Struggling with culture vs. military might

After visiting the Jewish Museum on Thursday we had a wonderful light lunch at a restaurant famous for its baklava, including types filled with meat and cheese, little socially acceptable White Castles (with flair).

The owner showed us a pan of baklava measuring 2 by 3 feet that had been doctored by chefs into a portrait of President Barack Obama. After lunch our van carried us to a famous military museum on the Golden Horn. At the museum we were to hear a concert by a military band dressed in Ottoman-style uniforms.

I wasn’t sure why this visit was on the agenda for a trip that extolled the virtues of peaceful coexistence.

Well, I had adopted a ‘wait and see’ attitude about this stop on our tour until I waited and saw.

We de-vaned in front of a huge cannon of WWI vintage that I am sure was designed to shoot a shell 15 or 20 miles. Our leaders hurried us along. We were running late and the concert was about to begin. The concert hall was at the opposite end of the museum from the entrance. We were told we could visit the museum’s exhibits after the concert. As we rushed along to see the band, we passed room after room of implements of destruction. Everything from arrows to massive machine guns. All designed for one purpose: killing human beings.

A day later I asked one of our leaders why we had been taken to this venue. He confirmed my suspicion that this was not an effort to celebrate the military but rather an attempt to make sure that we had a full experience of Turkish culture.

But as we arrived in the 1,000 seat concert hall I was deeply troubled by what it would mean for me (someone who self identifies as a Quaker) to be part of a tour of weapons on exhibit. I finally turned to Kenan and told him that I meant no disrespect, but that when the concert was over I would not be part of the tour; I would wait outside the museum’s entrance for the rest of the group.
So, an hour later when the music had stopped and the band had marched away, I marched myself to the entrance and sat outside in the sun, just a few feet from the Goliath sized cannon I mentioned above.

As I waited for the group I pondered the contrast between the museum and the tomb of the Sufi poet, Rumi that we had visited two days earlier. Rumi extolled the virtues of living together in peace. He knew no enemies.

As I compared the two venues I took heart in the fact that the military museum was visited on the day we were there by perhaps a few hundred people (including a couple of school groups).

The tomb of Rumi and the adjoining museum on the other hand were swarming with people the day we were there. Thousands of people. A constant stream of Muslims, Christians, and persons of many religions.

I think it would make Rumi smile to know that many more people looked at his resting place than gazed at machine guns and cannons that. I have a feeling Fetullah Gulen would smile a little too.