I was lucky enough to have heard, and in some cases witnessed them as I was stuck in the middle of it, by chance, in 2013. It was a couple of days into my vacation when my Turkish friend, a local artist, called and asked if I wanted to come see a ‘little demonstration’ in Gezi Park. She was with a group of people voicing concern about the government’s bid to build a mall over it. It sounded off the beaten path of Hammams, shopping and food so I decided to wander out to join her at the park – which is only about a 10-minute walk from where I was staying in Beyoglu.
Going along with her that night, I think, felt like the best part of the activist political culture. Even in protest, the young Turks who had gathered were in high spirits, but remained a peaceful group. Laughter, music, singing, and chanting rang out as the prevalent sounds. My friend was busy painting some objections on the plywood that the authorities had set up in preparation for cutting down all the trees. And even though she was writing anti-government slogans, she had adorned them with flowers and birds. We sat, we sang and we painted together. It was the 29th of May 2013 and it was a beautiful night.
In the coming days, the authorities cracked down on this picturesque gathering of students, environmentalists, artists and free people with a force that even a Pakistani was shocked to see. The police had come out armed with batons and riot gear to bear down on the young, artsy, hippy crowd of Istanbul as if they were threatening national security. The feeling now was one of pure panic as the crowd was forced to disperse in every direction – either directly affected by or in fear of the tear gas, pepper spray and water cannons. We were not in the centre of the mayhem at the moment but everyone could literally smell the chemicals and the intimidation.
To a Pakistani caught in the middle, it was about Turkey being one of the last places left on Earth where a modern Muslim can both be free to live as they wish and still be in touch with a culture, architecture and history that we can relate to
We got calls from parents imploring us to stay away from the square but it was a done deal by then. We had come for a peaceful sit-in but had gotten fully carried away in the fervour and passion that these people displayed. What had started as a small non-violent demonstration had sparked into a much larger discourse about the government. Every group that had a bone to pick with the current government (which many felt had consistently been unresponsive to the people and their needs) joined hands. It was no longer about the trees in Gezi Park. It was now about authoritarianism, censorship of media, over-urbanization and construction in Istanbul, the crackdown on public freedoms and the government’s policies regarding the war in Syria. To a Pakistani caught in the middle, it was about Turkey being one of the last places left on Earth where a modern Muslim can both be free to live as they wish and still be in touch with a culture, architecture and history that we can relate to.
The local media under-reported and the story got told from numerous angles. But the ones who were there can attest to at least one absolute truth. We were in the presence of something great. There were some unlikely but glorious heroes there in that square with us. They came in all shapes and sizes with only one thing in common. No Fear. No retreat. No surrendering of beliefs. And kindness to fellow civilians – something most unruly and panicked crowds tend to forget about.
The first day the police cracked down it was pandemonium, with people running, mass confusion and the distinctive smell of tear gas. It was then that many bookshops, universities, hotels and restaurants around Taksim Square indiscriminately opened their doors to anyone needing protection, first aid or refuge regardless of police presence or possible backlash. Some shopkeepers were even dispensing lemon juice to passing protesters, so as to offset the effects of the teargas.
Inside the eye of the storm, as the initial crowd ran from Gezi Park, under attack from the very people that should be there to serve and protect, we heard that Sirri Sureyya Onder, a deputy from the Peace and Democracy Party, was still standing. He reportedly stood there for hours, ‘representing the trees’. He was later hospitalised when a tear gas cartridge hit him in the shoulder.
In the coming days, more individual stories were shared like Chinese whispers amongst the protesting crowds. A public bus driver had apparently arrived out of nowhere and parked his bus directly in between the demonstrators and the police. No matter what the future consequences might be for him that remarkably brave man did not remove this wall of protection. A tweet by Asli Tunc, Head of Media School Istanbul Bilgi University on 31st May, claimed that “one policeman said ‘I cannot take it anymore!’ and took his gas mask off and gave it to a young female protestor”.
There were fast-moving younger people in the crowd who seemed to only be running back and forth with the sole purpose of telling strangers where there was more tear gas and which direction to move in order to stay safe. Fighting the local media restrictions on reporting of the incident, a game show host put subversive protest terms all through his show – with the clues and words to guests pertaining to the protest. He got the word out there regardless of the consequences. There were even protestors that completely walked their talk on the environment. A group of students came back on the Monday after the first weekend of clashes and voluntarily cleaned up the square and park.
And then there were the heroes that I personally witnessed. My talented artistic friend (5ft 2in and gentle to her very core) running around fearlessly among a rowdy crowd filled with remnants of tear gas, pepper and dust. She continued painting slogans and shouting at the top of her lungs for days. The first aid worker we met had red eyes. After having a tear gas canister literally explode at his feet, he declared that “It was no big deal, I cried more at my sister’s wedding.” After washing his eyes he went right back to tending to the injured. The young interior design student we met dosed in pepper spray was claiming in jest that it had cleared his sinuses and expressed his gratitude to the police for helping with his cold. People like these inspired others to go back and keep demanding to be heard. They also energised my fatigued Pakistani soul. Even now, writing about it half a decade later, I get goose bumps.
So here is to the real ones. The un-glamorised ones. The ones who will sit in a park for months to protect it. You are some pretty remarkable people. To everyone that has ever protested for principles without fear for their person, to everyone that supported them from afar and to everyone trying to get out the real messages: you are heroes whether the general media is allowed to portray that or not.