The news from twitter hasn’t been super good. There are rumors that police gassed a mosque in Dolmabahce that had been opened as a sort of field hospital for those who are injured in the protests. Can’t find it print, but there are a lot of things I know have happened that I can’t find in print. Good job, gang. Some Americans have been arrested. There are rumors going around that there are CIA agents circulating in the crowds, and just enough idiots to believe it to make being foreign in the protest a tad dicier. (Foreign people are so freaking paranoid about the CIA! Jeez, a government organization without controls or checks takes down just a FEW South American and African countries and suddenly nobody trusts them anymore!)
Agent L stayed home last night. She did four loads of laundry and drank beer on the porch with Hannah, whom she has sorely missed over the past week.
I haven’t seen Hannah, because she, like a lot of my friends and twitter world acquaintances, chooses not to be in the fray. Hannah, being the terrifyingly competent woman that she is, has chosen to mine her contacts at the state department to find out who the best person to write what letter to is. She’s been contacting embassies. She’s been pulling her weight on the diplomatic side of things. She considers that to be a better use of her time than squeezing lemons in her face and being jostled by a crowd. I agree with her. I personally don’t have any state department contacts, and I’m probably more useful as a warm body in the crowd, and possibly useful as a somewhat credible witness to events.
I’m sorry to say though, that she’s gotten some sideways looks for choosing not to be gassed.
In the past day or two I’ve noticed that the protests have become a dick swinging contest for a lot of ex-pats. “Oh you were in Gezi last night? Pshh. I was in Kabataş.” “Kabataş?! Pussy. I was in Beşiktaş.” “Yeah but were you on the barricades? I was on the barricades. I got hit by a rock! See?” “Y’all are all pussies. I was Dolmabahce when shit went down.” etc. etc. etc.
Oh yeah? Well I spent the night on the porch drinking beer with my best pal, speculating about Erdoğan’s return. I did stub my toe in the kitchen, though. Viva la revolution!