At the end of the first week, we had the swearing in ceremony. The
18-monthers have this at the end of their first month. Even though the
standards that they are holding us to aren't as strict as the regulars,
this still means a lot of work in the first week.


This part of the training is all about marching. How to march in step,
how to stand in line, how to salute. We salute with our wrists straight,
fingers together, tips barely touching the rim of our caps. Look
straight ahead. Stand up straight. You can't show the palm of your hand
or your thumb to the person in front of you. And we marched and learned
to turn left, right or back. And marched. And shouted. You you get
shouted at all the time and have to shout back. Most of us took a few
tries before we understood that you can't be loud enough. Everything
must get done at full volume - YESSS SIRR!


There's rarely a point to what they make us do. We are gathered in the
central area every morning, noon, and evening and also whenever the
officer in charge feels like it. We must all stand in perfect line and
be counted. Every morning the company commander comes out to inspect us.
He is usually not on time and all we can do is to wait in line for him
to show up.


By the evening I am usually so tired that it's all I can do to keep my
eyes open. On the evening of the second day, the company's second in
command, an üsteğmen (1st lieutenant) has gathered the whole company in
the conference room. He talks excitedly, in earnest. Though I half slept
through this one, I will find out that he actually really likes the
microphone and these discussions. We had several more discussions during
the month. He should have been a lecturer at a university. Though I
don't know what he would do without the ability to tell someone to shut
up and sit down.

The üsteğmen starts with the merchants of Burdur. Apparently prices are
tripled from what they should be. He told us that we should strictly
insist on normal prices and that we should never sit down to eat without
looking at the menu first. All of us make far more money than the
average person, so to us it doesn't matter if the soup costs 25 cents or
75. As a result of this, the regular soldiers can't afford to buy
anything, he said. Since it's a small Anatolian town, there's not really
much choice either, except, apparently, in prostitutes. He gives us some
statistics - 160+ registered cases of AIDS in the hospitals last year.
20 odd houses of ill repute. We are of course strictly forbidden to
visit any of them. I sense a distinct aura of misogyny from him.
Whenever he speaks of women, his mouth takes a small sneer, the edges of
the lips curve down, the nose is lifted a tad. Also some of the things
he says - "Forgive me for being crude but you know what they say, right
guys? If rape is unavoidable, one might as well enjoy it." A small
smile. This despite the fact that he is married, and has a child, too.
Or maybe because of it?

During this first speech, he emphasized the fact that though we had paid
for the privilege of only a month's service, the money went into the 17
months we will not be doing. This month, the only thing that is
different between us and the regulars is the fact that our average age
is about 30. He told us that they would be strict with us and went on to
criticize the old commander who he thought was too lax. He also told us
not to have anyone from outside call in to ask for favours. During this
part of his speech, his mobile phone rang. He took the call without
leaving the podium and firmly but politely told the person on the other
end that no, he could not do anything special, everyone is treated the
same here. He then turned to us said: "You see, we get phone calls like
this all the time. Tell them not to call because it is of no use."
Either a very clever piece of theatrics or a real call. My vote is on
the former. I would learn later that the officers of our company were
the strictest of the lot - For example, Hakan's commander was more
relaxed, their NCOs were under less pressure. He even became somewhat
friendly with his commander who called him into his office to talk in
the evenings. No such fraternizing with us.

The military is obsessed about appearances. They are worse than the most
anorexic of the models. Every line must be straight. Taller people go to
the front. The tallest person in the company is always on the right
front corner of the "box", which is about 25 rows of 10 people for our
company. All arms must be raised simultaneously to the salute. All feet
must come down at exactly the same time. When sitting down in the mess
hall or the conference room, all seats must be filled, starting from the
front. When finishing a salute, all hands must slap the sides of the
legs together. We marched and marched that first week to achieve that
perfect rhythm of 250+ boots slapping the concrete in unison. The
combination of our commanders' obsession and the fact that we are the
company who stands right in front of the regimental box (where the head
honcho stands during inspections) means that we march an extra two hours
every day. And since the parade ground for the whole regiment is our
training ground and our responsibility, it also means that our company
gets to clean it up after the extra two hours of marching.

Sometime during the week, I discover that it is indeed pleasing to have
all the arms and legs in the company move simultaneously. All left feet
stamp down together to the beat of the drum and the chanting of the NCO:
"Leeft...leeeft...leeeft,right,leeft." It is hypnotizing; one feels that
he is connected to every other person in their unit, which I guess is
the point of the whole thing.

On Friday, we swore in. The regiment gathered together in the central
square and went through the process of swearing allegiance forever to
the flag, the country and to protect them against internal and external
enemies at whatever the cost. Families and visitors came, as did the
mayor of Burdur. We sang the national anthem, the second in command of
the regiment gave a talk about the importance of this day in our lives.
The band played Yankee Doodle, of all things. We then marched past the
regimental box with patriotic poems blaring from the speakers. After the
ceremony, our company was made to march a tour around the compound,
presumably to impress the civilians who were milling about. There are
these four word chants which you shout in unison to the
one-two-three-four of the marching beat. Some of them are:
"Ne mutlu Türküm diyene" "Her Türk asker doğar" "Vatan sana canım feda" 
(Happy to be a Turk. All Turks are born soldiers. My life for my country) 

We shouted these regularly every time we marched somewhere, especially if
there were some officers around or, as in this case, civilians to be
impressed.

Pittsburgh 10 November 2000