Military Salutes in Turkish Football Reflect Wider Societal Malaise

1 Comment

Turkish sportswriter Özgün Keleşoğlu wrote an interesting piece on t24.com.tr regarding the use of military salutes by Turkish footballers in games against Kurdish teams. The phenomenon has caused disturbances in games before, such as between Bergamaspor and Vanspor in 2014 and Karşıyaka and Kurtalanspor in 2015. This gesture, when employed as a goal celebration, has heightened tensions between Kurds and Turks on the football pitch to such a degree that teams in Western Turkey even complained to the Turkish Football Federation in September 2015.

In this instance, Mr. Keleşoğlu was referring to former Fenerbahçe and current Başaksehirspor striker Semih Şentürk’s salute following an equalizer against Amedspor in the Turkish cup on 28 January 2016. Amedspor are from the predominantly Kurdish city of Diyarbakir; having changed their name to reflect the Kurdish name of their city, they have become a standard bearer for Kurdish identity in Turkey, a fact that has achieved greater importance as Kurdish areas have come under fire from security forces recently.


Image Courtesy Of: http://www.hurriyet.com.tr/semih-senturk-amedspora-golunu-atti-asker-selami-verdi-40046499

What stands out in Mr. Keleşoğlu’s piece is his criticism of the footballer’s—in this case Semih Şentürk’s—actions. For the writer the military salute is meant to show respect to those who have served their country with distinction (a fact that, according to Amedspor officials, would be lost on Mr. Şentürk. After the incident they tweeted that he did not complete his military service; he paid out of it). It is not to be used in order to insult or provoke a reaction. According to this definition, then, every footballer that has saluted in this manner during a match has done so with no knowledge of the salute’s true meaning. That is why Mr. Keleşoğlu urges Turkish football fans to not allow footballers to water down what it means to be a solider. In so doing, however, the author makes another important point. He describes footballers themselves as “nouveau-riche” and “disrespectful of their jobs”. To be honest, he is right. In the era of Industrial Football it has been easy come and easy go for many Turkish footballers. Once they see the money they seem to slacken off, and that is no model for any country’s sporting or civil life. I support Mr. Keleşoğlu for saying things that need to be said, since sport is often a reflection of the society it represents. I also echo his sentiments regarding the Turkish Cup match between Bursaspor and Amedspor scheduled for tomorrow. Bursaspor and Diyarbakirspor—the previous standard bearer for football in Turkey’s Kurdish regions—had a history of bad blood between them. Let us hope that, in the highly polarized climate that characterizes Turkey these days, no ugly incidents occur.



Motoring From Ocala to Daytona

1 Comment

Taking inspiration from Jeff Klinkenberg, I researched a few routes on Motorcycleroads.com and settled on the Ocala National Forest. I couldn’t have known at the time that it would take me from Florida’s past to its present over the course of a little over one hundred miles of asphalt and painted yellow lines.

Sometimes in life it is therapeutic to drive somewhere where there is no phone service, where it is almost as if you don’t exist. The Ocala National Forest fits that description perfectly. Florida route 19 bisects the forest north/south and offered me a perfect opportunity to disappear, if only for a few hours. At the beginning of the route I couldn’t help but take a picture of a bear crossing sign. Its up there with some of the funnier highway signs I’ve seen, including the “Farts” warning in Norway and the classic falling rocks design on European highways. Walking back to the car the silence is complete. There are no noises, at this point not even any passing cars. Just trees and the two-lane highway, a straight line that (I wish) went on forever.

I spend a few hours exploring the dirt roads that dot the forest, avoiding the pick up trucks that seem to appear in the middle of the road at the top of every crest. I guess people get too used to being alone in the forest, and I understand it. It feels like driving on tightly packed snow and I have a little fun before reminding myself that if I screw up the car I will be providing lunch, I suppose, for the local bear population.


Back on the pavement I see a sign for Ormond Beach, outside of Daytona. After the natural solitude of the forest the beach will offer a different experience in nature for me and I turn the car east to the coast. As I head to the coast I think of the father’s words in Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, realizing that—eventually—the forest will swallow Florida route 19. It’s only…natural.

From driving on dirt roads I go to driving on the sand. I find it odd that one should even be allowed to drive on the beach, it is an assault on nature. But it doesn’t seem like anyone cares. Looking up and down the sand one sees that nature has already been assaulted in the name of money. Hotels line the beach for as long as the eye can see. I smile at the birds that seem oblivious to the encroachment of humanity encouraged by greed.



Further down the coast past soviet style condominiums, in Daytona Beach, I decide to get myself a piece of art, a little bit of southern kitsch: the airbrushed hat. I order my design and ask the man where he is from. I know its somewhere I can relate to. “I am from planet Earth” he says, laughing. No doubt many people ask the same question daily. I am offended that he would think I want to insult him, but then again I know the depths of human ignorance that he may have faced.

“I know that much.”

“Palestine. I am from Palestine”. Indeed, somewhere I can relate to. As I wait for my “art” I step out onto the boardwalk, staring at the beach roller-coaster. I guess this is life on the beach in a culture I never got to experience: Beach culture in the American south. Staring out at the water I think of the absurdity of life: a Palestinian airbrush artist making hats for people who (most likely) would not be able to point his home out on a map. Its odd, but it is what America should be. Everyone comes from somewhere, and everyone does something. Luckily for me, this man does his job well. For me it is definitely more than a hat, it is a piece of art.

On the way home I come upon the Mecca of human encroachment on nature: Daytona International Speedway. The track looms over the road in all its grandeur, the epicenter of American motorsport. For a moment I wish I could take my Saab for a test drive but preparations for the Daytona 500 are taking place.


Forty minutes later and I am again in the middle of the Ocala National Forest, stopped at a four-way intersection on Florida route 40, running east/west. The sky is streaked in purples and oranges, another day ends in a watercolor. The past 150 miles have taken me through the various ecologies—and road types—of Florida: From Swamp to Beach; from dirt road to sand. I don’t know of another state that can offer such contrasts in such short distances and that, in itself, makes it a good day. The light turns green and it’s time to go, I find myself wishing all crossroads in life were this simple to negotiate.



But they’re not. And that is why “motoring”, in the Gatsby sense, is enjoyable. Moments after the intersection I crest a small hill to find myself looking squarely into a pair of headlights. I slam the breaks and flash my brights, the erring driver squeezes between an SUV and eighteen-wheeler. And that’s where the fact remains: When going for a drive your life is in your hands, literally. If someone crosses the double yellow on a two lane your only recourse is in your hands. Perhaps it is the proximity to death that makes adventure worthwhile. After all, what of the world—or life—would we learn on the couch?


Drive sound track:

George Strait: Run

Survivor: Eye Of the Tiger

One Direction: Perfect

Jerrod Niemann: Drink to That All Night

Cole Swindell: You Should Be Here

The Oak Ridge Boys: Leaving Louisiana In the Broad Daylight