By late afternoon on this March 7th, it started snowing again in Mardin. I spent the day in the new part of the city, had lunch at the shopping mall, and everything was perfectly normal. No one was talking about the Iranian missile that had fallen a few days earlier. I ask, I insist — they barely respond with more than that. Two days later, another missile fell in Gaziantep province, two hundred kilometers from here. The reaction is the same: almost none.
At the bazaar, the crowd remains. I drunk a tea while watching women select fish with meticulous attention. Life goes on with a naturalness that intrigues me — perhaps because this region has grown accustomed to living with instability.
In the eighties, Turkish Kurdistan saw a bloody war against the government. The atmosphere has never been peaceful, but today I sense no open tension. I haven't witnessed any ethnic arrogance. On the contrary, if someone said something absurd in a public square — say, that one people is superior to another — I can more easily imagine laughter than a confrontation.
The same goes for Islam. We're in the middle of Ramadan. If someone discreetly drinks a beer, it doesn't seem like it would cause a big scandal. Some would disapprove, certainly. But I don't see here an obsession with correcting others' behavior. I might be wrong — but that's the impression I take away.
I feel good in Mardin. For now, I've decided to stay. Not out of courage — perhaps more out of stubbornness. Or simply because I haven't felt enough yet to leave. On top of that, I have a verbal commitment that keeps me in Mardin for a while longer. It's not a formal obligation, but it carries enough weight not to ignore. And Huseyin told me he'd understand if I left, which only strengthens my resolve to stay.
Still, the war doesn't fully leave my mind. I messaged the Iranians I met in Istanbul. I wanted to know if everything was okay with their families.
One Friday night, I wanted to explore some bars. I ended up chatting with Kurds from Van who came here for the weekend. We had a drink in one of Mardin's wine houses. Their city sounds stunning — they spoke of it with such enthusiasm that it almost convinced me to change my plans. We talked about travel, art, relationships. At one point, I asked what they thought of the war. They said Iranians were expected in the coming days. And after that, we went back to trivialities — as if the topic didn't carry enough weight to fill the evening.
The next country I want to visit is Georgia. Going through Iran was never in my plans. So, selfishly speaking, the war doesn't bother me. I'd love to visit Iran. Maybe one day — after the regime falls.
The reason is this: I want to avoid countries that require visas as much as possible — I'm not against borders — I just refuse to visit places that put up too many obstacles for travelers.
It seems tourism has been somewhat affected by the region's instability, but the rooms aren't empty. While having tea on a terrace, I asked a hotel employee if there had been cancellations. He said no one canceled, despite a slight drop in demand.
However, on March 13th, a third Iranian missile was intercepted and destroyed over Turkish territory. And it's not as if the intensity of the war in Iran has lessened.
I do a thought experiment, like good scientists do when trying to understand reality: I place myself for a few hours in the mind of the U.S. government. As the reader knows, the Kurdish territory's mountains are today not only in Turkey, but also in Syria, Iraq, and Iran. To destabilize Iran, using Kurds against the current regime seems like an effective strategy to me. At least that's what I'd do — if I were playing Civilization or chess. I found a statement from the U.S. embassy advising its citizens against visiting southeastern Turkey.
If I stopped myself from starting my trip in Ukraine, it's not to end up involved in another conflict that doesn't concern me.
Don't get me wrong: as my friends know, I'm the kind of person who gets excited every time I hear a military march. I like war. I just think you have to have never experienced it to feel that way. The homeland is an incredible thing! But killing or dying for it is an absurdity.
Stay or leave now? I've already decided. I'm leaving — before I start inventing reasons to stay.
No comments:
Post a Comment