"Why does this only happen in America, Mac?"
This is the question I have spent the last 24 hours responding to. I first caught wind of the shooting in Newtown, CT yesterday evening before the horrifying death toll was revealed. Several hours later, at my friend's house, I checked my Facebook feed and found it riddled with bible verses, messages of comfort and messages of sheer outrage. I placed my alcoholic beverage on the table and a stiffness settled in. I braced the wall and began praying to myself while my 10 Italian, Spanish and Dutch friends continued their drunken conversation. Apparently I looked out of it and a friend called me out. The room turned and I revealed the terrible shooting developments. 20 children dead...
There have been several times in Turkey where I have been called upon to speak on behalf of the calamities of my country. I immediately hesitate because trying to explain certain aspects of America to Europeans often leaves me wondering why these aspects exist in the first place. The holiday of Thanksgiving, for example. But the hardest question I have faced regards gun violence. And if Columbine, D.C., Virginia Tech, and Aurora were not gruesome enough, this massacre of twenty elementary school children is a new low for America.
But as for my answer? It is not a question I easily dismiss. I know people ask questions like these because they legitimately want answers or they earnestly want my opinion. Lack of gun control is the cop out, political excuse. What is comes down to is that anyone who wants badly enough to take innocent lives, can do so. Overly easy access to guns is not the sole problem, in my opinion. In Switzerland, as a Dutch friend revealed, everyone has a gun in their house for protective measures. So why do these acts seem to "only happen in America?"
As humans, we mostly deal with the same issues in life. Money, love, jobs, family. All people in all countries deal with these. Only a handful snap as a result of one or many and inflict direct damage on others. But one who commits a shooting in a public place is making a public statement. They may seek the attention received from the act or a desire to go out with a bang in a world where it seems like nobody appreciates them. Adam Lanza killed his mother, then proceeded to the elementary school where she taught to make the statement public, to extend the damage infliction farther into the world. Although the motive is unclear, I find myself largely unsatisfied with the current theory of "a dispute with his mother." We have moved into an age where, for whatever reason, this psychopathic behavior is no longer kept between the two parties, but extends into the larger sphere where innocent lives pay the price.
But one cannot justify psycopathic behavior. The individual is a psychopath precisely because his actions are irrational. But why does America seem to have an abundance of psycopaths? Surely it isn't just the violent video games in which these individuals lose their grasp on reality and act out in a fashion that mimics these games. These games are available all over the world. Perhaps it could be the increased stress, competition or expectations placed on people. As we become part of the system and we find our roles in the giant machine of society, we lose some of our humanness and, as Karl Marx writes, become alienated from our work, from each other and from ourselves. Could this unjustifiable behavior be the result of an industrialized, capitalized society pushing people so incessantly that they pop? Perhaps it is the individualism in America. With a preference toward the individual, are we becoming so narcissistic that we have lost the importance of using the people in our lives to deal with our stresses?
Again I am not trying to explain or justify this behavior. I just want to share what it is like to have to defend a country that, to many over here, seems to be losing control.
I don't recall the last time a news story affected me this much. When I awoke this morning and watched the CBS News story, the extent of the tragedy settled in. I wept for the parents who suffered the loss of a child. I wept for the community of Newtown. I wept for America. I wept for humanity, as we are capable of such love but also capable of such terror. I wept when I realized how little we can do to stop events like this from happening. Sometimes all we can do is remain grounded in our faith and hope. We must find strength through the collective realization that we are powerless over events like this. And most importantly, we must send our love and prayers to the people that need it most right now.
12/11/12
A Day in the Life
The following short screenplay depicts a day in the life of a local shop owner in Istanbul. It is a combination of my observations and my postulation. Enjoy!
Open: 6:00 AM. A dark room,
two floors above a gradually bustling street. Alarm clock sounds. Outside light
pours in through a small crack
between blinds.
Mustafa: (Arising from his
sturdy slumber)
Another day. Oh boy, that felt like a 10 minute nap.
Damn the cat snuck in again last night. (Stares absentmindedly at the hole
in the windowsill, evidence of clawing at his previous inadequate patch job). Well first things first. Have to keep the critters
out.
(Fixes windowsill, then
makes his way to the shower, singing loudly in a classical Turkish baritone.
Steps out of the shower and addresses his audience, butt naked.)
Thanks for
joining me on my routine today. It’s nice to have a little something to change
up the usual rhythm. Let me throw some clothes on and I’ll show you the ropes!
First things first, I must
give thanks to Allah through a morning prayer ritual. My routine is a
combination of techniques my father and grandfather taught me. But I have incorporated
some of my own as well. I won’t go into too much detail here, but basically the
prayer routine is a series of kneels, prostrations and postures that honor the
one, true God. Through them I become thankful, clear minded and can go through
my day with purpose and strength.
(Proceeds to perform
rituals. A peaceful calm overtakes the room, the man has found himself.)
(He soon after leads us
downstairs)
Purpose… it is what gives my
life meaning. From an early age I knew my purpose would be to take ownership of
my father’s Doner restaurant with my brother Can. We have run the store
together for the last 13 years and I am happy knowing I am carrying on the hard
work of my father. My brother lives three blocks away and will be here in 10
minutes to help me prepare the food for the day. My cousin Bugra will also
arrive soon, with a fresh batch of vegetables.
(Over the course of the
next two hours, the three prepare the food for the day, then command their
posts behind the counter)
Ah my friends, this is the
part that really matters. There are thousands of little shops just like ours in
Istanbul. But where we separate ourselves is through greeting people and
spreading cheer in a city that needs to smile more. So everyday my brother and
I stand behind the counter and smile at people. It’s amazing how much a smile
can do! Our father taught us early on that kindness is the glue that holds
relationships together. Our goal is to serve our customers well with the best
Doner in Istanbul, but also to get to know them personally. We want to be
friends with our customers! And through that, we hope they will come back for
more!
Ahh here comes some Koc
university students. How can I tell? Well that’s easy. This huge kid with the
long hair and big nose…. Obviously not Turkish… they can be our best customers
when they realize how cheap our food is
(He gives a sly wink.)
(To the students): My friends! How are you? Good to see you again. (The
students smile at the two men… but eventually pass them by)
Oh well, no matter. One of
them eats here often. I’m sure the big one will be back soon. He must eat a
lot! (Another wink)
My brother Can and I are best
friends. Our father made it clear at a young age that we would take over the
shop. So instead of being competitive like most brothers, we learned to work
together at a young age. And now it helps us run the family business well. Can
is responsible for the money in the business and I, the food. He keeps stock of
how much we are selling and how much we make everyday. I prepare the food for
each customer and work my magic smile to make them happy! One second… (To customers) Hosgeldinez! Evet… Evet.. Tomam. Bir Tavuklu Doner,
kanki.Nasilsin?
(He embarks on his endless
quest to build rapport with his customers, engaging in stimulated dialogue
throughout the entire food preparation process. It is clear that his hands have
grown so used to the preparations, they work independently of his mind, which
he can dedicate fully to the conversation at hand.) Hadi
Gurusuruz! Gule Gule!
How do I stay happy with my
work, you ask? Hmmm I guess it is the duty I have to it. I find my happiness
through hard work. Everyone around me works hard as well, so it is easy to do
once you get the hang of it. I think we each grow by working hard, and if Allah
wills it, I will be successful. Also, I get to stare at these fun people all
day! What’s not to love!
(He points out a hobbling
old man, relying almost entirely on his cane. His glasses have slid all the way
down his face so that drool has collected on the lenses. But he seems so
preoccupied with walking that he hardly notices.) Allah bless him!
12/2/12
Things
I've never been much a fan of using the word "things." Perhaps it was my eighth grade theater teacher, Slotnick-Lastrico, who carved it upon the largest epitaph of his notorious "Word Graveyard." "Things" along with "like" and "good" were strictly prohibited in his classroom. With the myriad descriptive words available in our vocabularies, "things" just seemed a cop out. But how does one go about describing a change in one's character to others? Moreover, how can we point to specific people, objects and cultures that change us? Change is a holistic process, it does not happen one step at a time. Although I still have a deep distaste for the t-word, I find it fitting for circumstances like now, in which I know I am changing but I know not specifically the cause of this change.
An incredibly adventurous semester yes, but also one of constant introspection. As I experience new cultures (I have Turkish, Italian, Dutch, German, Canadian, Albanian, Greek, and Spanish friends here) I feel parts of me rearranging, morphing, stretching like a glob of human Play Dough. Sections of the form are torn off, analyzed in relation to the larger structure and reattached as necessary. Stripped bare before the seas of change, I have immersed myself in the refreshing waters. Rejuvenation.
There is both solace and fear in the realization that humans are relative creatures. We adapt to fit our surroundings. We all act differently around different types of people- our behavior around our parents differs from our behavior with friends. The beauty of life lies in this change and growth. But the fear stems from the fleeting nature of identity. As we continue to change ourselves in relation to our environment, are we just forms of matter collecting experience? Or is there some constant at work that changes parts of us in relation to a core?
This semester has taught me that this comes down to a choice deep within us to preserve those fundamental beliefs that make us who we are. Through cultural empathy, open-mindedness and inquiry, we can better understand differences. But as I try on new hats, I realize I have only one head. Some fit and some don't, and this is because my head is only one size. When I see or feel change, I notice it in relation to something. As the surface feelings swirl about, the anchor of my being remains grounded, banishing its formally fleeting tendencies. I have yet to discern exactly what this something is but it comprises my most intimate, personal identity.
Through this semester I have come to conclusions about a few fundamental convictions. As I accommodate the scads of emotions in my innkeeper of a brain, these convictions seek permanent residence. To name a few- the necessity of relationships, the importance of establishing purpose, the value of humor, and the power of expression. As the waters of emotion funnel their way through, these aforementioned few have secured themselves in my net of identity. As the convictions harden, the being carries weight. Man becomes grounded, true to himself and shamelessly represents his experiences and virtues in a world that increasingly encourages lightness and indifference.
An incredibly adventurous semester yes, but also one of constant introspection. As I experience new cultures (I have Turkish, Italian, Dutch, German, Canadian, Albanian, Greek, and Spanish friends here) I feel parts of me rearranging, morphing, stretching like a glob of human Play Dough. Sections of the form are torn off, analyzed in relation to the larger structure and reattached as necessary. Stripped bare before the seas of change, I have immersed myself in the refreshing waters. Rejuvenation.
There is both solace and fear in the realization that humans are relative creatures. We adapt to fit our surroundings. We all act differently around different types of people- our behavior around our parents differs from our behavior with friends. The beauty of life lies in this change and growth. But the fear stems from the fleeting nature of identity. As we continue to change ourselves in relation to our environment, are we just forms of matter collecting experience? Or is there some constant at work that changes parts of us in relation to a core?
This semester has taught me that this comes down to a choice deep within us to preserve those fundamental beliefs that make us who we are. Through cultural empathy, open-mindedness and inquiry, we can better understand differences. But as I try on new hats, I realize I have only one head. Some fit and some don't, and this is because my head is only one size. When I see or feel change, I notice it in relation to something. As the surface feelings swirl about, the anchor of my being remains grounded, banishing its formally fleeting tendencies. I have yet to discern exactly what this something is but it comprises my most intimate, personal identity.
Through this semester I have come to conclusions about a few fundamental convictions. As I accommodate the scads of emotions in my innkeeper of a brain, these convictions seek permanent residence. To name a few- the necessity of relationships, the importance of establishing purpose, the value of humor, and the power of expression. As the waters of emotion funnel their way through, these aforementioned few have secured themselves in my net of identity. As the convictions harden, the being carries weight. Man becomes grounded, true to himself and shamelessly represents his experiences and virtues in a world that increasingly encourages lightness and indifference.
11/20/12
A Cheap Provocation
I had just finished catching up with a friend over a light lunch when the cacophony commenced. Taken aback, I whirled around, completely flabbergasted at the sight before me.
The typically brown-tinted dining common had turned red. Not on account of bloodshed, though with passion akin to it. Obstructing tables and chairs were hastily cast aside as the vibrant flags danced amidst the bodies. Men and women alike forcefully shouted their national anthem; more an exhibit of pride than a display of vocal prowess. The first legitimate protest I had beheld since my arrival in Turkey. My inner reporter sprung to attention: I needed to get to the bottom of it.
I quickly spotted one of my Turksih kankis (term equivalent to "bro" in Turkish) and pelted him with questions. Through his insights and others that I questioned throughout the day, I came to understand the basic reason for the protest along with the realization of how deep the conflict truly is.
As mentioned in previous posts, there is a large-scale, intense conflict between the Turkish republic and the militant group known as the PKK (Kurdistan Workers' Party). The latter, whose goal is the foundation of an independent Kurdish state in Turkey, has been deemed a "terrorist" organization by the United States, The European Union and NATO. The conception of the party, along with the roots of the conflict trace back to the late 1970s. But the cause of the protests and current conflict are in regard to the imprisonment of Abdullah Ocalan, the party leader, along with educational and judicial restrictions on Kurdish language usage. For the last 66 days, imprisoned supporters of the PKK have been on hunger strike, ingesting only water, tea, sugar and salt. This Kurdish protest finally ended the other day as Oclan sent a letter from his cell urging the protestors to cease.
At Koc University, the protest took a different form. The ironic venue choice of the cafeteria coupled with the passionate outbursts of cheers, placed a completely different light on the nationalist's protest form. Many students joined in with the camaraderie, seeing this as an opportunity to display their patriotism and anti-terrorism stance. But as I watched, I could not help but notice the seemingly artificial jubilation as they clapped to the speaker's calls for nationalistic recognition. Were these students entirely convinced of their reason for being here? For protesting? Or were they merely swept along by the alluring tides of collective purpose?
This evening I attended a student forum, held as a response to the protests. Here I found about 80 calm and collected students throwing thoughts back and forth. The consensus of these students, was that today's protest lacked form and coherence. Many students felt that the protestors had no specific aim for the obtrusive and, according to one girl "threatening," nationalism. Although many found the demonstration (which are few and far between at Koc) refreshing, they could not help but criticize it for its amorphous state. According to those at the forum, many students just wanted an excuse to show their Turkish pride and hatred of the terrorists. But as one Kurdish student raised his voice due to his unease of the term 'terrorist' associated widely with Kurds, there was an obvious collective belief that everyone should be able to speak their mind, as long as they have a stance before doing so.
Although my understanding of the Kurdish conflict is minimal, I could not help but feel rejuvenated by these students. They exhibited a legitimate desire for purpose, change and justice. I realized that in America, save for one lockout in high school, I had never experienced a serious demonstration conducted by my peers. Does our nation not care as much? Do we have it 'all good?' Regardless of whether you personally believe that American youth are indifferent or non-comital, there is one extremely important take-away from all of this. Each of us needs to stand for something. If we do not have an established stance on beliefs, politics, ethics, equality, etc. we will never know when the time will come to raise our voices against tyranny. We will sit there and observe change as it happens outside of us, realizing that we played no role in its development. In order to make a difference, we must make a stand. If someone walked up to you on the street and asked, "What do you stand for?" would you be able to answer them?
The typically brown-tinted dining common had turned red. Not on account of bloodshed, though with passion akin to it. Obstructing tables and chairs were hastily cast aside as the vibrant flags danced amidst the bodies. Men and women alike forcefully shouted their national anthem; more an exhibit of pride than a display of vocal prowess. The first legitimate protest I had beheld since my arrival in Turkey. My inner reporter sprung to attention: I needed to get to the bottom of it.
I quickly spotted one of my Turksih kankis (term equivalent to "bro" in Turkish) and pelted him with questions. Through his insights and others that I questioned throughout the day, I came to understand the basic reason for the protest along with the realization of how deep the conflict truly is.
As mentioned in previous posts, there is a large-scale, intense conflict between the Turkish republic and the militant group known as the PKK (Kurdistan Workers' Party). The latter, whose goal is the foundation of an independent Kurdish state in Turkey, has been deemed a "terrorist" organization by the United States, The European Union and NATO. The conception of the party, along with the roots of the conflict trace back to the late 1970s. But the cause of the protests and current conflict are in regard to the imprisonment of Abdullah Ocalan, the party leader, along with educational and judicial restrictions on Kurdish language usage. For the last 66 days, imprisoned supporters of the PKK have been on hunger strike, ingesting only water, tea, sugar and salt. This Kurdish protest finally ended the other day as Oclan sent a letter from his cell urging the protestors to cease.
At Koc University, the protest took a different form. The ironic venue choice of the cafeteria coupled with the passionate outbursts of cheers, placed a completely different light on the nationalist's protest form. Many students joined in with the camaraderie, seeing this as an opportunity to display their patriotism and anti-terrorism stance. But as I watched, I could not help but notice the seemingly artificial jubilation as they clapped to the speaker's calls for nationalistic recognition. Were these students entirely convinced of their reason for being here? For protesting? Or were they merely swept along by the alluring tides of collective purpose?
This evening I attended a student forum, held as a response to the protests. Here I found about 80 calm and collected students throwing thoughts back and forth. The consensus of these students, was that today's protest lacked form and coherence. Many students felt that the protestors had no specific aim for the obtrusive and, according to one girl "threatening," nationalism. Although many found the demonstration (which are few and far between at Koc) refreshing, they could not help but criticize it for its amorphous state. According to those at the forum, many students just wanted an excuse to show their Turkish pride and hatred of the terrorists. But as one Kurdish student raised his voice due to his unease of the term 'terrorist' associated widely with Kurds, there was an obvious collective belief that everyone should be able to speak their mind, as long as they have a stance before doing so.
Protest Footage from School Today
11/2/12
Needs
Traveling alone for twelve days with only a small backpack and a tight budget forces one to think of human needs in a new way. Once the mindset is formed not to travel for the sake of a vacation but to immerse oneself in new cultures and really try to understand the people, there is a feeling of legitimate purpose outside of oneself. The journey no longer revolves around enjoying oneself through luxuries and security. It becomes an eye-opening, heart-wrenching glimpse into a new form of existence.
Humans only have a few needs-food, water, shelter, sleep. Everything else, although we attempt to justify it as a need, are wants and desires. As I literally had no travel plan after the flight to Athens, I simply had to prioritize my needs. First order of business was always food and water. And shelter followed close behind. Such freedom is unprecedented. And I loved every minute of it.
But trying to understand how others live is never easy. The best we can do is try to get out of our own little worlds and live in theirs. During my travels I was exposed to some radically different lifestyles- men spending the entire day fishing, knowing they cannot return home to their families empty-handed because this means empty stomachs. Families of five forced to accost ATM users in order to have money to eat. Strangers sleeping bundled up next to each other in parks, bonded solely by their mutual vagrancy. I looked upon these individuals with sympathy and feelings of personal guilt. Should I spend my time helping them? Are they just a product of a flawed system or are they mentally/physically incapable of work? Is it my place to intervene?
These questions and others restlessly rattled around the cage of my brain, knowing that true freedom cannot be felt as long as these troubles lie in such close proximity. But while my heart went out to them, I knew I could not be their savior. So I carried on.
"Traveling restores your faith in humanity." That's what my mom told me tonight. And I could not agree more. Although I encountered some of the aforementioned troubling sights, my experience was also chalked full of compassionate natives more than willing to assist a struggling American. I met people from all over the world, each doing their part to get by despite the strains of life. When you see people working unbelievably hard just to get by each day, it fills one with a newfound respect. And when you meet people who are able to squeeze kindness, compassion and humor into a world largely occupied by grief and suffering, there is an genuine admiration that cannot be expressed verbally. It is a truly beautiful thing and a realization that I will hold dear for the coming years.
Humans only have a few needs-food, water, shelter, sleep. Everything else, although we attempt to justify it as a need, are wants and desires. As I literally had no travel plan after the flight to Athens, I simply had to prioritize my needs. First order of business was always food and water. And shelter followed close behind. Such freedom is unprecedented. And I loved every minute of it.
But trying to understand how others live is never easy. The best we can do is try to get out of our own little worlds and live in theirs. During my travels I was exposed to some radically different lifestyles- men spending the entire day fishing, knowing they cannot return home to their families empty-handed because this means empty stomachs. Families of five forced to accost ATM users in order to have money to eat. Strangers sleeping bundled up next to each other in parks, bonded solely by their mutual vagrancy. I looked upon these individuals with sympathy and feelings of personal guilt. Should I spend my time helping them? Are they just a product of a flawed system or are they mentally/physically incapable of work? Is it my place to intervene?
These questions and others restlessly rattled around the cage of my brain, knowing that true freedom cannot be felt as long as these troubles lie in such close proximity. But while my heart went out to them, I knew I could not be their savior. So I carried on.
Greece, Bulgaria, Romania in 12 Days
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| Parthenon |
 |
| A Greek friend I made who spent years working in a NJ subway, but lofty medical expenses forced him to return to Greece |
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| A true Greek salad and J&B on the rocks in honor of Patrick Bateman |
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| Greek girls I met in Thessaloniki |
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| Awesome umbrella street art in Sofia, Bulgaria |
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| Asked her for directions on the metro to a local mountain and she ended up driving me all the way up the mountain! |
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| Casually walking the goats around the block |
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| Dogs in Bucharest would bark and claw at the cars as they drove by |
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| Orthodox ceremony celebrating St. Andrew |
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| My Aussie friend Jordan enjoying his train ride to Transylvania |
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| Brasov town square |
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| Narrowest street in Europe |
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| In Bran Castle |
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| Bran Castle |
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| A castle in Rasnov |
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| The view atop the castle |
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| Marvelous Fall colors |
10/16/12
The Turkish Bath
The younger gentleman turned and gave a lopsided smile. He motioned toward a door and we entered an oddly florescent establishment. Two older men, one dressed in a kind cardigan and the other entirely naked save for the small towel wrapped about his midriff and groin, welcomed us enthusiastically. The men we came with negotiated a reasonable price of 100 TL for the five of us. They wished us luck and we quickly thanked them, our eyes revealing our blatant insecurity. The nearly naked man took our valuables, deposited them in a small drawer and gave the key to one of us. The other man beckoned us to the undressing rooms and we swiftly removed our armor. With but a small sequined cloth as protection, we made our way downstairs.
Immediately the air became humid as gentle slips of steam emerged from beneath the door. I pushed it open and we made our way into a large, steamy room plated in tile and dampness. Three impossibly hairy men gawked at us then snickered to themselves. Apparently our awkwardly draped cloths and incredulous expressions were a sight to behold. A gangly, mustachioed man lying on the center tile-spread had so much hair on his shoulders that I literally thought he was wearing shoulder pads. We made our way to our individual bathing rooms and hung our towels. Now entirely naked, I stared down at two metal sprockets and a small plastic cup. With no other option, I filled the cup with warm water and repeatedly drenched myself. After about 15 cup loads, I felt refreshed. I turned off the water and made my way back out to the main room to rendezvous at the center tile with the other Americans. An overly affable man took advantage of the opportunity to chat with some foreigners and the six of us made our way to the sauna. My skin's residual wetness quickly disappeared in this dimly lit heater- filled room. As we deployed our horrendous Turkish in an attempt to chat with the local, we laughed together. With the cleansing heat and fresh rinse, we finally started to feel comfortable.
Our new acquaintance told us the best was yet to come. Sure enough, we made our way from the sauna and beheld the Turkish massage. We sat on the center tile column engrossed at the sight of a man karate chopping the bejesus out of another soul. As we stared, another hairier-than-humanly-possible man emerged from the steam to offer us each a lemon zesty beverage. We thanked him and quenched our thirst. Finally the masseur beckoned his first American victim over. We jeered at Drew and he commenced his massage.
When it was my turn, I enthusiastically jumped on to the tile centerpiece and lay prostrate, completely vulnerable. Apparently my genitals slipped from the towel because the masseur laughed and tugged my soaking cloth farther down. He began the massage with a sandpaper-esque scrubber that removed all my dead skin. This being my first massage of this sort, I had quite a bit of flesh to part with. He then massaged out my kinks, cracking parts of my spine simply by pinching them. He repeatedly left his massage post to grab particular props, my favorite being the sack of soap that he shot all over my body, immersing me in a cloud of bubbles that got all up in my grill and nasal cavity. He sat me up and ran his muscular fingers through my soaking locks with his less than satisfactory shampoo product. My eyes sealed shut at this point due to the excessive soap pervading my being, the man left me again. I heard his footsteps returning and my friends warned, "Brace yourself!" a tad too late. A wall of the coldest water imaginable struck my soapy face. I screamed like a little girl and every man in the Hamam squealed with laughter. I jokingly scolded the masseur and he made it up to me with a gentle splash of warm water. He inspected his handiwork and with a little smirk, remarked, "Bootiful!"
I rinsed myself, waited for the others to have their massage and we headed back upstairs. The nearly naked ned from the entrance greeted us with towels and wrapped us up like a pack of Sultans. We felt like new men. We had conquered the Turkish bath and lived to tell the tale. An air of accomplishment now embracing us, we offered the a rarely expected tip and made our way back into the cool night.
10/5/12
Will Turkey Go To War?
This is the question on everyone's mind right now. The conflict between Syria and Turkey has escalated at an alarming rate this past week. On Wednesday, a Syrian shelling killed five Turkish civilians. On Thursday, the Turkish parliament passed a motion to allow cross border raids into Syria. And today President Erdogan stated that he does not seek war with Syria, but will not oppose it if the situation worsens.
In June, the Syrian military downed a Turkish jet in free airspace. This triggered severe indignation from the Turks and promises of retaliation from Erdogan. This week's events have forced the president to move out from behind his veil of threats and take action against the Syrians. So, will Turkey go to war? The media says yes. The president says maybe. But the people, say no.
The Arab Spring of 2011 revealed the true potential of social media in revolutions. In both Egypt and Libya we saw the youth of nations bound together by the common thread of liberation. The Turkish have also shown their prowess in this realm as a Facebook group brought 7,000 protestors together last night to rally against Erdogan's threats of war. The Republican People's Party (CHP) is the main opposition party of Erdogan's Justice and Development Party (AKP). The CHP have fiery, passionate support from youth all across the country and they have made their lividity known through rallies and demonstrations. As I took the bus back from Besiktas tonight, I witnessed several teenagers hanging strings of CHP flags across the street in a blatant display of anti-Erdogan angst. The youth have once again made their presence known. But is this all merely an excuse to resurrect the dormant contempt of the AKP?
The alarmingly blunt press coverage of the conflict has led me to ask natives about the objectivity of the news and media. And just about everyone agrees that the government basically controls the media. The coverage released today is littered with headlines forecasting war (www.hurriyetdailynews.com) Many of the students at my university and the locals in Istanbul are far from fearful as they doubt anything will come of all the media ballyhoo. One student explained that, "The war threats between Turkey and Syria date back to the 50's and 60's. It has been half a century and nothing has come of it." When I asked this same student about the threats of war, he dismissed them with unnerving assurance. It seems a common belief that that media is under the control of and heavily influenced by the AKP. So why would the media contribute to the hype? Why would the president's own party portray him in a way that only fuels the flame of rebellion? Why would the country react so critically if the prospect of war is so farfetched?
What appeared to be vagueness on the part of Erdogan and the AKP is now an ambiguity with a myriad consequences. The conflict between parties dates back decades and the resentment between the Syrians, Turks and Kurds is entangled in a web of historical intricacies. A cloud of suspicion and unknowing surrounds the politics. Only one thing is for sure: the protests persist. The youth have raised their flags and voices. Something very real is happening and it will not go unchallenged. The tumultuous masses have been brought together through collective resentment of war. As Turkey sends soldiers across the border and engages the Syrians, only time will tell whether peace will be realized through civilized means or as Erdogan advocates, through violent measures: "We are not war-lovers, but we are not far from war either. The saying goes: 'prepare for war if you wish for peace.' So, war becomes the key for peace."
In June, the Syrian military downed a Turkish jet in free airspace. This triggered severe indignation from the Turks and promises of retaliation from Erdogan. This week's events have forced the president to move out from behind his veil of threats and take action against the Syrians. So, will Turkey go to war? The media says yes. The president says maybe. But the people, say no.
The Arab Spring of 2011 revealed the true potential of social media in revolutions. In both Egypt and Libya we saw the youth of nations bound together by the common thread of liberation. The Turkish have also shown their prowess in this realm as a Facebook group brought 7,000 protestors together last night to rally against Erdogan's threats of war. The Republican People's Party (CHP) is the main opposition party of Erdogan's Justice and Development Party (AKP). The CHP have fiery, passionate support from youth all across the country and they have made their lividity known through rallies and demonstrations. As I took the bus back from Besiktas tonight, I witnessed several teenagers hanging strings of CHP flags across the street in a blatant display of anti-Erdogan angst. The youth have once again made their presence known. But is this all merely an excuse to resurrect the dormant contempt of the AKP?
The alarmingly blunt press coverage of the conflict has led me to ask natives about the objectivity of the news and media. And just about everyone agrees that the government basically controls the media. The coverage released today is littered with headlines forecasting war (www.hurriyetdailynews.com) Many of the students at my university and the locals in Istanbul are far from fearful as they doubt anything will come of all the media ballyhoo. One student explained that, "The war threats between Turkey and Syria date back to the 50's and 60's. It has been half a century and nothing has come of it." When I asked this same student about the threats of war, he dismissed them with unnerving assurance. It seems a common belief that that media is under the control of and heavily influenced by the AKP. So why would the media contribute to the hype? Why would the president's own party portray him in a way that only fuels the flame of rebellion? Why would the country react so critically if the prospect of war is so farfetched?
What appeared to be vagueness on the part of Erdogan and the AKP is now an ambiguity with a myriad consequences. The conflict between parties dates back decades and the resentment between the Syrians, Turks and Kurds is entangled in a web of historical intricacies. A cloud of suspicion and unknowing surrounds the politics. Only one thing is for sure: the protests persist. The youth have raised their flags and voices. Something very real is happening and it will not go unchallenged. The tumultuous masses have been brought together through collective resentment of war. As Turkey sends soldiers across the border and engages the Syrians, only time will tell whether peace will be realized through civilized means or as Erdogan advocates, through violent measures: "We are not war-lovers, but we are not far from war either. The saying goes: 'prepare for war if you wish for peace.' So, war becomes the key for peace."
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| Protestors light flares in the street |
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| CHP supporters hang their party's flags |
9/30/12
Bus Biddies
I spent the better part of my Saturday in Asia. The Bosphorus separates the Asian side of Istanbul from the European side so it is only a thirty minute commute to the other continent. Some friends and I checked out a nice variety of restaurants and bars until about midnight, then I flew solo to the bus station to go back to campus. Because of terrible traffic and the fact that the buses only run once an hour, I didn't make it on until about 2:30AM. Delirious from a long day of walking and a birthday party the night before which left me sleeping on a poolside chair, I slouched against the bus wall and stared out the window, my eyelids heavy. Two French girls stood next to me, their mood far more jovial than everyone else's, repetitively engaged in quick spurts of annoying giggle chatting. After about 15 minutes of this, the girl's ceaseless sounds echoing in every skull and unrelenting traffic adding to the frustration, a Turkish woman whipped around and from the very front of the bus, admonished the girls in a desperately pleading tone:
"My head it hurts! Could you please be quiet! be quiet be quiet be quiet! I am not well!"
The bus became dead silent. Only the light squeaks of the suspension system could be heard. Nobody said a word for about 20 seconds, then the hushed whispering started up as it always does after a collective surprise. Within about two minutes, the conversation resumed its normal volume. The girls did their best to be quiet, but small squeals of laughter continued to emit from their excited exchange. My eyes glued to the woman, I watched as she threw her head down, shot severe glances in the girls' direction and complained to her boyfriend adjacent to her. She writhed in dismay as the girls continued. I just knew she was about to pop. The human body can only bottle intense emotion for so long. This time she shot up, grabbing her man's arm, her intoxication apparent:
"I am not well! You must be quiet or I will call the police! Shut your little foreign mouths!"
Now obvious that she was causing far more of a ruckus than the girls, the looks of consternation shifted from the latter to her. She took her seat and began yelling at her boyfriend at the top of her lungs in Turkish. She was a loose cannon. At this point, stifled laugher came from the exhausted bus patrons, everyone fully aware of the ridiculousness of the occasion. She unabashedly continued her rant. I thought about piping up, but realized it was not my time or place. A Turkish man finally rose up to the occasion. With wild gesticulations, he cussed the woman out and the two engaged in a bitter tussle. The rest of the bus rooted for him as he said something to the effect of, "You are causing the problem now. It is not these girls, IT IS YOU!"
The boyfriend tried to fend off the crowd of determined animals but it was futile. Within minutes, half the bus arose in a cacophony of violent Turkish and the other end, howling laughter. The first man who raised his voice moved forward intimidatingly with two of his cronies and commanded they leave the bus. The driver obeyed and the two were literally booted off as the bus resounded with wild applause and "Bravos!"
I chuckled to myself and joined in on camaraderie, casting my share of cheers. The bus, now indisputably bonded, moved on down the dimly lit streets toward its distant destination.
Contrary to my former post, here is evidence that some Turks will raise their voices and lose their tempers when provoked. It just goes to show that stereotyping never works. An entire culture cannot have parameters placed on its every action or tendency. We are all humans and have similar desires. And the desires of the group will always overshadow the desires of the individual. That's power in numbers. And that is the one constant I have observed.
"My head it hurts! Could you please be quiet! be quiet be quiet be quiet! I am not well!"
The bus became dead silent. Only the light squeaks of the suspension system could be heard. Nobody said a word for about 20 seconds, then the hushed whispering started up as it always does after a collective surprise. Within about two minutes, the conversation resumed its normal volume. The girls did their best to be quiet, but small squeals of laughter continued to emit from their excited exchange. My eyes glued to the woman, I watched as she threw her head down, shot severe glances in the girls' direction and complained to her boyfriend adjacent to her. She writhed in dismay as the girls continued. I just knew she was about to pop. The human body can only bottle intense emotion for so long. This time she shot up, grabbing her man's arm, her intoxication apparent:
"I am not well! You must be quiet or I will call the police! Shut your little foreign mouths!"
Now obvious that she was causing far more of a ruckus than the girls, the looks of consternation shifted from the latter to her. She took her seat and began yelling at her boyfriend at the top of her lungs in Turkish. She was a loose cannon. At this point, stifled laugher came from the exhausted bus patrons, everyone fully aware of the ridiculousness of the occasion. She unabashedly continued her rant. I thought about piping up, but realized it was not my time or place. A Turkish man finally rose up to the occasion. With wild gesticulations, he cussed the woman out and the two engaged in a bitter tussle. The rest of the bus rooted for him as he said something to the effect of, "You are causing the problem now. It is not these girls, IT IS YOU!"
The boyfriend tried to fend off the crowd of determined animals but it was futile. Within minutes, half the bus arose in a cacophony of violent Turkish and the other end, howling laughter. The first man who raised his voice moved forward intimidatingly with two of his cronies and commanded they leave the bus. The driver obeyed and the two were literally booted off as the bus resounded with wild applause and "Bravos!"
I chuckled to myself and joined in on camaraderie, casting my share of cheers. The bus, now indisputably bonded, moved on down the dimly lit streets toward its distant destination.
Contrary to my former post, here is evidence that some Turks will raise their voices and lose their tempers when provoked. It just goes to show that stereotyping never works. An entire culture cannot have parameters placed on its every action or tendency. We are all humans and have similar desires. And the desires of the group will always overshadow the desires of the individual. That's power in numbers. And that is the one constant I have observed.
9/27/12
"You Look Like an Avatar"
"You should be more humble..." That's what my roommate told me. We had been in the dormitory management office and one of the workers behind the desk had stared at me for five straight minutes, then told me that I looked like an Avatar. No, not one of the cute little Wii avatars, or the Last Airbender avatar. Like the freakishly tall blue creatures with the long faces. I guess I took it a little too seriously.
The Turkish people have this implicit understanding that individual frustrations are not to be displayed. It is frowned upon or viewed are prideful when one places a precedence on his own problems. Thus, to be offended or angry means that one cares too much about himself and needs to relax. This is a hard difference because when something is frustrating me, I am usually confrontational or intentional about addressing it. But the Turkish mentality sees very little excuse for this. And that is precisely why, after an entire month of being here, I have yet to see one angry person. I have viewed reserved frustration, but not anger. Living in New York City this summer, I don't think I ever walked a block without seeing someone screaming into a cell phone or bitching out a deli worker for inadequate service. We value our expression in American (and of course, freedom of speech) but I think it can often be a deconstructive expression and largely based in pride. Many Americans, myself included, run their mouths and give very little thought to what comes out of them. In Turkey, reservation entails thinking twice before you speak and ensuring that when the time comes, your words carry weight. So the whole Avatar thing, carefully premeditated as it was, became the man's way of testing my pride level. I flunked the examination.
Last week, my friend Sam and I visited the castle walls in Old City Istanbul. The Christians erected these walls during the crusades to keep the Ottoman's out. There was the natural sea barrier on two sides but they needed another bulwark and built this wall as a means to protect the third side. During the crusades, Constantinople was the commercial and governmental head. Its protection was vital. But the walls proved conquerable as the Muslim's sacked Constantinople in the Fourth Crusade. It was incredible to climb up these walls and look out over the city. Just thinking about how many people fought and died right where I was standing was a bit eerie but incredible at the same time. For those of you familiar with Lord of the Rings, imagine the battle of Helms Deep where Legolas and Gimli are tallying their ork kills. It was that badass.
The Turkish people have this implicit understanding that individual frustrations are not to be displayed. It is frowned upon or viewed are prideful when one places a precedence on his own problems. Thus, to be offended or angry means that one cares too much about himself and needs to relax. This is a hard difference because when something is frustrating me, I am usually confrontational or intentional about addressing it. But the Turkish mentality sees very little excuse for this. And that is precisely why, after an entire month of being here, I have yet to see one angry person. I have viewed reserved frustration, but not anger. Living in New York City this summer, I don't think I ever walked a block without seeing someone screaming into a cell phone or bitching out a deli worker for inadequate service. We value our expression in American (and of course, freedom of speech) but I think it can often be a deconstructive expression and largely based in pride. Many Americans, myself included, run their mouths and give very little thought to what comes out of them. In Turkey, reservation entails thinking twice before you speak and ensuring that when the time comes, your words carry weight. So the whole Avatar thing, carefully premeditated as it was, became the man's way of testing my pride level. I flunked the examination.
Last week, my friend Sam and I visited the castle walls in Old City Istanbul. The Christians erected these walls during the crusades to keep the Ottoman's out. There was the natural sea barrier on two sides but they needed another bulwark and built this wall as a means to protect the third side. During the crusades, Constantinople was the commercial and governmental head. Its protection was vital. But the walls proved conquerable as the Muslim's sacked Constantinople in the Fourth Crusade. It was incredible to climb up these walls and look out over the city. Just thinking about how many people fought and died right where I was standing was a bit eerie but incredible at the same time. For those of you familiar with Lord of the Rings, imagine the battle of Helms Deep where Legolas and Gimli are tallying their ork kills. It was that badass.
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| View of the Golden Horn from the castle walls |
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| Climbing the steepest stairs of my life to the walls |
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| 70 foot pit that some bros got tossed into during the battles |
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| My roomie Utku. His name means "victory." He is a rockstar. |
9/20/12
The Bird Catcher
I like to break the routine. Today during my break between classes I decided to travel down to the little town of Sariyer and peoplewatch by the Bosphorus. I found a spot of shade on the grass and observed the cacophonous birds, effervescent children and snoozing dogs. The birds commanded attention as they fluttered about busily in search of their singular objective: food. A stampede of feet interrupted my existential daydream about the life of birds, and I looked up to find three generations: a grandfather, a father, and a son. The latter, a three year old, led the way, bouncing to and fro as all children do when overwhelmed by their surroundings. The birds continued to make their presence felt as they flapped about these three. The son came upon a little robin that had been separated from his comrades. The boy inched closer to the stranded warrior with deliberate hesitation. Suddenly two hands worked swiftly to gather up the tiny bird. As the poor soul squeaked rhythmically to deliver a clear distress call, the father smiled and beckoned his son closer. The boy looked upon his father as one stares in disbelief as something previously thought impossible, proves otherwise. The grandfather simply chuckled to himself. The father whispered words of reassurance and offered his chirping hands to the boy. The boy reached his little finger out to the bird and stroked its head. The father praised his son and quickly unclasped his hands, releasing the distressed soldier from his tortuous captivity. The bird shot out and sang with delight. He reunited with his kin, never to wander from the group again. The father took his son over to the washbasin, scrubbed their palms and the three generations proceeded through the park, hand in hand in hand in hand.
I can't exactly figure why I found this short sequence so profoundly moving- a father taking his son through the world, finding ways to help him make sense of it. Perhaps it was the generational factor. Perhaps it was just a father joking around. But I saw something more; I saw harmony. This place is filled with it. From the way family members support each other to the way businessmen respect one another. From the stray dogs that delight in their freedom to the smoking man that directs the foreigner to his destination. Everything here is part of the whole. Anything that seeks independence is quickly reminded of its responsibility to the group. Its responsibility to this unity.
I can't exactly figure why I found this short sequence so profoundly moving- a father taking his son through the world, finding ways to help him make sense of it. Perhaps it was the generational factor. Perhaps it was just a father joking around. But I saw something more; I saw harmony. This place is filled with it. From the way family members support each other to the way businessmen respect one another. From the stray dogs that delight in their freedom to the smoking man that directs the foreigner to his destination. Everything here is part of the whole. Anything that seeks independence is quickly reminded of its responsibility to the group. Its responsibility to this unity.
9/17/12
First Day of Classes
After two weeks of getting acclimated to my new home, I finally started classes today. And it was quite an experience.
As I wandered desperately around the halls, my beffudledness oozed. Not only does every building here look exactly the same, but the abbreviations for the buildings make about as much sense as those Southerners that keep llamas as domestic pets. For example, my marketing class, which qualified as a "business administration" course, should intuitively be in the "Administrative Studies" building. Alas, no. I finally fumbled into the correct classroom four buildings further and twenty minutes later, placing my arrival at a fashionably late 9:50, for a 9:30 course. Needless to say I felt like a Freshman again. But as usual, I was able to laugh about it and not stress.
I grabbed a syllabus and took my seat but almost immediately stood back up as I noticed the striking beauty of the woman up front. I thought to myself, "There is no way a woman this attractive could be teaching Accounting." Well, welcome to Turkey. She proceeded to show a five minute video (in Turkish) about managerial accounting. She then abruptly asked for responses. Needless to say, I understood absolutely nothing and could therefore contribute nothing. Awesome start.
But thankfully the courses are taught in English and I found this one video to be an exception to this educational mandate. But despite being taught in my native tongue, I still felt a bit unsettled in the classroom. For one, Turkish students rarely ever raise their voices in class. For any reason. Because of this, my normal inquisitive self had to be restrained in order to not be "that American" or "that overly talkative classmate." The teachers command the classroom and most of the students just sit and (hopefully) soak in their words. In two of my three classes, I was also the only non-Turkish student and while other students partook in little conversations, I found myself facing that insurmountable language barrier again. But I decided getting to know my classmates was more important than risking awkwardness so I jutted myself in and introduced myself. And I never regretted it. A few times the students were taken aback. But it struck me, as a few students have mentioned, that it really benefits them to carry conversations in English as it is a language all the students are still grasping. So I can justify it now. Phew. But hopefully I will soon be able to communicate with them adequately in THEIR native tongue.
I am also taking six courses compared to my usual load of four courses. So I will be a busy bee this semester. And they are all business classes save for Turkish language and Turkish culture. But I am eager to get underway and start studying. Blessings upon each of you out there. And thank you again for taking the time to read into my little life. As a token of appreciation I would like to share a picture I took as I travelled to Kilyos and watched the sun set over the Black Sea last night. Bask in its splendor.
Oh and one more thing. I took shots as I noticed these wild horses roaming about this small village. The little girl in the picture was being cute and making faces at the horses until she thought it humorous to pick up a whopping dirt clod and hurl it at the pony's face. It hit him smack between the eyes and burst into dust. She laughed and ran away. It was one of the more terrible things I have seen in quite some time. The pony was okay but that didn't stop me from casting deep stared of admonishment in the girl's direction.
As I wandered desperately around the halls, my beffudledness oozed. Not only does every building here look exactly the same, but the abbreviations for the buildings make about as much sense as those Southerners that keep llamas as domestic pets. For example, my marketing class, which qualified as a "business administration" course, should intuitively be in the "Administrative Studies" building. Alas, no. I finally fumbled into the correct classroom four buildings further and twenty minutes later, placing my arrival at a fashionably late 9:50, for a 9:30 course. Needless to say I felt like a Freshman again. But as usual, I was able to laugh about it and not stress.
I grabbed a syllabus and took my seat but almost immediately stood back up as I noticed the striking beauty of the woman up front. I thought to myself, "There is no way a woman this attractive could be teaching Accounting." Well, welcome to Turkey. She proceeded to show a five minute video (in Turkish) about managerial accounting. She then abruptly asked for responses. Needless to say, I understood absolutely nothing and could therefore contribute nothing. Awesome start.
But thankfully the courses are taught in English and I found this one video to be an exception to this educational mandate. But despite being taught in my native tongue, I still felt a bit unsettled in the classroom. For one, Turkish students rarely ever raise their voices in class. For any reason. Because of this, my normal inquisitive self had to be restrained in order to not be "that American" or "that overly talkative classmate." The teachers command the classroom and most of the students just sit and (hopefully) soak in their words. In two of my three classes, I was also the only non-Turkish student and while other students partook in little conversations, I found myself facing that insurmountable language barrier again. But I decided getting to know my classmates was more important than risking awkwardness so I jutted myself in and introduced myself. And I never regretted it. A few times the students were taken aback. But it struck me, as a few students have mentioned, that it really benefits them to carry conversations in English as it is a language all the students are still grasping. So I can justify it now. Phew. But hopefully I will soon be able to communicate with them adequately in THEIR native tongue.
I am also taking six courses compared to my usual load of four courses. So I will be a busy bee this semester. And they are all business classes save for Turkish language and Turkish culture. But I am eager to get underway and start studying. Blessings upon each of you out there. And thank you again for taking the time to read into my little life. As a token of appreciation I would like to share a picture I took as I travelled to Kilyos and watched the sun set over the Black Sea last night. Bask in its splendor.
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| Sunset over the Black Sea |
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Oh and one more thing. I took shots as I noticed these wild horses roaming about this small village. The little girl in the picture was being cute and making faces at the horses until she thought it humorous to pick up a whopping dirt clod and hurl it at the pony's face. It hit him smack between the eyes and burst into dust. She laughed and ran away. It was one of the more terrible things I have seen in quite some time. The pony was okay but that didn't stop me from casting deep stared of admonishment in the girl's direction.
9/15/12
Old City
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| The Hagia Sophia |
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| Inside the historic mosque |
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| And the angels sang |
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| Topkapi Palace |
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| Stuffing in the back of cabs |
9/12/12
Safety, Security Solace and Toilets
The news lately has been riddled with unsettling news from the Middle East. The bitter, continuing conflict in Syria, the extremist attack on the American consulate in Libya and, most unnerving and closer to home, a suicide bomber in Istanbul. While politicians and the media continue their rants about undeserved violence and possible retaliation, I just wanted to take a second to let those of you keeping tabs on me know that I am in a very safe region in Turkey.
The suicide bombing, which I will post a link to below, took place on Monday in Istanbul. It is in an area of town that someone of my ethnicity and dress preferences would never be near. The bomber was a member of an outlawed revolutionary party and appears to have acted alone. As the article notes, these attacks, which have occurred sporadically over the past few years are almost always targeted at police officers and government employees. Istanbul has seen its share of riots as well as protests occur regularly. Police are stationed all over town to quickly subdue any uprisings and those that have occurred since the Gazi Riots of 1995 are generally smaller in number and in scope.
http://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/police-officer-killed-in-istanbul-suicide-bombing.aspx?pageID=238&nID=29852&NewsCatID=341
The campus of Koc University is sequestered in the hills of Sariyer, the northernmost district of Istanbul. The security here is unprecedented and the students very involved in local NGOs and other various civil society endeavors. Trips into the central area of Istanbul are infrequent and the CIEE Study Abroad program that I am with here has our safety as their number one priority and would never lead us to a part of town in which that security would be jeopardized. So to those of you that have reached out, I greatly appreciate it and just wanted to check in with you.
On a lighter note, I thought I would indulge you with some Toilet Talk.
Here the "toilets" can be literal holes in the floor where it is anything goes. In certain dire circumstances, it is best to bear down, spread oneself however inadequately on either side of the terribly slippery edges and cast prayers of protection in God's general direction. After the parcel has been delivered, one must then lunge at the infuriatingly distant paper roll and wad the negative-four ply toilet paper that makes Gordon's teepee seem like silk baby wipes. Ahh but the deed is not done. One must still make his way across the sloshy, newspaper laden tiles to the "wash region." Here you stare at your impossibly cracked reflection in the mirror that would draw utmost sympathy from the narcissistic Queen in Sleeping Beauty. The water which probably drains straight from the rather-polluted Bosphorus, combined with the soap that resembles liquidized, albino beetle larvae, leaves your hands feeling dirtier than whatever the worst part of the adventure may have been. Almost finished! Settle with the fact that there will be no paper towel left and make the smart, environmentally conscience choice to use the hand dryer which you swear will actually emit moisturized air to 'dry' your impossibly filthy hands. Decide to rub your ten little phalanges on your newly purchased, formerly immaculate white button down and proceed through the door. Make sure to flash your inevitable smile and give a polite "Merhaba" as you make way for the next unfortunate victim.
At my school and in the nice restaurants, however, these unfortunate urinary utilities become pristine porcelain poopers. First time I used the toilets here (which are, by the way, about 5 inches higher off the ground than American toilets. It baffles me how a generally shorter population can sit upon these toilets and not lose their aim) I felt a tremendous rush of excitement. Not only did I revel in the simple pleasure of having my refined space to contemplate my day, but I had the mental prowess to notice a fun little feature called a bidet. Now never have I had the fortune to stumble upon one of these impossibly handy inventions before so the first time was a treat! If you are unfamiliar with a bidet, I recommend a quick google search. Just remember when it's your turn to use one, check the water pressure before commencing the shelling. Some sphincters don't take kindly to the pressurized jet stream.
The suicide bombing, which I will post a link to below, took place on Monday in Istanbul. It is in an area of town that someone of my ethnicity and dress preferences would never be near. The bomber was a member of an outlawed revolutionary party and appears to have acted alone. As the article notes, these attacks, which have occurred sporadically over the past few years are almost always targeted at police officers and government employees. Istanbul has seen its share of riots as well as protests occur regularly. Police are stationed all over town to quickly subdue any uprisings and those that have occurred since the Gazi Riots of 1995 are generally smaller in number and in scope.
http://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/police-officer-killed-in-istanbul-suicide-bombing.aspx?pageID=238&nID=29852&NewsCatID=341
The campus of Koc University is sequestered in the hills of Sariyer, the northernmost district of Istanbul. The security here is unprecedented and the students very involved in local NGOs and other various civil society endeavors. Trips into the central area of Istanbul are infrequent and the CIEE Study Abroad program that I am with here has our safety as their number one priority and would never lead us to a part of town in which that security would be jeopardized. So to those of you that have reached out, I greatly appreciate it and just wanted to check in with you.
On a lighter note, I thought I would indulge you with some Toilet Talk.
Here the "toilets" can be literal holes in the floor where it is anything goes. In certain dire circumstances, it is best to bear down, spread oneself however inadequately on either side of the terribly slippery edges and cast prayers of protection in God's general direction. After the parcel has been delivered, one must then lunge at the infuriatingly distant paper roll and wad the negative-four ply toilet paper that makes Gordon's teepee seem like silk baby wipes. Ahh but the deed is not done. One must still make his way across the sloshy, newspaper laden tiles to the "wash region." Here you stare at your impossibly cracked reflection in the mirror that would draw utmost sympathy from the narcissistic Queen in Sleeping Beauty. The water which probably drains straight from the rather-polluted Bosphorus, combined with the soap that resembles liquidized, albino beetle larvae, leaves your hands feeling dirtier than whatever the worst part of the adventure may have been. Almost finished! Settle with the fact that there will be no paper towel left and make the smart, environmentally conscience choice to use the hand dryer which you swear will actually emit moisturized air to 'dry' your impossibly filthy hands. Decide to rub your ten little phalanges on your newly purchased, formerly immaculate white button down and proceed through the door. Make sure to flash your inevitable smile and give a polite "Merhaba" as you make way for the next unfortunate victim.
At my school and in the nice restaurants, however, these unfortunate urinary utilities become pristine porcelain poopers. First time I used the toilets here (which are, by the way, about 5 inches higher off the ground than American toilets. It baffles me how a generally shorter population can sit upon these toilets and not lose their aim) I felt a tremendous rush of excitement. Not only did I revel in the simple pleasure of having my refined space to contemplate my day, but I had the mental prowess to notice a fun little feature called a bidet. Now never have I had the fortune to stumble upon one of these impossibly handy inventions before so the first time was a treat! If you are unfamiliar with a bidet, I recommend a quick google search. Just remember when it's your turn to use one, check the water pressure before commencing the shelling. Some sphincters don't take kindly to the pressurized jet stream.
9/11/12
Little Worlds
Last night my university rented out a club for all the exchange students to meet, greet and party. There are roughly 250 other international students at Koc and this night proved a great opportunity to meet with students from Holland, Italy, Sweden, Pakistan Germany and Canada. Overseeing the event were about 50 or so Turkish mentors- Koc students that are helping the international students with their transition. As Koc University is one of the premier and most well-funded universities in Turkey, it attracts the upper echelons of the academic world and the Turkish students here are not only driven, but understand the privilege to study at such a place. Because of this they are very sharp and are fascinating to have cultural conversations with.
Outside of the club, I shared a word with Metahan- a brilliant marketing student with a fiery passion for deep discussion. We hit it off and within a few minutes found ourselves entangled in a messy web of political and cultural observations. I asked Metahan what he thought about Americans. I told him to be brutally honest and as blatant as possible. He replied, "There is a conception in Turkey that Americans are ignorant and stupid. They are so concerned with themselves and their own little world that they shun the rest of the world." Although hearing these words stung, I knew he was right. And sure enough, as I toured around and tipsily inquired about Turkish views of Americans, I found this stereotype to be an unfortunate motif. What troubled me even more was the extensive knowledge these Turkish students had about American news and politics. They knew exactly what is happening with upcoming election and even commented on Mit Romney's past at Bain Capital and his involvement in the Winter Olympics in Utah.
Through the discussions I was able to pull away a couple reasons as to why many Turks view Americans as self-absorbed, ignorant and stupid.
America is its own little world
I always knew that America ranked among the most powerful nations in the world. We rule the entertainment, news, fashion and media industries. We create products, businesses and ideas that reshape the world. But what happens when we as a nation are entirely self-sufficient is that we have no reason to look outside of ourselves. And although we rely on many countries like China, Japan, and India for imports and services, only a small fringe of the population does direct business with these other nations. Many Americans simply utilize these goods and services while paying little or no mind to where they came from or at what expense. Although efficient, this system makes America out to be the circle of kids on the playground holding hands and facing inwards, paying no mind to the other kids shouting at them from behind. Our news and media give us the tools to connect with the rest of the world (I do think the Syrian conflict has been a great example of quality American reporting and one that has caught the attention of many in the U.S.) but there needs to be an intentional effort to follow this news and understand its implications. But even with the Syrian conflict, it is sad how it takes thousands of deaths for people to identify a problem. And currently, all we can do is cover the conflict as intervention seems to be out of the picture right now considering the American political scene. And what incentive is there for the America people to follow the news outside of their country if it bears no immediate effect on them? It takes a certain degree of selflessness and a desire to look outside of one's own immediate circumstances. And this is a trait that we, as a nation, have yet to muster.
America only wants imperialism
The Turkish also view America as an imperialist country that only intervenes if it benefits them in someway. A great example of this is in the fast food chains like McDonalds and Burger King which are luxurious dining establishments in Turkey with three floors each and rooftop dining areas. These businesses extend their influence as far as possible and hold dear to the thankfully unrealized fact that their food here is not viewed as processed shit. Individual American citizens have the same mentality. They will only visit places where they believe there is opportunity for them whether it be a vacation or business. And fundamentally there is nothing wrong with this. The human tendency is for us to exert our influence as much as possible until something stops us. It's the basic principle of inertia. But we cannot be offended when we are viewed as self-absorbed or ignorant when from every other perspective but our own, it is obvious that we are greedy capitalists with insatiable dominative tendencies.
Now whether these are universal views of America or they are contained to a distinct minority, they are important to consider. America is an incredible land of opportunity with some of the most brilliant scholars, innovative businessmen and philanthropic titans. But unless we as a nation halt every once in a while to understand the implications of our influence, we will always wonder why foreign countries resent us.
Outside of the club, I shared a word with Metahan- a brilliant marketing student with a fiery passion for deep discussion. We hit it off and within a few minutes found ourselves entangled in a messy web of political and cultural observations. I asked Metahan what he thought about Americans. I told him to be brutally honest and as blatant as possible. He replied, "There is a conception in Turkey that Americans are ignorant and stupid. They are so concerned with themselves and their own little world that they shun the rest of the world." Although hearing these words stung, I knew he was right. And sure enough, as I toured around and tipsily inquired about Turkish views of Americans, I found this stereotype to be an unfortunate motif. What troubled me even more was the extensive knowledge these Turkish students had about American news and politics. They knew exactly what is happening with upcoming election and even commented on Mit Romney's past at Bain Capital and his involvement in the Winter Olympics in Utah.
Through the discussions I was able to pull away a couple reasons as to why many Turks view Americans as self-absorbed, ignorant and stupid.
America is its own little world
I always knew that America ranked among the most powerful nations in the world. We rule the entertainment, news, fashion and media industries. We create products, businesses and ideas that reshape the world. But what happens when we as a nation are entirely self-sufficient is that we have no reason to look outside of ourselves. And although we rely on many countries like China, Japan, and India for imports and services, only a small fringe of the population does direct business with these other nations. Many Americans simply utilize these goods and services while paying little or no mind to where they came from or at what expense. Although efficient, this system makes America out to be the circle of kids on the playground holding hands and facing inwards, paying no mind to the other kids shouting at them from behind. Our news and media give us the tools to connect with the rest of the world (I do think the Syrian conflict has been a great example of quality American reporting and one that has caught the attention of many in the U.S.) but there needs to be an intentional effort to follow this news and understand its implications. But even with the Syrian conflict, it is sad how it takes thousands of deaths for people to identify a problem. And currently, all we can do is cover the conflict as intervention seems to be out of the picture right now considering the American political scene. And what incentive is there for the America people to follow the news outside of their country if it bears no immediate effect on them? It takes a certain degree of selflessness and a desire to look outside of one's own immediate circumstances. And this is a trait that we, as a nation, have yet to muster.
America only wants imperialism
The Turkish also view America as an imperialist country that only intervenes if it benefits them in someway. A great example of this is in the fast food chains like McDonalds and Burger King which are luxurious dining establishments in Turkey with three floors each and rooftop dining areas. These businesses extend their influence as far as possible and hold dear to the thankfully unrealized fact that their food here is not viewed as processed shit. Individual American citizens have the same mentality. They will only visit places where they believe there is opportunity for them whether it be a vacation or business. And fundamentally there is nothing wrong with this. The human tendency is for us to exert our influence as much as possible until something stops us. It's the basic principle of inertia. But we cannot be offended when we are viewed as self-absorbed or ignorant when from every other perspective but our own, it is obvious that we are greedy capitalists with insatiable dominative tendencies.
Now whether these are universal views of America or they are contained to a distinct minority, they are important to consider. America is an incredible land of opportunity with some of the most brilliant scholars, innovative businessmen and philanthropic titans. But unless we as a nation halt every once in a while to understand the implications of our influence, we will always wonder why foreign countries resent us.
9/9/12
The Boisterous Bosphorus
Egotism, Altruism and Happiness
Merhaba!
According to my orientation class, 77% of the population in Turkey considers themselves "happy." Although I have read statistics elsewhere that put the American happiness rate at a higher percentage, the Turkish people (as I have observed) have a deep-rooted happiness that is infectious. I wanted to take a second to write about why I think this may be. How can a country with almost 20% of its population living on or below the poverty line, consider themselves happy? There are a couple reasons this could be:
Turkish people have lower expectations than people in the U.S.
This point may seem severe at first but here me out. America, a Capitalist, entrepreneurially driven country, was founded on the belief that if one can summon the resources and willpower, one can succeed. As our country progressed, this possibility of succeeding blossomed into the possibility for thriving and dominating. With the proper drive, one can work his way up to the top. Most people in America have access to and take advantage of the available higher education systems. Students invest so much money in education and as these dues increase, so do our expectations. In Turkey, it is the other way around. A rigorous standardize test administered senior year of high school, determines one's eligibility for university. No one here cares about grades, extracurriculars, or letters of recommendation. If your scores aren't in that top 14%, it is over. Although this seems unjust from a Western perspective, it is accepted here. Many people realize early on that they will not be successful in the academic realm and settle with blue collar jobs. The few that do go on to professional careers are not envied; they are instead praised and helped up to the top by those beneath them. The rags to riches American mentality seems like a blessing, but it also makes everyone responsible for their own lack of success. The Turkish people accept the reality of the successful few and therefore find far more contentment and enjoyment in their positions, even if they are lesser. We tell ourselves in America that we envy other's riches, but really we envy the happiness we think it brings them. The Turkish people have learned happiness through accepting their fates and realizing their realities exist right in front of them, in their day to day responsibilities and not in their lofty expectations.
The Turkish people value relationships over tasks
One cannot escape the feeling here that all Turks are brothers and sisters. There is a compassion and understanding among the population that I have never before witnessed. These people accept, trust and love their own people. They are also very compassionate toward outsiders, if they embrace the culture. Ignorance and close-mindedness are not welcome here. Whereas in the U.S. there seems to be an "assume deceitful until proven trustful" mindset, in Turkey they will welcome you in with open arms and trust you until you give them reason to do otherwise. This compassion, as previously described, is infectious. Many here innately understand this trust principle and as a result, there is a deep-rooted love for the other and the community as a whole. When the people that surround you, trust you and want to lend a hand, happiness too lends a hand and desires you join it with love.
As happiness is found through the community and not in one's own accomplishments, the ego naturally loses its grasp. The Turks, although competitive in business and proficient in their tasks, are dedicated to the larger whole and lose focus of the individual parts. As long as they are cared for and loved, there seems to be no problem large enough to knock them off the tracks.
Now I realize that these are broad generalizations and stereotypes. But as I have yet to spend a full week here, I am simply noting my observations and backing them up. Just as 20th century Frenchmen Alexis de Tocqueville travelled to America and jotted down his observations of American life and democracy, so too will I record my thoughts as they arise. As Tocqueville wrote, “Nothing is more wonderful than the art of being free, but nothing is harder to learn how to use than freedom.” Americans bask in their freedom, but without harnessing it, our freedom can be our demise.
According to my orientation class, 77% of the population in Turkey considers themselves "happy." Although I have read statistics elsewhere that put the American happiness rate at a higher percentage, the Turkish people (as I have observed) have a deep-rooted happiness that is infectious. I wanted to take a second to write about why I think this may be. How can a country with almost 20% of its population living on or below the poverty line, consider themselves happy? There are a couple reasons this could be:
Turkish people have lower expectations than people in the U.S.
This point may seem severe at first but here me out. America, a Capitalist, entrepreneurially driven country, was founded on the belief that if one can summon the resources and willpower, one can succeed. As our country progressed, this possibility of succeeding blossomed into the possibility for thriving and dominating. With the proper drive, one can work his way up to the top. Most people in America have access to and take advantage of the available higher education systems. Students invest so much money in education and as these dues increase, so do our expectations. In Turkey, it is the other way around. A rigorous standardize test administered senior year of high school, determines one's eligibility for university. No one here cares about grades, extracurriculars, or letters of recommendation. If your scores aren't in that top 14%, it is over. Although this seems unjust from a Western perspective, it is accepted here. Many people realize early on that they will not be successful in the academic realm and settle with blue collar jobs. The few that do go on to professional careers are not envied; they are instead praised and helped up to the top by those beneath them. The rags to riches American mentality seems like a blessing, but it also makes everyone responsible for their own lack of success. The Turkish people accept the reality of the successful few and therefore find far more contentment and enjoyment in their positions, even if they are lesser. We tell ourselves in America that we envy other's riches, but really we envy the happiness we think it brings them. The Turkish people have learned happiness through accepting their fates and realizing their realities exist right in front of them, in their day to day responsibilities and not in their lofty expectations.
The Turkish people value relationships over tasks
One cannot escape the feeling here that all Turks are brothers and sisters. There is a compassion and understanding among the population that I have never before witnessed. These people accept, trust and love their own people. They are also very compassionate toward outsiders, if they embrace the culture. Ignorance and close-mindedness are not welcome here. Whereas in the U.S. there seems to be an "assume deceitful until proven trustful" mindset, in Turkey they will welcome you in with open arms and trust you until you give them reason to do otherwise. This compassion, as previously described, is infectious. Many here innately understand this trust principle and as a result, there is a deep-rooted love for the other and the community as a whole. When the people that surround you, trust you and want to lend a hand, happiness too lends a hand and desires you join it with love.
As happiness is found through the community and not in one's own accomplishments, the ego naturally loses its grasp. The Turks, although competitive in business and proficient in their tasks, are dedicated to the larger whole and lose focus of the individual parts. As long as they are cared for and loved, there seems to be no problem large enough to knock them off the tracks.
Now I realize that these are broad generalizations and stereotypes. But as I have yet to spend a full week here, I am simply noting my observations and backing them up. Just as 20th century Frenchmen Alexis de Tocqueville travelled to America and jotted down his observations of American life and democracy, so too will I record my thoughts as they arise. As Tocqueville wrote, “Nothing is more wonderful than the art of being free, but nothing is harder to learn how to use than freedom.” Americans bask in their freedom, but without harnessing it, our freedom can be our demise.
9/7/12
Top 10 Turkish Observations
I have only been in Turkey three days, but here are 10 observations regarding the life/culture. Perhaps as the semester progresses, these observations will either change or progress.
1) The Turkish are a gentle people- nearly every person carries him/herself in a considerate yet confident manner
2) The Turkish workforce is predominately young- nearly every Turk I have encountered in a blue collar job (ie. airport staff, university janitorial staff, bartenders) are in their early 20's.
3) People are valued over business- This is perhaps the most important observation. No matter what, the Turkish refuse to place their personal financial interests above others. Because of this, the Turkey will never be a narcissistic, production-focused society like America.
4) The Turkish women are positively striking- I have never seen women so beautiful. And they wear little to no makeup.
5) The society, although largely secular, has not forgotten their faith- 99% of the population in Turkey identifies as Muslim, but only 52% observe their religious duties. Many women do not wear headscarves in public and few observe the daily call to prayer. Yet the overwhelming majority of the population is selfless and communally driven-evidence that Islam still influences their daily life.
6) There are many couples in Turkey- Relationships are taken very seriously and carry weight. There is an obvious commitment and a contentment in relationships that I rarely observe in America.
7) Turks appreciate effort- Although my current Turkish is lacking, the Turks appreciate my attempts to communicate to them in their native tongue. Because of this, they are warm and receptive, which encourages me to continue learning and applying the language.
8) Turks do away with ego- To think of oneself as above others in Turkey is distasteful and largely disrespected. Only in coming here have I realized the legitimate problem America has with ego and pride. This has already been a tremendously humbling experience in that regard, and a trait that I hope to bring back to America.
9) Nobody tips in Turkey- I haven't quite figured out why but it makes many transactions much easier.
10) The Turks stare at me like they have never beheld a creature of my stature- Okay, I am tall. This is apparent. But when they see the combination of my height, my long hair and my comparatively white skin, they gawk in an unprecedented manner.
My beautiful campus:
My humble abode (without my soon to arrive Turkish roommate)
One of three restaurants (yes RESTAURANTS) on campus. There are also several cafes, a supermarket and a cafeteria on campus as well.
9/6/12
The Landing
I awoke to a ghastly image of a man in utter shock. I had passed out (yet again) on the flight. At least, this time, it was the last leg. I awoke, about twenty minutes prior to our landing in Istanbul, and my companion in Row 12 shuffled through his belongings like a man frantically searching through a pamphlet on how to disarm a bomb. I looked up at him, my eyelids heavy:
"You look like you lost something..."
"I did," he replied.
His hands shaking, he explained to me that while in a dead sprint to catch the plane, his wallet must have fallen out of his back pocket.
"I am coming to Istanbul. Not a penny to my name. And it is very late at night."
I shrugged and told him he was welcome to ride along in a taxi with me to the Koc University campus. A wave of relief splashed over his face and he smiled. He introduced himself as Paul and explained he was a Byzantine archaeologist flying in for a business trip. With little trouble, we landed, got our visas stamped, picked up the bags and were off. We flagged the cabbie and Paul informed me he was able to negotiate a low price for the ride up to Sariyer, the town in which my school resides. As we zipped about the narrow European roads, Paul did his best to answer my myriad questions about Turkish culture. He mentioned that within two minutes of being in the cab, the driver had asked him (in Turkish of course)- "What the hell do you feed that boy to make him so tall?!" Around this time he revealed his two favorite rules about Turkey- "1) There are no rules and 2) There are no rules!"
I bid Paul farewell as we dropped him at his hotel and he made arrangements to reimburse me the 40 Lira for the ride. As the cab sped off and nearly took out a 93 year old bag of bones in the process, I realized it was just the cabbie and I for the next 30 minutes.
I took in the views. The serenely lit mosques, the Bosphorus shimmering in the moonlight. The harsh scent of sulfur mixed with scents I have never before experienced. I thought about making small talk with the cabbie but soon realized that for the first time in my life, I faced a communication barrier that proved insurmountable. I knew not a lick of Turkish and he, not a hint of English. The silence engulfed us.
We finally arrived at the university at 2:30 am. Having commuted for 23 straight hours and eaten little, I began to regret that final complimentary whisky, courtesy of British air. We got through the main entrance and made our way past the dorm buildings. Having no idea where to go, the cabbie and I pulled into a frighteningly vacant lot and he began to honk his horn, searching desperately for any evidence of life. When he began to scream Turkish out his window into the pitch black night, I knew it was time to make a phone call. Finally, around 3:15 am, a heavy set, overly courteous Turk made his way toward the taxi, unloaded my bags and checked me in for the night. Knowing full well that orientation began in 5 hours, I did my best to settle down and get some sleep despite my body's reluctance. As the blackness took hold, feelings of displacement and anxiety retreated and a rush of excitement came forth. Something deep down told me I was in for a treat.
"You look like you lost something..."
"I did," he replied.
His hands shaking, he explained to me that while in a dead sprint to catch the plane, his wallet must have fallen out of his back pocket.
"I am coming to Istanbul. Not a penny to my name. And it is very late at night."
I shrugged and told him he was welcome to ride along in a taxi with me to the Koc University campus. A wave of relief splashed over his face and he smiled. He introduced himself as Paul and explained he was a Byzantine archaeologist flying in for a business trip. With little trouble, we landed, got our visas stamped, picked up the bags and were off. We flagged the cabbie and Paul informed me he was able to negotiate a low price for the ride up to Sariyer, the town in which my school resides. As we zipped about the narrow European roads, Paul did his best to answer my myriad questions about Turkish culture. He mentioned that within two minutes of being in the cab, the driver had asked him (in Turkish of course)- "What the hell do you feed that boy to make him so tall?!" Around this time he revealed his two favorite rules about Turkey- "1) There are no rules and 2) There are no rules!"
I bid Paul farewell as we dropped him at his hotel and he made arrangements to reimburse me the 40 Lira for the ride. As the cab sped off and nearly took out a 93 year old bag of bones in the process, I realized it was just the cabbie and I for the next 30 minutes.
I took in the views. The serenely lit mosques, the Bosphorus shimmering in the moonlight. The harsh scent of sulfur mixed with scents I have never before experienced. I thought about making small talk with the cabbie but soon realized that for the first time in my life, I faced a communication barrier that proved insurmountable. I knew not a lick of Turkish and he, not a hint of English. The silence engulfed us.
We finally arrived at the university at 2:30 am. Having commuted for 23 straight hours and eaten little, I began to regret that final complimentary whisky, courtesy of British air. We got through the main entrance and made our way past the dorm buildings. Having no idea where to go, the cabbie and I pulled into a frighteningly vacant lot and he began to honk his horn, searching desperately for any evidence of life. When he began to scream Turkish out his window into the pitch black night, I knew it was time to make a phone call. Finally, around 3:15 am, a heavy set, overly courteous Turk made his way toward the taxi, unloaded my bags and checked me in for the night. Knowing full well that orientation began in 5 hours, I did my best to settle down and get some sleep despite my body's reluctance. As the blackness took hold, feelings of displacement and anxiety retreated and a rush of excitement came forth. Something deep down told me I was in for a treat.
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