Heghnar Watenpaugh
In a matter of days, "Taksim Square" has become a household name akin
to Tahrir Square, shorthand for a youthful protest movement against the
brutality of state power in the Middle East. What began last week as a
peaceful sit-in to protest the uprooting of trees from Gezi Park, one of
Istanbul's last open green spaces near Taksim Square, has morphed into a
broader Occupy movement against the Turkish government, with massive
demonstrations in many Turkish cities, as well as solidarity
demonstrations throughout the world. The movement shows the deep
discontent within a large cross section of Turkish society against the
increasingly authoritarian government, and especially its prime
minister, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, of the ruling Islamist AKP party. People
have reacted with shock at the Turkish police's disproportionate,
brutal repression of the protests, as well as Erdogan's and other
government officials' apparent contempt for and vilification of the
protestors, and their seeming indifference to their concerns. As the
protest movement continues to unfold, there has been much analysis about
the significance of the protests, the way they reflect class and
identity divisions within Turkey and their possible repercussions, such
as here, here and here.
The area of Taksim Square and Gezi Park have always been politically
charged for the residents of Istanbul, who are now re-asserting their
right to their city. Orhan Pamuk reminisces about the significance of
Taksim Square, tied to many social movements and demonstrations of the
past (see here).
In its present form, designed in the '40s by the French urban planner
Henri Prost, the Taksim area is a vibrant section of the city and a
symbol of modern Istanbul. When I lived nearby as a Ph.D. student,
Taksim and its surroundings were endlessly fascinating and unexpected,
where you encountered the wealthiest and poorest of the city, old
cosmopolitan Istanbulites as well as immigrants from the Black Sea
region, anarchist students and Islamist conservatives.
For an architectural historian, it is no accident that both the great
plans to remake Taksim, as well as the way protestors' speeches and
actions often invoke history and architectural memory to buttress their
arguments in the present. Indeed, an interest in architectural history
and the historical resonance of place is at the heart of the ambitious
urban renewal plans as well the protests. The centerpiece of the
municipality's ambitious new plans is a rather garish re-creation of the
early 19th century Ottoman imperial military barracks (Topçu Kislasi)
demolished in 1940 to make way for Prost's modern vision. The recreated
barracks were to house commercial ventures. The interest in reviving
Ottoman architecture fits with the sensibilities of what some call the
neo-Ottoman Muslim elite, even if it is completely updated to suit
contemporary needs of global capitalism and consumerism. A similar
vision of history also informs the naming of the planned third bridge
over the Bosphorus after Sultan Selim the Grim (r. 1512-1520).
In direct opposition, protestors are invoking counter-memories and
counter-histories. Protestors object to the glorification of a sultan
whom they remember for his persecution and massacres of the Alevis, a
non-Sunni Muslim group. Back in Taksim square, protestors are invoking
the Armenian cemetery expropriated to make way for that area's
development in the early decades of the Turkish republic. Their slogan
is: "You took our cemetery, you won't be able to take our park."
Once at the edge of Istanbul's urban conglomeration, the area was
home to the Saint James Armenian cemetery, established in the 16th
century (in Turkish: Surp Agop Ermeni Mezarligi), and the 19th century
church of St. Gregory the Illuminator. By the early 20th century, the
area was becoming one of the most valuable sections of real estate in
the city. As detailed here and here
through a series of highly contested lawsuits, the municipality managed
to appropriate the cemetery from the Armenian community. This process
illustrates the relentless power of the state to dispossess a minority
community that had survived the genocide of the Ottoman Armenians in
1915-1922, and unfolds like a series of acts of cruelty and humiliation.
As this map
shows, the cemetery once stood in the area occupied today by sections
of Gezi Park, and surrounding properties, including the TRT Istanbul
Radio building and major hotels like the Skidmore, Owings &
Merrill-designed Istanbul Hilton (built in 1954). Marble headstones from
the cemetery were used to build Gezi Park's fountains and stairs. As
Kerem Öktem clarifies (see here),
further appropriations of property in this urban area, principally from
non-Muslim (Armenian, Greek and Jewish) citizens continued to unfold
over the '50s and '60s, producing the urban ensemble that stands today
(for more historical background on the area's urbanism, see here).
Some protestors are memorializing this history of erasure, state
power, and the growth of big business by renaming a street in the park
after Hrant Dink, the iconic Turkish-Armenian journalist and human
rights activist whose 2007 assassination so shook Turkish society (see here).
These are some of the many stories that are unfolding in Taksim, as
the overwhelmingly youthful protestors seem to represent many different
political viewpoints, from right-wing supporters of Kemalism to
leftists, "Muslim anti-capitalists," LGBT groups, even soccer fans. Gezi
Park has now become a spontaneous community, a "festive village" in Michael Kimmelman's words, that includes a kitchen, clinic, and even a museum of the protest movement.
Beyond a commentary against neoliberal urbanism, however, the
protests have another crucial dimension: that of concern for
environmental degradation and unsustainable urban policies, perhaps
especially apparent in the debates surrounding the adverse impact of the
planned bridge and canal on the ecosystem of the Marmara sea.
Where the protest movement in Turkey will go, and what it will or
will not achieve remains to be seen. So far, we have been reminded once
again, of the resonance of urban history, and the powerful role that
public spaces and spatial memories can play in political mobilization.
"The Huffington Post," June 14, 2013
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