Voice

VO I CE

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VOICE [noun] Middle English: from Old French vois, from Latin vox, voc-.

I The sound produced in a person’s larynx and uttered through the mouth, as speech or song

[The ability to express yourself despite this]

II The ability to speak or sing

[The desire to scream or whisper] III The supposed utterance of a guiding spirit

[The power to listen to yourself] IV The right to express an opinion

[The silent space when you cannot] This is a magazine about voices that surround us. Voices that we hear. Voices that we see. Quiet voices. Loud voices.Voices that emerge from within and voices that come from above. Stories about people who let their voice live through them. About people with no voice at all. About voices that encircle us. Voices that consume us.

Voices that define us.

But while all our stories are guided by voices of all kinds, it is up to you to lend us your ears.

Are you ready to listen?

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Brittany Greeson The art of kinesics

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Claudia Gori Not there, not here

Mohammadreza Soltani Exiled poets´society Barbara Leolini My sense of silence

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Nikita Greydin Skin barrier Gabriel Ellison-Scowcroft Beerens

Roger Anis On silent mode Katharina Bauer Listen please

Fabian Fiechter Calling for real Jihad Sari Kettunen Lost in translation

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The Art of Kinesics

How the seemingly voiceless adapt to the world.

by Brittany Greeson 6

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LEFT Kenth Ebbesen shreiks and laughs in the presence of other residents and his caretakers.

RIGHT Alone in his room after dinner, Ole Sørensen rocks back and forth in his chair.

BOTTOM RIGHT Kaj Hansen watches a construction worker remove bricks from the courtyard outside his home.

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is small frame positioned diagonally across his bed, Kenth Ebbesen lifts a book to hide his face.

As his caretaker steps back into the doorway, his right eye slowly peeks from behind the pages. She moves a few steps closer and his gaze quickly ducks back behind his imaginary shield.

A few minutes pass and Kenth instantly sits up. He takes his index finger and taps his nose. This is Kenth’s way of demanding chocolate.

For the majority of his adult life, Kenth has been a resident at Sølund, a living facility for the mentally handicapped, located in Skanderborg, Denmark. He is unable to verbally communicate, yet has invented various hand signals to portray different meanings. Pointing to his right temple symbolizes the word “mother” and placing both of his hands over his chest is a polite request for help. Kenth has also developed a different signal for each of his caretakers. When he develops a bond with someone new, they will receive a sign of their own.

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Early childhood marks the beginning of language development. However, for many individuals with mental handicaps, this period comes to pause or even lacks a beginning.

Many people remain voiceless and are forced to find alternative methods to communicate, develop relationships, and express themselves. Others often prefer isolation or selective attention. Both find creative ways to interact with the world around them.

Free Expression

Sølund residents are encouraged to create, ride horses, swim, or practice music as a form of therapy and expression.

A few meters from his window, sits Kaj Hansen’s small wooden workshop. A window in the front lets in just enough sunlight in for Kaj to create his latest masterpiece.

He grabs a small grey plastic bowl, already perforated with closely spaced holes and starts the drill.

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LEFT While the other residents in her unit watch television, Anna Rosa Jacobsen sits by a window to watch the rain.

At the age of 66, she has spent over 62 years in institutions, coming to Sølund in 1988.

LEFT CENTER Erik Jensen rests on his bed holding one of his baby dolls. Although he has many toys, he often paints or takes walks around the grounds of Sølund. Erik is highly independent and is one of many residents who can understand the instructions of his caretakers but is limited in his responses.

RIGHT CENTER Hasse Berlin lifts his shirt and wraps it tightly between his arms while sitting in the main living space of his home.

RIGHT Ejvind Sorensen, 72, sits in the kitchen of his home for a morning cup of coffee.

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He then takes the object and motions to his caretaker to light a cigar for him. The caretaker already has the lighter ready. She knows Kaj’s schedule. He takes a break to smoke then begins using the cigar as a welding tool, carefully burning the edges of the newly created holes.

When walking into Kaj’s room, one will quickly notice the smell of cigars and that every toy or plastic object has received the signature markings. This is his New York Art art gallery. His caretakers are patrons. When he’s not consumed with his art, Kaj can be found observing the construction workers through a window in the main living space. His father was a handyman and his caretakers believe he watches the construction workers to learn.

Although he has little spoken language, Kaj has quickly gained a reputation for his ingenuity and sense of humor. With new caretakers he often tricks them into performing mundane tasks he already knows how to do himself. His original ways of communicating have left an impact on those who interact with him daily.

“Kaj has been exposed to a lot of different mental health care methods. You get no where with your theories or

with your kind of ideas about things. If Kaj has another idea he is going to go on with his idea. That is what I like a lot about him. He has a lot of personal drive,” Kasper Svensgaard said.

Kasper has been a caretaker at Sølund for seven years and has bonded with Kaj. He originally planned to work at Sølund for one summer but was motivated to stay.

“I communicate with Kaj like I do with anyone else. He has a signal that he wants to smoke. He does things with his body language to show you how he feels. He will make sounds and you know what they mean. You have to get to know Kaj before you understand. You wouldn’t know its him actually communicating when he makes a sound.”

Voluntary solitude

Other residents in Sølund are limited in their ways of interacting. For those who are mentally at the age between 3 months and two years old, interaction is simplified. In other cases their senses can quickly become overwhelmed. They tend to turn to toys, find comfort in long breaks of solitude, or go through periods of physical activity.

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TOP LEFT Residents and caretakers dance together to a live band in Sølund’s banquet hall. Beforehand, the caretakers and residents walked in large groups around the grounds as a celebration for the beginning of Autumn.

TOP RIGHT Following a walk in the rain with her caretaker, a resident pauses on the way back to her room.

BOTTOM LEFT Stine Enevoldsen kisses and hugs her caretaker, Maria Madsen. The pair had just finished Stine’s horse riding session at Sølund’s stables. Stine and Maria have a tradition where Stine will playfuly take Maria’s hair tie out of her hair

Residents like Ole Sorensen and Hasse Berlin have no verbal communication and little interaction with others. They have created signature movements, much like their own dance.

Ole often rocks back and forth in his chair and can spend the entire day doing so. The legs of his chair have been tied loosely with a short rope from the table so that it doesn’t hurdle across the room.

Hasse, in contrast, loves to pace from the courtyard of his building to the shared living space with his arms tucked into his shirt or over his head. In the 1970’s, an age of often rigid mental health care practices, he was subdued in a straight jacket. His caretakers believe he is constantly restraining himself in his shirt to reference that period of his life.

Through Unity

When it’s residents join together, the otherwise calm Sølund comes alive.

Social activities like dances bring out joy in both residents and caretakers. In a unique way, Sølund becomes a multilingual community. The spoken language becomes secondary to the ingrained energy of the surroundings. Some stand before the live performers moving and twirling with vivid enthusiasm. Others take on the role of a supervisor, scanning the crowd with bright eyes. The caretakers will often take the hands of the residents and guide them in a dance. The music becomes everyone’s focus and identity is no longer based on the presence or absence of a mental handicap.

Throughout their daily lives, acts of affection between a resident and caretaker vary from hugs and kisses to true bonds that result from years of caregiving. There are those who remain in a childlike phase of joy and give their affection freely to anyone who greets them. There are those who reserve tender moments just for their favorite caretakers.

“It’s not that you control them. You follow their life. You have to have an understanding for who they are and then which things you have to restrict for them to help them. It is what I liked when I started to work here. I was really into this idea that when you are here that your purpose is that they have a good day and that you listen to them,” Kasper Svensgaard said.

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NOT THERE N O T H E R E Sweden takes in more immigrants than any other large EU country, but for those who are rejected it’s the country that gave them the label of illegal instead of a better life.

by Claudia Gori

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“No one is illegal!� These are the shouts that can be heard from the over 300 people gathered in Mollevangstorget despite the rain that is pouring down.

October, 13th.

A Swedish girl demonstrating agsinst Mos Maiourm in Mollevansgatan.

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weden, 13th October, the Mos Maiorum operation has started and in Malmo people are reacting.

“No one is illegal!” These are the shouts that can be heard from the over 300 people gathering in Mollevangstorget despite the rain that is pouring down. They are showing their indignation for the Mos Maiorum, a joint police operation launched by the Italian Presidency of the Council of the European Union aimed at intercepting and collecting personal data on fake document holders and rejected asylum-seekers. The demonstration includes both legal and illegal refugees as well as those with Swedish c­ itizenship. From their point of view, it’s a real hunt against those people who have been deemed

‘illegal.’ “Who is the man you call ‘illegal’ and who are you to judge?”

This is the question they are constantly repeating to provoke a reaction in those who are not listening to their stories and motivations.

Sweden takes in more immigrants than any other large EU country. According to the Swedish Migration Office, about 6,600 asylum requests have been rejected so far this year. Undocumented refugees are often people fleeing war zones, or simply people looking for a new chance at life. If they receive a rejection from the Migration Office the only chance they have to survive is to live a hidden existence in a place that gives them the label ‘illegal’ instead of giving them a better life.

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mong European countries, Sweden has welcomed people fleeing social and political unrest from all over the world. It has been considered a model for other European countries because of its reception of refugees from Syria. For some refugees, the push to leave home is not only the civil war, but the real risk of torture and discrimination. It is not safe for these refugees to be at home but because some of them are no longer living in a war zone, they are no longer at the top of the asylum seeker priority system. As a result, they are forced to leave their homes as undocumented, ‘illegal,’ refugees.

Aziz spent a large part of his teenage years in different jails accross Europe. When he arrived in Sweden, he was forced into a different kind of imprisonment: 18 months of being forced to stay inside his house. He blames himself for not having the correct papers. Aziz is one of the large number of young boys forced to leave their families when they’re still basically children.

They grow up without the possibility to study, just eating, sleeping and waiting for a better life that seems to never come.

THE ESCAPE

The most difficult thing to cope with is to build new roots. The NO MAN’S LAND environment, the weather and There’s something missing in- Aziz wearing his two rings that reminds him about is native the habits: everything is a new side these people: their identity. country, Afghanistan. They both mean “good luck” step to accept a totally new life.

Forced to leave their homes, “My kids always ask me for a forced to live as hidden people, bigger house, in Afghanistan they’ve got no choice except to live a hidden existence. everyone has a big house with a place for guests and a They start to not belong to a place anymore when they big garden where we used to grow vegetables. Now we’re leave their countries. The time of hidden life begins even forced to live in one room with the constant fear to be before they settle illegally in Sweden. It’s something that found by police when we go for shopping at the grocery.” they always have to cope with. Aziz was 5 when his Abdul Majeed, his wife Zohal and their two children family flied from Afghanistan to Iran. At the age of 14 he Ailla,4, and Elias, 2, are living in a a space the size of a decided to try to reach Europe. His journey took 6 years small bedroom. When it’s time to sleep they rearrange and during this time he was in prison seven times. the sofa and put a mattress on the ground.

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LEFT the routes of refugees from Middle East to Sweden.

BOTTON RIGHT Ailla on the floor in this home in Malmo.

TOP RIGHT Elias sorrounded by family and friends in his home in Malmo.

The floor is also the place where they eat and where the children play. They have a big window that shows the courtyards of the typically large Swedish buildings around them, from which they can observe the normalcy of other people’s lives. Ailla is crying very loudly.

The children get often nervous because they don’t have enough space to play. Ailla was two when she faced the long journey to Sweden. She and her parents arrived in Sweden after a treacherous journey that started with 17 hours of walking through desert and mountains in Turkey, two days sailing to Greece, four months staying in Greece during which they spent 10 days sleeping in a

public park on some blankets, another voyage by the sea to reach Italy and then to Germany by car. From there they went to Sweden by train. Zohal was pregnant with Elias the entire time. The journey was so difficult that Abdul and Zohal were surprised when Elias was born a healthy baby.

The route of hope from the Middle-East to Sweden is almost the same for everyone and the cost can be more than 5,000 or 6,000 euros. It depends on the way you travel.

The stops along the way are usually Turkey, Greece, Italy, France, Germany, Denmark and finally Sweden.

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TOP Majeed in his house in Malmo BOTTOM The temporary document the migration office gices to refugees as soon as they applied for a residence permit.

Is´t not valid as an ID card.

“I was working in Kabul International Airport in a duty free shop, as a sales officer. I could go in and out of the airport without any control.

Because of this, the Taliban wanted me to help them. When you have to deal with Taliban the only option is to flee.”

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uring their journey, refugees are constantly at the mercy of smugglers and police.

Meanwhile, many of the boats sink, the pockets of traffickers swell and millions of lives are forced to remain in the shadows of the absence of rights. They’re usually forced to travel in small cars or squeeze into little wooden boats without food and water.

Their only thought is survival. Their bodies don’t belong to them anymore. They loose their identity completely. The reasons for escape are enough to risk their lives.

Majeed explains how the work he had in Afghanistan became a problem for him:

They’re not alone and a lot of people are trying to support them.

The main association that is helping them is Asylgruppen, a nonprofit which brings refugees, both ­legal and illegal, as well as Swedish people t­ ogether with the aim to help people who are forced to hide themselves.

When asylum seekers finally have a resident permit and become legal, the suffering does not cease.

The fact that they receive a little bit of money and a little bit of safety doesn’t mean that they are happy. Police still stop to check their ID cards and they still feel like refugees even if they’re now legal. The pressure and the stress never leave.

“I was working in Kabul International Airport in a duty free shop, as a sales officer. I could go in and out of the airport without any control. Because of this, the Taliban wanted me to help them. When you have to deal with Taliban the only option is to flee.”

Too much has been broken.

They have been in Malmo for two years. Their asylum application have been rejected three times, but that’s not a good reason to leave.

“I felt safer, but I can’t have my life back. I lost everything.”

Aziz is sitting in a cafe, a cup of tea in his hand.

He becomes melancholic while he is speaking about how he felt when he received the ‘ok’ from the Migration Office:

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Since the Islamic Revolution of 1979 in Iran, thousands of writers, poets and intellectuals were forced to leave their country and seek exile abroad. Kazem Kardavani is one of them, now living in the outskirts of Berlin.

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Exiled Poets’ Society

by Mohammadreza Soltani

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The new old Bohemians of Berlin

Kazem Kardavani lives with his wife in an apartment in the Western outskirts of Berlin, close to the former border, disconnecting the now-capital from the GDR. He remembers his time as a leading member of CISNU – the Confederation of Iranian Students abroad. He had been arrested and expelled from France because of his activities against Iran’s Shah and had returned to Iran after the Islamic Revolution of 1979 where he became the director of Institut Francais. An activity for which he is later honoured with a Chevalier D’Honneur order by the French government.

In year 2000 he travelled to Berlin in order to take part at the “Iran after Elections” conference organized by a Green thinktank. The conference was literally stormed by radical Iranian diaspora and became a fiasco in Iran used by the conservatives to doom the reformists. All participants who returned to Iran were arrested, put on trial and heavily sentenced. Facing the threat, Mr Kardavani did not return and was granted asylum by the German government.

“Once expelled from France for his political activities, he was later honoured with an order by the French government.”

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Arameche Dustdar, aged 84, lives in Cologne. Destiny brought him back close to Bonn, where he had studied philosophy before the Revolution.

The Iranian cultural revolution and it’s fruits

“It were black days. Like many colleagues, I was fired from the university during the so-called Cultural Revolution. Since I was of Baha’i origin, my situation was worse than that of other scholars.” Aramech Dustdar, a 84-year-old high profile researcher starts the conversation in his apartment in Cologne. Not far from Bonn where he had studied philosophy before the revolution.

He continues: “Many of my friends had been executed then already, hence I decided to leave.”

Mr Dustdar has written four books during his 35 years lasting exile, all of them very critical to religion. In his main book L’impossibilité de penser dans la culture

religieuse (The impossibility of free thought in religious culture) he takes the reader through a philosophical discussion where he tries to prove that a religious culture automatically abandons (free) thinking. He shows religious paradoxes and discusses that thinking in a religious context is always limited and doomed to accept a superior power. He reminds: “Since in Iran the culture has been religious over the past 1400 years, we’ve never had any questioning and thinking.” Nostalgia remains when he whispers: “The Tehran I knew, doesn’t exist anymore. Even if I could I would not return since I don’t want to destroy the city I have in my imagination.”

(The impossibility of free thought in religious culture)

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Elegy of Tehran’s revolution street

A picture of Forugh Farrokhzad, the famous Iranian feminist poet hangs from the wall in Abbas Maroufi’s book store in Berlin’s fashionable district of Wilmersdorf.

Abbas who became famous with his 1989 published novel “Symphony of the Death” has pased also founded the literature magazine “Gardoon”. But now almost two decades pass since he had to escape from Iran overnight in 1996.He now sits behind his small desk in his 25 square metre book store, which is an immediate reminder of those small stores around the University in Tehran’s Revolution Street stuffed with thousands of books, which have been nurturing the brains of generations of political youth in Iran. While lighting up a Marlboro remembers 26

the Chain Killing of intellectuals in Iran during the 1990s: “Gardoon was despite dealing with literature, very critical to the government, especially between the lines.”Abbas Maroufi, now aged 47, was then arrested and put on trial for being critical of the government and Gardoon was closed down. With some agony he considers himself lucky, as because of an error, the state-run conservative newspaper “Keyhan” published he “was sentenced to death”, before the verdict was announced. Hence he knew he had to run and build a new life abroad. He lives behind his picturesque book store in a very tidy small home decorated with antique Iranian accessories.

Abbas Maroufi now runs a Persian language book store in Berlin’s noble district of Wilmersdorf.

“The state-run conservative newspaper “Keyhan” published he “was sentenced to death”, before the verdict was announced.”

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Bahman Nirumand, dimmed his political activities over the years and more and more concentrated on his research and journalism.

“We won’t live longer than two or three years.”

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Post-War Germany PhD was forced to leave his homeland

There are many others with similar fates like Abbas Maroufi. Bahman Niroumand, translator and writer descends from his bicycle on a cloudy Berlin afternoon and says not without irony: “We won’t live longer than two or three years.”

Bahman Niroumand who once had been a leftist journalist has dimmed his political activities a long time ago. His father sent him to study in Post-War Germany where he got to know a hardworking and diligent generation rebuilding and reshaping their country. After acquiring his PhD he returned to Iran in order to teach at the university. But a short time later, after the fall of Shah’s regime and contronted with the severe prosecution of leftist organisations under Ayatollah Khomeini’s reign he returned to Germany where he still works as a researcher and journalist. He recently translated Mahmoud Dowlatabadi’s “Colonel” into German. The highly political novel critically tells the tale of Iran’s quest of medernisation in the early years of the revolution was already written in the 1980s, but never allowed to be published in Iran. While post-revolutionary Iran has gone through a rigorous modernization process in the past years and reaching for investors in the Middle East, Mr Nirumand remains down to earth like a freshman student. He quickly ascends his bike and vanishes in Berlin’s evening traffic.

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MY SENSE OF SILENCE This a story about Sign-Language. This is the story of how Søren’s silent world will change.

by Barbara Leolini

I wait for Søren outside Emdrup Svømmebad, a public swimmingpool in Copenhagen, where he usually goes to swim with some deaf friends. There is a harsh smell of chlorine and warm air coming out of the door. It is a windy day and I wring my hands of the cold.

Then I see him. He is riding his bicycle.

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31 Z for Danish Alphabet of Sign-Language.

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øren, 27, sits down in front of me with the window behind him so he can read my lips. He wears a rainbow t-shirt and big glasses framing his face.

He mostly uses sign language to communicate but has also learned how to communicate verbally.

There are many experiences of deafness. Some are born deaf and others become deaf following the acquisition of speech. Søren was born without hearing.

“In the deaf community, there are different types of people who have different philosophies about deafness. Some believe that they should only sign. Some believe they should only speak. Some say you should use both”, Søren says .

“When I was 14, I was happy to be around other deaf people. We enjoyed our time and we were proud to be deaf and using hands to communicate.

That made us to feel special and different. Deafness and hands, created our culture which we called “Deaf Power. There is a group which I´m part of. We calls ourselves “Hearing impaired” instead of “Deaf. We wish to hear better and integrate into community.”

BEING HEARING IMPAIRED

Since the age of two, Søren has been hearing 30 percent of the normal range. He hears only the low tones, those below 1000 hertz. It means that he cannot hear an ambulance but he can perceive the sound of a guitar.

“He has a residual hearing, but can not get anything from speech. He can hear the sound, but what he actually hears is a Tinnitus,” Jan Sparre, Søren’s father says.

From it´s latin root, Tinnitus means “ringing” and is the perception of sound within the human ear. It is not a disease, but a condition that can result from noise induced hearing loss.

The term is more likely to be used by people with moderate hearing loss and by people who have become deaf in adulthood rather than by those who have grown up deaf. By contrast, some who identify with the deaf culture movement typically reject the label impaired and other labels that imply that deafness is a pathological condition. Instead many are focusing of pride.

Anne, Søren’s mother, explains that he’s the only one in their family who is deaf. He is their fourth child. At the beginning they thought that he was probably just a quiet kid. It took 15 months to find out that he couldn’t hear. They had no idea that something was wrong.

“I remember that one day a balloon popped next to him and he did not respond. Some weeks later, he was laying beside me in bed and I was talking to him. Only when I bent over him, he discovered that I was there.

Then I bumped two pot lids violently and he didn’t hear anything “.

Anna and Jan spent two years trying to focus on what that doctors said, but at the end they decided to start learning sign language together with Søren.

It was a new start for all of us and we finally saw the joy in Søren’s eyes.”

“I discovered sign language when I was four because doctors told my parents that it would be better for me not to learn it. I was mostly frustrated and I felt isolated because I was unable to communicate,” Søren says.

Today he has 10-20 times as large a vocabulary in sign language as when 32

TOP A photo from Søren´s family album. He was two years old when his parents found out he was deaf.

BOTTOM LEFT A Hearing aid helps Søren to perceive sounds around him.

BOTTOM RIGHT Jan and Anna Sparre sitting in their Garden in Taastrup, Copenhagen.

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PRELINGUAL DEAFNESS

Denmark has approximately 5,000 deaf individuals that use sign language as their primary form of communication.

The majority of these people describe themselves more as part of a linguistic minority rather than disabled.

Sign language has proven for deaf people to be able to communicate, express themselves, and learn. Depriving them of the opportunity to learn can condemn them to devastating isolation. Without it they often face significant barriers to being independent. Communication skills are fundamental to getting jobs and participating in the communities and family life.

Deaf people do not acquire the same as others, because they cannot hear the language spoken around them. In normal language acquisition, auditory comprehension precedes the development of a vocabulary. Without auditory input, a person like Søren with prelingual deafness is forced to acquire speech visually through lip-reading.

“Only when I was 16 years old did I decide to learn how to speak. In the beginning I didn’t know how to control my voice because I couldn’t hear myself. I had to lay my hands on my teacher’s neck and feel the voice. Voices have different vibrations between vowels and consonants. It took years for me but then, when I learned to sign and speak at the same time, the whole world opened up to me”.

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“When I learned to sign and speak at the same time, the whole world opened up to me”.

CONCHLEAR IMPLANT

Right now Søren is waiting for a surgery. Hearing aids and Cochlear Implants (C.I.) might make it possible to hear sounds within a range. Still, it will not restore full hearing. Cochlear Implants are capable of stimulating the auditory nerve but the sound quality will never be that of a healthy ear. This has suggested that deafness cannot be fully overcome by medical devices.

A Cochlear Implant system also consists of two parts, an externally worn audio processor, which sits comfortably behind or off the ear, and an internal cochlear implant, which is surgically placed just under the skin.

However, there remains the possibility that Cochlear Implants can make people become totally deaf.

“I know it’s dangerous, but I´m doing it because I really want to hear better. I also know that Cochlear Implant can make a Tinnitus smaller.”

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TOP Søren use sign language to communicate but he also has learned how to speak.

BOTTOM RIGHT Søren.

BOTTOM LEFT Søren´s sketch book. He is an animator.

DRAWING Søren tries to explain to me his future surgery. He is going to have implanted an electronic device that provides a sense of sound to a person who is profoundly deaf or severely hard of hearing.

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Skin barrier Around 10% of the Danish population are immigrants from other countries. Some of them have black skin.

They want to be integrated into Danish society. But there is one obstacle: the color of their skin.

by Nikita Greydin 39

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“No, no, no. Today we will not go out,” says Bowen, a 30-year-old student of the Danish Academy of Business and Technology. He sits down in defeat and grabs a beer with his friends.

B Instead of going to a night club, the guys settle for a football match and popcorn.

owen and his ‘team’ call themselves ‘blacks,’ ­because of their skin color. They came to Aarhus, Denmark from different African countries to study and work. It is a Saturday evening when we meet - the right time for nightlife. The time when the city center comes alive, the bars and clubs are full of people, but Bowen and the guys prefer to hang out at home. Last time that they tried to get into the bar, they were not ­allowed ­because of their African faces and black skin.

It was the fashionable bar ‘London’ in the city centre.

Because the bouncer didn’t let them in they went to a less ­ popular place. They were told that if they didn’t leave ‘London’ the bouncers would call the police. ‘‘They thought that we were gangsters. I was outraged. And I became angry,” says Bowen.

“The only thing that works is a color of your skin” In Aarhus Bowen is doing a masters degree and also working as a cleaner in a cleaning company because he needs money to live. He hopes that with a good ­education, he can stay in Denmark and find a decent job in the country. But Bowen isn't sure that he can find something suitable for himself in future because he feels ­discrimination from his employers.

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“Employers look at color of your skin. They always p ­ refer people with a European face. So your CV doesn’t work just because of your face,” says Bowen.

“If I don’t find good job in Denmark, I will try to move to the USA. Because I know that there more jobs and the ­attitude towards blacks is more tolerant,” he adds.

According to Bowen if you are black, the only one job that you can get in Denmark is as a cleaner in a ­supermarket.

“But it’s not enough. Especially if you want to have a family and earn money for your children and wife,” he adds.

‘Black’ doesn’t mean offender

According to Bowen, blacks in Denmark have to fight with stereotypes all the time. For instance, anyone who reads news knows about Somali pirates. As Bowen says, some Danish people think that all blacks are like these Somalian pirates: able to commit murder and other ­ crimes.

“They think if you are black you should be an offender,” says Bowen. “I came to Denmark to study and to live a normal life like a Danish person. We are the same. Most of us even have the same religion as European people: Christianity. It means that some aspects of our culture are similar,’’ Bowen adds.

Not ashamed to be friends

But except for the discrimination, Bowen and his friends feel love and support from Danish people as well.

“Danish people on the streets are very open and ­friendly. They always help you if you need help. If you don’t know the way they can tell you,” Bowen says.

There are also definitely black guys that do have ­Danish friends. One of Bowen’s black friends Thomas (his name has been changed for privacy reasons) even has a Danish girlfriend. But things are not as simple as they seem to be.

Once Thomas came to a bar with his white girlfriend.

Sitting at the table with food and drinks they saw people coming into the bar. When newcomers got into the bar, they looked at Thomas. They caught his eye and then they left. According to Thomas these guys didn’t want to stay

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in the same place with blacks. This affected ­Thomas’s girlfriend deeply.

“I started to cry because it hurt me. Why should I feel shame sitting with my boyfriend in a public place just­­because he has a different skin colour?” Thomas’s ­girlfriend says.

Black but successful

There are, however, some blacks in Aarhus, who know about discrimination, but don’t feel it.

I met Babu at cafe Casablanca in the city centre. Apart from Babu there are other black people inside sitting shoulder to shoulder with white people. All men wear blazers, all ladies are in dresses. This upmarket place is a regular hangout for Babu, just like wearing a blazer,

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shirt and tie are usual for him. He is just successful in Denmark as he was in his motherland.

For ten years he was a social worker in Tanzania and then, six years ago, he came to Denmark to continue his career. He was invited to Aarhus because an employer saw his CV and his huge experience.

Babu works with teenagers who have committed a crime. He helps them to be integrated back into society.

He is ­ confident that it is very important to feel that you are a part of a society if you have been separated somehow.

In his opinion, the only way black people can p ­ rotect their reputation is to be good people, to develop themselves and to accept the rules of the society that they want to ­­ be in.

Despite the fact that he does not feel the discrimination, he worries about other Africans who don’t feel confident in Denmark.

“The good life is our goal. And the good life comes when people concentrate on laws and the system,” says Babu.

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BEERENS.

The story of a French street artist firmly rooted in the tradition of graffiti.

by Gabriel Ellison-Scowcroft

An aerosol spray-can is shaken. The metal pea inside raps smartly against thin aluminum walls, the propellant now mixed and pressurized. Michael Beerens’ finger tightens on the valve. Eyes narrowed in concentration dart back and forth across a whitewashed wall. He raises his right arm with a deft, self-assured movement and firmly presses down with his index finger. The can spits to life.

Hiss, whoosh, shhhhhh. The once unblemished wall bears a dark red splash. The motion is repeated and letters begin to form. A smile spreads across Michael’s face as he steps back to admire his handiwork: his pseudonym illuminated by his headlamp, permanently stamped on the wall of an abandoned mine in Paris.

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Michael Beerens operates in the world of street and graffiti art. His work spans a wide spectrum of different styles: from huge paintings in public spaces, to stencil-like posters glued to walls, to mysterious messages in underground bunkers, to tags on a ­myriad of surfaces.

“What I find interesting is that when you paint in the street you don’t ask permission from anyone,” says ­Michael.

“You take the right yourself. So legally it’s a bit difficult because if you’re caught you’re risking a fine. But if you don’t get caught then you’re completely free to say ­whatever you want: you’re not censored.”

The difference between street art and graffiti is ­probably less clear-cut than you think. One perception is that street art is legal and graffiti is not, but there are lots of artists, Michael included, who operate in a kind of grey area in between.

Michael prefers to practice street art as independently as possible. This means that he risks being fined if he is caught. But because public perception of street art has changed so dramatically, Michael is able to paint out in the open in relative safety if what he is painting ­resembles what people perceive to be ‘street art’ rather than ‘graffiti.’ Many people seem to think that graffiti is less attractive to the eye than street art. But the reality is that the latter wouldn’t exist without the former.

“There is a big problem now with the perceived divide between graffiti and street art,” says Michael. “Most people will say that graffiti is ugly and street art is ­ ­beautiful. People have separated the two in their minds.

But most street artists started by doing graffiti. So it’s really a single universe and you can’t separate it.”

The seeming division between street art and graffiti has been reinforced by the recent explosion in p ­ opularity of (among others) Banksy and Shepard Fairey, a.k.a.

the artist behind Obey. Street art has t­aken on new legitimacy and popularity. While a Banksy painting ­ now sells for half a million euros, there was a time in the not-so-far-off past where people wouldn’t have looked twice at a ­stencil on a wall. Just like with so many other things that have become ­ enormously popular, perhaps it took being illegal and judged for art performed ­ without permission in the street to be ­rechristened ‘street art.’

“In the end, it’s really the same thing,” says Michael.

“It’s the act of painting on walls.”

When people refer to graffiti now, they are often ­referring to the act of tagging, or writing a pseudonym in characteristic graffiti script. This is how Michael started painting in the street. At school, he wrote the names of his peers in different scripts and when people reacted positively, he started to paint on blank walls next to the highway and in train stations. In the beginning, graffiti was a kind of competition for Michael. He and his friends competed with other graffiti artists to do bigger, more daring, more colorful tags in an increasingly wide array of locations around Paris.

Part of Michael’s love for his art stems from this kind of urban exploration. While he now focuses mainly on street art in public spaces, he also explores abandoned buildings, mines and bunkers to explore and leave his mark. He returns to the Carrière Hennocque mine, ­located about 30 ­kilometers north of Paris in the town of Mery sur Oise, about 10 times a year to investigate new sections, paint and look at other artists’ graffiti. Because the mine is almost ­entirely sealed off, any graffiti that Michael does inside will be protected from the elements.

“I like the idea that 200 years from now someone could be exploring the mine, doing exactly what I do now, and they would see my painting and know that I was here.”

TOP LEFT Michael inside Carrière Hennocque mine. BOTTOM LEFT Passersby stop to watch Michael paint in Paris’ 10th a­ rrondissement.

TOP RIGHT Spray paint cans in M ­ ichael’s ­apartment. PREVIOUS PAGE Michael sits inside a tunnel built during the ocupation of France to construct V2 rockets in secret.

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It has taken hours for the outline of a panda to take shape. Hours of Michael’s hand clenched firmly on a plastic broom handle, at the end of which a soft paint roller is attached. It squelches as it slides its way up the wall, leaving a trail of glistening gray behind it. It travels the contours of the panda’s forlorn face, another layer to add texture and perspective. Michael’s hands are flecked with paint, his fingernails dirty. He’s on his second pack of Marlboro Red king size. He hopes the police won’t pass by. Michael has been here all day. He will be here all day tomorrow and then, when he no longer needs to add paint or lines or color, he will sign his name triumphantly in the bottom left corner of his latest piece of street art.

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As Michael grew more experienced he also became more interested in passing his own messages and statements through his art form. He took inspiration from the French writer Jean De La Fontaine, who wrote fables about a ­ nimals in order to reference political and social problems.

“I love the idea of painting animals but to really be speaking about the human condition,” says Michael.

“This way when people are walking in the street and they see my painting they don’t feel like the finger is being pointed at them. So they are more open to the ­message, more willing to listen.”

Michael’s most recent large-scale painting is in Paris’ 10th arrondissement. It features an enormous panda wounded by colorful spears and begs the question of its observer: ‘would we kill a panda the same way we kill a bull?’ Many of Michael’s works carry similar messages. He makes art that focuses on hypocrisies and ­contradictions: art that can help us break some of the habitual ways we perceive the world and accept the unacceptable.

“There are so many problems with our human lifestyle that concern us all, and yet so many people don’t care,” he says. “There are plenty of people that will pass by my paintings and not even notice. But there are also people that do look and ask themselves ‘why did he do that?’ and maybe then my paintings might have an impact on their

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actions in the future. Maybe something as simple as throwing their trash into a bin instead of on the ground.”

Michael works along the whole spectrum of what is now known as street art. Sometimes he makes ­large-scale paintings and sometimes small posters or drawings. But the risks are higher now. Michael has a six-month-old daughter and a long-term girlfriend. He hopes to make a career out of making his art. M ­ ichael sells some of his drawings and paintings. But he doesn’t have a g ­ allery that represents him or underwrites his art. M ­ ichael hopes to find a gallery that isn’t only interested in money but is interested in what he has to say.

“Street art is the biggest global artistic movement in history,” says Michael. “But it’s hard to be a street artist because most of the time you work for free.”

Michael is part of a new generation of artists that face some of the same problems artists have been facing for centuries: how to support themselves by doing what they love. Despite the difficulties posed by being an artist who practices a form considered illegal, and who now has a family to support, Michael still relishes that sense of ­satisfaction that comes with a completed piece.

“The best feeling is when you pass one of your ­paintings by accident and people are looking at what you’ve done and talking about it,” says Michael. “Most of all I hope that people will hear to what I am trying to tell them.”

Night has fallen over Paris. The rain comes intermittently to blur the outlines of streetlights and buildings. Michael glances at the blue and green street sign marking ‘Rue Rennequin.’ One hand clutches a bucket of glue, the other a brush.There is a paper cut-out hidden underneath his jacket.

He smears the glue over a blank space on the stone wall. The ember of his lit cigarette glows brightly as he inhales before he carefully removes his drawing and pastes it to the sticky wall. For good measure he adds an extra layer of glue, his brush sparkling in the orange light cast by the streetlamp above. It begins to rain again. Droplets streak Michael’s face as he throws a last glance at his poster. He jumps into his car, off to decorate another lonely spot on a wall somewhere in Paris.

TOP LEFT Michael lathers a wall with glue in preparation for a poster.

BOTTOM LEFT Michael and his daughter in his ­apartment in Franconville, a suburb of Paris. PREVIOUS PAGE Michael glances away from his painting of a panda in Paris’ 10th arrondissement.

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ON SILENT MODE

by Roger Anis 55

Thumbs Up and Downs are the two signs Nick is using as an alternative to the Yes and No.

Bettina is making sure Nick is alright just before leaving him for a break after lunch.

T Previous Page: Anna Hansen, a speech therapist who is responsible for Nick, has a session with him to try to get his voice back.

he toxic hydrogen sulphide fumes emitted from poisoned fish did not deter Nick, a 24 year old harbor worker. Two of Nick Vejle’s colleagues had been trying to unload the poisoned fish in the harbour. They had fallen unconscious because of the fumes. Nick fainted during the rescue attempt, and then found himself on the loading bay until rescue workers reached the spot.

On 5th of Aug 2014, Nick was out of danger after an accident where he heroically tried to save two fishermen after they had lost consciousness on a boat in Strandbygaard.

Hammel Neurocenter Hospital

Two months later on a sunny morning, Nick lies in his bed at Hammel Neurocenter Hospital, some 30 km north-west of Aarhus. He raises his head and his hand with a thumbs up 56

The alphabet paper is his alternative tool use till he ge his voice back.

which means you can come into his room. The unseen smile on his face, visible only in his eyes, with an unheard voice, he allows you to come into his room.

Betinna from the Nurses team comes in and he starts referring with his finger to the alphabets printed on the plastic paper that have been attached to his body. He tries to compose one word, while others try to predict it before he finishes it to make it easier for him, that’s how it works with Nick.

She says “Nick is very eager to get back to life and always trying, but its all about patience, I can understand why he is rushing and wants to get back to his normal life, he has a beautiful family who loves him so much and of course this is a very good reason.”

Here at the Hammel Neurocenter, Nick is staying in Department H3 where he is getting a lot of therapy to improve his movement and trying to get his voice back.

“Nick got a stroke after the accident which has affected his phonation and his speech, led to the loss of his voice, and his ability to move properly,” says Anna Hansen, a speech therapist who is responsible for Nick.

Asked about when he will get back to his previous state, Anna says ‘‘It’s very difficult right now to say when, the human brain is very complex, but all we see is progress, determination and strength from Nick in getting back to his normal life.”

Nick spends most of his day in his room alone, moving between the different therapy sessions, waiting for his 57

William, the son of Nick & Tanja will turn two years old in a few months.

“The most natural way to communicate is to speak. Any other way is just alternatives or interpretation for our voice.”

“Everybody is willing to, but not everybody is able.”

Lone Baun Madson - Speech Therapist

Excercises takes place everyday to help him improve his movement.

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Jack, the younger brother of Nick, hasn’t shaved his beard since the accident and will not until Nick gets back home.

Tanja and Nick in the supermarket near the hospital shopping centre.

meals, doing some exercises to get his normal movement back and the rest of the time he is just watching TV, or trying to surf the internet through his mobile phone.

Surrounded by Family

It is a rainy day in Hammel but nevertheless, Nick is moving to a new room in the facility, so he is happy because this means he is improving. Nick is waiting for his younger brother, the 20-year-old Jack, who is coming to visit him. With a shaking hand, Nick picks up his phone. He has a hard time controlling the touch screen but manages eventually to show the picture of his brother, who appears with a beard. Then, Nick puts down his phone and holds the alphabet paper in his hand to compose a few words, which read ‘Jack decided not to shave his beard until I get back home.’

Jack comes in and hugs him tight. Remembering the accident he says “it was a very hard day for us, we will never forget this day it was also our mother’s birthday, but we are happy he is developing so much.”

Nick asks him to go together out for a walk, as he tries to take every chance where he can go out. Before the accident he used to do a lot of sports and jogging, so he is always happy when he is out in the fresh air, walking through the streets with his alphabet paper. He asks Jack to go to the jewelery shop where he can get a present for Tanja, his fiancé, who is visiting him with William, their two year old son, later today. They will stay for some days.

Just few hours before arriving from her town, which is three hours away from Hammel, Tanja posted on her Facebook “My precious, my treasure I will see you soon, I will be with the 2 boys of my life.”

Every morning, Nick starts his day by checking his Facebook on his phone, seeing messages and posts from his friends and family. Tanja is trying to give Nick all the support and love he needs, she is not allowed to stay with him all the time in the hospital but she tries to be

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always there for him supporting him in through this hard time.

When checking Nick’s Facebook wall you will find that most of the posts are from Tanja: “Good morning love, REMEMBER that I will always be there for you no matter what, REMEMBER it.

“We now have a nice 21 month boy, soon to be 2 years time flies off.”

“Thank you so much for your Beautiful Roses.

Waiting for you.”

While Tanja is waiting in Nick’s room for him to finish his movement exercises, she says: “I really miss being one family and living in the same place and waiting for Nick to be back home again.”

Rene is one of Nick’s closest friends. Along with his wife Rikke and their kids, they talk about how strong and determined Nick is and how much he is challenging himself to get back to his family and to his normal life.

Back as a Believer

Nick didn’t believe in god or religion, but after the accident things changed. When asked what has changed, Nick answers using his alphabet paper with small words: “ I – Lucky – I am – Alive – 2 Friends – Died”

TOP RIGHT Nick’s grandmother visiting him in the hospital with his grandfather to spend the day with him.

LEFT Nick is sitting in his room using his phone.

MIDDLE Nick uses every chance to go out shopping and be in the fresh air.

BOTTOM RIGHT Nick & William in the supermarket waiting for Tanja.

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LISTEN PLEASE

by Katharina Bauer

Catalonia fighting for its right to be heard

Left: Spanish Nationalday, October 12th, 2014, 30.000 People, against vote/independence. * Top: Student strike, October 8th, 2014, 30 Students, pro vote.

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“We don’t know what will happen in the following weeks, but we’ll do our best to achieve what we want to happen: to right to decide, decide and decide.”

Clara, student of politics

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Catalonia Catalunya (Catalan) Cataluña (Spanish) Catalonha (Occitan) Autonomous community of Spain Anthem Els Segadors Capital Barcelona Body Generalitat de Catalunya President Artur Mas (CiU) Area • Total 32,114 km2 Population (2012) • Total 7,565,603

SPAIN

Official languages: Catalan, Spanish, Aranese Statute of Autonomy: 9 August 2006

“La Repulica was a very good time. We could write in catalan.”

Pere, Pensionist

The Alarm goes off at six o’clock in the morning in a student flat in Barcelona. Clara hardly manages to get up, she is so tired. After preparing a cup of coffee, she turns on the TV. Her friend Alba is joining her at the little round table in the common room. The sun is falling through the big window. A big flag over the sofa on the wall catches the light. At the same time Artur Mas, the Prime Minister of Catalonia, is having a press conference about the “consulta,” still being confident that it will happen the way they originally planned it. She smiles, shakes her head and looks down into her coffee cup. Her eyes are still almost closed.

It’s the second day of the studentstrike. A few hours later they prepare placards and take off to the student demonstration. The sun is hiting their faces. One of them starts to play “la gralla”, a flute typically used in catalan folkmusic. It sounds like someone screaming and they others start chanting in choirs “Votarem, Votarem” We are going to vote.

They pass by an older man, that starts clapping, shouting at them in encouragement. Raising his hands

into fists. Just two meters away a little boy standing on the sidewalk. His red and yellow kneesocks glow in contrast to the grey pavement. He looks with big eyes up to his father waiting for him to explain, what is going on. Over their heads les esteladas, the independence flags, are hanging from the balconies.

In the next second as they turn the corner it’s not 30 people anymore. It is 2000 students. The front row of the protest is students with masks and a black crosses over their mouthes. They don’t want to be silenced anymore. As the demonstration comes to a standstill at the end near Plaça Sant Jaume, everyone raises their fists, ecstatically singing the l’Estaca, a catalan song, that had to be sang behind close doors in the Franco regime, because the catalan language was forbidden. It is a call for unity of action to achieve freedom.

Catalonia has a very strong youth independence movement. They are not afraid to stand up. They are not afraid to speak up. On the other side there are older people worried about their pensions. Worried that this separation will break the country apart.

PREVIOUS PAGE Student demonstration, October 8th, 2014, 2.000 Students, pro vote/independence.

RIGHT Pere, October 14th, 2014, pro vote/independence.

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Pere, a 92 year old man is thinking back to this time, holding his cane and his thoughts are still clear. He looks up and says, “We won’t get anything, because Madrid doesn’t want to lose so much money,” refering to Catalonia being Spain’s most important industrial and tourist zone and being Spains econimic Powerhouse.

Turning their backs The support for the independence movement enormously grew over the last few years. And now you can see the signs everywhere all over Catalonia. A mannequin in the window of a culinary store in Girona wearing an apron saying: ‘Cooking for independence’ and people wearing yellow shirts with the red print: ‘now is the time.’

“We are fed up with the constant reluctance from the Spanish government against the Statute of Autonomy, the Fiscal Pact and now the freedom of speech!” says Didac is sitting on a bench next to his dog in Sant Cugat, a suburb of Barcelona. Telling me that even though he moved to Germany recently and he has to go back tomorrow, he’s already searching for a way to come be back, the 9th of November, the day of the vote and his eyes light up. “I will be there. I want to vote … and start building our own little country.”

After various attempts at independence, Catalonia is trying to get more autonomy. This seems to be the result of Spain basically saying no to everything, to every compromise. Also this time the Spanish court promised to use a ‘full force of law’ to keep Spain united, and they were sucessfull. On October 14th Artur Mas gave in and announced that some form of ‘consultation,’ would go ahead anyway. The one they asked for is suspended for now.

“How can people vote yes or no, when there is no debate about, what they are going into” protests Mar, standing in the middle of about 100 of students, blocking the way to get into the university.

They just wan to raise the awarness and start a debate. She says “I don’t know what the fuss is about. It’s not binding. So it would be just about peoples opinon.”

“We are not having the right discussion.”

Bernart Garrigós, Manufacturer, ANC

TOP Spanish Nationalday, October 12th, 2014, 30,000 People, against vote/independence.* LEFT Spanish Nationalday, October 12th, 2014, 30.000 People, against vote/independence. * MIDDLE Spanish Nationalday, October 12th, 2014, 30.000 People, against vote/independence. * RIGHT Didac, October 12th, 2014, pro independence. * number reported by the police.

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CALLING FOR REAL JIHAD A story about faith

by Fabian Fiechter

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t’s still dark outside. Aşgin drives his old Ford q ­ uick­­­ ly through the narrow streets of Istanbul. He is late­ ­­ , not unusual because he works so early in the ­morning.

He is not an early bird, but now he has to hurry up.

While he drives, he sings. His voice goes up and down, it’s g ­ etting louder and louder. Singing has always made him feel happy and Aşgin likes to sing everywhere. His voice sounds loud in the car, he likes to call out loud. In his home he can’t practice as loud as here.

Four minutes left. The old Ford enters the gate and he stops close to the massive stairs leading up to the Sultan ­Ahmed Mosque. He is relieved that there are free parking places because parking isn’t his strong suit.

Two ­minutes left. Aşgin climbs up the stairs to the ­minaret. Many years ago he would have to climb up the 64 meters to the top, but now he is happy to switch on the microphone on the ground floor.

Thirty seconds, Aşgin closes his eyes. He is ­concentrating and breathing calmly and deeply. He clears his throat, takes a deep breath and calls out loudly ‘‘Allahu Akbar...’’

Time seems to stand still when you hear the ­muezzins calling the faithful to their morning prayers all over ­Istanbul. “Allah is the greatest...’’ begins Aşgin. Other muezzins from the surrounding mosques join in. It sounds like a concert. Five times a day muezzins call for prayer and invite people to come to the mosque. When

this ­ happens, the whole of Istanbul is filled with the ­powerful calls of the muezzin. Aşgin Tunca, 49 years old, is one of them.

A CHOSEN VOICE

‘‘We are not normal people, imams and muezzins,’’ Aşgin says. He explains how important it is for them to recite and pronounce the Koran well. It took him five years of training his voice and studying the Koran to become a muezzin, and afterwards he couldn’t earn enough money to live from his passion because of the low wages. Friends and family convinced him to go to university and study English, so he did and he became a teacher.

He spent 15 years without singing in a mosque, but he kept on ­practicing and sang classical Turkish music instead.

One day at a concert a man asked him about his voice because he liked it. It emerged from their conversation that there was a mosque in Istanbul searching for an English speaking muezzin. Istanbul, the most important place for muezzins and imams in Turkey. Aşgin was ­surprised and asked which mosque it was.

And that’s how he started working for the most important mosque in Turkey: the Sultan Ahmed Mosque, also called Blue Mosque. It was built 400 years ago during the Ottoman Empire.

Aşgin is calling for Fajr Prayer early in the morning before sunrise.

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Two women from Uzbekistan praying with AĹ&#x;gin in his office at the Sultan Ahmed Mosque.

AĹ&#x;gin is reciting Prayers at a crowdet Friday Mosque.

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Men performing the Taslim, marking the end of their prayers.

These days Aşgin is happy because the Turkish government raised the salaries of imams and muezzins making it enough for him to live off.

According to Aşgin, ‘muezzins are chosen ones’ and he is honoured to be one of them, but Aşgin doesn’t like to take centre stage. In Islam people look up to the imams and muezzins, but Aşgin is a humble person and he takes his duty seriously. To call for daily prayers is the official part of his job, but thinks of himself as more of an assistant to the people. They come to ask him for his advice and prayers in difficult situations. He is an intelligent person and he always listens kindly with empathy to the people’s needs.

Aşgin is sitting in his black suit and perfectly knotted tie with two women in his office inside the mosque. They are holding their hands up while praying together to ask Allah to let their dreams come true. Aşgin is reciting a prayer while you can hear the noise of hundreds of tourists visiting the mosque. Many people like them ­ come to him every day. The women donate money to the mosque, which Aşgin will stick into a pocket of a man in need, later in the day.

the border between Europe and the Middle East. On one road tourists are shopping and meeting women covered in black robes. On the other demonstrators are fighting with the police who are literally beating freedom of speach down to the ground. The smell and bite of teargas is hanging over the crowded Istiklal road close to Taksim Square. A disrupted country, and the world is looking at it because of the conflict between the ISIS and Kurdish people in Kobane. A powder keg which could explode at any time. In Istanbul it seems that the two worlds are colliding with each other.

“Killing a person is like killing all human beings,” Aşgin says. He points out that this is written in the Koran and talks about Islamists like ISIS or Al Qaida scathingly.

“We don’t think of them as real Muslims. If Allah created you, you are important. We should show respect to each other. They don’t know… they really don’t know,’’ he says.

“The real Jihad is with yourself, with your ego. To make war between Satan and yourself that’s very important.

Muslims are killing Muslims! This has nothing to do with Islam. They don’t know…’’

THEY JUST DON’T KNOW

Since Aşgin is also a teacher, he teaches English to Imams for free. “What are the characteristics of Islam?”

Aşgin asks his students. He speaks fluent English with a nice British accent even though he has never been there.

Crowded streets: distracting and noisy, romantic and bewitching, modern and conservative all at the same time. Istanbul, with its 14 Million inhabitants, is truly 74

TEACH TO UNDERSTAND

“Islam, good character, ethics, peace, morality, mercy….”

His students are answering in a broken English.

The community of the mosques in Istanbul are changing all the time because of visitors from all over the world. Many of these tourists are confused about the things going on with Islamists and misunderstand the Islamic Religion. In the small classrooms in Fatih ­district, seven imams are sitting accross from each other while attempting to talk about Islam in English. Its difficult for them but they just had their first English lesson. They are laughing and drinking tea. It’s a nice and friendly atmosphere. Aşgin is leading them through the ­conversation.

“You can only invite, you cannot force ­anyone to become a Muslim,” Aşgin says. He points out that it is written in the Koran. And that’s why he and others in Turkey are trying to make people understand Islam ­better. It seems like they are preparing for the need to defend the Islam they believe in, because of all these bad things that are going on.

After the morning prayer Aşgin has a conversation with a visitor.

When the Imam is absent he leads the prayer in his place.

CALL TO PRAYER

A long queue of tourists is snakes back a hundred ­meters from the entrance of the mosque. With their camera

Inside the staff office beside the Mosque during a lunch break.

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AĹ&#x;gin performs ablutions before a prayer.

Turkish men face mecca while they prepare to pray.

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around their necks they are waiting and chatting in the sun outside of Sultan Ahmed. ‘Closed for Prayers’ is written on a white board just outside the entrance.

Istanbul is once again filled with the sounds of the muezzins calling for prayer. Thousands of people are streaming to the mosque to join the Friday prayer. The mosque is crowded, the muffled sound of hundreds of feet stomping over the thick red carpet mingles with the call of the muezzin. In the background two kids are playing and snickering. You can hear the rustling of the plastic bags where people are carrying their shoes.

Aşgin is sitting with his fellow muezzin on a gallery and preparing for prayer. He looks tired, while leaning his arm on the balustrade. It has been a long day since he had to wake up very early. The mosque is crowded with around 8000 people. Security are pushing people together to make more space. People are sitting on the ground and moving their upper bodies in time to their prayers.

Aşgin is the only person standing in the front, holding his hands up to his head. His deep voice is once again echoing around the massive dome of Sultan Ahmed. He remains the only one standing for another instant before people stand up. They start to pray, his voice ringing in their ears.

Aşgin enters a side entrance of the Blue Mosque.

Aşgin catches up on his reading after a long day at work.

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LOST IN TRANSLATION Half of Moldovas workforce is migrating. For women it’s typical to go to Italy or Israel to work as a caretaker and for men to go to Russia to work as construction workers. At the same time they leave their own families and houses behind.

by Sari Kettunen

I

n a small village in Moldova, a two hour bus ride from Chisinau, an older man is tending his sheep further in the field and a woman sits still on the bench beside the road.

The road is in bad shape and many of the houses are abandoned. Shades of old decorations on the walls are an echo from the past. Here houses have no numbers.

One cow has the whole hill for itself. More than one third of the people are retired. Working opportunities can be counted on two fingers: housework and self sustained farming.

GIVEN UP BY PARENTS

It’s a warm and foggy morning in the village. Victor wakes up before seven and leaves the house around 7:30.

He has a three kilometers walk to the school. His mother tongue is Romanian but the village he lives in doesn’t have a Romanian school.

Victor was nine and his sisters, Anna and Maria, were turning into teenagers when their mother left to work as a cook in Moscow. In the beginning, the children lived with their father but he was not able to take care of them working as a shepherd.

“I left the children to their grandmother and I don’t really know what happened after that. The children don’t want to live with me and I have no home where they could live,” Alexandro says.

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Victor’s mother, Angela, answers the phone in Moscow. She speaks about when she left five years ago.

“Alexandro and I had had difficulties for a long time. We fought a lot and alcohol was a part of the problem as well. For me leaving was one way of getting out of this situation.”

In the beginning things looked fairly good and children were doing fine at school when living with their grandmother.

“Everyone in the family was feeling happy about my work. We talked about getting a new house, a new home with the money I would earn. At that time we all thought this was a good thing,” Angela says.

According to her there were conflicts between the children and their grandmother later on. The children moved to the house owned by their uncle and lived there by themselves for the past year. Anna, who had just finished her vocational school, stayed home and looked after the younger ones.

The father remembers how the children missed their mother. Living apart from them has been difficult for Angela and she feels quilty about leaving them behind. The children have seen their mother only twice during the past five years since she has been gone.

Alexandro is still waiting for her to come back.

This spring, Anna got married and Victor and Maria could no longer continue living on their own. Since the beginning of September two siblings have been in guardianship of Valentina Stoianov, a NGO worker who offered these children a change to stay at her home.

Now Victor sees his father almost every week. During the weekends he goes and helps him around.

He also calls his mother regularly. However, there was a two months period of silence when Angela didn’t answer the children’s calls.

“I’m so tired. I work and I try to do my best but the needs of the children are endless. I will stay in Moscow until the end of this year and then decide whether I will return or not,” says Angela.

ABANDONED VILLAGES

Maria peels the potatoes and Valentina is baking when her 72 year old mother, Zina, stops by. Zina tells how her daughter met her husband.

TOP Laying in the living room in his home Victor gets a chance to use the computer. He often uses it for playing and watching movies and for Vkontakte, the Russian Facebook, where he can meet his oldest sister and some of the other relatives.

BOTTOM LEFT In the evenings the living room becomes a centerpoint for family members.Victor and his sister Maria watch Valentina’s daughters fooling around with her granddaughters.

BOTTOM MIDDLE Valentina comforts her granddaughter.

BOTTOM RIGHT Victor shares a room with his sister and two of Valentina’s grandchildren.

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LEFT Buses pass in the streets of Chisinau, the capital of Moldova. The city is lined with thousands of blockhouses.

RIGHT Victor prepares to got to school in the rural village south of Chisinau. This part of the country has been affected most by both internal and external migration.

“Going to the same school and living only three houses apart, you were always close to each other,” Zina says resting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

Four generations of women listen to the story in the kitchen. Situations like this are getting more rare now that families are splitting. However, families are still strongly in the hands of women and family ties are tight.

Valentina can relate to those who migrate. She tried to leave when her children were young.

“I went to Moscow and was sewing there for four months.

I missed my family and I wanted to come back home.“ Valentina’s husband drives a truck for three months straight in different countries and then stays one month with the family in Moldova.

Now their daughters are already grown up and live in Chisinau, but two of the grandchildren are living with them in the village. The kitchen stays busy.

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“I can’t afford to get sick. I need to take care of them all,“ says Valentina.

Moldova’s migration is both internal and external. The capital area of Chisinau is expanding at a high speed and the whole city is like a one big construction zone. More and more people are leaving the countryside, and rural areas are becoming abonded.

Not only do the villages become deserted but the views of the villages have started to change over the past few years. More women have migrated and it’s getting harder for men to find work in Russia.

“When men migrated, women stayed and took care of the children and houses. Now that women migrate more, men seem to have time to sit outside and drink. Of course there are now more divorces also here because of this,” Valentina describes the situation in her village.

Valentina and her mother Zina have lived here for all

their lives. When Valentina is asked, how many people live in the village, she gives a typical Moldovan answer.

“Well it depends, who you ask. Officially 700, but I would say unofficially 400. Some people have left the village but they are statistically still living here.”

Statistics tell one truth, and life shows another. The situation is the same with the migration number: no-one in Moldova knows the exact number.

BOTH SIDES OF THE COIN

It’s estimated that about 700 000 people – half of Moldova’s workforce – work abroad. This is nearly as much as the total population of Chisinau.

The reason for Moldovans to migrate is almost always money. It’s one of the poorest country in Europe and it’s difficult to find a job that guarantees a good standard of living for the families.

UNICEF has stated that 98 % of the children in orphan

institutions in Moldova have at least one parent alive.

Poverty is a large factor behind the number.

The streets of Chisinau are filled with small exchange stands for people to change foreign currencies to Moldovan leu.

From government’s point of view, money is an important part of migration and money sent to Moldova by migrants is seen as a positive side of the coin. In 2013 remittances amounted to one fourth of Moldova’s GDP according to The World Bank – this is about the same level as in Nepal and Armenia.

A migrating workforce is not a new thing in Moldova and problems with children left behind has been discussed for years. Many charity organizations have helped families with similar situations also in other countries like Romania.

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Ave Copiii and Copil Comunitate Familie Moldova (CCF) are NGO organizations working for children’s rights and they help children whose parents have migrated.

Liliana Rotaru, a Country Program Manager of CFF Moldova, says family members who remain to take care of children don’t get enough help. There are not enough social workers and not enough financial, social or psychological support for families.

Mariana Ianachevici, a Chief Executive Officer of Ave Copiii, doesn’t like to use the term abandoned when talking 84

about the children left behind. She sees that parents have wanted to offer a better life and more opportunities for their children.

She has seen how Moldova has changed during the past 10–15 years and how a new generation has grown up.

“Part of the younger generation have lived all this time so that parents have sent them money and material life has been good for them. They have grown up but they are not grown ups,“ Mariana says.

When talking about the second generation’s migration,

TOP LEFT Shops open and people move from homes to work, school and daycare on an early morning in Chisinau.

TOP RIGHT A horse is parked in front of the market in a village south of Chisinau. Horses are still widely used in the countryside.

BOTTOM LEFT In a village south of Chisnau Victor plays football with his friend in a field behind the school.

BOTTOM RIGHT A girl takes a sunday ride in a toycar in the city center of Chisinau.

RIGHT A man hangs laundry in a newly built neighbourhood in Chisinau.

Mariana discusses about the challenges for the educated workforce.

“It’s more like a brain loss instead of brain drain. Even with higher education younger people prefer to go abroad to earn money working in construction or as caregivers for elderly and not in their field or profession,” Mariana says.

“Children who have suffered from the lack of their parents’ presence in their lives are now doing the same thing themselves. It is a paradox,” Mariana adds.

Victor is now 14. He dreams about becoming a football player.

If he had one wish, what would he wish for?

“I want her to come back. I want my mother to come back.”

The name of the village and the children cannot be released as requested for their protection.

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Barbara Leolini

barbara.leolini@gmail.com

Fabian Fiechter

mail@fabianfiechter.de

Katharina Bauer

info@katharinabauer.net

Gabriel Ellison-Scowcroft

gabriel@gabrielellisonscowcroft.com

VOICE Cover image: Editor in chief: Photo editor: Copy editors:

Barbara Leolini Claudia Gori Katharina Bauer Gabriel Ellison- Scowcroft Brittany Greeson

Brittany Greeson

brittgreeson@gmail.com

Danish School of Media and Journalism Olof Palmes AllĂŠ 11 8200 Aarhus N 86

Roger Anis

roger.anis@gmail.com

Claudia Gori

gori.clau@gmail.com

Nikita Greydin

grey.nikita@gmail.com

Sari Kettunen

sarikettunen@gmail.com

Mohammadreza Soltani

mohammadrezasoltanitehrani@gmail.com

Special thanks to Jesper Voldgaard, Susanne Sommer, Henrik Meller and Lone Theils for their patience, advice and the food.

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