"Occupy Gezi" is a protest to protect Gezi park - one of the few remaining parks and public spaces - from being turned into a shopping mall. A battle between thousands of protesters and Turkish police forces is ongoing since Thursday night when the government decided to send vehicles with water canons and riot police equipped with tear gas and rubber bullets into Taksim Square and Gezi park. This action has become the tipping point for a Turkish Summer, a link in a long line of public frustration with government corruption, violence and lack of accountability.
This account - my story - took place on Sunday 2nd June, all incidents are real and my own recollections.
BATTLEGROUND AT BESIKTAS
The junction around Besiktas stadium was full of young Turks sporting gas masks, scarves, goggles and tea towels. The streets were poorly lit at 2.00am but the situation was not threatening. There was little drunkeness unlike the celebratory atmosphere the previous night around Taksim Sqaure as the police had withdrawn. Barricades were being constructed, three tiered along Dolmabahçe Cad and blocking the streets heading away from the Bosphorus sea past the football ground. The Dolmabahçe Mosque at the foot of the Bosphorus had been turned into a makeshift medical centre. Ambulances pulled up carrying injured protesters brought back on DIY stretchers from the front lines.
We slowly made our way up, being cautious with every step, paying attention to every movement and sway of the massive crowd. Myself and Karl focused on any signal from the mass that bad stuff was about to happen. Hundreds of people were in front of us but the front line of the protest was close.
The crowd along Dolmabahçe Cad double backed to join another. The ring leaders banged on the barricades shouting "hosh!" to stop a mass exodus. There must have been a report that the police had moved. We stood up on a raised platform right in front of the beautiful and moodily lit Dolmabahçe museum to survey the edginess of the situation.
Two young Turks from just outside Ankara asked us why we were here in broken English. "We wanted to document, to let people from where we were from know what was happening." "Social media stuff" Karl added. They were delighted that we intended to spread the message of the protest on social media. Any coverage is vital with the shameful local media blackout. They left and wished us good luck. We waited.
RETREAT TO DOLMABAHÇE MOSQUE
We lit a cigarette to calm our nerves. Karl and I confirmed the escape plan to each other should anything happen: a gate into Dolmabahçe museum gardens adjacent to the mosque had been pried open. Safety was inside. We thought. The crowd roared and buckled up ahead. The first sign of trouble came in the familar shape of the water canon tank spraying protesters up the street on the way to Gümüssuyu. The crowd surged back, tear gas flew into where they had been. One, strikingly landed 10 metres to our right from another direction. We rushed our gas masks on and moved back. I tried to take pictures - like a good tourist - but annoyingly the flash from my camera failed in the dim light. We stood and stared at the growing gas cloud for 10 seconds before it started to rain tear gas cannisters all around us.
WHOOSH! One cannister flew directly over our head. "S**t", I shouted, "Karl, we gotta go." We could not see them but the riot police had to be much closer than we thought. We ran deeper into the gardens and into a car park just outside the mosque. We stopped by some tables and chairs that belonged to a cafe. The Bosphorus created a wet barrier behind us. "Well, we could always jump into the sea" Karl mused. It was a viable option. Fleeing protesters huddled behind the cafe. Still others ran behind the mosque. Time stood still.
RUN FOR YOUR LIFE
I was considering the situation when I saw a couple straight ahead. The girl was terrified and crying in the arms of her boyfriend. It quickly became apparent why. I turned to my right and a riot policeman was beating another protester with a baton repeatedly. We had been blindsided in the twilight and the police were right on us and charging all around. Everything became terrifyingly simple. "Karl we have to run, we have to get the f*** out of here, now."
We ran. I jinked out of the reach of the baton wielding policeman. Holding my gas mask over my mouth and pulling swimming goggles over my eyes. Karl and I sprinted towards the front of the mosque through an open gate and into the heart of fleeing protesters. Karl was to my right, a little ahead. A moment later I heared a whoosh from immediately behind me, sparks flew as Karl was knocked down to the ground. A clean hit from a gun close behind us. He was shot square on the left side of his back by a gas cannister, "Oh s***, f***" I gasped.
Karl looked at me as he was sprawled on the floor. The police were right behind us and aiming at us. I ran as fast as I could go, dancing around a curb. We were all being chased, I only thought to run.
I had no time. No room to analyse, to breathe, to decide. I just ran. I couldnt stop thinking about Karl, I worried about what to do. Should I have stopped? Could I have stopped? Do I go back? I had reached a gas station on auto-pilot creating distance between myself and the police. I turned around and started to drift back to the Dolmabahçe mosque, for Karl. I wasnt safe yet, but I had to find him. It did not take me long.
I saw him walking among a group of other young protesters. Thank god.
SAFETY AND REFRESHMENTS
I ran over to Karl and put my arm around him. I was overcome at seeing my friend walking and moving fine. "After seeing you pelt it, I knew I only had 5 seconds to get up and go. I think the policeman was shocked I got up..." He remarkably managed to keep his humour amidst the chaos and shock of the situation. I could only exhale and swear like a parrot. We were safe, away from the battleground.
We ran again (just to be sure), back to the street that led to our hostel. Karl was struggling with the shock and pain. We slowed so I could take a look at the wound, the cannister left a nasty bloody imprint. "I need ice, or the coldest thing you can find. Also, beer. I think I might throw up." "Just keep breathing, I'll get everything. I cant believe you had the sense to get up and run. Unbelievable. We're safe. Unreal." A group of protesters came over as they saw Karl struggling, we showed them the problem and a girl within the group helpfully sanitised the wound and bandaged Karl up. She smiled at us, the young men patted me and Karl on the back. Another couple of young girls took pictures of his wound. We were all punch drunk with elation at being safe.
I bought cigarettes, beer and ice cream (the coldest thing I could find!), at the local convenience store with other young turks who had fled the same scene of violence. Exiting, I collected Karl who had his head in his hands and we went to sit on some steps. We cracked open the beers. We both knew we were extremely lucky to be out of Besiktas without serious injury. We were close to being penned in at the mosque. Any hesitation in running and we could have been beaten, arrested or worse.
I patted Karl on the knee. In the early morning light my thoughts drifted back to the crying girl in the arms of her boyfriend, distraught by the police brutality. They didnt run. They didnt get away. What happened to them? I nudged those thoughts out of my head. It was too sad and depressing to think about.
I wrote this piece on the night of the attack, after aiding Karl to his bed.
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