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There is danger under water. It is far more terrifying than any deep sea monster, far worse than anything the mega metropolis of Istanbul has ever seen. Two tectonic plates rub against each other beneath the Sea of Marmara, just five miles offshore. You build tension every day. At some point the tension becomes too great. Then comes the earthquake. And the tsunami.
Then, the city council fears, 90,000 buildings could collapse and, in the worst case, millions of people could die. “The dead will be envied. The rescue teams will not reach the injured,” Turkish real estate entrepreneur Ali Agaoglu (66) recently predicted during a panel discussion.
The horror scenario is real. The Kandilli Observatory’s Istanbul Earthquake Research Center estimates the probability of the megaquake occurring in 2030 at 64 percent. According to the Turkish researchers, it is almost certain that it will happen before the year 2090.
The tsunami warning at the amusement park
Abdullah (62) knows that too. “Everybody here knows that,” says the retired sailor as he throws his fishing bait into the azure water. “Everything is quiet now, you see. But the earthquake could come any minute. And then everything collapses here.” Behind Abdullah, families and a few dogs stroll through the beautiful beach park. The tsunami warning signs warning of the deadly waves seem to disturb no one.
Nor did Abdullah. He has lived all his life here in the Zeytinburnu district of Istanbul. He knows that this corner will be hit particularly hard when the earthquake hits. But he just shrugs his broad shoulders. Calmly he points with his right hand to the new residential towers a few meters behind the beach promenade. With his left hand he holds the fishing rod so that not a single mackerel can escape him. “Our construction industry is corrupt. Here the buildings may be a maximum of three storeys high. Look at them: 15 floors, 25 floors, way too high,” says Abdullah.
The Turkish construction industry has always been built on a corrupt foundation. For example, in the earthquake-hit city of Antakya, a contractor donated $200,000 to the local soccer team. The mayor generously looked the other way when the construction did not match the submitted blueprints at all, the New York Times revealed. The building collapsed during the earthquake, burying hundreds of people alive.
In Turkey, any construction manager can scold himself
Such examples abound. Civil engineers hardly receive practical training in Turkey. There has only been a building decree for high-rise buildings for four years. And anyone who can afford to be registered in the commercial register can call themselves a site manager. In view of the impending earthquake in the metropolis, earthquake researcher Cenk Yaltirak (60) of Istanbul Technical University recently said at an information meeting: “To all those who live in Istanbul, if your home will not be your coffin, leave.” .”
Architectural proliferation is evident in the Zeytinburnu district of Istanbul. Houses ready for demolition stand next to modern new construction. Old walls look out behind glossy facades. The mayor of Istanbul estimates that the city would need to invest CHF 19 billion to make the affected districts truly earthquake resistant. Istanbul cannot afford that. What people are left with is the hope that the inevitable is far from coming.
People in eastern Turkey also had that hope – until February. Then nearly six million people lost their homes. There are still about 200 million tons of rubble lying around: ten times as much as after the complete destruction of the city of Warsaw in World War II. Turkey estimates that reconstruction will cost about $104 billion. President Recep Tayyip Erdogan (69) promises that the houses will be up again in a year.
Earthquake barely cost Erdogan votes
This is an illusion. And yet the earthquake is likely to have less of an impact on the election than one might think. The earthquake is covered up in the government-controlled media. The predominantly religious Erdogan supporters blame God rather than the president for the misery. And many of the enraged people, who have lost all their possessions, cannot vote in the elections because they remain in tent camps far from their registered residence – all too often undocumented.
Building is such a thing, says Abdullah, the fisherman on Zeytinburnu beach. “If the buildings are made earthquake-resistant, the rent will go up, and no one here can afford it – at least not me,” he says. The question is which is better: a ghost town – or a city of the dead? Abdullah lets the question stand. First a mackerel has to bite. Then he looks further.
Source: Blick
I am Amelia James, a passionate journalist with a deep-rooted interest in current affairs. I have more than five years of experience in the media industry, working both as an author and editor for 24 Instant News. My main focus lies in international news, particularly regional conflicts and political issues around the world.
