Torn Between Facts and More Facts

March 22nd-ish

Greeks and Turks. The infamous fighting duo. I came to Turkey with two simultaneous hopes: 1) That the Turkish-Greek rivalry would be thriving and that I would get a taste of what it feels like to be an oppressed ethnic minority. 2) That I would miraculously bridge the gap and bring the two sides together.

It turns out both are more true and more false than I expected. Regarding number one, the rivalry is there but does not manifest itself in my daily life. When I came out to my roommates as Greek, they didn't stone me. Probably the worst that's happened is a Nargile cafe-owner thought I was spying for the Greeks. Regarding number two, there is not much need for a double outsider (Greek-American) to impose her ides of peace and love.

I look for the commonalities. I hear the music, taste the food, see the people...and they all remind me of Greece. Different, yes, but not much more different than Thessaloniki and Mitilini. People still talk to me even when they find out I'm Greek, and I've been subject to no discrimination, except that which I imagine for dramatic effect. I can freely attend church on Sundays, and when I learn about the Greeks in school it is through an objective lens. At the same time, though, the facts remain: converts to Christianity from Islam were subject to the death penalty. Non-Muslim subjects paid taxes, their Muslim counterparts did not. The Orthodox seminary of Halki remains closed to this day.

I got a more immediate taste of the conflict last week. There was an Orthodox group of college students here for spring break on a service trip. Their task was to restore a cemetery from overgrown-mass-of-weeds-and-cement to something resembling a burial ground. I joined them for part of the work, and it was more than a little humbling. The place had been abandoned; graves forgotten. Greek names lay next to each other, pushed aside and purposefully destroyed by the Turks. By the end of the week, there was a small pile of bones that lay unclaimed. We buried them with a blessing, but they remain in my mind as a visceral reminder that these tensions are real.