A portrait of a place in time : Istanbul, 2017
Cool air flows out from the bustling Taksim Square Starbucks café during an early afternoon post-lunch rush. The line is long and the chatter from the tables is loud enough to quiet all thoughts. Some sit and drink bitter türk kahvesi, traditional Turkish coffee, while others sip on sweet iced frappuccinos. Taksim is a centralized meeting point in the sprawling city of Istanbul, Turkey. The population, estimated by some to be approaching 20 million, unites Europe and Asia in a unique mingling of cultures, mindsets and beliefs. East and West, young and old, open and closed.
They say strength comes from suffering which would make this city a primal force. If you listen closely, you can hear the dissonance in the air - from the long pauses in conversation and longer drags from cigarettes between dice rolls on the Tavla board. Police officers stand in clusters across the square making small talk, shields and riot gear nearby.
Merve is 15 years old and a junior in high school. She’s a fan of the Turkish rap group Ceva and says she wants to be a journalist when she grows up. “If young people don’t care about politics, the politics will go their own way and we will be the ones affected. When asked what her fears are, Merve says she is afraid of the future and has a bad feeling about what’s to come. But she’s not hopeless. She wishes more young people like her were politically active. Her and her friends do ‘street journalism’ around Istanbul. Most recently, they walked around and asked strangers about their opinions on the recent constitutional referendum, which significantly increased the powers of current president Recep Tayyip Erdoğan.
“There should be more people struggling to make things better, to make the government better for all of us. It’s not impossible, but it is difficult.” When asked the question “What is your identity?” she smiles.
“Devrimci,” she says, without a moment of hesitation. Revolutionary.
Istanbul is home to millions of people, all of whom find some corner of their own to call home. An increasingly oppressive government and traditional, conservative belief systems cause many to feel isolated and forgotten in an ever-evolving world. However, when the voiceless and forgotten stand together, a tremor is felt.
Having a strong opinion on politics comes with being Turkish, as does having an opinion on what it means to be Turkish. Şilan has lived all of her 16 years in Turkey, and her parents grew up in Turkey too. “I’m not Turkish. My father is Arab and my mother is Kurdish. I’m half and half.” She tells of a time in primary school when her teacher asked her, “Your name is Şilan? Are you Kurdish?” and proceeded to call her a different name, refusing to accept her true identity. Half-Kurdish, Şilan identifies with the largest ethnic minority in Istanbul, the city with more Kurds than anywhere else in the world.
Although Şilan isn’t afraid of her identity, she says many of her friends have two names. They keep one name - the non-Turkish one – hidden, to avoid being ridiculed, or worse. As with members of many other marginalised communities, solace is sought in like-minded people and places. “Home is wherever I am with my family. My family is home,” she says.
A fan of heavy rock bands HIM and WASP, and always keen on getting into an argument, Şilan defies the stereotypes many have of teenaged girls. She says the discrimination she has faced and witnessed her friends face has given her a tough skin. She wants to be a lawyer when she grows up to defend others who cannot defend themselves.
A generational gap plays a role in political stances and Tuğba, 20, has experienced firsthand the negative side of this, starting with her relationship with her mother and father. “From the beginning of our lives, our parents are saying ‘Don’t trust anyone.’ There is a Turkish phrase that goes like ‘Don’t trust even your father.’” She believes this instills in the population a distrust towards people – even those closest to you. When she is at her parents’ house, where she lives, she doesn’t feel at home. They don’t accept her lifestyle choices or identity. When she began working at a small anarchist café in Cihangir, a neighborhood near Taksim, she found a new family and home here.
“This is my home, I feel safe here. I don’t feel as safe out there.” Although Turkey was the first Muslim-majority country to hold a gay pride march and move towards recognition and acceptance of the LGBT+ community, Tuğba and other members of the community continue to experience discrimination, violence and harassment. “The city is beautiful but the people are not,” she says. "In USA, you can be whatever you want. Here, the government tries to choose for you...I have hope for the future. People can't live without hope."
Istanbul is home to millions of people, all of whom find a corner of their own to call home. An increasingly restrictive government cause many to feel isolated and forgotten in an ever-evolving world. However, when the voiceless and oppressed stand together, a reverberation is felt.
The youth of Istanbul continue to channel their passion and fight for an open and free future into their poetry and art, each word and stroke part of a living revolution. Nora, 17, grew up in Istanbul and speaks of her love for Turkish poet Nâzım Hikmet, the way he 'puts your feelings into words.'
On Living (I)
Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example—
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.
Living is no laughing matter:
you must take it seriously,
so much so and to such a degree
that, for example, your hands tied behind your back,
your back to the wall,
or else in a laboratory
in your white coat and safety glasses,
you can die for people--
even for people whose faces you've never seen,
even though you know living
is the most real, the most beautiful thing.
I mean, you must take living so seriously
that even at seventy, for example, you'll plant olive trees--
and not for your children, either,
but because although you fear death you don't believe it,
because living, I mean, weighs heavier. ...
(III)
This earth will grow cold,
a star among stars
and one of the smallest,
a gilded mote on blue velvet-
I mean this, our great earth.
This earth will grow cold one day,
not like a block of ice
or a dead cloud even
but like an empty walnut it will roll along
in pitch-black space...
You must grieve for this right now
- you have to feel this sorrow now -
for the world must be loved this much
if you're going to say 'I lived'
- Nâzım Hikmet
