Article
Comment
Community
Middle East
Migration
6 min read

Letter from Istanbul: how many neighbours is it possible to love?

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the sheer mass of humanity in Turkey

Becky is a a writer living in Istanbul.

An Istanbul street curves and the sun illuminates one side
An Istanbul street.
Drew McKechnie on Unsplash.

 

Living in the megalopolis that is Istanbul in Türkiye, as the country is now calls itself*, is both wonderful and utterly overstimulating. As the sun dawns earlier in the summer months, I often ponder on what woke me up as I sip my morning coffee. Was it the Call to Prayer from our neighbourhood mosque; the caterwauling cats; fighting crows; howling dogs or squawking seagulls?

Istanbul (formerly known as Constantinople) is where East meets West, and home to up to 20 million people. It's the only city in the world to straddle both Asia and Europe, separated by the narrow Bosphorus sea, which you can cross by ferry in 20 minutes. 

Known in the Bible as 'Asia Minor,' Türkiye boasts a wealth of Christian history and numerous religious sites, including the breathtakingly preserved ancient city of Ephesus.

Once the largest Christian cathedral in the world, the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul’s historic quarter Sultanahmet attracts millions of tourists to its grand Byzantine architecture every year, as both a mosque and a museum. 

Istanbul's gastronomy is among the best in the world. The food, paired with the melting pot of history, faith, and culture, also makes for the warmest sense of hospitality in the world to visitors and newcomers that you could ever imagine. It is a stark contrast to what I was used to in the UK. 

Turkish hospitality is about way more than tulip-shaped glasses of tea and aubergine köfte kebabs; in Turkish culture, a guest is honoured, making them feel as if they belong. From the drawn out etiquette of home visits to literal fights breaking out when it's time to pay the bill, in Türkiye, a guest is seen as a 'gift from God.'

Speaking of hospitality, Türkiye's official population is indeed an estimate due to the constant stream of refugees that pour into the country and settle in Istanbul, hoping to build new, better lives for themselves.

It is a hugely built-up city, with each skyscraper competing for height and a Bosphorus sea view; here and there, you can spy small little houses called gecekondus (which means 'put up at night'). These are the (illegal) homes of newcomers. 

Türkiye is, on the whole, proud of its migration history (and its 2016 agreement with the UN). Of course, it's a country in a prime position to grant refuge to displaced people in neighbouring nations and as a transit country for people trying to emigrate west, and is home to the world's largest refugee population (3.2 million Syrians and up to 222,000 other nationalities). The latest refugees to seek sanctuary in the four thousand year old city are more Iranians. I enjoy friendships with Turkish, Persian, and Syrian friends in my faith community. 

Of course, attitudes vary regarding the many 'neighbours' who make their home in Istanbul. There are complaints that 'enough is enough.' There is a 'Türkiye first' rhetoric that permeates the Caffe Nero I sometimes work in.  (Eye-rolling and body language speak louder than words when the barista is short with a burka-wearing, stroller-pushing mum speaking Arabic. 

And I do get it. 'Istanbul is overcrowded' is a massive understatement. You can't even begin to compare it to the UK immigration rhetoric. 

Behind most discrimination is fear, and secular locals worry that so many refugees in Türkiye could lead to a different religious landscape one day.

I, too, am a guest here in Türkiye, and I am grateful I've been able to make it my home. I'm reminded that every person is worthy of love and respect no matter where they are from. 

Of course world events significantly impact attitudes towards refugees in Istanbul. Sadly, it's a fact that events around the world can shape people's discourse regarding certain people groups. I find it hard to switch off from what's going on around the world, and since Israel bombed Iran last two weeks ago, I've been glued to the news. 

My hairdresser is an Iranian girl who has a residence permit due to her husband's job in hospitality. I asked her how she was doing. She said she's scared for her mum and sister, who are in a city that's being bombed, and she wants to bring them to Türkiye. She said the scariest thing about it all is that all flights are grounded right now, and the internet is inconsistent; they feel utterly helpless. All I can do is hug her and tell her all life is precious to God, and that I am praying for peace.

A week later, I woke up to the news that the USA had struck Iran, with the intention of destroying three of its nuclear facilities. The world waits and watches with bated breath to see what will happen next.

I don’t have the answers for overcrowding or immigration policies, but when I reflect on 'who is my neighbour' I know it is whoever I find standing in front me.

 

Many in Istanbul do ask 'who is my neighbour? It is a question that has been asked for millenia, most famously by Jesus.

Jesus replied with a powerful story that would have pushed the buttons of all those gathered around on issues of race, religion, and hospitality, which became one of his most famous parables. In 'The Good Samaritan,' a traveller and a Jew are brutally attacked and robbed when he's walking from Jerusalem to Jericho. Beaten, bloody, and left for dead on the side of the road, a priest passes by, but instead of helping, he ignores the man and continues his journey.

Next, a Levite who also worked in the Jewish temple comes along the road, crosses to the other side, and walks away.

Finally, a man from Samaria (sworn enemies of the Jews) passes along the road, sees the injured man, and stops. He stops, tends to his wounds, puts the man on his donkey, and takes him to an inn to recover, covering all the expenses from his pocket.

You can imagine the sound of a pin dropping when Jesus asks which of these three was a neighbor to the man attacked by robbers: 'The expert in the law replied, 'The one who had mercy on him.' Jesus told him, ‘Go and do likewise.’

The message is simple- our 'neighbours' are all the people we come across. It's those different from us and even those with whom our ethnicity and national history demand we make enemies. 

As a white woman with a British passport, I am privileged. I can return to the UK when I choose. People don’t wince if they hear me speak English in Caffe Nero. As a resident in Istanbul, I navigate the attitudes and ever-shifting narratives towards immigration in Türkiye by prayer. 

I want to hold space for my Turkish friends who feel scared and frustrated.

I want to be a voice of peace to my friend who sends me a video of missiles heading for Iran over the border from Hatay, Türkiye. 

Living in Türkiye as a woman of faith has changed me, and I can't help but think that if we all adopted the Turkish philosophy of hospitality, which views all guests as gifts from God, deserving to feel like they belong, the world could be a different place.

I don’t have the answers for overcrowding or immigration policies, but when I reflect on 'who is my neighbour' I know it is whoever I find standing in front me, no matter where they come from. I ask for the strength to 'love my neighbor as myself' no matter the country on their ID card (or despite their lack of one). And when I feel overwhelmed by the sheer number of precious human lives arriving in Türkiye every day, I remember that each of them is also a neighbour - and my job is to care for the one in front of me.


* Türkiye is the new spelling of the country’s name. Find out more 

Article
Comment
Leading
Politics
War & peace
3 min read

This security lapse signals much more about character

Sharing inflammatory emojis with the bros doesn’t inspire trust.

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

Screen grab of messages with text and emojis.
The Atlantic

I have - on more than one occasion - sent a sensitive message to the wrong person. It makes me cringe even to recall those mistakes, and so I have a certain amount of sympathy with senior US government leaders who, this week, have been caught out by private messages that got into the wrong hands.  

The messages at the heart of this scandal were sent on a Signal chat between National Security Adviser Michael Waltz, Secretary of Defence Pete Hegseth, Marco Rubio, Secretary of State, J.D. Vance the Vice President, and Tulsi Gabbard, Director of National Intelligence. What none of them had realised was that inadvertently included in the group was Jeffrey Goldberg, editor of The Atlantic.  

Needless to say, screenshots of the chat went viral. The problem, however, wasn’t just what was overheard, - which by itself amounts to a major security breach, - but about what that revealed about the participants – which, I believe, signals a much deeper problem: a breach of character. And there, my sympathy ends.  

The White House team was discussing the recent bombing campaign targeting Iran-backed Houthi rebels who have been disrupting navigation in the Red Sea and the Bab-al-Mandab strait. According to reports, the strikes left at least 53 people dead and injured almost 100 more. Some reports say that civilians and children were among the dead. But in the confines of the walls of power of Washington, these lives were written off in a crude series of emojis: a raised fist, the US flag and fire.  

Dehumanisation is a dangerous path. Once we stop seeing one another human beings with intrinsic value, dignity and worth our world becomes a far less safe place. It seems a dark day where people on one side of the planet can launch a drone attack on people on the other side and then brag about it on a messaging platform in emojis, like a bunch of mates celebrating a board game win.  

The messages on Signal were not just dismissive of those deemed to be enemies – but also of those they call friends. The comments highlight the disparaging way that members of the highest-ranking leaders in the US government view Europe, their faithful and long-term ally. “I fully share your loathing of European freeloading. It’s PATHETIC” writes Pete Hesgeth, US secretary of defence.   

As a European and British person, these are difficult words to read.  It seems our transatlantic relationship has descended into a transactional relationship. Viewing our historical partnership as some kind of profit / loss accountancy does not bode well for world peace. Anyone whose commitment to you is based solely on financial return is an unreliable ally, and that is why Hesgeth’s words are toxic for global security. 

Having recently divorced ourselves from Europe with Brexit, now it feels as though we are on the other end of annulment proceedings. The longstanding bonds between Europe and the US that once seemed unbreakable are now fragile, and the global landscape is shifting in ways that may leave us isolated at a time when cooperation and solidarity are more crucial than ever.  

It is difficult to hold those in power to account, as Jeffrey Goldberg of The Atlantic, knows only too well. It would perhaps have been easier for him to refrain from going public with the compromising information he found in his possession. However, when public servants are not who they seem, it is time for private individuals to speak up and demand better.    

We need to speak up in outrage not only about the security lapse, but about the character failings, not just about the breakdown in international relations, but in the breakdown in the ethical fabric of leadership. We must expose those who view human life as disposable, those who view friends as pawns in a financial game. We must hold those in power accountable for the values they uphold, or risk further erosion of the principles that underpin peace. Only by demanding higher standards from our leaders can we hope to restore the trust and integrity necessary for a more secure global community.  

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