Although I like needlework and embroidery -- and still do them to relax -- I hated being sent to home economics class when I was in middle school. The reason for my hatred was very simple: While we girls were dealing with household works with a “scientific approach,” the boys were taking classes on how to write and speak beautifully and debate courses.
Make no mistake -- this discrimination in school was not taking place in a far corner of Anatolia but right in the middle of Ankara in the upper-middle class Ayrancı neighborhood, a five-minute walk to the Parliament and directly opposite of the Military Academy.
The school was a mixed one -- the girls and the boys were together in the classroom except for home economics classes and physical education. The school was what we called a simple state school, meaning it didn't give vocational training; instead the boys were sent to writing classes and we were sent to cooking classes.
My brother and I were in the same school. While I was sitting at home doing my homework with a needle on some fabric, he was doing his homework on me, writing speeches and reading them to me. I used to look at him and advise him to change some words while knitting baby shoes. I still remember the jealousy that I felt.
But when it comes to my brother practicing debate, I lost my head. He used to claim ridiculous ideas like milk not being white. At that time I did not know that I should not take ridiculous ideas seriously and tried to convince him using reasonable suggestions. But he didn't listen -- he just repeated the same thing over and over, speaking non stop and making me think I was talking to a wall.
But the next day while we were returning home he would thank me for letting him practice on me. He was considered one of the most gifted debate students. He used to be in the school debate team and compete with other schools.
When I grew up, I realized that this is how men learned to debate: Do not listen and repeat the same thing over and over again to make the other side tired of hearing it. They probably learned this method in school and didn't get rid of it.
For me, debate is still related to this conversation, and I believe it needs the same attention as embroidery, maybe because while I was learning how to wash clothes my mind was not being cleansed.
Every time I hear or participate in monologues about the problems with Turkey I remember those days. I called them monologues because they either take the form of my brother's “debate” on milk not being white, or just the simple approval of them.
Democracy requires a certain culture. It is impossible to impose democracy; it is something that needs lots of time to mature in a conducive culture. An important part of this culture is to know how to have proper and productive debates without shouting, making others agree with you or getting nasty.
Nowadays when I hear all these “debates” about Article 301 of the Turkish Penal Code, the first thing that I want to do is take a needle and fabric because I need to relax before I get the feeling that I am talking to a wall.
Make no mistake -- this discrimination in school was not taking place in a far corner of Anatolia but right in the middle of Ankara in the upper-middle class Ayrancı neighborhood, a five-minute walk to the Parliament and directly opposite of the Military Academy.
The school was a mixed one -- the girls and the boys were together in the classroom except for home economics classes and physical education. The school was what we called a simple state school, meaning it didn't give vocational training; instead the boys were sent to writing classes and we were sent to cooking classes.
My brother and I were in the same school. While I was sitting at home doing my homework with a needle on some fabric, he was doing his homework on me, writing speeches and reading them to me. I used to look at him and advise him to change some words while knitting baby shoes. I still remember the jealousy that I felt.
But when it comes to my brother practicing debate, I lost my head. He used to claim ridiculous ideas like milk not being white. At that time I did not know that I should not take ridiculous ideas seriously and tried to convince him using reasonable suggestions. But he didn't listen -- he just repeated the same thing over and over, speaking non stop and making me think I was talking to a wall.
But the next day while we were returning home he would thank me for letting him practice on me. He was considered one of the most gifted debate students. He used to be in the school debate team and compete with other schools.
When I grew up, I realized that this is how men learned to debate: Do not listen and repeat the same thing over and over again to make the other side tired of hearing it. They probably learned this method in school and didn't get rid of it.
For me, debate is still related to this conversation, and I believe it needs the same attention as embroidery, maybe because while I was learning how to wash clothes my mind was not being cleansed.
Every time I hear or participate in monologues about the problems with Turkey I remember those days. I called them monologues because they either take the form of my brother's “debate” on milk not being white, or just the simple approval of them.
Democracy requires a certain culture. It is impossible to impose democracy; it is something that needs lots of time to mature in a conducive culture. An important part of this culture is to know how to have proper and productive debates without shouting, making others agree with you or getting nasty.
Nowadays when I hear all these “debates” about Article 301 of the Turkish Penal Code, the first thing that I want to do is take a needle and fabric because I need to relax before I get the feeling that I am talking to a wall.
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