Earthquakes and Aftermaths
In the early morning hours of February 6, 2023, major magnitude earthquakes registering 7.8 and 7.5 struck with devastating force in a geologically and politically unstable region of southern Turkey and northwest Syria. A week later, the death toll had climbed to more than 33,000 people, with tens of thousands reported injured. Apartment buildings, some newly constructed, pancaked leaving piles of broken concrete and a patina of gray dust everywhere.
In Turkey over the following week, local and international rescue teams searched affected neighborhoods as anxious family members and friends waited in freezing temperatures hoping another survivor would to be pulled alive from the rubble. Across the border in rebel-held areas of northwest Syria, relief efforts were complicated by a brutal civil war that has now gone on for almost a decade. International relief efforts were hindered from gaining access to the area where some 4 million people, many refugees displaced by the war were already relying on humanitarian aid.
We have been reminded of the seismic nature of this unstable region of the world where three major tectonic plates just collided and the earth quaked in the dead of winter, upending lives and laying waste to buildings that were constructed in shoddy fashion. Over 100 contractors have been arrested following the collapse of recently constructed buildings that experts say should have been able to withstand earthquakes of this magnitude.
It is difficult to imagine the scale of the devastation where entire neighborhoods have been suddenly erased. Families eliminated. Children in hospitals are now homeless— in some cases without names or addresses to identify where they were rescued. Watching the tragic aftermath of the disaster, I am staggered by the grey canvas left behind. And then suddenly, a splash of color appears. The bright yellow helmets that identify the rescue teams. A dust covered, pink-cheeked newborn whose mother sadly did not survive is given the name Aya “Miracle” by a nation in shock amidst this unfolding human tragedy. Women draped in bright floral headscarves wait around makeshift fires. They remain to wrap those who did not survive in sheets of cotton quilting bound with colorful strips of fabric for a lost loved-one’s burial.
Half a world away, I am transported by the images of colorful scarves to Istanbul in late January 2014. It was a window of time just before Turkey’s world began to change, before Russia invaded Crimea, and just as the present civil war in northern Syria got underway. It was a time when Turkey enjoyed a period of stability politically that still inspired hope.
I had traveled there with my friend Chomsri. In unseasonably warm winter temperatures, we moved about without fear in this historically rich world. Its deep religious roots reach back across empires that are reflected in the palimpsest of the streets we walked on. Our explorations of Istanbul were magical, taking us into dazzling mosques, ancient souks (markets), spice shops, stalls filled with handwoven fabrics and rugs hawked by men with henna red dyed beards who remarked on my ginger-colored hair as I passed by.
Relics from Istanbul’s past were visible throughout the city once known as Constantinople. A near perfect section of a 4th century Roman aqueduct stands firm against a busy transportation hub of trolley and train cars. The neighborhood where wooden framed houses along old Stamboul’s cobble streets has now been replaced by modern buildings. And yet as Turkey’s Nobel Laureate Orham Pamuk wrote during our visit: “Peel away Istanbul’s tourist-friendly façade and there are signs of tension in hard-core Sunni neighborhoods where a madrassa (Islamic school) reveals the complex nature of modern Turkey.”
(Turkish Nobel Laureate Orhan Pamuk)
Not long after our return home, “The Financial Page” in the New Yorker (2/10/14) pointed out that then Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan was embroiled in a cronyism scandal linked to massive construction projects in Istanbul. Looking back now, one can only wonder, did his cronyism extend to construction projects in southern Turkey where the worst earthquake in a century has just occurred? There are rumblings that earthquake tax monies collected to help fund disaster relief are nowhere to be found. Now as new elections near, President Erdogan who has been in office since 2014 faces unrest from his increasingly autocratic policies, the fallout of the catastrophic earthquake and the enormous challenge of a vast humanitarian crisis.
In mid-February, it is still cold here in the Nevada foothills where I cannot get this disaster off my mind. This week, I dug into my collection of brightly colored Turkish scarves, cashmere pashminas, and Kurdish dowry shawls. Each day I wrap one around my neck and shoulders for warmth, just as women are doing in Turkish cities and Syrian refugee camps. The scarves’ vibrant patterns colored by vegetable dyes warm the body and spirit.
Among my memories of historic Istanbul in 2014 is one at Topkaki Palace where I came upon a calico cat sunning itself under a tree. Five days after last week’s earthquake, a little boy whose legs had been broken by the family’s collapsed apartment was transported to a hospital along with his parents. All he wanted was to be reunited with his cat and his teachers. And across town amidst the rubble, a rescuer is heard saying, “What color (clothes) do you have on? Are you wearing something pink? Please be on the lookout for me right now. I can’t see anything else.”