\Turkey feels like home to me; I am not sure why. Perhaps it is because it has one foot in each world and yet is not completely at home in either. For Turkey it is East/West; for me it is an ideological battle: that which I "should" be (peaceful, controlled) and that which I am (passionate warrior).
Is this bipolarism what I perceive when I think of Turkey, what I experienced traveling her shores? The dichotomy of Turkey, and of Istanbul in particular, is not a new idea. But I never before thought of it as the framework for my own emotional reaction to the country. I could name countless aspects that attract me -- art, architecture, food, music, and so forth. But within each of these lies the same hybrid. There is no Turkey without BOTH East and West.
Perhaps I related to this country's identity crisis by way of my own. "Who am I" was not at the forefront for most of my life; it was only becoming a mother that forced it so. Motherhood, with its stereotypical and narrow identity roles, thrust me into a position of defense: I was not solely and entirely a mother, as society would have me be. It was simply an addition to who I already was. But how to integrate old and new?
Perhaps this is also Turkey's struggle: how to incorporate Ataturk's Western, secular ideals into a culture that was historically quite different. If I were to force motherhood upon myself as the sole mark of my identity, I would fail spectacularly. I could no more become that person than I could become an elephant. Likewise, perhaps Turkey struggles with the wholesale application of secular Westernization.
We have a saying in the U.S.: "everything in moderation." (Not everyone believes in it, but ....). This means I should not attempt to radically change myself because of a single event, that I shouls not become "Mother" at the expense of all else. Rather, I should (and did) incorporate this new role into the rest of me. Like a collage, each piece contributes to the whole. I am a mother, but I am also an artist, a writer, a public servant, and more.
Maybe this is where Turkey went wrong and why it still struggles. The effort to make a 100% conversion is not only monumental, it is impossible. Look at what it takes to enforce that identity: rigid control, denial of history, rabid fear of "anti-Turkism." I understand and admire what Ataturk was trying to do -- and in my limited outside understanding, I admire his courage in attempting it. but perhaps a softer approach might have been more successful in the long run, one that allowed the Old Ottoman Empire and the New Turkey to strike a balance, to blend the good of the Old into the good of the New (or vice versa, if you prefer). Perhaps this would have resulted in less turmoil over the years, in less paranoia about protecting those reforms. Perhaps it would have allowed the new nation to define itself with the New without denying the Old. After all, the future is meaningless if we don't understand the past.
Of course, the identity of a nation is much more complex than that of an individual. but if Carl Jung is right and there is a collective unconscious, then this identity crisis is indeed palpable to the perceptive visitor. If individuals are the sum of their experiences, then so are nations. Turkey can no more ignore her historical identity than I can mine. Rather she, like I, must strive to incorporate her new role into her old self. It is the only way to ensure the survival of both.
