Wednesday, June 12 2013

 

People pass by the Starbucks café on Istiklal Boulevard worry-free, routine as usual: glance down at their cell phone and scan window displays for a sale or a snack. However, today there are fewer folks doing this.  A regular day on Istiklal is rubbing shoulders with thousands of perusing pedestrians, navigating open spaces to slip through for easy passage, being carried by the current to Taksim Square in one direction, Galata Tower in the other.  Today, one can zigzag, arms outstretched and not have to say pardon or excuse me.  People who frequent this boulevard are spooked and staying away, with good reason.  Last night the police opened fire with tear gas and water cannons clearing Taksim Square and Istiklal Cadessi.

 

My travel friend from Montréal, Joseph, and I entered Taksim Square in the golden light of the evening during the magic hour when people are pleasantly calm, content with their day.  Temperatures are cool and it’s no longer necessary to seek refuge from a hard sun.  The angled light glows the colour in excited eyes around the square.  A group of men are lighting the wooden center of a paper balloon to send a silent invitation to the citizens of Istanbul, a popular activity on the beaches of Thailand.  There is a young couple posing in a burned out truck, belching from public beers.  People come to Taksim Square to bask in the freedoms of an open society, which is being threatened by the current government’s conservative agenda.

 

We were here a couple of days ago when we met up with my friend Ugur, whom I traveled with in Iran four years back.  He looked skinnier and with longer hair and is an active member of the Gezi Park occupiers.  We caught up quickly and he proceeded to answer my questions about the goings-on in Taksim.  Ugur explained that the government’s plan to replace Gezi Park with a mosque and a shopping centre is the final straw in a string of increasingly oppressive changes encroaching upon Turkey’s secularism.  He says protesters are fighting to undue the restrictions placed on human rights, particularly freedom of expression and freedom of the press, government censorship of the internet and television, eradicating alcohol sale and consumption, and to protect the rights of minority groups such as Kurds and the LGBT community.  However, Ugur is worried about whether or not the solidarity galvanized during the protest will carry through to the next election due to voter apathy among the frustrated left.      

 

Ugur and his friend, Mahir, lead us through the barricaded streets from the violent clash with police a few days back.  The barricades are made from metal poles, sign posts, sheet metal, anything that can be grabbed from buildings close by.  Lying across the streets is two-meter high mound of bricks, which turns out is torn up sidewalk to block advancing police (which I realize while kicking through sand where the sidewalk once was).

 

Our plan was to stick to the periphery, not get caught in too deep but curiosity lured us in.  Black smoke blossomed from a truck on fire beside a trench dug by protesters and a chain of humans guarding Taksim Park slightly above.  The fire was from an early morning skirmish when police moved in on sleeping protesters.  Revolution is exciting but also exhausting - logistical meetings during the day, a festival atmosphere in the camp at night. 

 

Buses with busted tires sit like lonely islands as a monument to the graffiti generation.  Windows broken, they serve as a soapbox to diffuse the demands of protesters.  Buildings around the square are draped in flags and banners masquerade as a sort of League of Nations - the flags of various activist communities are visually united: workers’ unions, communists, LGBT, anti-capitalists, pro-democracy supporters, feminists, good honest folk from all corners of society.  There is a message board with thousands of small pieces of paper proclaiming hope and solidarity, organizing meeting points for those whose cell phones are jammed from sending and receiving, some say a tactic from telecommunications companies to prevent protesters from diffusing their message on social media.  Beside that is a checkerboard representation of police/protester clashes; the black pieces have white helmets painted on them and the white pieces on the other side of the board have gas masks. 

 

In an instant, the human chain of protesters guarding Gezi Park begins yelling and pointing through the smoke.  It is a reality check, as if they are personally warning us that we have come too close.  Tension is present.  It’s a ball of worry and excitement and trepidation and hope and fear in the stomach that gets bigger and smaller, pushing out breath and pumping blood bleeding with adrenalin.  We pull back to the center of the square as people start hopping, chanting a call to Erdogan to step down, that the people will not bend (Boyun Egme in Turkish). 

 

We chat with a New York Times journalist from Vancouver who updates us on the actions of the day.  People are crowding past us in the direction of the water cannon trucks and the journalist says he has to leave and joins the herding protesters.  Over a sea of black hair, parted by red flags, we notice three water cannon trucks near the trees and three more in the other corner of the square, in front of the Attaturk Cultural Centre, which is now naked. Just two days previous it was dressed in protest, streaming banners blasting demands over the square and through camera lenses to billions around the world.  Joseph’s intuition is to get out of the square and my feet agree. 

 

We head down Istiklal searching for Internet and find it a Starbucks, where I am currently writing this.  As the barista is connecting us we hear shots outside followed by a unified roar from an alarmed crowd.  The current of Istiklal flows in one direction…away from Taksim.  The security guard at the Starbucks grabs his gas mask and runs to the door pulling people to safety from the street.  Cameras and cell phones pop out of pockets like a survival instinct and capture tear gas canisters sailing across the sky, filling the street with smoke.  Hundreds are holding their masks and fumbling to pull goggles over their heads.  One protester stops to kick a smoking canister back towards the advancing police line ready in riot gear.  The Starbucks fills with folks coughing and crying.  The gas seeps invisibly through the door and burns its way through my senses, down my throat, through my nasal cavity and into my eyes.  This is the first time I have been tear gassed and it’s very displeasing.  There is frenzy for milk at the counter and the baristas splash it in faces, arresting the effect of the gas.  The staff here is ready for the situation unfolding and eager to help protesters.  More and more roll in, red-eye and seeking refuge.  Upstairs, there is a crowd around the bay windows with a bird-eye view over white helmet police hidden behind shields and they sweep the street empty.  Everything is hazy with a bluish hue and we are glued to the scene below.  An employee hands out coffee to everyone inside.  The tear gas clears and folks are set free from their caffeine-filled refuge.

 

Out on the street, people are moving en masse towards Taksim like a rising tide.  They are going back to reclaim the square, to send a message to the Prime Minister, “Boyun Egme!”  They are not defeated or damaged but more fervid in their fight.  The chanting is louder and more unified.  Police attacks only make them stronger which is very worrisome as they are steadfast and Erdogan is stubborn.  Unless open communication begins, clashes with police will escalate and weapons will become more violent than water and gas.  A number of lawyers were arrested and dragged from their offices yesterday.  Whether or not they were released afterwards, this is an unfairly forceful tactic of intimidation to those in positions of power. 

 

Joseph and I make a dash down Istiklal contrary to the surge of demonstrators who are heading back to the square.  It feels like we are abandoning them - we support an open and free Turkey with liberties unrestrained by religious conservatism, however we will be gone in a couple of days and they will still be here.

 

At the bottom of the hill the tram takes us to a different world in Sultanahmet.  I sit on a bench under the silent sway of tree leaves and observe the absolute contrast of this neighbourhood to Taksim.  Sultanahmet is the tourism cash cow of Istanbul – Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque and the Grand Baazar are separated by expensive hotels, fancy restaurants and traditional Turkish baths.  The only locals present are the ones here to earn some sweet Turkish Lira, taking full advantage of a tourist’s inability to barter.  Taksim on the other hand, is the commercial centre of Istanbul where locals and tourists alike bid on the same stock.  Here, in the artificial light on Hagia Sophia, tourists stroll and try a Turkish delight or refuse an offer to dine on inflated prices.  The only burden near the Blue Mosque is a beer that goes down too quickly, meaning you have to buy another one.  If the protest comes to Sultanahmet, the near future will be rough for Turkey.

 

Since the violent police attack on June 11th, the demonstrations have been increasingly passive and peaceful in the face of extra freedom given to police by the government, resulting in more arrests and greater incidences of violence.  On June 12th, pianist Davide Martello showed up in the square with a grand piano for an evening of song despite the police road blocks preventing protesters from entering the city.  Several of Turkey’s largest unions have declared a strike and joined demonstrators in Taksim Square.  The list includes the Confederation of Revolutionary Workers’ Trade Unions (DISK), Turkish Doctors’ Union, Confederation of Public Workers' Unions (KESK), Union of Chambers of Turkish Engineers and Architects (TMMOB) and the Turkish Dental Association (TDB).  Inspired by ‘the Standing Man’, demonstrators from Istanbul to Izmir to Ankara have employed a tactic of passive resistance where they stand in total silence even while being harassed by police.  

 

The protest has been going strong since May 28th and there is no end is sight.  While walking along Istiklal the day after being tear-gassed, I saw a banner with an image of Ataturk, Father of the Republic of Turkey and essentially a demigod among Turks.  It had the year of his birth and death (1881-1938) only the 8 was laying on its side, the symbol for infinity.  Police weapons may be strong but the will of the people is infinite.