I was supposed to write a final blog
post about my summer experience right after I returned. But as soon as I got
back to the US, my computer, which holds all my photos and videos, broke, and I
wanted to wait until it was fixed so I could add those pictures. The post was
supposed to share my final reflections about my summer and what it is like
being back in the States. I imagined writing about missing the lights and the
people and the sounds and the food. I imagined something cute and sappy. Hm…
(Note: some names have been changed.)
In September, SPEA announced it’s canceling the SPEA in Turkey program indefinitely after only one year. It said the country is too dangerous. There have been three terrorist attacks in the country since June—the previous two in Dayirbakır and Suruç—so maybe SPEA is right. The problem is that—dangerous or not—when students study abroad, they create links between this country and the countries in which they choose to study. They have a stake in what happens in those countries. They care. I can’t say whether or not Turkey is dangerous, but I am so grateful I had the opportunity to go. And, for the record, I am much more concerned for my safety here in Bloomington than I was in Turkey. And I know many IU students who would say the same about the countries in which they studied.
Yesterday morning, when I woke up, I was still reeling from the horror that my professor’s children had gone missing in Kentucky and the euphoria that they had been found. This past week was exhausting—physically and emotionally. So when I heard on NPR that two explosions in Turkey killed 30 people, I was still half asleep. The story didn’t mention where the attack occurred, so I assumed it was in a town close to the Syrian border, like Dayirbakır and Suruç.
Then the reporter mentioned Turkey’s capital. Shit. Now I was wide-awake. It was 7:30. I messaged my friends living in Ankara and anxiously awaited their replies. “We’re ok.” Phew. Leah and her fluffy newborns, my precious babies, are staying in Ankara with Gözde for a few more days before coming home, oh my God—Gözde. I was afraid to text her husband, who lives in Indiana, before 8 a.m. in fear that I might wake him and give him a heart attack. So I settled for 8:10. “Gözde ok.” Thank God. My heart still pounded. I messaged my friends in Istanbul, just to be sure.
My friends are in a state of shock. My cat is three miles from that train station. The cat I rescued and kissed and promised I would bring home. Gözde walked through the train station ten minutes before the explosions. John was running late to work and never made it to the station. Osman’s brother was at the station, but thankfully he’s all right. Bravo’s friend lost a brother-in-law and cousin. As for all the professors and students we met this summer at Bilkent University and the more than 20 SPEA alumni who live and work in Ankara, I don’t know.
The world’s gone to shit. Two more campus shootings, a possible gunman in Louisville, 97 dead and more than 245 injured in Ankara. Jesus.
As I walked to my group meeting at 10, I was on the verge of tears. Other friends hadn’t answered yet, and the words “what if?” were banging on my forehead. I couldn’t think. How can one think of the economic development in Pittsburgh when 86 people—at this point, it was lower—have just been killed at a rally for peace and democracy?? I told my group I was out of it today—there’s been a terrorist attack in Ankara.
“I know, I am from Ankara.” Shit. Oh my. Is everyone okay? “Yes, thank you.” Thank God. It’s so terrible. “Yes, it is.”
Who did this? Like so many senseless acts of disgusting violence, we don’t know. Speculation ranges from the PKK, a Kurdish terrorist group; to the Islamic State, a terrorist group active in Syria and trying to find a safe haven in Turkey; to some Turkish nationalist group trying to scare Kurds away from the political process; to the national government itself. What I—and the several Turkish citizens I spoke with yesterday—can tell you is that this means nothing good for Turkey. With another election coming, the so-called “only Muslim-majority country with a democracy” just took 10 steps backward. The country is dealing with 2 million Syrian refugees, the threat of ISIS next door, US intervention, and an internal conflict between Turks and Kurds that won’t end any time soon.
How many IU students could tell you the difference between HDP and PKK? Or AKP and CHP? Or that there is a national election in Turkey less than a month from now? To many, the name Erdoğan doesn’t mean a single thing. Or Ankara, for that matter. “Twin bombs killed 97” are just words. Some probably don’t even know. But I know. And the eight students with whom I studied this summer know. And we care.
I went to Turkey to study economic development, tour museums and walk thorough historic buildings. I didn’t know anything about the country. I never even realized Istanbul is in two continents. Now I can’t imagine my life without the people I met and the places I’ve been. Turkey is no longer just the setting of the story I read in The Museum of Innocence; it is a real place where I’ve walked and shopped and lived. It’s tangible and alive. And my friends live there. I have friends who live there.
As I continue to travel, the world gets smaller. And the chances that I will have a personal connection to a major tragedy increase. But I don’t regret going to Turkey. Rather, I am overwhelmingly grateful for my friendships. It is so terrible to fear the worst about people you love and miss. But in the aftermath of this attack I realized the most important thing my summer taught me—and it wasn’t economic development.
Traveling is not about touring museums and walking through historic buildings. It is about connecting us with them and creating links between countries that transcend government. It is about giving more people a stake in what happens. It is about caring about things other than yourself and your own country. It is about learning to love something you never had any business loving.
Yesterday was rough. When I told Rafa I was still upside-down at 9 p.m., he said, “Being alive is dangerous. It’s much more dangerous than being dead. And being alive means to love. So if you are unable to love, your life is ‘easy’, but you don’t live.”
By that definition, I have lived a lot—and, sure enough, it has been hard. This summer, in Turkey and Greece, I lived so much more than I ever expected. And I was loved so much in return. And even though it hurts a lot right now, falling in love with Turkey was one of the best things I’ve ever done.
In short, I had an amazing summer. If you have not yet traveled, then I strongly urge you to. And if you have, then I strongly urge you to continue. The more love and care we create, the sooner we can put an end to such senseless and disgusting violence. Turkey, my heart is with you. My friends and your families, I pray you stay safe and that this is the worst it gets. Leah, Mommy will see you soon.
XXOO,
Julia
(Note: some names have been changed.)
In September, SPEA announced it’s canceling the SPEA in Turkey program indefinitely after only one year. It said the country is too dangerous. There have been three terrorist attacks in the country since June—the previous two in Dayirbakır and Suruç—so maybe SPEA is right. The problem is that—dangerous or not—when students study abroad, they create links between this country and the countries in which they choose to study. They have a stake in what happens in those countries. They care. I can’t say whether or not Turkey is dangerous, but I am so grateful I had the opportunity to go. And, for the record, I am much more concerned for my safety here in Bloomington than I was in Turkey. And I know many IU students who would say the same about the countries in which they studied.
Yesterday morning, when I woke up, I was still reeling from the horror that my professor’s children had gone missing in Kentucky and the euphoria that they had been found. This past week was exhausting—physically and emotionally. So when I heard on NPR that two explosions in Turkey killed 30 people, I was still half asleep. The story didn’t mention where the attack occurred, so I assumed it was in a town close to the Syrian border, like Dayirbakır and Suruç.
Then the reporter mentioned Turkey’s capital. Shit. Now I was wide-awake. It was 7:30. I messaged my friends living in Ankara and anxiously awaited their replies. “We’re ok.” Phew. Leah and her fluffy newborns, my precious babies, are staying in Ankara with Gözde for a few more days before coming home, oh my God—Gözde. I was afraid to text her husband, who lives in Indiana, before 8 a.m. in fear that I might wake him and give him a heart attack. So I settled for 8:10. “Gözde ok.” Thank God. My heart still pounded. I messaged my friends in Istanbul, just to be sure.
My friends are in a state of shock. My cat is three miles from that train station. The cat I rescued and kissed and promised I would bring home. Gözde walked through the train station ten minutes before the explosions. John was running late to work and never made it to the station. Osman’s brother was at the station, but thankfully he’s all right. Bravo’s friend lost a brother-in-law and cousin. As for all the professors and students we met this summer at Bilkent University and the more than 20 SPEA alumni who live and work in Ankara, I don’t know.
The world’s gone to shit. Two more campus shootings, a possible gunman in Louisville, 97 dead and more than 245 injured in Ankara. Jesus.
As I walked to my group meeting at 10, I was on the verge of tears. Other friends hadn’t answered yet, and the words “what if?” were banging on my forehead. I couldn’t think. How can one think of the economic development in Pittsburgh when 86 people—at this point, it was lower—have just been killed at a rally for peace and democracy?? I told my group I was out of it today—there’s been a terrorist attack in Ankara.
“I know, I am from Ankara.” Shit. Oh my. Is everyone okay? “Yes, thank you.” Thank God. It’s so terrible. “Yes, it is.”
Who did this? Like so many senseless acts of disgusting violence, we don’t know. Speculation ranges from the PKK, a Kurdish terrorist group; to the Islamic State, a terrorist group active in Syria and trying to find a safe haven in Turkey; to some Turkish nationalist group trying to scare Kurds away from the political process; to the national government itself. What I—and the several Turkish citizens I spoke with yesterday—can tell you is that this means nothing good for Turkey. With another election coming, the so-called “only Muslim-majority country with a democracy” just took 10 steps backward. The country is dealing with 2 million Syrian refugees, the threat of ISIS next door, US intervention, and an internal conflict between Turks and Kurds that won’t end any time soon.
How many IU students could tell you the difference between HDP and PKK? Or AKP and CHP? Or that there is a national election in Turkey less than a month from now? To many, the name Erdoğan doesn’t mean a single thing. Or Ankara, for that matter. “Twin bombs killed 97” are just words. Some probably don’t even know. But I know. And the eight students with whom I studied this summer know. And we care.
***
I went to Turkey to study economic development, tour museums and walk thorough historic buildings. I didn’t know anything about the country. I never even realized Istanbul is in two continents. Now I can’t imagine my life without the people I met and the places I’ve been. Turkey is no longer just the setting of the story I read in The Museum of Innocence; it is a real place where I’ve walked and shopped and lived. It’s tangible and alive. And my friends live there. I have friends who live there.
As I continue to travel, the world gets smaller. And the chances that I will have a personal connection to a major tragedy increase. But I don’t regret going to Turkey. Rather, I am overwhelmingly grateful for my friendships. It is so terrible to fear the worst about people you love and miss. But in the aftermath of this attack I realized the most important thing my summer taught me—and it wasn’t economic development.
Traveling is not about touring museums and walking through historic buildings. It is about connecting us with them and creating links between countries that transcend government. It is about giving more people a stake in what happens. It is about caring about things other than yourself and your own country. It is about learning to love something you never had any business loving.
Yesterday was rough. When I told Rafa I was still upside-down at 9 p.m., he said, “Being alive is dangerous. It’s much more dangerous than being dead. And being alive means to love. So if you are unable to love, your life is ‘easy’, but you don’t live.”
By that definition, I have lived a lot—and, sure enough, it has been hard. This summer, in Turkey and Greece, I lived so much more than I ever expected. And I was loved so much in return. And even though it hurts a lot right now, falling in love with Turkey was one of the best things I’ve ever done.
In short, I had an amazing summer. If you have not yet traveled, then I strongly urge you to. And if you have, then I strongly urge you to continue. The more love and care we create, the sooner we can put an end to such senseless and disgusting violence. Turkey, my heart is with you. My friends and your families, I pray you stay safe and that this is the worst it gets. Leah, Mommy will see you soon.
XXOO,
Julia
