Impressions of Istanbul

So many Western visitors have recorded their impressions of Istanbul over the past couple of centuries, of its breathtaking views, its monumental buildings, its exotic sights and smells, its mysteries, that it has all become rather clichéd, even if much of it is true. It is an impressive city. The sheer scale of the place, not just its grandeur, but the teeming masses of its people, the hustle and bustle, can be overwhelming.

For two hundred years, under reformist sultans and since Atatürk’s cultural revolution, the question of Turkey’s identity, whether Western or Oriental, has vexed Turks and foreigners alike. The monuments of the glorious Oriental past dominate the Istanbul skyline. The splendid mosques, and Topkapı palace. But, on the Bosporus, there is also the ostentatious 19th century Dolmabahҫe Palace, a consciously Western substitution for Topkapı (although its women were still confined in the harem).

While visiting Istanbul, I was reading Orhan Pamuk’s “Istanbul: Memories and the City” (a wonderful book that went a long way to restoring my faith in Pamuk after reading his horribly tedious novel, “Snow”, which, as I wrote in my first entry on this blog, I hated). Pamuk, himself a child of the Westernising elite, wrote of the melancholy of a city in decline, which had lost an empire, and had disappointed in its attempts to reinvent itself through emulation of the West, destroying much of its own heritage in the process. Writing of the fires that ravaged the city in the 1950s and ’60s (and which had, in fact, ravaged it for centuries), Pamuk described the “loss and jealousy we feel at the sudden destruction of the last traces of a great culture and a great civilisation that we were unfit or unprepared to inherit in our frenzy to turn Istanbul into a pale, poor, second-class imitation of a Western city.”

Wooden houses in Istanbul

But Turkey and Istanbul have moved on. Pamuk’s regret at the loss of so many of the fine old buildings along the Bosporus, and of the city’s old, picturesque (if shabby) poor districts of wooden houses is understandable. With them the soul of the city as it once was fades away. But the city is reinventing itself. Its inheritors are not just the Westernised, secular elite. The waves of more conservative Muslims from Anatolia who have poured into the city in recent decades, swelling its population and changing its character, have discomforted many. Their numbers, the wealth of some of them, and their political clout, expressed through the mildly Islamist ruling Justice and Development Party (AK), have raised the concerns of some pro-Western secularists in Turkey and Western governments abroad, that the country may be turning its back on the West, and returning to its Oriental, Eastern roots. Such fears have been highlighted by recent foreign-policy moves focused on Turkey’s eastern neighbourhood, and the country’s impatience with the EU integration process.

Wandering through Istanbul for a few days, it did not feel like any other European city I know. In Beyoǧlu, where I stayed, yes, the atmosphere was clearly European. But walking down towards Galata, or struggling through the crush in the underpass from Eminönu, or in the narrow streets, crowded with tiny shops and stalls, with swarms of people thronging on all sides, it is a different world. It was not about Islam, although the preponderance of women wearing veils in much of the city was striking. It was rather, for example, the very different approach to personal space. The crush, the pushing, the constant hustling by traders; the exclusively male tea shops, with huddles of men sitting around on little stools, chatting, playing backgammon, slurping tea through sugar lumps placed behind their teeth.

But that is not to say that Istanbul and Turkey should not be considered part of Europe, or that they should be excluded from the EU. Europe has always been a diverse place, and Turkey has for centuries been a part of Europe’s history. South-east and much of central Europe were at one time Ottoman, their landscapes dotted with minarets. But looking forwards, the point is not the history, but what Turkey can offer to Europe, and what Europe can offer Turkey today. Many of the reasons why the EU should open itself to Turkey are well-worn: its strategic importance between Europe, Russia, the Caucasus and the Middle East; the valuable example of a predominantly Muslim democracy, integrated with the West. But there is also the vibrancy of the place, with its young, thrusting population.

I think the melancholic depiction of the Istanbul of Pamuk’s childhood is not the dominant picture of the city today. The headscarf wearing, conservative Anatolians who have elbowed their way into Istanbul in recent decades may not be what the Western elite hoped for. But many of them are successful. They have been building a new city. Neither looking backwards to the Ottomans nor exclusively westwards to Europe, they are energetically remaking their city on their own terms. They are not turning their backs on Europe. Rather it is the EU that has not played straight with Turkey, moving the goal posts and slowing down integration since Cyprus joined the union, and since sceptical governments were elected in Paris and Berlin.

The energy of modern Turkey, with its young and growing population, and its increasingly vibrant and powerful economy, would bring a lot to Europe. So too would Turkey’s increasing authority in its neighbourhood, which it has lately mostly applied constructively. One is tempted to wonder whether old Europe, with its ageing population, rigid employment practices, and barely growing economies is not in fact afraid of Turkey’s energy. Turkey needs Europe too, as an impulse for needed reforms, for greater respect of human rights. If Europe accepts Turkey, Turkey will become more European, though always distinct.