Let's talk about gathering.
“The trip is canceled,” she told me over the phone.
I looked around my apartment already prepared for my summer subletter, my luggage already packed for the adventures to come.
“But,” my colleague continued, “you already have a plane ticket, so if you want to travel to Turkey, go for it.”
It was July of 2013, one week before I was to guide educational programs in Turkey and Tanzania and one month after the deadly protests in Taksim Square in Istanbul. The trip to Turkey was canceled due to the inherent risk of being in a country amidst political unrest.
Many of my experiences in Turkey were life-altering, not the least of which was a particular moment near Taksim Square the day before I was to return to the US.
The demonstrations were ignited by a police attack on peaceful protestors in May of 2013. 22 people were killed and 8,000 were injured in Istanbul alone. Another 2.5 million people participated in the protests around the country.
I traveled for ten days, mostly along the coast of Turkey. The small communities I visited seemed relatively unaffected by the urban upheaval, (or was that my jaded perception as a tourist?)
In addition to being in Turkey the month after the riots began, it was also Ramadan, the month-long Islam celebration of prayer and fasting. In Istanbul, especially as I got closer to Taksim Square, the contention and simultaneous joy were palpable. As the sun began to set, something spectacular happened.
I heard a loud, repetitive noise coming from the next street. “A protest?” I remember thinking, “more angry demonstrators?”
What I came upon, however, was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen:
For a quarter-mile, newspaper and tablecloths lined the street. On either side of the “table” sat thousands of people cross-legged. With food and drink in front of them, they clapped, chanted, laughed, sang, and clapped in unison again.
When the sun finally set, they broke bread together. We broke bread together.
I’d like to think that during Iftar, (breaking the fast) that day, people put away their differences, came to the same table and celebrated their shared humanity.
The world is wrought with violence, injustice, terror, grief and sadness. As Isabel Wilkerson writes in her book, “Caste,” “An analysis of the human genome demonstrates that all humans are 99.9% the same.”
Can we remember that as we gather together again? Can we hold close our humanity and relinquish that which has befallen us? How will you choose to clap, sing, dance, feast and gather together?
