SWAYING like a football crowd, Efes lager bottles held aloft, the raucous chant echoes from one side of Taksim
Square to the other.
“We are the children of the drunk,” they bellow, fleetingly drowning out the throbbing reggae beat in the dusty heart of
Istanbul.
Students Ozlem Inci and Sinem Toreli — resembling a couple of Cheryl Coles with their long hair and skimpy clothing
point to the statue of their beloved “drunk”.
Swathed in red banners, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk’s likeness has been a focal point for some 100,000 demonstrators
here in Istanbul for much of the last week.
Ataturk, Father of the Turks, forged modern Turkey from the ashes of the Ottoman Empire after the First World War.
A moderniser, he looked west across the Bosphorus for a European-style society.
Founding the Republic of Turkey in 1923, he ushered in secularism — a clear separation of Mosque and state.
Fond of the aniseed-flavoured tipple raki, Ataturk — who died in 1938 aged 57 from cirrhosis of the liver — also lifted a
ban on alcohol.
He replaced Arabic with a Latin-based, western alphabet and gave women the vote and equality in inheritance and
divorce.
Headscarves were banned for those working in public jobs.
Wearing a trendy white vest top in the warm sunshine, Taksim protester Ozlem, 21, says: “Ataturk is our national hero.
“The Government is trying to take away the freedoms that Ataturk gave us.”
The target of the political unrest is Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan, whose AKP party is rooted in political Islam.
He recently ushered in stricter alcohol legislation, declaring the original law had been made by “a pair of drunks”. Many
believe he was referring to Ataturk and his successor Ismet Inonu.
Mr Erdogan justified the move, saying: “Whoever drinks alcohol is an alcoholic.”
Protests which began as a campaign against planned building work on a leafy park in a corner of Taksim on May 28
have mushroomed into turmoil across Turkey.
Brutal riot cops violently broke up the Gezi Park eco-camp, with Mr Erdogan dismissing the protesters as “extremists”
and “vandals”.
It was here that academic Ceyda Sungur, “the woman in red” became the symbol of resistance after she was
photographed having pepper spray fired directly into her face from just a few feet away.
Elected three times and Turkey’s most popular politician, Mr Erdogan’s authoritarian manner, however, has left many
disgusted. Thousands have come to Taksim in the historic heart of this teeming city of almost 14million people
straddling Europe and Asia.
Police, backed by armoured vehicles and helicopters, have clashed with groups of protesters night after night, leaving
three dead and 4,000 injured.
Yet at times Taksim has been more like Glastonbury than revolutionary Tripoli.
Summoned on Twitter, execs in business suits have mingled with eager trade unionists and lager-swilling students.
Even avowed hooligan foes from Istanbul footballing giants Besiktas, Galatasaray and Fenerbahce have linked arms
and sung together.
They’re all united against what they say are Erdogan’s conservative Islamic reforms.
“We’re here for freedom,” Arda Takmaz, 28, says. “I don’t want women to have to cover up. I want to be able to hold my
girlfriend’s hand on the street without disapproval. I want to drink alcohol when I want to. The Prime Minister doesn’t like
me and my kind. He only likes strict Islamic people.”
Bob Marley’s Get Up Stand Up blares from giant, vibrating speakers accompanied by jaunty Turkish pipe music.
A neighbouring tower block is draped with a red banner bearing the image of Russian revolutionary leader Vladimir
Lenin.
The pungent whiff of marijuana drifts past as a group of straggly haired youngsters pass a joint.
Kebabs sizzle in plumes of white smoke and water melon sellers are besieged by hungry protesters.
Yet, ominously, hawkers selling gas masks and protective goggles are doing brisk business too.
The smell of cooking kebabs has often been mixed with the pungent stench of tear gas this past week.
Ozge Balkan, 38, came to Taksim with a first aid kit in her back pack. “I was gassed myself,” she says. “It was awful, very
frightening.
“I’m not a political woman but I don’t want radical Islam in my country. Erdogan is trying to change things step by step.”
Many on the barricades of torn-up paving stones and street signs are women worried about the official promotion of the
Islamic headscarf and concerned about women’s rights.
Erdogan’s term ends next year. but he has announced plans to transform the country’s political system from a prime
ministerial one to a more powerful, presidential system, with himself as head of state.
Students Eda Yilmaz and Melissa Baynak, both 21, have been at the Taksim protests every night.
“We should have been protesting like this a long time ago,” Eda says. “Mr Erdogan is using Islam for his own benefit.
He is too authoritarian.” Taksim’s night sky glows with the multi-coloured flares of Istanbul’s rival football clans, who
have finally found common cause.
Besiktas fan Cansia Cinar, 34, reveals: “You don’t know what it means for us rival fans to be together. Normally there
would be fighting. My friends have been kicked and beaten by the cops. They are trying to scare us and suppress us.
“What the people need to do is form a new opposition party and fight his party at the elections.”
This is no Arab Spring. Turkey is no Libya, Syria or Egypt, attempting to remove despotic rule.
Mr Erdogan garners huge swathes of support in Turkey’s conservative heartlands.
His supporters point out the country has one of the fastest economic growth rates in Europe.
In the early hours of yesterday morning, Mr Erdogan was greeted by more than 10,000 cheering supporters outside an
Istanbul airport after returning from a trip to North Africa.
In a show of strength, he addressed the crowd from an open-top bus.
He called on his ruling party faithful to show restraint and to distance themselves from “dirty games” and “lawless
protests”.
The strongman PM now faces the challenge of calming the protests — which have damaged Turkey’s international
reputation — without losing face.
Taksim throbs to an ear-splitting cacophony of drums and whistles.
The children of Ataturk aim chants of “have you heard us?” at their Prime Minister.
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