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'I am Turkish, I am a woman, and I support Israel': Inside Turku Avci's journey
Turku Avci shares her journey of resistance, standing firm in her support for Israel amid mounting threats.
Aspiring journalist Turku Avci moved to Israel from Turkey five years ago to study at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. In January, she was asked by Instagram influencer Tal the Traveler if she, a Turkish Muslim woman, was a Zionist.
Her response was: “Yes, of course.” That night, the video went viral on Turkish media and social media. Thousands of comments from Turks called for her arrest and assassination.
Avci’s student visa expires in June; she is considering beginning the long process of seeking asylum in Israel.
Here, she writes about what being a woman means to her:
I try to remember my first International Women’s Day. My mother was waiting for me after school. In her hands, she held a photograph of one of the women brutally murdered that year, and two carnations – one for herself, and one for me to hold. Holding my mother’s hand, I was walking to “celebrate” Women’s Day. At a very young age, I learned that if you are a woman in Turkey, celebrating this day actually means resisting for your very existence.
TURKU AVCI in Turkey during her primary school days.
TURKU AVCI in Turkey during her primary school days. (credit: Turku Avci)
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From my first March 8 to today, the way this day is marked in my country has changed dramatically. When I was a child, police were present to ensure that our marches could take place safely. Today, they are there to block demonstrations, surround women, detain those who raise their voices, and photograph protesters to place them under surveillance.
We once had the Istanbul Convention to hold onto; since 2021, it no longer exists – for us. In 2012, Turkey was the first country to ratify the Council of Europe Convention on Preventing and Combating Violence Against Women and Domestic Violence; nine years later, it tragically became the first and only one to withdraw from it.
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Today, women’s place in society is shaped by a Turkey governed by President Recep Erdogan, who frequently declares that “you cannot make women and men equal: it goes against human nature,” and that “a woman who rejects motherhood and refuses to manage her home, no matter how successful she is in the professional world, is incomplete: she is half.”
That is why expecting flowers on International Women’s Day is a privileged and detached demand for us. In Turkey, March 8 means taking to the streets, crying out the ever-rising toll of femicides, reminding society of the systematic erasure of women, and granting a few hours of visibility to trans women who have been left no space in public life beyond sex work.
So why do Islamist regimes like Erdogan’s react with such fear to women who gather and chant on March 8? Because if they fail to subdue women, the dictatorship of fear they seek to build can never succeed.
A problem of political Islam
Iran is one of the clearest examples of this. Despite immense repression and violence, the Islamic regime there has never fully imposed itself on its people. It has failed to totally extinguish protests. People have taken to the streets at the cost of their lives because women never surrendered, and because they raised generations that refused to surrender. The daughters and sons they raised became even stronger resisters than they themselves were.
This is precisely why political Islam seeks to confine women to the roles of mothers and wives: to exhaust them, and to lock them inside the home. The moment women give in and accept these imposed roles, countries are dragged into prolonged catastrophe. For those in power, of course, these catastrophes mean pleasure, control, and endless wealth.
As someone who learned at a very young age – while holding my mother’s hand – that a woman’s place in society is won through resistance, rejecting what is imposed on me became central to my identity. That choice came with a price, however. But without paying it, I could not have defined my own place or stance.
When I said, “I am Turkish, I am a woman, and I support Israel” in response to those who labeled the lynching of Shani Louk’s lifeless body on Oct. 7, 2023, at the Nova music festival as “resistance,” that price grew heavier. An organized campaign of attacks was launched against my body, my identity, and the mother who gave birth to me.
Across from me stood thousands of men, waiting like bloodthirsty vultures for the return of a woman to Turkey simply because she refused to think like them. They are still there; they always will be.
Their dangerous presence will always exist somewhere. But the good news is this: I will not stop standing upright against it – just like the women struggling to exist in Iran, Turkey, Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan. In their darkness, even the smallest sound we make can shine like the sun.
This March 8, I stand in solidarity with all women resisting those who seek to silence and intimidate us. I send my greetings to the women resisting in my beloved country, where there is a warrant for my arrest. In recent years, I realize I have done little more than resist what has been imposed on me. But sometimes, resistance is the most powerful form of existence.
Added after Operation Roaring Lion was well underway: I finished writing this piece before the war changed everything. On this International Women’s Day, my heart is with the Iranian women who lit a fire in their streets with bare hands – and from every corner of the world, we add our spark, wishing them the freedom to dance in that light.
Follow her on Instagram:avciturku
'I am Turkish, I am a woman, and I support Israel': Inside Turku Avci's journey
Turku Avci shares her journey of resistance, standing firm in her support for Israel amid mounting threats.
Aspiring journalist Turku Avci moved to Israel from Turkey five years ago to study at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. In January, she was asked by Instagram influencer Tal the Traveler if she, a Turkish Muslim woman, was a Zionist.
Her response was: “Yes, of course.” That night, the video went viral on Turkish media and social media. Thousands of comments from Turks called for her arrest and assassination.
Avci’s student visa expires in June; she is considering beginning the long process of seeking asylum in Israel.
Here, she writes about what being a woman means to her:
I try to remember my first International Women’s Day. My mother was waiting for me after school. In her hands, she held a photograph of one of the women brutally murdered that year, and two carnations – one for herself, and one for me to hold. Holding my mother’s hand, I was walking to “celebrate” Women’s Day. At a very young age, I learned that if you are a woman in Turkey, celebrating this day actually means resisting for your very existence.
TURKU AVCI in Turkey during her primary school days.
TURKU AVCI in Turkey during her primary school days. (credit: Turku Avci)
Advertisement
From my first March 8 to today, the way this day is marked in my country has changed dramatically. When I was a child, police were present to ensure that our marches could take place safely. Today, they are there to block demonstrations, surround women, detain those who raise their voices, and photograph protesters to place them under surveillance.
We once had the Istanbul Convention to hold onto; since 2021, it no longer exists – for us. In 2012, Turkey was the first country to ratify the Council of Europe Convention on Preventing and Combating Violence Against Women and Domestic Violence; nine years later, it tragically became the first and only one to withdraw from it.
Advertisement
Today, women’s place in society is shaped by a Turkey governed by President Recep Erdogan, who frequently declares that “you cannot make women and men equal: it goes against human nature,” and that “a woman who rejects motherhood and refuses to manage her home, no matter how successful she is in the professional world, is incomplete: she is half.”
That is why expecting flowers on International Women’s Day is a privileged and detached demand for us. In Turkey, March 8 means taking to the streets, crying out the ever-rising toll of femicides, reminding society of the systematic erasure of women, and granting a few hours of visibility to trans women who have been left no space in public life beyond sex work.
So why do Islamist regimes like Erdogan’s react with such fear to women who gather and chant on March 8? Because if they fail to subdue women, the dictatorship of fear they seek to build can never succeed.
A problem of political Islam
Iran is one of the clearest examples of this. Despite immense repression and violence, the Islamic regime there has never fully imposed itself on its people. It has failed to totally extinguish protests. People have taken to the streets at the cost of their lives because women never surrendered, and because they raised generations that refused to surrender. The daughters and sons they raised became even stronger resisters than they themselves were.
This is precisely why political Islam seeks to confine women to the roles of mothers and wives: to exhaust them, and to lock them inside the home. The moment women give in and accept these imposed roles, countries are dragged into prolonged catastrophe. For those in power, of course, these catastrophes mean pleasure, control, and endless wealth.
As someone who learned at a very young age – while holding my mother’s hand – that a woman’s place in society is won through resistance, rejecting what is imposed on me became central to my identity. That choice came with a price, however. But without paying it, I could not have defined my own place or stance.
When I said, “I am Turkish, I am a woman, and I support Israel” in response to those who labeled the lynching of Shani Louk’s lifeless body on Oct. 7, 2023, at the Nova music festival as “resistance,” that price grew heavier. An organized campaign of attacks was launched against my body, my identity, and the mother who gave birth to me.
Across from me stood thousands of men, waiting like bloodthirsty vultures for the return of a woman to Turkey simply because she refused to think like them. They are still there; they always will be.
Their dangerous presence will always exist somewhere. But the good news is this: I will not stop standing upright against it – just like the women struggling to exist in Iran, Turkey, Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan. In their darkness, even the smallest sound we make can shine like the sun.
This March 8, I stand in solidarity with all women resisting those who seek to silence and intimidate us. I send my greetings to the women resisting in my beloved country, where there is a warrant for my arrest. In recent years, I realize I have done little more than resist what has been imposed on me. But sometimes, resistance is the most powerful form of existence.
Added after Operation Roaring Lion was well underway: I finished writing this piece before the war changed everything. On this International Women’s Day, my heart is with the Iranian women who lit a fire in their streets with bare hands – and from every corner of the world, we add our spark, wishing them the freedom to dance in that light.
Follow her on Instagram:
avciturku
