An attack on Syrian refugees in Karagümrük, a tough Istanbul neighbourhood once known for right-wing nationalism, opens Suzy Hansen's portrait of a country in flux. The victims escaped with black eyes and bloodied faces, but the incident, carried out with sticks, baseball bats and doner knives, encapsulates the tensions of mass migration and nationalist backlash that resonate far beyond Turkey.
Hansen, an American journalist who lived in Istanbul and visited Karagümrük for over a decade, aims to show how ordinary people experience authoritarianism in the 21st century. The book's first third offers a conventional history of Turkey, from its secularising founding project to Recep Tayyip Erdoğan's rise and his repudiation of that legacy. Hansen writes lovingly of Istanbul's light and its 'pink and gold splendour', and highlights the role of internal migration, with peasants arriving laden with yoghurt and tomatoes, followed by a construction boom.
The narrative truly comes alive when it focuses on Karagümrük's residents: Hüseyin, an Erdoğan-sympathising market owner; İsmail, a nostalgic district head; Ebru, an estate agent bent on improvement; and Tarik, a young Syrian learning the street's rules. Turkey has absorbed three million Syrians since the civil war began, more than any European country, and in Karagümrük Arabic script appears on street signs. Hüseyin initially helped newcomers with forms and bills, and Erdoğan spoke of welcoming Syrians as part of a Muslim family.
Yet prejudice surfaces in small ways: complaints that Syrians smell of cooking oil, walk incorrectly, or threaten Turkish women. Hansen captures these details brilliantly, exposing the nativist politics familiar far beyond Turkey. The book occasionally shifts focus to the hollowing out of institutions—a university faculty in Ankara, a planned canal in Istanbul, a dissident architect after the 2023 earthquake—but these episodes underscore the bewildering breadth of Erdoğan's assault, from courts to education to the digital realm.
Ultimately, From Life Itself suggests that democracy can be dismantled quietly, and that, like Karagümrük's residents, most people keep their heads down and carry on. Hansen's account is a poignant, well-observed record of how an era feels, and a warning of what is lost when institutions crumble and neighbours turn on each other.
