Censorship is a touchy subject in Istanbul. Turkey has a history of press restriction, either through direct legal action or occupational expulsion, dating back to their war of independence in the 1920s. These practices have only become more prevalent as public anti-establishment demonstrations continue to agitate the government. The underlying motivation for these policies, especially in recent years, is to protect the Turkish authorities from any form of criticism, making it effectively impossible for journalists to do their jobs.
Before arriving in Turkey, I made an attempt to educate myself about the country's current journalistic climate, mainly because of personal interest and a desire to avoid confrontation with unsavory Istanbul police officers. Despite these efforts, the idea of a society where what is put on television, in a newspaper, or on the internet is dictated by a government committee still seemed wholly foreign to me, perhaps because I was coming from a place where Rachel Maddow, Breaking Bad, and The 700 Club all have relatively equal footing when it comes to viewer access.
For me, there were two things that really solidified the fact that the publishing and broadcasting of information is a controlled effort in this part of the world. The first is the monotony with which printed media is presented in this city. Most news stands carry a plethora of different publications, yet the majority seem to resemble American tabloids in both appearance and content. I consulted with several Turkish friends on the matter and the majority endorsed my suspicions in regards to their quality of reporting.
The second, and certainly more poignant, observation has to do with the now infamous decision made by CNN Turk to air a documentary about penguins rather than cover the developing protests that were taking place in Taksim Square. The penguin has since been adopted by the protest movement as a symbol of disenchantment with and the rejection of an institution that has the potential to do good, but is instead subservient to a creeping authoritarian government. Maybe if the press restrictions were lifted or, at the very least, relaxed, dialogue could replace aggressive assembly as a means of expressing one's view.
I will admit, my gut reaction to the revelation that a free press was essentially nonexistent in this country was of the "that's messed up" variety. Having grown up in the United States, I relish the right to express myself in virtually any way and on any platform that I want to. It could be this near fetishization of free speech and a free press that caused my initial disgust with the Turkish government's press policies. The veritable cocoon of university students that has surrounded me since my arrival is, without a doubt, reinforcing this sentiment.
I suppose it is important to maintain perspective when faced with legal dissonance in regards to personal freedom abroad. As an American, I do not think it is really my place to criticize how this country's administration conducts itself. I also have only discussed the issue with a tiny sliver of Istanbul's population, all of whom seem to be of the same anti-Erdoğan ideology. Perhaps on a national level, these policies are welcomed because they protect the government from dissenting antagonism. After all, the assumption that freedom is a universal value can lead to distorted cultural understanding.
That is not to say that the Turkish people do not engage in constant debate over a whole host of issues; I myself have been involved in conversations ranging in topic from the value of Ataturk's language reforms to how mind boggling it is that we cannot buy alcohol after 10 PM. Dialogue certainly flourishes here, just not in as loud a forum as it does back home. I suppose the real challenge is understanding a relationship between the people and the authorities that differs from what I am use to. At least there's no Nancy Grace here...
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