It’s not easy to imagine nowadays but this is how John Murray described the nighttime soundscape of Constantinople in 1840: “The howlings of a thousand dogs, re-echoing through the deserted nights, chase you betimes from your pillow.” In the same era, a French magazine declared Istanbul’s dogs to be “lords of the cobblestone pavements.” Back then, canine citizens were as numerous as cats, often featuring as the stars of early colour postcards.
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Street dogs, or “community dogs”, have been a part of Istanbul for centuries, and largely there has existed a warmth, or at least a tolerance, between human and canine populations. Nowadays, municipal authorities manage the number of strays by neutering and tagging, while the feeding of them is left to their two-legged neighbours. In 2004, Turkey implemented a “no capture, no kill” policy for all stray animals, sadly not the case everywhere in the world (in 2019, for example, a local council in Samarkand, Uzbekistan, was said to be poisoning dogs, as reported here.)
Throughout Turkey you’ll see well-fed mongrels - their build often suggesting a lineage of labrador and kangal - either sitting with front paws folded or strolling down streets. Each one free to follow their own set of animal rules, snaffling rubbish and lording it over pets kept closely on leads.
As with many others, I have come to care about an often seen dog. Usually, he is laid in the shade by the Salt Galata cultural centre, on Bankalar Street in Karaköy, and his name, according to the security guards, is not ‘Big Dog’ as I call him, but rather the regal-sounding Pasha.
Sometimes, I take a photo of him. He is a little overweight (donated bones and bowls of kibble are never far from his paws) but he is well cared for as far as street dogs go, often taking shelter in the gallery doorway when it is cold or raining.
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Generally, street dogs in Istanbul have benefitted from Turkish tolerance, up to a point and depending on who is in charge.
This delicate community balance was beautifully brought to life in Elizabeth Lo’s film, or ‘dogumentary’, Stray. In the film we see the city from the viewpoint of its canine stars, Zeytin and Nazar, as they seek water, rummage for food and make friends with young Syrian refugees. It is a deeply moving film and absolutely deserves 72 minutes of your time.
I am telling you all this because there is news, and unfortunately it is worrying and grim.
A few weeks ago, at the end of May, I disembarked a ferry in Beşiktaş and was met by a crowd holding up placards and wearing animal masks.
I asked one woman what they were protesting about and she replied, in English: “we hope that the proposed mass culling of street dogs won’t happen, that the people will stand against it. It’s a small number that wants this killing to happen but they are powerful.” I then recalled social media posts I’d seen on Instagram suggesting similar concerns, many linked to the Law for Life Initiative (you can read more here in Turkish but Google translate works).
A few days later, on the road in Turkey, I turned on a hotel room television. The local news programme showed packs of dogs roaming on the outskirts of a city, torn clothes scattered in the dirt and a distressed woman in tears being interviewed. Someone clearly had been attacked. Then, yesterday, I read this article by Alexander Christie-Miller (whose recent book To The City: Life and Death Along the Ancient Walls of Istanbul, I cannot wait to read) which lays it all out clearly:
“Now the Turkish government seems intent on eradicating them with a proposed law that would round up the country’s estimated 4 million stray dogs and cull those that are not adopted within 30 days – almost certainly the vast majority.
“We have a stray dog problem that does not exist in any developed country,” said the president, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, last month, proposing this “radical solution” to what he said was a dramatic rise in dog population, attacks and rabies cases.”
This deeply distressing news brings to mind another terrible time for community dogs in Turkey and also leads me to our destination of this week’s newsletter: the Istanbul Research Institute located right by retail-heavy İstiklal Caddesi.
In 2016, I visited an excellent exhibition there called The Four-Legged Municipality: Street Dogs of Istanbul. Mainly made up of photographic displays, it leant heavily on the institute’s vast collection of historic images to sympathetically explore the city’s long and complicated relationship with street dogs through photographs, travel journals, postcards, moving images and magazines.
The show explained how in 1902, Constantinople’s dogs graced the cover of the Journal des Voyages but also how not long after, in 1910, the revolutionary Committee for Union and Progress ordered Istanbul’s stray dogs to be cruelly rounded up and dumped on an uninhabited island in the Sea of Marmara. There, dog ate dog, literally. This awful ruling was partly the result of the feedback from visiting Europeans, who bought the postcards but who also viewed the dogs as an unhealthy element of the Ottoman capital. It was the Pasteur Institute that urged that the dogs ought to be collected and slaughtered. Now, compare that to what Erdogan was reported as saying… (“We have a stray dog problem that does not exist in any developed country”).
Back then, the exhibition changed how I, a lifelong admirer of all dogs, viewed Istanbul’s street dogs. I’d always appreciated them for how they lived in the city - their noble demeanour and resilience - but afterwards I thought more about how they are also very much intertwined with local culture and history.
During every trip I visit the Istanbul Research Institute, turning up for its exhibitions that highlight the city’s Byzantine, Ottoman and modern history from unusual standpoints. The wooden-floored reference library is open to everyone and has an easy-to-use online catalogue and even the late-19th-century building itself is worth a look, with its intricate frescoes and curved balconies. Other past exhibitions have focused on everything from the Şişli Mosque to foreign visitors in the city from the Victorian era to 1950. It is an extension of the nearby Pera Museum (an utterly brilliant museum and a two-minute walk away; free admission) so combining them on one visit makes sense.
Thank you for reading, and I will be sure to update you on any developments.
Pekmez and Tahini, an idea for breakfast
It’s quite hard to match a recipe to this week’s dispatch, so this isn’t really a recipe at all, more of a suggestion for a simple breakfast.
I think we all know what tahini is nowadays, but in case pekmez is new to you, it is a fruit syrup made by pressing, stirring and boiling fruit until it thickens into sweet molasses. It is a staple at Turkish breakfasts and, while grapes are most commonly used, pekmez is also made from mulberries, plums, apples, pears and pomegranates. You can find both tahini and pekmez for sale in Turkish and Middle Eastern supermarkets around the world.
Serves 4
150ml/10 tablespoons pekmez
100ml/generous 6 tablespoons tahini
On a side plate, pour the pekmez first then and slowly add the tahini in the middle. Serve with thick, warm pitta bread.
Fascinating.