Funny Things These Labels
I lived in Romania as an expat for nearly three years. Although I can eat virtually anything (especially if I’m hungry), we used to go to a Turkish restaurant where we can find fish, I mean the ones we like, otherwise local fish (from lakes and rivers, occasionally from Black Sea) were plenty. After a visit or two, the Romanian staff quickly learned our favorites and all we had to was to choose the fish of the day.
One day, or rather night, we learned that the truck bringing the fish had a problem at the Customs. Not very much surprised as ordering anything and everything from the truckers in order avoid the unnecessary customs formalities (futile barriers against free trade, how pathetic) was a long standing Turkish tradition, we simply cursed our luck for that day’s truck was not coming from Greece, the other fish supplying country. The Greek, being law abiding visitors would have brought the fish (You did not believe that, did you? Good!).
Well, this unfortunate incident unfortunately disrupted our usual routine with the staff. While my friend ordered chicken, I took a pause to decide and I heard the waitress say:
“I’ll bring you a steak.”
“You recommend it?”
“No, but you’re a communist!”
“???”
“Communists eat steak. Shall I bring red wine, too?”
“Are you sure communists like red wine?”
She smiled, and said, “Yes.”
Sooo, while we were waiting for our orders, a heated discussion started: why was I a communist and he was not? Soon, the owner, her husband, and the chef joined our table(it’s always nice to have friends). We were all trying to figure out how I had become a commie. Unable to arrive at a conclusion that would make some sense, the owner decided to ask. Coming back, laughing, she pointed at me and her husband, “You both are communists.”
The restaurant had a basement floor where we used to hang out after the restaurant closed. We would go down and continue our discussion in late hours. It was very considerate of us, not disturbing the neighbors with our chit-chat and singing (No, the licensing authorities of course, had nothing to do with it). One of those nights, they heard me and the husband singing “Ciao Bella” and “The Internationale”. Well, Ciao Bella was innocent enough, but The Internationale?
You know, that song caused a lot of trouble for many. In the Turkish movie very appropriately named “International” they make a parody of it. During the military regime of 1980’s, a political fugitive takes refuge in a small town. A young village girl, secretly in love with the new boy in town, tries to impress him. He gives her a few books and records one of which being The Internationale. While she is listening upstairs, her father, hearing it, enters the room and asks what it is she’s listening to. Poor girl lies and says it is a popular song. Being the conductor of the local brass band, the father decides to teach the song that has appealed him so much to the band for the approaching military parade. A few days later, the parade starts, the band starts to play The Internationale as a welcome song for all the top military leaders present at the ceremony. Until halfway, everyone looks pleased, including the generals. Then somebody leans over the big general’s shoulder and whispers the ugly truth: this whole village is full of communists, and they are bold enough to declare it with The International. To make a long story short, everybody gets arrested, the fugitive is killed, the girl cries.
I can not remember whether it is based on a true story or not, it’s been some time. Let me tell you a true one instead, from the documentary of Tahsin Isbilen, “Asia Minor, Again”:
World War II years. The Germans invaded Greece, and the islands in the Aegean were falling one by one. Hunger, violence and oppression forced many of the islanders to take refuge in the coastal villages of Turkey, like Karaburun, Aliaga and Kusadasi. Almost 3000 of them lived in the then poverty stricken Turkey, the villagers sharing whatever little they had. The remaining Greek partisans gave the Germans a tough time. But they were not always lucky. Ambushed, 20 of them had to leave on a not so much seaworthy boat during night. After rowing for a while, they started to sing, yes, you guessed it right, The Internationale despite the warnings of the experienced partisans for the German patrol boats might hear them. They were lucky, though. It was the Turkish fishermen who heard them and came to the rescue. On the way, they taught the saviours our notorious song so that they could sing together.
So, if you happen to come across a fisherman old enough to have seen WW II, whistling or humming “The Internationale”, don’t be surprised. He probably does not know what it means, nor does he care. It was just a song he once sang with his friends from the islands long ago. Just a song.
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