Anna in Istanbul

Now that Michael and I are relatively settled in Istanbul, I’ve had time to face the reality of living in a completely foreign culture for 9 months. I think I’ve just been ignoring this fact and continuing on as if I would be back haunting 112th and Amsterdam as soon as this vacation finishes.

Scared is not the right word. My family mantra of “Buck up, little camper” snuffs out any kind of self-pitying homesick complaining I might otherwise indulge. This is an amazing experience but what I’m most worried about now is directly linked to one, Mr. Edward Said.

June is Pride month worldwide and tomorrow, in the infamous Taksim Square, there will be a march in favor of LGBTQ rights down Istiklal Cadde to the Galata Tower. At the same time that I know it’s a bit of a travel-security faux-pas to go to large demonstrations, I really feel the obligation to go out and support a universally struggling minority. (Plus, I’m sorry but futball games are SO much more dangerous than anything political).

Today I went to a panel discussion hosted by the Turkish branch of Lamda about Queer identity in the Muslim world. There were two panelists from Lebanon, one Turkish man, one Pakistani man, and the first publicly out lesbian in Palestine. As each person spoke, it always came back to the same point; we don’t want neo-colonialism in the form of pity or inorganic western policies and conceptions of Queer rights. The representatives spoke of the difficulties for the Queer community within Islamic societies face because of their perceived ideological alliance with the West. They struggle with the conception of being both intrinsically tied to the tradition and culture of their homelands and their reality as Queer men and women.

And there I sat.

Privileged. Ivy-League Educated. White. Middle class. American.

I can’t even take a drink of water without second guessing that I am somehow being an Orientalist.

Unfortunately, this identity crisis. This inability to separate the good intentions of progressive Westerners with perceived colonialism and the tangible, horrible legacy of overt colonialism. This seemingly insurmountable wall of suspicion on both sides. This mess makes me lose my will to engage.

If, as the panelists seemed to be arguing, I will just never understand what it is to be Queer and Palestinian or Queer and Muslim or Queer and not-White, what is the purpose of me trying? If my actions and motivations are continually questioned by myself and the people with whom I want only to connect with, how can I ever do anything of real value? If my opinion or perspective will never be looked upon with anything but distrust, will all the work I put in to educate myself about what Middle Eastern culture is/was/can become be in vain? I posed this question to the panel.

Are we doomed to live our existences confined to our own latitudes?

Right now I really don’t know the answer and it makes me scared that I am wasting my time trying to understand something that I cannot/am not allowed to understand. Perhaps I’m doing more harm than good and I should have stuck to understanding and commenting on my own culture.