I truly wanted to write a traditional abroad article in which I could reminisce about the amazing places I’ve visited, food I’ve eaten and people I’ve met. I wanted to complain about the difficulty in taking 20 hours of Turkish each week and gloat about refining my tea cooking skills! But this was before I heard the helicopters over my neighborhood Sunday morning.
For those of you who fail to frequent the Turkish news sites, here’s a super brief rundown. This past Wednesday, one of the largest attacks from the PKK (Parti Karkerani Kurdistan, which in English is the Kurdistan Worker’s Party), a Kurdish political group fighting for autonomy in the southeast, reportedly killed 24 soldiers in eight assaults. The following day while walking home from my Turkish course in Taksim Square, a central area on the European side of Istanbul, I was enveloped into one of the many protests responding to the attacks asking the government for a bigger response to the violence.
Since then, at least 49 Kurdish insurgents were killed after Turkey deployed 10,000 troops into Iraq.
I should mention that I’m now living in Tarlibasi, or, as locals like to refer to it, “the ghetto.” Tarlibasi is home to a sizeable population of Kurds. The area is very poor and visually a stark contrast from the surrounding neighborhoods. It is also a stone’s throw away from Taksim Square.
On Sunday, I was leaving for the humungous street market that overtakes our neighborhood every week when my Kurdish landlord stopped me to warn that hundreds had gathered in Taksim to protest the PKK and had started to target Kurds in the neighborhood. I thanked him for his concern and marveled that once more my recklessness had been underestimated. Grabbing my notebook, camera and little yellow Turkish dictionary, I headed uphill to find a mass of protesters sporting the Turkish flag and chanting what could have been mistaken for football fight songs.
A circle of all female police officers had linked arms around the square hoping, it seemed, that out of chivalry the mob of outraged Turks would remain in the Square. It didn’t take long for gentlemanly impulses to way to mob mentality. The red-rover style blockade was breeched and the protesters marched towards Tarlibasi.
I followed them and they successfully made it two blocks deep into my neighborhood before enough police officers had gathered to stall the group. For an hour, I watched as rocks were thrown and chanting roared down my street.
Many people told me to leave, my neighbors offered for me to wait in their homes until the protesters left. Finally police pushed the protesters back to the square.
The streets remained full of officers until night and I could feel the sting of lingering tear gas as I walked around the neighborhood.
I wish I could offer some profound thoughts, but I find my mind blank. For the past two months, I’ve strived to find a balanced view of a country that seems to encompass a myriad of contradictions.
Turkey appears simultaneously European and Eastern, secular and Muslim, progressive and repressed. The government and military work against one other, and it’s easier to find contrasting conspiracy theories than confirmed facts. Throw in Turkey’s recent move to the forefront of the Arab world, a model to be emulated post Arab-Spring, while internally, many Turks criticize their own lack of political, ethnic, religious and journalistic freedom. It’s a lot to take in.
When it comes to politics here, I often feel like I’m watching my friend’s family fight at the dinner table. All I can do is try to understand the conflicts and enjoy the luxury of being “the guest.”
mwolfson@theeagleonline.com
