Light a Torch for Match-fixing – There’s a conspiracy under your bed

We live near a street in Istanbul called Baghdad Avenue. Probably if you headed down it in a southeasterly direction, and didn’t take a wrong turning along the way, you might actually end up in that legendary city on the Tigris River. In our part of the world, however, it is a boulevard of brand-name stores, up-market bars, restaurants and cafes - a hangout for well-heeled matrons, reincarnated middle-aged bikies on Harley Davidson hogs and YUMTUMs (young upwardly mobile Turkish urban middle classes). Despite its location on the Asian side of the city, you would be hard pressed to find a more European-looking district in this megalopolitan bridge between East and West.

Kicking a football
for justice and democracy

Our stretch of Baghdad Avenue is situated in the administrative precinct of Kadıköy, home also to the Fenerbahçe Football Club, one of Turkey’s Big Three Istanbul clubs. Support for “Fener” is strong around here, and I would be wary of making known my preference for Beşiktaş, a second member of that sporting triumvirate. Locals are also proud to have it understood that their mayor belongs to the CHP (Republican People’s Party), staunch upholders of Kemalist secularism and bitter foes of the AK Party that has governed Turkey for the past twelve years.

Last weekend there was a gathering in Baghdad Avenue. Residents were called upon to show their support for justice, democracy and the Fenerbahçe Football Club. Banners were waved, the club’s yellow and blue and the nation’s red and white; placards brandished emblazoned with the catchy but untranslatable pun: “Adalete Fener Yak” (“Light a torch for justice” – with a play on the double meaning of Fener, named after a lighthouse formerly located on the coast nearby). Our neighbours expressed in one breath undying loyalty to their beloved football team and deep-seated hatred of the Prime Minister and his government.

I received notification the other day of a workshop to be held at Brookes University, Oxford, UK. The theme apparently is “Bridging Divides: Rethinking Ideology in the Age of Protests.” Organisers observed that anti-government protests in Turkey last year seemed to unite an eclectic community of agitators: attractive (and educated) young women in red dresses, anarchist youth, respectable aunties wielding slingshots, Kurdish and Turkish nationalists, secular Kemalists, headscarved anti-capitalist Muslims and chanting football fanatics. This evidently encouraged them to ask “(1) whether similar trends have been observed in other countries and (2) to what extent political ideologies have become obsolete in today’s politics and society. In brief, we are interested in learning how and to what extent ideological divides have been transcended during the recent anti-government demonstrations in different parts of the world such as Turkey, Greece, Egypt, Brazil, Europe, and the USA.”

Turkey's next prime minister? President?

Well, I wish those people at “Changing Turkey” good luck in seeking a common factor in such a disparate group of countries. Greece, Spain, Ireland and the other PIIGS nations, yes – reacting against demands by Germany and the IMF that the common people tighten their belts so that bankers and financiers of the world can continue to live beyond our means. The UK and the USA, sure – where 99% of the population are getting increasingly cynical about the 1%’s excuses for refusing to spread their wealth around. Egypt’s probably out on its own in that group – they had a brief fling with democracy before their military (with who knows what outside support?) stepped in and reinstated the US/Israel-friendly status quo. Turkey and Brazil probably do have quite a lot in common – maybe we’ll take a look at that another day.

I just hope the artisans at that Oxford workshop manage to direct a little cynicism of their own towards the anti-government demonstrations in Turkey. Every year, two or three Turkish football teams take part in competitions organised by UEFA (the Union of European Football Associations) for the top clubs from all nations on the continent – but this year, both Fenerbahçe and Beşiktaş are absent, having been banned by the international Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS), who had determined that the clubs were guilty of match-fixing in the 2010-11 season. Fenerbahçe also missed the 2011-12 UEFA Champions’ League tournament as a result of being withdrawn by the Turkish Football Federation for the same reason. Both clubs unsuccessfully appealed the CAS decision and the ban stood.

The chairman of the Fenerbahçe club, Aziz Yıldırım, was tried in a Turkish civil court on charges of fixing six matches and sentenced to six years imprisonment. He is currently at liberty while his lawyers appeal against the conviction. Interestingly the Turkish Football Federation has taken no action of its own against the banned clubs on the grounds that they could find no evidence that the match-fixing activities had actually affected any results! Wow! Mr Yıldırım, on vacation recently in Cannes, was quoted as saying that the court’s decision to jail him was part of a political conspiracy currently said to be playing out in Turkey.

Well, who can know? There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in political studies workshops. Certainly the Beşiktaş and Fenerbahçe clubs have done a great job of motivating supporters to turn out in the streets chanting confusing double entendre slogans mixing anti-government sentiment with football enthusiasm. I heard recently that the Fenerbahçe club is planning to diversify its interests and open a private university in Istanbul in the next academic year. Maybe they’ll start a political party too in time for the next general election.

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PS – As I was about to publish this post an article appeared in our Sunday newspaper under the headline: “Yeni Muhalefet Fenerbahçe Mi?” (Is Fenerbahçe the new political opposition?) Among other remarkable claims, the writers draw a parallel between the years when Turkey’s economy was strong and the years Fenerbahçe won the Turkish Premier League Championship! Apparently the correlation is high. Perhaps my last sentence was more prescient than I thought on writing it. 

Protecting Turkey’s Byzantine Heritage

Last weekend we took a ride on the new Marmaray Metro. We dove deep underground near the market at Kadıköy (ancient Chalcedon), boarded a train and rode one stop to Ayrılık Çeşme at ground level where we transferred to another line, plunging immediately into the earth again. Passing under Üsküdar (formerly Scutari of Florence Nightingale fame) we entered the tube that would take us, in a brief six minutes, below the waters of the Bosporus to Sirkeci, once terminal of the legendary ‘Orient Express’. Our destination, however, was one stop further, Yenikapı (Newgate), in days gone by, site of Roman Constantinople’s main harbour of Theodosius Caesarius.

Sad to say, not much of this history is readily detectable by the casual observer today. There are Eastern Orthodox (and Armenian) churches in Kadıköy, but none survive from the days when Roman bishops held their Ecumenical Council there in 451 CE to codify tenets of the new state religion, Christianity. There is, I understand, a small museum dedicated to that legendary Imperial British Lady of the Lamp, but it is tucked away in one corner of a vast military barracks, and requires official permission to visit. There is certainly a cavernous excavation next to the modern station at Yenikapı where archeologists unearthed thirty-five sunken Roman galleys and other treasures, delaying completion of the Metro line by two or three years – and a purpose-built museum to house and display these relics and artifacts, so all is not hopelessly lost.

The Yenikapı Metro station is an impressive modern structure that will eventually be a major transport hub for Turkey’s largest city, providing connections to four rail lines as well as access to passenger and vehicular ferries crossing the Sea of Marmara and the mouth of the Bosporus to Asian Istanbul and other cities in Anatolia. The station’s interior is tiled with images representing the layers of history uncovered during excavations, dating back to 6,500 BCE.

Exiting the station, we crossed the street and set off towards Divan Yolu, once the Mese, the main shopping thoroughfare of Roman Constantinopolis. We didn't have any particular destination in mind so we took a zigzag course through back streets to see what turned up. What we chanced upon was a brick edifice of antique design, sporting a minaret but clearly owing its architecture to an earlier period of history. It was built on a kind of raised terrace and accessible by a broad stairway. Beneath the stairs however, was an intriguing entrance that we decided to explore first. Inside was a very large circular space filled with small shops selling leather goods, jackets, bags and such. Of more interest, to me at least, were columns of obvious antiquity, topped by carved capitals.

Bodrum Mosque - Myrelaion Church

To cut a long story short, we visited the so-called Bodrum Mosque on the terrace above and questioned one or two locals, without learning much about the history of our discovery. A little research was necessary and I can now share with you the following.

Jan Kostenec, writing in the ‘Encyclopedia of the Hellenic World’ identifies the circular building as a rotunda, built in the 5^th century and reputedly the second largest in the Roman/Byzantine world after the Pantheon in Rome. Experts apparently argue about its original function. Possibly it was part of a palace for the royal princess Arcadia; or perhaps a market place with a secondary function as a place of execution, similar to the practice in present day Saudi Arabia. Much later the rotunda was converted to a cistern and used as the foundation for a palace built in the 9^th century. Subsequently it was reinvented again as a nunnery when its owner Romanos Lekapenos became emperor in 920 BCE. A small church known as Myrelaion attached to the convent survives as the present day Bodrum Mosque whose architecture had first caught our attention. It is said to contain the remains of six members of the Lekapenos dynasty.

Well, it is undoubtedly a bathetic end for a 1,500 year-old Roman rotunda to find itself functioning as a not-very-up-market bazaar for bargain-hunting tourists. And very likely there are Eastern Orthodox Greeks, archeologists and historians of the ancient world who would be disappointed to see a 1,200 year-old Byzantine church serving as a place for Islamic worship. Especially since very few of the congregation would have any awareness of, or interest in the history of the building in which they pray. The Turkish Government and its citizens come in for a good deal of criticism for their careless neglect and even destruction of their archeological inheritance. I read a report published by the TASK Foundation (for the Protection of History, Archeology, Arts and Culture) in 2001 entitled ‘Archeological Destruction in Turkey’. The report was prepared by a group labeled collectively the TAY Project and aimed to document all the archeological settlements in Anatolia and Thrace - a monumental task but indisputably worthy.

The report lists 313 sites all over Turkey representing periods from Paleolithic to Medieval Roman/Byzantine and explains why and how they are under threat. The most common reasons given are uncontrolled housing development and road building, which are said to account for fifty percent of the destruction. Among other causes, one is 'unconscious usage', an example of which is the tilling of the old defensive ditch surrounding the walls of ancient Constantinople for market gardens.

Well, those TASK people are right, of course. The land area of modern Turkey has been home to more human civilisations and prehistoric settlements than probably anywhere else on the face of the earth. It is a paradise for archeologists and a priceless treasure house of antiquities holding keys to unlock many mysteries of humanity's march to post-modernity. Still, the implication that destruction only began after the Ottoman conquest, and worsened under the Turkish Republic is maybe a little unfair.

Statue of the Tetrarchs -
note the prosthetic foot

Much of Imperial Constantinople was, in fact, already in ruins by the time Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror led his troops into the city in 1453. Our rotunda, for example, is believed to have been in a ruined state by the 8^th century, before being rebuilt in its new palatial identity. The population of Constantinople had declined from an estimated one million to around fifty thousand by the mid-15^th century and nothing remained of the once great Roman/Byzantine Empire beyond the mighty walls. Much of the destruction had in fact been wreaked by fellow Christians of the Fourth Crusade who sacked and pillaged the city in 1204 CE. An example of this is a porphyry sculpture known as the Tetrarchs, currently located in the façade of St Mark’s Basilica in Venice. The statue depicts four Roman emperors who ruled concurrently from 293 to 313 CE and originally adorned the Philadelphion, one of the main squares of Roman Constantinople. Archeologists working around our Bodrum Mosque in the 1960s unearthed part of the missing foot of the fourth emperor. You can see it in the Istanbul Archeology Museum - though the statue in Venice is probably a tad more impressive.

It should be remembered that by the time of the Fourth Crusade, Constantine's capital was already more than eight hundred years old, at least four centuries older than Manhattan, New York, which itself has lost many of its heritage buildings, and is looking distinctly seedy in parts. It is only quite recently that we have started to become aware of the level of civilisation attained by Native Americans before they were largely wiped out after the arrival of Europeans.

Quite naturally the victorious Ottomans wanted to build symbols of their own power in their new capital, as we can see from the imperial mosques and other monumental structures dotted around older parts of the city. At the same time, however, those early sultans encouraged the return of Christian former citizens as well as the immigration of others such as Jews fleeing the Spanish Inquisition. Many churches continued to perform their original purpose. Undoubtedly some were converted to mosques, but it could be argued that this conversion preserved architecture and interior decoration that might otherwise have been destroyed. The marvellous mosaics and frescoes to be seen in St Sophia and Chora churches (now museums) were not removed, but plastered over out of Islamic sensitivity to idolatry, and have been subsequently revealed by archeologists in all their glory. These beautiful works of Greco-Roman art date, however, from the 10^th century or later, older ones having been removed by Orthodox Christian authorities themselves during the Iconoclastic period brought on by spiritual competition from the dynamic new Muslim religion.

Certainly much of the character of old Constantinople/Istanbul has been lost during the rapid urban development of the Republican period. Again, however, mitigating arguments can be made. At least Turkey's industrial revolution with its accompanying rural to urban migration and rapid population growth has taken place in an age more inclined to the preservation of antiquities. How much remains of medieval London or Paris, for example? Further, the Republic's new secular leaders ordered at least those two major Byzantine churches to be converted from mosques to museums, not ideal perhaps from an Orthodox Christian viewpoint, but arguably less offensive.

At the same time, however, as New Yorkers like Pete Hamill[1] will sadly tell you, no city can be preserved in a nostalgic time warp. The population of Istanbul has exploded from two million in 1970 to something like fifteen million today, with all that implies in terms of building construction, demands for water, power and telecommunications, roads, bridges, public transport, industrial development, retail outlets, sports facilities and entertainment centres. Town-planning authorities at national and local government level are caught in a constant tug-of-war between the demands of modern city-dwellers and the wishes of archeologists. 

Istanbul stands on possibly the world's largest unexcavated archeological site. Clearly, however great your interest in history, you will find it hard to justify demolishing a large chunk of the modern city to gain access to what lies below. Construction of the Marmaray Metro may have buried irretrievably places of archeological importance - but without it much would have remained inaccessible and undiscovered.

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[1] American journalist and writer of many books including ‘Downtown – My Manhattan’

Republic of Turkey – 90th Anniversary

Tuesday was Independence Day. Well, in Turkey, 29 October is officially Republic Day, but it's like Independence Day, Thanksgiving, the Queens Birthday, VE Day, Guy Fawkes Night and Bastille Day rolled into one. Major celebrations are held all over the country to commemorate the day in 1923 when the Republic was officially proclaimed. This year the date took on special significance as the 90^th anniversary, and in the wake of political demonstrations during the summer when some citizens voiced concerns over perceived threats to democracy and the sacred heritage of the Republic's founder, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk.

Fireworks over the Bosporus Bridge

Our district is an enclave of determined Kemalist Republicanism in a city whose politics are dominated by the Justice and Development Party, which also forms the national government. Baghdad Avenue, six kilometres of trendy bars and cafes, upmarket restaurants serving international cuisine, and purveyors of brand-named goods and apparel local and imported, has been readying itself all day for an evening of joyous celebration. From windows and balconies, lampposts and cables stretched across the avenue, red flags sport the white star and crescent, and banners bear likenesses of the great Father of modern Turkey. On every corner, street-sellers provide more of the same in sizes and prices to suit every pocket.

As for me, I am heading across the Bosporus Strait to the European shore, and the first stage of my journey is a bus ride to Kadıköy where crowds are already thick by 5pm. Kadıköy has been a Christian settlement since the early days of that religion's adoption by the Roman Empire. The Ecumenical Council of Chalcedon was held here in 451 CE, and even today, churches, Armenian and Eastern Orthodox, outnumber mosques. For that reason, attitudes to the consumption of alcohol are more relaxed than in traditional Muslim areas, and scores of bars, restaurants and cafes, old-style cinemas and a recently renovated opera house make it a popular resort for Asian Istanbulites seeking a night on the town.

But not for me. At least not tonight. A twenty-minute ferry ride and a quick trip on Tünel, the world's second-oldest (and its shortest) subway train, bring me to the lower end of Istiklal Avenue, one-and-a-half kilometres of seething crowds pursuing an evening of festivity in Istanbul's premier entertainment district. More so even than Kadıköy, the area known variously as Pera, Galata and Beyoğlu has long been the European face of this gateway city to the East. Here merchants from Genoa, Venice and other parts of Europe came hunting fortunes even in the days of Byzantine Rome, long before the Ottoman conquest, when the city was undeniably Constantinople. In later centuries, after it became the Ottoman capital, envoys from the Christian powers of Europe, denied the right to live within the walls of the ancient city, established their ambassadorial palaces here and watched the sun sink behind the domes and minarets of the exotic skyline, turning to flaming orange the narrow stretch of water they named the Golden Horn - no doubt to the perplexity of Ottoman citizens to whom its colour probably more closely resembled the muddy brown of the River Thames.

The ambience in Istiklal Avenue is markedly different from that on the Asian shore I have just left. Here youthful pleasure-seekers skirt around tank-like vehicles bearing bulldozer blades in front and water cannon in turrets on top; or jostle their way past armoured police toting long batons and carrying shields and helmets. Perhaps surprisingly, the mood seems quite relaxed, and officers of the law lounge in doorways or squat on the footpath conversing quietly with their mates as the crowds move around and past them.

My own course takes me to the North Shields, a replica English pub where I am to meet Robert, my English friend from Selçuk. We sip Turkish beer and chat for an hour or two before I begin the return journey home. Istiklal now is remarkably quiet, though perhaps most of the throng have settled into their own watering holes, or found somewhere else to join in the patriotic festivities. I have just missed the last Tünel train, so I amble down the hill past the 800 year-old Galata Tower, built by those Genoese in 1348. A decade or so ago I might have thought twice about braving this street alone after dark - but now it is well-lit, lined with small shops selling handcrafts and objets d'art, more cafes and bars, and filled with passers-by, and I make my way without let or hindrance to the jetty on the Golden Horn where I will board my ferry. Five bridges now span this narrow inlet of the sea, in Byzantine and Ottoman times a bustling harbour and port. The crossing beside my jetty is another thoroughfare of restaurants where tourists and Turks alike regale themselves with fish and rakı (or wine, or beer) as they watch the ferries disperse reflections of illuminated imperial mosques in the now black waters.

My ferry casts off, and soon we are cruising past Seraglio Point and the walls of Topkapı Palace, from where Ottoman Sultans ruled an empire exceeding five million km² in area at its apogee in the late 17^th century. Soon the immense dome of St Sophia comes into view, the 6^th century Roman cathedral that was the largest church in Christendom for a thousand years, and a mosque for another five hundred, before being reincarnated as a museum by that courageous gentleman Atatürk. Next door is the less ancient but still impressive ‘Blue Mosque’ of Sultan Ahmet I, its six minarets asserting Islamic superiority over its older convert neighbour.

Nearing Kadıköy we pass the cranes and lights of the modern container port, then the chateau-like architecture of Haydarpaşa Train Station, built by friendly Germans in the early years of last century as an important staging post on what was planned as the Berlin-Baghdad railway. The First World War saw Germans and Ottomans share a losing fate, and the project was never completed. Baghdad Avenue, however, serves as a reminder of where we now are, geographically speaking - though the distinctly secular festivities still in progress indicate that Ataturk’s legacy produced a democratic republic somewhat different in character from its Middle Eastern neighbours. My dolmuş driver informs us passengers that he will not be able to reach the normal terminus of his route as police have closed the roads. Fully expecting to see a war zone of raging protesters, clouds of tear gas, respectable aunties with slingshots and innocent young women in red dresses felled by the water cannon of anonymous robo-cops, I set off to walk the last two kilometres home. No such thing eventuates. The bars and cafes of Baghdad Avenue are overflowing with goodwill, the footpaths still thronged with happy flag-waving patriots, as modern arrangements of revolutionary marches boom out from banks of speakers on the open-air stages.

God bless Atatürk, I say, and long live the Republic. For all the destructive talk about dictatorial Neo-Ottoman aspirations and the return of Sharia Law, I can't see the great man's achievements being undone, and I believe Turkey will continue to shine as a beacon of hope and possibilities in this troubled region.