Postcard from Turkey–with Sidenotes
Two days before the occupation of Taksim Square in Istanbul, my husband and I returned home from our first visit to Turkey. On the plane back to Seattle I watched the Spielberg movie Lincoln, in which Tony Kushner’s script upwraps the eternally unlovely process of legislative lobbying.
Of particular interest to me was the scene in the House of Representatives when the men were shouting their objections to the repugnant idea of adding black men to the voting rolls. “What next,” one Representative said, “women voting?” The Representatives’ catcalls and boo’s doubled in intensity—the thought of women voting was even more horrendous than that of enfranchising black men.
Back to Turkey. Like the US, the Turkish government is designed to be a secular state, separating church and state in a society that is overwhelmingly of one religion: Christianity in the US, Islam in Turkey. Despite (or maybe because of) the current upheavals, I think that if any country can successfully create a truly secular, democratic government in a Muslim society, Turkey is it. Some nation has to prove it can be done.
It’s a daunting challenge for many reasons, not the least of which is the obvious discrimination against women. It frustrated my modern American self no end to see women in that hot climate covered in heat-trapping black cloth from forehead to toes. How can this possibly be the result of free choice? If it were an important manifestation of faith, why don’t men do it? Or, if the reason women have to be covered up (and why does it have to be black?) is to prevent their beauty from fomenting rape and pillage on the streets, why is the only solution to change the behavior of the potential victims rather than the potential perpetrators?
It reminds me of the advice to ‘follow the money’ to find out what’s really going on—here we need only follow the lawmakers, and gosh, they’re all men who have chosen, not unsurprisingly, to enforce onerous restrictions on other people’s lives rather than their own.
These days, however, Turkish streets are not filled with women in black. There are a few, for sure, but many of the women we saw, while their arms and legs were still covered, were wearing tan or beige coats, tucked in at the waist, showing their figures, and stylishly decorated with buttons and piping. Maybe not my choice, but progress nonetheless. And many more women were entirely in western dress. Head scarves, where worn, were bright and patterned. It was not unusual to see groups of women friends, often of several generations, some in black, some in western dress, some in between, all laughing and chatting together.
The landscape in the parts of Turkey we visited was beautiful. The western countryside, where we spent a week visiting Greek and Roman ruins that rival or surpass anything in Greece or Italy, is a land of fertile fields, wildflower meadows, lakes, forests and snowy mountains. We stayed in cobblestoned hill towns as picturesque and charming as in the south of France or Tuscany. The major highways were remarkably modern and smooth.
Istanbul is a great cosmopolitan city of 14 million, set on sparkling waters crossed by high arched bridges and friendly ferries; it is the only city in the world that spans two continents—Asia to the east and Europe to the west. It is full of restaurants and parks and sidewalk street life. Turkish people, both in the city and the country, were invariably welcoming and all had far better English language skills than we had of Turkish. And, important for the tourist, the food is incredibly fresh and simply wonderful. I came home singing the praises of cucumbers, yogurt, mint, honey, tomatoes, almonds, fish, olives, lamb, eggs—all far more tasty than their average American counterparts. There’s just no beating fresh, local and in season.
All this is just to say that I wish the best for Turkish women. Their freedom to choose their own futures matters far beyond their own individual lives, just as Turkey’s future matters beyond its own borders. We had a wonderful visit and we’re going back next year.
