Nontraditional

The neighborhood seems calm as boutique shops and eateries line the streets surrounding the church. The bars, which probably outnumber shops and cafes, all possess their own distinct vibe. The Rock ‘N Rolla bar blasts rock music as the people, young and old, drink beer from their instrument-shaped cups. The Backdoor bar  across the street offers jazz to the affluent showing off their designer clothing and sipping martinis. Elsewhere, there are cafes where complete strangers chat with one another, as affability and the smell of black tea permeate the air. Small jewelry stores sell evil eyes and cross necklaces. Most restaurants have a pork option for their meat. The people hanging out in the neighborhood  are very poised, with women and men flaunting their newest haircuts and Balenciaga—except maybe the prostitutes heading for their night jobs at the legal brothels that lie above the cute, vibrantly decorated shops.

The walls of buildings are embellished by the colorful, vibrant murals of social activists. My favorite one is a portrait of Malala Yousafzai composed of one of her quotes on women's rights. Last year they painted a portrait of Greta Thunberg on the side of a six-story building, which I have yet to see. There are probably over forty of these giant displays of humanity throughout the quarter. Unlawful graffiti also exists, but it is mostly of hammer and sickles or Che Guavera. Lots of Che Guavera. The people are decorated, too, sporting tattoos that display their oppositionist views. Often I hear them talking about how they almost fainted while the tattoo needle jabbed their skin. The neighborhood is the epitome of rebellion.

All the people here will end up in hell. At least that’s what the Neo-Ottoman government tries  to tell us. Christians, or any non-Muslims for that matter, are villainous. Drinking is a sin. Music should be shut off during prayer times. Eating pork is a blasphemy. All women should cover their hair. There should be no sex before marriage. That is what they say. 

Nobody in my neighborhood conforms to that. But nobody speaks up against the traditionalist view of the government either. Under the excitement and joy lie fear and oppression. Under the winsome shops and social spaces lies the history of tens of thousands of Christians being murdered during Ottoman rule, the type of rule the government wants back. Under the cobblestone pedestrian streets lie the memories of post-coup d’etat police cars bulldozing through pedestrians to capture the “sinners,” or heroes, who chose to speak up against the authoritarian rule. Yet somehow on top of all of this lies a strange, tense beauty stemming from the presence of progessive people and ideas.

Once you stroll through the streets downhill, you meet the sea. The sea that sees Europe. The sea that separates two continents. Old men and women sit along the benches at the pier drinking tea and  eating sunflower seeds. The youth rise from the metro escalator gossiping with each other. People get on and off ferries back from work or a getaway to the Princes’ Islands. Kids in their underwear jump from the dock into the sea. Shells of sunflower seeds cover the ground. Somehow the splash of the kids plunging into the sea, laughing of old men and women, tense phone conversations of millenials, and the constant crackling of sunflower seeds all contribute to a sense of serenity. It is almost as if people are unaware that on the other side of the sea that splits the European side of Istanbul from the Asian side exists one of the most religious districts in the city, an exact contradiction of their values and beliefs, yet they sit there adoring the beauty of the skyline. It is almost as if there were two different species of the same animal just separated by geography, except not animals but Turks.

“Mussels for sale! Come buy mussels!” 

“Fresh fish sandwiches! The best you’ll find!” 

“Fruit, fruit! We got figs, plums, and cherries!”

 All the vendors try to lure you into buying their goods, but one cannot identify what they are saying because their voices mix with each other. It is so pure. They are so pure. They pick fruit from their farms outside the city or fish at the pier and sell it for a living. They could be making easy money joining the mafia and selling organs, but the purity of their hearts will not allow them to. The entire neighborhood is an oasis, disconnected from the intolerance that surrounds the city. It’s a place that serves as an escape from the socially conservative individuals and the ever-changing political landscape of the country. It’s a place that embodies what the Turkish Republic was supposed to be  in the eyes of Turkey’s first president Ataturk: a secular Western nation free of religious conflict and traditional gender roles. Ataturk once said, “The biggest battle is the war against intolerance,” and this neighborhood successfully won that battle, unlike many other parts of the country.