The father of all Turks
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talkpoliticsHis portrait is everywhere: in the bakery, at the barber's shop, at any of the thousands of smoked and inhospitable groceries around town, or in the luxurious shops and malls in the modern neighborhoods. There's a statue of the Father of the Turkish nation at every visible place in every town and every village. Plaster busts stick out at street corners, huge flags hang from public buildings, memorial books are being opened at every hotel.
In fact these are all a sort of altars, and only the lack of a smell of incense is what separates them from actual places of worship. Most of his images are a variation of some sorts of that Time magazine front cover from 1923:
...Or why not a more "modern" portrait of the "Father of the Nation", wistfully staring into the bright future:
His face stares upon the modern Turkish consumer even from the new emission of Lira banknotes - some samples of the famous Turkish artists, Aydin Sayili, Fatma Aliye Topuz and Yunus Emre on one side; but always the image of Mustafa Kemal at the other. A few years ago during one of my many visits to Turkey I bought a souvenir tea cup from the famous Kapalicarsi, the grand bazaar of Istanbul. Now, during my latest visit, I've been seeing Atatürk-themed paraphernalia in every shopping mall - from special cup sets for the famous Turkish coffee, to a t-shirt with Atatürk's face in a specialized heavy-metal shop, next to Iron Maiden, Kiss and Slayer shirts.
Atatürk is everywhere around Turkey, and inside every Turk. There isn't a town across the country that doesn't have at least one street, square or neighborhood named after him, not to mention city stadiums, airports, schools, universities, libraries, hospitals, etc, etc. The Turks probably don't have any problem with coming up with a name for a new public building at all. "Atatürk" is always available.
This instantly calls to mind a book by Barbara Demick, an expert on North Korea, "Nothing to Envy: Life, Love and Death in North Korea", where the story sends the protagonist on a journey back to his native country in the wake of the darkest period of deliberately induced famine on an entire nation. He returns after a few years' absence to his family house in North Korea, and he finds that everything at home has fallen to ruin, broken and stolen, save for the two portraits of Dear Leaders, Father and Son. Of course the burglars had stolen the glass screens from the portraits, because these could be exchanged at the black market for a teaspoon of rice or something else of essential importance for survival. But the only thing they left behind in a completely thrashed apartment had been the pictures themselves. The portraits of Kim Il Sung and Kim Chong Il. There are two possible explanations for that: they either didn't dare to touch them for fear of repercussion, or they deemed them totally devoid of any value on the market. Or both. The personality cult in North Korea could probably never be achieved elsewhere in our epoch. I knew that for sure even before I grabbed that book, but now that I've read all that in staggering detail, I have no doubts.
As for Turkey, having observed all the Atatürk adoration, I've started to believe that it's possible that the word "cult" could bear positive connotations as well, and include genuine respect. That's probably what most Turks sincerely feel for the one they call the Father of their nation. Something like what Nelson Mandela is experiencing in South Africa, even while still alive. The number of new Atatürk monuments that are being built every year across the country is only comparable to the number of newly inaugurated religious temples. There've never been so many new mosques per year as in the years of Erdogan's rule - probably not even at the time of Suleiman the Magnificent. And this, at the background of accelerated economic development, social and cultural modernization, and the ceaseless aspirations for further European integration (now coupled with asserting a uniquely individual, Turkish role of its own, standing at the threshold between the East and West).
Despite the events at Taksim square, the clash of the two diametrically opposite movements in the Turkish society, secularism and Islamism, keeps being relatively soft, especially compared to other societies in the region - and that's been the case for almost a century. And the deep respect for Atatürk as a unifying figure in the Turkish mindset and identity, plays a great role in that. It's soft, moderate, cautious and delicate, not as in-your-face as one might have expected - despite the Father's omnipresence. He stares at you from every wall in every home, but kind of not judgingly, just encouragingly. He's become part of the landscape now, just like the minaret down the street, and the satellite TV dishes on all balconies, and the flags of the local football club whose players are as revered as Allah and his prophet himself.
How in the world wouldn't you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside when seeing Mustafa Kemal's portrait being shoved right between Marilyn Monroe and Charlie Chaplin at the wall of some obscure pub somewhere in the Istanbul suburbs? That's probably the one country in the world where such an obvious and distinct educational and moral lesson is being concentrated on one single historical figure - and that, without any coercive element to it, without repression, without mass censorship or any sort of dictatorial imperatives being imposed on the mind. He's just there, you know, looking at you from every wall - you can choose to ignore him if you can, but you can't pretend he never existed. And even if you try to, more power to you.
And don't tell me about the Kurdish issue now, or all the censorship around the Armenian Genocide subject. We're speaking of areas of the public domain where a single word in the "wrong" direction could send you to jail. It's not like Turkey is the paragon of a free society where freedom of speech is held sacrosanct - nothing of the sort!
The testimony of Barbara Demick about the North Korean society has got me thinking. About the effect of a portrait. Even today, every NK household is obliged to clean the two sacred portraits every morning. Or haven't they become three, now? In some perversely totalitarian way, this obligation is somehow being supervised and upheld very strictly. You wake up in the morning, and before preparing breakfast for the kids (possibly, the salty watery remnants of last night's corn porridge), first thing you do is carefully brush the dust off the faces of the two Dear Leaders.
In Turkey, many of Mustafa Kemal's portraits and busts are gathering dust at the far ends of corridors and corners around offices and public places - the busts are greasy, the statues are covered in greenish patina, the photos are a bit rough-ended and scrubby, and the calendar at the back wall of the cafe (the one next to the picture of Galatasaray FC) hasn't been changed since February two years ago. But still, he is there. Atatürk is there, with his thin smile hiding a bright mind and a vision for the future of a society that he held very dear, and for which he was hurting. And that's sufficient.
The Turks have shown that feeling respect does not necessarily always go hand in hand with fear and intimidation. At least as far as the Father of the Nation is concerned. And, while Turkey is not anywhere near the top list of societies in terms of encouragement of free thinking, in fact Atatürk has become a piece of the puzzle that is this immensely diverse and fascinating society, part of its everyday life, and of the Turkish cultural landscape.
Now if you may excuse me, I'm going for a walk down the cobbled sokaks of the Sultanahmet old quarters and watch the blue waves of the Sea of Marmara along Kennedy Avenue. I have no doubt that I'll probably encounter the same face over a dozen times on my way downhill.
In fact these are all a sort of altars, and only the lack of a smell of incense is what separates them from actual places of worship. Most of his images are a variation of some sorts of that Time magazine front cover from 1923:
...Or why not a more "modern" portrait of the "Father of the Nation", wistfully staring into the bright future:
His face stares upon the modern Turkish consumer even from the new emission of Lira banknotes - some samples of the famous Turkish artists, Aydin Sayili, Fatma Aliye Topuz and Yunus Emre on one side; but always the image of Mustafa Kemal at the other. A few years ago during one of my many visits to Turkey I bought a souvenir tea cup from the famous Kapalicarsi, the grand bazaar of Istanbul. Now, during my latest visit, I've been seeing Atatürk-themed paraphernalia in every shopping mall - from special cup sets for the famous Turkish coffee, to a t-shirt with Atatürk's face in a specialized heavy-metal shop, next to Iron Maiden, Kiss and Slayer shirts.
Atatürk is everywhere around Turkey, and inside every Turk. There isn't a town across the country that doesn't have at least one street, square or neighborhood named after him, not to mention city stadiums, airports, schools, universities, libraries, hospitals, etc, etc. The Turks probably don't have any problem with coming up with a name for a new public building at all. "Atatürk" is always available.
This instantly calls to mind a book by Barbara Demick, an expert on North Korea, "Nothing to Envy: Life, Love and Death in North Korea", where the story sends the protagonist on a journey back to his native country in the wake of the darkest period of deliberately induced famine on an entire nation. He returns after a few years' absence to his family house in North Korea, and he finds that everything at home has fallen to ruin, broken and stolen, save for the two portraits of Dear Leaders, Father and Son. Of course the burglars had stolen the glass screens from the portraits, because these could be exchanged at the black market for a teaspoon of rice or something else of essential importance for survival. But the only thing they left behind in a completely thrashed apartment had been the pictures themselves. The portraits of Kim Il Sung and Kim Chong Il. There are two possible explanations for that: they either didn't dare to touch them for fear of repercussion, or they deemed them totally devoid of any value on the market. Or both. The personality cult in North Korea could probably never be achieved elsewhere in our epoch. I knew that for sure even before I grabbed that book, but now that I've read all that in staggering detail, I have no doubts.
As for Turkey, having observed all the Atatürk adoration, I've started to believe that it's possible that the word "cult" could bear positive connotations as well, and include genuine respect. That's probably what most Turks sincerely feel for the one they call the Father of their nation. Something like what Nelson Mandela is experiencing in South Africa, even while still alive. The number of new Atatürk monuments that are being built every year across the country is only comparable to the number of newly inaugurated religious temples. There've never been so many new mosques per year as in the years of Erdogan's rule - probably not even at the time of Suleiman the Magnificent. And this, at the background of accelerated economic development, social and cultural modernization, and the ceaseless aspirations for further European integration (now coupled with asserting a uniquely individual, Turkish role of its own, standing at the threshold between the East and West).
Despite the events at Taksim square, the clash of the two diametrically opposite movements in the Turkish society, secularism and Islamism, keeps being relatively soft, especially compared to other societies in the region - and that's been the case for almost a century. And the deep respect for Atatürk as a unifying figure in the Turkish mindset and identity, plays a great role in that. It's soft, moderate, cautious and delicate, not as in-your-face as one might have expected - despite the Father's omnipresence. He stares at you from every wall in every home, but kind of not judgingly, just encouragingly. He's become part of the landscape now, just like the minaret down the street, and the satellite TV dishes on all balconies, and the flags of the local football club whose players are as revered as Allah and his prophet himself.
How in the world wouldn't you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside when seeing Mustafa Kemal's portrait being shoved right between Marilyn Monroe and Charlie Chaplin at the wall of some obscure pub somewhere in the Istanbul suburbs? That's probably the one country in the world where such an obvious and distinct educational and moral lesson is being concentrated on one single historical figure - and that, without any coercive element to it, without repression, without mass censorship or any sort of dictatorial imperatives being imposed on the mind. He's just there, you know, looking at you from every wall - you can choose to ignore him if you can, but you can't pretend he never existed. And even if you try to, more power to you.
And don't tell me about the Kurdish issue now, or all the censorship around the Armenian Genocide subject. We're speaking of areas of the public domain where a single word in the "wrong" direction could send you to jail. It's not like Turkey is the paragon of a free society where freedom of speech is held sacrosanct - nothing of the sort!
The testimony of Barbara Demick about the North Korean society has got me thinking. About the effect of a portrait. Even today, every NK household is obliged to clean the two sacred portraits every morning. Or haven't they become three, now? In some perversely totalitarian way, this obligation is somehow being supervised and upheld very strictly. You wake up in the morning, and before preparing breakfast for the kids (possibly, the salty watery remnants of last night's corn porridge), first thing you do is carefully brush the dust off the faces of the two Dear Leaders.
In Turkey, many of Mustafa Kemal's portraits and busts are gathering dust at the far ends of corridors and corners around offices and public places - the busts are greasy, the statues are covered in greenish patina, the photos are a bit rough-ended and scrubby, and the calendar at the back wall of the cafe (the one next to the picture of Galatasaray FC) hasn't been changed since February two years ago. But still, he is there. Atatürk is there, with his thin smile hiding a bright mind and a vision for the future of a society that he held very dear, and for which he was hurting. And that's sufficient.
The Turks have shown that feeling respect does not necessarily always go hand in hand with fear and intimidation. At least as far as the Father of the Nation is concerned. And, while Turkey is not anywhere near the top list of societies in terms of encouragement of free thinking, in fact Atatürk has become a piece of the puzzle that is this immensely diverse and fascinating society, part of its everyday life, and of the Turkish cultural landscape.
Now if you may excuse me, I'm going for a walk down the cobbled sokaks of the Sultanahmet old quarters and watch the blue waves of the Sea of Marmara along Kennedy Avenue. I have no doubt that I'll probably encounter the same face over a dozen times on my way downhill.
(no subject)
Date: 18/8/13 11:49 (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 20/8/13 16:48 (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 18/8/13 14:29 (UTC)Report all suspicious activity to Turksoc
(no subject)
Date: 19/8/13 00:40 (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 19/8/13 00:48 (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 19/8/13 05:00 (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 19/8/13 05:07 (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 19/8/13 05:21 (UTC)Then there's Charlie Al Jolson Chaplain.
(no subject)
Date: 20/8/13 16:46 (UTC)BTW, Charlie Chaplin is one of my favorite Communists.
(no subject)
Date: 20/8/13 18:28 (UTC)As we approached Tibet I was told to always give money with Mao's picture face down, especially in the temples. But within all the many Tibetan temples we visited I saw donations with the Mao side up. Even the monks didn't seem to care which way a bill was folded.
The Potala palace is a remarkable landmark, but noticeably absent was the portrait of his holiness the current Dalai Lama. Portraits of former Dalai Lama are present, just the one is missing.
Crossing into Nepal on the Friendship Hwy down an incredible drop in elevation was a dangerous journey, but the border felt like freedom. In Kathmandu and elsewhere in Nepal I saw Mao's portrait side by side the Dalai Lama. Both men are revered for their accomplishments. Yet somehow both men are feared.
(no subject)
Date: 21/8/13 07:54 (UTC)When did you visit Tibet? I was there little more than a month ago. Mount Kailash, Manasarovar, Darchen and all that.
(no subject)
Date: 21/8/13 08:01 (UTC)I almost never see Mao pictures except on money or if I go to a place with a bunch of tourists. At museums or such, there will usually be something, but Mao stuff always seems either kind of old or campy and aimed at tourists rather than what is being described regarding Atatürk.
A more representative example of the stuff you'd see in a luxury mall would be this two-story tall statues of a fart-propelled bull pinning some Greek God guy against the wall.