After the forceful evacuation of Gezi Park on Saturday June 15, 2013, the three weeks of protest came to an abrupt standstill. The sounds of whistles, drums, chants, songs,
flares, and fireworks of the occupation, marches, and circle dances disappeared. Instead of the usual helmets, shields, and body armor, police wore summer short sleeve, light blue shirts. Enforcing the status quo, the police guarded the perimeters of Gezi Park and Taksim Square to prevent the return of protestors. The turbulent actions of the past three weeks yielded an awkward tension.
Erdem Gunduz, a Turkish choreographer, stood for hours in Taksim Square from the late afternoon of June 16 to the early hours of June 17, 2013. As people watched the artist's activism, he inspired a popular Twitter following with #duranadam and #duraninsan. The motionless, silent man with his hands in his pockets appeared to calm the crowd. A few on the sidelines started a chant only to be immediately shushed quiet. His resilient, determined presence galvanized people to hold hands in a wide, protective circle around him. Standing clearly represented a peaceful way to assemble and express ideas in a public space. The peaceful civil disobedience created a dilemma.
The police cleared the square, and arrested the people who continued to stand, leading them into a green public bus. They also attempted to arrest a photojournalist and format his memory card with photographs of the arrests.
"The idea is important, why people resist the government. That government didn't want to understand, didn't try to understand why the people on the street during the nineteen days," said Erdem Gunduz in an interview with the BBC. "I hope people stop and think what happened there because it's really hard to stand up."
Each day people return to stand and face the portrait of Ataturk and the Turkish flags hanging on the Ataturk Cultural Center in Taksim Square. The sun sets behind them, casting long shadows. Some resolutely gaze to the East. Others read Penguen, a Turkish satirical magazine, or talk quietly on the cellphone. A few hold balloons or blow bubbles, floating on the breeze.
In the late evenings young people stand on the street island in Cihangir Square, a residential neighborhood near Taksim. Motionless and vulnerable, they stand with their hands in their pockets or at their sides. Their solemn faces appear to reflect on the crackdowns and arrests. Finding new public spaces emphasizes the loss of freedom of assembly in Gezi Park and Taksim Square. Stillness moves hearts and minds more than marches. Silence speaks louder than megaphones.
Each evening around 9 pm people bang spoons, pots, and pans from their windows, balconies, and restaurant tables. They applaud each other for the small display of dissent. This daily ritual replenishes the energy of people standing up for each other.
Erdem Gunduz, a Turkish choreographer, stood for hours in Taksim Square from the late afternoon of June 16 to the early hours of June 17, 2013. As people watched the artist's activism, he inspired a popular Twitter following with #duranadam and #duraninsan. The motionless, silent man with his hands in his pockets appeared to calm the crowd. A few on the sidelines started a chant only to be immediately shushed quiet. His resilient, determined presence galvanized people to hold hands in a wide, protective circle around him. Standing clearly represented a peaceful way to assemble and express ideas in a public space. The peaceful civil disobedience created a dilemma.
The police cleared the square, and arrested the people who continued to stand, leading them into a green public bus. They also attempted to arrest a photojournalist and format his memory card with photographs of the arrests.
"The idea is important, why people resist the government. That government didn't want to understand, didn't try to understand why the people on the street during the nineteen days," said Erdem Gunduz in an interview with the BBC. "I hope people stop and think what happened there because it's really hard to stand up."
Each day people return to stand and face the portrait of Ataturk and the Turkish flags hanging on the Ataturk Cultural Center in Taksim Square. The sun sets behind them, casting long shadows. Some resolutely gaze to the East. Others read Penguen, a Turkish satirical magazine, or talk quietly on the cellphone. A few hold balloons or blow bubbles, floating on the breeze.
In the late evenings young people stand on the street island in Cihangir Square, a residential neighborhood near Taksim. Motionless and vulnerable, they stand with their hands in their pockets or at their sides. Their solemn faces appear to reflect on the crackdowns and arrests. Finding new public spaces emphasizes the loss of freedom of assembly in Gezi Park and Taksim Square. Stillness moves hearts and minds more than marches. Silence speaks louder than megaphones.
Each evening around 9 pm people bang spoons, pots, and pans from their windows, balconies, and restaurant tables. They applaud each other for the small display of dissent. This daily ritual replenishes the energy of people standing up for each other.