By Keith Rutowski
All photos by Keith Rutowski

GEZI PARK, Turkey -- I had only been living in Istanbul for little more than two weeks when I tasted tear gas for the first time. I spent most of the month of June in Gezi Park and the surrounding streets, trying to capture telling moments within the swirl of events.

It was a month with moments of clarity and bewildering contradictions. It is only now that I’ve begun to process what I saw and to try to make sense of what transpired.

After the first violent police crackdown on May 31, the crowds grew larger, messier and bolder. Demonstrators who had hoped to prevent the destruction of the roughly 9-acre park in the city center were still around, but they were now flanked in Taksim Square by individuals hoisting political party signs and demanding the prime minister’s resignation.

I spent many evenings walking amidst the banners, vendor carts and dance circles, studying a scene that fluctuated between a festive celebration and a maelstrom of indignation and diverging agendas.

For a period of time, Gezi became a world unto itself, with an atmosphere distinct from the square and surrounding streets. While the streets served as a battleground for police and protesters, the mood in the park was stable and, at times, reflective. I would often wander past the makeshift library, weave my way among the tents offering free food and stop to watch a musician strumming a guitar or a couple quietly reading.

During the month, I stood among the police waiting near a 19th century palace for a potential confrontation and followed young people in helmets and goggles as they confronted police on main thoroughfares, then retreated, gagging and eyes burning, into Istanbul’s steep side streets.

I was caught in a stampede in Gezi when police fired canisters into a dense crowd. The park was so clogged with people that the walkways were obstructed, and people began to push in all directions as they tried to fight their way out. I thought there was a distinct possibility that I might suffocate or lose consciousness in the gas. In reality, this scene in the park probably lasted five minutes, but it felt endless.

These are far and away the most difficult circumstances I’ve encountered. I’m spending as much time in the field avoiding tear-gas canisters, stones, fireworks and Molotov cocktails as I am in composing shots.

In trying to get closer to the action, I have, on a few occasions, found myself caught in the middle of the clashes. The confrontations have largely been occurring in open spaces where it’s sometimes difficult to take cover, and even when you do find some, it doesn’t always guarantee safety.

The defining moment during the protests came when one man chose to stand silent and motionless in Taksim Square for several hours and in doing so inspired hundreds of others across the country to imitate the act of civil disobedience. Although he and the other “standing men” were eventually removed by police, and though water cannons and tear gas would later make a brief return, it seemed as though this marked a turning point in the tenor of demonstrations. It seemed that the people who had been moved to the streets to make their voices heard now felt they were saying the most by saying nothing at all.

For now, life in Istanbul has mostly returned to how it was before May 31. One reminder of the largest civil uprising in the history of the Turkish Republic occurs at around 9 p.m. every day — when people step out on their balconies with pots, pans, spoons and whistles to make certain that the events of the past few weeks are not forgotten.