I disagree with the foreign residents in this city who’ve kept away from
the resistance, saying this is not their struggle. These issues are not restricted
to Turkey and the support appears to be highly appreciated by the protesters. But
I can’t claim to understand exactly what is happening. While in previous
crackdowns, such as on May day, people seemed to agree that the protesters were
basically trouble-makers, now something has switched completely. Despite the
media censorship, there has been a massive outpouring of anger. People who work
hard all day have been spending their evenings, if not nights, in the Park to
support the protests, even those who are not remotely political. It’s been
amazing to witness and even more amazing to be a part of.
Protesters and onlookers alike have repeated time and time again that
“this is not just about a park.” Indeed, it’s true in the sense that a
suspension of the plans to demolish Gezi Park alone would not address the
underlying issues (but it would be a start). But I don’t think we need to go
too far the other way. Gezi Park is, after all, where it all started. So it is sort of about a park... And this is
something that has made the protests seem all the more innocent and
vulnerable, and the brutality of the police all the more shocking. When I
first went to Gezi Park to support the protesters, some two weeks ago, it was a
decent-sized gathering of people with a few flimsy-looking tents strewn about
the grass. While we sat and had a drink, someone walked around with a megaphone
urging people to stay, not just to be in the park for the evening and then
leave. They knew what was coming, of course. At the crack of dawn, police
bulldozed their way in, and began tear-gassing people and burning tents. People
were understandably outraged. I went back two nights later and the presence in
the park was tenfold what it had been before. There were banners bearing slogans,
pictures caricaturing Erdoğan, and plenty of people, jovially and of course ironically raising their beers in toasts to him. More importantly, there
were many more tents, and far sturdier looking ones. The atmosphere was one of
defiance and celebration. I went home feeling reassured. There is no way
they’ll attack tonight, I said to my flatmate, not with so many people there.
That was Thursday May 30th. The big crackdown happened the next morning.
I woke up to nightmarish scenes of violence and chaos. It went on all day and
well into the night. That was the night CNNTurk decided to broadcast a
documentary about penguins. The night the banging of pots and pans began.
On Saturday I kept out of the way. In the afternoon we heard that the
police had withdrawn (but had no idea for how long). I decided to head down and
see what was going on. I had friends who were already in Taksim Square, and thought if I could
just make it to the square, I’d be ok. So I put some lemons and a scarf in my
backpack and set off. No buses were going down the road towards Taksim, and
the metro had been stopped, so the only option was to walk. The road was packed
with people, almost all wearing gas masks, and at a certain point the cars
stopped and the road became effectively pedestrian. It was getting dark by the
time I drew up to the park. I stood by the outside for a while, trying to
muster the courage to go in. Some boys were rolling a massive concrete pipe
across the road to build a barricade. They stopped to let me pass, with a
courtesy that seemed surreal under the circumstances. I panicked about the idea
of being trapped inside with no way out, so stalled by the edge a while
longer... when I did finally set foot inside the park, it was packed. People
were making passionate speeches, and cheering. In the distance I could hear
loud bangs. I bottled it and turned back.
 |
| Gezi Park 01/06/13 |
On Sunday I went back, and made it to the square this time. There was a
lot of damage around, but all the tension had been released from the
atmosphere. It felt so good to stand in Taksim and feel safe again.
Except it’s not safe. Even now. Although Gezi Park and Taksim have become little havens of peacefulness, where people look after each other, share
their food, donate books to libraries, put up humorous placards and engage in
all kinds of other exemplary and heart-warming behaviour that makes Erdoğan’s
characterisation of them as “marauders” all the more absurd, the threat of a
repeat of May 31 still looms. The plans to demolish the park haven’t been
called off. Erdoğan’s rhetoric is increasingly menacing and provocative.
Peaceful protests are not seen as legitimate by this government and its
supporters. People who occupy public spaces are seen as fundamentally
threatening and disruptive. This is the justification for the ruthless
onslaughts by police against what are generally unarmed young kids. They are
out for blood, as if they’ve been instructed so. They aim tear gas canisters at
people’s heads; they fire water cannon at close range. They do not simply allow
a crowd to disperse, they chase people into closed areas from which they cannot
escape and attack them with unbelievable quantities of tear gas, even if that
means throwing tear gas directly into people’s homes. They tell people they can
come out safely and then start beating and arresting them. This violence is
regarded as a “legitimate” response to an illegitimate form of protest –
namely, occupying the public space when you’ve been told not to. This is where
the fear comes from. And it’s all-pervasive. Even though Turks become have largely
become accustomed to tear gas, as a result of its generous usage, the fear
remains.
I do not recognize anything about the Turkey I know and love in the
behaviour of these “security” forces. In a society where everyone addresses and
treats others like members of extended family, it is as if the bonds which bind people together have been eroded somehow, as this harrowing account shows.
It is in such diametrical opposition to the attitude most Turks seem to adopt on a daily basis, but which we have seen especially during the last weeks. People putting themselves at risk to help each other out, displaying incredible selflessness and solidarity with each other. Like the people who opened their homes or shops to protesters being pursued, or the old people who left lemon and vinegar on their windowsills for those affected by the gas. The doctors and lawyers who've given up their time and energy to help the injured and those under arrest. This was also my experience when I walked straight into a confrontation between police & protesters outside near my house on May Day. When the tear gas lobbing started an old man noticed my alarm, and shared his water with me.
It is in such diametrical opposition to the attitude most Turks seem to adopt on a daily basis, but which we have seen especially during the last weeks. People putting themselves at risk to help each other out, displaying incredible selflessness and solidarity with each other. Like the people who opened their homes or shops to protesters being pursued, or the old people who left lemon and vinegar on their windowsills for those affected by the gas. The doctors and lawyers who've given up their time and energy to help the injured and those under arrest. This was also my experience when I walked straight into a confrontation between police & protesters outside near my house on May Day. When the tear gas lobbing started an old man noticed my alarm, and shared his water with me.
I’ve heard several people say that these events have restored their
faith and hope in the future of their country and its people. Before these
events, I loved Turkey and especially Istanbul and there was nowhere in the
world I’d rather have lived. But I was saddened by certain tendencies I was
witnessing. Primarily the tendency toward massive commercialization, with an
apparent total disregard for the environment and the local. And the gradual
erosion of people’s hard-won personal freedoms, such as drinking alcohol or kissing
on the metro, which Erdoğan has declared war on in his quest to raise a new
generation of “religious youth,” who abstain from alcohol, who do not go on
strike or protest or engage in any other kind of civil disobedience, who never
show affection in public, who essentially work hard and consume hard and have
at least 3 children.
This point about pushing for a consumer society is crucial, so that they
can be good enough consumers to allow the country to reach the government’s
goal of being in the top 10 economies by 2023. I say goal, it seems more of an
obsession. In the pursuit of which no sacrifice is too great, even if it tears
through ecosystems and ruins livelihoods.
There is a kind of civil engineering behind this, beyond the underlying
capitalist ideology. The constant eating up of green spaces to make way for franchise
cafes and shopping centres. It makes it impossible for people to spend their
leisure time outside their homes without spending money. Yes there are massive
forests outside the city, and no they are not accessible unless you have a car
and at least a half or preferably a full day at your disposal. This policy of
the government’s has been ruthlessly effective. The malls and Starbucks’s are
full, for those who can afford it. And for those who can’t, there is a need to
find creative – though sometimes perilous – solutions. It breaks my heart to
see entire families sitting down for a picnic on a Sunday on one of the tiny
little islands of grass surrounded by motorways, simply because it is the only
green space around.
This has proved that Turkish people do not want to be herded into being
productive and obedient consumers. They value much more important things, like
the environment, culture, heritage, freedom, choice, and tolerance. And they
are even willing to put themselves at risk to defend those things. I just wish
so desperately they could live in the kind of society and the country that they
deserve to live in.
Please support the protests by taking part in a solidarity action near you.
The links below provide useful information, commentary and background:
Taksim Solidarity Platform Manifesto
Taksim Solidarity Platform Manifesto
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