Category Archives: Spring 2016 Issue VI: Cultural Encounters

Spring 2016 Issue VI: Cultural Encounters

Snapshot of Guilin

March 2, 2016 ifitzpatrick

Guilin, China, December 27th, 2015. What you see in this photo is a bamboo raft on a lake in the South of China, surrounded by low, jagged mountains. In the distance, locals propel similar boats forward with long wooden paddles and chatter away to each other across the water.

What you don’t see is the local rowing our raft: a man with skin that is browned and wrinkled from a lifetime under the sun and strong, graceful arms that flex to twice their size each time he lifts the paddle from the water. His mates who are off-duty are at the edge of the lake, out of the frame, distributing large bowls of noodles to one another from a steaming communal wok. Some local children who were off playing by the water’s edge are drawn to the spicy aromas and run to join the men at their meal. One of the men shouts something jokingly to our rower, holding up his bowl of noodles tauntingly. Our rower is standing behind me and my little brother, and when we turn around to watch him, he scowls. Perhaps he’s annoyed that he is not partaking in the mid-day meal. Maybe he’s just squinting from the sun.

My brother and I are thrilled to be this close to the water, so close we could touch it, but we don’t dare. The air is crisp and cool, fresh with the smell of water and mountains, so unlike the polluted smog we have grown accustomed to in Shanghai. Our parents are in the raft behind us and we keep turning around to tease them, boasting that we are winning an imaginary race. They are unfazed by our mockery and hold hands, smiling in utter bliss as their raft falls farther and farther behind ours. The rower grows tired of our shouting and leaning out of the raft and he snaps at us in Chinese. I am startled by his accent. He is distinctly speaking Mandarin, but the vowels sound different from what I am used to hearing in Shanghai: more curved, twangier. My brother and I look at each other, surprised at having been reprimanded, and burst into a fit of giggles.

Ahead we are approaching a sudden drop, a small waterfall, and my little brother and I cling to each other as we plunge downward, cold water splashing all over us, making us shriek with delight. He’s only eleven years old, and the expression on his face reveals the kind of pure elation that you rarely see anywhere but in children. I put my arm around him and lean back, savoring the exquisitely beautiful nature surrounding me and the company of my favorite human on earth.

Isabelle Fitzpatrick is a sophomore currently majoring in Mathematics and Statistics as well as French Studies. A lifelong world traveller and binational of France and the United States, she spends her summers and winter breaks visiting her parents and younger brother in Shanghai, China. She aspires to combine her love of languages and travel with her studies in math to eventually work for an international organization as a statistician.

Spring 2016 Issue VI: Cultural Encounters

Selections from Global Encounters: Smith College’s Annual International Photo Exhibit

February 26, 2016 ifitzpatrick

Have you ever wanted a peek into someone else’s study abroad experience? It’s hard to predict which aspects of a foreign country will be most memorable. Sometimes, an architectural masterpiece becomes emblematic of time spent in a country. Or maybe it’s a simple moment that sticks out, something experienced in passing: a crowded commute on the Tokyo subway or a woman and child seen every day on the walk to school. Whether it’s Prague, Tokyo, or anywhere in between that’s pulled at your heartstrings from afar, we invite you to live vicariously through Smith students who have captured some of these exquisite moments from their time abroad s on camera, and been generous enough to share them with us.

For Yuka Oiwa, class of 2016, it was the majestic beauty of Floating Gate, a Shinto shrine, that stayed with her after leaving Kyoto, Japan. “During a weekend trip, my study abroad group spent a night on the holy island of Miyajima,” Oiwa recalls. The day she visited, tshe tide was low and she was free to walk through the orange gates that were usually waist-deep in water. “As the sun started to set I took this shot looking out to the mountains and at the last ferry boat coming towards the island.”

Anna Carroll, class of 2016, was studying abroad in Denmark when she took this photograph in the Danish Royal family’s private stables. Carroll was mesmerized by the centuries-old, marble-adorned stables of Christiansborg Palace. A self-described equestrian with a passion for horses, she treasured this grand stable, which she could stop by on her way to class. Rich in history, it’s the last remnant of an entire castle that was burned to the ground. In all the grandeur surrounding her, what struck her was the contrast of seeing this little boy and horse communing with one another. “Inside the stables’ chilly and impressive walls, I spotted this simple moment between an equally curious young Danish boy and a royal steed,” Carroll remembers fondly.

Tziona Breitbart, class of 2016, spent a semester in Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic. In this photo, she captured Cesky Krumlov, “a medieval town in the Czech Republic that survived multiple wars and communism.” The peaceful appearance of the town that is expressed in this photo doesn’t hint at its tumultuous history. “It represents where the identity of the country comes from, as it was one of the only cities that had Jews living in peace with Czechs during the 13th century.”

Sometimes it is the simple, human moments that linger with us. Elana Brooks, class of 2016, took this photo while studying abroad in India. “I frequently passed this family while leaving my host family’s home for school. The blue and orange colored walls, with the embellishments of gold chains on the child and woman, complimented with the touch of the woman’s hand on the child, was an emblematic tableau of daily life.

Chloe Beckman, class of 2017, shared with us a similar snapshot of one of the more quotidian parts of life: her commute from the Saitama prefecture on her way to school in Tokyo, Japan. Most memorable was the intimacy of spending so much of her day in such close quarters. “Taken on the train into Tokyo on my daily commute, this photo reminds me of the feeling you get when the train is so packed that you don’t need to hold onto anything but your bag. But more than that, it reminds me of that moment when you finally push out of the crowd and onto the platform, knowing all the while that at the end of the day, the ritual will repeat.” The journey especially made her reflect on time.

Travelling means something different to every individual. For some, it will be the intimacy of a subway ride that will linger on in our memories and for others, it will be the satisfaction of witnessing a historical monument up close. Regardless of how going abroad affects you, the most important aspect is how it expands your mind and your perception of the world . Seeing a woman and child on your walk to school every day, even if you never speak to them, or walking beneath the colorful gates of a shrine, offer insights into a culture that only being there in the country can expose you to. Whether you have had the good fortune to spend much time abroad, we hope that in reading this issue, you can get a glimpse of the vastness and complexity of the world through photos, and through essays about those photos.

Spring 2016 Issue VI: Cultural Encounters

Focus

February 26, 2016 kfahim

It took getting lost in some of Cairo’s oldest neighborhoods, driving up a hill, watching in shock as gas tanks fell off a cart in front of us, and annoying a cafe owner by parking right in front of his shop (the only spot we could find) to get to the Mosque of Ibn Tulun last summer. Yet, as soon as we entered, the chaos outside the mosque’s walls seemed to fade away. Attached to Cairo, Egypt’s biggest and oldest mosque is the Gayer-Anderson Museum, the former house of a 20th-century British orientalist, and the beginning of our tour.

John Gayer-Anderson bought and restored two 16th-century houses, one of which was known as Beit El-Kritliyya (House of the Cretan Woman) in attribution to the woman who formerly lived in it. He took up residence in the houses, filling them with objects that he collected during his travels through Iran, Turkey, Egypt, and other countries in the region. Today, the museum allows visitors to see how it was historically adapted to fit the uses of its various residents prior to Gayer-Anderson, and what he later added to the houses. The museum displays most of his belongings, including the spectacular rooms that he lived in, rooms categorized by the origins of his collected artifacts (“The Damascus Room”, “The Ancient Egyptian Room”), an extravagant hall that historically held celebrations, and even secret doors that led to hidden indoor balconies from which women could watch celebrations without being seen.

There was so much to see, and when looking at windows, we were busy admiring the intricate mashrabiyas–traditional carved, wooden pieces that allowed those inside to look out freely without onlookers being able to see in–that covered them, rather than the view outside. It was only when I noticed this slim and uncharacteristically simple opening in the wall that I realized what a magnificent view the houses had: the wall of the enormous Mosque of Ibn-Tulun and the minaret of an equally historic, nearby, Turkish-style mosque. The street, the buildings, the cars, and the shops that were just next to the mosque had somehow disappeared. The window seemed to purposefully omit everything else, helping me imagine what it would have been like to live in the house many years ago. The contrast between the symbolic spirituality of what I was seeing outside the window, and the overwhelming evidence of materialism in the room that I was standing in demanded a photo. Not imagining how it would turn out, I stayed behind to take a completely different picture than all the others I had taken that day.

When I tapped my phone’s screen to make the minaret outside the window clearer, the room and all of its material treasures faded away. When the mosque’s old wall leading to the simple, distant minaret came into view, one word came to mind- it was what I was physically doing as I tapped my phone, and what my heart was urging my brain to do: focus.

References:

“Bayt Al-Kritliyya.” Tour Egypt. Tour Egypt, n.d. Web. 3 Jan. 2016.

“Gayer-Anderson Musem.” Supreme Council of Antiquities – Museums. The Supreme Council of Antiquities, n.d. Web. 3 Jan. 2016.

Khulood Fahim is an Egyptian international student who lives in Abu Dhabi, the United Arab Emirates. She is a first-year, and is expecting to major in Government and Comparative Literature. In her free time, she enjoys talking to her family, attending events on campus, keeping up with current events, and enjoying the weather.

Spring 2016 Issue VI: Cultural Encounters

The Spirit of “Charlie”

February 26, 2016 kzhang

On the morning of January 7, 2015, two terrorists attacked the headquarters of the French magazine Charlie Hebdo in Paris and killed over 10 cartoonists, staff, and police. It was a terrible moment and people were left in shock and anger. A week later, over 3.7 million people participated in a demonstration to show their support for freedom of speech. I was one of the 3.7 million.

That Sunday—with the typical Parisian grey clouds in the sky—everything seemed special. Eleven metro stations were closed for the sake of the demonstration, and there were so many people that I couldn’t get onto the metro until the third one came. On that particular afternoon, people in Paris seemed to have just one destination: the République Square, where the demonstration took place. When I finally arrived, I was moved by the demonstrators. Some were carrying “Je suis Charlie” signs, some were wearing pencil-like decorations, some were holding national flags, but they all shared the same look of compassion, firmness, and solidarity. What really touched me, however, was not the fact that millions of people came, but that the horrible attack made people braver. Yes, the attack frightened people, but it at the same time it united people from France and all over the world, encouraging them to put aside fear and speak up on behalf of humanity. The precariousness of existence, the bareness of life, and the longing for equality summoned millions of “Charlie” to go onto the street and support their fellow human beings, especially when those fellows had died in defense of liberty, so precious an objective that it wasn’t achieved without a price.

Almost miraculously, after hiding behind the clouds for the whole afternoon, the sun came out shortly before it sank into the darkness, rendering the sky red. The fire-colored sun gave me hope for the next day. That evening, I changed the photo I took into black and white, as I saw this tragedy as something in the past tense, something that ought to be carefully sealed in my memory. However, only ten months had passed when another attack, much more terrible, happened in Paris and resulted in 130 deaths. By that time I was already back in the U.S., but I felt closely connected to the people in Paris. I remember hitting the “like” button under every friend’s “I’m safe” status on Facebook. I remember sending emails to my host family and following every piece of news online. I remember attending the vigil at Smith, where a French student said that the French people loved their life, and that they would continue loving and singing. At that moment, as both an outsider and an insider of the attack, I felt humans’ braveness and optimism in front of tragedy and disaster.

Seamus Heaney, the 1995 Nobel Literature winner, told a story in his acceptance speech about a group of armed and masked men who attacked a minibus on a mountain road in Ireland, forced the hostages to line up, and asked all the Catholics to step out. A Protestant squeezed the only Catholic’s hand, as a signal of saying, “Don’t move, we won’t betray you.” That Catholic, however, chose to be loyal to his faith and take a step out, only to find out that instead of himself, all his Protestant fellows were shot. It’s been two years since I first heard this story. I still have this mixed feeling of sadness and hope each time I think of it. The story reflects the Paris attacks in the way that we see not only the ways people are deprived of their lives in a world of ideological clashes, but also the humanity that binds people. Yes, it takes time and effort to change our world toward a more equal and just place, but goodness is there – it has always been and always will be.

Coco Zhang is a Government and Film Studies double major in the Class of 2016. Having lived, studied, and worked in China, the United States, France, and Switzerland, she sees photography as her lens into the world, and documentary as a tool to raise public awareness of global issues. After she graduates, she hopes to promote equality and social development by working at international organizations.

Spring 2016 Issue VI: Cultural Encounters

Shapes, Colors, and Centuries… Christmas in Nîmes

February 26, 2016 akratkiewicz

Before spending my junior year abroad in Paris, I had never been outside of North America, and I was excited for the opportunity to travel around France and around Europe. One of my favorite memories is of spending Christmas Day in Nimes with my family. They had come to visit me and we spent most of the break driving around France before returning to Paris for the New Year. We went up to Normandy and visited Mont St. Michel and Omaha Beach, where my grandfather landed on D-Day in 1944. We then drove down to Provence through the Loire Valley, visiting a few chateaux on the way and staying overnight in an old, creepy mansion. We stayed in Lyon for a few days, and on Christmas we took a day trip to Nîmes.

I had studied Latin for seven years before beginning French at Smith, and I was looking forward to seeing the famous Roman ruins and monuments in the area. Nimes is home to some incredible Roman treasures. In addition to having the a well-preserved Roman amphitheatre, Nimes is also home to the Maison Carrée, one of the best-preserved Roman temples in the world. After marveling at the near-perfection of the 2,000 year-old Maison Carrée, we spent a few hours exploring the amphitheatre. We climbed to the top to view the city.

At the top, I took this photo of my family. Later, when I looked at the photograph again, I noticed how the Ferris wheel, set-up for the holidays, rises above the top edge of the outer wall of the amphitheatre, next to the 17th century steeple of the Catholic Church of Sainte Perpétue. I appreciated the contrast of shapes, colors, and centuries captured in the photo, and how the people present help convey the vastness of the amphitheatre.

After leaving, we walked through the gorgeous Jardins de la Fontaine and the ruins of the Temple of Diane. At nightfall, there were light shows projected onto some of the buildings, including the amphitheatre, a clock tower, and a church. The projection on the clock tower took us back in time to different periods in the town’s history, and a stunning light show turned the church into other churches from around the world. The day was filled with beauty, history, and new experiences, and it is one that I will never forget.

Arcadia Kratkiewicz is a senior biochemistry major with a minor in computational biology. She spent her junior year abroad with the Sciences à Paris portion of Smith’s JYA Paris program. She is currently working on a senior honors thesis in biochemistry and is the foil squad captain of Smith’s club fencing team.

Spring 2016 Issue VI: Cultural Encounters

To Photograph or Not

February 26, 2016 Janie Vanpee

One afternoon in August 1973, I jumped off a train with two friends to see the mosaics of Byzantine Ravenna. I first saw the resplendent images formed with glass cubes depicting the Emperor Justinian, Empress Theodora, and the starry vaults in the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia (Regent of the Western Empire, on behalf of her son Valentinian III, AD 423-427, daughter, half-sister and wife of Emperors), projected on a large screen in ART 100. At that time, there were few books on Byzantine mosaics with color pictures. I wanted to see them in person and take photographs.

We visited the mosaics in Sant’Apollinare Nuovo, and took a bus to Sant’Apollinare in Classe (consecrated AD 549) six miles from town. The apse offered a synopsis of Byzantine cosmology. Apollinaris, the first bishop of Ravenna, stands facing the viewer, his arms raised, with palms up, in prayer against an intricate backdrop. A green field dotted with trees, rocks, and a few small birds and sheep in rows, lies below a gold sky with floating breadstick–like clouds and two half-archangels to either side of a jeweled cross within a star-filled orb, all below a tiny hand of God at the very apex.

The next morning, we took the bus back to Ravenna breakfastless. A raccoon, chewing through a cotton backpack, had eaten our breakfast peaches as we slumbered, leaving a gooey mess that I did not photograph. Traveling without a telephoto lens, I was hopeful that we would have a closer view of the mosaics in the smaller Mausoleum of Galla Placidia because the floor had been raised five feet from its 5th century level to protect it from rising Adriatic coast water.

We went first to the octagonal Church of San Vitale to see the mosaic panels of Justinian and Theodora in their official robes, crowns and jewels, offering bread and wine, respectively, for the Eucharist. Like worshippers, we stood looking up at them, to the left and right of the windows below the mosaic-filled apse, engaged by the intense eyes of the weightless figures and rich colors set off against gold fields. A large, youthful Christ on a blue orb flanked by two archangels, San Vitale and the founder of the church, Bishop Ecclesius, offering a model of the church, filled the conch. In the camera viewfinder, they looked small. The story continued over all the walls, the Lamb of God presiding in the apex of the center vault. I bought postcards.

At last we circled the brick exterior of blind arcades and entered into the ‘porch’ of the cruciform Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, now the admissions desk and gift shop. It was built in AD 425, on the south end of the narthex of a church, Santa Croce, which is no longer there. Passing stacks of books and glossy postcards, we entered the chapel ready to be amazed. I was amazed. It didn’t look quite like the pictures, which focused on the mosaics. Not everything was illuminated and the lower half was covered with marble revetment. The light filtering through alabaster windowpanes was soft with a yellow cast. I walked around and my eyes adjusted. I could get closer to some of the mosaics and see the slight, tipping of tesserae to enhance the reflection of light. In the dome, golden asterisk stars circled, filling the space around a golden cross, the pattern adjusting to the increasing dome circumference. Some visitors snapped pictures when a guard flipped some spotlights on and then off. Again it took some time for my eyes to adjust. Someone flicked a cigarette lighter and I could picture how the chapel would look lit by Byzantine lanterns. Amazing, but impossible to photograph. In one moment, the professional glossies seemed deceptive, somehow insufficient. Abandoning my camera eye, I continued looking.

Instead of a picture from Galla Placida, here is a photograph taken in downtown Northampton, March 1971. During a photo class critique, the professor decided that it was not a photograph, but maybe a snapshot, mostly because there is no focal element. Nonetheless, it has a subject, everything recorded by a certain amount of light acting on film in the camera at the moment when the shutter was activated. There is nothing dramatic, no element has more importance than any other but the image is not a random snapshot. I had been walking, on the lookout for a photograph and almost had taken one or two that had not struck me as interesting. Suddenly this scene was interesting. I took the picture.

Claudia Vess ’72 has used the Minolta 101 carried in Ravenna as a paperweight for many years because it needs repairs. She prefers to carry a lightweight digital camera (Cannon SX280HS or G1-X) to use in her work as an artist, gallerist, archivist and Alexander Technique teacher. She has worked in museums as a curatorial researcher and photo-archivist, in galleries and with community art organizations and exhibits globally. Her work is in private collections and a few museums too. (Smith ’72, American University, MFA ’76).

Spring 2016 Issue VI: Cultural Encounters

A Day at the Beach in Dakar

February 26, 2016 ifitzpatrick

Koumba Dem interviewed by Isabelle Fitzpatrick, Contributing Writer

Isabelle Fitzpatrick: Can you talk about this photo?

Koumba Dem: Senegal is not an island, but beaches and oceans are a big part of the country. We have beaches everywhere. Le Terrou-bi, which means “this earth,” is one of the best hotels in the country and my family goes there often for celebrations. This photo was taken on my sister’s 10th birthday, and we organized a surprise
party for her and invited all her friends. This was the first time I ever saw the sky and sea in Senegal this blue.

IF: What does this picture mean to you in how it represents your home country?

KD: Generally when you hear about Africa in America you hear about war, but Senegal is one of the most stable countries, and it has a well established culture with traditions. Senegal is a very beautiful country and we are trying to become modern. There are so many hidden treasures, and I wish there would be more pictures of Africa like this one to give the world a sense of the great aspects of our culture. I want people to know all the great strides Senegal is making. I want to highlight its beauty and rich culture, and not just the poverty and disease.

IF: What is the cultural context surrounding this photo?

KD: This beach hotel attracts a lot of tourists, including many Lebanese and wealthy Senegalese. Beaches are a new and popular part of the youth culture in Senegal, but older people find them immodest. Parents come only to watch the younger people swim. Senegal is a very religiously-driven country. Older religious chiefs are against seeing youths at the beach. Some beaches that were too close to mosques were closed because people were scandalized. This photo is emblematic of the change in the country. This picture at the beach might not seem like a big deal to people here in the States, but in Senegal, this is more of a big deal. Fifty years ago, seeing people in their swimsuits at the beach would have been shocking to everyone, but now our traditions are changing. As much as religion is part of the political sphere, young people are not as religious. This creates an interesting dichotomy in the country and is part of the change in mentality.

Koumba Dem is a sophomore at Smith College currently double-majoring in Mathematics and Economics. A native French speaker, she is originally from Côte d’Ivoire and grew up living in Dakar, Senegal, a place she now considers home. When she is not busy being treasurer for the International Students Organization or working as House Community Advisor for Chapin, she enjoys watching Scandal and eating nutella crêpes.

Spring 2016 Issue VI: Cultural Encounters

The Alhambra Through Asrie’s Eyes

February 26, 2016 kfahim

Asrie Karma interviewed by Khulood Fahim, Contributing Writer

Architecture senior Asrie Karma spent her junior year in Córdoba, Spain. During her stay, she visited Granada to see one of the region’s architectural wonders. It was there that she stopped to take a photo of the Comares Palace at the Alhambra, a fortress built during the Nasrid dynasty, Spain’s last Muslim dynasty. Asrie talked to Global Impressions about what other aspects of this UNESCO World Heritage site inspired her to capture it in a photograph and why she wanted to share it with Smith through the International Photo Competition. Here are her reflections about the photo:

I had wanted to go to Spain since I was a kid, and it was the reason I started studying architecture very early on. I felt like that moment was a culmination of why I’m studying what I’m studying. In terms of the photograph itself, it was very hard to capture because there were so many people trying to take the same picture; I had to snap quickly, and at just the right moment, or someone else was going to disrupt the photo. I was drawn to the structure itself, but also to its reflection. I like symmetry, so when this photo appeared with the reflection perfectly mirroring the building, I was struck by it.

Contemplating the photo afterwards, I realized how representative the image was of my trip. Spain is one of those places that has such a rich history, and especially as a Muslim, I felt that I was able to see Islam through the architecture. It was beautiful and reminded me of the reason why I want to create things myself. I thought, “I’m here for the right reason, as an architecture student, as someone who identifies with Islam, and as an individual.” It was the culmination of who I am.

As I look at the photo now, six months later, it reminds me of the fact that southern Spain looks like that everywhere. From where I lived in Córdoba to what I saw in Granada… it’s just amazing to me that it all looks like that, and that it’s such an old country but at the same time it’s incredibly modern. There’s this character to Spain that you can’t really describe unless you’re actually in the country, and I think the moment I was there I thought, “Ah, Spain is the place to be!”

I hope this photo sparks for others the desire to go to Spain, to see the Alhambra, and to appreciate its uniqueness.

Asrie Karma is a senior Architecture major and Spanish minor. Outside of academics, she works as a tutor and student mentor as well as a student photographer. Her hobbies include art, photography, and spending time with friends.

Spring 2016 Issue VI: Cultural Encounters

Removed from the Crowd

February 26, 2016 echacedonahue

I’ve always made it a point to be a traveler, not a tourist or worse, a visitor. To me being a traveler means immersing oneself in an experience and not merely observing it. It means being spontaneous and willing to let go of any previous notions of what one came to see. It means departing from the familiar and it often means putting down the camera to actually be grounded in a moment. So when I found myself in the middle of a demonstration in the heart of Istanbul, my first instinct was to join the crowd, act like I belong, and discover an aspect of Turkish culture I had not yet experienced.

Young Turkish men and women marched down Istiklal Street, the noisy vendor-filled heart of the city, chanting slogans with increasing volume and enthusiasm. Some people wore Galatasaray or Beşiktaş soccer jerseys, representing Istanbul’s rival soccer teams, and seemed to be protesting high ticket prices, while others held signs challenging state surveillance and media control. As we paraded down the street, people seemed more excited than angry, shouting passionately and littering the street with flyers for various social causes and political campaigns. We reached a police blockade preventing the crowd from entering Taksim Square, where protests a year earlier resulted in a severe police crackdown on demonstrators. The street became packed with people dressed in bright colors, thrusting their fists in the air, demanding attention from the government. I was submerged in the mass of people, utterly mesmerized by their fiery chants and now indignant faces.

Shortly after the demonstration reached the police barricade, the crowd grew increasingly hostile. A group of young men started throwing rockets at the police and the crowd became frantic. A rocket almost hit my leg, and fully anticipating the hostility to escalate, I began to feel unsafe. I needed to get out.

I took this photograph from behind the police, a safe distance from the commotion, as an observer, no longer a traveler immersed in the crowd. Removed from the demonstration, I felt the distinct difference between being a tourist, a traveler, and a local. One minute I was so caught up in the protest, I completely forgot to take photographs, and the next I was safely behind the police holding my camera up to capture a moment I only partially experienced. Although I had tried to embody what I would call a traveler, I could not completely experience the demonstration as a local because I was not willing to compromise my safety for a cause in which I held no stakes, as I was neither a Turkish citizen nor a soccer fan.

The photograph’s deep foreground represents well my removal from the protest and my internal conflict between wanting to be part of an authentic local experience and knowing that there are some places I don’t belong. I was simply not Turkish enough to fully understand the significance or scope or the demonstration. Although I became familiar enough with Istanbul to be able to give people directions, understand public transportation, and eat in tiny restaurants only locals know about, there was still a separation between me and the city and the people. Demonstrations are intimate events; unique views into the local public’s opinion of their own city and government. Despite my knowledge of Istanbul, I didn’t fit in; I was still a foreigner.

Emelie Chace-Donahue is a sophomore Government major at Smith College. She loves languages, photojournalism, and travel. She is learning Arabic and plans to study abroad in Amman, Jordan in the fall. Her academic interests include human rights, environmental policy and international relations. Emelie has studied and interned in France, Jordan, Turkey and the United Arab Emirates. When she is at home in Maine or Massachusetts, Emelie enjoys skiing and spending time outside.