Turkey is a name for a civilisational contrast where history, religion, nationality, modernity, and Europe’s allure are in constant dialogue with one another
BEFORE I arrived in Istanbul, whenever I envisioned Turkey, I pictured a country where Islam was not just a part of history but the dominant colour of everyday life. A land where mosques were not merely tourist attractions but the soul of society, where markets, streets and lifestyles prominently reflected Islamic civilisation, and where arriving Muslims would immediately feel they had entered a different cultural world.
But the best way to understand any society is not through preconceived notions but through direct observation. After spending a few days in Istanbul, I found that the most surprising reality was that I did not feel any significant cultural differences between Turkey and Britain, as I had imagined. If one looks at outward social life, attire, the mindset of young people, markets, cafes, restaurants, public interactions, and the modern urban environment, Istanbul in many respects does not appear very different from major European cities. Modernity here seems to move with the same confidence as in London, Birmingham, or Manchester.
This might surprise many, but in my observation, if someone comes with the assumption that because Turkey is a Muslim-majority country, religious symbols will dominate everywhere, they will likely arrive with a romanticised notion. The reality is far more complex.
The things we in the subcontinent consider symbols of an “Islamic environment”— such as the hijab, beard, regularity in prayer, or Islamic dress — are not limited to Turkey. Interestingly, these same scenes are largely visible in Britain as well. In many Muslim-populated areas of London, Leicester, Birmingham, Bradford, or Manchester, one will find women in burqas, female students in hijabs, mosques filled with worshippers, religious seminaries, halal restaurants, and Islamic centres in large numbers. Sometimes it feels that in the expression of a Muslim’s everyday religious life, the distance between Britain and Turkey is not as great as we imagine from afar.
However, there is one difference that cannot go unnoticed — a difference not just seen but heard. In Britain, mosques exist and prayers are offered, but the adhan (call to prayer) is largely confined within the mosque’s four walls. Due to legal and social regulations, calling the adhan through loudspeakers is not a common practice. As a result, while Muslim performs their worship, the sound of the adhan is absent from the city’s collective atmosphere.
In Istanbul, the scene is completely different. At stipulated prayer times, the proclamation of adhan begins to rise from different directions of the city, one after another. First from one mosque, then another, then a third. Within moments, the entire atmosphere transforms into a spiritual state. If one stands at an elevated point, one could feel as if the entire city is simultaneously declaring the greatness of Allah.
This experience is not merely religious but also civilisational. For Muslims, it holds immense meaning that their worship is not just a personal act but part of a collective atmosphere. This was the moment when, for the first time, I strongly felt that I was in a Muslim-majority society. Perhaps this was the most notable difference between Turkey and Britain. The collective resonance of the adhan produces a strange sense of contentment, pride, and belonging within a person — one that is not easy to fully express in words.
Aside from this, if anything immediately caught my attention, it was Istanbul’s cats. Perhaps in very few cities in the world do cats live with such freedom, safety, and affection. They are in the markets, in parks, at historical sites, on the docks, and also seen sitting peacefully in mosque courtyards. People leave food for them, arrange water, build small shelters for them, and consider them a natural part of the city’s life. It feels as though a bond of compassion between humans and animals is woven into the daily life of this society. Perhaps this is why even Istanbul’s cats do not appear afraid of humans.
In terms of food as well, I did not experience any severe cultural shock. Many Turkish dishes are close to our palate. Meat, bread, rice, kebabs, and various types of curries are not far from South Asian tastes. However, in Britain, the breakfast style, bread, toast, cereals, and other Western foods are more prominent. Similarly, the use of sweets in British society is different. These differences exist, but they are not so profound that they could be called a civilisational gap.
The real question is not about food or clothing but about civilizational direction. Without understanding Turkey’s modern history, it is difficult to understand this society. After the fall of the Ottoman Empire, the national project initiated by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk primarily aimed to establish a modern, secular, and European-style state. This project did not just change the political system but also deeply impacted clothing, education, language, law, judiciary, state institutions, and social attitudes.
Its effects can still be clearly felt today. Although during the past two decades, religious identity has become more prominent — mosques have flourished, some religious educational institutions have strengthened, and the Ottoman heritage has received greater respect — the imprint of modern European thought on overall urban life remains. Perhaps this is why Turkey has not yet become a member of the European Union, yet it is also a fact that the desire to gain intellectual and economic closeness to Europe has deeply influenced its modern national identity. The aspiration to be part of Europe has not remained merely a foreign policy matter but, in many ways, has become a social dream.
The most obvious expression of this tension is visible within families. In the same household, you see a fully covered elderly woman, while her daughter walks without hesitation in Western clothing. Between mother and daughter is not just a generational gap but two different civilisational concepts moving side by side. On the one hand, the memory of Ottoman tradition remains; on the other, a modern European identity has established itself.
This scene is not limited to a single family but is repeatedly visible in the streets of Istanbul. It would not be accurate to say that Turkey has abandoned Islam, nor would it be true to say that Islam is the completely dominant social force here. The reality lies between these two extremes. Turkey is a name for a civilisational contrast where history, religion, nationality, modernity, and Europe’s allure are in constant dialogue with one another.
Perhaps this is why those who come to Turkey, considering it merely an “Islamic state,” are surprised. They realise that Islamic identity certainly exists here, but its form is not what appears in the religious societies of South Asia. Here, Islam is mostly visible in historical heritage, grand mosques, the sound of adhan, religious festivals, and public sentiment, while the presence of modernity in everyday urban life is equally prominent.
If I had to summarise the outcome of my journey in one sentence, I would probably say that Turkey cannot be understood solely through its mosques, nor merely through its cafes, malls, and European-style lifestyle; Turkey is, in fact, the name of a continuous civilisational dialogue between the two.
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Mohammad Alamullah is a UK-based academic, author, and journalist, holding two Master’s degrees from Swansea University, UK, and Jamia Millia Islamia. He has authored three books: A Brief History of Muslim Majlis Mushawarat, Few Days in Iran, and Media: Paper to Screen — Scenarios, Problems and Possibilities. The views expressed are solely his own.
