to practice the passive, but also because it is so extravagant in its adulation.

"There is no army" they said
"IT WILL BE ESTABLISHED" he said

"There is no money" they said
"IT WILL BE FOUND" he said

"The enemy is many" they said
"THEY WILL BE DEFEATED" he said

AND HE DID WHAT HE SAID
(I'm not 100% sure on translating this line's grammar)

AND THUS THIS REPUBLIC WAS FOUNDED

So there's a Berber, a Suryani, and an Armenian

The famous view from Mardin of the fields leading to Syria

Sitting in a small wine shop in the dark–there has been another power outage in the old part of Mardin–are three men, laughing and laughing. Two are arguing in Arabic while the other listens. Oh, they are funny. One, handsome in a devilish way, has a black coat and a beard straight out of the movie 300. The beard is coppery red and his eyes are light. With a grin he waves his hands in mock dismay and threatens to throw a tea spoon at his friend. I am to learn that he is a devout Muslim and a Berber, which explains the hair colour. The oldest man of the three has light skin and no beard. He seems like a wise, bemused grandfather figure. I learn that he is Suryani, which in English translates not to Syrian, but Assyrian. With laughing eyes he gives me advice in Turkish about men, which I cannot understand. They continue discussing the upcoming election and the local political parties–apparently there is a woman running in one of them–and then wish me a good evening.

I am now alone with the man who runs the wine shop. In addition to making and selling local wine, he works as a pastor and leads a prayer group in town. He mentions Armenian background and something about Bitlis. I tell him how nice it is to see three people from different backgrounds not just talking, but really laughing. Later, out of ignorance, I ask something about when he lived in Bitlis. He shakes his head.

Orada hiç kimse yok.
There's no one there.

Bitti.
Finished.

Now I am on the Wikipedia page reading that in 1915, "Turks and Kurds, led by Jevdet Bey Pasha, massacred some 15,000 Armenians in Bitlis." The pastor had been talking about his cultural past, not personal past. I am still so uneducated in the history of this region (ok, history of every region), that I am continually mis-stepping.

The pastor asks what I think of Urfa. Before I can answer, he describes it as 'Zor' (difficult).
'Kapalı' (closed). He holds his hands like blinders on horses, and pulls them in to indicate narrow-mindedness. This is a pretty universal assessment of the city. I have yet to hear anyone praise it. At least I know that Mardin is a mere bus ride away for cultural relief.

Talking Politics

With local elections coming up, and some serious political movement at the federal level, I'm finding it necessary to learn some Turkish vocabulary. Hadi, let's review some old and new.

siyaset / politika          politics

(Siyaset is also Arabic for 'politics.' Or asiyasiya? Maybe that's 'political'? Need an Arabic consult).

hükümet          government

devlet          state

(As is devlet hastanesi, 'state hospital'. When I say that in Canada I teach new immigrants, people always ask I'm employed by the devlet.)

il          province

başkent         capital 

(Baş 'head', kent 'town')

başbakan          prime minister

belediye başkanı          mayor

(Belediye is 'municipality' in Turkish. In Arabic, I think it means country or countryside).

darbe          coup d'état

devrim         revolution

tutucu / muhafazakar          conservative

(The second comes from Arabic. One person said it's not commonly used, but the next day another person used it before tutucu.)

milliyetçi           nationalist

anket          survey

That's enough for now. I suspect Turkish politics are always interesting, but the situation is especially intriguing right now, with a Muslim scholar in Pennsylvania apparently initiating corruption busts, a Prime Minister whose new slogan is "Iron Will", and population that experienced a political awakening this summer.

You can get a grasp of the major plot lines from this great article from New York Times Magazine by Suzy Hansen.

"Glorious" Urfa Walkabout

You've seen my home. Now, the city!

These girls are rocking a pretty standard Urfa outfit for their age, based on what I've seen: slim jeans, coat to low thigh, and fancy headscarf tied around the front of the neck.

Urfa is no village. Population is estimated at 500,000.

Standard urban Turkish man garb: leather jacket, nice jeans, a longer coat for the gentleman.

In Urfa, by the way, every park is Dude Chilling Park.

Local elections are coming up (more on this later), so the streets are full of signs, flags, and music-blaring vans.

Many of the older women wear long coats, again with the fancy headscarves tied around the front of the neck.

Kitap means 'book' (in Turkish and Arabic). The university students inside were super kind and searched the shelves for a book in English (no dice). One of them, insisting that we speak in English, asked, "What are you doing...here...in Urfa?" I laughed.

Big plaza undergoing development. Requisite Atatürk statue at back left.

Şanlıurfa is the real name of the city. Şanlı meaning 'Glorious' was added to 'Urfa' to commemorate the city's efforts in the War of Independence–the war after World War I, when Atatürk fought off the Allies and made Turkey from what was left of the Ottoman Empire.

Apparently it took a few years of petitioning for the 'Glorious' to be added. Local politicians were tired of hearing about neighbouring cities 'Gazi' (veteran/warrior) Antep and 'Kahraman' (Heroic) Maraş.

Sunny days, cold nights.

Balıklı Göl! "Fish Pond"! This beautiful pool is Urfa's main attraction.

The story: Nimrod pushed Abraham/Ibrahim off a cliff and into a bed of burning embers.

God/Allah turned the bed of burning embers into a pool of friendly fish, and Abraham/Ibrahim went on to play his founding role in the three major monotheistic religions.

And Urfa has a swell park.

In the afternoon I returned to my neighbourhood in Yeni Şehir (New City), and took a walk through a more modest, but still lovely, park.

I like that beyond this empty lot we can see the plains. This is Mesopotamia, birthplace of agriculture! So cool.