remember

"Killed... by bomb... terör... he loved Atatürk." This was the explanation given to me by a gentleman who was handing out small, black-and-white photocopied portraits of the man people had gathered to march for. "We must remember."

A brass band played to a solemn drumbeat, the musicians decked out in brilliant red, the colour of the carnations clutched tightly in the hands of the marchers, the colour of the Turkish flag. Leading the procession was a tiny woman in a leopard print coat, who proudly pulled up her spine when she spied my camera. She gave me a nod and a warm smile, and I snapped away.



I walked along with the group until the statue of Atatürk, where the procession came to a halt. The band played on, and a speech was made. A woman asked me to take a photo of her with her phone. She wanted the statue behind her, and struck a dignified pose.