A movie that I watched recently, Crossing, reminded me of the place that Istanbul holds in my life and in the lives of many others. Crossing, as the name suggests, is a story of relocation and reinvention. At the center of the storyline is Lia, a retired teacher from Georgia — a komşu, or neighbor, of Turkey. In her quest to find Tekla, her trans niece, Lia befriends her young neighbor, Achi, with whom she crosses into Turkey. Lia and Achi’s journey from Georgia to Istanbul shows us the real face of the city, a place Lia describes as somewhere people come to disappear. The movie displays Istanbul as it truly is, in sharp contrast to the way it’s often portrayed in the West. No heavy yellow filter is used to give it a “more Middle Eastern outlook,” which is a uniquely orientalist technique Western producers employ to make certain places appear dirtier or more dangerous. In a sharp contrast, the movie captures Istanbul’s real strength: that despite how suffocating and depressing circumstances can get, the city has a corner for anyone to hide and heal.
Watching Lia’s journey, I couldn’t help but think of my own crossing. It was during the late 2010s, when Turkey was a (relatively) more decent place to sustain life. We still (kind of) had a middle class – at least not everyone was working for minimum wage. Democracy was flawed but still somewhat functional, and our largest banknote, 200 Turkish liras, was worth far more than an iced coffee. Even as a little know-it-all from Hatay, Turkey’s southernmost city bordering Syria, I knew that to have an above-average life, I had to be in Istanbul. Similar to Achi in the movie, who embarks on this journey with Lia to potentially start a new life in Istanbul, I didn’t know what I would do or how I would do it, I just had the conviction that, whatever future I wanted to build, the answer was always Istanbul. Being the stubborn Taurus male I was, I somehow convinced my parents that sending their 13-year-old kid to Istanbul alone was a good idea.
Even back then, I must have sensed that Istanbul was a place for reinvention. Retrospectively, I understand better why I felt that way. No wonder James Baldwin sought refuge here after years of fame for his masterful writing and advocacy for the civil rights movement. After thirteen years in Paris, Istanbul offered Baldwin the anonymity and peace he long desired. He lived here on and off for almost a decade, leading a normal life with a routine that nourished his creativity. Seeing his old photographs from a summer house in Kilyos for the first time left me in awe. For someone with such deep admiration for Baldwin but no knowledge of his Istanbul years, it was surprising to imagine one of the greatest intellectuals of all time wandering the streets of Beyoğlu. Turkish people, for some reason, love to repeat—without historical proof—that Napoleon once said, “If the earth were a single state, Istanbul would be its capital.” But the line that lingers with me far more is Baldwin’s confession: “Istanbul saved my life.”
Istanbul did save my life. Years of crossing the Bosphorus shaped the very essence of my being. The freedom that comes with the anonymity of big cities – paired with the constant responsibility and quiet anxiety of feeling you must always be doing something, fueled by their endless resources and opportunities – has defined who I am today. I hid, wronged and disappointed on many occasions, all to grow older, wiser, and more responsible. People really do come to Istanbul to disappear, as Lia puts it in the movie. Reinvention comes with this disappearance—a transformation that isn’t possible in places like my beautiful hometown in southern Turkey or in Lia and Achi’s rural Georgia, but one that is inevitable in Istanbul.
Don’t get me wrong, though. No one here claims that Istanbul is the perfect city; but it is the city. It is perfectly imperfect. Baldwin himself, for instance, couldn’t escape the social injustices here, as he was beaten by two men who shouted racist and homophobic slurs while visiting a coastal village. He was also outspoken about the Turkish state’s crackdown on the rights of the Kurdish people. In Crossing, too, we see how troubling the experiences of certain communities are. One scene clearly illustrates the problems trans people face, showing the bureaucratic obstacles a woman encounters after her transition. Today, too, we experience political oppression that was unseen in the history of the Republic as the ruling regime recently increased its crackdown on the democratic opposition. This is what holding multiple truths means. As welcoming or diverse as one might find it, Istanbul can be equally hostile and exclusionary. Despite embracing all walks of life, some are always marginalized. Hagia Sophia’s status shifts with whoever is in power. Taksim Square is, at times, a place where labor unions or queer communities gather to mobilize; at other times, it is where they face police brutality, tear gas, and persecution. Tourists flood Istiklal Street, passing women who speak out against femicide and mothers searching for children who disappeared during the forced disappearances of the 90s. And yet, in the same city, millions can fill the streets overnight in defiance when their mayor is detained on political charges. Istanbul, and maybe only Istanbul, can in one breath crush democratic hopes and, in the next, ignite them. This is the paradox that defines it, a city where despair and resistance, exclusion and belonging, injustice and solidarity coexist not side by side, but intertwined. A city that holds multiple truths.
For the longest time, I found it very hard to answer one question: “Where are you from?” The answer was easy when I was living in Turkey. “I am from Hatay,” I would start, then a brag about Hatay cuisine would follow. But when I moved to Europe, a realization hit, leading me to say that I am an Istanbulite. Sometimes an uneducated reaction with racist implications would ensue—whether an assumption that my community was hardcore Islamist or an argument that Turkey did not belong to Europe. On a lucky day, however, the other person would proceed to talk about how beautiful the city is, saving me from the burden of a tense conversation. What Istanbul taught me after years of living there is that to belong, you must be an Istanbulite at heart. And anyone lucky enough to cross into the city and find a corner to rewrite their part of history earns that title. It doesn’t matter whether you are a world-renowned intellectual, a trans woman from Georgia, or a 13-year-old from southern Turkey; in the end, it only takes a crossing to call Istanbul home.
References
Yerebakan, O. C. (2025, January 23). James Baldwin in Istanbul. The Paris Review. Retrieved August 17, 2025, from https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2025/01/23/james-baldwin-in-istanbul/
National Museum of African American History & Culture. (n.d.). Baldwin in Turkey. Retrieved August 17, 2025, from https://nmaahc.si.edu/explore/stories/baldwin-turkey
Ullmann, J. (n.d.). Yellow filter: A cinematic technique or pushing stereotypes? Jeremy Ullmann. Retrieved August 17, 2025, from https://www.jeremyullmann.com/film-tv-culture/yellow-filter-a-cinematic-technique-or-pushing-stereotypes
Kule, S., & Gülaçtı, İ. E. (2023). A cinematographic image of Istanbul in post-2000 Hollywood cinema in the context of orientalist discourse: A semiotic visual analysis of The International and Skyfall movies. International Social Sciences Studies Journal, 9(118), 9527–9547. https://doi.org/10.29228/sssj.740
Nevres, Ö. (2024, October 6). Did Napoleon really say, “If the Earth were a single state, Istanbul would be its capital”? City of Istanbul. Retrieved August 17, 2025, from https://cityofistanbul.net/napoleon-earth-single-state-istanbul-capital/
I am an Istanbulite trying to adapt to life in Milan. I study political science here at Bocconi, and it is my first year. My interests include politics, the environment, culture, and society. I feel like it is my job to stay up to date about pop culture and socio-political events happening all around the world, and I see myself on a mission to create a better everyday life for people and the planet.
