Finding the 'Child of the Sea' in Hopa's Green Hills

Hopa is the last Turkish outpost before the country's frontier with Georgia. In Soviet times, this, along with Berlin's Checkpoint Charlie, was the frontier from which Cold War rivals the USA and the USSR stared down one another. Since the breakup of the Soviet Union, however, Hopa has become an important and lively border town, handling much of Turkey's trade with the Transcaucasus. Like many border towns, this tends to entail a somewhat marked increase in somewhat more 'unregistered' trade -- hoteliers might be mildly surprised to learn that the prospective customer is intending to stay the night sans financially-recompensed Eastern European female accompaniment, yet the level of offering is usually discreet.




Most foreigners come to Hopa long enough only to board the next bus to Georgia; apart from transit connections, there is little to recommend the tourist in Hopa -- most store proprietors were more than a little perplexed at my presence in their fair city. The current war, however, has triggered a flood of people trying to escape the next Russian bombing raid (as luck would have it, I fatefully decided to make Georgia my visa run destination before learning that all hell had broken loose -- luckily my 10 minute sojourn in Georgia was uneventful and accomplished with nary a Russian Mig in sight).





I, on the other hand, was not particular interested in certain paid companion services. I, instead, had come to Hopa in search of its most famous citizen:





On 25 June 2005, Turkey lost one of its most beloved sons, one of its best voices, one of its most committed environmental activists, one of its most vocal advocate for minority cultural rights, and one of its biggest Trabzonspor football club fans. The premature death of Kâzım Koyuncu, then aged only 33, precipitated a wave of grief that quickly spread to the four corners of the country. The death of Koyuncu -- accomplished solist, musician, advocator for Laz linguistic rights (the Laz are an Eastern Black Sea people related to the Georgians), leader of anti-nuclear protests, and outspoken leftist -- was received with great sadness by Laz and Turk alike, by women, men, and children, by Islamists and secularists, and by far right Fascists and far left revolutionaries; in short, the sheer vocal ability and the extraordinary decency and innocence of Koyuncu the person succeeded in breaking down the entrenched social and political divides that normally polarize the country. Claimed by the left on account of his political views, Koyuncu is also fondly remembered by groups generally violently opposed to the left.





A rural boy, Koyuncu came from the aptly named village of Yeşilköy (Green Village), a small settlement that makes its living from the lush green tea and hazelnut plantations that surround the village. While still young, Koyuncu had taken a keen interest in preserving his native Laz tongue; in combination with his prolific musical talent, Koyuncu and some friends formed Zuğaşi Berepe (Children of the Sea), a highly successful rock band that sung mostly in Laz. Following the band's breakup in 2000, he embarked on a solo career that focused more on presenting traditional Laz music (particularly characterized by the distinctive kemençe (a violin type instrument) and tulum (Eastern Black Sea bagpipe)) to a wider audience. Loved by his local Laz neighbours, Turkish compatriots, and millions of overseas fans, Koyuncu's life was cut short by cancer in 2005. Long a campaigner against the prospective use of nuclear power in Turkey, he ironically succumbed to the long-term fallout of Chernobyl's 1986 meltdown, a catastrophe that has had an abnormally negative influence on Turkey's Eastern Black Sea region.





While Hopa's leftist town council struggles to gain federal approval in the renaming of a city park in Koyuncu's memory, Hopa's 'Child of the Sea' is today commemorated by a simple grave and banner in his home village, just a short walk from his former primary school.





In keeping with his generous nature, those left in the village continue to honour his memory with the utmost hospitality. It was a fitting tribute to Koyuncu that my guide, a working class air conditioning maintenance person with overt sympathies to Turkey's far right MHP (Nationalist Action Party), took time off for the day, led me to his car, drove me to the village from the city centre, showed me around, presented a handful of local hazelnuts, and transported me again to Hopa, all while vociferously refusing payment for gas -- such was his appreciation that a foreigner had come to town just for Kâzım.





While Turkey's politicians continue to bicker and divide society, Hopa's most famous son unites it, even if it is in a melancholic commeration of one of the country's best voices.



1) Yeşilköy's green hills. The short plants found on the hillside is tea. Radioactive fallout from the 1986 Chernobyl Disaster had a profoundly injurious effect on Turkey's concurrent tea crop.
2) Koyuncu's simple childhood primary school, a short walk from his place of internment.
3) The widely loved, Koyuncu has so far been honoured only with one street name -- here, the road to the cemetary is named after him.
4) Koyuncu's simple grave adorned with the title 'Denizin Çocuğu' (Child of the Sea).