Solidarity Academies: Making A Virtue of Necessity?

Photo of author, taken by Diana Näcke. Photo of author, taken by Diana Näcke.

Solidarity Academies: Making A Virtue of Necessity?

By : Aslı Odman

Whatever the circumstances that gave rise to the “Academics for Peace Petition,” today there are important aspects of that statement and the process it unleashed that we must not lose.[1] Beyond the conjunctural reasons that the petition has been the subject of relentless attack as a useful target for the highest levels of the Turkish regime, there are also other reasons it has proven to be such a focal point.

As one example of what is distinctive, the language of the petition goes beyond the habitual framing of “intellectual manifestos,” defining itself not above and outside of the politics it engages but as a partisan declaration. The petitioners—speaking as citizens, not nationals—address the state as a “lion’s den.” Even the fact that the petition describes a crime as a crime under the current legal system sets it apart. Those who were drawn to sign the petition did so without knowing who else was signing, and yet a review of the profiles of those signatories reveals that they constitute a group with its own identity. These are academics acting not out of a generic concern with public welfare or the defense of freedom of expression, but rather acting to transform themselves and their society.

Both the costs and the solidarity of the Peace Petition are borne by academics who are committed to praxis in the fields of urban policy, environments, food, gender, labor, children’s rights, human rights, public health.

Both the costs and the solidarity of the Peace Petition are borne by academics who are committed to praxis (research in action) in the fields of urban policy, environment, food, gender, labor, children’s rights, human rights, and public health. Is it not possible that this group, which came together to oppose military incursions and intervene in the ongoing Kurdish question, has the potential to address these problems and fields together? Could the burning need for solutions become a virtue, the obstacles turn into possibilities? And might these possibilities generate their own tangible spaces? 

Profiles of the Signatories


These researchers defend freedom of expression as a means to address social problems, not to generate divisions. Indeed, we can read the petition as an online extension of the energy and spontaneous momentum of so many of the movements and organizations that preceded it and were extinguished by ambushes, bombings, and canceled elections—Gezi, the forums, the public gatherings before and after the 7 June 2015 elections. What will we do with this energy? This raises a broader question than the petition itself, requiring a consideration of the profiles of the signatories and their experiences with group solidarity.

The petition’s 2212 signatories belong to over 400 different universities; of these signatories, we know that only a quarter work or study at Turkish universities.[2] Clearly, this is a function of the presence of a large “Turkish academic diaspora,” which is also implicated in the dynamic of accelerating academic exile that followed. The extent to which this diaspora is part of a social transformation rather than just a witness to it is an important issue to monitor in terms of the new relations that are being forged.

When we consider the departments to which petition signatories belong at over one hundred universities in Turkey, we see that they include the humanities and social sciences in the broadest sense (political science, economics, sociology, communications, philosophy, languages) and the medical field. In this period, when globally the higher education sector has taken a pragmatic and neoliberal turn, particularly at top tier universities, the fields represented in the petition are specifically those that have been treated like precarious stepchildren under pressure to demonstrate their productivity and legitimize themselves through the embrace of quantitative methods. 

The petition also makes clear the degree to which there is a well-developed field of “social and humanist medicine” in Turkey that is an enormously important “local value” reflected in the Turkish Association of Doctors. By contrast, the relative absence of engineers among petition signatories may reflect the fact that (neo)liberal technocrats in Turkey are largely drawn from this field, as they are in much of the world.[3]

Women and the Precarious


Of the petition signatories, fifty-six percent are women. Women’s participation in the petition campaign exceeds their presence in the academic workforce, which remains roughly fifty percent. Likewise, despite facing significant risks and structural job insecurity, the youngest and most precarious group within academia constitute more than half of the signatories.

The precarity of the majority of signatories spans a plethora of insecure statuses afforded by Turkish academia. The large majority—sixty percent—of first and second wave petition signatories consists of graduate students, “mere” doctoral candidates, research assistants in positions without job security, and PhDs who work as part-time, adjunct, or contract teaching staff with positions that are renewed on a discretionary, untenured basis. Indeed, the world over, efforts to organize the academy have fallen largely on the shoulders of this new generation of precarious academics.[4]

As a result of the purges that followed, the petition revealed the presence and work of academics who are considered “neither local nor national” at the universities that have mushroomed across the provinces of Turkey over the last fifteen years.[5] The geographic distribution of such critical academics beyond the metropolitan universities to the new provincial academic labor force had been largely overlooked until it was rendered visible by the purges.

The association referred to as “Academics for Peace” is in many ways an entity that does not exist. Precisely for this reason, this project has become a conduit bringing new energy to the search for concrete alternatives by operating as a network, as a web. The effect of the petition has been to undermine the aura around the academy—as somehow constituting a distinctive labor force or a cadre of the enlightened. Moreover, the petition crisis has also made it clear that academics cannot be at the service of the state but must rather produce scholarship that generates social resources in the service of and in conversation with the public.

Academic Peace Petitioners: Web, Conduit, or Impossible Dream?[6]


This period of purges and devastation has been marked by sustained efforts to make a virtue of necessity. The first steps of generating Solidarity Academies were taken in Eskisehir with courses in solidarity and in Istanbul by those organized as “the campus-less.” In September 2016, Kocaeli Solidarity Academy established the first Solidarity Academy. Today, Solidarity Academies continue their activities in Ankara, Antalya, Eskisehir, Istanbul, Izmir, Kocaeli, Mersin, and Urfa. The Off-university.de initiative launched by the Academics for Peace in Berlin became institutionalized and started “broadcasting” in October 2017. The Berlin team is working on generating a digital commons and creating ways to offer opportunities for purged and displaced teachers and learners with digital technology and online courses.

Collective work in Kocaeli, Mersin, Ankara, Izmir, Istanbul, and Eskisehir offer the first experiments in hopeful collaboration. Some have taken an institutional form within existing legal structures. Some have taken the form of legal associations (like Kocaeli Solidarity Academy and the online university initiative—off-university.de—launched in Berlin). Others are organized as formal cooperatives (like Ankara Solidarity Academy and “the campus-less”). Still others have formed cultural-commercial limited corporations (Mersin Culture House). Whatever we were doing as academics in universities, and however we were doing it, these groups have gone beyond simply exporting those practices beyond the campus. They are also centering their work on questions of alternative pedagogy, taking the local and national agenda as an object of study, and scrutinizing both the resources and production of knowledge. These scholarly enterprises of alternative knowledge production should be followed closely!

Following weekly seminars, summer schools, and organization meetings, Kocaeli Solidarity Academy officially became an association in December 2017. On 3 January 2018, it organized a workshop and announced that a School of Life Sciences would be launched in February 2018. On 12 February 2018 they launched their emancipatory education project with twenty-two courses and workshops over the course of an entire semester. A brief overview of the titles of these workshops and courses is enough to demonstrate how the organizers transcended the binary of local/global by actively linking urban concerns to universal issues: Worker Welfare and Labor Security; Urban Transformation of Kocaeli; Cultural Heritage and Right to the City; Labor History of Kocaeli; Computer Games and Democratic Education; 2+1 Living Space: Philosophy, Literature, Medicine[7]; Medical Profession as a Social Responsibility; Gender and Female Labor; Music Map of Kocaeli; Outdoor Sports and the Person; Critical Media Literacy, etc.

Opened in June 2017, Mersin Culture House is one of the most lively—open seven days a week!—public library and cultural centers of the city. Beyond its offerings in the academic and cultural fields, it also organizes different activities inspired by solidarity economies.

Istanbul’s “campus-less” group offers shadow advising to undergraduate students. This group also establishes course partnerships to go beyond interdisciplinary courses and turn teacher-student relationships into learner-learner relationships. They also work on the relationality of knowledge and organize workshops on the subject. 

The Ankara Solidarity Academy is institutionalized as an education cooperative within the city where the largest mass of purges took place. This Academy managed to carry the university curriculum outside of campus. In addition, Street Academies continue in Ankara.

Izmir Solidarity Academy organized an Immigration School. The school deployed the networks of the Bridge Between Peoples Association and benefited from the fact that Izmir is a refugee city. Mobilizing the organic relationships between scholars who have long been working on human rights in the city, Izmir Solidarity also launched a comprehensive mapping project documenting the cost of purges in Turkey’s academia for the public.

The Eskisehir School established a choir named “Tunes for Peace.” Liberated from the disciplinary and other constraints of the university, this school incorporates academic curricula and more in its activities. 

Similar to the other solidarity academies, Antalya, Urfa, and Ankara Street Academies offer public debate platforms to their cities via seminars. The Istanbul Solidarity Academy, which was founded in June 2017, has been slowed and diverted from its academic project as a result of the epic coordination work it has been forced to undertake to facilitate the legal representation of targeted dissident academics in the indictments that were issued by Istanbul prosecutors. Precarious young scholars continue their efforts to establish a research coop in Istanbul.

Since March 2017, a coordinating committee has sought to organize the Solidarity Academies. They regularly hold coordination meetings and have organized thematic workshops in Istanbul in March 2017, in Izmir in September 2017, and in November 2017 in Eskisehir, each of which focused on alternative pedagogies and organizational challenges. As modest as these initiatives might appear when considered against the vast abyss that they are facing, they are extremely valuable and constructive collective experiences in advocacy and solidarity.

Concrete questions concerning experiences with solidarity economies have become central to our research agenda in the academic production of knowledge.[8] Moreover, this interest is not informed by the necessity to publish in internationally indexed journals. The question is rather: How might we configure an agile and egalitarian model of organization that avoids reproducing the same hierarchies and corrupt systems? Given the meta economy of contemporary capitalism, how can relationships be organized? How can public resources be developed? How can relationships be formed around a project economy? Which legal and economic forms are available for realizing such projects? How are data/information, income, and opportunities to be generated and distributed?

In addition, several questions regarding academic production remain unanswered; our careers in the neoliberal university, with its metrics of individual performance, forced us to set these critical questions aside. Issues of knowledge production could not be translated into the logic of viable individual research projects to be appraised through impact measurements and citation counts. We already experienced these contradictions between our tools and conditions of production before the mass purges. How do we now understand these contradictions and, more importantly, how should we address them? 

What kind of a relationship will academia establish with the burning social issues of the day? What will be its agenda and focus, and what kinds of problems will it engage? How will the field and the laboratory be defined? What do we draw on to produce “theory”? What are the dynamics of this borrowing and drawing from, what purpose does it serve, what does it make more visible, and what does it obscure? How is academia, divided into a multitude of fields and areas of specialization, going to speak to the whole and across disciplinary divides?

How do we represent data, knowledge, information, and science in the digital era, and how do we deploy them to generate a commons that belongs to the public, and render it participatory, transformative, and regenerative? Which techniques, tools, and methods signal particular philosophies of knowledge and being? Where do we turn, if we are no longer going to teach in the unidirectional manner that we are most familiar with, that is in monologues and via a pedagogy that has not been problematized? These questions become especially urgent if we are looking for ways to turn online education into a form of digital commons.

Are we only going to produce research and courses? To what extent should we be also concerned with generating common economies of our own spheres of life (food, housing, child and elderly care, transport, etc)? Can we mourn for the privileges and status that accompanied our positions as faculty that were lost as we rid ourselves of our elite aura? The world that depends on recognition, meaning, and significance earned in careers and jobs is changing drastically—what should we do with the intellectual labor that remains without falling into nostalgia or fetishizing voluntarism?

The Peace Petition experience has placed on our agenda no less than the question of how to organize to find a new purpose for our profession and identity, in order to use life knowledge to defend life in an era of corporate autocracy. This question preoccupied many of us before: at cocktail conversations after big conferences that made little sense, following a class that did not satisfy us, or during furtive corridor conversations. And now, the question forces itself upon us, as we are increasingly being taken away physically and psychologically from the places where we could hang on. How much can we accommodate these questions in our usual habits? What is to be done? Our roles as defendants, as the purged, and as eyewitness in the Çağlayan Courthouse are important and bear eloquent testimony to these urgent questions.[9]

NOTES


[1] EDITORS’ NOTE: This petition, which circulated in December 2015 and January 2016, came to be known as the “Academics for Peace Petition.” In the remainder of the text, it is referred to as the Peace Petition or the petition. However, as this article makes clear, “Academics for Peace” is not an institutionalized group, but is rather composed of signatories who found the Turkish government’s brutal counterinsurgency campaign unacceptable for different reasons.

[2] The most systematic examination of the question “Who are the Signatories” can be found in this piece written early in the process by Efe Kerem Sözeri, “Evrensel Değerler ve Milli Yalnızlık: İki Bildiri”p24, 28 January 2016. The scattered data collected by the Academic Peace Petitioners solidarity group has yet to be fully explored.

[3] Nilüfer Göle, Mühendisler ve İdeoloji: Öncü Devrimcilerden Yenilikçi Seçkinlere, (Metis, 1986). I am indebted to Ali Rıza Taşkale for pointing me to a more global and recent reference on the subject; David A. Banks, “Engineered for Dystopia”, 24 January 2018. 

[4] This can be seen in the largely US-based organizations whose social media footprint reveals that activists are largely doctoral candidates and recent PhDs. See, for example: Edufactory, @PrecariousFac, @AdjunctAction, @NewFacMajority, @PrecariCorps, @UAChicago United Academics, @AdjunctNation. 

[5] EDITORS’ NOTE: The quoted phrase—“yerli ve milli olmayan” (those who are neither local nor national)—is the negation of an expression often used by President Erdogan to attribute a positive virtue to an individual, a group, or an institution, emphasizing that these constituencies are rooted, authentic, and possess attributes of national dignity. The suggestion is that those who do not have these characteristics are inauthentic, having been brainwashed by foreign values or even mobilized by foreign powers. 

[6] EDITORS’ NOTE: In the original Turkish version of this article, the expression “yeast in the lake”—a Turkish colloquialism—is used. “Yeast in the lake” would roughly translate as an impossible dream. It derives from a folktale in which a wise man was seen pouring yogurt culture (yeast) into a lake; when asked what he was doing, he replied that he was trying to turn the lake to yogurt. When told this would never produce a yogurt lake, he responded: “Yes, but what if it did?” 

[7] EDITORS’ NOTE: The title of the course is literally “2+1 Apartment: Philosophy, Literature, Medicine,” which is a reference to a common real estate advert in Turkey for 2+1 housing: two bedrooms and a living room. 

[8] Various experiments in forming cooperatives or solidarity economies in different arenas of life and labor are brought together in Ulus Atayurt Express magazine as well as in Mike Neary & Josh Winn, Beyond Public and Private: A Framework for Cooperative Higher Education (University of Lincoln, 2016). 

[9] To follow the ongoing processes at the Çağlayan Courthouse where Petition signatories are being prosecuted, please check: barisicinakademisyenler.net, and solidarite-up.org. For the legal dimensions of the cases, visit afp.hypotheses.org

For more on the subject by Aslı Odman in Turkish, please see:

https://www.birartibir.org/component/tags/tag/asli-odman

Occupy Gezi as Politics of the Body

Since the Gezi resistance started with bloodshed on 31 May, it has had an “anti-depressant” effect, as a friend of mine puts it, as much as it has been nerve-racking. During this period where each day has been prone to new crises and normalcy was completely disrupted, we simultaneously experienced the peaks of ecstasy and the depths of sorrow.

Analyzing such an intense event naturally requires taking some distance. Pending systematization, however, the vivid memory of each day impels one to put on paper multifarious ideas that resonate well with the resistance. Each morning, many bodies with sleep deprived eyes wake up in Istanbul, Ankara, Antakya, Urfa, and Denizli to take to the streets once again, after having quickly checked the latest news in the social media. They are astonished and impressed that they can still walk, run, stand up, and carry provisions for those in the parks. Exhausted bodies rejuvenate with every new threat that the government utters, and with thousands, tens of thousands of others they begin flowing to Taksim, Kızılay, Kuğulu Park, Gündoğdu, Abbasoğlu, and Yeniköy Park carrying home-made gas masks, swimmer goggles, anti-acid solutions, and whistles.

No one does or can govern these bodies. The masses that gather in public spaces are not formed by virtue of transferring tax money into the wallets of partisans. No one provides shuttle buses for them; no one gives them flags, or feeds them with sandwiches. No one assigns them the slogans they shout out during the demonstrations. Bodies that take heart from knowing that they are not alone do not count, or count on, numbers to meet with others in communal or virtual spaces. One standing man suffices for thousands of others to take to the streets. After all, “one” is also a number…

The government, whose tactlessness prompts these resisting and standing bodies to convene again and again every single day, could not have missed the significance of this body politics. These bodies naturally do have a language, even a few languages that are at times congruent and at others incongruent; however, as a whole, they constitute a politics of the body. The rage and dreams that have been embodied in tweets and graffiti since 31 May turn into material realities through the physical existence, visibility, and endurance of the bodies. If history is being rewritten, then its subject is the body.

Four of these bodies lost their lives during this war that the government has waged on society. Thousands of bodies have been beaten up: some lost their eyes, some received irretrievable injuries. Skins were burnt under the water from the cannons, “laced” with chemicals for maximum harm; lungs were choked with tear gas. Pounded arms, legs, and heads got crushed and broken. The long-term effects of the tons of chemicals dumped on bodies are still unknown. What is known, however, is that these chemicals killed hundreds of cats, dogs, and birds, and that they did harm to countless insects, butterflies, and other smaller organisms.

The apparatuses of the state, and the vehicles of death that responded to Gezi’s politics of the body, attempted to imitate the life force that they failed to extort. In response to the huge numbers that filled the parks and squares and astonished everyone without exception, they hoped to gather partisans together in scripted rallies. They began comparing head counts; they calculated representative percentages. When the calculations did not match, they increased the number of police in body armor and helmets and moved them from protest to protest. They built walls of flesh and steel against the wave of resisting flesh. When that did not work, they offered these bodies—which have been in contact with each other physically and virtually through meetings, banners, and tweets—a mise en scène of dialogue, the conditions of which were more or less already determined. They could not even wait for this attempt to yield fruit; two warnings and a command were enough to launch an assault to remove the bodies that produced an alternative sociability from the park, from the space in which physical resistance could be transformed into a life style. They freed the public space of the public. They collected all the banners, pictures, and colors one by one to erase them from social memory. They stripped all the trees, each dedicated to victims of state violence; they appropriated the barricades that were named after tens of people who had undergone physical and psychological torture, and they tore them to tatters. They destroyed the efforts to keep alive the memories of Fikret Encü, who was a victim of Roboski; Metin Göktepe, who was tortured and killed in detention; Dicle Koğacoğlu, who could not take all the sorrow inherent in this society any more; and the Surp Hagop Armenian Cemetery, which was destroyed by Turkish racism.

The only thing that remains is a politics of the body—but the bodies that produce this politics differ from what Giorgio Agamben calls “bare life.” They are not “mere” bodies that the arbitrary will of a sovereign can isolate from society, oppress unceremoniously, or push to the margins of the symbolic world. Rather, they evoke what Ernst Bloch calls “the upright man,” the collective Prometheus. Bloch writes:

Nothing is more fortifying than the call to begin from the beginning. It is youthful as long as it is; to it there belongs a young and aspiring class. It is innocent of the bad things that have happened, for it has never had a real opportunity to be guilty. When this happens, justice has the effect of a morning; it opposes itself to that eternal sickness which was handed down before it. Beginning anew is freshness through and through; it is a first if it appears completely ahistorical, and if it seems to lead back to the beginning of history….It carries the image of the pastoral mood, of the shepherd, of the simple and upright man; one can play with it even in the dark.[1]

Gezi is the struggle of disorderly bodies, those who do not have any dispositif other than their own bodies, against the death machines. If the machines are regulatory instances that follow commands and extort public spaces of mobility with force and violence, then the force they face is the resistance of life itself. Life flourishes at the most unexpected moments and places, just like weeds that crack the concrete and spring out of it. No apparatus of the state can succeed in dominating life absolutely.

The state seeks order; it can control only those whom it orders. It cannot cope with the demand of "freedom"; it has to ask questions such as “freedom for whom,” “freedom for what,” or “freedom under what circumstances” in order to tuck freedom into neat boxes. Order draws borders, fixes identities, and defines. It attempts to establish a hierarchy. By telling parents to take their daughters and sons home from the park, it both brands the resisting bodies as "children" and tries to trigger into action the nucleus of society: family. Through its rhetoric of security, it attributes the risks of its own making to the resisting bodies. It hangs its own flag or banner on the bodies that it prefers knocking down rather than protecting. It punishes those who do not obey; it uses punishment as retaliation. It operates through censorship, threats, and propaganda.

Life, on the other hand, is a constant flux. It challenges borders and moves beyond them. It opens up to circulation those spaces that are closed off due to construction; it paints such destructive vehicles as bulldozers pink; it transforms steps into tribunes, pieces of iron into wish trees, and trees destined to be cut down into monuments. It walks on highways and bridges that are closed to pedestrians. It does not like the empty and the sterile; it covers them up with banners, slogans, tents. It leaves its mark on every surface. It disrupts silence at times with pots and pans, and at other times with a tune from a piano. It plays with identities and definitions; it makes them fluid; it renders them indistinguishable. It can make fun of both itself and the established order thanks to its humor. By changing one single letter in a word, it can ridicule the heaviest of symbolisms. When the state apparatus sends a riot-intervention vehicle to pour tear gas on it, life stops to catch its breath for a while and goes right back to resisting. When a body grows tired, it gets replaced by a reinvigorated one. Life turns into thousands of fingers that tweet and take photographs when the state apparatus sends down vehicles of propaganda. It stops its wheelchair to grab the flag that fell on the ground while escaping from tear gas. It apologizes when it steps on someone`s foot while running; it calms down those who panic.

It is obvious that these bodies that fascism wants to militarize will not assume any ideological identity. When they do not drink alcohol, they ridicule conservatism; when they lie under a TOMA, they make fun of liberalism, which claims that life is the most valuable good. Orthodox Marxism cannot decide under which class struggle these "çapulcu" bodies are to be subsumed. As long as they stay in physical contact, as long as they remain as collective Prometheuses, as long as they—have to—continue the resistance, they grow accustomed to each other`s colors, languages, and genders. They disrupt the behavioral rules that ideologies and institutions expect from them. The natural or moral instinct of protection that has been attributed to mothers loses ground when female bodies participate in the resistance alongside their children. The nationalist and the Kurd exchange anti-acid solutions in gas-filled hotel lobbies. The upper-class college kid drinks the water handed over by the kid with an Anonymous mask without needing to ask what neighborhood he’s from. Soccer fans save their curses for the police rather than for their rivals.

What comes out of all this is trust, not chaos. That`s why the bodies multiply with every gush of tear gas, spaces expand with every police attack, and the quality of contact among the bodies increases with every propaganda speech. The life woven together by bodies born in Gezi is so tenacious that the government is right in fearing it. The power of these bodies stems from their capacity to mutualize endurance, rather than vulnerability (as Judith Butler envisioned they would). One would need to look into the extensive interstices of this politics of the body, rather than into macro-level discourses, to begin deciphering it.

NOTES

[1] Ernst Bloch, Natural Right and Human Dignity (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1987), 61.

[An earlier version of this article was published on 26 June 2013 on BIA ("Independent Communication Network"). The link to that version can be found here. This article was translated from Turkish by Gülfer Göze.]