A walk in Gezi Park
An eyewitness account of the birth of a movement
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On May 31, two hours after I landed in Istanbul, a revolution began. And I walked right into it.
It all started with a modest group of people protecting trees in Gezi Park in Taksim Square from demolition for a new shopping mall construction. The government administration tried to parry this demonstration as marginal behavior and was determined to move forward with the plan.
When people resisted, police enforcement became harsher. And things got ugly. People got hurt.
Despite the brute police force, insane amounts of tear gas, and PR maneuvers to portray the protestors as vandals, something interesting happened. People did not get intimidated. People did not leave Gezi park. In fact, more people came. The resistance was epic.
I had the privilege to witness the first few days of this historic event. When I walked through Gezi Park, I encountered opposing views camping adjacent to each other peacefully. Over time, people set up their tents, built kitchens, and libraries. Gezi Park became a platform of solidarity for all walks of Turkey’s colorful political scene: Anti-capitalist Muslims, LGBT groups, neo-nationalists, Kurdish politicians and more co-existed and cooperated despite their differences.
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During my eight days in Istanbul, I watched iconic characters emerge, like the whirling dervish with a gas mask, the lady in red, and others. I walked the streets blocked with barricades that were made of advertising billboards, cobble stones, and all types of scrap. I read the witty graffitis as they were drawn. And I ran into a lot of friends who had been fed up long before, and joyfully embraced this movement.
I gasped again and again at how the ruling party can control mainstream media and engineer headlines. As Taksim Square was turning into a battleground, major national TV networks were intently airing everyday programs as if nothing was happening, like a documentary about penguins. Clearly, government business interests had priority over the most basic mission of journalism.
On my very first night, I took part in organizing the flow of information at a make-shift press center. The news were coming in like a storm directly from the front lines. Protestors found shelter in the press center as they delivered latest updates. We were rapidly re-circulating verified news to fill the gaping void of mainstream media and inform people. People were thankful. The reaction was amazing.
Also, I got my fair share of tear gas. What a shame for whoever invented it… Breathing had never been that painful. I received help from volunteers on the street who sprayed a combination of vinegar, anti-acid, and milk to my face to relieve the burns. The real relief though was experiencing the genuine intent to support and help.
Gezi movement was different from demonstrations I’m used to seeing in Turkey. It was like Rocky’s first real blow to Ivan Drago: it made a dent. The movement drew public and international attention to a growing resistance against the increasingly top-down, intolerant, and partial practices of the governing party.
The credit for this momentum goes to the very young people of Turkey. Their creativity and persistence energized the apolitical and concerned 80s parents who suffered from the post military coup traumas. Maybe the biggest common denominator was the demand for basic rights, including the freedom to live a lifestyle that may not align with what the prime minister approves.
When it was time to come back, I was bummed to leave at the height of this energy. Once I arrived in New York though, I pleasantly discovered that the movement spread beyond borders. People in New York, as well as other cities in the US and the rest of the world, have been mobilizing around efforts to support and sustain the Gezi movement.
Lucky me witnessing a piece of history. What a summer…
