Islam in Turkey

Despite the Turkish government’s secular credo, Turkey is an Islamic country; the CIA World Factbook states that 99.8% of the country practices Islam (at least nominally.) This dominance differs from the two other countries where I have spent the most time: America (78% Christian) and India (81% Hindu). Given the Western perception that Islamic religiosity in the 21st century is of a different–some would say more extreme–vein than any other major religion, I wasn’t sure what to expect in Gaziantep. Would this year offer a profound shift in the role of religion in daily life? Would I see Islam in Turkey and Christianity in America as two sides of the same coin? Or would I encounter a totally unexpected perspective?

Ankara’s largest mosque, Kocatepe Mosque, at night.

I’m particularly drawn to these questions now because of a debate currently taking place in the American blogosphere. On an episode of Bill Maher’s show, Real Time, a few Fridays ago, Maher, Sam Harris, Ben Affleck, and Nicholas Kristof got into an argument about Islam (note: all four men identify as liberals.) Maher and Harris, both atheists, posited that Islam is a particularly dangerous and repressive religion in today’s world and that individuals should not be labeled “Islamophobic” or “racist” simply for criticizing illiberal religious practices. They cited Pew polls showing widespread support in many Muslim-majority countries for limiting women’s rights, banning homosexuality and alcohol, and, in a few countries, killing apostates; American and European Muslims are very different than their counterparts around the world, they said. In response, Affleck and Kristof argued that jihadist groups don’t represent the vast majority of Muslims and, moreover, that the American military’s destruction of Muslim countries as well as inherently conservative societies explain any illiberal Islamic outcomes more than the religious doctrine itself. Reza Aslan further defended Affleck and Kristof in an interview with New York magazine, stating that:

People don’t derive their values from their religion — they bring their values to their religion. Which is why religions like Judaism, Hinduism, Christianity, [and] Islam, are experienced in such profound, wide diversity. Two individuals can look at the exact same text and come away with radically different interpretations. Those interpretations have nothing to do with the text, which is, after all, just words on a page, and everything to do with the cultural, nationalistic, ethnic, political prejudices and preconceived notions that the individual brings to the text.

Others, such as Andrew Sullivan, have pushed back against Aslan’s separation of values and religion; “To argue that majority beliefs have nothing to do with Islam is bizarre. The Koran is as complex as the Old Testament, and there are injunctions to respect religious freedom, but also deep currents in favor of suppressing it, for the sake of people’s souls…These excrescences are all defended by the tenets of that religion and in the terms of that religion. Of course religion has something to do with it,” wrote Sullivan.

One of Gaziantep’s many mosques at dusk; carbon copies of this mosque are scattered throughout my neighborhood.

So where does this leave me? I’m no scholar of religions. The best contribution I can make to this discussion is to describe what I have experienced in Turkey thus far. On the one hand, Islam certainly permeates the daily milieu here: the azan (call to prayer) can be heard anywhere in the city fives time a day, the majority of my female students wear headscarves, nobody wears shorts, the government recently passed a law banning the sale of alcohol after ten, and the mayor of Gaziantep has closed all but three of this 1.4-million-person-city’s bars. In the classroom, I had one Syrian student proclaim that he “hated all music” because it was against his religion and had other students make very insensitive remarks about homosexuality and Judaism. There’s also a great reticence among a majority of my female students to participate in class or intermingle with their male classmates.

On the other hand, I have heard nothing but disrespect for ISIS, nobody has tried to convert me to Islam, and nobody has confronted me with virulently anti-American rhetoric. Moreover, the vast majority of people don’t stop and go to the mosque whenever the azan sounds, some students boast in class about drinking alcohol, and other students gush about American music and play me their favorite American songs during the class break. Some female students eschew the stereotype of the “quiet Turkish woman” too, cracking jokes and making their opinions loudly known in class. A few others have even professed interest in studying, working, or living in America.

I’m having trouble knowing what to make of my experience. Sam Harris’ arguments (particularly well-articulated in his blog) don’t seem bigoted to me, and the aforementioned Pew report on Islamic worldviews contains some disturbing information. Yet, when I consider how most people that I’ve met here practice Islam, Gaziantep doesn’t seem radically different than Jaipur, India–or even the more religious parts of America for that matter. (Of course, I have serious issues with social conservatism wherever it is in the world, but the question is whether Islam is noticeably more extreme than other major religions.)

I have work to do. More conversations to have, more Jumu’ah and prayers to attend, more stories to hear. Coupled with these personal experiences, though, I must also keep reading about religion from a broader perspective, remembering that it is myopic to think my limited personal experiences with Islam–especially in a country whose population hews toward a milder interpretation of the faith–can come close to explaining a 1,400 year old tradition practiced by nearly a quarter of the Earth’s population.

(i.e. If you have any recommended books, films, or articles please pass them along.)