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EXHIBITION

Please visit Dr. Güven Selçuk’s Photograph Exhibition “Flying Kites over Ruins” which will be available in the Rectorate Foyer during the conference.

Flying Kites over Ruins: Urban Transformation at Kadifekale

The question of urban transformation has been one of the foremost matter of debates for the last 10-15 years in Turkey. Although the history of the “transformation of the cities” is as old as the history of the cities themselves, the concept of urban transformation became a buzz topic in everyday life due to its extensive coverage on the media in recent years. As the first-hand experiences of the people become well known and once its social costs unmasked, reactions are now simultaneously rising against those so-called “urban transformation” projects. Besides its economic and political aspects regarding the transfer of private property and rent between classes, social and individual dimensions are also self-evident as a matter of course. A quick scan of the relevant literature reveals that “urban transformation” functions as an umbrella term. There are dozens of subtypes –such as gentrification, urban regeneration, urban redevelopment, urban renewal, urban restructuring, urban rehabilitation, urban conservation, urban preservation, urban revitalization, urban refurbishment, etc.– which can be regarded as either favourable or unfavourable from the viewpoint of its different parties that have a stake in this issue. One can think of urban transformation as a “sanitising” and “modernising” agent, namely a positive government intervention that provides a healthy and sterile environment, which makes it completely harmless and even beneficial for the people – if one relies solely on the mainstream mass media for the news. Yet it would surely be less comfortable and even no restful to ponder on the subject from the standpoint of those who are forced to leave their homes.

These pictures –taken between April and May 2017 in İzmir– tells us something about the human dimension of urban transformation practices taking place in Kadifekale/Ballıkuyu region that hardly ever covered in newspapers or televised news. The residents of Ballıkuyu have been leading their lives in the middle of rubbles for months. By skirting through, over and across the debris, they go to work, to the mosque, to school, to the neighbours, to grocers, and the like. Shoes, immediately covered by a thick cloud of dust, is not the sole problem of course – eyes and lungs get their own shares, the dust is ubiquitous. The present situation, although posing a serious health problem, is a kind of trouble that concerns the ones that are “somehow” passing by (like me–the photographer), not the ones essentially living there. Even though it is a bit uncertain to call it “the main problem” of the inhabitants, there is yet another issue that is not insignificant than the former one; the emotional load and the conscientious responsibility of already living there. Neighbours, relatives, fellows –which were still there a couple of weeks ago– are now vanished. When one softly goes down a steep slope in situ, diving into the coastal landscape from the castle on the top and coming across the children cheerfully racing against each other up to the opposite direction, only ten days ago, now finds him/herself in a flattened space, in absolute openness. Three dimensions now reduced to two, perception is altered. This must be a “heavy” thing. It is not just a matter of passing by a mass of debris; it is more a matter of walking through bygone sounds and images, fellowships left behind, memories, in short. With dismantled doors and windows, vacated dwellings –waiting for their turns for demolition– are now occupied by waifish Syrians, albeit for a couple of days. Abandoned buildings are mostly covered with graffiti. The former residents must have tried to make their voices heard this way for one last time. Some wrote down the date of their departure on their walls, some say that their experience is that of an “unforgettable” kind. One graffiti says; “not only houses but also dreams were destroyed…”. All this is bewildering. Like a faraway look towards an endless sea, I find myself lost in thought, gawping at those phrases. Their words are “dense”. It seems that no one leaves at will – as often claimed.

On the other hand, due to ceaseless demolition work, the topography of the region is constantly transforming. Caterpillars are working all the weekdays. It is almost impossible to take a similar picture on the same spot on a different day. The two-storey building that I saw last week is a pile of rubble now. What about the graffiti on its walls? They do not exist. All these have to be photographed, documented, and recorded just because of this; in order to be able to say in the future: “there was such a thing that happened here”. Otherwise, they will be limited to the memories of the people who had witnessed it and will be forgotten someday, as if they did not happen at all. However, it is hard to take pictures; not only from a conscientious point of view but also from a technical one. Everything is broken into pieces, shattered and smashed to smithereens. Piles of debris are everywhere; there are no shadows. This is not changing even at sunset when the sunrays are lateral, light is always unpleasantly harsh as if it is always on top. This kind of trivial concerns occasionally preoccupying one’s mind about photography are subordinated by the sensations imposed by the space itself in a short time. The air is thick, making you feel like you are in a theatre of war, under bombardment, possibly not in İzmir but maybe in Aleppo or Mosul, where the devastation of intense conflict prevails. In fact, the Syrian refugees seeing me walking and gawking around are teasing and shouting at me: “aynı Suriya, aynı Suriya!” (meaning “the same as Syria”). They look well prepared in advance and already accustomed to living in such conditions, they –and the smiles on their faces– are strangely nonchalant. Once they walk away and disappear with their voices, a deep silence predominates the site again. Although I could only secondarily experience all these, a strange blend of melancholy and shame penetrates my sense of self when looking at the abandoned buildings of this ghost quarter. Children stand out in this entire urban inferno. It seems that being a child is a difficult job to do in these days. Yet they are quite aware of the events that have been taking place around them –actually nothing less than the adults– children are still and always children: they are occupied with flying kites over ruins. It is hard to imagine something more dramatic; and to find a metaphor for hope, freedom and future, no better than a kite.

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