The nation is in distress.
The sultan is making life changing decisions for a huge country with the blink of an eye, seeking out his own, personal benefits.
On the other hand, over at the West, the great, powerful nations of that time swarm upon "the sick man", trying to rip out and gorge down as much of it as possible.
The so-called "peace" conferences give no results, well, none helping the war-bound collapsing nation.
And the day the city over two continents, the city long lusted after by great commanders, gets invaded, a young Turkish man arrives there, late afternoon, on a small boat, from a mission in Syria, looks at the besieged city and says, "they will leave as they have came".
And then and there, the first steps towards the resurrection of a nation began, with one man on the lead.
He went to different cities of the nation and issued notices, set up conferences allying the forces from all around the nation, and, after great trouble; being removed from duty, being sentenced to death by the sultan, with many of his friends, Istanbul's invasion (yes, again), the newly re-established "parliament" "working with" the sultan being destroyed and its members being banished, he manages to open a brand new parliament, one that does not obey the laws of caliphate and religion, or is bound to a sultan, in Ankara.
23rd of April, 1920.
A handful of members, on a sunny Friday, first go to the mosque to prove the Istanbul government wrong in saying "they follow no religion", then to the new parliament building, and with the inspiring speech of the oldest delegate in the house, the parliament is in action. Shortly after, this "man", this young Turk who rallied the public and managed to almost force a nation to be reborn from its ashes, is chosen as the head of the parliament, thus the head of the new government system, unanimously. A new system, a new hope, a new country.
This man is Mustafa Kemal Atatürk.
And yesterday, in Turkey, we celebrated this day, at least we tried to, a day which Mustafa Kemal has awarded the children of Turkey with, and we will continue to celebrate it no matter what.
Yes, maybe there were no grand ceremonies at Olympic stadiums, as there were until two years ago. Yes, maybe the new government is doing everything at its power to stop us from celebrating days like this and forget what we celebrate and under which ideals. Yes, maybe this national holiday is now regarded as a chance for a quick escape to the seaside, joining the weekend, say, a five-day holiday. Yes, maybe, even in our school, we celebrated the 23rd of April on the 22nd, so that we won't "have to" go to school on the 23rd.
Nevertheless, we, at least those of us who remain true to their ideals and loyal to their nation, the youth of our nation, will continue to carry on the legacy of Mustafa Kemal and everyone who worked hard with him, and never, ever stop celebrating. And we will neither the forget 23rd of April, 19th of May, nor the great man and his ideals. We will not forget.
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Faith ...or Belief?
Location: Small town outside Lisbon, Portugal
Time: July 2013
"And there under the roof, was the place where "Our Lady of Fatima" appeared to Lucia, Jacinta and Francisco, the children of the house. Now if you will go there, pray, burn a candle, and have faith, Our Lady will listen to you. Don't forget, this place is very, very special," says the tour guide getting of the air conditioned bus with an "Our Lady of Fatima" super-souvenir-store ticket which offers a gift of a glowing little statue for every 15 euros you spend there in her hand, walking towards, along with many people, the grand church standing at the end and the highest point of a vast, concrete area.
[caption id="attachment_438" align="alignright" width="300"]
"Sanctuary of our Lady of Fatima"-Where the first sighting took place. Millions of Christians flock here every year.[/caption]
This is Fatima, the "Sanctuary of Our Lady of Fatima", to be more precise, where, supposedly, Virgin Mary appeared to three little children for the first time in 1917 and first told the children to build a small chapel for her. Later came the "secrets", directed mainly at Lucia, the youngest of the three; "Our Lady of Fatima" told Lucia in one of her apparitions that World War I, which was going on at the time, would end in a year if Lucia, her brother and her cousin prayed to her. And, in fact, World War I ended in 1918, a year after these apparitions began.
Later in her life, after another "secret" from Our Lady of Fatima, stating that Lucia would be the only one to live through her teenage years, was "proven" to be true, Lucia had a dream. In this dream, a bishop dressed in white was tumbling across the market place, and seemed to be in distress; and when there was an assassination attempt at the Pope, also known as the Bishop of Rome, a few days later and he survived a gun shot wound "which should have killed him", as his doctors put it, he stated that he "became a believer" - along with many, many other people.
Now what stands where Lucia supposedly saw Our Lady of Fatima for the first time, is a poly-carbon room, with a statue inside so deeply embedded behind the bullet-proof glass and the stone walls, risers, and all sorts of assortments, that it is barely visible. And also some three million people who migrate there every year who believe.
These people believe in the power of their prayers, and they do not only believe, but they have faith in it. They may believe the story of "Our Lady of Fatima", but they have faith in her when they buy candles in shapes of various body parts which they or someone close to them needs to survive, they have faith in her when they close their eyes tight with tears welling up around the corners and ask for forgiveness, they have faith in her when they travel thousands of miles and walk 100 meters on their knees to the church.
Faith is a subset of belief. Faith entitles power and hope. Belief entitles a set of mind.
Lucia had faith in "Our Lady of Fatima" when she sat on her knees in front of her bed before going to sleep and praying that the bombs and the crackling radio broadcasts her parents always listened to nowadays and the death all around and the men disappearing from around her to stop. But whether WWI ended because Lucia believed "Our Lady of Fatima", took her word for it, or because the nations were far past emaciated, is up for discussion.
And the main difference between belief and faith is that belief doesn't require the participation of the single most important bundle of muscle in our body pumping red hot liquid through our veins and into our souls; the heart.
Time: July 2013
"And there under the roof, was the place where "Our Lady of Fatima" appeared to Lucia, Jacinta and Francisco, the children of the house. Now if you will go there, pray, burn a candle, and have faith, Our Lady will listen to you. Don't forget, this place is very, very special," says the tour guide getting of the air conditioned bus with an "Our Lady of Fatima" super-souvenir-store ticket which offers a gift of a glowing little statue for every 15 euros you spend there in her hand, walking towards, along with many people, the grand church standing at the end and the highest point of a vast, concrete area.
[caption id="attachment_438" align="alignright" width="300"]
"Sanctuary of our Lady of Fatima"-Where the first sighting took place. Millions of Christians flock here every year.[/caption]This is Fatima, the "Sanctuary of Our Lady of Fatima", to be more precise, where, supposedly, Virgin Mary appeared to three little children for the first time in 1917 and first told the children to build a small chapel for her. Later came the "secrets", directed mainly at Lucia, the youngest of the three; "Our Lady of Fatima" told Lucia in one of her apparitions that World War I, which was going on at the time, would end in a year if Lucia, her brother and her cousin prayed to her. And, in fact, World War I ended in 1918, a year after these apparitions began.
Later in her life, after another "secret" from Our Lady of Fatima, stating that Lucia would be the only one to live through her teenage years, was "proven" to be true, Lucia had a dream. In this dream, a bishop dressed in white was tumbling across the market place, and seemed to be in distress; and when there was an assassination attempt at the Pope, also known as the Bishop of Rome, a few days later and he survived a gun shot wound "which should have killed him", as his doctors put it, he stated that he "became a believer" - along with many, many other people.
Now what stands where Lucia supposedly saw Our Lady of Fatima for the first time, is a poly-carbon room, with a statue inside so deeply embedded behind the bullet-proof glass and the stone walls, risers, and all sorts of assortments, that it is barely visible. And also some three million people who migrate there every year who believe.
These people believe in the power of their prayers, and they do not only believe, but they have faith in it. They may believe the story of "Our Lady of Fatima", but they have faith in her when they buy candles in shapes of various body parts which they or someone close to them needs to survive, they have faith in her when they close their eyes tight with tears welling up around the corners and ask for forgiveness, they have faith in her when they travel thousands of miles and walk 100 meters on their knees to the church.
Faith is a subset of belief. Faith entitles power and hope. Belief entitles a set of mind.
Lucia had faith in "Our Lady of Fatima" when she sat on her knees in front of her bed before going to sleep and praying that the bombs and the crackling radio broadcasts her parents always listened to nowadays and the death all around and the men disappearing from around her to stop. But whether WWI ended because Lucia believed "Our Lady of Fatima", took her word for it, or because the nations were far past emaciated, is up for discussion.
And the main difference between belief and faith is that belief doesn't require the participation of the single most important bundle of muscle in our body pumping red hot liquid through our veins and into our souls; the heart.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Drunk From the Wine of Power
When we say kings, queens and monarchy, we immediately think of sword fights, public executions, men in tights with music playing in the background with parallel fifths and fourths, a fat, arrogant man sitting on a throne surrounded by gold looted from conquered cities. We think that those days of kings and queens are in the past.
However, they have never been so close to us.
Once one of the most powerful nations now drowning in its own economic slump powered by unnecessary inflation, the U.K., in fact, has a queen as their leader.
Today was Queen's Day (actually to be King's Day from now on because the current queen has left the throne for his son), a special day in the Netherlands to celebrate the birthday of their queen and the previous queens.
So, opposing contrary belief and our conditioning, kings and queens do play an important role in our society.
And you could argue about what's wrong with that. The glitch in this system is that nobody wants to give up their supreme and unquestioned power; moreover, everyone wants to obtain that power. Because when you're the king or the queen of a nation, you are at the top, you don't take orders from anyone; only mere suggestions posed at "your grace", and, well, if you don't like their suggestions, Off with their heads! OK, maybe not necessarily decapitation in 2013, but you get the gist.
The honorable and right thing to do is to give up the throne when you've had enough time under the limelight and enough glory to carry on with you, to pass on the throne to your descendants to let them rule the country for a while, not to cling on to it until you can barely walk and until your son gets to the age you should have left the throne at.
But again, being drunk from the wine of power is irresistible, and the wine is just too, too sweet to give up.
However, they have never been so close to us.
Once one of the most powerful nations now drowning in its own economic slump powered by unnecessary inflation, the U.K., in fact, has a queen as their leader.
Today was Queen's Day (actually to be King's Day from now on because the current queen has left the throne for his son), a special day in the Netherlands to celebrate the birthday of their queen and the previous queens.
So, opposing contrary belief and our conditioning, kings and queens do play an important role in our society.
And you could argue about what's wrong with that. The glitch in this system is that nobody wants to give up their supreme and unquestioned power; moreover, everyone wants to obtain that power. Because when you're the king or the queen of a nation, you are at the top, you don't take orders from anyone; only mere suggestions posed at "your grace", and, well, if you don't like their suggestions, Off with their heads! OK, maybe not necessarily decapitation in 2013, but you get the gist.
The honorable and right thing to do is to give up the throne when you've had enough time under the limelight and enough glory to carry on with you, to pass on the throne to your descendants to let them rule the country for a while, not to cling on to it until you can barely walk and until your son gets to the age you should have left the throne at.
But again, being drunk from the wine of power is irresistible, and the wine is just too, too sweet to give up.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
The Quiet Prodigy
He was born in a small village in Warsaw, in 1810.
He was the second child and the only son of Justyna and Nicholas.
His first piano teacher was his big sister, and he gave his first concert at the age of seven.
He traveled to Paris, hoping he would stumble upon more opportunities as an aspiring musician, with a handful of his native soil in his pocket, in 1830.
But he was gone for good, because the rebellious Poland army was pulverized by the large and powerful Russian army, just a couple of weeks after his departure from Poland. Coming back home, returning to his homeland was, henceforth, not possible.
His lover broke up with him by writing a novel in which the female character (symbolizing herself) left the male character (our musician) for someone else, and sending our musician the novel.
He gave little less than 30 concerts in his short-spanned life. He was not a big-hit back then, as he "failed to fill the concert hall"; he was too quiet.
Compared to Liszt's and Berlioz's mighty compositions spilling over with fortissimo's and hammered chords, he was simply too soft for the audience in Paris.
His life was ended prematurely by a demanding disease, most probably tuberculosis.
He was the second child and the only son of Justyna and Nicholas.
His first piano teacher was his big sister, and he gave his first concert at the age of seven.
He traveled to Paris, hoping he would stumble upon more opportunities as an aspiring musician, with a handful of his native soil in his pocket, in 1830.
But he was gone for good, because the rebellious Poland army was pulverized by the large and powerful Russian army, just a couple of weeks after his departure from Poland. Coming back home, returning to his homeland was, henceforth, not possible.
His lover broke up with him by writing a novel in which the female character (symbolizing herself) left the male character (our musician) for someone else, and sending our musician the novel.
He gave little less than 30 concerts in his short-spanned life. He was not a big-hit back then, as he "failed to fill the concert hall"; he was too quiet.
Compared to Liszt's and Berlioz's mighty compositions spilling over with fortissimo's and hammered chords, he was simply too soft for the audience in Paris.
His life was ended prematurely by a demanding disease, most probably tuberculosis.
This man is Frederic Chopin.
Most of his works are for the solo piano, and he is my all-time favorite composer.
Why, you ask?
It's because of the feelings inside his pieces, locked in tightly by the staves and the written, simple notes, waiting to be released by an understanding and passionate pianist.
Every single time I play his Nocturne No. 20 in C-Sharp major, I find something different in it, another feeling, another thought.
And every time I listen to this incredible piece of work, it takes me to a different place, stirs up different memories, different emotions.
His piece called Adieu, a waltz in A-Flat Major for the piano, conveys the emotions of farewells and goodbyes and departures better than any painting I've seen or any novel I've read. It is hard to keep your eyes from brimming with tears, to stay standing behind the sand bar the waves of memory build up in your mind. It is hard not to feel, it is hard not to live the music.
Frederic Chopin, the quiet, emotional, master of the Romantic Era, quite different from his fellow composer friends, manages to prove everyone who thinks that music can only express so much wrong. Now, if you will listen to his waltz L'Adieu, you will understand what I mean. The silent prodigy makes up for the lack of volume in his pieces with overflowing feeling and just simple, plain, beauty.
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