No Torture. No Exceptions. Period.

I'm on deadline for my photos of and article about Jordan and teaching a full shift, which means I'm not the most serene or pleasant person to be around right now. However, I'll be putting on some tea and spending some quality time this weekend with this group of essays from Washington Monthly magazine. The series of essays on torture and why the U.S. should end the practice are written by authors from along the political spectrum, but all conclude practices such as simulated drowning (aka waterboarding) should be banned. There really should be no need for debate.

Salaam.

Will They EVER Learn?

Thanks to Laila over at Raising Yousuf for putting me on to this important article from Vanity Fair during our dinner together in Istanbul last week.

To those who pay attention this story is not at all surprising, however it's nice to see it finally breaking into the mainstream media to prove we're not a bunch of nutters wearing tinfoil hats spouting off about conspiracies. Well, at least not about this...

Salaam.

The Trouble with "Turkishness"

The idea that there is one model of "Turkishness" or even one ideal Turk, pushed for and accepted by many, fails to acknowledge the truth and beauty of the many peoples that make up this country. I've had friends whisper the fact that they're Kurdish. Diversity may bring certain challenges, one only has to look to my home country for that, but overall it made the country richer and stronger. Would I be the person I am today if I'd not grown up around people able and encouraged to celebrate their cultures and diversity? I don't think so. I am very interested to see Attila Durak's photographs of the true wealth of Turkey. Read this article from the NY Times to find out more.

Salaam.

Saudi Woman Takes A Spin & A Stand

In honor of International Women's Day, Wajeha Al-Huwaider went for a drive, something forbidden for women in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, and posted this video in protest. The ban is ridiculous. As far as I can tell, nobody had cars in Prophet Mohammad's time, so who's to answer the question "What Would The Prophet Drive?" Better yet, what would Khadija or Aicha drive? I prefer to imagine them behind the wheel of a hybrid, not the SUVs ubiquitous to the region. And who's to say he wouldn't have handed the driver's seat over to Aicha from time to time? Best of luck to Ms. Al-Huwaider and other the women of KSA waiting for their ride.

Of Course He Did...

Not surprisingly, Bush vetoed the waterboarding ban today. There's not enough support in congress for an override. It will be interesting to see McCain, who has called it torture in the past, spin this along the campaign trail.

Salaam.

Şimdi ben Istanbul'da

Just arrived home from Amman and landed smack in the middle of a stunningly beautiful spring day here in Constantinople. Now it's down to writing my article and editing and sorting all my photos.

While it's good to be home, there are some things I already miss about Jordan, but I know I'll be back there eventually, no inshallahs about it. Much love to all my friends back in the HK.

New photos are being posted as fast as I can get them up at Flickr.

Salaam.

Ana fi'Amman

I'm in Jordan until the beginning of March on a photography and writing job. Hoping to have a chance to get out of Amman at least once while I am here, but that depends on the weather and my progress with shooting. So far it's been lovely to speak Arabic again, though I did have to shake some sticky Turkish words out of my vocabulary the first day. Off to shoot and interview, luckily it looks like the rain clouds are clearing...

Salaam.

It's the Economy Stupid: Middle East Edition

While people in this part of the world have plenty to worry about, what I've heard about most are people's concerns about the steep increase in the overall cost of living, the costs of everyday and essential items such as food and fuel. Here's an article from the NY Times that is perhaps a bit too gentle about the issue of inflation, but worth a read. Just as there is beauty here, there are problems beyond what most people think of for those living here. The phrase "bread not bombs" takes on a whole new meaning.

Salaam.

Kar Var

Our second day of snow is almost over and it seems our third is on the way. I can hear the crackling of the snow on my window, intermittent, like the squalls that have broken over the city throughout the day. After work, I wandered around the city, bracing against winds that nearly blew me over and pellets of snow that stung my eyes, and had a wonderful time. Walking in the general direction of home I turned into Gulhane Park, green and cool in summer under the towering cottonwoods and now buried in snow and slush. Halfway through the park I stopped and turned back in the direction I'd come to find the blowing snow had left shapes that looked like bold white spines down the windward sides of the trees. Balancing carefully all day atop the snow covering the streets and sidewalks, providing little traction in the morning and simply facilitating falling later in the day, I am exhausted. I wonder what tomorrow will bring...

PS: New photos up at Flick (see button on the R. of your screen and click).

What I Have Been Saying for Years

Anyone want to send me this book? I have been saying for a long time to anyone who will listen that my home country has some sort of anti-intellectual element ingrained in its makeup. Sadly, many people simply deny it outright or become belligerently patriotic and narrow minded about the mere idea instead of taking time to discuss it. I believe it exists, is getting worse, and has serious consequences.

Salaam.

The Man in the Yellow Jacket

So, this is a preliminary post. I am writing out something by hand, trying to process this morning. Somehow, typing on a computer is too removed and I need the weight of a pen in my hand and the feel of the paper under my fist. You need some kind of contact when you watch a person throw themselves off a building to their death.

I didn't know the man in the yellow jacket who killed himself in Osmanbey this morning. He jumped from the fifth floor of the building next to the slim, pink house with intricate white trim where Ataturk once lived, not far from where Dink was gunned down last year, carrying his signs against the reversal of the headscarf ban, handwritten horizontally, seemingly quickly, in black marker on a flipchart like an office presentation. He had sat on the ledge for awhile, just sitting calmly and occasionally arguing with those who came to an adjacent window to try to talk him back inside. We had gathered at the window to watch, wondering why anyone would stage a protest where no one could see you. Some of us took pictures. I took a few, not denying the severity of a man on the roof, but perhaps simply fascinated by the oddity of it, never assuming it would end the way it did.

Even when he shouted at the man in uniform at the window and leapt to his feet, we assumed he would eventually sit back down. The, as quickly as he'd risen to his feet, he threw his signs and jumped away from the ledge, his arms and legs spread wide like a skydiver, in a direction that would avoid the orange inflatable pad firemen were assembling on the pavement. He landed behind the firetruck and for that I am honestly thankful. I had seen enough, still saw enough, without having to see his impact, the dull sound was sickening.

So, I am left to rewrite the piece I had been working on regarding the headscarf ban, left with a lingering anger towards a man I did not know, left wondering what the point was. My students drifted off to the cafe and I stood at the window and watched the firemen, now irrelevant, gather at the back of their truck for a smoke as the ambulance crew went about covering the body and pieces spread across the sidewalk, a person in the crowd capturing the scene on a camera phone, and pedestrians streaming by, stopping only to step into the street to avoid the police tape.

19 Ocak

Ataturk Never Sleeps

Here's a good, if short, piece from Tuesday's New York Times about the power Mustfa Kemal Ataturk, even just as an image or idea, continues to hold in Turkey 70 years after his death.

I'd like to comment now, but I'm off to work. Bir az sonra...

Mutlu Yillar, Y'all

There are about 45 minutes left in 2007.Interestingly, in Turkey they equate Christmas with New Year's Eve. This means the city has been full of Santas, evergreens, and all sorts of Christmas decorative detritus since before Bayram.
However, all the trimmings are identified by most Turks as being New Year's decorations. In addition to believing Santa to somehow directly associated with the coming year, many Turks believe today is Christmas and it's near impossible to convince some of them otherwise. One English friend was met with such resistance by one student that accquiessed, muttering "I'll call England and let them know we've been doing it wrong all these years."

New Year's has never been of much importance to me, an arbitrary designation that has taken on arbitrary significance. I also agree with the whoever termed the 31st "amateur night". Whenever I happen to pass the end of a year at my mother's home I take some pleasure in annoying my mother by going to bed at about 11pm. She usually stammers about how I'd only have to wait another hour. My idea is that we'll either roll into a new year or not, and on the chance we don't I'd rather be fast asleep. Also, I tend to find more of interest in the early hours of January 1st along the empty streets and alleys of wherever I happen to be living.

Tonight, I spent some time with friends, opened a bottle of Greek wine, and made a fabulous meal. Tomorrow, I'll get up early and wander around the neighborhood and city with my cameras and see what I find. I suspect not much, at least in the early hours, but I know this city is never still for long.

Mutlar yillar. Happy New Year.
Salaam fi 2008, insha'allah.

Turkish, the language of Jedi Masters

My friend and colleague Nick, who is also learning Turkish, pointed out something interesting to me the other day.

"Think about how the sentence is formed in Turkish," he said before modeling a few simple sentences in Turkish.

"It's backwards! It's like Yoda-speak," he exclaimed. "I've decided I need to keep that in mind when I'm learning it."

He's got a point with the verb coming at the end of the sentence.

"Learn Turkish I will," he said in his best attempt at the wobbly, little voice of the little, green Jedi master. "One bottle Efes I want," he said with a laugh.

To a girl raised on the original films, who wanted to grow up to be Princess Leia and lead a rebellion to save the universe (and snag Han Solo), it makes learning Turkish even cooler.

May The Force be with y'all.