We talk of taxes, and I call you friend;
Well, such you are,—but well enough we know
How thick about us root, how rankly grow
Those subtle weeds no man has need to tend,
That flourish through neglect, and soon must send
Perfume too sweet upon us and overthrow
Our steady senses; how such matters go
We are aware, and how such matters end.
Yet shall be told no meagre passion here;
With lovers such as we forevermore
Isolde drinks the draught, and Guinevere
Receives the Table’s ruin through her door,
Francesca, with the loud surf at her ear,
Lets fall the colored book upon the floor.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
“Few find a seat on Marmaray: each carriage accommodates five standing passengers for every seated passenger. Like Neolithic man, I crossed the Bosporus upright, “on foot on the highway.” I went to Asia and back again. I got off at the first European stop: Sirkeci Station, the old terminus of the Orient Express, where the Marmaray platform is connected to the surface of the earth by a twenty-story escalator—the longest in Turkey. Strange questions may pass through your mind as you travel on this escalator. If fifteen houses are built on top of one another, which one is the most important? Whose voices should be heard—those of the living or those of the dead? How can we all fit in this world, and how do we get where we’re going?”
Um texto antigo, sobre coisas ainda mais antigas. Aqui
“When the US television series Dallas first came to Turkey it created a ripple of excitement that lasted for years. There would be no one on the streets in the evenings when it was being screened. We were a nation hooked on the saga of the Ewing family. My grandmother put a curse on JR, the scheming, sneaky oil tycoon – we all hated him with a passion. But we never saw him as an “American” or a “westerner”.
And that’s what strikes me most when I look back: the absence of anti-western, anti-European sentiment. Part of that is because Turkey, unlike Algeria or Morocco, has not been colonised. We have no collective memory of colonialism. In fact back then, Turks generally thought we were part of the west, part of Europe, even though most Europeans had yet to acknowledge it. That naive and optimistic Turkey does not exist any more.”
“A father in Adana, a city in the south, publicly burned his children’s US passports. An ultranationalist group demonstrating in the same city burned US dollars in front of TV cameras. Afterwards their spokesman said, “we will overcome this crisis. We will make the priest an imam” – a reference to the US pastor Andrew Brunson who had been kept in prison for two years and was then moved to house arrest. In Muğla, in the south-west, Ferhat Dolar applied to court to have his family surname changed.
The jingoistic hysteria is not shared by all Turkish citizens – these showy examples taking to the streets are clearly in the minority. But in a country where the opposition is censored and suppressed, it is people burning things and changing names who are covered by the media. Anyone who openly refuses to take part in the spectacle is called a traitor.”