In my early childhood, I did not experience misery; from Stockholm in the shift between fifties and sixties, I do not remember beggars or homeless people. Yes, there were alcoholics, there were musicians playing – not in the streets, but in the backyard so that we children could throw them some coins from the window where we stood listening – but nothing about these men (there were no women among them) really froze my heart; on the contrary, they sometimes even had an air of happy-go-lucky around them.
In Paris, I first saw people sleeping in the street – gathering upon the grating of a métro ventilation shaft to warm themselves – and at first I didn’t even understand what I was seeing. That is my first memory of misery, this feeling of bottomless-ness which is bound to produce a counter-motion.
A counter-motion; and there is a choice of them.
Nowadays, it happens every now and then that a beggar is approaching me, among others, in Stockholm. Some of them claim my attention aggressively. I, just as many others, often react by an inner move which aims to make this person invisible. I do it by saying to myself something like: ‘He’s into drugs. My money won’t help him’ (it’s mostly a ‘he’, like forty years ago, though not always). If it suits one’s general views, this can be sharpened into: ‘It’s his own fault.’
In Istanbul, I was likely approached by beggars at times. I do not speak about the children, women and men selling paper tissues or lots, or playing music; I mean people actually begging. These were mostly women, some of them carrying a child or physically handicapped. Their voices sung the ugly song of misery. I could hardly stand to see them. What difference does the given coin make – for better or for worse?
So, I wonder: what makes a person fall out of this society? If family fails, what for the religious communities? Which are their limits?
Who is made invisible in the Istanbul context?
By what?
Remember the image upon the wall at Garanti Platform; this one, I’d like to add.
(this photo was displayed during a seminar at Garanti Platform, Istanbul.
Vasif Kortun, who commented on the picture, identified the wo/man as ‘a sex-worker’, another may have said ‘transvestite’ or ‘transsexual’. No matter, it is a beautiful photo. If anybody knows how to track the photographer, please give a hint!)
For a (perhaps somewhat confusing) collection of this and other nomadic notes from Istanbul, follow this link:
