On Saturday, Nov. 10, my roommates and I woke up bright and early to scramble to the main road in our neighborhood before 9 a.m. Once we hit the main road however, we simply stopped, waited and watched.

The sidewalks were bustling with people while the street was crowded with the typical weaving of taxis, buses and cars. At 9:05 a.m., though, everything stopped.

People stepped on the brakes, put their cars in park and emerged into the cool morning air. They stopped their chatter, their fast-paced gait. For a whole minute, everything was completely still and silent as the Turkish people stopped to commemorate the death of their president. It was spectacular to observe.

Mustafa Kemal Ataturk is everywhere. His signature appears on bumper stickers, cellphone cases and in inky permanence on the arms of Turks so in love that they want a reminder of their first president imprinted on their bodies.

I’ve seen his face on bars of soap, key chains and staring down at me from enormous flags. If you think Big Brother is bad, imagine what it feels like to have 10,000 Father Turks watching you almost constantly.

The Turks are obsessed with Ataturk, and rightly so. Let me give you the briefest of brief history lessons:

Way back in 1299, the Muslim Ottoman Empire replaced the Christian Byzantium — Constantinople turned to Istanbul. From that year all the way until 1923, the Empire waxed, waned and eventually fizzled out. At its zenith, the empire spanned three continents, but by the early 1900s it had become known as the “sick man of Europe.” Until Ataturk decided to change that, that is.

An accomplished military officer in World War I even though the Ottoman Empire fought on the losing Central Powers side, he used his fame to help him lead a War of Independence against the Greeks from 1919 to 1923. The war was won and Ataturk, who was awarded the surname meaning “Father of the Turks,” set up a provisional government and named himself the first president of the Turkish Republic.

From that point until his death at 9:05 a.m. on Nov. 10, 1938, he would spend his life creating and shaping the Turkish national identity.

I have to admit that since coming to Turkey I’ve caught Ataturk fever. He truly was an amazing man — a brave army officer, a revolutionary statesman, a prolific writer and the creator of an entire language, for goodness sake. And those brilliant, bright blue eyes make me melt.

When I think about it, it stuns me just how new this country that I’m studying is. There’s such a strange duality because Turkey the landmass has so much history, while Turkey the country hardly has any at all. Turkey just officially became Turkey on October 29, 1923.

That means there are Turks still alive today who grew up in the Ottoman Empire. That means there are Turks still alive today who met Ataturk in person. I can try to assuage my jealousy of the omnipresence of a Turkish national hero by telling myself that if we had grandmas and grandpas around today who had shaken George Washington’s hand, maybe we would be throwing his face on more than just a lousy $1 bill.

That’s right, I said it: I’m a little jealous. I’m a little jealous because even though I can watch the movie starring Daniel Day Lewis, I can’t buy a lighter with Abraham Lincoln’s noble face plastered across the front. What’s up with that?

I’m jealous that Turks have this unifying love of a man that transcends even modern politics, and of the national pride that every Turk I’ve met exudes.

Jillian D’Onfro is a senior magazine journalism and information management and technology dual major. Her column appears every Tuesday. She can be reached at jidonfro@syr.edu.

Published on November 13, 2012 at 2:20 am