sammuel
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Turkey’s secular young people feel we are losing our country
A whole generation is being robbed of cultural, economic and educational opportunity
Turkey's Sibel Tuzun performs at the Eurovision contest in 2006. There has not been a Turkish contestant since 2012 and the show is no longer even broadcast on TV
My first encounter with an Islamophobic European was in 2006, when I was 17 years old and was visiting Hungary on a youth exchange programme.
“Muslims don’t belong in Europe,” he informed me, as we discussed Turkey’s prospective EU membership. “Your country should join forces with Iran and Arab countries instead.” “Well,” I shrugged in response. “We did better than you in Eurovision.” I found the idea that we didn’t belong in Europe absurd. That summer, I had every song of the 2006 Eurovision Song Contest on my Discman and had memorised the rankings of each country. Growing up in a small city in north-west Turkey in a lower-middle-class family, I was obsessed with the contest. For millions of Turks, Eurovision is a matter of national identity — and an affirmation that we are a part of Europe.
In those days the idea of Turkey joining the EU was still a real possibility, campaigned for by then prime minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s government.
Since then, things have changed. Turkey now boycotts the contest with the claim that its LGBT participants clash with “our values”. There hasn’t been a Turkish contestant since 2012 and the show is no longer even broadcast on TV.
A cheesy song contest might not seem like a lot to lose in another European country. But, in Turkey, it’s a metaphor for the rising intolerance, silenced secular voices and shifting priorities. As my country is taking confident strides towards institutionalised conservatism and authoritarian rule, young Turks like me grieve for the country we feel we are slowly losing — one that our children won’t enjoy.
Two years ago, I spent a few dollars to watch a stunning performance of The Nutcracker ballet in the capital city of Ankara. At the time, the city was rife with tension due to urban terrorism, and some friends avoided going out all together. Yet, that night, every seat in the historic opera house was taken.
“This is so beautiful, but I hope we can still watch these shows 20 years down the line,” I thought, fully aware of the conservative turn my country was taking. It didn’t take them 20 years. Since the coup attempt of July 2016, the government has already put pressure on some cultural institutions and artists , using state of emergency powers.
Young Turks are not just losing the cultural opportunities they took for granted in years past. This month the Turkish lira hit an all-time low. In an import-based economy, this not only risks pushing millions into poverty, it also rips opportunities from young people.
As a university student in Ankara a decade ago, I took odd jobs to save money for occasional trips and exchange programmes abroad. In 2009, 1.5 lira bought one US dollar. Right now, a dollar costs TL6. There’s no way a student like myself would be able to fund trips abroad with the earnings of odd jobs or even with parental support.
As the quality of Turkish education falters, some young people now learn more about jihad and devotion to the regime than science and evolution. Mr Erdogan has announced his ambition to create “a pious generation”. Attendance at “imam hatip” or “imam preacher” schools, which train Muslim preachers, has risen fivefold to 1.3m students in over 4,000 schools. Top universities and academics in the country are common targets for dismissal and imprisonment for not aligning with local and national values.
With the help of a strong public education system, my Eurovision-powered interest in western music, and occasional travel, I learnt foreign languages, won a scholarship to study in the UK and launched a career. It is incredibly painful and difficult to process the idea that a girl born into my social class in 1999, instead of 1989, might not have the privileges and freedoms I grew up accustomed to.
And if she becomes the target of an Islamophobic slur, she won’t even have Eurovision to help her laugh it off.
The writer is a Turkish journalist
https://www.ft.com/content/5c10cffc-a46a-11e8-a1b6-f368d365bf0e
Turkey’s secular young people feel we are losing our country
A whole generation is being robbed of cultural, economic and educational opportunity
Turkey's Sibel Tuzun performs at the Eurovision contest in 2006. There has not been a Turkish contestant since 2012 and the show is no longer even broadcast on TV
My first encounter with an Islamophobic European was in 2006, when I was 17 years old and was visiting Hungary on a youth exchange programme.
“Muslims don’t belong in Europe,” he informed me, as we discussed Turkey’s prospective EU membership. “Your country should join forces with Iran and Arab countries instead.” “Well,” I shrugged in response. “We did better than you in Eurovision.” I found the idea that we didn’t belong in Europe absurd. That summer, I had every song of the 2006 Eurovision Song Contest on my Discman and had memorised the rankings of each country. Growing up in a small city in north-west Turkey in a lower-middle-class family, I was obsessed with the contest. For millions of Turks, Eurovision is a matter of national identity — and an affirmation that we are a part of Europe.
In those days the idea of Turkey joining the EU was still a real possibility, campaigned for by then prime minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s government.
Since then, things have changed. Turkey now boycotts the contest with the claim that its LGBT participants clash with “our values”. There hasn’t been a Turkish contestant since 2012 and the show is no longer even broadcast on TV.
A cheesy song contest might not seem like a lot to lose in another European country. But, in Turkey, it’s a metaphor for the rising intolerance, silenced secular voices and shifting priorities. As my country is taking confident strides towards institutionalised conservatism and authoritarian rule, young Turks like me grieve for the country we feel we are slowly losing — one that our children won’t enjoy.
Two years ago, I spent a few dollars to watch a stunning performance of The Nutcracker ballet in the capital city of Ankara. At the time, the city was rife with tension due to urban terrorism, and some friends avoided going out all together. Yet, that night, every seat in the historic opera house was taken.
“This is so beautiful, but I hope we can still watch these shows 20 years down the line,” I thought, fully aware of the conservative turn my country was taking. It didn’t take them 20 years. Since the coup attempt of July 2016, the government has already put pressure on some cultural institutions and artists , using state of emergency powers.
Young Turks are not just losing the cultural opportunities they took for granted in years past. This month the Turkish lira hit an all-time low. In an import-based economy, this not only risks pushing millions into poverty, it also rips opportunities from young people.
As a university student in Ankara a decade ago, I took odd jobs to save money for occasional trips and exchange programmes abroad. In 2009, 1.5 lira bought one US dollar. Right now, a dollar costs TL6. There’s no way a student like myself would be able to fund trips abroad with the earnings of odd jobs or even with parental support.
As the quality of Turkish education falters, some young people now learn more about jihad and devotion to the regime than science and evolution. Mr Erdogan has announced his ambition to create “a pious generation”. Attendance at “imam hatip” or “imam preacher” schools, which train Muslim preachers, has risen fivefold to 1.3m students in over 4,000 schools. Top universities and academics in the country are common targets for dismissal and imprisonment for not aligning with local and national values.
With the help of a strong public education system, my Eurovision-powered interest in western music, and occasional travel, I learnt foreign languages, won a scholarship to study in the UK and launched a career. It is incredibly painful and difficult to process the idea that a girl born into my social class in 1999, instead of 1989, might not have the privileges and freedoms I grew up accustomed to.
And if she becomes the target of an Islamophobic slur, she won’t even have Eurovision to help her laugh it off.
The writer is a Turkish journalist
https://www.ft.com/content/5c10cffc-a46a-11e8-a1b6-f368d365bf0e
