Paul Yandall: Anzac Day memory outweighs threats

COMMENT

Happy-go-lucky New Zealand backpackers sitting in open-air bars in the historic heart of Istanbul have little but fun and remembrance on their minds.

The New Zealand Government has told people to stay away from one of the world's most significant secular pilgrimages, but to many Antipodean visitors in Turkey preparing for a visit to the battlegrounds of Gallipoli, the warnings seem an over-reaction.

"I feel safer here than walking down [Auckland's] High St", says Gerry Hill of Ponsonby.

Similar statements are repeated by Australians and New Zealanders crowding the bars and hostels of Istanbul's Sultanahmet region, the backpackers' Anzac Day launch base. It is a ridiculously optimistic sentiment in a region where death does not bother to knock first.

Everyone feels safe in a crowded cafe or bar or bus until the unspeakable happens.

It happened again yesterday, though nowhere near Sultanahmet. An explosion struck a bus carrying military personnel, though it was not known what caused the blast. Local TV reported no one was hurt.

The Turks are taking the threat of a Gallipoli terrorist attack very seriously. Access to the peninsula for Sunday's dawn ceremony will be strictly controlled.

Security is also tight in Sultanahmet. Squads of armed police patrol the neighbourhood's narrow bar-lined streets 24 hours a day. Hospitality workers, local tour operators, and hotel owners have been security-checked. But no one is safe here from someone determined to do them harm.

Australia's support of the American-led occupation of Iraq, and the bombing of western interests in Istanbul last November, have heightened fears of a Gallipoli attack.

"My mother gave me strict instructions to cancel my ticket here and come home", says 25-year-old Heidi Grinstead, a nurse from Wanganui now working in London.

"I faxed her my itinerary, registered my attendance [with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs], and here I am," she says with a grin.

Why did she come? Her grandfather was one of the first New Zealanders to land in Turkey in 1915. She has attended Anzac Day dawn services since she was a child.

To come to Gallipoli is to complete a personal journey begun years ago in front of Wanganui's stark cenotaph.

My own ties to the terrible events of Gallipoli, where almost 11,000 Anzacs lost their lives, are not of blood.

As a Samoan-born immigrant who arrived in Auckland in a cradle 30 years ago, I can make no such claim.


But for young men and women struggling for a sense of identity in a troubled and fractured world, Anzac Day provides a partial answer to that vexing question: What does it mean to be a New Zealander?

For me, Gallipoli is more than a commemoration. It is a significant piece of the puzzle. And it is worth taking a risk for.

* Paul Yandall is a former Herald reporter.