Happy What? (On Christmas in Turkey and the New Year's Claus)

Although this is a Muslim country, and one would not expect to find hide or hair of Christmas come December 25, this is not entirely the case. Although certainly not to the extent that one would see it in Christian countries, the symbols surface here and there -- Christmas trees start cropping up in shops and apartment windows. Lights are hung at shopping centers. At the supermarket, there is a giant bin of Christmasy odds and ends -- reindeer candles, little snow-covered porcelain house candle-holders, plush Santa Clauses, mini Christmas trees, shiny colored ornaments.

I talk with my students about this. That tree, I say; the one with all the lights and ornaments. What's that all about? It's a New Year's Tree, they reply. Really. Apparently the idea of a brightly decorated pine tree is so appealing (really, it is, isn't it?) that it has been adopted here, but stripped of its Christian association and made into a New Year's symbol. Further questioning reveals that the gift-giving tradition of Christmas has also been incorporated (they are New Year's gifts, of course). Okay, I think indulgently, let them have their pretty lights and gifts, even if it was our idea, and I am quite magnanimous about all of this until Santa Claus comes up in conversation. Ladies and gentleman, meet New Year's Claus. This is when I flip -- how dare you corrupt Santa Claus?! He's ours! You can't have him. I am irate. My friend C., ever more of a passionate firebrand than I am, is even more irate. She rants about this on the way to our Christmas getaway in Şirince. I try to put my own feelings aside and reason with her. Look, I say; there are no new ideas. We constantly recycle and revisit things that other people have thought of. Look at fashion -- the same styles keep coming back, with tiny variations. Christian symbolism was not invented by Christians -- it was taken from pre-Christian religions, then given a makeover in order to take on the symbolism that we wished it to have. We are constantly borrowing from each other; get over it, says wise old me. Still, she pouts. Father New Year???? Secretly, I can't help but agree. And dammit, she exclaims, don't friggin' take the evergreen! Decorate a bloody olive tree, or a pomegrate, but leave our evergreen alone! She's got a point. Where's the originality? Olive trees abound in this part of the world; wouldn't they be a logical choice?

Then there ensues a long conversation about Islam and holidays. It begins with the observation that there are no lavishly celebrated holidays in this religion. Bright lights and pretty things are antithetical to Muslim piety, it seems. The most you get is a string of lights and some extra nice chocolate displays in the stores around Bayram time. And where are the rich traditions? Perhaps there were some that have been lost; perhaps there are some that we do not see. But it seems to us, as outsiders, that there is something lacking, an absence of stories and mysteries and high celebration. We have the story of the immaculate conception, the trip to Bethlehem, the infant in the manger, the three kings, the shepherds, the star; we have the modern tales of the all-seeing Santa Claus and his nocturnal visits to deposit presents or lumps of coal. We stoke the imagination with these stories, we provoke both goodness and wonder. Where are these stories in Islam? I know of none. It saddens me to think of growing up without them, for they are some of my most cherished cultural possessions. It seems to me that we humans need the rich stories, the rituals, the pageantry. In a culture where those appear to be absent, what fills people's souls? What makes them wonder and dream? Is this, perhaps, the source of the hüzün, the melancholy, that grips the Turkish people and indeed from all appearances, most Islamic nations?