Coming to Ankara on 10/10 2015 at 10:00

Immediate expression of feelings right on the spot hardly with any reflection has become the norm today especially on the social media. Being very critical of this trend, maybe I should have waited even longer before I post this entry. However, this quick and unedited version is mainly due to the friends across the world who have been checking on me (most of whom did not know that I was actually in Ankara at the time of the deadly blasts) asking if I, my family and circle of friends are okay. They express their shock and sadness, and condemn the horrible attacks. Sometimes that is all one can do and (being on the other side a couple of times) the feeling of helplessness should not stop people from reaching out.

I am in the alumni of METU-Gender and Women Studies Program, and this year marked the 20^th anniversary of the program. The current head of the department is Yıldız Ecevit, who is close to her retirement after decades of teaching and research in METU from a feminist perspective together with her partner Mehmet Ecevit. I have met Yıldız Hoca at various conferences in the past 5 years and she always expressed her wish to organize an international conference that is worthy of the labor and time investigated in the program. Conference as celebration! Finally, she made it come true: International Conference on Knowledge and Politics in Gender and Women’s Studies. The dates were fixed long time ago, and I was looking forward to meeting friends and former professors. Here and there, we ran into each other over the years both in Turkey and abroad, shared experience, knowledge and gossip (!) but coming together on METU campus would be different. Already, on the plane, I was feeling emotional and thinking of the past rather than the future, an attitude that I am hardly in favor of in general. Yet, I have to confess that I was going through some conflicting emotions as well (since I quit academia recently and have felt alienated from the academic circles regardless of its driving forces. I try hard to suppress the feeling of not belonging). Plus, I almost missed my Ankara flight, which gave me a negative taste to begin with.  

I land in Ankara in the morning (around 9.15), take the HAVAŞ to the main bus terminal, and from there, a taxi to the campus. It is a short ride. The local radio is on, there is something troublesome for sure. I ask the driver: "What happened?" He says: "Suicide bombing at the main train station, they say many people are dead and many more are wounded. It is not clear yet." I asked: "Which train station, Ankara?" He says: "Yes. We still don’t know the extent of the attacks so we begin to chat on the favorite “where is this country heading to next?" question and how awful it feels to be in fear and anxiety all the time. He asks: "What have we done to deserve this, tell me Hocam, people like you and I, ordinary people who just want to have a decent and quiet life?" I don’t have an answer of course. Like all of us, he is also very curious about who are/is giving the orders behind the scenes, the type of information which we will never be given access to and thus drown in the pool of conspiracy theories as always. The question I wanted to ask him was: "Are we already zombies or phoenixes, how many times can we be drowned?" Being the optimist that I am, I choose the metaphor of phoenix over zombie, and I keep the question to myself.

I enter the Congress Center, sign up for the conference, get my bag, the program and all the other regular stuff that one gets while entering conference zones. It is coffee break and the mood is down already, most people look confused and desperate. Yıldız Ecevit’s bright pink suit defies the low-spirited atmosphere but her face is looking very tired. You don’t hear the occasional laughters of the conference coffee breaks. Yet, we continue to attend the sessions after the lunch break only to learn that the ones after 5:00 pm and Sunday presentations are all canceled due to the vicious bomb attacks on the Peace Rally.

Life stopped on Saturday. People were paralyzed. 3 days of national mourning was announced. The concert I was "dying" to attend (Bülent Ortaçgil, Hüsnü Arkan and Birsen Tezer) was cancelled too. I am sure they would sing even more beautifully and with deeper feelings but I guess the word mourning after such an attack is defined differently than how I would have defined it. I would want to transform the heavy mood caused by the physical viciousness towards a more spiritual form of mourning by utilizing the power of art or other types of sharing, in which the conference sessions are included. But that is just me, and in this case, I was not the decision-maker (I wouldn't want to be).

Let me give you one example from the few sessions I was able to attend. The "experience sharing among generations session" which lasted 90 minutes hosted Belkıs Kümbetoğlu, Eser Köker and Gülnur Savran. They took us to a time travel in Ankara among the feminist circles. Ms Köker underlined the importance of literature and told us that the books of Ursula K. Le Guin had stronger impact on their lives as feminists than most theory books or articles, hence the power of literature. Gülnur Savran differentiated between German words Erfahrung (the result of reflection on the momentary experience) and Erlebung (the momentary experience) recommending us to use experience as tools for shaping a better future. Neither Turkish nor English has the useful distinction. Eser Köker highly recommended a book called Ateşe Uçan Pervaneler (by Kader Çeşmecioğlu) and explained her reasons. Although I disagree (maybe it is generational rather than ideological, I cannot decide), the speakers (including the moderator Mehmet Ecevit) all chose to avoid the word I (first person narrative) and favored a collective voice, or the plural forms of experience sharing. I took notes in order to give references to their statements at my own presentation on Sunday, arguing that there is nothing wrong to share experiences as an individual and use the subject "I". In fact, they almost answered my question in my paper: "Why is there hardly any autobiographies written by academics or intellectuals in Turkey?" Based on this distinguished group of prolific writers (in their own fields) they consider it almost shameful to talk about their personal experiences. There was another very though-provoking statement that that Gülnür Savran made in response to one question from the audience: It is okay for the feminist movement to remain urban and marginal. In this manner, it might affect other movements stronger, otherwise, when it is claimed to be popular and practicable by the masses, it gets "diluted" (direct transition from Turkish) and might lose its effectiveness. Let feminism remain urban and even protect its peripheral character rather than complaining that feminism is an urban, marginal undertaking.

You see, if you were patient enough to read thus far, I have taken you from the extremely disturbing news of bombs, blood and corpses to a completely different space only by summarizing a session from the conference. I guarantee you that you have and will be exposed to the news and comments on the attacks from so many other channels anyway.  Do you feel any guilt from this distraction? And why would you? On the contrary, you may already be working on applying the distinction between Erfahrung (the result of reflection on the momentary experience) and Erlebung to your own life, beginning with what happened in Ankara on 10/10? Connections are always possible and can even be healing, thus, I would be in favor of proceeding with the conference if I was asked.

Once the confusion of the cancelled conference was over, people gathered in small groups and went on their own ways. We had dinner and at least three of us acted like nothing had happened and mostly talked about the conference, books, what we have been doing etc. For some, it was not possible. They were buried in their smart phones, probably getting spoon-fed by some unhealthy news and Facebook images. What can you do?

I no longer have any idea about Ankara nights but it was not crowded at all for a Saturday night. Two observations will be hard to forget: 1. Private security guys were constantly checking the trash bins around. 2. I have not heard any laughter in all these hours. It was the signature on the secret agreement of collective mourning. Out on a Saturday night, and feeling shameful to laugh even if you happen to feel like it after such a heavy day. 

Fear was reigning and faces were grave so at least for that unforgettable Saturday in Ankara, the perpetrators were successful. The only way I and my friend could beat that was to stay longer after other friends left, and talk about life, holidays, religion, and future dreams, anything but the news of the day. The reflection of the experience (Erfahrung) will sure take a while for me since there were way too many links and last-minute cancellations of small-scale plans (which I'll spare you the details) related to my visit to Ankara, ranging from the change in my accommodation to meeting a friend whom I have not seen for 15+ years (who was supposed to take the train!). It simply confused me in overwhelming ways. I have no choice but to have trust in the Destiny to keep sane. Coming back to the Mediterranean helps too.