At the corner of Gaziler Caddesi,
the kebab seller Emre is listing how to ask for a bottle of water in Turkish,
Arabic and Kurdish. Minimal knowledge of these three languages is a sort of
passport to enter Basmane, a neighbourhood in Izmir. Away from the large modern avenues of Alsancak, showcase of the secular
and republican city that for years gave a majority vote to the CHP – the centre-left party founded by Ataturk –
and from Kemeralti, the ancient bazaar with its colours and scented spices,
Basmane sustains the original multicultural soul of Izmir, the city where
Greeks, Armenians, Europeans and Turks lived in harmony before a catastrophic
fire in 1922.
After the immigration agreement
between the European Union and Turkey, over 300,000 migrants of Kurdish and
Arab Syrian origin fleeing from the recent conflicts have sought refuge in Izmir, joining the Kurds from
southern Turkey and the Roma already resident here since the days of the
Ottoman Empire. Basmane presents itself as a tangle of steep streets climbing
up the hill where the old houses are painted and some are in ruins, collapsed
into smelly landfills. The
upper part of Basmane, at the foot of Alexander the Great’s castle, is called
Kadifekale. Its illegally constructed houses –
called in Turkish
"gecekondu" 'overnight cutlery' – are
inhabited mainly by Kurds from the Mardin area now involved in the war between
the state and the PKK. So it is not rare to see wall graffiti praising Öcalan or YPG. The area above the castle has
recently been destroyed by the many projects of "urbanization" and
"gentrification" that the Turkish government has been gradually implementing
across the country.
The beating heart of Basmane is Kapılar,
a social space that for about a year has offered workshops for children every
week, Turkish and English language courses, cultural events alongside dinners
in the Open Kitchen, and thanks to volunteers, legal or language assistance.
The centre is also made available to the many associations that help refugees
in Izmir. The aim is to overcome isolation and foster inclusion within the
ethnic groups not only of the Kurds and Arabs who live in the neighbourhood,
but also to facilitate encounters with the Turks themselves. "The important
thing is to enter into relations of trust with the neighbourhood and the city,
and it takes a long time for this to happen," explains a local woman who
works at Kapılar.
The Kapılar Collective which works within
the centre, but is also independent from it, seeks to encourage debate on
issues that in Turkey sound almost heretical, such as feminism, ecology and the
rights of minorities. On the upper floor of the centre Yalcin, a textile worker
of afroturk origin, handles the collection and distribution of food and
clothing for the most deprived people of the neighbourhood. When we meet him he
shows us a list of supplies required by state
schools, branded products that many families cannot afford. "In the district where child labour prevails, refugees
are convenient to many because they are paid half the salary of a
Turkish worker, so it is important to encourage these families to send their
children to school," says Yalcin. Many Turks, "not exempt from the
racism that often erupts in violence, believe that the state aids refugees more
than the natives."
After the agreement with the
European Union and the closure of borders, a large proportion of refugees is
now inclined to remain in Turkey with the hope one day of obtaining
citizenship, but as Selin, a volunteer, points out, the problems are legion, from
the economic to entering the education system or the lack of documents. A major
obstacle is language, "for the Syrians there are special schools, but they
are totally lacking for the Kurds." As a result, pro-Government NGOs try
to stir up conflicts between the two groups.
Many non-profit associations
continue to operate in the district. Praxis is a collective of musicians who go
around Basmane teaching music especially to women and children, often with recovered instruments donated by citizens.
Waha seeks to offer medical and psychological counselling for women in
particular, besides taking care of the distribution of medicines, tissues and shampoo both in the
neighbourhood and in informal camps like the one
in Torbali. Julie, a Dutch girl who decided to stay in Turkey to work
with humanitarian organizations after her Erasmus program was over, says that
informal camps still exist but are often moved from one place to another in
order to divert journalists' attention. Sometimes landowners then pay the
police to ensure that certain fields are chosen instead of others, to
facilitate the employment of migrants as laborers in the vegetable fields
littered across the country.
It is not easy to make contact with
families that live in Basmane. After the coup of July 15 in Izmir, which was
mainly seen here on television, many are afraid to talk to journalists and
photographers. Some assistance centres for refugees were forced to close on the
grounds of having links with the coup leaders, prompting a general tendency on
the part of refugees to demonstrate their allegiance to the Government by
participating in public events.
Nour, a 27 year old Syrian woman of
Palestinian origin, has no fear however and invites us into her blue coloured
house. She lost the use of her legs due to an infection, but managed to escape
from Damascus with her mother and brother. Her
dream is to get to Germany where maybe she can have an operation on her
backbone, and continue her criminal law studies one day. Nour is very
determined: "One day I shall visit the Vatican, I love churches, in
Lebanon I studied three years in a Christian institution". While she
talks, television news show the recapture of Aleppo by Assad's forces, one
hears gunshots and bombings. Nour stops talking with her usual enthusiasm and
asks her mother to kindly change the channel.
From another side of the small room comes a Skype call, which her brother picks
up, sitting on the couch for hours: it is Nour's father who is still in
Damascus. Few words, many smiles and so many expectations.
Naser is a 50 year old former Iraqi
soldier who arrived in 2014. Two of his six children suffer from immunodeficiency
and one from a cancer probably caused by the chemical weapons used by Daesh. He
lives in precarious conditions in Buca, another suburb of the city. "I
could not stay in Basmane," he says, "the children needed more light
and the air was unhealthy. Here rents are higher, 500 pounds a month, and I
have to pay for electricity and gas. Fortunately the neighborhood helps us with
food." One of the children has been in bed for
months, his body rejects any kind of medication and local doctors hold
out little hope, "He might have a chance if I could go to Holland, there I
have a brother with Dutch nationality, but the Turkish government will not let
us move because we made the request as refugees here. I have tried for months
to contact the UN offices without getting any answer."
According to the laws in force in
the country, before the asylum application of each is examined, refugees must be
temporarily placed in one of the twenty official refugee camps or one of
twenty-eight "satellite cities" – including Izmir – where the long wait
to be resettled in a third country commences. Under no circumstances may asylum
seekers leave their assigned city, while the request to leave the country is
almost never accepted because many of them are registered as refugees in Turkey
prior to the agreement. Meanwhile, the Turkish government do not guarantee any
assistance.
In Izmir there are refugees who
adapt quickly, like Aisha, a 21-year old Syrian
girl who having perfectly mastered Turkish is at the complete disposal
of her compatriots to help them in their many bureaucratic applications; or like Youssef, a
24-year old Kurd from Qamishlo, who after spending two months in Assad’s
prisons, has finally managed to continue his medical studies in the town
university.
The streets surrounding the Basmane
train station are a real Bazaar, with restaurants, stalls and activities
managed by Syrians. The prices are lower than elsewhere, and perhaps those who
feel nostalgia for the Damascus and Aleppo destroyed during the civil war can
find some solace in these streets. Life jackets for people aiming to travel over the
Aegean Sea and beyond, commonly referred to by refugees as the "Dead
Sea", have now almost disappeared from the shop windows. But whereas
for Youssef or Aisha, Izmir has come to represent an opportunity to rebuild
their future, for many others, Europe and its dream of freedom is even more
distant.
All photos by Giacomo Sini. All rights reserved.