More than One April 24, 2015, in Istanbul

Nareg Seferian

 

It was the evening of April 24, 2015, and I was sitting on the street in Istanbul, right near where Istiklal Avenue starts off from Taksim Square. The area had been closed off especially for us—a part of town usually bustling (bursting, really) with people. Those around me were holding placards, mostly of the Armenians who had been placed under arrest that day 100 years earlier. I got a placard with one Hagop Terzian on it. “I must look him up,” I thought, somewhat ashamed of the fact that I had not heard of him before, one of the many whose memory was being honored that evening.

Reading Armenian Tombstones from Taksim Square

Vartan Matiossian

 

On July 12, 2013 the Armenian Turkish weekly Agos reported that employees of the Archeology Museum of Istanbul had found 13 Armenian-inscribed marble tombstones, dating back to the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries, during construction work in Taksim Square. The tombstones come from the Armenian cemetery of Surp Hagop, near the buildings of the Hilton Hotel and other constructions, and were found at a depth of 1.50 meters.

Gezi Park: Whose History Is Erdogan Respecting?

Vicken Cheterian

 

The Turkish Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan, in his defence of the project of building a new shopping centre and luxury apartments at the place of Gezi Park in Istanbul, said something symbolic: the reconstruction plans, which supposedly would resurrect the architecture of an old military barracks based on the architecture of a 19th century Ottoman building, would amount to “respecting history (1).”

Learning From Taksim Square: Architecture, State Power, and Public Space In Istanbul

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 Revolt of the Rising Class

Bill Keller

In the upscale Istanbul suburb of Bebek, at 9 p.m. sharp, the diners began drumming on the tables or tapping their wineglasses with forks. The traffic passing along the Bosporus chimed in with honking horns and flashing headlights. It was a genteel symphony of solidarity with the protesters who a few days earlier were confronting fire hoses and tear gas in the heart of the city and elsewhere around Turkey.

Those street battles that caught our attention this summer have mostly been policed into submission, and the world’s cameras have moved on, but the afterlife is interesting.

The Armenian Past of Taksim Square

Emily Greenhouse

 



Taksim Square, like Tahrir Square and Zuccotti Park before it, is just another space in a city: it could have been one more spot to meet friends, or to read a book under a tree. But Turkey’s Prime Minister, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, decided he’d like to replicate the Ottoman-era Taksim military barracks on the site, and build it into a shopping mall and a mosque. In late May, several dozen environmentalists began protesting Erdoğan’s designs in Gezi Park, the island of trees within the Square, and were attacked by Turkish police with tear gas and water cannons. Soon, as Elif Batuman wrote, “only fifteen per cent were protesting the destruction of trees, while forty-nine per cent were protesting police violence against the kinds of people who were protesting the destruction of the trees.” Since then, nearly eight thousand protesters have been injured. By now, the protest has broadened into an objection to Erdoğan’s religious agenda and authoritarian rule. Today, “Taksim Square” is no longer just a tangle of people and plazas but a byword for a clash of ideas, a movement, a battleground.

In Istanbul's Heart, Leader's Obsession, Perhaps Achilles' Heel

Michael Kimmelman



On a normal day, Taksim Square is a mess of buses and crowds, a tangle of plazas, streets, shops and taxi horns. Turkey’s prime minister, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, is determined to clean it up and make it into a pedestrian zone, with a new mall, mosque and tunnels for traffic to move underground.       

The outrage in response has filled the square with noisy, angry, determined protesters. At midday, the muezzin’s call to prayer now mixes with the chants of union workers and bullhorn speeches from the Anti-Capitalist Muslims. At night, drummers and singers agitate the throngs until dawn.       

After Tahrir Square in Egypt and Zuccotti Park in New York, Taksim is the latest reminder of the power of public space. The square has become an arena for clashing worldviews: an unyielding leader’s top-down, neo-Ottoman, conservative vision of the nation as a regional power versus a bottom-up, pluralist, disordered, primarily young, less Islamist vision of the country as a modern democracy.

Postcard from Turkey

Thomas Friedman

 

ISTANBUL — Having witnessed the Egyptian uprising in Tahrir Square in Cairo in 2011, I was eager to compare it with the protests by Turkish youths here in Taksim Square in 2013. They are very different. The Egyptians wanted to oust President Hosni Mubarak. Theirs was an act of “revolution.” The Turks are engaged in an act of “revulsion.” They aren’t (yet) trying to throw out their democratically elected Islamist prime minister, Recep Tayyip Erdogan. What they’re doing is calling him out. Their message is simple: “Get out of our faces, stop choking our democracy and stop acting like such a pompous, overbearing, modern-day Sultan.”    

Turkey’s False Nostalgia

Edhem Eldem

 

The demonstrators who have filled the streets of Istanbul and other Turkish cities for nearly three weeks complain that Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s Justice and Development Party, known as the A.K.P., has adopted an increasingly authoritarian attitude that threatens basic freedoms. They also resent his tendency to meddle in the personal lives of citizens — by condemning abortion or trying to control the sale and consumption of alcohol.       

The Crack Down of the Model of Islamic Democracy

Tim Arango

Sebnem Arsu
Ceylan Yeginsu

 

Turkish Police Storm Park Occupied by Protesters

After 18 days of antigovernment demonstrations that presented a broad rebuke to the country’s leadership, [Turkish] Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan ordered the riot police to storm the center of the protest movement in Gezi Park on Saturday, June 15 evening, setting off a night of chaos in downtown Istanbul.

The Gezi Park of Taksim Square Was the Place of the Surp Hagop Armenian Cemetery

Hakob Chakerian

Translated by Vartan Matiossian

 



Yesterday morning the demonstrators clashed again with the police in the Gezi Park of Taksim Square, in Istanbul. The inflamed passions do not and will not calm, even when today Prime Minister Erdogan meets with the leaders of the "Taksim Platform," the group that coordinates the protests. The problem are not the trees of the park, namely, it is not ecological, but the reaction of the secular Kemalists against the Islamist government, which is being expressed in Prime Minister Erdogan's project to rebuild Taksim Square. 

The "Foreign Connection" Is Me

Taner Akcam

 

Commenting on the Gezi Park events, Prime Minister Erdoğan said, “There are internal and external connections. Our intelligence work is ongoing.” Confession time: The foreign connection is me. Anyone who’s got doubts, take a look at my entry and exit dates: I entered Turkey on May 28 and it all started. I was in Taksim Square every day. I was involved in all sorts of necessary planning to ensure that the events escalated (unfortunately, I’m not at a liberty to disclose exactly what). When it started to become clear what the whole operation was about, I returned with the satisfaction of having performed my duties well. Since the operation had achieved its purpose, there’s no harm in my revealing the truth here. Our intelligence officers will have no difficulty finding my internal and external connections but there’s no point in wearing them out more than it is necessary, right?

Graves in the Park: Notes from the "Bolis" Uprising

Eric Nazarian

 



I haven’t had time to digest what I saw this past week on the heels of my first journey to the womb of Armenian civilization: Van/Vaspurakan. Dikranakert. Kharpert, the fabled green villages of Bitlis, and the hinterlands of Palu and Sakrat. My fellow travelers, now brothers and sisters for life, trekked across these majestic and cruel roads that hold many secrets. The stubborn rocks jetting from the earth gave us anchor. The mud-covered ruins inside the Armenian cemetery in Edremit in Van, though, put holes in our hearts as we stood before it, bulldozed and abandoned, next to the fresh asphalt of a curving street. It was not development. It was erasure. Rest assured that the bones, now dust, still silently scatter on spirits like us who wander through these roads seeking ancestral root. Not politics, nor the millions spent on genocide denial, can change what remains in the crevices of these stones, where our dead lie buried and anonymous but never forgotten. Perhaps that is the last defense of a people that has been erased from its historic cradle—to hold a flame to memory and preserve what remains of a civilization that flourished once upon a time in Historic Armenia.