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Öğe Contesting Love Through Commodification: Soccer Fans, Affect, and Social Class in Turkey [2-s2.0-85150094001](Springer International Publishing, 2020) Nuhrat, Y.In the chapter, Football Fans, Affect, and Social Class in Turkey, Yağmur Nuhrat discusses football in Turkey, adding a social structural perspective to the common expression “love of football.” While Friedman studies the experiences and manifestations of love during the game, Nuhrat examines the intersection of (1) the increasing commodification in Turkey, (2) the law that promises to “clean up” fandom, and (3) differing expressions of love along class lines following this clean-up. The cleaned-up version of football serves to secure class distinction for upper middle class fans, whereas it evokes resistance among less affluent and working-class fans. Her research reveals how the class conflict in Turkey created by the new law and how rising commodification are evaluated by the fans through contestations over what it means to be an “authentic fan” and especially over the quality of one’s love for the team. True love is defined and experienced differently by members of the two groups, with working class fans often describing their love as maddening or self-sacrificing. In the context of increasing political repression, their resistance to commodification is discursively entangled with love and violence. By contrast, members of the upper class and the administration express their love by consuming paraphernalia related to the club. © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020.Öğe Fair to Swear? Gendered Formulations of Fairness in Football in Turkey [2-s2.0-85150119017](Springer International Publishing, 2020) Nuhrat, Y.“Fair to Swear? Gendered Formulations of Fairness in Football in Turkey”, focuses on the swearing voiced in football chants in Turkey. Based on a sociological linguistic approach, it demonstrates that fans construct a specifically masculine notion of fairness that diverges from what the Turkish football authorities define as the ideal of ‘fair play.' Nuhrat argues that the anti-swearing campaigns and policies of multiple organizations (including the Turkish Football Federation (TFF), the clubs and mainstream media) ostensibly intend to uphold fair play, yet they miss and are at odds with how fans construe fairness: Fans genderize the meaning of the concept fair play by celebrating the masculine ideal of the crazy, hot-blooded young man (delikanlı). In keeping with theoretic formulations regarding “ordinary ethics” in cultural anthropology, the chapter elucidates how fairness and gender are co-negotiated in football in Turkey. In addition, it critiques the stereotypical feminine role that the TFF ascribes to women fans, defining them as naturally polite guardians of the imposed sense of fair play. The chapter shows that women fans have an intricate relationship with hegemonic masculinity whereby they simultaneously take part in the specific masculine construction of fairness and oppose normative gender expectations. © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020.Öğe Policed bodies and subjectivities: Football fans at the Gezi Uprising in Turkey(Taylor and Francis, 2018) Nuhrat, Y.On September 15, 2015, I exited the Istanbul metro, toward one of the city’s most famous and frequented pedestrian avenues, the İstiklal Avenue. It was around 8:30 PM and I was on my way to meet colleagues for dinner. As I joined İstiklal Avenue from a side street, I saw a bottleneck ahead. I broke free of the crowd and got ready to spring forward when I noticed that a police barrier had blocked the entire width of the avenue. Four or five lines of policemen stood there expressionless, facing demonstrators who had occupied a section of the avenue. They wore helmets and other protective gear, and were armed with rubber bullet guns. One civilian standing near the blockade told me that I had go around the other side of the police to walk up the avenue. I glanced at the demonstrators; some were sitting on the ground, others not. Rubbing shoulders with the policemen at the edge of the blockade, I saw a water cannon parked behind the troops. I made eye contact with a couple of them after which I instantly averted my gaze only to find it stuck on the policemen’s back pockets where their batons hung. I hurried past them, anxious to tell my colleagues what I had just witnessed. I realized I did not even know what the demonstration was about until one of my colleagues asked me about it (I would later learn that it was a congregation of lawyers protesting the recent surge of police and military violence against Kurdish civilians and guerilla in Cizre, Şırnak). When I told him I did not know, he said, “It makes no difference anyway, this is the reality of everyday life now, in this country.” My colleague was right in diagnosing the elevated presence of police on İstiklal Avenue as an everyday condition for Istanbul. This has been the case especially since the Gezi Uprising of summer 2013 when a peaceful sit-in to protest the demolition of a public park spontaneously turned into a full-fledged uprising.1 After a few nights of sit-ins in the park, the night of May 31, 2013 saw the first of the violent police attacks against the protestors when the park was raided by riot police. During this raid the police burned tents, sprayed protestors with water from pressurized water cannons and tear-gassed the entire neighborhood. Amnesty International (2013a) called these actions “gross human rights violations” and the “brutal denial of the right to peaceful assembly” (Amnesty International 2013b). From May 31 onward, Gezi spread to the rest of the city and to the country as millions joined to demonstrate. The uprising lasted for the whole summer and included approximately 5,500 demonstrations across the country, mobilizing nearly 3.5 million people (Bellaigue 2013). While there are no official statistics in relation to the number of detentions, arrests or casualties, various sources indicate that more than 5,500 protestors were detained (Yağmur 2014), close to 200 people were arrested (Milliyet 2013), eight protestors were killed and nearly 8,000 were injured (Letsch 2014). The motivations to join Gezi were manifold but centered on dissatisfaction regarding the neoliberal and neoconservative policies of the government aimed at controlling relations in increasingly more aspects of social life. Indeed, Gezi was an inclusive movement, accommodating many sectors of society including university students, leftist youths and union representatives, Alevis (a religious minority in Turkey, sometimes referred to as the “Shiites of Anatolia”), Kurds, non-Muslims, anti-capitalist Muslims, Turkish nationalists, secularists, women’s rights activists, LGBTI communities, animal rights activists, environmentalists and football fans.2. © 2018 selection and editorial matter, Kevin G. Karpiak and William Garriott; individual chapters, the contributors.Öğe The trivialization of women's football in Turkey(Oxford University Press, 2023) Nuhrat, Y.Football is considered mainly a men's sport and pastime in Turkey, much like around the world, resulting in unequal treatment towards female practitioners. Women are othered through football, one manifestation of which is the trivialization of sport when played by women. This chapter addresses the trivialization of women's football in Turkey on multiple levels, from mundane procedures on match days to larger scale labor exploitation tied to lack of professionalization. I demonstrate that the multiple hierarchies within which Turkey's female footballers are situated make this a field of insecurity and precarity for them, limiting their resources for mobilization or resistance. The chapter is based on four months of qualitative fieldwork, mostly in Istanbul, with a total of 38 participants including footballers, coaches, club and federation administrators, sponsors, media representatives, and academics. © Abdullah Al-Arian, 2022. All rights reserved.
