The Gezi Park Protest From The Perspective Of An Avoider

Monument of the Republic, Taksim Square

Istanbul is filled with protesters, riot police, tear gas. Taksim Square is a war zone. Besiktas is burning.

Or so I hear.

I’ve received a lot of just-checking-in emails from friends and family the last few days. They see the images of this city rioting and they want to make sure that I am fine. A few have explicitly told me not to put myself in danger while seeking out the perfect photograph.

So, to all of you—I am fine. I am safe.

I am absolutely avoiding the protests in Taksim.

Protests are not my thing. Tear gas makes me anxious. Police in riot gear scare me. I got deported less than a month ago. I’m not eager to run into danger, no matter how much I support the protesters.

Istiklal Caddesi in Taksim, during more peaceful times.

This whole thing started as a peaceful protest against the demolition of the last green space in the center of Istanbul—Gezi Park, right next to Taksim Square—but quickly escalated into something more comprehensive and profound when the police violently attacked the protesters with tear gas and water cannons. Now the protest encompasses not just the destruction of the park, but also the public’s dissatisfaction with an increasingly authoritarian government, a press that is not free (Turkey has one of the highest percentages of jailed journalists per capita), newly passed restrictive alcohol laws, and a continued destruction of historic buildings to make room for malls. An old, celebrated movie theater in Taksim was demolished only a few months ago, and the peaceful sit-in protest that accompanied it was also met with tear gas. The dissatisfaction has been building. Gezi Park is the tipping point.

The Gutted Cinema

The spillover into Kadikoy, my Asian-side neighborhood, has been comparatively mild, if majorly surreal. People bang pots and pans together all night, restaurants burst into spontaneous cheering and applause as protesters march by, old and young people casually carry giant Turkish flags with Ataturk’s face. Ferries leaving for Besiktas (a center of the violence) are cheered heartily as they depart the Kadikoy port. We have a pile of spent tear gas canisters on the kitchen table in my apartment that my roommate has collected.

Even while avoiding, it’s hard to avoid.

Tear gas canisters in my apartment. That’s new for me.

I am safe. But the stress of it all has started to get to me. I know a lot of people who have been at the protests. Groups of friends who are here as tourists are staying in hotels near Taksim. I don’t know what the situation is all the time or where I should go. I don’t know how long this will go for.

But for now, I sit by my window and listen to banging metal, honking horns, and jubilant cheers. I’m glad to be here now, and glad that I’m not in the middle of it all.