Free Turkish Awakening by Alev Scott Page B

from on high and dutifully followed by underlings, but at the same time, the social undercurrents in the office did not quite match this professional hierarchy. The receptionist, a voluptuous lady called, to my private amusement, Fatma, was the lowest-ranking employee apart from the tea lady. With very little to do other than observe the goings-on of the office, she took great interest in her co-workers, especially their consumption of food. Once, our rather formidable editor hurried into the office eating a sandwich as she juggled BlackBerrys and stacks of files, drawing instant criticism from Fatma: ‘ Bihter hanım , every time I see you, you’re eating! You really must think of your figure.’ Commenting on someone else’s weight in Britain, even among friends, is so taboo that I couldn’t quite believe that fat Fatma was chastising her own boss, while addressing her as ‘madam’. It perfectly summed up the singular balance between respect and closeness here, the complete opposite of the British brand of stiff informality, which involves calling someone by their first name while keeping an awkward distance from them, both socially and physically.
    In so many ways, Turkish interaction is the opposite of English interaction, and the easiest way to summarise the difference is that Turks are more heartfelt in their dealings one to one. Yes, there are many intricacies of Turkishetiquette and tradition, but fundamentally Turks are incredibly warm and display a wonderful kind of generosity, particularly to individuals. As a visitor to any but the most touristic of areas, you have a kind of exalted social position as a guest. Turks will give you not only all the food in their house, but everything at their disposal – including their house, if you need accommodation. They will spend hours of their time helping you, expecting nothing in return. You will pay for nothing. As a guest, you have to be careful to temper your admiration of anything they own, because if you are too effusive they will immediately present it to you as a gift. Their generosity is overwhelming, especially at the beginning.
    And yet, sometimes, Turks’ lack of civic spirit is astounding. They seem to have very little regard for other people in the public sense – they will ignore red lights, queue-jump, or build a hideous building on a prominent hill, spoiling the view for everyone else (the view from their house will be great). It is one of the most puzzling contradictions about Turks: they can be totally selfless with individuals and totally selfish in a public domain. It’s almost as if they do not recognise a nameless public as composed of people; they only really acknowledge a face, a name and a personality standing in front of them. It is the same thing with prejudice towards minorities – a Turk might tell you that they hate Kurds, for example, but if a Kurd knocked on their door they would be welcomed in and treated with the same boundless generosity all guests are shown. Traversing Istanbul traffic, one must be careful not to be mown down, because Turkish drivers spare no thought for other drivers or pedestrians – we are all obstacles in their way. Yet I will never forget the time I fellover on a steep hill in Istanbul, grazing my foot – within a few seconds I was surrounded by a crowd of concerned faces, outstretched hands offering me handkerchiefs and worried voices debating the whereabouts of the nearest pharmacy. I had been suddenly transformed into an individual in trouble, the focus of everyone’s attention and offers of help.
    It is almost the opposite in England. The English are instilled with a strong sense of civic responsibility, binning rubbish, queuing and driving in an orderly manner, well-behaved parts in the well-oiled machine of public life. When it comes to one-to-one interaction, however, it all gets rather embarrassing, and no one looks anyone else in the eye unless absolutely necessary. Knock on a door in your