Berliner Mauer geek's early moring cycling

On early May Bank Holiday in the UK, I took the opportunity on the back of an unexpected early wake-up, to trace parts of the Berlin Wall along the Mitte-Kreuzberg border. As I randomly happened to be cycling from the Charite, southwards on Wilhelmstrasse, I realised I would cycle through Zimmerstrasse where the wall once stood.

Utilising my Berlin Wall App, I decided to check out some of the landmarks in the area, starting with this observation tower on Erna-Berger-Strasse, to the right of the picture. To the left of the picture, on the background, you can see the building of the Federal Ministry of the Environment - where a part of the wall has been preserved and integrated into the building. So, actually, on the ground floor, when you look through the front window, you see pieces of the wall, next to which the canteen workers were heaving their breakfast before the morning shift. 

 

I only recalled visiting the Topografie des Terrors (TdT) on one of my earlier visits to Berlin (during 2005-2008 period) after I came across again, this morning, on Zimmerstrasse. The building to the right is the current Federal Ministry of Finance - at the centre, you can see a stretch of the wall, with the exhibition (TdT: http://www.topographie.de/en/) to the left of it.

The Ministry of Finance building also happens to be the House of Ministries during the DDR period - somewhat the epicentre of DDR government politics.In 1965, a man named Heinz Hozapfel made a spectacular escape, with his family, from the top of the building: He hid in the toilet for the evening, and after the nightfall utilised a rope (with help by others) as a cableway to launch the family and glide them to freedom over the Wall.
 

Here is a Spiegel article from the time: http://www.spiegel.de/spiegel/print/d-46273676.html
...and here is a Die Welt article from 2000: http://www.welt.de/print-welt/article536957/Mit-der-Seilbahn-ueber-die-Mauer.html

 

Not far from the Ministry of Finance (to its west), and a stone's throw away from Checkpoint Charlie (to its east) is a permanent exhibition of some of he curiosities about the ways of how STASI (the DDR State Security) worked. It was too early in the morning for me to visit (the exhibition opens daily from 10 AM), but I need to come back as many would know my curiosity into the subject: http://ocavusoglu.blogspot.de/2007/03/elveda-stasi.html

Here is a juxtaposition with the building to the right, a wasteland (part of former 'death strip) to the left and a hot-air balloon, sponsored by Die Welt to the right.

Speaking of Die Welt, it is well worth mentioning the standpoint of Axel-Springer Publishing Company, that publishes Die Welt, among a number of other daily newspapers and magazines in Germany.

Axel Springer was an idealist who built his empire right at the border between the Federal Germany and the DDR (more on the building here: http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Axel-Springer-Hochhaus
His ideology was simple: "believing in German unity", though a conservative one at that.
It is rather less well-known that Die Welt, somewhat similar to the Daily Mail in the UK, ran a hate campaign against the leftists in the era of 1960s, and the infamous RAF. Rudi Dutschke was one leftist, shot in the street by a young boy, as he was being targeted by Die Welt, in 1968. 

While Axel-Springer Strasse (where I took this picture) is an amalgamation of out-of-place contemporary architecture, reminiscent of Potsdamer Platz, as it happens to be one of many former "death strip" areas, the irony lies in its neighbouring Rudi-Dutschke Strasse (formerly Kochstrasse), renamed in the honour of Rudi Dutschke after the leftist newspaper Tageszeitung (taz)'s persistent campaign. 

Even less-known is the work of the artist Peter Lenk "Peace Be With You" on the side of the wall of taz building that directly faces the Axel-Springer Hochhaus. The work clearly mocks the many penis-based cheap news that the likes of Die Welt and many other Axel-Springer publications spam the German society with: http://open.salon.com/blog/lost_in_berlin/2009/12/04/berlin_newspaper_erects_provocative_artwork

Tracing the Wall has been made easy by numerous attempts of the city authorities. Other than this useful app that I have been using (http://www.berlin.de/mauer/wo-war-die-mauer/app.en.html), the city has marked areas where the Wall once ran and demarcated streets with "Mauerweg" signs to keep Wall commuters along the path of where it used to stand.

 

As described earlier, there is still a plethora of 'waste land' in inner Berlin. The most famous regeneration attempts of these areas, made derelict as they used to form 'death strips' (the areas between the Wall and the frontier barrier where the Allied soldiers guarded), of course, include Potsdamer Platz. However, as Berlin was admittedly overbuilt in the 1990s with the hopes of relocation of mass populations across from Germany, there was less need to keep building for periods of time (and there may be other reasons, too).  

 

Today, you still come across areas in these wastelands that now make ways for new office blocks and luxury apartments, 24 years after the Wall has come down. 

 

...and little did I know that my daily cycling commute, through Heinrich-Heine-Strasse towards Moritzplatz went through a border crossing, here, demarcated by one of many information boards around the city.

Many people allegedly attempted to cross the border here in vehicles, speeding through border police and the physical barriers - while, unfortunately, many of these attempts ended in misery. Today, Moritzplatz, at the heart of Kreuzberg, is relevant in two interesting ways (if not more):
It is an area where land prices skyrocketed more than anywhere else and it houses a refugee/asylum camp of Nigerians (and other Africans) on the park at the square where some of Germany's Occupy movement resided a few years ago.

T1's family of strangers

At the first security through departure halls at Heathrow Terminal 1 on a Thursday evening, you are a stranger amongst a large family of strangers. You immediately realise: that everyone is looking at you because they know one another, or pretend to do so -- and you are the unknown subject. The security is fairly quick. Everyone carries one of the two or three different types of carry-on bags. Travel-size toiletry are already packed into plastic displays, iPads and laptops are removed before any warning. The demographics are so standard that the security personnel who saw your Turkish passport remarks: my sister lives in Bodrum. where in Turkey do you come from? He hasn't had small talk at airport security since 2 years. He can't complain though, working at Terminal 1 is easy. Traveling through it, too.

The Duty Free is remarkably quiet. Because passengers either know what they were after, or they just didn't bother shopping there. After all, for the German-speaking majority, booze is cheaper at supermarkets back home, or the glamorous types of drinks are not to be found here. It is indeed a German-speaking majority: Terminal 1 is Heathrow's first-born baby; it is a dwarf to Terminal 5, and well below capacities of counter-weight terminals at other airports. If you want people traveling across the globe with shopping trolleys, holiday packages or gifts to nephews and nieces back home, you go to Terminals 3, 4, and 5. T1's halls are dominated by Lufthansa, Austrian, and Swiss, all part of the same company now, anyway. Smart dresses flirt with high-heels and the odd ski-trip travelers talk of past year's banking bonuses. British traditional ales run out, German lagers on draught are preferred next best options. Loners drink Guinness.

If you are scared of flying, take a flight from Terminal 1. Carriers fly short-haul, ablaze with important people. The plane will not crash, and you will build confidence in flying. If the odd scenario does take place, you'll have died gracefully at others' company.

There are no holiday packagers at Terminal 1. Emirates aren't there, and neither are Qatar, Qantas, Singapore, American, Virgin, Delta, or Air India. The demographics of travelers are remarkable stable, the destinations either medieval or stock-market digital.

You are a fool if you have bought the Financial Times at WHSmith. Or you are just too keen; or outright disconnected. Former because, you'll be given a free copy on boarding the plane. Maybe you are not patient enough and want to read straight away, but surely, by the time of an evening flight, someone should have briefed you the day's headlines, inside-out, if you were are a regular T1 passenger. You are not, and that is why you may be surprised... surprised to see how smoothly everything operates. They never asked for your Schengen visa at check-in, they did not bother with your passport's ID page at boarding, you were probably under the record all the way through. They knew which ale you drank and they trusted you. Because you are in the company of the international business family.

The family that took so little time to board the plane that you cannot recall if security announcements were made. Before you were sat, the aircraft started its taxi. Take off within minutes' time and the gazes have stopped. Everyone is minding their own papers and you are now officially an accepted stranger in the family of strangers.

-- on board LH3377 (London - Berlin) flight, 28 February 2013, 19:30 GMT.

Tough Bond

On 15 Februrary 2013, I had one of the most fulfilling documentary experiences in my life. Having gotten out of the bed with ample time on my clock, I somehow managed to leave the small room I was renting in Berlin-Mitte late enough, so that I had to make a 3-minute run to Nordbahnhof, and fly through the "shiny surfaces and special effects, laced with nostalgia and product placement" of Potsdamer Platz to make it on time to the 11:30 screening of Tough Bond at the CinemaxX. My second film, so far, of this year's Berlinale edition, I was optimistic, having picked 5 great films out of the 6 I saw previous year. My expectations were far more than fulfilled.

Tough Bond was featured as part of the Generation 14plus section of the festival, a section that is aimed to "integrate children and youth into the festival’s film-aesthetic discourse". The documentary follows a number of kids in different towns in Kenya to merge the audience into the environment in which these kids live. Their lives, to a great extent, speak of otherwise invisible characters who struggle to become survivors (or "servivors" as one wall graffito read). All of the kids hail from an area surrounding Lake Turkana, the world's largest desert lake, whose life and provision of livelihood to its environment has come under threat with the construction of a major dam on the Omo river in the northerly-neighbouring country of Ethiopia. With very little to live on, indigenous peoples of the area have migrated to towns across Kenya. There is one common character that bonds these kids together, a tough one that is, that they all sniff glue on regular bases.

Our first encounter is Sinbad, a generally upbeat kid in Isiolo, Kenya. Sinbad is depicted as one of the stronger kids in the town, collecting plastics and metal from the streets, and the garbage and sell/return to metal scrap dealers for money, with which he either buys medicine for his ill grandmother, or more glue for himself. It is Sinbad's grandmother who has raised him, and to whom Sinbad looks upon as his true mother. And it is for whom Sinbad returns to his shack home every now and then, to take care of her, though he prefers to sleep rough on the streets, with the full confidence that his mates will protect him. Quite predictably, the mother figure is an underlying symbol throughout the film. The documentary starts with the filming of a very difficult labour process, and subtle references to the motherhood of nature, manipulated by mankind's political desires float throughout the film.

If Sinbad is an abandoned child of the nature, Akai, a young girl in the second village we travel to, Meru, a base for travellers to the Meru National Park, is the abandoned child of the society at large. She is the classical example of an exploited young girl who finds a way to get away from her abusive "husband", only to return to him a year later, and now infected with HIV that he contracted from others. As Akai introduces us to the medical care system in this impoverished town, our directos take us to Nairobi to reveal where the name of the film comes from: Tough Bond is a chemical product that is used to bond parts and accessories to metals, commonly used in minibuses and other vehicles to strengthen the seats. While the Kenyan Government is alleged to ask the producers of the glue company to combat the issue, the business-owner claims that 15% of the produce go to children for sniffing. As we follow the intricate route of the glue from the factory to the hands of the furniture manufacturers, and the elderly of the towns and villages who dilute them and sell them to children, we get a sense of how the supply chain works on this most precious goods on the street market.

As kids entertain themselves in the two small towns, watching trashy east-Asian marshal arts films on small television sets, a group of young and tough kinds in the Kiamaiko Slum in Nairobi call themselves the legion, the brotherhood. Complaining about being stigmatised by the city-dwellers, they claim to stand out for one another in a hostile environment. After all, these are places where individuals are not allowed to exist -- if you are outcast from the legion, you are in trouble; or, as the community worker lady in Isiolo had said "when a child is born, he/she belongs to the community; if the child splits from the community, the child cannot exist". Introduced, once again, at the very end of the film, she bluntly points her finger to the overall discourse that has come to plague the society:

"... these people, we, ... are not accustomed to urban living. We have to wake up... and we have to work very hard".

As I prepared to gather my thoughts on what the conditions of a rapidly urbanising world meant to otherwise invisible people to us, the directors of the film came up onto the stage for a Q&A. While I mention this, I have to add that I am always pleasantly surprised at the ratio of unannounced Q&As at the end of films at Berlinale (over the last two years, about two thirds of all films I have seen had them).

When the first-time documentary feature directors came up on stage, the Berlinale producer asked them the same question that came to everyone's mind: "two white Americans, shooting a documentary in sub-Saharan Africa -- why is this any different?"

The directors then went on to explain their motif: the idea of giving the people to voice their own narrative.
The means were simple: none of the documentary was scripted. The directors lived with the communities in the shacks and on the streets for over a year, and traveled back again after another year. They had an early interview with the Vice President in Nairobi, who claims in the film "that street children in Nairobi is no longer", and they used a picture they took with him to gain access where necessary in the villages across the country.
They had a code: no footprint -- meaning no unjustifiable help to the children (in terms of food). Though they sometimes broke the code, they had also initially agreed to put Sinbad into a boarding school, and Akai into a skills programme. They have recently found out that both children had been taken back by their families or communities.

And this is the soft underbelly of any such production, many examples of which we have come across over the years. It is inevitable to have left a footprint, to have had impact on the lives of the communities, and offer very little after leaving. Yet, the directors wanted to leave a legacy behind.

The production company, Village Beat, has set up a radio that serves to "1: Immediate information during crisis. 2: An equal access platform for peaceful & substantial issue discussion. 3: A means to celebrate and protect culture through music and storytelling." Crowdsourcing, entertainment, and an internal communications device, all at once. The idea is, possibly naive, but appreciable: "to see if it will help people to try and stop the children in their communities from using glue".

Majority of that responsibility lies with the authorities who can provide the mental, social, and physical infrastructure to communities in need. The resources may be scarce but they are disproportionately distributed. That said, external factors loom large. What this film was about though, as the directors claim:

"an answer to what happens when the delicate balance between humans and nature is disturbed". I learned from it, and I was inspired to see a full-house in a chilly, beautiful Berlin morning, and three rows of school children who participated in the Q&A of a documentary selected for a section of a festival dedicated to them.

Remember, remember, the salt and vinegar

It has just past midnight now. Antony is mellowly singing Swanlights into my ears. The flutes and the violins beneath the noise cancelling headphones are overrid by the sound of fireworks setting off in the background, for the Guy Fawkes' Night. British are blowing things up to celebrate an event that avoided the blowing up of the Parliament, as a friend noted wittily.

There is a bitter chill -- it is just a couple of degrees above freezing temperature, but it is kind of warm inside me. A young couple walk past me towards the pub at the junction of St. John Street and Percival Street. The girl is drunk. I wonder what she thought when she saw the wedding gowns on display at the fashion store next to the pub, as she held tight on to the arms of the tall boy. By tall, I mean British standard. By short, I would mean myself.

I am dragging my good, old road companion, the red Raleigh bicycle. Four and a half years on and it has not let me down. It is in such poor condition that noone bothers to steal it, or parts thereof. It is in such decent condition that I happily ride it as the wind blows through my hair and the lack thereof and next to. I hope I did not jynx the good fortunes of my Raleigh and me.

It is a rather bizarre coincidence but as I was leaving the building I work in, I ran into a student that is in the Master's programme affiliated with our centre, the programme I completed in 2008. We walked up Kingsway and a bit of Theobald's Road before she turned into Lamb's Conduit Street towards her direction home. She told me she is from Raleigh, North Carolina. I only realised this coincidence as I type these.

So, I stopped at the corner of Central Street, to see if I get a glimpse of any firework excitement. I was hoping for a few drunken fireworks that would skirt around the Barbican and the Shard in the background. I wouldn't mind if it hit the construction of the Walkie Talkie, as long as it does not harm any workers that may be on site now, physically and economically, that is. Much to my avail, the festivities of the night already stopped and the ugly Walkie Talkie gets away with it this time. The notorius British safety rules and regulations must have come to its help.

All I want is a box of chips with salt and vinegar right now. Well, and an Old Fashioned would do nicely, too. I gues I will give the local fried chicken store its long awaited chance -- the shop owner won't be too happy when I go only for fries, I don't know how the chicken will feel. And at home, we've got some new whiskey. I think it is blended Scotch, and it will be a waste to substitute for a bourbon, but who can tell the difference when stuffed in their mouth with chips with salt and vinegar?

A delivery truck just drove by and dropped a large white box. The driver made a 360 turn, metres ahead and came back to pick it up. It must be a valuable piece -- shame I was too slow to investigate further. I am always slow in cutting corners short. But, well I better cut the next corner soon, before my fingers and toes freeze, and before the fellow chickens close for the night. At least, by now, my flatmate must be asleep, so he won't mind my greasy fingers on his whiskey bottle. Cheers to him!

Letter to the PM

Ömer Çavuşoğlu                                                                                19 October 2012, Friday

LSE Cities

London School of Economics and Political Science

Houghton Street

London WC2A 2AE

David Cameron, MP

The Right Honourable Prime Minister of
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

10 Downing Street

London SW1A 2AA

Dear Prime Minister,

Thank you for your letter of recognition regarding my contribution to the 2012 London Olympic Games as a volunteer cast at the Opening Ceremony. Your letter has arrived at a time when I have been highly anticipating another delivery through the post.

Dear Prime Minister, the 12 weeks spent rehearsing for one of world’s biggest shows was one of the most exciting periods I had gone through during the 5 years I have been living in London. The solidarity between us fellow volunteers and the meticulous care given by the organising committee left deep marks in my apprehension of how such ambitions can be delivered by highly-motivated and committed individuals. This country and its culture have it embedded in their genes.

Your Conservative peer Lord Seb Coe mentioned this during your recent Conference in Birmingham. I would put my signature under his remarks, as I was among the few to also see his devotion during his visits to our rehearsals. We also heard from the Mayor of London and Yourself, as well as the Culture Secretary, who remarked on how Britain’s confidence has been restored over the last summer.

Dear Prime Minister, it was an honour to be applauded as a contributor to what was seen as a magnificent piece of collective work. You even joked about how this group displayed the notion of the “Big Society” you have been championing since your election campaign. But, Sir, it is also saddening to be diminished into a subject of the State that you have so often criticised the scale of which, at such a quick turnover; also at the expense of another election pledge you had made.

I am a Turkish national, residing in this country as a “Highly-skilled Migrant”. I came to this country, 5 years ago, to attend a Master’s programme at one of its most appreciated institutions, during which time I was able to secure a part-time job, that evolved into a full-time job at a period when the economy started to go through one of its most devastating phases since the Great Depression. During the past 4 years, I have gained immeasurably valuable experiences through my work, and my new social environment. I did my best to contribute to the economy, culture and the philosophy of this country, and I believe, and have been told, that I have done a decent job.

Sir, I have unfortunately missed out on a trip to Istanbul, where I was invited to attend a workshop involving a group of international young experts. This was because my passport has been at the UK Border Agency authorities for the past 8 weeks, as I applied to extend my work permit, the fourth permit in the last five years that will allow me to continue contributing to this society. As you can imagine, it was a great disappointment to miss the occasion in Istanbul, one which you might appreciate as a natural consequence of being a “high-value migrant” in this country, and, in line with the sorts of professional activities that is expected to be carried out by such people. I have another trip regarding my professional engagements in the first week of November, and I am afraid I have no information as to whether I will be able to make it.

Dear Prime Minister, I find it difficult as to why someone like me should have no rights to make plans for at least 6 months into the future, let alone to receive information on their application process. Of course it would be unwise to ask someone like you carrying the duties you carry to try and sympathise with this; but how would such constraints in your freedom feel in your pre- or post-ministerial lives?

There is a large debate over immigration in this country; one that I have been following very closely since I moved here to continue my higher education and then start contributing to its economy through employment, and paying my share of national insurance contributions and income tax. Whilst the larger argument for cutting the total immigration numbers may clash with the convenience of groups of individuals, whether they be prospective students of London Metropolitan University, or residents who have spent a considerable amount of time being part of this society, there may be more at stake than representing the United Kingdom as a less hospitable country towards international students, young experts, and enthusiastic medium-weight entrepreneurs.

This nation’s identity, partly built on its openness to people, to diversity and to businesses is receiving a blow from recent developments. I have my theories on how a more successful immigration regime could be achieved, and I would be more than honoured to share them with you, should you wish to receive them. However, for sake of simplicity and succinctness, I shall refrain from doing that in this letter.

Dear Prime Minister, this is a very personal and a very individualistic letter. I know that it is one that you may appreciate because it is also a sincere and a true one. I felt the obligation to respond to your letter thanking me “for the part I played in making the London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games such a huge success”. I would like to continue to play my role towards future successes and I know that I am not alone in this. It would be a massive benefit to everyone if I and people who are in my situation could feel that Your Government share the same view.

Thank you very much for taking the time to write to me and for considering my letter.

Sincerely Yours,

Ömer.

eskilerden derlemeler - Londra Hayati'na Giris 3

Son donemlerde Gmail kullanicilarinin bazilarinda denk geldigim bir uygulamaya kendim de gecmeye karar verdim. Gelen kutumdaki butun emailleri ya birer dosyaya, ya da cop kutusuna yolluyorum. Haliyle, gelen kutusunda tozlu raflarin arasinda kalmis arsivlik malzemelere goz atarken, arada ilginc basliklari ile ilgimi cekenler de oluyor. Onlari okumaya basladikca, 5 yil once Londra'ya ilk geldigimde arkadaslarimla paylastiklarim uzerinden neler hissettigime, neler yasadigima tekrar tanik oluyorum. Aralarindan bazilarini paylasayim da, hem burasi bos kalmasin, hem ufak bir bahane olsun, hem de baktikca bana tekrar yazmak icin ilham oluversinler. Bu, Londra'ya gittigimde toplu olarak attigim 3. emailin bir kopyasi (o emaili almadigini farkeden okuyucu arkadaslarim varsa, bilin ki, o kesin email adresinizin yanlisligindandir, benimle bir alakasi yoktur!). 
-----
What I am basically saying above is that, I am going through my email archives and moving things around a little bit. Going through some of them helps reminisce events and feelings that surrounded my life at various stages. Here is a copy of an email (in Turkish) that I sent out as a mass email (the 3rd one from London), shortly after I first arrived here in Fall 2007. Hopefully one day, I will translate this content into English as part of my grand project of publishing every single blog on this website (if not, selected ones) at least both in English and Turkish. Until then, I shall leave you with this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtwviRTrS1Y
-----
15 Kasim 2007, Londra:
"Optimist" model bloknotumu açıyorum, nasıl geçtiğini anlayamadığımız
şu son haftalarda neler yapmışım, bir gözden geçireyim diye..

1 hafta sürekli sabah 3'e kadar stüdyoda haritalama, fotoğraf kolajı
yapmaya çalıştığımı hatırlıyorum. Harita hiç bir şeye benzemedi,
fotoğraflar şimdilik bir işe yaramadı ama üzerinde çalışılabilir.
Proje alanımızla iyice yakın ilişkiler içerisine girdik bu son
haftalarda. 2 hafta boyunca "sadece gözlem" yaptığımız zamanlar oldu.
Ne olup bittiğini yazmaktan ibaret: Şişman bir adam geldi, oturdu.
Yaşlı adam geldi, kalktı, gitti. Şişman bir kuş geldi, yemek vermedim,
çok soğuk... gibi.. Tabii bir iki gözlemden sonra, neye bakmak
gerektiğini anlıyor insan, algıda seçici olmaya başlıyor. Son gözlem
ve fotoğraf çekme günümde bir kadıncağız "hey camera boy, camera, come
you" diyerek beni yanına çağırarak "me don't sleep good, me have
children and here come guys smoke hashish in the night, you know?"
diye devam ederek biraz dert yandı. Kocası geldiğinde "herif dalcak
galba bana" derken, "City Council'dan mısınız?" diye sordu (yarı
İngilizce yarı Türkçe sormadı tabii, zaten muhtemelen Afgan
falanlardı...). Porjeyi anlattım, bol bol fotoğraf çekip, etraftaki
duvarları kazıyan, bira, izmarit ve afedersiniz küçük tuvalet izlerini
çekmemi istediler. Velhasıl kelam, şimdi iki kişiiyle röportaj yapmam
lazım, keşke kadının telefonunu alsaymışım.. Bir de, video çekimi
yapmamız gerekecek, ve Aralık ortasında biten bu dönemin esas projesi
tamamlanmış olacak. Haftaya 20 Kasım'da önemli bir sunumumuz var, bu
haftasonu ona hazırlanmakla gerekecek, yapacak çok iş var.....


Sanırım en son yazdığımdan beri Londra Film Festivali'nde birkaç filme
gittim. "I'm Not There" isimli sanırım hayatımdaki en güzel filmlerden
birini izledim festivalin son gününde. Bizim Meksikalı kızın laptop'u
çalındı önceki gün stüdyodan, akşamüstü polise falan gittik vs..
ertesi gün de koşuşturmaca derken beni satmak durumunda kalınca,
yalnız bir sinema seansı yapmış oldum ilk defa Londra'da. Çok da fena
olmadı.. "Velvet Goldmine"ın yaratacısı Todd Haynes abimizin bu
filmini mutlaka izleyin bir yerlerde görürseniz. Bob Dylan'ın hayat
hikayesinden uyarlama 6 karakter yaratıyor, ve bunlardan biri zenci
bir çocuk, ve bir diğeri de Cate Blanchett mesela!! İkisi de süper
oynuyorlar, ama Cate Blanchett inanılmaz!.. Muhteşem bir kadın, tekrar
tekrar aşık oldum sahnede izledikçe Cate ablayı. Zenci çocuk Dylan'ın
ufaklığında, "countryside" daki farklı ve yetenekli kimliğini
yansıtıyor, Dylan protestleşirken.. Blanchett 60'ların sonunda rock
and roll camiasında sallanan, değerlerine ihanet etmekten sorgulanan
sorunlu Dylan "kimliğiyle buluşuyor izleyiciyle". Bob Dylan'ı
Roskilde'de "canlı" izlerken, "ahanda ne kadar asosyal ve bayık bir
herif" deyip, "yahu çadıra dönüp günde 3 kere ısınıp soğuyan ve
sonunda ürik asite dönüşen biralardan mı içsem, yoksa şurda bir yerde
iki sosisli atıp başka bir konser alanına mı gitsem?" diye düşünürken,
bu film boyunca "Bob abi, kusura bakma, bir hatadır etmişiz" demekten
alamadım kendimi. Ama ya 1960'lardaki dönemleri tam 60'lar çizgisinde
çeken, ben diyeyim bir "early Brian de Palma era", siz deyin "geç
60'lar, yeni yeni oluşan sosyal gerçekçi Türk sineması" çizgisi... Ya
da buram buram avant-garde kokan 70ler, grayscale'ler, köşeli açılar,
kitsch, glam ve seks drags end rak en rol beybi...
(Bu arada "Control" adlı filmi de şiddetle öneriyorum yeri gelmişken...)

Ayrıca Fatih Akın'ın son filmi de gösterildi festivalde, son
göstermden önce kapıya gidip "arkadaş gelecek mi peki gösterime?"
dedim, gayet medenice, davetliler listelerine baktılar "o filmden
kimse gelmeyecek" diyerek yolladılar beni.

Bu sırada Eyal Weizman'dan "Destruction by Design" konferansını
dinleyip, İsrail ordusunda askerlerin Foucault okuduklarını,
Filistinli bir aileseniz evinizin bir duvarında solucan deliği açıp
salondan geçip, öbür duvardan karşıdaki eve geçebileceklerini
öğrendik. LSE'deki İsrailliler bu İsrailli anti-Siyonist mimarın
konuşmasına katılmamayı tercih ettiler... Beşiktaş Liverpool'u 2-1
yendi. Sonra Liverpool Beşiktaş'ı 8-0 yendi. 6 Kasım akşamı 6 Türk
toplanıp 8 gol yememizi izledikten sonra 2şer tek rakı ve 8er paketlik
Heinekenler'e verdik kendimizi... Architectural Association'da Bernard
Tschumi konferansına gidildi, AA hakkında ilk izlenimler edinildi
(iyi, güzel...) ama benim için son haftaların önemli olayı geçen
haftasonu yaptığım Zürih gezisiydi...

Arada eklemeleyim ki, evsizlikten epey sıkıldım. Özellikle bu son
hafta çok bunaldığımı hissediyorum, yalnız başıma bu yurt odasında
kalmaktan. Chalk Farm'da çıkacağımız ev işi son dakikada yattıktan
sonra epey enerjimi kaybettim ev bulma işinde. Açıkçası çok iyi bir
potansiyel ev arkadaşını da kaybetmiş oldum Lucrecia hemen aynı
haftasonu başka bir eve çıkınca. Şimdi ne pahasına olursa olsun bir
şeyler bulsam iyi olacak mantığıyla hareket etmeye yönelcem sanırım...
Geçen gün epey depresif hissettiğim, bunaldığımı söylesem abartmış
olmam ama hemen moralimizi bozmayalım. Burada yağmur bile yağmıyor
hala, kara bulutları hep oraya yollamışız, daha fazla yollamayayım,
sizde üfleyin, püfleyin def edin..

Zürih...

Zürih güzel, bence öğrenciler için yaşanabilirliği olan, şirin bir
şehir. Kar sezonunu da orada açmış oldum. Gaddem bilgisayarımın USB
hubları bozulduğu için resim yükleyemiyorum. Londra resmi de
yollamamışım hiç, o halde yarın öbür gün okuldan resimli ve az yazılı
bir email atayım.

Zürih soğuktu ama eğlendik, İlkay'la yedik içtik, bir yerden sonra
cüzdanı unuttuk, şarap fuarına gittik, gemiden gemiye atlayıp şarap
içtik (bir tane absent'çi abi vardı, ondan da likör ve absent içtik,
ama adam bizi kovdu sonunda), akşamları yürüdük dolaştık, İspanyol
meyhanelerinde tapa-sangria, İsviçre barlarında "einmal Weissbier
bitte"...

amma velakin geziye damgasını vuran olaylardan biri cumartesi günü (10
Kasım'da) rastladığımız Kürt yürüyüşü idi. Kürdistan ve PKK leyhine
aynı anda bağıran grubun fotoğrafını çekmeye kalkınca, arkamdan
yaklaşan yüzü yanık uzun boylu bir yürüyüşçü önce Almanca gazeteci
olup olmadığımı sordu, "hayır" cevabından sonra önce Almanca sonra
Türkçe Türk olup olmadığımı sorduktan sonra fotoğraf çekemeyeceğimi,
fotoğraf makinesini alabileceğini, uzaklaşmamız gerektiğini vs.. vs..
söyledi. Kısaca olay bu, ve olay hakkındaki (aslında kendime de
şaşarak epey sakin kalarak yaptığım) izlenimler
http://ocavusoglu.blogspot.com/2007/11/snrlar.html adresinde. Gene
arada reklamı yapmış olduk..

Dün de Londra'da, Paddington civarında gazetecilerin ve ilgilerin
toplandığı, arada söyleşi, konser vb.. olduğu Frontline Club adlı
mekanda "Is it the time for a free Kurdistan?" adlı tartışmaya gittik
Aylin'le. The Independent'tan bir gazetecinin moderatörlüğünde,
Irak'ın Kürdistan Bölgesel Yönetimi'nin Birleşik Krallık temsilcisi,
eski bir gazeteci, Kürt tarihi hakkında çalışmış bir yazar ve başka
bir gazetecinin olduğu bir gruptu. Genel olarak, Kürt temsilcileri
"özgür bir Kürdistan için daha zaman erken" diyerek olaya temkinli
yaklaşırken, aslında hem Irak içinde en güçlü konumda olmalarının
ötesinde, cumhurbaşkanlığına da bir Kürt'ü koymalarından ve
Talabani-Barzani ikilisinin sert-yumuşak, pasif-agresif rollerinden
kelli, şimdilik "özgürlüğe giden yolda" acele edilmemesi gerektiğinden
dem vuruldu.. Türkiye'yle ilişkilere değinildi, iyi olması
gerektiğine, Türkiye'nin bu bölgeyi tanımasına gerektiğine (bu konu
üzerine son günlerde çıkan yazıları okuyabilirsiniz) dem vuruldu, vs..
vs.. Aslında bir çoğu da hakim olduğumzu konular.. Zürih'teki deneyimi
anlatıp, başka ülkelerdeki Kürt azınlıkların PKK'ya bakışı ve kendi
kimlikleri içindeki tanımını sormaya çalışsam da sorum yanlış
anlaşılıp yanlış cevaplandı, canım sağoldu....

Evet efendim, önümüzdeki günlerde proje işleri, iki adet konser, belki
az biraz daha gezmeler tozmalar olabilir.... Ben yazmaktan yoruldum
sayılır, buraya kadar sabırla okuyan olduysa bile çok yorulmuş
olmalı.. Çok dan dun bir email oldu, ve çok dan dun keseceğim sanırım
ama herkesi çok öpüyorum diyerek, bu satırlarıma burada son verirken,
yeni çamaşır deterjanımla çamaşırlarımı yıkamaya iniyorum.. Memlekete
selam, yola devam..

Fatih Akın olsaydı "we love you we love you we love you" diyebilirdi,
ya da "Türkiye'dekilere sesleniyorum, 'united we stand, divided we
fall'" diyebilirdi, ben diyorum ki, "sakin olalım, hızlı reaksiyona
geçen düşünce balonlarımızı küfürlerle patlatmak yerine, kendimizi ve
etrafımızı ne kadar değiştirebiliriz onu düşünelim". şimdi böyle güdük
bir şekilde bunu yazınca, çok ukala ve biraz da soyut durdu sanki.

sizi bu resimcikle başbaşa bırakıyorum....