How Do I Handle that Question?

"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.

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!

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.