Today I woke up early and set out for the busiest square near the hotel where I was staying to witness how Istanbullus commemorate the death of Atatürk, the founder of the Republic of Turkey. I am in Kadıköy, a large and densely populated neighbourhood that has strong Republican traditions and where there are more people that oppose the authoritarian and Islamising tendencies of the ruling AKP party than those who support them. Many people here have hung the Turkish flag with the picture of Atatürk from their balconies. Not just today. Every day. As the time was approaching, people who were alone checked their watches to see if it is 9:05 already (the moment when Atatürk died), whereas couples and those in groups just waited. At 9:05 a loud death wail was heard. All the cars stopped. Some honked their horns. Because I was on a relatively small square I mistook it for the impatience of those going to work. All the people stopped as well and stood in solemn silence for a minute. One or two didn’t. (Why not? I asked myself.) I stood too, not so much out of respect for Atatürk but in admiration of the people to whom Atatürk still means, 77 years later, much more than an average European can imagine. I feel very much out of place in Istanbul this time but this one minute of general grief touched me deeply and I forgot my unease for a while. Then the cars went on, some people lingered and then went on as well. In front of a school nearby where about 50 people had gathered, Turkish anthem was heard and a boy delivered one of Atatürk’s famous speeches. When I returned to my hotel, John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’ was playing at the lobby.
November 2015