Following a soft negotiation of price with the rickshaw driver, I finally had initiated my way back home from the Time to Help foundation. Next to a quick introduction of our names, the driver asked me where I was from. I smiled at him. It was an easy-to-answer question for the majority of people, but not for me.

I was born in Russia, but my family left the country when I was only two; so I don’t remember much to feel part of it.

Perhaps I could say India, as I had lived my childhood within its peculiar, sweet but dirty, and adaptable environment. I saw clean walls filled with images of deities adjacent to walls filled with human excrement. I made friends who were Hindu, Christian, Muslim, or Jain. My friends taught me the language that is spoken by nearly 1/3 of the world. I also sang the national anthem with pride in every assembly. “Where there is love there is life,” says Mahatma Gandhi. The colors that covered everywhere in the “Holi” celebration were the clear message of love and joy lived by the people of India. I simply had been part of the “Bollywood” of the world. The Bollywood where I lived my childhood, gained my patience from its traffic, and celebrated diversity from its people and culture.

Yet, I could not ignore what was written in my passport and I could not ignore my parents, who raised me with the language and values of Turkey. The majority of the books I read when I was a child were in Turkish. I learned about Turkey by listening to Turkish songs, reading Turkish literature, and on top of all I spent a full month every year in Turkey, which gave me a chance to observe the country with first-hand experience. I have therefore socialized within a modified and extended family. Turkey was not a place where I felt at home to the fullest, however the importance of all these past experiences were revealed following the coup attempt of 2016 since which we no longer could visit what my father used to call our “place of rehabilitation.” Thus, my visits to Turkey temporarily ended.

For a moment, I looked at the driver as he was in the middle of a phone call. The loud African music playing behind me reminded me of the fact that I have been living here in Tanzania for 6 years now. As Turkey was waning from my annual calendar, I thought to myself, “Hakuna Matata.” Tanzania had been where I had built a character and made hundreds of friends in schools, orphanages, on streets, and with rickshaw drivers such as Emmanuel sitting in front of me. The smile on the faces of little orphans when I speak to them and play soccer with them has been part of my favorite experiences in life. The day I tried to dance like those children had placed me into the rhythm of their tradition and culture. I learned the true meaning of benevolence and gratitude as I observed the joyful moments of villagers approaching their water well when it was filled with a pure water supply, or orphans who untie their gift boxes in extreme excitement. I learned that true satisfaction was found through serving others. I learned that life could be sincerely enjoyed only when one would explore himself or herself. Life was, indeed, different in the eyes of each individual. I saw many of those vulnerable people becoming only “happier” than they used to be, while many people in wealth have lots to complain about. This relation had always enhanced my curiosity over psychology. I always felt that I had to understand myself, my existence, and my own sense of being before trying to benefit others. In Tanzania, I developed an ambition; an ambition of living, so that others may live.

I suddenly regained my consciousness as the driver threw a glance at me, still waiting for a response. I looked at him and answered “Natoka Tanzania siku hizi” (I am from Tanzania these days), and watched him, as he was laughing, in satisfaction of making someone happy at least for some part of his day.

“It’s my fault, all my fault; I should’ve tried harder,” he said. A quintessential characteristic of his – always pinning the blame on no one other than himself.

They were closing us down; there was no more hope.

He had returned hopeful after the bidding: his paperwork had been in order, and he’d been at it for weeks, day and night. In fact, he hadn’t slept much since the great wave had hit them on the 16th of July. I recall seeing his worried sleepless face on the morning of the 17^th; he hadn’t slept a wink. He’d been up all night making “namaz” (prayers) for his country. He’d been confused by the events. The slowly emerging, dizzying “facts” confounded him.

The wave had been the talk of the staffroom in the days to follow. Some said that their country had just been making good progress and now everything, who knows maybe 10 or 15 years of building, had been lost, all in a single night. Teachers, first by the hundreds and then by the thousands, had been sacked, and their licenses revoked. I was shown a picture of a teacher with an angelic appearance who had been put to death because he had allegedly been involved in terrorism. The morale dropped with each passing day and the friendly smiles and warm greetings turned into frowns and drooping shoulders. I woke up each morning with a sense of angst and prayed for peace, justice, and truth to prevail in my colleagues’ country. The realization started setting in that they wouldn’t be able to return home that year. Their children would not be able to see their grandparents the next holiday. And with the school being shut down, they had no idea where to go. They told me that it’s become too dangerous to contact their families; people are being detained by the thousands. Some told me that their parents believed the news and not their own accounts of what had happened; a certain blindness had descended upon their countryfolk.

My colleagues are deeply patriotic. There were Turkish flags and laminated Turkish words labeling things and framed pictures of the Hagia Sophia and Istanbul on the walls of the school.

Talk about the failed coup eventually ceased in the staffroom and my colleagues refused to be dispirited further by it. Weeks went by and everyone kicked into survival mode. CV’s were being updated, job applications were being sent out in a frenzy, reference letters were being written, and my friends had nowhere to go. They were stranded or worse, they’d become alleged “terrorists.” My friends: terrorists? Ludicrous!

I’ve known them for over five years and the only allegation I could make against them is that they work too hard! Most work seven days a week. Our staffroom was open 24 hours and I’d often see them working in there as late as 11 at night. They had once compelled me to redo a video promo I’d made about the school just to insert a clip of the Prime Minister at the time, Erdoğan, and his wife who had attended a Turkish Olympiad (Türkçe Olimpiyatları) where Ghanaians had performed a traditional Turkish dance. Both Erdoğan and his wife were deeply touched. I’m not sure if I had gotten my facts straight… so he, Erdoğan, was blaming my colleagues of plotting against him? The reasoning behind this had confounded myself and my colleagues alike.

They’ve travelled land and sea to make other nations pro-Turkish and pro-Turkey. Never had I picked up on an ounce of resentment against Turkey from my devoted colleagues.

And when my colleague had exerted his final efforts and realized that the fight to keep the school open had been lost, he sighed and said: “It’s my fault, all my fault; I should’ve tried harder.” My heart broke upon hearing these words uttered by a man who teaches his students on weekends and until eleven o’clock at night to help prepare them for their exam the next day. My heart was shattered when I heard those words from the man who had learned to push on with his teaching responsibilities despite an onslaught of dengue fever, his shirt completely soaked and his eyes deeply sunken.  “You should rest Abi,” I said to him. “I will rest in the hereafter,” he stoically replied.

My heart was crushed when he still blamed himself when powers beyond his control had worked against him, the man who had once removed the tie from his neck and wrapped it up neatly and made it a gift to me following my comment about its beauty. How can my heart go on if the man – who took me to his unfurnished house, save for a mattress on the floor, to give me his own mattress when mine was infested with bed bugs – is labelled a “terrorist”? Tell me, how should I respond? What should I do to convince people that none of this is his fault, that he’s a man of peace, a teacher by trade and nothing more, that he’s nothing less than a saint? Tell me, what should I do?

Being an academic is not an easy thing. In many countries, it seems you are always between a rock and a hard place when you are in academia. Politics permeate the academic halls, where positions might be assigned or created for political allies. Besides this, as a faculty member your superiors have unrealistic expectations of you, such as excruciating teaching loads and a tough oral exam with professors in your field in order to gain some tenure. In recent years, Turkey has unfortunately been one of the worst cases where all these challenges have become unbearable. Arguably the biggest problem of Turkish academics has been the lack of freedom to become critical intellectual voices in public spheres. Academics’ speeches, actions, and political views have traditionally been monitored and tracked by the Higher Education Council or government appointed University Presidents. After the July 15, 2016 coup however, some academicians’ problems became more of a struggle to stay alive. Why were thousands of academics and tens of thousands of teachers fired and arrested for “taking a part in” a military coup attempt on July 15 in Turkey? I can’t find any rational answers.

The current difficult lives of academics are connected to the societal and historical understanding of authority in Turkey. After the coup d’état in 1980, Turkish society witnessed an era where the state and the government were taken as sacred concepts. A lingering tradition since the ancient Turkish states has been that people would rather avoid advocating for truth and morals when they feared doing so would come back and bite them through the cold force of an authoritarian state. Psychological and even physical lynches could and have happened since the power owners and patriarchs are always positioned to be the identifiers of “transgressors” and dictators of the “consequences.” Few people advocated for human rights. For instance, when a group of academics signed an ‘academics for peace’ declaration in January 2016, over 60 Turkish academicians were fired or punished for “spreading Kurdish terrorist propaganda and undermining the country’s national security.” There was no big public uproar, since anyone objecting to it would be demonized as “terrorist supporters.”

Speaking your mind, expressing your opposition, and writing freely have never been easy for thinkers and academics in autocratic regimes. Unfortunately, Turkey has become one such regime in which critical academics are among those facing collective hatred and punishment for their beliefs and views.

These same arguments were recently used as a social lynch for another group: followers of Fethullah Gülen, a Turkish cleric who lives in Pennsylvania. For the last five years since one the biggest corruption scandals involving cabinet members and President Erdogan’s son broke, each investigation has been shut down by Erdoğan with the accusation towards Gülen followers, aka the Hizmet movement, that they were plotting a coup attempt against the government. What followed was the complete overhauling of the police force and police education institutions with the suspicion that many Gülen followers had “infiltrated” their ranks. After the coup attempt on July 15, 2016, which Erdoğan described as “a gift from God,” he also shut down the military and purged half of all high ranking officers, along with thousands of lower ranking members of military, many of whom are still in jail now. 15 major universities were shut down, along with more than 3,000 other schools and hospitals. In the government sector, from health to judiciary, from education to academia, more than 150,000 lost their jobs and 80,000 were arrested upon accusations of being a member of a so called “terrorist organization” with such “evidence” as using free apps like WhatsApp or Bylock, or having Gülen’s books at home or having an account at a once successful bank: Bank Asya. Many reports of abuse and torture in jails emerged since then, and about 40,000 previously convicted inmates were set free to open up space for Gülen’s followers.[1]

Erdoğan’s regime easily demonizes others who are in the opposition by putting them into the “Gülenist” melting pot. For example, atheist religious history professor Candan Badem was first detained, then released, then fired from his job for belonging to the “FETO” organization, a dysphemism produced by the government for Gülen’s followers. The people in Turkey are silent about the genocidal actions of the government because the government has the power to silence even the journalists. Hysteria is in its peak as my own family tells me I cannot send them money from U.S., call them from U.S., or invite them to U.S., which are all received with suspicion by the government that you may be affiliated with the Gülen movement (Gülen has been a US resident for almost two decades). While there are serious claims that Erdoğan himself might have had a part in the coup to consolidate his power, no one including judges, prosecutors, (who are themselves jailed), or the media (Erdoğan shut down all opposition media and arrested over a hundred journalists) can investigate these claims fully. The judiciary system is also on complete lockdown: it made the news when a judge was arrested during his very own court hearing. On another account, as a judge couple were being arrested, their two children, one of them a toddler, were locked in the house from outside and left home alone until their grandparents arrived from a faraway city late at night and found them hungry and desperate. Of the other kids whose parents were arrested some were taken into state custody in unknown locations and not released to their relatives even though they requested them. A female journalist, Ayşenur Parıldak, reported being sexually harassed and tortured while in custody and being confined to a cell. A left-wing journalist, Aslı Erdoğan, was withheld from taking any medicine or being provided a cardigan despite her multiple serious health issues and cold prison cells. She and other left-wing prisoners got the same accusation. After her release, she is now in exile in Germany, awaiting the outcome of her court case in absentia.[2]

Universities were already struggling with favoritism and unfair practices in Turkey. After the so called coup attempt, all university presidents were called into a national meeting organized by the Director of Higher Education Council (HEC) in Turkey, who threatened them that he would take necessary actions against those who “act slowly” in purging Gülen related academics.[3] This was the start of the public statement and demonstration contest among universities where University Faculty Senates hastily wrote statements shunning the group and calling them FETO (abbreviated for “Fethullah Terrorist Organization”) as directed by pro-Erdoğan media, and walked in groups in the streets protesting FETO, while there was no real evidence, official prosecution, or trial. This public hysteria resulted in thousands of fellow academics being fired without any evidence or due process based simply on the lists of profiling done by Erdoğan’s regime officials. Worse, many unions were asking when these positions would be reposted so “other” citizens could apply. Obviously, again, no one was questioning the ethics of this situation, but rather trying to think of ways to benefit from it, whether by trying to replace them with their own kin, or reporting on others to get them fired. Their attitude was, “If you are not going to bite me, long live the rattlesnake, and bite others as you wish!” As an academic who proudly thinks academics can carry an identity to become the bearers of hard truths, this is especially scary to me; not only did academics in Turkey remain silent about social injustices, but some unscrupulous people helped perpetuate this silence by demonizing a group of colleagues. Of course those people proved their worthiness of being strong allies to the current hierarchical system of university presidents, who follow orders from the Director of HEC, who in turn is reporting to the government. It is obvious that this system cannot produce the next generation of critical thinkers and intellectuals.

Why do I care about this personally? Along with some of my friends, my brother, who is an academic, is currently in jail for an unknown accusation after the coup attempt. His wife, who was an entry level secretary within a small municipality, was the first one to be detained. Police stormed into their house 2 days after he and his wife learned they were fired from their jobs. Since the government increased the detainment period to 30 days we were under a big trauma after they took her, not knowing her whereabouts since no one was allowed to make any contact with her, including any attorneys. Was she being raped or tortured? Was she being beaten severely to get some kind of confession out? What is currently happening is similar to what happened in World War II or the Bosnian War where an entire system to protect basic human rights collapsed along with the judiciary system and sense of justice. Can you imagine the feelings of a helpless husband, mother, or father? Worse, can you imagine them having a 2-year old toddler screaming non-stop after witnessing the shock of his mother violently being taken from her family? Three days had passed when she was in front of the judge and the prosecutor for “being a member of a terrorist organization.” Seeing how fragile her health was, the prosecutor asked for her release. She was united with her son at last. However, those judges and prosecutors were shortly fired for not being ruthless enough to hunt all Gülen followers. We don’t know where she and her son is, since she left her town to avoid the trauma of being separated from her toddler, fearing they may call for her arrest again.

A few days after they released her, my brother was taken into custody. He was a shining star in his work, attending each and every conference in his area of expertise, publishing both Turkish and English articles. Philosophy was his passion. They released him after a few days of detainment and courts. Later, when the prosecutors were changed, they sent out another warrant for his arrest. He immediately turned himself in knowing he had nothing to hide. They seized his computer, all of his digital files, and his phone, and they were never returned. All of his academic work was gone. In the first five days of his arrest, his wife snuggled with his coat, refused to eat anything, and just lay in bed. Their toddler still is under a huge shock, and asks for his dad and does not understand why they had to leave his toys, clothes, and everything else he knew to be home.

Besides being permanently fired from their jobs with no social security, health benefits, and retirement without any due process, these academics are no longer able to be hired by any other company or institution due to official and unofficial orders from the government dehumanizing them. Their children who have terminal diseases got their Medicaid cancelled and denied any services at hospitals. They were left to become homeless, helpless, and hungry. “They will beg us to kill them,” Minister of Economy Nihat Zeybekçi said,[4] while a municipal director of AKP, the ruling party, said: “Let them eat tree roots.”[5]

The collective hatred towards and punishment of all opposition for their beliefs is reminiscent of Jewish genocide under Hitler’s regime. This incredible violation of human rights destroyed Turkish academia, freedom of speech, writing, and research, and caused social fractions and hatred among universities. To all governments and to the international community of academics: We must support the rights of these scholars and not let another genocide happen in Europe in the 21^st century.

[1] www.turkeypurge.com

[2] https://pen.org/advocacy-case/asli-erdogan/

[3] https://tr.sputniknews.com/turkiye/201607191023938783-yok-baskani-universite-feto/

[4] https://www.birgun.net/haber-detay/bakan-zeybekci-gebertin-bizi-diye-yalvaracaklar-122392.html

[5] http://www.hurriyet.com.tr/gundem/ak-parti-il-baskanindan-fetoculere-agac-koku-yesinler-40242531

Gasparetto (not his real name)[1] was a young Turkish medical student when he was arrested and imprisoned for eight months by Turkey’s government, merely for his connection to the Hizmet, a social movement inspired by Fethullah Gülen and Sufi thought, which Turkey’s President Erdoğan blamed for the July 15, 2016 coup attempt. While incarcerated, Gasparetto experienced a range of feelings—heightened spirituality and camaraderie with others, but also devastating emotional torture at the hands of prison guards. In prison, they had crammed 57 people into a room meant for 12, and so the inmates took turns sleeping and sharing beds. He was only given permission to leave his cell on four occasions over an eight-month period. He asked his family to bring National Geographic magazines to him so that he could see color photographs of the outside world. The worst part was that his mother, who suffers from bipolar disorder, was unable to manage her own medications at home because of the stress, and rapidly deteriorated during his absence. Sadly, as soon as Gasparetto was released, he knew he would soon likely be rearrested, and so he planned his escape from Turkey via the dangerous Evros River, known as the “refugee cemetery.”[2] Crossing the river on a flimsy inflatable boat, he was terrified he would drown in the rushing currents, as far too many had before him, or be thrown back into prison again by Turkish soldiers, before his boat reached Greece.

I met him in Greece during the summer of 2018, where I had travelled to interview other refugees of Erdoğan’s ongoing purge. According to Mehmet, a Hizmet representative there, approximately 800 Turkish refugee families are temporarily residing in Greece (the number fluctuates), hoping to gain asylum somewhere, anywhere, in Europe. At least 41,500 Turks have already reached Europe to seek refuge after the attempted coup, and many more are still desperately trying to reach safety and gain asylum there.[3]

Firdevs, a former teacher who crossed the river with her three children, told me that after arriving in Greece, she kissed the first tree she saw. She felt her burdens lifting, and that at that moment she could breathe for the first time in two years. “All Turkish refugees are thankful to the people of Greece,” Mehmet explained to me.

Due to its strategic location and (relative) hospitality as of June 2018, Greece houses approximately 60,000 refugees.[4] From January to September 2018 alone, over 23,000 refugees, most of them (72%) from Syria, Iraq (including Syrian and Iraqi Yazidis and Kurds), and Afghanistan, came to Greece by sea.[5] Others risked the treacherous Evros River—from January to May, 2018, 7,200 refugees survived the crossing to Greece.[6] When asylum seekers arrive, often exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, unfortunately many find conditions in the refugee camps less than ideal. Crowded, squalid, and dirty, the camps nonetheless offer refuge for those awaiting their asylum decisions. Residents have complained that living in the camps can be dangerous: there have been reports of physical and sexual assault, threats of violence, and a rise in mental health problems.[7]

One of the worst examples is the Moria Camp, on the island of Lesbos. It is supposed to house 2,000 refugees, but as of August, 2018, it houses four times that many, and sexual harassment and assault are commonplace.[8] It also reeks—there is one toilet for every seventy people. Some have lived there for over two years. Many, including children, are suicidal.[9] The same camp recently witnessed violence against Kurdish refugees by Arabs, in which over seventy Kurds were injured, at least ten left in critical condition, mirroring sectarian violence against Kurds in Syria and Iraq, at the hands of religious extremists.[10]

My 9-day trip was marred by several tragedies. The day before I arrived, fires in the region of East Attica, near Rafina, horrifyingly killed 99 people,[11] with 200 more being injured.[12] In two separate incidents around the duration of my stay seven Turkish refugees, including children, lost their lives drowning in the Evros trying to reach safety in Greece. For days one Turkish father, Murat Akcabay,[13] who had survived the trip while the rest of his family fell into the water after the boat hit a rock, prayed that one of his three sons, five year-old Mesut, who had been wearing a life vest when he fell off the boat, would still be alive. The bodies of his wife and two sons had already been recovered.[14] Sadly, during my trip, Mesut’s body was also found.

Despite the problems faced by the Turkish refugee community in Greece, which include trauma, financial difficulties, displacement, grief, depression, and an uncertain future, those I spoke with were deeply concerned with how to best help the Greek fire survivors and their families, in their new host country.

On a more positive note, six other Turkish refugees, one a 5-months pregnant woman, were rescued and brought to Greece after being stranded for four days without food or water on a tiny island between Turkey and Greece. Their boat sank and they made it to the island, where they slept on the muddy ground and survived by drinking river water. Another success story involved a young Turkish refugee who arrived on a boat, but his boat was pushed back towards Turkey by Greek officials (which happens on occasion). In an act of sheer desperation, he leapt off that boat into Greek waters, and to the cheers of spectators he too was rescued and brought into Greece by representatives of the UN High Committee for Refugees.

Despite the problems faced by the Turkish refugee community in Greece, which include trauma, financial difficulties, displacement, grief, depression, and an uncertain future, those I spoke with were deeply concerned with how to best help the Greek fire survivors and their families, in their new host country. They, along with the world, mourned with Greece. Another refugee, and former government official from Ankara, Çetin, explained: “The pain doesn’t differ. Language, ethnicity, religion, none of these are different. We suffered the same. When we see the pictures of the Greek babies [fire victims], we suffer just as we do when we see Turkish babies who sank in the Evros River.”

Humanitarian groups quickly began to raise funds for the survivors of the devastating fire. Help also came from an unlikely source: the Turkish refugee community. Historically, Greece and Turkey have been at odds. This has been fueled, in part, by Greek independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1832, a series of military conflicts including the Greco-Turkish war of 1912-1922, the Cyprus issue, and the current tensions between Turkey and Greece. Turkish jets have invaded Greek airspace on dozens of occasions this year alone, and the Turkish government has implied it might seek jurisdiction over islands in the Aegean occupied by Greeks.[15]

Despite that history, those refugees I interviewed were deeply grateful for the friendly welcome they received in Greece which, combined with Erdoğan’s brutal two-year purge, completely quashed any previously held feelings of Turkish superiority and/or xenophobia. Firdevs, a former teacher who crossed the river with her three children, told me that after arriving in Greece, she kissed the first tree she saw. She felt her burdens lifting, and that at that moment she could breathe for the first time in two years. “All Turkish refugees are thankful to the people of Greece,” Mehmet explained to me.

Zeynep, a divorced mother and former cook, confirmed that her refugee experience created greater empathy for others outside of those groups of people with whom she used to most identify. She said, “Before this [purge in Turkey], when we heard a refugee ship had sunk in the Aegean Sea, of course we were sorry. But we never thought that each person died had a family, children; we never humanized them, one by one. We used to just think about Turkey, what we could do for Turkey, but after this experience, we see what we can do for humanity.”

My 9-day trip was marred by several tragedies. The day before I arrived, fires in the region of East Attica, near Rafina, horrifyingly killed 99 people, with 200 more being injured. Seven Turkish refugees, including children, lost their lives drowning in the Evros trying to reach safety in Greece.

Similarly, Yesma, a former teacher, argued that being a refugee also made her more empathetic towards other refugees. She stated, “In our country we had Syrian refugees and we should have done more for them. We didn’t help them enough.” She also crossed the Evros with her family, and told me that eerily, she was able to feel the spirits of those who had drowned in it, but were never found.

Accompanying Mehmet, Gasparetto, and several other refugees with medical backgrounds, I toured the neighborhoods affected by the fire. They wanted to offer aid through their Hizmet-affiliated organization, Time to Help. In one of over at least 1,000 homes gutted by the fire, a burnt television sat askance on the living room floor, surrounded by charred furniture and debris. A brass teapot sat unscathed on a charred, round antique table. I was told that thankfully, the elderly resident of that home survived, carried out by her son.

Mehmet, who had organized the small group composed of two refugee doctors and one nurse, purchased water and paper goods to donate to Rafina’s city hall. We met with Ms. Vasiliki Beka, the Mayor’s Advisor, and Mehmet began by telling her that they were there simply to help, and that on behalf of Time to Help they could bring more doctors or whatever else was needed. He offered to organize a blood drive, paint homes, bring medicines, or provide victims’ families with financial aid. Ms. Beka graciously responded that they did not need more basic items such as clothes, food, or medicine, but rather volunteers to help clear the area of burnt wood, and of course, funds. Seemingly touched by the offers of assistance, she said that receiving global offers of support restored her faith in humanity. Exhausted, but smiling, she added: “There is more that brings us together than that which separates us.” Afterwards, the group visited a young woman in the hospital, who was badly burned on her arms and legs, and gave her mother funds to help her daughter with her medical bills.

Refugees commonly suffer from feelings of humiliation and societal uselessness because of their dependence on aid organizations, especially when they are unemployed.[16] I noticed that being able to provide help to fire victims raised the spirits of the Turkish refugees I met in Greece; indeed, Mehmet much preferred to think about ways to help the Greek victims rather than about his own refugee status, or the fact that the rest of his family still remained in Turkey. Thankfully, Gasparetto was able to reach Germany, where he hopes to continue his medical studies after learning German. While he still struggles with depression and his traumatic memories, he is one of the more fortunate. While those that fled the brutal purge in Turkey have a long road in front of them, their horrible experiences have not yet caused them to lose their humanity. In fact, being able to perform even small acts of kindness helps them move forward.

The pain doesn’t differ. Language, ethnicity, religion, none of these are different. We suffered the same. When we see the pictures of the Greek babies [fire victims], we suffer just as we do when we see Turkish babies who sank in the Evros River.

Let’s conclude this story with the words of a refugee. Ahsen, a 33-year-old psychological consultant and mother of two, listened to the stories of purge victims in Turkey before becoming a refugee herself. Her hair turned white from the stress of listening to the painful stories of others. Her Kurdish husband, a psychiatrist, cried when I interviewed him, telling me he heard stories that were so terrible he couldn’t tell them to anyone. Before fleeing Turkey via the Evros, Ahsen told her seven-year-old daughter that they were playing a game of “Survivor.” Surprised with her daughter’s adult-like demeanor during the voyage, Ahsen recalled that after reaching Greece the girl calmly asked her who had won the game. Ahsen conveyed what she had learned from the harrowing ordeal: “Passing through the Evros taught us about other people. We had heard about the refugee experiences from Afghans and Syrians, but we hadn’t experienced it [ourselves]. Also, when we came here we found that Greek people are very kind, polite, believe in humanity, and offer us respect and understanding. They also help us, which is very important. [If granted asylum], we will go and carry out more service (Hizmet) in the countries we visit. I’m sorry I left my friends in Turkey, but I learned there is a great need here as well. A new life is beginning for all of us.”

[1] All names of Turkish refugees have been changed, for their safety.

[2] Deniz Zengin, “Turkish Refugees Crossing Evros River,” Politurco, August 2, 2018.

[3] Ibid.

[4] “Greece,” UNHCR, June, 2018.

[5] “Sea Arrivals Dashboard: Greece,” UNHCR, September, 2018.

[6] Leo Dobbs, “Fewer refugees arriving in Greece’s Evros region, but problems remain,” UNHCR, June 12, 2018.

[7] “UNHCR urges action to ease conditions on Greek islands,” UNHCR, September 8, 2017.

[8] Catrin Nye and Leo Sands, “UN urges Greece to act as Moria refugee camp reaches ‘boiling point,’” BBC Victoria Derbyshire Program, August 31, 2018.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Helbast Shekhani, “Ten Syrian Kurds in critical condition after attack at refugee camp in Greece,” Kurdistan 24, May 26, 2018.

[11] “Attica’s Devastating Wildfire Death Toll Rises to 99,” Greek News, September 12, 2018.

[12] Bill Hutchinson, “Death toll from fires in Greece climbs to 91 as investigation points toward arson,” ABC News, July 29, 2018.

[13] His real name.

[14] Tasos Kokkinidis, “Turkish Father Makes Emotional Plea for Family Missing in Greek River,” Greek Reporter, July 20, 2018.

[15] Yannis Babaoulias, “Greece and Turkey Are Inching Toward War,” Foreign Policy, April 18, 2018.

[16] Constanze Quosh, Liyam Eloul, and Rawan Ajlani, “Mental health of refugees and displaced persons in Syria and surrounding countries: a systematic review,” Intervention Volume 11 (3) (November 2013).

Sight is one of the most miraculous things for which we can never be thankful enough. Our eyes serve as windows connecting our inner life with the outer world. In “Retina the Mind-Boggler,” Dr. Serranur explains the intricacies of the eye’s physiology. Despite many theories and scientific advances, we still don’t completely know how sight works. Scientists do know that the retina plays a crucial role in this very complex structure – so important, in fact, not every eye surgeon dares touch it.

Stem cell research has expanded our understanding of biology and medicine to once-unimaginable levels. Among the treatments for which the initial findings are promising are paralysis, Parkinson’s, diabetes, and even blindness. Despite these groundbreaking discoveries, many are not sure about how far we should go in genetic programming. Dr. Yorulmaz elaborates on this dilemma in “Embryonic Stem Cells.”

The question of how to handle refugees has been a critical issue throughout human history. Despite many regulations, international legal conventions, and technological progress, refugees still pose intractable questions to governments around the world. Last summer, when Dr. Sophia Pandya was visiting Greece to observe the situation of refugees there, the country suffered one of the deadliest wildfires of the twenty-first century, in which a hundred people died and more than a thousand buildings were destroyed. Greece has been the crossroads for many refugees, including, yes, many Turkish citizens, especially in the last few years. The Erdoğan regime’s clampdown on the Hizmet Movement and many others who oppose his autocracy has forced tens of thousands of Turkish citizens to flee their homes and seek asylum in Europe, the US, and elsewhere. Hundreds of thousands of people have been detained in these purges; thousands more are waiting their turn, as their freedom to travel has been illegally curtailed by the Turkish government. What is their crime? Association with a group that opposes autocracy and supports democracy. For many fleeing injustice, Greece has become the last chance for freedom. What Dr. Pandya saw there was representative of what the Hizmet Movement has been doing for decades: Turkish refugees reached out to victims of the wildfires and distributed food and other aid. This was their way of responding to the hospitality of Greek people, who opened their homes to refugees when, as described in this issue’s lead article, they were forced to flee “dark-spirited night demons who were overwhelmed by hatred, rancor, and enmity, and dejected souls growling with wrath.”

What makes this event unique compared to other attempts at bringing people together to celebrate our heritages, our cultures, and our languages? For me it is the spirit of the philosophical rationale underpinning the organizers of the event: the Horizon Educational Trust, the Gauteng Provincial Department of Arts, Culture and Recreation of South Africa, the South African-Turkish Business Association, and the Turquoise Harmony Institute. What do they share in common that helps them to run a festival of diversity?

First, the festival is deeply focused on the “the diamonds” of the show: namely, the youth, who are students from a range of Turkish schools across the globe who came to showcase their experiences of dialogue, sharing the riches of their own cultures while embracing the opportunities for self-growth, discovery, and development as they learned to speak a common language of respect and value. Yes, there were the perfunctory speeches from dignitaries and sponsors. Yes, the organizers emphasized the role of Turkey offering not just bilateral South Africa-Turkey relations, but also access into the worlds where Turkish conceptions were sowing seeds across the international community. Yes, there was a nod to providing awards to the Mandela family in recognition of his contribution to world peace. But these speeches did not dominate the program; it was clear that the unexpressed agenda of the organizers was directed not towards scoring political points or grandstanding. The event was an opportunity to learn from others through appreciating difference and viewing “others” not as potential threats, a waging of supremacist ideological battles, or the harmful promotion of political factions. We, as the audience, were spectators of a new world in gestation.

The simplicity and genuineness of the hosts came through on multiple levels, but especially in how they promoted the view that cultural dialogues are easily communicated beyond linguistic specifics. The universal languages of arts, music, and dance speak volumes. The festival program directors marked each individual presentation with an evocative introduction translating the songs they rendered and offering connection with the message of the colors of a rainbow world, enriched by our diversity. Whist they hinted at the countries of origin of the performers, they were careful not to set any one up as “exotic others” against some normative hegemony, or in a competitive ascendancy. Each performance was afforded a dignity in its own right and the young stars rose spectacularly to the occasion with confidence and committed expertise. They exuded that this was a festival, not a competition; a celebration of dialogue of selves, not egoistic performances.

Notably, the program was also consciously planned to bring different performers onto the same stage in simultaneous coupled or multiple-group renditions, showing that it is not uniqueness alone that is to be valued, but one’s ability to stand alongside, and in concert with, other perspectives and points of view. We saw Romanian and Georgian songstresses hold back-to-back performances with South African backing vocals. We were mesmerized by a heartfelt Whitney Houston song, “I Am Nothing Without You” performed by an Australian teenager wearing traditional Islamic dress. We witnessed the choral singing of Turkish and South African songs by enthusiastic students on a full stage. A duo of a lanky African American and a suave South African Durbanite executed a spirited “Stand By Me” performance. An elegant impersonation of Adele’s “Someone Like You” by a Catholic girl from the Philippines sent shivers down one spine and brought tears to most eyes:

I wish nothing but the best for you…

The penetrating, almost operative gusto of “Je t’aime” by a pint-sized French lass celebrated the wonderful potential young people possess. Mozambican sisters, and Netherlander siblings, and Madagascar soloist performers continued to show the spirit of the festival by singing in Portuguese, Dutch, and Turkish. Audience members fervently waved randomly distributed miniature flags from all participating countries. Each member of the audience was randomly assigned arbitrary custodianship of these nationalistic symbols. The “We are the World” popular mantra brought all solo performers alongside the whole starry cast in a memorable display of togetherness. A South African dance group exhibited their pot pourri of traditional Turkish folkdances. Local variations of kwaito music and gumboot dancers culminated in a costumed celebration of all performers: North, South, East, and West in a rousing reinterpretation of the Southern anthem, Shoholoza. A tribute from the whole student group to both Mahatma Gandhi (in Gurathi) and Nelson Mandela (in isiXhosa) demonstrated the lessons of these international icons of harmony and commitment to social justice, through quiet, yet powerful engagement and dialogue. The celebratory pictures of their historical lives, presented in a back-to-back sequence, were a tribute by themselves. What a collage of possibilities peppered with the spice of smiles!

The music genres spanned both traditional and modern forms. It was quite evident that the star performers (ranging in age from early to late teens) were selected as exemplars of exceptional artistry. Each performance was reinforced by graphic slides depicting scenes from the performers’ home countries. Natural fauna and flora, cultural and architectural monuments, and significant people or groups formed the worldwide educational tour via the panoramic backdrop visuals. Some graphics told visual stories of evolving forms and features of the worldwide community. The program saw the presentation of singers performing their own and other cultural languages. They adapted costume styles from different settings outside their home countries. The kaleidoscope that emerged was a festival of variety: where people of different groups exchanged dress styles, languages, and dance choreographs to communicate the possibility for the dialogical space that a new cultural movement can embrace.

South Africans are perhaps skeptical of this kind of multicultural celebration due to apartheid. In such a form of cultural celebration, different cultures are placed alongside each other as enclaved entities, highlighting the “boundaries” of one’s beliefs, a celebration of otherness. Such divergence produced a “multi-cultural” endeavor that promoted a political hierarchy of perspectives which took on racialized proportions with disastrous effects.

In present times however, many proponents of the “new era” of cultural affirmation in post-apartheid South Africa see cultural celebration as an attempt to assert a new regime of hierarchies with one cultural form replacing the previously powerful forms. This is also more often associated with the representations of political power which silence those who differ from the majority perspective, the new master narrative, or dominant worldview. How different is this from multi-cultural apartheid?

By contrast, the Turkish school movement inspired by the international Hizmet philosophy of “service to humanity” is characterized by a worldview that celebrates the interdependent common ground across all cultural expressions. Their outward manifestations may differ, but cultural representations highlight the similitude of our humanity, and our quest for dialogue, love, and tolerance. This is embodied by the writings and teachings of a key founder of the Hizmet Movement: Fethullah Gülen. In this version of “inter-culturalism,” the attempt is to develop individuals who are conscious of their own self and their heritage, but not in service of a protectionist or preservationist agenda. From this firm position of self-strength, one is able to reach out to the world of others. We see in others, too, our agenda for our common quests. Our reaching out is a service to realizing peace and harmony – which is a goal sorely needed in a war-torn, politicized and ideologized world, which often uses religious beliefs as rallying points for promoting hostility, supremacy, and divergence. Sometimes these separatist agendas are disguised econometric plots, too! Cultural affirmation is not a hearkening to a fossilized past, but a recognition that our habits and routines can mutate and extend through dialogue and exchange; our borders can be more inviting and more welcoming.

A third kind of cultural engagement is “juxta-culturalism” which merely tolerates different groups walking alongside each other, never interconnecting. This is sadly the lived experiences of many who pursue only a narcissist nationalistic myopic agenda, seeing only the boundaries of geography and politics as the border of their selfhood. This produces expressions of xenophobia which does not recognize the inherent commonality of all human beings. We are all created equal in the eyes of God. Our nationalist identity is only a man-made demarcation, dividing one set of people from another. It is more commonplace that many individuals in our modern global society, live outside the borders within which their forefathers were born. We may draw our cultural roots from one geographic space, but live in another context altogether.

Human history has been replete with stories of crossing borders, migrations due to the ravages of political, economic, or natural disasters. Not all of these journeys are tales of joy. More likely, the fragile settled communities interpret the visiting migrant culture as undercutting the nationalistic goals of their society. Open hostility is unfortunately sanctioned as the appropriate response to keep the outsiders from penetrating our “safe world.” So, which version of cultural affirmation did the festival of language and culture promote?

I think that a version of “trans-disciplinary culturalism” emerged as the young stars of the show interacted to generate a positive energy of harmony by crossing over to the other side. Their own past matters; they remained rooted on their own river banks. But they were confident enough to swim across to the other side. The young performers were firmly grounded in the here and now of the present 21^st century, with all its influences: technology, media, and new musical and art forms, which they transported across the global village. And they dared us to dream of the possibility of building a new, shared cultural world. Their message was simple: we are simultaneously of the past, in the present, and eager to create the future. This movement across time and space, culture and geography, history and identity, are not threatening but enriching.

One of my lasting impressions was the emotional image of students embracing each other at the end of the show: this was the world in dialogue with each other. They had made a connection with those around them that would live on in their lives for many years. They will become the ambassadors of the new world order. The official festival song reverberates:

I saw a luminous future in my dream one night.
Lights were silent pouring down everywhere.
It was like a harmoniously working clock.
Dark nights had gone away.
A new world!
A new world!
They were building a new world.
Everywhere sparkled like the skies.
They were building a new world.

After the ceremony, I chatted with a young 12 year-old Albanian youth to congratulate him on his commanding and welcoming stage performance. He simply smiled broadly.

“No English. Me speak no English.” He smiled and held my hand, clutching his Albanian costume in one hand, his proud flag in another, and his infectious energy pouring out. Despite his lack of English skills, he was able to communicate via his open-hearted spirit.

What a festival of cultures and languages! Not essentialized, but harmonized. It was an expression of joyous humanity.

And there we found our God.

But now I think: was he from Albania or Afghanistan? Why do I not know these countries and their foreign flags? But does it matter?

His heart sparkled.

Reflections on the “13^th International Festival of Languages and Culture”
www.iflc.co.za
“Colours of the world”
18 March 2015
Nelson Mandela Theatre, Braaamfontein, Johannesburg

Michael Anthony Samuel is a professor of education at the University of KwaZulu-Natal, School of Education, Durban, South Africa.

Annemarie Schimmel was born in Erfurt, Germany, in 1922. She grew up in a home full of talk about mysticism and philosophy. She was one of the young Germans of the 19th and 20th centuries who fell asleep with the Stories of 1001 Nights. Her father, a postal worker, was deeply interested in mysticism. During the Nazi era, the young Annemarie discovered her passion for the Arabic language and Arab culture. Once a week, she received private lessons in Arabic and Islamic Studies by Hans Ellenberg, whom she called Efendi. Already, at the age of 19, she had completed her doctorate on the subject, “The Position of the Caliph and the Qadis in Late Medieval Egypt.” She published more than 120 books and studied and translated, among other things, Arabic and Persian poets such as Mawlana Rumi, Ibn Ataullah, Hallaj, Yunus Emre, and Muhammad Iqbal, who wrote about mysticism and the love of God. As an Islamic scholar, she is still highly esteemed in the East and the West. Here is just one example:

Love

In passion deep my heart fell –
Just look, what love has made of me!
I gave my head to strife and pain –
Just look, what love has made of me!
I silently weep to myself,
While love stains me in blood,
Can’t be sober, can’t be confused –
Just look, what love has made of me!
Yunus Emre

The languages she knew included Turkish, Persian, Urdu, Turkmen, French, Pashto, Hindi, Kurdish, Swedish, and also Arabic, which she was able to speak in more than 10 dialects. Besides her talent for learning languages, she was also a gifted speaker and gave lectures in Turkish, Persian, and Arabic that sometimes lasted hours.

She had a special passion for ornamentation, calligraphy, and architecture. Almost all of her published books are illustrated and many a chapter is introduced with calligraphic verses from the Qur’an. One of her books is titled, In the name of Allah the All-Merciful.

Annemarie Schimmel has received many awards and honors: honorary doctorates from the universities of Konya, Islamabad, and Sind; the Hilal-i Imtiyaz Medal (the highest award in Pakistan); the Gold Medal of the city of Istanbul; the Arts and Science Medal of the Republic of Turkey; the Peace Prize of the German Book Trade; and the Federal Cross of Merit. Thanks to her strong commitment for a better understanding between nations, her advice was taken seriously all over the world. Since her death, she has not been forgotten; in the Pakistani metropolis of Lahore, for instance, a main road was named after her – the Hiyaban-i Annemarie Schimmel Road. In Iran, she is much appreciated and often quoted. In Turkey, she became immortal as the unforgettable Cemile.

The bridge builder

“Nowadays broader circles of our society realize that a certain understanding of other cultures is needed to avoid the dangerous generalizations the media are replete with. It is a must to learn about the history of the ‘other.’ In my opinion, it is very important that we also address the intellectual history of Islam, recognize its outstanding cultural achievements, and strive to find common ground, even if it is sometimes difficult.”

During her life as a scholar, Annemarie Schimmel focused intensively on improving understanding between Islam and the West. With her in-depth analysis, she communicated the ideological and artistic content of Islamic culture, and especially its beauty and intellectual wealth – not only to German or European readers, but also to Americans and other cultures. She was always committed to dialogue, and made an effort – through media, literature, and face-to-face meetings – to get Christians interested in Islamic culture and Muslims interested in Christian culture. In the verses of famous Islamic poets and mystics she met the “true” Islam, which is embedded in believers’ hearts and waiting to be discovered.

For her, the first prerequisite for dialogue is knowledge of one’s own culture and the other culture, be a person Christian, Jewish, or Buddhist.

“Without mutual knowledge there is no mutual understanding, without understanding there is no mutual respect and no trust, and without trust, there is no peace, but the risk of a clash.”

Annemarie Schimmel would never have entered a dialogue without knowledge about the culture of her counterpart. In her view, people should keep and practice their religions. They should take it seriously, but at the same time, try to get to know other cultures and values and to accept them. In many conversations and interviews, she regretted that the Christian and the Islamic cultures knew so little about each other, because if they knew, they would surely appreciate each other – which she experienced over and over again during her long stays in Islamic countries. According to her, even brief conversations with taxi drivers can be very valuable in this regard.

She became friends with countless people from other cultures. Her image of Islam was not shaped primarily by her years of occupation with Islamic literature and art, but rather by the encounters with Muslim friends around the world and from all walks of life, who invited and received her lovingly in their houses and made her familiar with their culture.

Ms. Schimmel traveled with her mother from Edirne to Konya and Gaziantep, throughout Anatolia. They met with many people, from all layers of society, every one of whom taught them another personal piece of Turkish culture.

“We have to get to know other cultures better. You never finish with it; there is always something new to learn and to do: reading, giving lectures, and just keeping people informed. Everybody who knows Islam knows that Islam and terrorism have nothing in common,” she said in an interview. She relied on a quote of St. Augustine’s, “Res tantum cognoscitur quantum diligitur” (You only understand what you love), and on an Arabic proverb, which is mentioned in the prose works of Rumi: “Man is the enemy of what he does not know.”

Only a few Christians know that in Islam, Jesus is considered a forerunner to Muhammad and therefore enjoys the highest esteem in the eyes of Muslims, whereas Muhammad has a negative image in the West, peace be upon them both. Ms. Schimmel complained about this. In her book Jesus and Mary in Islamic Mysticism, she noted that Jesus is mentioned in the Qur’an in 15 chapters and a total of 93 verses, and that Mary is the only woman who is mentioned in the Qur’an by name – and thus is of great importance to all Muslim women.

Her greatest concern was a dialogue of equals. In Germany, she regretted and criticized that, for a long time, Catholic bishops had no other dialogue partners than Turkish engineers and distributors. She deemed this fact a main obstacle to understanding. Therefore she encouraged the German government to educate Imams and German-Islamic theologians. Eight years after her death, her wish came true. In April, 2011, the inauguration of the Centre for Islamic Theology at Tübingen took place – a milestone for interfaith dialogue in Germany.

Ms. Schimmel made the Turkish culture known in Germany and the German culture known in Islamic countries. During a five-year stay in Turkey, she wrote innumerable articles under her pseudonym, Cemile Kıratlı, for the magazines Hayat and Istanbul Dergisi. She did not forget her roots, but at the same time tried to absorb other cultures.

Annemarie Schimmel died in Bonn, in 2003, at the age of 81. Before her death, she said she was looking forward to finally seeing the hereafter with her own eyes, rather than only reading about it. Her last wish was that at her funeral, the opening chapter of the Qur’an be recited. Friends have engraved her life motto in both German and Persian on her grave stone: “People sleep, and when they die, they wake up.”

Conclusion

In her pursuit of understanding, Annemarie Schimmel was a role model for all people. It is important for our society to respect her efforts and follow her example. It is important that the Christian and the Islamic cultures get to know each other better in the future, because this is the only way prejudices and misunderstandings can be reduced. Annemarie Schimmel, Herder, Goethe, Klee, Rilke, Rumi, Yunus Emre, and Iqbal have proved the fact that there are no impenetrable barriers between cultures and religions.

“Then one day – Inshallah, God willing – we will find, as Goethe did, a way that will enrich both sides: the Orient through the encounter with the deep-rooted European culture and us through the knowledge of an infinitely rich past and a versatile oriental culture that comes to light in literature and grammar, in the heights of mysticism, but also in the most beautiful flowers of the arabesques. And then perhaps we may one day say (as Goethe put it once so well): Orient and Occident can no longer be separated.”

A few examples from Schimmel’s works: As Through A Veil : Mystical Poetry in Islam (1982); Mystical Dimensions of Islam (1975); Islam: An Introduction (1992); My Soul Is A Woman: The Feminine in Islam (1997); A Two-Colored Brocade: The Imagery of Persian Poetry (1992); Mohammad Iqbal, Poet and Philosopher (1960); Calligraphy and Islamic Culture (1990); A Dance of Sparks: Imagery of Fire in Ghalib’s Poetry (1983)

All the home-cooked dishes were delicious. It was obvious that the secret ingredient of my Turkish hosts’ cooking was love, spiced with intriguing conversation. I had not known that Turkish cuisine was one of the best three cuisines of the world, along with Chinese and French. As the IID members we had a great time eating the meals, sharing experiences and world views, and indulging ourselves with delicious and sinfully sweet Turkish desserts. During this trip, I had an ample opportunity to learn about Turkish everyday life as our hosts showed us their entire houses and explained Turkish customs and manners. Unlike contemporary, always busy, American or Japanese households, eating meals together still constitutes the core of Turkish family life, and this practice binds each member to the family unit.

Since my 2007 trip, I have been involved with various social activities at the Little Rock Raindrop Turkish House, and chief among them is the cooking course. A friend and I took the course for a few years, and we are now able to cook some dishes with ease, thanks to the classes and also our Turkish friends who gave us private lessons in their kitchens.

The Raindrop Turkish House cooking classes are taught by Turkish women volunteers, most of who are in their late 20s and early 30s. Some are housewives with small children, and others are teachers, researchers, and graduate students at university. When some of these women’s mothers visit them from Turkey, the older ladies often volunteer to show us different dishes that require some special techniques—which I would describe as “tricks.” I learned that Turkish cuisine is characterized by regional differences from the visiting mothers, who come from different parts of Turkey.

Students taking the cooking classes are diverse; some are university professors, school teachers, secretaries, university and high school students, housewives, and retirees. Their ages range from the high teens to low 60s. The nationalities of the students vary, too; during any semester, there are students from the U.S., Japan (me!), Mexico, Columbia, Uzbekistan, Poland, and Turkmenistan, among other places. The classes are thus international, for over the years I took the classes, a number of different languages were spoken besides English and Turkish.

The religious affiliations of the participants differ, too. All the Turkish women are Muslim, and some of them wear the scarf called Esharp, while others do not. American students belong to Catholic or Protestant churches or Jewish synagogues. I practice Zen (meditation).

The classes are very informal and take place once a week during the evenings. When too many people want to enroll, the classes may be offered twice a week. Usually, the class size varies from 4 to 13 students and two to four Turkish teachers. Recipes are given at the beginning of the class, and students learn about the ingredients, cooking techniques, regional differences, and the significance of the meal as they chop or mix vegetables and meats, and talk about life experiences.

The reasons for taking Turkish cooking classes vary. Zelda, an American woman aged 50, who is married to an attorney, said, “I am interested in the development of food, its difference and similarities with different ethnicities and regions. Plus, I like exploring new cuisines and cooking techniques.” Zelda is a dedicated cook at home and always brings a set of sharp knives to the class. She taught her sons how to cook Turkish meals, too. My colleague recommended Amber, a 23-year-old student to take the class to learn about Turkish culture. It is part of her project for a linguistic anthropology class. Kim, 59, a Jewish homemaker, said “I love to cook and learn new traditions and recipes. I enjoy getting to know the other participants,” when I asked why she wanted to learn about Turkish cuisine. Lynne, 62, said, “The food we’ve learned to make is excellent, but my favorite part is learning from and spending time together with the young Turkish women who teach the class.” She went to the IID’s Houston headquarters for a cooking competition in February, 2011, and won an honorable mention award.

Food is often a symbol of national identity, and it helps define cultures. Food can influence and enrich cuisines of other cultures, too. Historically, food was part of cultural imperialism and colonialism as well. Food unites people and standardizes the world as well—as we can see from the spread of American fast food chains thriving all over the world. As a result of globalization, the boundaries between cultures based on tastes and availability of foods have become much more ambiguous, and certain cuisines have merged in recent years, resulting in the food fusion phenomenon.

For me, as a sociologist, food unites the women at Raindrop Turkish House for world peace. Utilizing the Durkheimian theory of religion, we can say that these cooking classes are an integrator of all the participants from different nations and cultures. The class experience is similar to religion.

The teachers and students gather weekly in search of good food in a cathedral called the kitchen. The cookbook is like the Bible or Qur’an that is used as guide to successful cooking. Chopping boards, knives, ladles, and spatulas are items necessary for the “rituals,” and are comparable to an incense burner, a Yad (a pointer for reading the Torah), candle sticks, a Kiddush cup (for the rabbi to bless the wine). The teachers preach the way of cooking and tell us the significance of the specific meal. Some of the Ten Commandments of Cooking include:

• Always cook with love
• Wash the grape leaves before you wrap them with filling
• For the syrupy dessert, the cake must be warm and the syrup must be cold
• Sauté chopped onions with olive oil before you add the tomato sauce
• Use only the freshest and best ingredients

We work in a close proximity and in unison with all the participants. We laugh together as we dice carrots, mix minced meat, roll sarmas, and make mantis in huge quantities, and we cry together as we chop onions. After the cooking comes the tasting of the food we cooked with love. We open bottles of water and soft drinks to quench our thirst and become our nectar of life. We eat the meal that will become our flesh, blood, and energy to keep us going. We talk about experiences in our countries, share stories, and bond. Georgiana, 63, a secretary, said, “I am taking the class for the fellowship of others—to learn about the Turkish culture, to expand my horizons by meeting people from other walks of life. I love the lessons and I love all the folks!”

The teachers and students in the cooking classes are mothers, university professors, and school teachers who are raising the next generation of Americans. The children, youth, and young adults will grow up to be less prejudiced, more open-minded, and have more knowledge and understanding of each other’s nations and cultures because of the socialization process of their mothers and teachers/professors. By talking casually as we cook and eat together about our experiences, nations, and cultures, the participants can relate better to each other in spite of their different backgrounds and world views. The cooking class companionship promotes international understanding, friendship, and appreciation. This is the first step toward peace.

The Latin origin of the word “companion” includes the words “com,” meaning “with” and “pan,” meaning “bread.” Thus, a companion is basically a person you eat bread with! In Japan, there is an idiom, “eat from the same rice pot.” Our cooking-class companionship makes us bond and become friends. At Raindrop Turkish House, we say “Delicious!” in different languages, appreciate the food, and discuss matters that are important to women everywhere in the world. As women, daughters, wives, mothers, and grandmothers, we do share feelings, emotions, and thoughts about certain things, and they are universal to humankind: feelings of love, understanding, empathy, and compassion.

One night, my friend said at the table, “You know, we eat together, share experiences, and try to understand each other’s countries and culture. We become friends, and we will never think about bombing each other’s country or harming each other’s people.”

I hope that a day will come when there are no more wars in the world, and people live together in peace. And we can begin our efforts right in the kitchen!

Dr. Kinko Ito, Professor of Sociology, Department of Sociology and Anthropology, University of Arkansas at Little Rock, U.S.A.

“Life is a shared bridge of “passing over” and “coming back.” It is a passing over to other cultures and faiths, not to disown one’s own heritage, but to come back to incorporate new wisdoms and insight into one’s own worldview. The Gülen Movement is one such bridge.”

What the religious scholar John Dunne wrote in the 1970s remains true today:

What seems to be happening in our world today is what we might call ‘passing over,’ passing over from one culture to another, from one way of life to another, from one religion to another. Passing over is a shifting of standpoint, a going over to the standpoint of another culture, another way of life, another religion. It is followed by equal and opposite process of what we might call ‘coming back,’ coming back with new insight into one’s own culture, one’s own way of life, one’s own religion. The holy man of our time [is] . . . a figure like Gandhi, a man who passes over by sympathetic understanding from his own religion to other religions and comes back again with new insight into his own. Passing over and coming back is the spiritual adventure of our time. (1972, ix)

I think that this spiritual adventure of passing over and coming back also occurs in the person of Fethullah Gülen. But more importantly, his passing over and coming back has led to a bridge that makes it possible for the rest of us, Christians, Jews, Muslims, Humanists, to engage in the spiritual adventure of our time. We too can use the “Gülen bridge” to pass over from our standpoint, be it in America as a Christian (as for myself) or from Turkey as a Muslim, as for my new Turkish friends. We can pass over and come back with new appreciation of Islam, a new understanding of the Anatolian culture, and a transformed spirit. Muslims too can be transformed as they pass over into American life and its religious diversity and come back to Islam with a renewed perspective. But I will share how my encounter with this movement and the people involved in the movement affected my outlook and shaped my spirit.

Who is Fethullah Gülen? And what sort of bridge did he build for us? Mr. Gülen himself was nurtured in the religion of Islam, as that religion expressed itself in Turkey during the latter half of the 20th century. Turkey has an unusual history in the 20th century. To make a long and complex story somewhat shorter, the Ottoman Empire that ruled a region that is greater than present day Turkey until the 1920s had a close relation to Islam. Islamic law, Sharia, was the law of the land. But when the empire began to crumble, the reformers successfully pushed for a new secular Turkish republic that outlawed religion in the public square. Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, who founded the new nation of Turkey, considered religion to be antithetical to modernization, and so pushed religion and its institutions into the private sphere. Ataturk himself schooled in the European philosophy of laicite, or radical secularism, advocated a strict separation of church and state. The free exercise of religion is allowed so long as it stays at home; religion is not accommodated but rather it is actively suppressed from public expression. The new Turkish state sought to create a homogenous society based on science and Turkish nationalism, and therefore tried to root out all other influences, especially religious ones, in the life of the people. So overnight, a Muslim culture was to be wiped away and replaced by scientific secularism in the interest of modernization.

One might imagine that such a project will have no success, but to some degree it has been achieved in Turkey. Still, religion is not easily eradicated; religion has a way of transforming itself and emerging in unforeseen ways. Religion can be privatized, but it will not always stay at home, for religion is an expansive force in human life, it is an urge toward greater good, toward greater freedom, and this urge found a decisive vehicle in the person of Fethullah Gülen. Gülen was raised in a Muslim home, but by all accounts, it was a progressive home life. As Helen Ebaugh says in her study of the movement: “Mr. Gülen was raised in a circle of people who were constantly exploring spirituality and its place in the modernizing world” (2010, 24). As a young man he was introduced to the writings of Said Nursi, the great Sufi scholar of the revolution. Although Ataturk’s secularism won the day after the revolution, Nursi’s progressive Islam continued to influence many Turks, and Gülen’s own developing vision of Islam for our global society is greatly indebted to Nursi’s thinking. To quote Ebaugh again: “Nursi had developed ideas of a modern Islam that insisted on the necessity of a significant role for religious beliefs in public life while embracing scientific and technological developments” (2010, 24).

What is Gülen’s vision of a modern Islam, and how does religion become a public force in a secular state that suppresses its expression? My trip to Turkey helped me to see the answer to such questions. I witnessed two cornerstones of the Gülen movement: education and dialog. Both of these are essential elements of the bridge that Gülen has built between Islam, the U.S., and the rest of the world. The Islam that Gülen advocates stresses that education is not enemy of religious faith but an ally. As part of his own crossing over and coming back, Gülen followed in the footsteps of Nursi and learned everything he could about European culture, especially the scientific mentality, but also the economic, political and social scientific developments. And he then synthesized this with his vision of a progressive Islam. Progressive Islam means an Islam that sees the Qur’an and the traditions as compatible with reason and experience. Education in Gülen’s vision means an education in the sciences, but also an education that stresses moral character and spiritual development. The result is a worldview that is both spiritually rich and intellectually sophisticated. How did I discover this?

During my trip to Turkey we visited numerous schools that have been founded by the Gülen movement. We visited with the principals and teachers, the deans and the faculty, and of course the students. I witnessed their commitment, their diligence and their joy in learning. The educational institutions the movement is sustaining for the children of Turkey, (and growingly across the globe), will greatly increase the real-life opportunities for these children to develop into the full personhood that God intended. These schools integrate scientific knowledge with ethical values; they address the whole person. As Gülen himself says, “The main duty and purpose of life is to seek understanding. The effort of doing so, known as education, is a perfecting process through which we earn, in the spiritual, intellectual and physical dimensions of our beings, the rank appointed for us as the perfect pattern of creation” (2006, 202). Nothing could be more important to a country’s development; GDP is important, but real human development is more important. We know this is so in America, but we are not emphasizing it as strongly as many in the Gülen movement are. We could learn something about education here.

Not only did we visit schools, but I was welcomed into the homes of volunteers active in the Gülen movement. While we enjoyed Turkish foods, we discussed serious matters: what was the aim of the movement? What was taught in the schools? Did instruction include ethics and religious matters? What did the “reading circles,” the gatherings of followers of Gülen, read and discuss? How will the movement be affected when Gülen passes away? And the individuals whose homes I visited wanted to hear about my impressions of Turkey; they wanted to learn about America: What was happening to education in America? What was the religious climate like in America? Who are the leaders? We engaged in genuine substantive dialogue about faith and life. How refreshing to visit with adults and discuss topics of real significance!

What was really transformative for me, and what led me to realize that this is a movement of profound depth, were these visits with individuals and families committed to the movement’s aims of education and dialog. The people involved in the Gülen movement are on a spiritual adventure; they are not defending a static vision, but one that affirms dialog across cultures and religions. They are passing over and coming back. I will confess to you that my study of religion and other cultures had been (up to this point) mostly of East Asian traditions, especially Buddhism. I came to appreciate Buddhist perspectives on the human spiritual situation. I have not disowned my Christian heritage, but I have incorporated some of the Buddhist wisdom in my Christian faith. I passed over and came back. But now I have passed over and come back again; I have come back to my faith with a new appreciation of Islam, and I now incorporate the wisdom of the Gülen movement into my Christian worldview.

Finally, I think that the Gülen movement has been so successful in large part because of the soil from which it emerged. This soil was a culture where religion was looking for a way to express itself in public without overstepping what was (to most Turks) an increasingly successful process of modernization. But that is true for many places in our world today. People are hungry for a world view that does not ask them to deny their spiritual heritage, that allows them to express their faith in public ways, but one that also does not ask them to deny their neighbor’s religious standpoint, but learn from their neighbor, nor to deny the science and technology that have lead to great gains for human life today. I predict that the Gülen movement will afford many people an answer to these yearnings; it provides a vision for a post-modern spirituality, one at home in an interdependent pluralistic world.

The Sociologist Peter Berger has written that there are “three options that all contemporary religious communities now face: to resist pluralism, to withdraw from it, or to engage with it. None is without difficulties and risks, but only engagement is compatible with liberal democracy. Engagement means that the tradition is carried into the open discourse of the culture and that those who represent the tradition make unapologetic truth claims” (Berger, 2005). The Gülen movement is a religious vision that is engaging our pluralistic world; the movement is not simply compatible with democracy, it is a force for democracy in our world. Furthermore, the Gülen movement proves that we can engage in diversity, that we can take our spiritual voice into the public square of liberal democracy, and make our truth claims while we yet listen to, acknowledge and evaluate the other parties’ truth claims. Indeed, the movement that bears Fethullah Gülen’s name is a way to spiritually pass over and come back, come back enriched and transformed. The Gülen movement is spiritual bridge for our time.

Dr. Mehl is a Professor of Philosophy & Religion at the University of Central Arkansas. 

References

• Berger, Peter. “Religious Pluralism for a Pluralistic Age” http://www.project-syndicate.org/commentary/berger1/English (accessed February 21, 2012)
• Dunne, John S. 1972. The Way of All the Earth: Experiments in Truth and Religion, Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press.
• Ebaugh, Helen Rose. 2010. The Gülen Movement: A Sociological Analysis of a Civic Movement Rooted in Moderate Islam, New York: Springer.
• Gülen, M. Fethullah. 2006. Toward a Global Civilization of Love and Tolerance, Somerset, NJ: The Light, Inc.

When a professor of Turkish language and literature is met by Turkish hospitality during a short stopover, she realizes how much the world is in need of small

I was sitting at my desk, listening to professor Adalet’s lecture on Turkish morphology. It’s was my third year in the undergraduate program and I loved my major; Turkish language and literature. The university I attended, though a modest one, was the best of the state universities in my country, Albania.

Adalet Hodja—that’s how we, her students, addressed her in Turkish—was a lovely lady, passionate in teaching, and proud of her Turkish heritage. From the first day she came to our country, she traveled to all major cities photographing everything unusual that caught her eye. She was most fond of the Ottoman prints in architecture, cuisine, cultural customs and the Albanian language.

To make her lectures enjoyable, she used to season them with interesting anecdotes from daily life or with jokes from Nasreddin Hodja— a funny Turkish folkloric figure, also well known by Albanians. Even at times, she used to relate delicious recipes from south eastern Turkey where she came from.

That day, the long discourse on how the words in Turkish have changed forms from past to present was about to lull us into sleep when Professor Adalet, very wisely, dropped the topic and started relating to us something special that had happened to her.

“Years ago, we were traveling from Erzurum, an eastern city where my in-laws live, to Bolu, a cute city in the Black Sea region where my husband and I worked as instructors at Abant University. My husband was driving, and I was trying, as hard as I possibly could, to keep our three children entertained. It was a hot summer day, and traveling crammed inside a small car wasn’t the best way to spend it. The children were getting hungry, so I proposed a break. Judging by the road signs, the closest city where we could find a decent restaurant was two hours away, and since my children were growing impatient, we decided to stop at the first çeşme (a water fountain by the road).”

“In Turkey, such water fountains are built by philanthropists,” Adalet hodja explained.. This made sense, considering even a cup of coffee is cherished for 40 years in Turkey, so building a water fountain to satisfy the thirst of people was a greater, more cherishable deed.

“Not long after that, we saw a çeşme by the side of the road. A big oak tree nearby was shading the flow of water, a vast field was covered in clovers, three cows were grazing, and a white stucco house was gleaming under the sun at a distance… What could be more inviting?

We got out of our car and after washing our hands with cold water, we sat down on clovers under the tree, feeling refreshed.”

Adalet hodja took a deep breath with unmatched pleasure, as if she was extracting the air of that summer day from wherever it was stored in space and time.

“I was about to lay out the picnic table cloth and the food we had taken for the trip, when I noticed a woman hurrying toward us from the white house. Her dress, her headscarf tied from behind, her sunburned face, all spelled local.

“We felt a little uneasy sitting on a property without asking first, so I readied myself to apologize. When the woman got closer, we noticed that she was carrying a tray covered with a clean white cloth.

“‘Welcome!’ she said with sheer delight before I could mutter my apologies, and then handed the tray to me in slightly embarrassed manner.

‘We would like to invite you in,’ she said pointing to the white house, ‘but my husband and his brothers are painting the house today.’

“‘Please, forgive us;’ she said timidly. You are Tanri misafiri (a guest sent by God), and I wish we could have properly accommodated you. Please pardon us,’ she said apologetically and left the tray in my hands kindly wishing us to enjoy our meal.

“I thanked her in return in the way most pleasing way, saying ‘Allah razi olsun,’ may God be pleased with you.

“I opened the tray to discover fresh baked pita bread, still warm and plump, and juicy white grapes.”

Our teacher swallowed hard to keep the tears but I was pretty sure she must have wept then, holding that tray.

“I swear to God,” she concluded, “only food from paradise would have tasted that good.”

She looked at her watch and declared the class dismissed. I looked around and saw that my classmates were deeply impressed with her story as well.

Generosity and hospitality were prevalent, highly esteemed values among Albanians, too. We were happy to see that small acts of kindness were appreciated elsewhere. It is after listening to such stories that you say to yourself: “With good people around, the world is a nice place to be.”