Another Side of Istanbul

Istanbul is bustling at 7:45 on a Monday morning, with late-model cars whizzing past on an immaculate, tree-lined thoroughfare. This is the new part of Istanbul, bristling with satellite dishes and adorned with building-sized billboards advertising the latest products, and except for the occasional minaret towering over the high-rises, it could be any other European city. The iron postmodern sculpture honoring former president Turgat Ozal greets the morning rush-hour traffic, and it's not until we pass a chunk of the crumbling brick wall of ancient Constantinople that I am reminded of how old this city really is.

Alongside the highway, I see hundreds of young trees, evidence of a city tree-planting campaign begun several years ago. Veysel says he notices a big difference from the last time he was here two years ago. Still, he says, there's no way to keep pace with the rapid development. I read a statistic that Istanbul has the lowest number of trees per capita of any European city.

We're off to have breakfast at the Sema Hospital, another project of the Gülen Movement. We are on the highway to Ankara, the one that will take us across the blue strait of Bogazici (the Turkish name for the Bosphorus, which means strait) on the enormous steel suspension Fatih Sultan Mehmet Bridge. Veysel shows us the apartment where he used to live a decade ago when he attended Bogazici University, a towering complex of brown brick. He points out the electronic devices on some lanes of the toll bridge entry that allows some motorists - probably those who have a credit payment plan - to pass through without stopping thanks to an electronic sensor. Off in the distance, on the shores of the Bogazici, a pair of crenellated towers rises over an old sea wall, built as a lookout fortress by Fatih Sultan Mehmet, who took Constantinople from the Byzantines in 1453.

But those were other times, and today the traffic flows in a quick and orderly way past the fluorescent yellow "Welcome to Asia" sign on the far end of the bridge, and the high-rises give way to pine- and acacia-covered hillsides. But we're the lucky ones, since we're moving away from the commercial center of the city. On the other side of the highway, thousands of vehicles slowly work their way through the bottleneck on the toll bridge towards European Istanbul - mostly small economy models or buses, I see no SUVs or pickup trucks, not surprising given that gas prices range about $8 a gallon here. But even those prices are not enough to reverse the trend towards living on the Asian side, where living spaces are greener, cleaner, cheaper and more spacious, and commuting north to the European side, where the majority of the good jobs are.

The hospital that we're about to see was built by volunteers of the Gülen movement, who follow his philosophy of "Hizmet", or service - giving one's life in service to the people. The public health system in Turkey, like the public school system, is overloaded; clinic and hospital waits are typically many hours for a couple of minutes of a doctor's time.

Instead of succumbing to the frustration of an incomprehensible, inefficient bureaucracy, Gülen volunteers contribute what they have to making it better - building private institutions that respond to the need.

"In each area of life you need to have spiritually developed people to give to the public life - schools, hospitals, television, media. The people who volunteer for the Gülen movement are not just teachers or doctors," says Veysel. "They are all over the world, and whatever they do, they can be volunteers for this movement."

The hospital is converted from a seaside resort hotel, and is as pleasant a place as a hospital can possibly be. Over breakfast in the conference room that overlooks the Bogazici, Dr. Ahmet Ruhi, the assistant chief of staff, tries to explain the difference from the four existing Sema hospitals from the public hospital system.

"The first aim of this hospital is to create love and trust between doctors and patients," said Dr. Ruhi. "In the public hospitals, patients must wait hours and hours just to see a doctor for 2 or 3 minutes. The ratio of doctors to patients is very low. Here there is a relationship of trust."

Chief of Staff Hamdi Tutkun, a psychiatrist who has come from the public hospital sector, visits with us over breakfast and then leads us on our rounds. He explains some of the many bureaucratic hurdles this hospital has had to overcome in order to get government approval and accreditation, a process that has taken 10 years and a tremendous amount of persistence, as the government has placed a number of requirements on private hospitals that do not exist for corresponding public hospitals.

"We're so close to the Soviet bloc," says Dr. Tutkun, as to why the government has thrown up so many bureaucratic hurdles. "The problem is that they view private hospitals with a great deal of suspicion."

Contrary to expectations, the number of women on the medical staff is high. Dr. Tutkun estimates that 40% of the physicians are women; one of the hospital's two cardiac surgeons is a woman, a fact he mentions with the same pride he exhibits as he shows us the latest in MRI technology in their radiology department.

Tutkun is a medical professional and like any other physician he exudes a proclivity for scientific clarity and precision. But he carries himself with a relaxed and ready smile, speaking frankly in a hesitant but earnest English. As we pause in the corridor to wait for the stragglers, a television in the background is broadcasting a message from Samanyolu TV, another Gülen-inspired project. Scenes of mountains, waterfalls and forests flash on the screen as a peaceful voice speaks in the background, and I notice that Tutkun becomes silent and smiles quietly to himself as he watches it.

What is it saying, I ask him. "Oh, it's a saying from Fethullah Gülen," he said, but it's time to move on.

I'm struck by the quiet, deep and pervasive spirituality of these people, who don't talk about religion unless asked; they just live their religion day by day, choosing their actions deliberately in such a way to maximize their benefit to the human condition. Dr. Tutkun is no different in this way from the three Turkish friends who are accompanying us on this journey.

At the end of our tour, as we wait again for one of our companions, I ask Tutkun to elaborate on how he became involved with the Gülen movement.

"Many years ago when I was a student in the faculty of medicine, I realized that a person needs to improve himself spiritually at the same time as he develops scientifically," he said. "I read many books and studied all the great philosophers ... I was looking for the solutions to very important world problems, and then I found the solution in Fethullah Gülen's books. He summarized everything for me in just 1 minute."

It was time to move on, so I didn't get to ask him to tell us that summary. But if it's consistent with what other Gülen followers have told us, it's all very simple: Live your life as your spiritual practice, a practice of love, tolerance, and dialog. Not so different from the message of the best Christian, Jewish, Buddhist and Hindu leaders the world over.

Samanyolu TV or STV as it's called by its millions of viewers around the globe, is a major television network like any other - with a difference, as editorial director Bayram Karci tells us.

Its programming includes dramas, sports, comedies, reality shows, children's programming and a 24-hour news operation. But what makes it different from other Turkish television stations, Karci tells us, is that it emphasizes a family orientation.

"We prepare all programming to watch together as a family," he says. "There is no explicit sexuality or violent crime, nothing is shown that would lead people into crime."

The station also includes programming that promotes the movement's goals of intercultural and interreligious dialog; their program œFruits of Dialog" brings people of differing perspectives - "sometimes people like yourselves, who are visiting Turkey from other countries" - into the studio to talk about what they like and don't like about Turkey, and how it can be improved.

Their most popular reality TV program right now, "Kimse Yok Mu," or "Is there anybody?", features two families - a poor family and another family of economic means - who are assigned to each other. The better-off family sets about the task of helping the others to move forward in their lives, and the story unfolds as the project commences.

STV was the only news network not to carry the highly inflammatory and false report that the perpetrator in the recent judge shooting shouted, "I am a soldier of Allah." Karci shares the opinion that subversive groups who seek to undermine the stability of Turkey were behind the shooting.

As to the reporting of his colleagues, Karci is dismissive. "It was a setup," he says. Much of the media in Turkey practices what he calls "table news": "They conduct all the interviews, then they go into the newsroom and they write their own news, not what you say."

Art Severance asks him about Turkish views on the US role in Iraq, Turkey's neighbor to the south. Karci spoke quietly and calmly, with a journalist's tendency toward objectivity, but without equivocation. He affirmed that Turkey remains a strong US ally, but the country does not support the U.S. policy in the Middle East.

"People on both the left and the right agree that the U.S. should consider their projects with consultation with countries that live in the area," he said. "The U.S. does things without consulting us, and that's why they're in trouble right now. Those problems in the Middle East could be solved with peaceful dialog.

"The American forces and foreign forces have to withdraw from Iraq, and then the Iraqis can get together and solve their own problems. I think most of the killing that is going on right now is because of the presence of the foreign forces; the people consider the new government as being created by the foreign forces, and they don't believe it represents them."

For lunch we go to Camlica Tepesi, a garden on a hill overlooking the Bogazici. Wandering with my camera I meet three high school girls and ask to take their photos. Like everyone else in Istanbul today, Merve Gungor, Zeynep Yuksel and Gozde Guner were celebrating the anniversary of the conquest of Fatih Sultan Mehmet in 1453.

The girls were laughing merrily at their good fortune at having discovered a tourist from Texas to practice their English with. Zeynep fielded a call on her cell phone and suddenly her bright smile faded as she listened to a voice on the other end. In the jumble of words that followed, I picked up "turist" and "ingilizce."

"It's our English teacher," she explained. "Actually, we have a test which we forgot."

The teacher, apparently, was not impressed with the girls' impromptu practice session with the ingilizce turist.

The girls had stayed behind in class to decorate a bulletin board in honor of the conqueror while their classmates took a field trip to a nearby university. Since everyone was gone, they supposed they had time to have a little adventure of their own. They were apparently mistaken.

"Don't you think you should go back?" I asked.

"Of course not," said Merve, drawing herself up to her full five feet and speaking with a dignified British accent. "We walked a long time to get here, and it was very difficult."

"So, what will your teacher do to you?" I wanted to know.

Zeynep looked distressed. "We will probably be punished," she said. And then she laughed a schoolgirl's laugh as Gozde said something irreverent that nobody wanted to translate.

The girls were curious about Texas, about the United States, about Christians and Jews. All of them were in the final phase of their high school and were studying for the grueling entrance exam, which would determine their future access to the university. Merve was studying classical philology, or languages; Zeynep wanted to become an English teacher; and Gozde had dreams of being a journalist. Gozde, who comes from the Kars region in the eastern part of Turkey, was also a folkloric dancer, as was Elifnur Yilmaz, a pre-med student who joined the girls a few moments after I arrived. Elifnur was curious as she had learned recently that the Jewish people have a dance that is similar to one of theirs. "Do you know about this dance?" she wanted to know.

I did not, but I went and got Judith, who persuaded the girls to get to their feet and compare their dances. Much to their delight, Judith and the two girls discovered many similarities and began sashaying across the pavilion, arm-in-arm.

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Once again we are crossing the strait from Asia into Europe. A while later, from the second bridge that crosses the Bay of Marmara, we see the Tower of Galata, said to be the launching point of the first flying machine. Veysel shows us the Golden Horn, the bay that was once known throughout the civilized world for its blue clarity. It was so protected by the Ottomans in those days that not even the sheep or goats were allowed to graze near its banks. Nowadays it™s a bay of a rather ordinary color, surrounded by dense development.

"So what happened?" I asked Veysel. "Who messed it up?"

He laughs, rather ruefully. "Fifteen million people live here now," he said. Art adds, from the back seat: "You can pick any one of them." The situation has improved in recent years, Veysel says, the environmental engineer in him coming out as he explains how the city created a tunnel to route the sewage sludge to the open sea instead of the bay. Obviously not an ideal solution, but at least it's better than it was.

We're leaving the concrete and steel of new Istanbul and winding our way past the ancient walls and towers of old Istanbul, and now down into Eminonu, the bayfront neighborhood district that was largely Greek before the forced displacement that followed WWI. Veysel points out the Orthodox churches scattered in among the mosques, a remnant of the early days where Greeks lived for centuries. Like many moments in Turkish history, this one carries controversy and bad feelings on both sides. Veysel emphasizes that the decision was mutual on the part of the two governments and that Turks were also forced to move from Greece back to Turkey, but he considers that decision a historical mistake. "Greeks and Turks were living peacefully together for hundreds of years," he says. "Just like the Slavs, the Bulgarians, the Bosnians and Serbs."

Just then, the photograph of the Afghani woman with the phenomenally beautiful eyes, an image made famous by a National Geographic photographer years ago, flashes by in a shop window. This time, it's a poster; I've seen the image reproduced in the marketplaces and bazaars as wall hangings, decorative plates and other items. I've also seen those eyes in some of the people of this place, people as diverse as the planetary population itself, but endowed with a rare beauty. Afghanistan, Turkistan, Kurdistan, Arabia, Iran, the Balkans - all of them merge together into one colorful Asian-Arab-European tapestry. Those haunting eyes are just one more bit of evidence that, despite the recurring conflicts over the ages, the people of these regions are, and have always been, family.

MySA.com

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