Eternal Frustration Engine

Be warned: Draft article from 1/25/08, 7:55 AM - incomplete and rough

Writing about the character of a place is akin to doing the same for music; you can't get the sound from a story in a magaziiiiiiineeeeee -or the adrenaline rush of Tantric Turkish Traffic. With that in mind, let's turn our eye to that egalitarian conduit of danger and desire, the street.

Consider what's wrong with this picture. There will be a quiz, so look close:



Ready? Let's begin: this is a one way street (streets are only one-way in Turkey so long as no one decides to drive the other way), attempting to flow towards us; the only legal parking on this section is on the far right, pointing to the curb; the car pointing towards us on the right is double parked. BOTH rows of cars on the left -including the one with it's lights on- are parked in a bus stop and traffic, respectively. While police are everywhere, determining which infraction of law to attend to is a challenge; by the time a removal vehicle manages to navigate traffic, the problem may very well have moved elsewhere. If by some miracle a removal truck arrives before the problem departs, it will extend a crane-arm, lower straps, and pluck the offender into the sky.

While the pains of a transportation infrastructure tasked with meeting the needs of over 15 million people isn't unique to The City, the reaction to it by these people are. Rush hour traffic -an hour that extends from sun rise to well beyond set with only brief periods of respite- obeys no Euclidean rules of geometry. They highway is a messy organic flood of people shouting, "ME FIRST!"; insignificant little lines on the pavement are disregarded as automobiles are piloted -with one foot on the gas and one on the break- into any available space. The wager is that the other guys sense of self preservation will be stronger than an impulse to exercise traffic-justice with several tons of steel. These little victories of inches result in miles of gridlock. Add the occasional horse drawn wagon to 8 lanes of traffic and being a pedestrian becomes a practical consideration.

With a median Turkish income of 600 New Turkish Lira (around 507 US Dollars), and the cost of petrel the highest in the world (thanks to usage taxes, cost-per-gallon come to $9.92 US or 11.74 YTL - 2% of the median income), it is no surprise that the vast majority of Turks depend on public transportation.

From small to big, more variety exist than I care to list: the standard Yellow Cab, the Domush -a mini-van that departs when it resembles it's name -stuffed!- the Minibus (a Cargo van for people), the bus, the accordionated extra-long bus, and the double decker. By sea -in the city, it is THE major highway- there are a vanguard of vapur, ranging from small boats that hold less than 100 to triple-decker arks, and -for those that can afford it- super-fast catamarans.

The cement to this chaos amalgama are pedestrians and scooter pilots. Pedestrians will occupy any vacant, or soon to be vacant -or imagined to be vacant space- that they can manage, and deport themselves as though having the mass and status of an armored personel carrier. In a wonderful display of evidence in support of the Thoreauien Over-Soul, swarms of pedestrians will -without detectable communication- calculate the exact number of bodies required to concern a speeding automobile, and, if judged sufficient, step into traffic en-mass. Scooters are the commercial dream vehicle of grown-adolescence, and move without discrimination across all non-fluid surfaces with the reckless determination of a video game player questing for a power-up. These mosquitoes of mechanised transportation may be seen cuting through crowdes on the side walk, jumping curbs onto the street, and running counter to auto traffic, often carrying loads of cooling take-out for delivery. It is not unusual to see a scooter loaded with as many as six 19 liter water bottles -weighing a heafty 317 pounds if full!

Eacepay Actingyay andyay Iminalcray Ourtscay

Restored post from 1/23/08, 7:08 AM

Hey kids! Now for something I know you'll really like!: after much due consideration, the YouTube decision was appealed to a higher court in Ankara, where, in strict adherence to the law, they issued this NEW proclamation:

Bu siteye erişim mahkeme kararıyla engellenmiştir.

T.C. Sivas 2. Sulh Ceza Mahkemesi 16/01/2008 Tarih ve 2008/11 nolu kararı gereği bu siteye erişim engellenmiştir.

Access to this web site has been suspended in accordance with decision no: 2008/11 of T.R. Sivas 2nd Criminal Court of Peace.

Or, in other words: the responsibility for change is vested not in the hands of the Judiciary, but lies with the Parliament. Until the elected body acts to institute substantial change, Turks will... uh... just a moment, let me switch to

ayay afersay ialectday... ownay erewhay asway Iyay? Ahyay yesay ...Urkstay illway avehay otay atisfysay emselvesthay ithway ethay amiliarfay astetay ofyay ethay allbay aggay andyay ethay omfortingcay esspray ofyay ethay ackjay ootbay otay ecknay. Aketay olacesay omfray owingknay atthay ethay oundsay ofyay archingmay oldierssay andyay istfay againstyay oorday isyay atthay ofyay youray youthay, Urkeytay; ifyay eythay omecay orfay youray eighbornay, andyay onenay aiseray ayay ycray, owhay illway itnessway enwhay eythay omecay orfay youay?

What's up with Turkey?

Where to start? Some history, me thinks.

The Turkic peoples that populate modern Turkey once hailed from as far afield as the Mongolian Step before sweeping down into Anatolia; Legend has it that following a battle between a Step tribe and the Chin, a sole surviving boy is nursed back to health by a blue-maned she-wolf named Asena -who then mates with the boy and produces 10 half-wolf male offspring; these 10 are the roots of the Turkic Tribes. Of them, Ashina and his clan will dominate, ruling over the Göktürks and other Turkic nomadic empires. We'll come back to the wolves, later.

Turkic empires in Anatolia would wax and wain until around 1300 CE, when a migrating tribe lead by Ertuğrul happened upon a pitched battle and decided to intervene on the part of the loosing side -the forces of the Seljuk Sultan. The Sultan would reward Ertuğrul with a grant of the Eskişehir territory, on his death his son Osman would rise to dominate the Seljuk tribe, declare himself chief, and establish a seat of power that would bare his name for the next 600 or so years -The Ottoman Empire.

In time The Ottoman Empire would swell to encompass all of Anatolia, and by the hand of Sultan Mehmed the Conqueror, in 1453 would flow over and swallow a little town in eastern Europe called Constantinople. The fall of the last vestments of Byzantium did not spell doom for it's populous: the success of the Ottomans lay in a strong culture of egalitarianism. Christians, Jews, Greeks, Armenians- what ever you were, you could join the Turks. And so things would go, for a while...

Speed ahead: the Ottoman Empire leads the Islamic world as the Arabic portion of the Islamic world lays fractured and Persians marginalized . Like the Ottomans, the tenants of Islam dictate that any one who wishes to be a Muslim, is. These ideologies meshed well within The Empire, where, while predominately Islamic, allowed for freedom of religious identity. The unifying and dominating aspect of the Ottomans was their identification as Turks; all other ethnic identities were spice to this main ingredient. There were those, however, who saw in The Empire a hope for a greater Pan-Islamic Empire occupying all the farthest reaches of Islam- from Norther Africa and Spain, across the Arabic States and Iran, Iraq. They saw this moment of possibility as the Ottoman state grew fat, corrupt, and week.

As the world crept toward war guided by the hands of ambitious men, Powers looked to the Islamic world as they made strategic preparations; Russia imposed it's presence in eastern Anatolia, the British manipulated the Arabs with all the regard given to Chess pieces. These situations would be key influences to the formation of modern Turkish culture. The Empire, allied to Germany with the outbreak of World War 1, would feel threat from many directions. Eastern Anatolia, with it's mountainous, hard to control terrain was the Achilles Heal for many pre-Ottoman cultures. Vulnerability there to Russian forces lead some in the Empire to fear that Armenian Ottomans in the region were colluding with the Russians in exchange for the possible creation of a greater Armenia. The Ottoman Army was mobilized to neutralize this perceived threat. On the Arabic side, famed Thomas Edward Lawrence -aka, Lawrence of Arabia- would foment and participate in rebellion in the Arabic portion of the Empire at the behest of the Britain. Arab would be played against Arab and Ottoman alike with the promise of British sponsorship for a greater unified Arabia and renewed, more powerful Caliphate in Ottoman lands. Lawrence and his Arab allies would be rewarded with betrayal from the victorious British, who saw greater advantage in a divided middle east rather than a single powerful ally. The Arab World would not forget the sting of this betrayal... or the lost dream.

At the close of World War 1 we find that The Ottomans have again backed the losing side -but this time it will herald Empire's end. Allied parties negotiated extreme partitioning of The Empire to the benefit of The United Kingdom, France, Russian, Italy, Greece and Armenia, with these parties lobbying and making secret agreements long before the war was concluded; Greece entered the war on the Allied side only after it was agreed that they would receive major portions of western Anatolia and Thrace -including Constantinople. In the end, a treaty would be drafted with the Ottomans that heavily favored the United Kingdom, France, and Greece -all greedy for the spoils of war.

Problem was, the Allies sought to implement these deals with the conquered Sultan after dissolving a disagreeable Parliament; naturally, the plan to carve off the edges of The Empire and leave the Turks with a a portion of central Anatolia did not sit well. Beset on all sides, Turks began to feel like the main event at a Thanksgiving dinner. The British sought to implement their standard practice of Divide-and-Conquer by playing regional, ethnic, and religious groups against each other, believing that the weaker constituents would allow for success with a smaller British force commitment; additionally, figures of power would be marginalized by way of being bureaucratically negated. The result was to kill the last vestments of egalitarianism and galvanize Turks into a people with purpose -and motivated leadership.

The Turkish Revolution coalesced around Mustafa Kemal: a military hero and patriot who's vision of the future would become the Republic of Turkey. Kemal's military guidance brought both martial victory and tactical wisdom: the Turks would not attempt to push out and regain the whole of the former Empire, but define the borders of the new Republic to consolidate winnings that they could hold; many islands within view of the coast would be left to the Greeks, only very small portions of Thrace would remain from the European lands, and whole of Anatolia as the main body. The capitol would not be Constantinople, but a city situated closer to the heartland, Ankara. The personality cult formed around the charismatic leader would enable him to impose not just military victory, but a revolution of ideas. Kemal's admiration for European ideals would be realized in the new State, via cultural mandates: Turks wold be required to take surnames; Mustafa Kemal was bestowed the name Mustafa Atatürk - Father of Turkey. Turkish would be the official language, and Arabic script would be forgone in favor of a new Latinized alphabet. "Old fashion" modes of dress were forbidden. The mechanism of State would be officially Secular. Nomadic people were urbanized. State schooling and standards were imposed. In principle, equal rights. This was an all encompassing revolution -not just a change in management with a new flag.

All of this was possible because because Turks, in the crucible of fear from foriegn destruction, were able to rally around and be unified by their Turkishness; it did not reflect a revolution within the harts and minds of all Turks.

The fallout from revolution is felt to this day, and the struggle of conflicting ideologies is poignantly felt.

Xenophobia flavored with guilt have haunted the Republic from its inception, expressed often as a hostile defensiveness; this country -espousing western values, but without the luxury of prolonged security- doesn't know how to handle internal cohesive cultures, such as the Armenians and the Kurds. Compounding this is the anxiety posed by eastern Anatolia: the rugged terrain and inaccessibility has presented many historical occupiers with an irreconcilable vulnerability. In some ways, Turkey has achieved the same results as the British, by galvanizing insurgents into enduring institutions. 70 years of crushing suspected insurrection has left eastern Turkey stinted, a place of danger and insecurity. Vast hydroelectric and irrigation projects promise to bring future vitality -and increased ethnic Turk populations- to this region. Military action involving the Kurds continue to this day, but, while the "Armenian Question" has not produced any of the nuanced answers it warrants, there are at least hints of normalized relations between Turkey and its eastern neighbor. Both groups are commonly subject to stereotype, bigotry, and suspicion by some Turks.

From the beginning, the Republic has feared that its authority would be usurped by the specter of Islamic movements that seek to reassert the Caliphate and the rule of religious order. The challenge of maintaining democratic ideals while guarding against threat from within is a difficult one. The mechanism to do this came in the form of the Military, with its staunch adherents to the philosophies of Mustafa Kamel. 4 military coups later and countless imprisoned or executed, the Turkish public has come to rely on the presumption of military intervention into civil life. When popular vote places an idealoge in power who refuses to adhear to constatutional law, there is an expectation that the hand of the Military will set things right. Some see civil servants with strong religious beliefs as a check against what is viewed as indemic governement corruption; Turks with secular leanings may vote for what they see as a morally supperior canidate with Islamic Fundamentalist ideals, in the hopes that they will clean house -after all, if they get out of hand, the Military will step in.

There are menagerie of major forces in moder Turkey:

0) The European Union: the promise of membership in this trading body is the biggest carrot in play -and looms, phantom like, influencing the actions of all the players.

1) The Military, the pacemaker on the hart of politics; compulsory military service for men promotes a level of loyalty from the populous -graft and grant of special privileges ensures vested interest of the powerful. They see themselves as Guardians of the Kamelist Ideal, as protectors of the secular state.

2) Political Islam, which claims to represent the masses; they promote an agenda of resurgent Islamic values, challenging the Constitutional framework -which puts them at odds with the Military- but do so shrewdly with the pretext of moving Turkey closer to the human rights requirements predicating EU membership. They draw strength from a broad conservative Muslim population and, as the controlling political party, as brokers of power and wealth.

3) The Conservative Muslim Populous: its edges are indistinct, and, some times, not so conservative: the unifying characteristic is a reflexive support for Constitutionally guarantied religious freedom and preference. Their cause is personified by the struggle to remove prohibitions on religious dress.

4) The Lost Generation. An age of political cleansing and oppression culminated in the 80's with widespread political persecution by the central government and the military -including many imprisonments and executions. An entire generation learned to keep its head down, never betray the appearance of ANY opinion, and avoid dangerous thoughts; many still do. They form a large portion of the educated middle class; concerned mostly with getting by and getting ahead, they resent the disruption embodied by Political Islam, and fear the rise of an Islamic state impinging on their peace, stability, rights.

5) Generation Now: in love with everything modern/foreign, they disdain politics, largely ignore religion. Consumption Culture at its finest.

6) Kurdish Separatists -they look at the past and do not see a bright future for themselves in a place called Turkey. Radicalized through years of conflict, they occupy portions of Mountainous Eastern Turkey- historically difficult to control; the Turkish response to these rebels has been to lay a mantle of jackbooted oppression over the entire region. If a bomb goes off in Turkey, the PKK (Kurdistan Workers Party) is blamed for it.

7) "The Armenian Question", so labeled is the mass forced exodus of Armenians from eastern Turkey, often depicted as a whole hearted slaughter by the Ottoman Turks. Characterizing the events of 1915-1917 as Genocide is a crime in modern Turkey -far from being the egalitarian Ottoman cradle, in The Republic of Turkey speech viewed as defaming Turkishness is outlawed. The issue and those who speak of it are catalytic.

8) The Grey Wolves: Fascist advocates of an ethnically pure Turkic Empire, they style themselves as warriors descended from the she-wolf Asena; their message resonates with impotent-feeling Turkish youth, the undirected angst and ager of which is their currency. They perform assassinations in service to their cause, with fingers reaching into the Military.

9) Uncle Sam: whether or not he knows it, his hat is always in the ring. Turks view the US with simultaneous admiration and contempt. The specter of the CIA is blamed for many of Turkey's ills, and the hand of the USA is suspected in everything from the rise of Islamic Fundamentalism in Turkey to the repeated rejection of Turkish membership in the EU.

10) Greece, once close friend, now long time foe: actively blocks Turkish EU bids with Cyprus as pretext. Some rhetoric between these states was toned down after Greece came to Turkey's aid following the 1999 earthquake that largely destroyed the city of İzmit, and may have helped soften hard line positions on the contentious partitioning of Cyprus.

This clumbsy, incomplete assessment (7/9/08, 5:25 PM) warrants a re-write; lacking time, I offer it as is.

THE GREAT OZ HAS SPOKEN

Reposted from 1/22/08, 4:48 PM - Wikipedia is currently blocked and I'm too steamed to rant coherently about it.

These days, attempt to visit YouTube in Turkey and you will see this message:

Bu siteye erişim mahkeme kararıyla engellenmiştir.

T.C. Ankara 12. Sulh Ceza Mahkemesi 17/01/2008 Tarih ve 2008/55 nolu kararı gereği bu siteye erişim engellenmiştir.

Access to this web site has been suspended in accordance with decision no: 2008/55 of T.R. Ankara 12th Criminal Court of Peace.

Speech is not free in Turkey. The public, for it's own good, is gagged in the name of the ideals of the state Effigy. This latest bit of totalitarianism may be stepping broadly over an ideological line in order to emphasize the need for legislative, constitutional change. Certainly, such a spectacular display of Inquisition-era thinking presents an opportunity for public discourse. But will it be whispered?

There was a time when the symbols of state spoke a clear message, but in modern Turkey the message is anything but clear. The President has garnered support from a segment of the population that appreciates the visibility of his head-scarf clad wife. Ultra-Nationalists rally around the flag as a totem of Turkish Ethnicity. Kemalists struggle to maintain a visceral association with the ideals of the National Visionary. Flags are everywhere, but have taken on the sharp tung of the McCarthy era question, 'What DO you believe?' -but without a clear indication of what the SAFE answer is. The message is neurotic: display your solidarity with US against THEM -only all the teams are wearing the same colours...

Everywhere, bearing whiteness, is the visage of Mustafa Kamel. He looks down on diners from a half-bust emerging from the wall, clad in bronze stands sentinel in parks and areas of commerce, and from a prominent place watches in black and white and oil paint over the shoulder of both the blue and the white collared as they toil. If he could speak from the grave, what would he say?

What would he be allowed to say?

Life at Night

The City sleeps -but not 'tell after it's taken all it can from the cool of night. Seafront outdoor cafés feature valet double-parking -for those awake at 3 am with the munchies; couples stroll, kids raise ruckus chasing ball, mid-night moon-lit barbeques glimmer, and some where -here- child street vendors take a moment out for play -without laying down their burden of balloons and cotton-candy. That they can do this -set aside what it means to toil long after the sun has gone to sleep and be children- is a necessary ability, here, in a city where ideological violence might burst unheralded into flame before fading back into the dark. A city where, despite the disparity and differences of its 12 million inhabitants, we manage to get along well enough to feel safe waking the streets at night -and play.

Sokak Pazarı

In the early hours of the morning, before the sun and birds begin to stir, the trucks roll in, painted red and blue, and the roadies unload their tents. By the time sleepers have awaken and begin to stumble to work, a city-within-a-city will have sprouted from the streets: miles of tents shade vendors hawking the produce of turkey. The market spreads from major arteries to wind and wend its way into the capillaries between apartment buildings; ropes lashed to trucks and trees and the odd lamp post form the filaments of this web. Beyond its skein local dwellers flow to and fro bearing sacks and little rolling carts full of produce for the week; the presence of the street bazaar is easily detected without ever having laid eyes on it.


When the sun sets, this caravan will move on to the next municipality, cabbage carnies and nectarine nomads gone, the streets once again the abode of white-knuckled motorists and photo-finish pedestrians ...for another 6 days.

Out to See

We fell in with a group of perspective pirates on the Büyük Ada; I couch Raspberry on what will be expected of her once we find a suitable yacht to board -how to hold a knife in your teeth and growl menacingly, division of booty- you know, stuff like that. She negotiates for first pick of edibles, while the rest of us take what we like from what she refers to as "Monkey Stuff."

We swim for shore; under a torrent of aspersions cast against Monkeys in general and one in particular, I explain, "That's why it's called a plan."

Currency of Fidelity

Take 50 Kuruş, strike on edge with bright hammer; repeat a few thousand times, heat as needed. Pickle, polish, and plate. Add the same to make one Yeni Türk Lirası. Best fresh; date visible on reverse. Serves 2.

Separation Anxiety

There comes a time in every Turks life when the confines of home and family are more they can bare -when that time comes, they can slip down to the pub; afterward, when the match is over and glasses drained, they would do well to stop by the market and fetch something tasty for their mum -'cus she'll be there when they get home. Turks, you see, never really cut the umbilical: 27, 30, 34... maybe they never left home, maybe they moved back in after going away to university -regardless, there is no cusp age at which the nest is not a welcome place. Some strike out to find their own way after marriage -whatever decade of life that may be- while others make room for the bride. I've heard tails of woe from these brides, bent beneath the competing authority of the mother-in-law who strives to be first in rule of the home -and their sons harts.

Perhaps it is this prolonged exposure to the maternal that simultaneously cultivates aberrant instances of infantile selfishness and, more often the case, nurtures a spirit of profound generosity. Regardless of truth, the poetic symmetry appeals. For the Turkish mother, the idea of ejecting young at 17 or 18 years is tantamount to barbarism and evidence that foreign mothers do not love their children to the extent that they do. Surely a different experience is in store for the children and parents of Turkey than that which may be found farther west. When time comes that marriage radically alters that relationship, it is more often than not that the sting of absence is felt most abruptly by the brides family.

Classically, the Turkish ritual for wedding happens like this: the groom and his father visit the home of the bride to share a drink and negotiate the possibility of union. If found acceptable, a date is arranged for the groom to come and take the bride, shrouded and sashed in crimson. As they make their way, a great cacophony is raised from a convoy of vehicles, the marital couple at its head as the parades winds through town and across country to the place of the grooms family. On the way, passed children will play the part of rouge, blocking the convoy and extorting coin from the groom, who is compelled to throw appeasement to secure free passage -until the next group of marauders is encountered, gleeful and greedy. On arrival, the bride and groom are separated into parties segregated by gender for revels lasting the night. The men will engage in the slow, bobbing, finger snapping dance that holds much affection for the Turks, and sing and drink; the women will surround and sing to the bride until she cries, they will belly dance provocatively, they will pin gifts of gold and money to the bride, a sort of communal dowry. In some parts, the daughter and mother in law will feed each other honey comb. Bride and groom and revelers alike will have their hands stained with henna -indelible evidence of the new connection of family and community. Eventually, after a few days, the couple may be left to consummate the marriage.

So it is that I look at my hand, henna stained, and remember the face of the brides mother as our convoy took away her daughter, the hole left behind, the grieving amidst celebration, and I can't help but think what a burden family can be for the Turks -and how lucky they are to shoulder it.

Polygluttony

Hi, my name is *ınsertyournamehere*, and I like Turkish.' -the first thing usually said to your Turkish Language 12-step-frustration-support group. In my case, it would read, 'Hi, my name is Mavi Göğün -why don't the freak'n Turks use Turkish? ARGGG!!'

Here we have a robust, dynamic language, capable -via agglutination- of making wonderfully nuanced expression. And what does popular, contemporary Turkish culture do with this quality? -ignores it in favor of conquering cultures -typically French or English- form of consumer nomenclature.

My favorite example is Ahududulu Peynir Pastası. Ask for this in your favorite Pastacı and you will be met with looks of abject horror; by-the-Gods! -who would want to eat a cake made of CHEESE? Oh -but utter the unobjectionable English/French mongrel-hybrid Frambauz Cheese Cake, and you will elicit uncontrolled drooling and smiles all-around!

Bringing us, in my typically long-winded fashion (as is my want), to the mater at hand: the majestic, the unprecedented, unicycle. I reject the common answer of 'one-wheeled bicycle', which suffers from several different types of retardation; likewise, I refuse to demean the machine with the alternative tek tekerlekli sirk araç and it's slanderous circus reference. To point: Turks don't have a word for it, and often act like they are choking on their tongue when calling out for others to look at their bizarre discovery. Presently, I'm favoring a similar format to the ''single/one-wheel/cycle'' used by the rest of the world, specifically tek devir, or, like buzdolabı or ayakkabı, run it together as tekdevir.

I found the 'Father of all Unicyclists' sitting in silent contemplation after a vigorous ride; he has yet to weigh-in on the subject.

Spirit of the Day

Today Turkey celebrates Children and War. Raspberry can't figure out the connection, ether; when I told her this, she stopped in the middle of the street and gave me that, 'Say what?'-look, then became detracted -insisting that I take her picture with the Mosque in the background. She's been obsessed with the Hadith about dogs or women being within a stones throw of the Qibla direction negating the power of pious devotion. She makes a big deal out of it every time we enter her "Sphere of Influence", then carries on about Dog spelled backwards, barking cryptic references to The Order of the Nose and some secrete smell guarded for generations. When I accused her of acting 'Holyer-than-Cow', she just said that I should just stick to holding the leash and she'll handle the comic relief.

Veni, vidi, vefæx!

Many new smells to be Thoreauly investigated. Many new places to claim as my own via olfactory domination. I will not succumb to the Lassie-faire indescretion of the indiginous K-9- Nay! Nay I say! Like a well-oiled machine, with clock work percision, I will consider, calculate, and conquer with precisely placed deposits of local culinary fare -transformed by grace of my digestive furnace into a well-articulated vehicle of my twice-daily stratagem.

Will this happen to me, too?

Eat it/DON'T eat it. Eat it/Don't eat it. EAT it/don't eat it...

When in Rome

Don't get buggered by the Romans. Sure, they wear curtains as high fashion -and who could be blamed for asking, Brando-esq, 'Is this a dagger I see before me?', every time some senator in a toga is packing wood? But they ARE fond of putting tragedy and comedy on stage together. And they ARE followed around by guys in leather skirts with pointy metal things look'n to justify carrying around the pointy metal thing, so...

After a little jaunt to the BucolicBackwaterofBulgaria, I've put some of the more incendiary commentary back in the bottle. Bulgaria, after all, was able to meet EU requirements for human rights standards... maybe I'll just write about them for a while...

On the way to Bulgaria

Lucky me -I wasn't in this car...

...I was in this bus.

I'll probably have a nice scar. I'm alive, I just feel like somebody hit me with a truck.

Oh, ya: they did.

The Bride of Censorship

New! From the Directors of YouTubeless and Son of YouTubelss, comes the much unanticipated Winter Block-Buster! Who will protect the innocent minds of the public from the scourge of the Internet Movie Data Base? The year: 2008, the place: Modern Turkey. Access to movie trivia has brought the Republic to it's knees... the very foundations of society undermined by a river of dangerously unrestricted communication! Who will save us from ourselves, in this, our moment of GREATEST PERIL?

Bu siteye erişim engellenmiştir.

ISTANBUL 1.SULH CEZA MAHKEMESI , 04/12/2007 tarih ve 2007/1715 Nolu Kararı gereği bu siteye erişim engellenmiştir.

Access to this web site is banned according to the order of: ISTANBUL 1.SULH CEZA MAHKEMESI 04/12/2007 2007/1715

Faster than a speeding train-wreck, it's the Anachronistic Constitution to the rescue! Listen to what one non-viewer had to say: " I was this close to jeopardizing The Republic by referencing the IMDB for the number of pigs that played Babe; now we can all rest easy, knowing that we are free from the terror of porcine numerology. This is the must-not-see hit of the post-Oscar season!" -Grateful Subject of Protection, The Village Voiceless

2 for the Road

What's that Oussifffer-sir? Am'z Ahy drunk? How amn Ahyz zupposed'ta know? -izallin frik'n meteoric, an, eh... heh... an... heh... thris her glass... wuh?... wherez me... me... ME ME ME, ME... ahh, yessss.... an thris her glasss ziz obvEYOUSly.... ana.... annna... analogous... vell, izt aint digital.

Evidence of God

Beautiful sleeping women...



...and unguarded chocolate raspberry cake.

(Evidence that I deserve either has not yet been substantiated...)

I, Alien

Imagine: instead of sound issuing from lips, people gesticulate wildly- the teller at the bank counts money with one hand while the other flaps around like a trapped bird; the police officer shoulders his machine gun to cut his gauntlets through the air in your direction; emotions squeezed from faces sometimes hinting at the intent of an urgent punching of air.

Last night, after 81 days, after advances and retreats, I broke. In a packed theater, the sound of laughter and applause illustrated the clear separation of Chris and State. There is no isolation greater than a crowed.

We are built to conform, adapt, fit-in- lacking a vehicle to do this is intolerable. When my right frontal lobe was out of action, I experienced something similar -an inability to socially integrate on an autonomous level. At that time, reflexive behaviors and associated emotional feed-back didn't function; simple interactions, like being asked to choose between paper and plastic, filled me with overwhelming anxiety because I couldn't differentiate the contrast of the emotional import of the question. I love you. I have an orange. I killed your dog. Even reading these things on a page -when they don't apply to us- illisits a reaction; then, they filled me with a profound anxiety of not knowing what was the appropriate response. Here, it serves to illustrate how base a function fitting-in is; like breathing or swallowing, we depend on reflexive social behavior unconsiously, all the time.

Three and half hours of babel, in the form of a venerated three act play; three and half hours of laughter and applause and effusive emotional ejaculation. I tried to enjoy the stage craft, the merriment of my fellows- even the wonder of alienation- instead I felt suffocated, trapped in a box that only opens into another box...

I wonder if my dog ever feels this way?

GDS

After the '99 quake, Turkey moved to protect it's architectural wonders from a wide number of perceived threats; damage to the irreplaceable core of the tourist economy would reek long-term devastation. Ankara launched a series of bold, proactive initiatives to guard against several looming potential catastrophes. Pictured here is the most innovative:

Perched on the Kadıköy coast of the Sea of Marmara at the mouth of the İstanbul Boğazı, this sentinel stands watch, day and night. Having learned from the costly experiences of the United States in New York as well as the devastation reeked on several Japanese cities including Tokyo, Turks devised the GDS. The challenge of defending a long, monument-rich coastline from what is deemed most likely a maritime based attack would be no easy feat; instead, at the first sighting of the nuclear misgenesis, this balloon will be released. Attached by cables is the flagship of the IDO's quick response catamaran fleet, the Australian built Orhan Gazi - 1; capable of reaching speeds over 37 knots, the Orhan Gazi - 1 would pull the tethered balloon across the Marmara to the North-Eastern Mediterranean.

Detractors from this plan sight several problems that render this system impractical and mark it as nothing more than waisted public resources that might be better spent on the myriad of more concrete and urgent concerns facing the metropolis. Moreover, in the event that the system is successfully employed, Greece protests that it is nothing more than a scheme designed to harm Greek Cypriots and adds to the growing list of reasons to reject Turkey's bid for EU membership. Here are some of what I see as the more persuasive arguments against the efficacy of the GDS:

1) Godzilla has never been sighted in the Marmara, let alone anywhere near the Mediterranean or Black Sea.

2) Only 12 of the 100 tallest buildings in Europe are in Turkey -and no one has heard of them.

2) Godzilla is a Japanese monster. The Japanese don't play Foot Ball. The idea that Godzilla will be lured away from crunching the Hagia Sophia or the Sultan Ahmed Mosque by the irresistable draw of a bright yellow soccer ball might seem natural to a Turk, but isn't supported by any precedent.

3) In the unlikely event that Godzilla can't resist taking a kick or two, the DGS would have to be employed on the shallows of the Marmara coast, at an unacceptable cost to local industry. Contemporary reports of Godzilla's height range from 80-100 meters; a direct transit of the sea would loose the colossus beneath more than 1200 meters of water.

Defending itself against allegations of gross mismanagement of public funds, a spokesman for the Gül administration announced contingency plans to convert the Godzilla Defense System into the MDS... in the event that Mothra should attack The City. At such time the Tourism Police are empowered to seize on any readily available supply of screaming Japanese, as well as a few hapless dwarves, ensconce them in the MDS's gondola, and release the balloon to the heavens.

Palace of Love

On the Sarayburnu, in the district of Eminönü, surrounded by fortifications designed to protect Emperors and Sultans, is nestled the sycamore arcades of Gülhane Parkı. There, in the shadows of the walls of Topkapı Sarayı, lovers spoon fearlessly; by some magic this place has been granted the power of respite from strict social mores. Necks arch and lips that endeavor to find lips hidden under head scarves are greeted with only perfunctory protestations: after all, one doesn't acquiesce to such a rendezvous without hope that amour is in store. Sweet coupling, disturbed only by ancient crones vending blossoms; young women once, they know well where to ply their trade. A coin in exchange for transient tokens of untested affection -and continued privacy.

I walk with my bride to the sound of an old man's unlikely serenade; the recipient of his adore is older still: frozen in bronze, his statuesque brother. The metal man holds a three-stringed Saz, while his fleshy counterpart strokes the instrument, reverent and loving. A moment of inexplicable perfection, beauty: the memory of it is the warmth of the sun in winter -I feel it still.

Ode to Joy

It's your birthday- and I'm glad for it!

Truth in Labeling

Send a man to the store and you deserve what you get.

Imagine my disappointment when I discovered nothing more than soap inside. I'm still extending hope that it has a topical effect; rest assured, I will use only the strictest scientific method in my inquire.

They're not gay- they're Turkish!

Turkey has a touching problem. They touch... all the time.

They try to exceed the volume of anything with wheels. They emphasize their Eurasianness with enthusiastic air kisses to both cheeks. They insist on not staying the distance of a properly viewable television away.

Hey, man -what's the problem? -just don't make friends/ride a bus/stand in line/share a phone booth/a public toilet/let an old lady selling flowers come near you, and you can indulge in your tactileanthropophobia all you want, right?

No, not right: wrong, very, very wrong. Why? Well... (deepintakeofbreath)

It starts with, I suspect, poorly adapting to American culture. Our first example: Cheese Cake. Turks eat Cheese Cake -some, in fact, ARE Cheese Cake- they have their own words for both Cheese and Cake -Peynir and Pasta, respectively- but react with disgust and horror when the Turkish words are combined to express a desire for, or offer of, a creamy sweet confection. This is not because of some syntax or dialectic gymnastics that results in a grossly-rude miscommunication: oh no-that would be to easy. It's because of a miss-wired imagination gene; Cheese is great, Cake is great- BUT GOD FORBID you should put peanut butter in their chocolate without changing what you call it to something foreign that doesn't challenge them to accept something familiar in a new or different form (humm.... doesn't this sound like it was lifted directly from the Turkish Press: "Zealot Politicians Win Battle with Secular Intellectuals in Turkish Parliament -Military Intervenes: Peanut-Butter-Cup will be know as a 'Reace's'"). Let's review: foreign influence is met with disdain -but easily accepted, regardless of quality (frick'n Burger King on the Bospherous)- while domestic genesis is a point of contention and discord. Weather or not this is actually true isn't important -I'm ranting; for the limited context of this essay work from the presumption that changing tradition=bad, while alien="you disgusting amoral swine eater -may I have fries with that?"

Right, you say, but what does this have to do with excessive touching? Well, I'm glad you asked -give your self a cookie. Turks love foot ball. NO, of course not that pointy one! -they adore the round one with all the rules about NOT TOUCHING. It's a fact: just ask any Turk what they think about Foot Ball Players touching each other: TOUCHING BAD (but exciting). What was that last bit? Let's hear it again (but exciting). Ah... now we have it, the true allure of Foot Ball: the drama, the excitement of almost touching -but then not. One would then think that American Foot Ball would be warmly embraced (with an uncomfortable pause before separating) by Turks everywhere. Given their penchant for gratuitous contact, you might conclude that they could overlook a little thing such as the the object of the game being the struggle for control of a pointed pig skin -and you would be wrong. However, not to pass up a great opportunity to express self loathing by emulating the object of enmity, they have seamlessly incorporated the battle formations of American Foot Ball in their every-day, pedestrian lives.

To point: Turks have to touch while in motion. It's like some static-electric effect: they move, they build up a charge, and BAMB! -two Turks are stuck together. Quicker than a pro Quarter Back can call a play, Turks will form up into offensive and defensive lines. The key word here for the uninitiated is FENCE. Weather it is the narrowest passage or the broadest avenue, Turks will lock arms to form impenetrable social clicks moving headless of any other foot traffic. Walking to the market or running for the Vapor is like a Metropolitan-level game of Red Rover. believe you me: any joy presented by pert young women in school uniforms of skirt and stockings is lost when a gaggle of giggling maddens forms a wall between you and THE LAST BUS HOME. This habit has led many a new expatriot to misidentify the copious numbers of coupled males chatting conspiratorially as they walk, as gay.

They're not gay: they're Turkish.

Coin-Op Consciousness

Behavior modification is easy. Here is a practical example:

On a mundane, domestic level, this daisy-chain of shopping carts integrates an answer to a reliable aspect of human nature: blind self interest. It does so by invoking our compulsion to possess.

The coin will release the chain, allowing the use of the cart- but traps the coin, which is returned only when the chain is replaced. Simple, elegant -and works; despite the nominal value of the coin (one lira), even those of moderate wealth are reticent to abandon ownership.

We are able to easily integrate alien objects into our image of self -our ego; furthermore, it is done with great flexibility: a shopping cart, money, a seat on a bus- all transient possessions, adopted and emancipated in a moment. We do this effortlessly, reflexively: a learned trait, natural to our culture and important to our base ability to function there in. Where a strong sense of community (the extension of the vision of self on to others) is present, ego-integrated objects may also be community shared without perceived abandonment.

Responsibility -the ego identification with liability- is not a base-level human trait: it is learned. If it is not learned, social discord will threaten the ordered function of community. As with many pro-community personal characteristics, responsible behavior may be learned free of social consciousness or appreciation of value -as with the shopping cart. By the learning mechanic of repetition we integrate behavior, not only on a personal level, but as a society. When the behavior becomes socially reflexive, we call it morality. In this way, as a soccioty, we may integrate behaviors free of a need for iterspection or assessment of personal or communal value. When objectified, we may then ego-integrate the behavior into our image of self -as morality, affection, pride, etcetera.

With the shopping cart, the behavior modification is positive, progressive. But what if you want immediate behavior change: say, you were... I don't know... trying to transform your entire society from a feudal system to a modern republic in a single generation? You might need to use force and the threat of force -in addition to reward- to shift the perception of self-interest in adopting new behaviors. It would be naive to think that this could be done in an enduring way without the integration that comes with repetition; until such a time, inducements to comply are necessary.

Turkey is still in this in-between-place. In many cases, only positive reinforcement is now necessary; such as in Turkey's bid to join the European Union, the coin for this shopping cart is nothing less than social change. In the past, Turkey's military hegemony had been looked to for such inducements; however, now, they seem unwilling to go beyond the inception of the Kemalist ideal to actual fruition of vision -when the roll of the military would shift from that of social controller, to social utility. The promise offered by membership in the European Union has introduced an alternative paradigm.

It may be that one day such changes will come in Turkey as a result of introspection, and true value will be attributed to things such as freedom of expression (in the form of speech or religion) or environmental stewardship. We in the west have ignored the voices of introspection long enough that the planet now offers it's own inducements for change; weather we will be able to free ourselves of the despot of a market ideology lacking environmental feed-back, without the aid of outside influence, is another question entirely. Still, one must not put too much hope in strange lights sighted in the Texas night.

Olıver Tıvıst

Before I first heard the call to prayer, the sound of an itinerant junk collector reached me: Bring me your broken... your useless things... yearning to be free. There would be others like him, old men pulling flat 3 wheeled carts, saving what others no longer want.

But who are these others?: with two-wheeled rickshaw-like rolling rubbish bins, they flow from trash can to trash can, picking through waste. They collect bits of wire, great piles of cardboard and plastic- the walls of the tarp-made bin expanding to hold impossible looking loads.



These garbage scavengers are an army of children and young men. Unlike the garbage collectors working for the municipality, they have no affiliation with the government. They flow around the rest of society unobstructed, unrecognized. On their errand, they cross the busiest traffic without pause, eliciting nary an angry horn; like birds or rain, they are in The City -but not within the bounds of society. The very lack of protest when one of these vagabond gleaners passes in front of a manic bus driver testifies: I could be you. Complete anonymity being the only courtesy or respect payed.

Many neighborhoods are broken into scavenging territories, with bosses running gangs of young gleaners. Territory may be protected by the point of a knife; after paying kick-backs for the privilege of toil and a place to flop, these street urchins may not be left any better off.

İyi, köpek!

Turkey is deeply conflicted. Sitting side by side on an otobüs are a bleach-blond and a head-scarf-girl, riding to who-knows-where as contrasting ideologies struggle to grab the wheel. A righteous disdain for America does not extend to consumption of American culture, and our symbolic vehicle might well bare advertisements for the latest season of Grey's Anatomy or Lost as it rolls past a Starbuck's or Burgerking.

In the streets, poised between these worlds live the dogs. Just as the head scarf has become a symbol of the Islamic Movement, the dog might well act as a tell-tail of support for the continuance of an officially secular Turkish state. Post-Muhammad interpretations both protect and shun the dog. For the dog owner, this means limited options for housing -with higher rents. For the few domestic dogs, the extra effort required to keep them bodes well. But what of the vast number of street dogs?

These animals are every where; in back allies, on the steps of the local municipalities center of governance, sleeping curled in the sun on the sidewalk, completely unremarkable, and number approximately 1 to every 100 people. Common in character, they are uniformly timid and nonthreatening, and their reaction to people bespeaks no pattern of mistreatment by the hands of strangers. One might expect a city of this size to aggressively cull feral animals from it's streets -but this is not the case. In 1911, The City's governor ordered stray dogs be gathered in mass and deported to the deserted island of Sivriad; a sever quake struck shortly there after, and the animals were quickly returned -God's opinion on the mater being clear. When an animal has been singled out for attention, it is removed to a center on one of the larger islands in the Marmara, where it is more likely to roam the streets in lazy packs than occupy a pen. I find the feral dogs to be surprisingly clean, free of pests, and usually baring the Municipal symbol on one ear:

According to a recent census, about 30% of street dogs have some loose affiliation with a person or neighborhood; often this comes as the garbage receptacle of convenience- scraps of food left piled on the street or tossed from windows quickly disappear.

While Turks abide the presence of dogs in the street, will such tolerance be extended to the political disposition of there fellow countrymen? We can only hope.

Little People

One picture, many stories:

I roughly estimate that 5% of adult Turks are less than 5 foot tall; dwarfism is relatively common. Also common are leg malformations/deformities -whether the result of automobiles or birth, I do not know.



This gentelmen was close to 3 feet tall, and appeared to be anywhere from 60-80 years old.

Begging is an accepted vocation, and may be persued without fear of harrasment by the polis. It is not unusual to find older women, sometimes with infants, seeking charity -regardless of weather or hour. Often a trade good of nominal value is offered in exchange. This fellow is offering sweets; frail, he braces himself against the press of foot traffic on one of the busiest pedestrian streets in The City. Islamic culture values charity, and the poor are a visible part of society. This is a hard place, but not without humanity.

Relativity

Life got you down? Seem like the weight of the world is on your shoulders? -then take a look at this:

This gentleman was just getting up to speed, shortly before the recording. His transept of the plaza was punctuated by long pauses and fret-filled moments when the near by vapur/boat station would disgorge torents of rushing commuters sprinting for connecting otobüsler.

A wonder: what motivates someone -in the grip of such adversity- to journey on? Maybe all life is toil, a matter of perspective; but, when stopping by the market is akin to approaching K2, with routs label things like, "Assent of the Library Steps", there are questions to be asked.

And lessons.

Dominate Architecture

Imagen The City: rolling hills encrusted with ancient edifices, cut through by the Boğazı. One might consider the single most definitive form of architecture there something like this:

There are far more than 1000 mosques in The City; they are ubiquitous. If every resident were to heed the call to prayer at least once a day at such a place, over 3000 people would be in attendance. However, it is nothing so grandiose that forms the warp and weft of this flying carpet- and to take a closer look, we must first go into space:

What imbues the endless sprawl of this Megalopolis with a rose tint are the terracotta tiled rooftops of it's working class apartment buildings, where the working poor and middle-upper class share a life style defined by a standard form shaped of brick and iron. Here is our street:

In these man-made canyons, we are all cliff-dwellers; each with a balcony for drying clothes and shaking carpets, and two layers of curtains- one to foil the casual observer, the other to shut out everyone.

In 1999, a quake measuring 7.5 struck the urban center of Izmit -a city in a country free from the bonds of a building code. Countless tenements such as these fell; if you want a good cry, do a search of YouTube. Here, on the edge of two continental plates, over 10 million live in similar structures. The basic construction method involves a cement and iron skeleton, back filled with terracotta, honeycomb-like bricks:

Often, the building process drags on for years; the owner/builder, eager for revenues, may begin letting apartments before construction is complete. The quality of materials, such as sand for cement or frequency and placement of reinforcement, has only attracted scrutiny since after the Izmit disaster; none the less, I have seen 8 story tall apartment buildings, unfinished, occupied, with no sign of a building crew.

Directly adjacent to a major highway, one such building was (apparently) deemed incapable of supporting the brick backfill at the perimeter, so the builder abandoned 20% of the structure and placed the walls back between the load-bearing members. The outside was left totally unfinished. Here is a local example of a building, years into occupancy, still under construction:

Still, this way of living is not without charm: The City flows organically, domestic and business areas seamless, overlapping. Within two blocks of our residence you will find four wood-fired bakeries, at least as many pastane, or cake shops, over a half-dozen vegetable markets. For those lucky few who need not leave the neighborhood, life is simple. For the rest of us, there is the second great unifier and predominate character trait of this place: traffic.

In Stereo (where available)

5:25.

Am.

Johnny Weissmuller just started the daily battle-of-the-bands. He will be answered by Jimmie Rodgers, then a distant Franzl Lang. Don't worry: if you manage to sleep through the show, they play five times a 'day'. Talk about dedication to the art. They said it was dead -but I have heard the call- and am here to report: the Yodel lives on in The City.

I live amid no less than three cammiler/mosques, supplying Deep Base Dolby Surround Sound, absolutely free. One might think that the blend would be a bit discordant -and one would be correct- but, sometimes -when the sun breaks through the cloud cover and smog- a resonance begins to build as they call out from a staggered, haphazard beginning.

And it is sweet.