Kiosk: In Istanbul in Relative Freedom

Kiosk's Arash Sobhani arrived in Istanbul for the start of his trip with fellow band member Mohammad Talani to meet musicians in the region and exchange ideas on the impact of music on social and political change. But we spent the first couple of days meeting and reminiscing with old school mates from Iran who had come to see Arash. It was a reminder of how close and yet how far we were from neighboring Iran. In the rented apartment near Taksim Sq., we argued for hours over politics and religion, sometimes shouting.

One of Arash's friends, who has been lashed three times for consuming alcohol in Tehran, doubted whether it was possible for things fundamentally change in Iran. People's religious beliefs and customs run too deep. He was hopeful that Hasan Rouhani could implement reforms and improve things, even just a little bit. But Arash was more skeptical. He didn't think Rouhani could do much under the circumstances and felt things were likely to get worse.

Some of the women in the group talked about astronomic inflation as a result of international sanctions. One of them said her mother used to produce cosmetics but was forced to shut down operations because it had become impossible to import raw materials. It's the same story facing small and large manufacturers.

Overall spirits are down and there's a lot of anxiety. But hanging out together in Turkey, in beautiful Istanbul, allows us to forget Iran and our problems. Although Turkey is also in a tense state. You see riot police everywhere in and around Taksim Square, ready to move against sporadic crowds protesting against the ruling Islamist government.

Meeting members of Kardeş Türküler.

We weren't able to book a club for a concert so instead we thought it would be cool if Arash and Mohammad could stand in Taksim Square and sing a few songs. We sent messages to our Iranian friends living in Istanbul to spread the news. But then we had second thoughts and decided to cancel. The police presence was strong and they likely wouldn't welcome two Iranians singing protest songs, even in Persian, and especially without a permit.

But the meetings with Turkish musicians went very well. These are musicians who focus on social messages, including members of Kardeş Türküler, whom we met at a cafe at Galatasaray Square. The band is mostly composed of women from different ethnicities, in a country which tries hard to promote pan-Turkish ideas rather than diversity. They also often sing in regional languages and dialects.

One of their songs "Tencere Tava Havasi" (Sound of Pots and Pans) is dedicated to recent protests at Taksim. The title of the song is a reference to Prime Minister Tayyip Erdoğan's remarks ridiculing the protesters for using pots and pants to make noise at the demonstrations:

The gas masks looks reddish
The pepper spray is as sweet as honey…
This pot, this spoon and fork…
A solution will be found,
The people have risen...

In the studio with Emre Yilmaz.

It's estimated that since protests broke out in late May against the government's conservative policies, musicians, mostly of the alternative sort, have released more than a hundred protest songs. The great majority of the famous singers and bands have chosen not to side with the protesters, worried that they might lose lucrative contracts. But alternative musicians with nothing to lose have freely expressed outrage. Individually they may not have a huge following, but as a whole they represent a broad slice of society with great influence among the younger generation.

One of these alternative up-and-coming musicians is Emre Yilmaz. He invited Arash and Mohammad to jam at a studio in a forest covered neighborhood in northern Istanbul. They first played one of Emre's songs called "Sokaktayiz" (We are on the streets), with Murat Hicdonmez on drums and recorded by Ete Kurttekin.

We are on the streets

Is this forbidden?
Is that forbidden?
Millions got offended one by one
Is it all forbidden?…
Action is forbidden
Expression is forbidden
Enough, no more!

Does it matter who I am or what my name is?
We are out on the streets because we are human
Is democracy peppery?
We are on the streets because we are lovers

They Emre joined in with his guitar to play one of Kiosk's hit songs, "It never rains here, Morteza".

It never rains, yet the streets are wet
The hopeful cows are negotiating with the
owners of the sausage factory, Morteza
It never rains here, Morteza

Only the dead are alive when the living die
The chess masters are condemned
to challenge chimps, Morteza
It never rains here, Morteza

Dark nights and starless skies,
the moon never shines here, Morteza
The deserted fields are endless
It never rains here, Morteza...

With Akif Burdak Atlar.

One thing that stood out in these meetings was the lack of fear -- fear of censorship or persecution. Does the government ever interfere with musicians' work? That was a question Arash posed to Akif Burdak Atlar of Istanbul's Acik Radio. He looked as if it was a ridiculous question, and reassured us that there are no real "red lines". Nobody tells him what to play on the radio or questions his choice of music.

Arash explained that the reason he asked about censorship in Turkey was because of the severe restrictions on musicians in Iran. A broad range of musical expression is forbidden in the Islamic Republic. Women are banned from solo performances. Many bands and singers are banned from holding concerts or distributing their albums. And protesting against the government can land you in prison. As a result some musicians are forced to leave the country.

Of course freedom is relative wherever you go. There have been cases where dissident musicians have been arrested or forced into exile. But according to Serkan Fidan, manager of Moğollar, one of the oldest and most politically-conscious bands in Turkey, very few musicians have ended up in prison. The state applies its pressure in more indirect ways. For instance musicians who are critical of the government don't get much media exposure and aren't usually invited to perform at music festivals sponsored by local municipalities. But they still have the freedom to create and perform music without worrying about censorship or persecution, which is very different compared to what their counterparts experience in Iran.

After our last meeting with Turkish musicians, we went for a walk in the Kadikoy neighborhood to meet our friends from Iran. Suddenly two men stopped us and flashed their police cards. They looked a lot like Iranian plain-clothed security agents, with rough, bearded faces. One of them was carrying a walkie talkie. They asked for our passports. I was the only one carrying a passport; Arash and Mohammad showed their U.S. ID cards. The agents checked the documents for authenticity and took pictures of them with their phone camera. One of them called a number and spoke to someone on the phone. Then, without explanation or questions, they let us go. Freedom is relative indeed.