I don't really get it. I love it, but I don't fully understand the pride and sorrow and commeration in the midst of so much corruption and political turmoil. But there's hope and fortitude that is renewed in this memory of Ataturk.
Turks are so proud. From a young age they learn to stand at attention during the anthem. A dramatic minor-key militaristic sounding march. Everyone stops at the sound of the anthem. Hands hang dutifully at the sides, chins are held high, and my students sing whole-heartedly the words of their anthem. Their faces full of drama and earnestness.
On Ataturk's Day - the day he died - everyone wears a picture of him pinned to their clothing. His birth year and death year included. He died in 1938, and the 8 is laid down on its side to express his death, and the infinite effect he had on the country.
At 9:05, the country stops. Students wait in the courtyards of their schools. A lone horn plays and then sirens blare. No one could tell my why the sirens blare in the midst of the silence, but the effect is electric.
Even traffic stops. Cars pull over, and then honk their horns. "Ataturk is dead!" they blare. "Don't forget what he's done! Don't forget who we are! Honor his memory!" I could here the horns from the highway in the midst of our own "silence" and sirens.
My students tell me it's a sad day. They lay flowers at the foot of his statue. We have three large bronze statues of Ataturk and they are adorned before the ceremony and even more so by the end.
Two fighter jets flew over our campus. They shot overhead so low, their sound coming slowly after them ripping the sky open. I followed their trail and over Ataturk's mausoleum they shot up vertical into the sky then split - one going left, one going right. A cloud of condensed air in their wake. They split and came back down creating a heart in the sky.
Fighter jets making a heart in the sky.
It's kind of awesome.
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