A few weeks before exams—Friday morning blues on the 3rd floor

Grades are the Be-All and End-All of the Turkish educational system. That and the Ö.S.S., the university entrance exam (but that’s another story). Actually, I find the grading system here both unfair and enabling. Hence, my rant:
First of all, 45% is a passing grade in Turkey (in the U.S. it’s 60%). Here’s the curve:

• 85 to 100%  is a 5, the top grade (no pluses or minuses, thank you)
• 70 to 84% is a 4
• 55 to 69% is a 3 (considered average)
• 45 to 54% is a 2 (still passing, but unimpressive)
• 25 to 44% is a 1, not passing
• 0 to 24% is a 0, a dismal failure

Each student has 1-3 oral grades (usually class work) and 2-3 written grades (exams) for each class in a semester, depending on how many times the class meets per week. The system for oral grades is determined individually by each teacher, while the written grades come from uniform common exams. For example, we have about 10 or 11 sections in each grade, and all those sections take exactly the same exams for each course they take. That’s to keep things equitable.

The kids arrived bleary-eyed today after a week of late nights studying.

The other thing we do to make grading fair is moderation—sometimes a struggle. Everyone on the English team grades the same 2 or 3 exams according to the rubric, then we compare the grades we gave. Next we discuss differences and figure out how to adapt our grading to an agreed-on norm. It’s hard. After hours of grading our own students’ papers, we have other teachers re-grade (moderate) some of them, particularly the highest and lowest ones. It’s VERY time-consuming, but it’s important in this culture where parents sue the school over grades. Really.

Few studied this morning, though other days they were more focused.

At least a few of the girls studied…

…as did a few in room 304.

Now, imagine a teacher who feels philosophically opposed to grading in the first place, and plunk her in a situation like this where life is all about grades. I’ve had to rethink my approach to education and move from my preferred  +, √, —  “evaluation system” and go back to a traditional 100-point system. ARAUGHH!!!!
Oh—but there’s MORE!

My own juniors (in another testing room), focused as usual (that’s Nisan waving.)

In the end, the student who squeaks out a low 4 with 70% gets the very same 4 as the student who earned 84%, fourteen percentage points higher. Enter: THE BEGGARS. Yes, folks. We have them. They’re well-intentioned, of course. “Oh, it was so close, can’t you just give me/him/her a few more points?” Grades are so important here that parents get into the act along with their kids. Not only is final exam time stressful, but it sets off a barrage of BEGGING! PLEADING! BARGAINING! (Gosh—I haven’t been offered a bribe yet. Hmmm…)

Hard at work on the history exam–one more to go!

Think that’s enough? Well, there’s even more, my friends. It’s the way the grades are averaged. Within a semester, grade percentages are averaged together to find a numeric percentage, which determines the semester grade. BUT—the two semester grades are averaged in a new and enabling way. If you get the same final grade both semesters, that’s all well and good. A 3 and a 3 average out to a 3. If you do better one term, though, the top grade rules. For instance, a 3 and a 2 make—not 2.5, but 3! (Remember, no pluses or minuses.) So, for instance, a student who finishes the first semester with a low 3 (55%) and does a bit of slacking off the second semester and barely squeaks out a 2 (45%) should have an average of 50%. Right? Well, that 50 magically becomes not a 2 (which it should be) but a 3, just the same as the student who earned 69% both terms for an overall average of 69%, a high 3. There’s nearly a 20% difference over the year for the same grade. Hmmm… Something’s wrong. It just doesn’t seem fair.

Saffet takes every exam seriously. He wants 5’s, and usually gets them.

I figured out that a student who fails with a low 1 first term (25%) and a low 2 the second term (45%) ends up with a passing grade of 2—with a mere 35%, ten percent below the (already low) passing grade of 45%. Such a deal for the low achiever!
And there’s MORE, my friends. If, after a dismal year a student is unhappy with his or her grade, there’s the option of taking a grade-changing exam during the summer. These exams are difficult, but for the intelligent but lazy student, they’re a godsend. I don’t even want to KNOW more about them.

They’re all focused—except Yunus. No surprise.

Zeynep just asked me, “Are you writing about grades in Turkey or grades at Koç?”
“Aren’t they the same?” I wondered.
“I think it’s worse at Koç,” she said. “There’s more pressure here.”
Point taken. Poor kids… No wonder they dragged themselves to school this morning with bleary eyes and collapsed into their desks. Six days of this would undo anyone.
If I sound biased, I am. I hate grades, and it breaks my heart that they’re so important in this country. I also hate it that the system is so unfair yet at the same time so enabling.
The flip side is that it’s been a joy to teach these kids. I love them, and somehow we slog through the grading mire together. We get through it, and my hope is that they learn something in the process.
I always thought education was more about learning anyway. Did I miss something?

Friends Stella Risi (South African), Lorna Richardson (English) and I (American) took advantage of our three-day weekend to visit the famed Mount Nemrut—the one with huge carved heads sitting atop its peak.

Me, Lorna, and Stella in Malatya (though how woud you know?)

We arrived mid-day on Friday and checked into our Malatya hotel, a VERY weak 4-stars. Like two. Oh, well. We dropped our gear and headed off to find lunch, which was thankfully a mere block from the hotel. We had Mercimek çorba (lentil soup), çoban salata (chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions), bread, and an entrée (I had köfte, grilled spiced meatballs) for about $5 each. Go figure. Food is MUCH cheaper outside Istanbul, and delicious to boot.

A favorite lunch–mercimek çorba (lentil soup), çoban salata, pide (flat bread)

Next we headed off to explore Malatya, our intent to visit the street bazaar. Within minutes we were adopted by a group of three young men eager to guide us. It took us two kilometers and a few cups of coffee to shake them off, friendly though they were. That was just the beginning. Everywhere we turned, people were chirping, “Hello!”, “Hi!”, and if more fluent, “What is your name?” or “Where are you from?” It was fun, actually. I’d say we chatted with at least six groups of people of all ages, both male and female. Tourists are rare in Malatya, especially in early May. (Stella said it was Lorna’s and my blonde hair—bless her heart. We’re both pretty white-topped, if you ask me.)

Friendly girls welcome us to their town with their limited English (…and Stella)

The highlight of our explorations was the market, where we found scrumptious dried kayısı (apricots—the area’s specialty) and a few blocks where metal workers toiled right in the street. Welders with no eye protection, copper workers pounding on pots almost bigger than themselves, and knife crafters plying their trade. Pounding and banging, drilling and sawing sounds filled the air as we walked the streets, mesmerized with the scene.

Metal workers labor on the streets of Malatya

A copper worker pounds the bottom of a copper pot

Later we discovered a vegetable market, another place filled with a cacophony of sound, and everywhere there were kayısıcı, apricot vendors with every type of apricot you could imagine, including the pits, which are much like small almonds, and nearly as good.

A peek inside the Kayisici apricot seller’s shop. ALL apricots!

Then more tea, more wandering, more chatting, and finally dinner at the Kent Lokantasi (Restaurant), where we’d been treated to tea earlier that afternoon. Delicious, cheap, and FAR too much food. Sigh…
Saturday Lorna slept in while Stella and I headed off to explore near the hotel. We discovered a railway station where learned that the train from Istanbul costs a tenth of what we’d paid for airline tickets—but it takes ten times longer (30 hours). No way!
As we wended our way back through a small residential area near the station, we encountered a woman scrubbing her carpet in the street. I snapped her photo, asking for advice on rug-cleaning. She hoses down the rug, sprinkles laundry detergent on it, and scrubs it with a long-handled brush. Then she rinses it off and hangs it out to dry overnight. Easy, she said. Right. I can just see myself scrubbing my rugs on the Devil Track Road!

THIS is how you clean a Turkish carpet.

She invited us for coffee (I expected Nescafe), produced small stools from her house, and treated us to the most delicious Turkish coffee I’ve ever tasted. As we sat, more and more neighbors joined us, all tickled to chat with the yabanci (foreign) women. Sheer delight. One of the ladies beckoned us over to a shed across the street to show us a litter of newborn kittens.

Stella and I posed with the first neighbors who joined us. The boys spoke a little English.

At noon we departed for our 22-hour tour of Nemrut. Our $60 fee included mini-bus transport (with 5 other delightful tourists, a Turkish family and two young women from Malaysia), a lunch stop, a sunset visit to the top of the mountain, lodging at the Güneş (sunshine) Hotel on the mountain, a second visit to the summit (sunrise this time), and breakfast.

The very basic but charming Güneş Otel. Romantic? Umm…

The concrete “mock rock” decor of the hotel stairway.

We had great fun getting to know each other and sharing the adventure of a frigid hotel experience (no heat), the fascination of the mountain ruins, and the camaraderie of shared wine (brought it up there), soup and bread, chicken shish, and evening games (poker and checkers).
But the amazing thing, of course, was Mount Nemrut. At the top of this 2100-meter mountain sits a collection of statues and fragments dating back to the Kommagene dynasty of 80 B.C. to 72 A.D. Overlooking the Euphrates River (Turkish name: Firat), the ruins on the mountaintop were never a community, but a shrine to the gods and to the ancestors of the dynasty.

Zeus watches over the mountains from the Western Terrace of Mount Nemrut

According to a website about Mount Nemrut, “The well-preserved colossal statues overlooking the court on the east are made of blocks of limestone and measure eight to ten meters in height. The figures are shown in a sitting position. Inscriptions identify the statues on the eastern terrace from left to right in the following order: Antiochos, the goddess Kommagene, Zeus-Oromasdes (the Graeco-Persian sky-god and supreme deity, and also the largest-sized statue), Apollo-Mithras, and Herakles-Artagnes. On either side of the divinities stood a guardian eagle and lion.

A lion guards a platform on the East Terrace

The heads of all the deities have toppled over onto ground in the intervening centuries. Their finely worked facial features are striking examples of the idealized late Hellenistic style. The gods wear Persian headgear.” (Ozduzen, Nezihi. “Mt. Nemrut National Park.” All About Turkey. 6 May 2009 <http://www.adiyamanli.org/mt_nemrut.htm>.)

The headless, seated bodies of Nemrut’s  collosal statues

Unfortunately, the heads have fallen from their seated bodies, but they’ve been set up so that they can be admired. Perhaps these multi-ton heads will once again sit atop their bodies. It was all truly amazing, particularly as we viewed the statues in the slanting rays of the late-day sun.

Heads on the East face of the mountain—Antiocyus Theos and Zeus

Our bonus, too, was a traditional dance performance by a group of children from a nearby village, probably in honor of the May 1st holiday. Lucky us, huh? Of course, I haven’t mentioned that it was incredibly cold up there, well below zero, especially the next morning before the sun came up .WINDY!!!!

Young dancers on the terrace as the lion stands guard

They danced over a half hour in the bitter cold

They were tickled to pose with a yabanci (foreigner).

Although we didn’t get to see it, Mount Nemrut is the site of history’s first known astrological symbol, part of a lion statue which is presently being renovated (in a locked building).

Sunset over Nemrut

After breakfast we returned to Malatya and spent the afternoon exploring Eski Malatya (ancient Malatya) a small city about 11 kilometers away. There we explored the renovation of an old caravansaray and the newly-renovated Ulu Cami (mosque). Both lovely.

The newly-renoated interior of the Ulu Camii, in Eski (Old) Malatya

Peering up into the dome of the mosque

Detail of ceramic decorations in the mosque–tiles nearly 800 years old

Before we knew it, we were thronged by a herd of little boys eager to show us their village. They helped us find a restaurant, then waited outside, watching us eat our lunch of mercimek soup and coban salata—always our favorite lunch.

Rather than fend them off all afternoon, we caught a bus back to Malatya, where we meandered lazily back to our hotel, soaking in the sights and the sunshine, sampling coffee, tea, and sweets along the way.
Each time you eat a dried apricot, it probably comes from Turkey—from the area around Mount Nemrut. Imagine!

Last weekend my friend Dee and I trekked from Sultanahmet up to Eyup, through the most traditional sections of the city. We started our mini-pilgrimage at Eminönü, the ferrystop along the Golden Horn just below Sultanahmet. Once we crossed the Galata bridge, our world shifted. It was like stepping back in time. All of a sudden the tourists were gone and we were among Turks, and more traditional Turks at that. The first things we spotted were three boats moored by the quay, one with triple copper onion-shaped domes. Hmmm…

Fish restaurant boats along the Golden Horn at Eminönü

As we drew closer, we realized they were fish restaurants, with fish-flipping chefs resplendent in traditional Turkish embroidered vests. They filled crusty poor-boy sized loaves with piping hot fish fillets, which they handed off to waiters waiting on the pier.

The fish hand-off

Low tables and stools filled the quay, some under tent roofs, but all with happy Turks enjoying their fresh fish sandwiches. YUM!!!!

The fish restaurant with the boat in the background

Beside these open-air restaurants, vendors worked from quaint food stands selling—what? Something red and lumpy in a clear red juice. Whatever could it be? It looked like a pink parfait of some kind, but on closer scrutiny we realized it was TURŞU—PICKLES!!!! I’m still not sure about the red juice (cherry?), but people were buying and thoroughly enjoying pickled cucumbers, carrots, peppers, and cabbage in something red. Hmmm…

Yup, PICKLES!!!

Sorry that we’d already eaten, Dee and I trekked on to find the bus for Edirnekapı, our first stop. A friendly driver left his bus and walked us to where he thought ours might be, checking with that driver to be sure. Typical Turkish helpfulness. (I love it.) Though we had to stand, we were happy to be on our way. We rode about 15 minutes to Edirnekapı, where we hopped off and waited for a mini-bus to Eyup. Within moments we’d paid our fare (collected in a tray beside the driver) and were on our way. Once again I was standing, but a sweet man took his 11-year-old grandson onto his lap to make room for me. The boy, I think, was bigger than his grandfather. I knew better than to refuse, and took the kindly proffered place. I shared that I’m an English teacher, then asked the very shy boy a few questions, like “Are you happy there is no school Monday?” That brought a smile! (We were given the day off because of Sunday’s elections, which were to be held in the schools. Apparently they needed Monday to count ballots and put things back in order.)

Election banners for the Sunday election hang all over the city.

Before long we were in Eyup. We’d stepped from modern Istanbul into a world of capped and bearded men with women in scarves and veils. So different for us…

Traditionally-garbed Turks enjoy a Saturday promenade by the Eyup fountain.

We snapped photos of the mosque and fountain, then found our way to Eyup’s famous tomb, from which it takes its name. Eyyub al Ensari was a close friend of the prophet Mohammed, and he supposedly lost his life there during the Muslim siege of Istanbul in the 7th century. Wow. His tomb, now known as “Eyup Sultan Türbesi,” is located in the main mosque complex near the Golden Horn.

Traditional Iznik ceramic tiles with the very rare green shades as well as red and blue

Dee and I donned our scarves (you never tour Turkey without one, as it’s required garb in mosques), took off our shoes, and followed the devout into the tomb. Instead of standing with hands together as Christians do, the Muslims pray with cupped hands, palms up, at about chest level. Everyone paid their respects to Eyup, many reading from the Koran along the perimeter of the ornately decorated room, then they backed out of the room, always facing the tomb. All very silent and respectful. And there we were—tourists. Ah,well. Tourists among the pilgrims.

Worshippers at the Eyup Sultan Tomb

A koran vendor on the streets and one of the many lanterns outside the tomb.

Our next stop was the top of the hill above the famed Eyup Cemetery. Thousands of ancient tombs climb the hill to a high point at the end of the Golden Horn.

The men’s tombs often have a fez or turban atop to show their status.

Ancient, tired, leaning tombstones on Eyup’s hillside cemetery.

The famous Pierre Loti café sits atop it all. Tables and tables of tea drinkers relax to enjoy the incredible view of the city from one of its highest points. On a clear day you can see all the way to the Blue Mosque and the Haghia Sophia. It wasn’t that clear on Saturday, but it was gorgeous nonetheless. In case you didn’t know, Pierre Loti was a French writer who fell in love with Istanbul and often wrote sitting at an outdoor café on this very spot.

The Pierre Loti cafe kitchen

The Golden Horn view from our table

Oh, dear—I’m writing too much again. Sigh… It’s hard to stop, you know. Well, welcome to the traditional side of Istanbul, high above the Golden Horn at Eyup’s Pierre Loti Café.

Lovely. Incredible Istanbul.

The Bulgarian Iron Church—a Christian steeple along the Golden Horn

I arrived on Red Nose Day, a huge charity fund-raising day in England. Everywhere you turned, someone was sporting a clown nose. I even spotted a few on Saturday—the day after. This year Red Nose antics raised a total of nearly 58 million pounds—about 82 million dollars. Now THAT’S IMPRESSIVE!!!!

A few red noses on Saturday

Friday night three friends and I met in at the Victoria Theater for Billy Elliot, a truly powerful musical. Set with the backdrop of Britain’s year-long miner’s union strike of 1984, young Billy Elliot traded his boxing lessons for ballet class. His father, already stressed by the strike, nearly blew a gasket when he found out. Elton John’s music evokes feelings from elation to angst to anguish as the story progresses. I doubt there was a dry eye among us as we stepped outside after the show, still shaking our heads in wonder at this gifted young dancer (about 11 years old) and the rest of Billy Elliot’s amazing cast. A GREAT start for my theater weekend.

http://www.workingtitlefilms.com/featurePhoto.php?featureID=18

Saturday my friend Larry and I wandered Covent Garden most of the day— loverly. (It IS where Liza Doolittle sold flowers in My Fair Lady.) Unlike the bevy of flower and vegetable vendors it once was, Covent Garden is now a tourist spot. It still features an open market, but vendors now offer clothing, jewelry, and gift-type items. Pretty intriguing ones, at that. There are also shops, cafes, and restaurants to suit any taste
My favorite thing about Covent Garden, though, is the buskers. Musicians, jugglers, mimes, and you-name-it draw crowds of onlookers to every cobbled street and lane.

I’m not sure who’s the better actor!

one of many buskers—the man in the red derby

a knife juggler in a green beret—on an 8-foot tall unicycle!

A Chinese man plays the Sheng, a precursor to the pipe organ and the bagpipes.

We watched string quintets (very talented) who performed stunning acrobatics as they played without ever missing a note. A brilliant tenor entertained his extensive audience by removing a woman’s boots and donning them himself as he sang an aria from Carmen. Then he wrapped another woman’s scarf around his neck. Go figure! He was sheer delight, and the women he “stole” from were both charmed and charming with him.

a multi-talented chamber quartet performs acrobatics

a music aficionado among the masses

the tenorial robber

The tenor sings his final notes—a virtuoso!

After a pub lunch, Deidre, Larry and I trekked to the Noel Coward Theater, where we had box seats for Avenue Q, an x-rated version of Sesame Street. It’s about Princeton, a recent university graduate with no money who is trying to “find” himself. I blushed for the few children in the audience, as the music was more than risqué. In fact, the songs were hilarious. Just imagine puppets and their actor counterparts singing “It Sucks To Be Me,”  “Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist,” and “The Internet Is For Porn”, a spirited dispute between the sweet little monster named Kate and the more earthy internet-surfing Trekky Monster. Need I say more? If you have a chance (and you’re not a prude), be sure to add this play to your list.

You can tell  it’s not a children’s production…

<http://nationaltheatre.org/mainstage/avenueq.htm>

We wanted to catch dinner afterward, but as you may know, England isn’t renowned for its cuisine. Pub lunches are usually good, while the best evening option is ethnic food. We went to an Indian restaurant, the Govinda, where we had a delectably spicy vegetarian meal—cheap (at least for London). The  Govinda is a Hari Krishna restaurant, replete with interesting characters. Later that evening we encountered them again on their evening processions, singing and dancing their way through the streets of Soho.

Truly London—the signpost and the phone booth

I was so, so impressed with this solar-powered parking meter.

…and in Hyde Park, “a host of golden daffodils.” (Thanks, W.W.)

Sunday morning I was on my own, so I walked Hyde Park in the early morning sunsine. It was great to just walk, walk, walk. The daffodils were “nodding and dancing in the breeze” while the Bobbies were cruised the walkways, ever on the alert. After a long walk to Victoria Station, I found it hard to hop on the bus for the airport. Oh, well. All good things must end, eh? I seriously think I’ll plan one more trek to London. Want to join me?

When I walk the streets of Istanbul, there are always women in scarves. In more traditional communities it’s a majority, while in more modern, upscale communities, it’s less common. Older women are generally scarved, and younger women less often.

A lovely Muslim “Princess”

On rare occasions I’ll see two women, arm in arm, one scarved and one with tresses flowing free. It makes no difference to their friendship, though I find it a startling contrast.

Ceramic artists in Iznik, Turkey

I’ve tried to accept this part of Islamic culture, and I’ve come close, though I still struggle with the unfairness of women being covered when men aren’t.

A book entitled Nine Parts of Desire: The Hidden World of Islamic Women, by Geraldine Brooks, enlightened me somewhat on the topic. Apparently the theory (Islamic) is that women are incredibly sensuous beings; Allah granted them 9 parts of desire, giving men only one. Therefore, women have to cover themselves in order to keep the world from descending into chaos (of a sensual nature).

Since the establishment of the Turkish Republic in 1923, it has been unlawful for women to wear scarves in public buildings, including schools. Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, Turkey’s revered founder, was adamant that Turkey be a secular state even though its predominant religion was Islam. That is still true in this country, which is 99% Muslim. Turks take great pride in their secular government, a model of democracy in an Islamic world.

Sweethearts in Antalya, Turkey

Before I moved to Turkey I read Orhan Pamuk’s book, Snow, a fictional response to the issue of scarves and education. In this novel, a journalist travels to Kars (“snow” in Turkish), a city in Eastern Turkey, to investigate the story of girls whose religious convictions to wear scarves has driven them to suicide because of being denied access to education. Pamuk’s approach is a critical one, though illuminating in its understanding of the issues faced by these young women. It opened my eyes to the passion many of these girls feel about covering their heads.

Scarved women of all ages in Göreme, Cappadocia, Turkey

Well, the deed is done, as you probably know. Amid great turmoil, Turkey has passed legislation allowing women to wear scarves in universities, as long as their faces aren’t covered. There are two sides to this issue, and both make sense.

Proponents of the ruling insist that it’s a move toward freedom for all and access to education for women, not a step towards an Islamic state. That works for me. In America many girls attend school scarved. (Of course, America isn’t a neighbor to a country that requires head-covering.)

Opponents feel that this is just one of many moves toward breaking down Turkey’s secular government, that it’s like a “test case” to amending the constitution away from secularism. They also view the headscarf as a symbol of political Islam. So who’s right?

A young kilim-weaver in Cappadocia

I discussed this issue with a few university women, and they find it upsetting. They see both sides, yet feel threatened by the acceptance of scarves in their educational environment. “I worry that the pressure will be on me to take the scarf, or maybe on my daughter. We have a name for that social pressure in Turkey; it’s a lot like peer pressure, and it’s strong in our culture. I don’t want my country to go that way, but what can I do to prevent it?” one of them said.

A teacher friend shared that she’s unhappy with the ruling as well, although only a few of her university students appeared in scarves this week. She’s a liberal-minded woman, like many educators, and she feels the classroom isn’t the place for religious posturing. She commented, “This issue takes attention away from our country’s real problems: a shaky economy, lack of education, and ‘ugly’ world policies.” She’s not alone in this view. Many people have expressed a concern that much broader issues plague Turkey, and this issue has just been a governmental smokescreen to avoid tackling them.

Worshippers in the traditional community of Eyüp

Though many people feel that the wearing of scarves is on the rise, a survey of women across Turkey in 2006 showed a decline in scarf wearing. In 1999, 73% of Turkish women wore a headscarf, while in 2006 the percentage had declined to 63%.* It is true, though, that many families choose to keep their daughters out of school once they reach puberty. Turkey has sponsored many programs to promote the continued education of girls, with limited success.

I’m sure the CHP (secularist party) will bring this decision to an appeals court on the grounds that it’s unconstitutional, and no one knows where that will go. The Turkish military, which is charged with the responsibility of upholding the constitution and the secular state, doesn’t look kindly on this action either. It remains to be seen, though, whether they will intervene. It looks for now like things are settling.

Two generations of scarf fashion in Cappadocia

In the Best of All Possible Worlds, this would be a positive step. The problem, though, is mistrust and unspoken agendas. Time will tell, I guess. Until then, women will be free to wear scarves in Turkey’s universities.

*The survey was conducted by the Turkish Economic and Social Studies Foundation (TESEV)

I’ve had a great time here, filled with incredible experiences. I’ve toured countless mosques, learned to speak some Turkish, met some fascinating people, visited places along the three seas surrounding Turkey (and beyond), as well as having opened my eyes and heart to this culture. Lucky me.

Many of my Turkish friends have commented that these weekly missives have opened their eyes as well. They’ve revisited Turkey through the eyes of a yabanci (foreigner). They’ve been forced to scrutinize their world a bit more carefully, and also to notice the precious details they take for granted: the call to prayer, the sparkling Bosporus, the sun setting over distant hills, the occasional Christian church, the bustle of a street market, even a beggar along Istaklal.

I’ve had an opportunity to view America through different eyes as well. I’ve listened to student presentations about media’s negative influence in their lives and others about the exploitation of third world workers by U.S. corporations. I’ve heard countless diatribes (from both students and adults) against the War in Iraq. I visited an antiwar rally/tent in Kadikoy. I’ve been asked repeatedly, “What do you think of Bush?” and been treated warmly when I responded “Not much.” I’ve worried about the impression America has made on the rest of the world, and it isn’t pretty. I’m afraid the days of Americans basking in admiration may be behind us.

Just this week I listened to a public radio podcast, “Death to America.” It’s part of a program called The Changing World, and in the May 30th program (available online at pri.org), host Michael Goldfarb deals specifically with Turkey. His presentation is a bit unsettling, albeit true. America is not greatly loved on this side of the Atlantic (an understatement).

According to a survey by the Pew Memorial Trust, in 2000 over half of the people in Turkey reported a favorable view of America. A recent poll shows that figure has fallen to 12%. It’s not only Turkey; only 37% of Germans report a positive view of America, and 23% of Spaniards. In fact, only two of the countries surveyed had over 60% of their population reporting a positive regard for America: Japan and Nigeria. Very disturbing.

This disenchantment is not only about the war; it’s also about broken promises, hidden agendas, and exploitation. People have lost faith that America is an honest nation that acts according to honest values. Hmmm…

There’s a strong contingent of fundamentalist Muslims who hate America and would love to see it destroyed. That was made more than clear in the podcast. A Turkish journalist said, “No one in the Middle East, including Turkey, believes America has good intentions.” The faith in American values has been replaced by skepticism, fear, and hatred. Turkish students no longer clamor to attend American colleges; many feel unwelcome, and even fearful. What a sad commentary.

One of my readers back home sent me a very disturbing e-mail expressing the exact reverse view: he feels that Islam is the scourge of the world and wants to see the Muslim world destroyed. It’s painful to see this fundamentalist hatred on either side. Many people perceive recent global conflicts as a religious war between the Christian and Islamic worlds. Others perceive recent American actions as imperialism. This extremism is disturbing, though I’ve seen little of it personally.

I have to admit, in spite of anti-American sentiments over here, my experience  has been positive. I feel safer here than I do at home. People have been both warm and friendly, probably because as people we deal with each other as individuals, not as representatives of a country or a faith. It’s not me that the Turks dislike, it’s my government, its war, and its aggressive capitalism. I get that. They don’t hold it against me, though they often ask me why it’s happened. I wish I could explain, but I can’t.

What I do know is that everyone—all across the globe—needs to work on humility, tolerance, and benevolence. Isn’t that what both Christ and Muhammed  taught us? Somehow those crucial lessons have been lost in the shuffle—in the struggle.

It will take years for America to rebuild the trust that other countries once had in us. I hope it’s not too late.