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I do dream once in a while
that NASA calls me up and says,
"Mr. Topçu, we want to hear you play your saz on the moon."
Now I've got it.
Up there, probably in an astronaut suit
with a cable going out of the spaceship,
floating in the air.
I'm attached though, or else I'd fly away.
Can you imagine if I played on the moon
and looked down to Earth while I was playing, and recorded it?
What would I play at that moment?
Which sound, which melody could I play?
Those are all different labels, Türküola and Minareci.
All those songs are about foreign Germany.
They're all very old and, like I said,
these cassettes were all made in Germany.
All of them in Germany, and here it says Deutschmarks.
As you can see here, 12 Deutschmarks.
Deutschmarks at the time.
And Made in Germany, Türküola, all of it was produced in Germany.
And here it says 10 Deutschmarks, even cheaper!
For example, the European editions of old labels
such as Minareci, Türküola or Uzelli.
They are numbered, all of them, and worth a lot these days.
We were very happy together.
Why have we been separated?
The cruel train to a foreign land
has torn you from me...
It's an effort.
What do you say?
I have no more patience.
Bring me a message from my lover,
ease the pain inside of me,
train into the unknown...
Our parents suffered a lot as foreigners, the first generation.
We owe it to them that we can be here today. They took on every burden.
I'm going to take off to Germany.
- Next week I will know. - Don't be stupid, stay here.
- In two years, you can afford a car. - Maraşlı sold his for 40,000.
Taxi to Germany! Munich, Cologne, Essen, Hamburg!
Will set off immediately! Taxi to Germany!
Munich, Cologne, Essen, Hamburg!
Taxi to Belgium and to Holland!
Taxi to Europe right away!
Taxi to Germany! Munich, Cologne, Essen, Hamburg, Belgium and Holland!
German-Turkish dictionaries, gentlemen!
German-Turkish dictionaries! Plastic covers for your passports!
Flags and banners for your ID cards!
Ayşe Çekir, İklime Şen
You have to take a wee. The nurse will watch.
And they take your blood,
your weight and measure you.
51 kilos, 1.60 metres.
To see whether everything's working, all the bones, all of them!
Once again!
This is now the second stage
of the German doctors' evaluation of these bodies they are hiring.
They have survived the x-rays.
The Germans are not looking for Olympic athletes.
They are seeking durable factory fodder.
An end to the stream of guest workers is not in sight.
Two million foreigners, of whom about 600,000 are women,
are already working for the West German industry.
Currently, the Federal Labour Office is concluding
employment contracts in the following countries:
Portugal, Spain, Italy, Yugoslavia, Greece and Turkey.
Cologne. Monday, 19:28: Turks.
Tuesday, 9:03: Greeks.
Tuesday, 18:25: Yugoslavs.
Wednesday, 15:46: Italians.
Thursday, 5:44: Yugoslavs.
I am a foreigner.
You're not from here?
No, I'm a stranger here.
I'm a foreigner.
In Turkey, I heard a lot of good things about Germany.
You can get beef there in abundance, so they say.
Every week they would bring the workers they need.
Soon you'll be doing well, my fellow countryman.
Germany, Germany,
you will not find workers like the Turks.
Germany, Germany,
you will not find anyone more compliant than us...
We wish you a safe journey
and a successful professional life in Germany.
In Sirkeci, they handed me a contract.
In Germany you will work, they said.
A parcel and a transport ticket. And off you go.
We got our first meal in Munich.
Germany, Germany,
you won't find any blondes.
They hung up a poster in the home for workers.
They looked for people who could play an instrument and sing.
We would enjoy ourselves, talk, and get to know each other.
"It's six o'clock, we have arrived in Cologne", they said.
We were allocated to dormitories in groups of six.
Instead of feathers, they gave me a straw mattress.
"Bathroom and toilet are in the factory", they said.
Germany, Germany,
you can't mess with us.
The boy next to me said, grab your saz and let's go.
Because I only played for myself.
He took me there.
Over two thousand people in the audience. Cologne's entire workforce came.
Huge applause!
The whole room was up on its feet.
I wasn't even prepared.
I said, look, my friends, all of us are new here.
We work under harsh conditions.
We feel miserable. And you expect me to play cheerful songs?
Let me sing an elegy to Germany.
A song about how we came to Germany and what we went through.
Welcome brother, to our home in Cologne.
The "German Epic" was sold, without exaggeration, three million times.
By 1978, I had released 82 singles.
What's new from the living and the dead?
We were treated badly. The worst thing is when you can't speak a language.
They swear at you and you say "yes",
They insult you, you say "yes". We only knew one word, and that was "yes".
Our old father sends you greetings.
Send a bit of pocket money. He's short of money.
No support when you live in exile. For us it's hard too.
I guess it's an economic crisis. How can we bail ourselves out?
Fate has taken another turn.
There are too many differences between home and here.
This month I couldn't send the thousand five hundred German marks.
How are the uncles and my wife?
In Turkey, they said that Germany was a good country.
Friends with us Turkish people.
You will earn good money. So we came, and were bitterly disappointed.
What occurred here became my inspiration.
Good morning, Mayistero...
The constraints of the assembly line,
the confrontation with an entirely different environment,
brought on a wide range of protest songs.
For the Turks, without whom our economy would be inconceivable today,
it's not only their fingers that ache.
With a lute in my hand, I addressed all the worries and wishes.
I expressed what workers here were not able to say.
I played and sang about their concerns.
Good morning, Mayistero.
I will not work for low wages.
I broken, poet broken.
Understand, you gherkin?
Half German, half Turkish.
Even the Germans understood it. Although I sang in Turkish, they understood.
What are you doing here? You're meant to slave away like a pig!
And if you can't deal with it, go back home!
Get your papers. Oh yeah? Listen to this.
I came for the adventure.
Money means nothing to me.
I came for the adventure.
Money means nothing to me.
You uncouth German,
not even your wife will listen to you...
Saturday evening in a Turkish pub for guest workers.
What can foreigners do during their spare time?
They have language problems.
Making a phone call, getting on the right tram,
already pose a problem.
They hardly have any German friends.
Every third German thinks guest workers are a "necessary evil".
Every seventh German thinks they're stupid and crude.
And every sixth German explicitly wants nothing to do with guest workers.
Saturday morning, just before eleven o'clock. A dull period for guest workers.
Boredom starts to spread.
Turks, Italians, Yugoslavs, Greeks and Spaniards
have a nagging problem in common, their spare time.
At exactly eleven o'clock, the brothel in Stuttgart opens.
At eleven o'clock, love services are offered in exchange for cash,
also for guest workers.
Stuttgart is a liberal area.
It's not everywhere that people will mix with foreigners.
When I first came to Germany, I went to the forest and cried.
I couldn't find work. Later, I made a friend.
We went to the station together, to the pub, to drink a beer.
Lots of people bought us beer. We continued drinking.
Later on, I went to the bathroom.
When I got back, I couldn't see my friend anywhere.
So I asked. Everybody said, he went home.
I tried to understand. I went home and saw how beat up my colleague looked.
Everything full of blood - his face, his eye, and three teeth were broken.
He was in hospital for 28 days.
Since then, I've never gone back to the station.
And thus they stand around on Kaiserstrasse,
leaving their marks on this catwalk of sin once the rush hour is over.
And this continues into the late hours of the evening.
And on weekends, they wait for their cousin from Heidelberg,
their friend from Wiesbaden, or for any old nobody,
banished from the barren station concourse,
these waiting rooms of homesickness.
Hey Turk, do you have hashish?
Hey, wait a minute.
Loneliness comes over me...
I sit at the station,
trains come and go.
I count the trains, incessantly...
As if they were coming from Kars, Van
or Istanbul.
My heart belongs to you, my love,
my love Rosemarie.
I burn with desire,
and long for my home country.
Germany feels too tight.
Your hair so blonde,
your eyes so blue, Rosemarie.
These German provinces, its workers toil away.
They toil while their hearts are loving...
Many songs have been written about the unknown.
Many people had to part from their loved ones.
I cannot be separated. I cannot bear the longing.
I'm not the first one to leave. Others, too, have separated.
It's only for three months. Four or five at the most.
I was separated from my home and country.
I have no money, no riches in my hands.
The language of the poor is unknown.
Poverty, you have forced me to come to Germany...
When I came to Germany as a worker, we all listened to Yüksel Özkasap.
She had two or three big hits.
What were they called again?
I don't remember.
They were beautiful and sold well.
All migrant workers Europe-wide listened to her songs.
They were constantly played on the Turkish radio.
"The nightingale of Cologne", Yüksel Özkasap.
I thank all my listeners.
Almost every household played my songs.
For their sake, I became Yüksel Özkasap.
To all my friends far away, respect and love.
All expatriates felt more or less the same.
And I was right in the middle.
Everyone had left someone behind, like their own child.
They had left their parents, the village, their home country.
On my albums, I sing about my own desires,
but also of other people's desires.
We were brought together by fate.
I became the voice of the expatriates here.
We had opened up a big store on Hansaring 147.
That's where it all began, with the labels Türkofon and Türküola.
I was born there.
You wouldn't believe it, but there were people actually queuing outside.
They queued up when I signed the albums.
They bought all of them, all at once.
I am the first artist who became famous in villages in Turkey.
How did that happen? When they went on holiday,
they brought all my records to their hometowns,
and record players by Aiwa. We sold a lot of those.
Then those records remained there.
When they came back, they would buy them again.
Attention, we're recording.
Press the button, they can't hear you.
Attention, we're recording.
To the farm labourer -
it rained in Burgaz.
These girls from Germany,
you can have them for half a bottle of lemonade.
These girls from Germany,
for half a bottle of lemonade.
Fill up, my copper cup...
I recorded 315 singles.
Later, I recorded 48 cassettes.
There are few artists who sold an album 700,000 times.
I'm one of them. Şükran Ay sold a million. The record where you can hear her cry.
The nightingale of Cologne, Yüksel Özkasap.
In 1979, at the film festival in Cannes,
she received two gold records for full-length albums sold.
For singles, she received nine gold records.
For sales in Germany.
Gradually, we opened new branch stores.
We had thirteen stores, three of which were in the Netherlands, three in Berlin.
Later on, we stuck to producing records.
COLOGNE
The Türküola company has its head office on the Hansaring in Cologne.
They're the number one producer of Turkish music in West Germany
and their catalogue features all the Turkish stars.
Cassette sales make up two-thirds of the business.
We have been producing music since 1968.
One could say that approximately
one million cassettes are sold per year
to Turkish people in Germany
as well as in neighbouring countries.
This is spread over about
500 - 600 artists.
All pop artists were under our contract.
We turned them into stars. Because we did a lot of promoting.
In the big daily newspapers, there were huge ads.
That's where the customers saw new releases and then came into the store.
Albums released by Turkish labels
are not sold via the official distribution channels.
They're sold at Turkish food markets or via import/export businesses.
They do not appeal to the Germans.
At the time, Germans didn't shop in Turkish stores.
They wouldn't know records were sold there.
When Ibrahim Tatlıses released an album,
the whole neighbourhood would come. On a day like that, I couldn't take a break.
"Auntie, one cassette by Ibo." "I want three, for my friends as well."
That would continue for two weeks. I would only sell Ibo's tapes.
And I was filled with pride. Because I really like his music.
I listen to him nonstop.
Even today, I still enjoy listening to him.
Every single song of his takes me somewhere.
Banish your homesickness with cassettes by Uzelli.
Whether video or audio,
please enjoy, dear audience...
They're number-one quality, these cassettes by... Uzelli.
I hurried to see you,
to live a life to my heart's content,
to live according to my desires.
Germany, you took my love away from me.
Believe me, Germany, everything about you is a lie.
Germany, you stole my lifetime.
You took my love away from me.
I am so sick of you,
Germany, you big lie.
Sensational.
- Thank you! - You're welcome.
Hello, hey you! Can you release me?
I not understand. Guest worker!
It takes a Greek all healthy and neat,
to empty the waste bins and sweep off the street.
And it takes a Turk from Constantinople,
or else we would have no VW and no Opel.
We need guest workers so we can progress -
so busy, hard-working and good.
Oh yes, we need guest workers so we can progress -
- or the economy would soon be kaput. - Break!
It takes the playboys from Milan and Rome
to fix up the water and gas in your home.
The waitress in Germany can only speak Spanish.
The postman says hello in Muhammedan.
We need guest workers so we can progress -
so busy, hard-working and good.
One more mark! One more mark!
I wrote a poem that describes my life in Germany.
I'm Halis. I crawled like a worm at work.
But I never completed a job, nor did I achieve a goal.
Instead of flesh and bones, only sawdust is left in me.
I am sick of you, Germany.
We came to Germany, and this is where our youth ended.
Now we're slaves of machines.
I once saw an American film about a slave named Kunta Kinte.
Our situation here is just like that of Kunta Kinte.
Guest workers kept pouring in
as tourists, as fugitives, my fellow countrymen!
For 18 years already
they've been working here,
my fellow countrymen lead dull lives...
Friend, friend, friend, friend, friend...
If I were German,
I would be earning at least as much as a foreman.
Just because I'm a Turk,
I have to work like an animal and I receive the least wages.
If I became ill, a letter of dismissal would be sent to me straight away.
What do I do now, sick as I am? Back to work.
Holding one side because of the pain, with the other side bandaged,
I'm off to work with a hernia.
They no longer want to put up with intolerable working conditions
or the disadvantages compared with their German colleagues.
One mark more for all! Slow down the pace at the conveyor belt!
More vacation! No layoffs!
Those are the demands during the strike at Ford in 1973.
The strikes at Ford began due to the dismissals of 300 Turks
who had returned late from their holidays because of their long travel routes.
16 days are not enough.
Who should you go see, your mother or father or relatives,
or your children or your wife?
We're looking for some humanity.
My child was 5 when I came here, now they turned 12.
My child doesn't know me, I hardly know my child.
What is remarkable about the strikes at Ford and at other companies is
that for the first time, foreign workers play an active role.
He works at this exact pace, for eight or ten hours.
He doesn't get one single break,
just ten minutes.
All he can do is go to the toilet and drink something, that's it.
The strike goes on!
They called for workers,
but human beings arrived.
They called for workers,
but human beings arrived.
They needed our labour,
the manpower that gets things done on the production line...
Company management, the Works Council, and those who wanted to work
helped the police arrest all suspected strike leaders.
Because of the energy crisis, guest workers will no longer be recruited from countries
outside the European Community.
Of course this is not a hostile attitude towards foreign workers.
In this particular situation, we must naturally
think of our own citizens first.
As long as there was a lot of work to do,
they gave us the dirty jobs.
But when the big crisis came,
they said it was our fault.
"Die Kanaken" are a milestone in Turkish rock history.
Cem Karaca, one of the most important musicians in Turkey,
sings in German about the problems Turkish people in Germany have.
You don't need our culture
or to be with us,
you'll always see us as strangers
and foreigners, here or there.
A great Turk, I really need to emphasise that.
A modern singer,
possibly comparable with Tom Jones or someone like that.
- Soulful. - And in Turkey, I played in his band.
We met the Turkish beat and underground star Cem Karaca during a rehearsal.
Cem is a protest singer. He considers himself a patriot.
With his songs, he risks being arrested at times.
In the morning I went
to a sapling.
I asked her if she was confused.
She said "No, no!"
Her white-jointed hands
painted with henna.
Cem's voice was exceptional. You could identify him straight away.
First of all, he had volume. Alone on stage...
He sang without a mic.
The whole theatre shook.
Such a voice, such charisma,
He captivates the audience, electrifies it. It's something else.
When Cem sang, he related to the song, and let others relate to it.
At open-air concerts with eight to ten thousand people,
he sang the first verse of Dadaloğlu without a mic.
Cem, how did your musical style develop?
Yes, well, I was born in Istanbul
and went to an American college.
That is where I practically only listened to western music.
Then I had to perform military service.
I got to know the real music of my country
and the true face of my country.
That very much changed my musical direction.
I started to create a mix
of oriental themes and western harmonies.
The most popular and successful Türk-rock musician in Turkey was Cem Karaca,
until he was convicted in absentia
while on tour in Germany because of his political songs.
One tabloid paper wrote he was sentenced to 200 years imprisonment.
I have been handcuffed.
Oy Babo!
Cem Karaca was a star in Turkey. Here, he practically started from scratch.
Here they are, Cem Karaca with the "Kanaken"!
With "Die Kanaken", he was born again.
With his new songs, he also reached the German audience.
Turkish man, we need you.
Come to the economic wonderland.
There's a lot of work for you to do.
Take your future in your hands.
Hard work, hard currency - the mark.
Turkish man, you don't know yet.
You will give up humanity
for another shift in the factory.
He firmly believes in it...
Cem started his second career over here.
First at local concerts, then at festivals as a Turkish band,
later as part of a theatre group,
then by producing the Kanaken LP record.
Then he gave a series of concerts.
My German friend.
Do you feel comfortable here with us?
I can only say that I don't feel uncomfortable.
Because this isn't your homeland.
True, you can't have two homelands.
There is only one homeland. It's like a mother.
That is why we Turks call our homeland the "motherland".
For years he suffered from homesickness.
Once he even went to the island of Rhodes.
From there, he looked over to the Turkish coast
to soothe his longing.
If it were possible, he would have walked to Turkey.
In his mother tongue, he can easily reach people.
He can crack jokes, introduce the songs.
He loves contact with the audience.
He can't do it as easily in German.
He also suffered from this.
Another reason why he didn't want to stay here.
Is this boring, or should I keep singing?
Thank you.
Cem Karaca.
Have a good flight,
I wish you a safe arrival in Turkey.
One more thing, xenophobia...
While other intellectuals couldn't leave Turkey,
Cem Karaca wasn't allowed to enter.
Last Monday, this vicious cycle came to an end.
Cem Karaca began a risky journey from Frankfurt back to Istanbul.
He hadn't been able to see his son or attend his father's funeral.
Cem said goodbye.
Your harem pants are such a bother,
leave legs and head without a cover...
A last farewell on the steps.
He flashes the victory sign.
We like you as garbage men,
but your wages are always lower...
Finally he enters the last three hours of an exile that had lasted seven years.
Due to the policy of détente in Turkey,
the authorities did not cause Cem any problems.
Proceedings are disputed without remand in custody.
Turks in West Germany participated in a competition by a newspaper
to identify the most popular Turkish singers and actors.
Concerts were organised in four German cities.
On 10 May, this group of artists arrived at the airport in Düsseldorf.
The event in the sports hall in Cologne turned out to be
a great success, just like the other three.
To close our programme...
To close today's programme...
- To close... - To close... - To close...
- To close... - ...today's programme...
...a modern, Turkish song...
- ...with a Turkish chanson... - ...a love song.
Turkish music, no matter whether it's folklore, classical or pop,
is restricted to being played in the context of Turkish broadcasts,
of which there are not very many.
Local disc jockeys or programmers
complain about the allegedly poor quality of pop productions,
and say listeners quickly get tired during classical music programmes.
It all sounds the same to Central Europeans.
However...
It would be no problem to have Turkish artists perform
at colourful evenings, quiz shows, or any type of event,
to bring Germans and Turks closer together through culture.
So people might say,
hey, that's interesting!
Ajda Pekkan, who you've been playing all day in your apartment next door,
I saw her on TV. She looks wonderful and has a fantastic voice.
That unfortunately does not happen.
That's where the media have really failed.
During all those years, no attempt was made to say,
this is how your Turkish neighbour lives, and what he does in his free time.
Let's try this one.
OK.
It can collapse anytime.
As you see, I said so.
That didn't work. Wait. Let's find something else. What could that be?
This is called " Caravan into exile ".
Our people lived in a foreign place and were homesick.
That is why crowds would go to concerts when artists came to Europe.
Some concerts were recorded on video
and sold.
Do you know any German pop singers?
Nena, for example.
And "Geier Sturzflug" is my favourite band.
- So, all the pop and rock bands? - Yes.
Ferdi Tayfur sings love songs like Peter Maffay.
Tell him that he's a star.
And like Michael Schanze, Udo Jürgens, songs like that.
- Would you pay to see Udo Jürgens too? - Yes, of course.
Will touring in Germany take a long time?
Yes, a very long time.
Ferdi Tayfur, a hero in 30 films, whom everyone in Turkey knows.
Musical star and pop singer.
Ferdi Tayfur - a girl's dream, and for Turkish people,
a mixture of Douglas Fairbanks and Frank Sinatra.
Concert promoter Mark comments:
We looked at the situation in Baden-Württemberg.
There are 226,000 Turks, but no cultural offering.
There is hardly any risk.
You have to look at the programme.
For us, it's just about the same as if Peter Alexander
and Udo Jürgens were on the same stage.
They're superstars from Turkey.
If we have led you to breathe in
the scent of our earth, of our melodies, and of Anatolia
by means of our instruments and voices,
my colleagues - musicians and artists - would be very happy.
May God fulfill all your wishes. Thank you!
We came running from the motherland
to be united with you...
For concerts, the musicians would come over from Turkey.
When solo artists from Turkey performed in restaurants,
they were not accompanied.
Musicians who performed more often
would bring their violinist or keyboard player with them.
The musicians in Berlin were really good at the time.
The focus turned to Berlin.
Definitely for Germany.
There are Turkish people
in all big German cities.
But not so many.
That is why you cannot compare nightlife in Berlin
with the nightlife elsewhere in Germany.
At the time, a so-called Gazino culture was firmly established.
People tried to introduce the Turkish concept
of restaurants with musical performances over here.
In one Gazino, there were five different orchestras.
A western orchestra.
Then, musicians with classic Turkish instruments or bağlamas.
With them, the solo artist inaugurated the evening.
Then the belly dancer came on stage.
I was the last main artist of the evening to perform.
Or you, or him.
Look, when I came over here.
Are you recording?
Before the eighties, there were even more Gazinos.
So when I came over here, there was the Maxim by people from Muş.
Köşk Gazino, by people from Sivas.
Kara Kedi Gazino by people from Adana.
There was the Menekşe, the Çakıl.
The Erciyes in Oranien Strasse...
Efes, Çakıl, Turkish Bazaar.
Where exactly is their scene?
The most popular Turkish location in Germany is the Turkish Bazaar in Berlin.
The former railway station is open daily, as of late morning.
Between kebab booths, about 20 stores sell tapes and video cassettes.
Evenings until late at night, Turks living in the Federal Republic
play live music in the casino of the Turkish Bazaar.
People went to the Bazaar even during daytime, when they got bored.
They could forget their daily routine there. It was a beautiful place.
Carpet dealers, bridal fashion,
a tiny shop for dowries.
People came to buy wedding gowns.
Young couples came to buy rings and jewellery.
You could find anything imaginable.
It was a central attraction in Berlin.
At the era of the Berlin Wall, the station was closed.
This line wasn't running.
So the station wasn't used anymore.
- When was the Bazaar inaugurated? - Around 1978, 1979.
It was the most beautiful Gazino in Berlin.
The most beautiful in Germany.
From here, in this direction.
This is the area where the Gazino was.
And jewellery shops were here.
Video shops.
This is approximately where Neşet Ertaş' music store was.
Just about.
The decedent's store.
The shops were all very small.
The Bazaar was particularly big.
A big stage with curtains.
Real Gazino atmosphere. It was spacious and had high ceilings.
A lot was going on in the passageway. People would go in and out.
Then, when they brought famous artists over from Turkey,
it really became a Gazino.
Zeki Müren, Öztürk Serengil, only major artists performed there.
The Turkish Bazaar was a wonderful place.
Always packed!
I stayed on stage for three to four hours.
Those were the golden years in Berlin.
Saturday evenings were always packed with people.
I was a faggot.
Well, I look the same today? It's a God-given gift.
A gift from God, not kidding.
Oh, sweetie! Hatay the tart.
I was very young then, almost a child.
Your lying eyes that don't believe in love.
Your eyes, let me dream.
Your lying eyes that don't believe in love...
Turn it up.
Stop the music, I need to hear myself.
Give me the note.
Louder.
Do we have to speak English? Shit!
I only speak French.
- Ready? - One, two.
Who's responsible for that? Who's creating the echo?
- We need to wait a moment. - OK, I'll wait.
- We're waiting for the effects. - Wait at home for me.
No offence, I'm only joking. Don't take life too seriously.
Nothing in this world belongs to us.
My treasured friend Hatay Engin.
He was a very funny artist.
He would sing a song, and then crack jokes for half an hour.
People really liked that.
No one thought it was odd.
Sometimes he made insinuating jokes, but no one was offended.
Nobody felt insulted. He had such a charming way of saying things.
Have I given up everything for you,
for nothing?
Rehearsal's over.
The microphone is yours.
When do I need to go on stage?
Ten o'clock? That's too early, I'll still be sleeping.
- I'll go on stage at eleven. - Let's see.
At eleven o'clock.
At ten, people are still sober.
Weddings are as festive as possible.
There is always a splendidly decorated doll on the wedding car.
About a thousand guests came. That's not unusual.
A celebration like this costs ten thousand marks.
There's a nonstop musical programme for several hours. That's normal.
Then the adventure began, with all those weddings.
For 15, 20 years we played at weddings only.
Getting married was very trendy at the time.
In Germany, at that time, there was not one Turkish wedding hall.
Depending on one's budget, one rented church halls, citizen's halls...
The Germans had their own event halls.
We always played in these German halls. You know, our weddings are always crowded.
One to two thousand people. It was like at concerts.
Playing at wedding halls was good practice for us.
Absolutely! To be able to play the saz like I do,
I also owe it to those weddings.
Turkish musicians in Germany can play music from all regions in Turkey.
That's because we always have different guests.
Sometimes people from Erzincan, or from Erzurum, or from Ağrı.
We must be able to play songs
from all 81 provinces of the country.
If not, the guest will be unhappy, and you won't receive a tip.
- What about Kurdish? - You must be able to sing in Kurdish.
At a Kurdish wedding we cannot play songs by Tarkan.
We have to play Halay.
Our repertoire includes 20 to 30 different Kurdish line dances.
At a wedding from the Black Sea, we cannot play dance music from the South.
At a Turkish-Arabic wedding, you have to sing at least two songs in Arabic.
You have to make the Arabic guests happy, too.
If you're not able to, you need to find an Arabic artist.
We played pieces of music from every region in Turkey.
We even interpreted elegies from Arguvan with western instruments.
Our music was very dynamic.
The Germans call it "stark", which means strong. Music like heavy metal.
The Germans liked it.
When Derdiyoklar performed folk music,
you felt like you were at a Michael Jackson concert. You freaked out.
Back then, the duo Derdiyoklar set off an avalanche.
They appeared at weddings together.
They recounted Alevite stories and poems
in an innovative way, with drums.
It was a kind of revolution at the time.
In those wedding years, they were like their own school.
I play various string instruments.
My guitar with its three necks has become our brand label.
We play on long-neck lutes that we created, that look like guitars.
I played the keyboards with my nose, and the guitars with my foot.
Ali of Derdiyoklar played completely different long-neck lutes.
They were designed like guitars.
He played standing up with a strap around his neck.
I combined motion and music.
Every one of our movements had a meaning.
We had choreography for every single song.
We sing about current issues.
In Europe, I was honoured as an artist who sings against racism.
We even have a song, half-German, half-Turkish, called "Liebe Gabi".
Helmut Kohl and Strauss, dear Gabi,
want foreigners out, dear Gabi,
want foreigners out, dear Gabi.
Are we not human beings, dear Gabi?
We could all live in a world of love, dear Gabi.
Traditionally at weddings, people would pin money on us.
Give and take.
People had money.
You could tell.
An incredible amount of money was circulating.
Money was flying around our ears.
People living in exile were particularly generous.
People happily gave tips.
- I've seen 225,000 euros. - I've seen 150,000.
At Arap Güngör's wedding.
Up to a thousand guests.
160,000 marks. Not euros, were pinned on the bride and groom.
Once, the bridal couple received 80,000 marks like this.
Like, a kilo of gold. Do you know what they told me?
The bride ran off with her ex.
We saw Hummers, the big ones.
Various limousines.
One couple even came riding on a horse.
- Camel? - No.
No camel.
- Helicopter? - One helicopter landed on the car park.
The Mark...
In those days, I earned a thousand Deutschmarks per night.
I didn't even want it paid out.
I earned five or six times that amount in tips only.
The good old German Mark.
The Deutschmark had a completely different authority.
When you said Deutsche Mark, you spoke of a value.
These are original Deutschmark banknotes, they're valuable.
And they're not counterfeits?
Three, four hundred Marks were hidden between napkins,
so nobody would see, so as not to embarrass the artist.
See, how respectful. That's how we received song requests.
My clothes were full of money.
There was money all over, even in my underpants.
The more people danced, the more money came pouring down.
I swear to God! I swept the money with a broom.
I try to adapt a bit to what the audience wants.
There are certain songs when I sing them,
for sure someone sends champagne on stage.
In Berlin, nobody treats you to only one bottle of champagne.
They treat you to entire boxes. Five, ten, fifteen boxes of champagne.
Two waiters open one bottle after the other, until the end of the programme.
They never finished. I am talking about two waiters.
If you wanted to open all ten, there was no more room on stage. And it got wet.
Then a carton of rakı is ordered, just to burn it.
It's lit up, poured out, and the floor starts burning.
We survived quite a few dangers.
Then we smashed plates for a while, like the Greeks.
Once in Hanover, a guy kept burning things all night long.
Once he'd burned everything, he took off his Cartier jacket and lit that up.
Only later did he notice
that his watch worth 12,000 Marks had been in the jacket.
It was worth it, he said. This is what we experienced.
As I said before, there was a lot of dirty money.
At the age of 12, 13, 14 we were outside on the streets.
You can guess the rest. All of Turkish youth was on the streets.
We kept to ourselves.
We didn't have German friends, we were supposed to go back to Turkey.
When we ended up staying, the young kids were done for.
What do we do now?
Many kids had quit school to at least earn money.
Most of us, of this lost generation
were only worth considering as labourers or unskilled workers.
Without education, without knowledge.
Our parents weren't around. They were working all the time.
I was eight when I came to Germany.
My parents showed me once how to get to school.
The next day I had to go there by myself, and got lost.
I couldn't speak German, nobody was there. My parents couldn't get time off.
Ayfer, when did you come here?
When did you come over here? How many months ago?
I came on the 23rd of June, that makes seven months.
I arrived six months ago.
The children are here for five, six years.
Without significant help or a supportive environment. Tolerated.
Without grandparents. They are left to themselves, or siblings watch them.
Many cook, run the household, are interpreters for their parents.
Stray between the norms of their home country and the rules on German streets.
What are these children?
No longer Turks. Not yet, and certainly never, Germans.
They should have the possibility to choose.
In reality, they have little, if anything, from either.
I've been living here for ten years. I came when I was four years old.
What's the difference between a Turkish woman and a pig?
Pigs don't wear headscarves.
It's very difficult to attend high school.
The German language is the first reason.
Another reason is that we're foreigners. We are discriminated everywhere.
Germans are always preferred.
We will most probably also end up as unskilled workers.
Are you happy with your apartment?
- No. - Why?
My apartment is humid.
The toilet is downstairs.
How many rooms do you have?
Two.
I've been in Germany for one year.
My parents have been in Germany for 5 years.
I can't get a work permit.
I want to become a nurse.
But no chance for an apprenticeship.
What's the difference between Jews and Turks?
The Jews had their share already.
Oh Germany, oh Germany, can I rely on you?
Will you authorise me to stay?
No one knows what you want.
Oh Germany, oh Germany, sometimes you hurt me.
It's hard to figure you out.
I have no more hope.
Are you a homeland? Or a foreign country?
Oh Germany, oh Germany...
This is German television with the news.
Seven people were killed in a major fire.
This morning in Duisburg.
Shortly before Christmas Eve, Ramazan Avci, a 26-year-old Turk,
was brutally murdered in our city by a gang of skinheads.
The death of three members
of a Turkish family and a German
was the occasion for a memorial march
today in Schwandorf, Bavaria.
In Hoyerswerda, right-wing radicals again attacked housing for foreigners.
The anniversary of Unification was overshadowed
by violence against foreigners.
In Hünxe, two Lebanese children
suffered severe burns.
A massive police force has for the time being stopped xenophobic riots in Rostock.
Violent offenders, apparently right-wing radicals,
killed three people last night.
And then Solingen happened. That's only 28 or 30 kilometres away.
It kept coming closer.
Solingen, Saturday, 29 May 1993.
An entire family of five is dead and three severely injured,
the result of a brutal attack.
Hatice Genç comes to the crime scene. Her daughters Saime and Hülya are dead.
Soon it becomes obvious, the fire had been set.
A further attack on foreigners after the terrorist acts in Hünxe and Mölln.
Mölln and Solingen were the turning point.
That led to the feeling that it could happen to anyone.
That's a new dimension. Will things stay like this?
Should we arm ourselves? All these fears grew.
But one day after the attack, grief turns to rage.
Murderers! Murderers! Murderers!
Piss off, skinhead, get out of my sight!
I don't like your people anyway.
Your language, your face, your cold country.
Get lost, I don't want to hear your voice.
You walk like a dog in a pack.
If you rattle my cage, I'll hit you in the face.
Right, left, right and a kick.
You skinhead, we're not like the Jews. We are Turks!
Either we're free or we die.
The biggest problem Turkish kids have is what happens here.
Especially after all those xenophobic attacks,
not just Turkish kids but also teens and young adults,
have a kind of inferiority complex.
We're trying to do something about it. You have a right to live in Germany.
Your parents and grandparents contributed considerably to achieving
Germany's current standard of living.
You're not in the wrong. Nobody has the right to kick you out.
Germany! Why were we brought over here?
Because of the money.
This rage is simply part of our music, or was part of it.
This is hip hop, this is rap.
The impact has to be full on. You can't just say:
"Can you please stop burning Turkish houses down?"
That won't work. You cannot just establish a dialogue.
To us, rap was a motor of self-defence.
In Solingen, we were on the motorway.
We blocked the motorway with many other people.
Tyres were burning. But we still had our art.
My name is Ahmet Gündüz. Let me recount.
You have to listen carefully, I don't know much German.
I come from Turkey, two years here.
I was happy. But living here is tough.
At work, my boss says: "Hey, Kanak, how are you?"
I say "Ha sittir lan" But asshole nothing understand.
My son goes to school. Now he can write.
The teacher's a pig, he always lets him fail.
Yesterday, I leave work am sitting on the train,
a drunk guy comes along and sits down next to me.
The man says: "You smell like garlic."
I say: "Whatever, you stink of drink."
Do you get what I mean?
I want to be considered a human being and not an arsehole.
If they don't pay us respect, we'll have to fight for it.
After the German reunification, far-right thugs formed groups.
They were active, ready to use violence.
That's how the gangs developed. It was a way of protecting ourselves.
We said, we won't walk alone anymore,
but only in groups. Because of the attacks.
And that was really the sign of the times.
36 was all of us. All of us here. Elders, youngsters, everybody.
Before that, there was one of the best gangs of all: Şimşekler.
With my uncles, the elders. They turned everything around.
Because we Turks kept being beaten up in the past.
We were hit in school, the Germans would spit at us.
One, two, three: respect!
To Stay Here Is My Right Posse.
- What do you think of life here in 36? - Very good, but slightly criminal.
- Yeah? But you like it? - Yes, sure.
Then we asked ourselves, what kind of a life is this?
36 and Islamic Force.
Islamic Force was the musical part of 36.
We Kreuzberg rappers are making Kreuzberg famous.
We Kreuzberg rappers drive people crazy.
We make true rap. The others have no idea.
We watch the others.
How are they doing it?
They don't know a thing about rap...
Boe B., Bülent Ipek was our musician.
I was a fighter in the gang back then.
He made the music. He found me later.
I was already in prison.
He told me, your life will take a bad turn. Look at what I do.
"Islamic Force", The whole world is your home.
For the first time, someone from Germany
said what I felt.
And that was "Black Hair". That was a real eye-opener.
Cool, you're not alone. Others are thinking the same.
The first people to also use oriental samples.
Boe-B taught me things I couldn't do before.
I didn't even dream of being able to.
He wasn't just a teacher, he was everything, really.
He was a friend, he would always get us back on our feet
when we were down. Boe-B was always there.
He always took time when he saw little boys who wanted to rap.
He spent hours at youth centres, rapping with them or writing lyrics.
If we need to tell a story, in Turkish for Turks,
we should tell a story that helps somebody.
Or so we can at least say
we did it for the people, because they couldn't express themselves.
Rap has really helped young people. The kids gained a perspective.
We rebelled.
Music gave us the opportunity to present ourselves,
to speak and to be somebody.
Who created hip hop in the mid-eighties?
The breakdance crews were full of guest workers' kids.
Why? Because it's free.
There are a lot of Turkish and Kurdish rappers in Germany.
Such as Karakan, King Size Terror, Islamic Force, Tec Rock,
Freezing Rockers, Flying Steps from Berlin,
Kan ve Ter, Karakan, and later, Cartel.
With strong political messages in their music
and by rapping in Turkish, the Cartel have given a voice
to the 800,000 Germans that have a Turkish background.
But they've also become mega-stars in Turkey itself.
And the lyrics are great.
Because they talk about the youth here in Germany.
We were born here and grew up here.
We'll never be recognised as Germans or as Turks.
Not even in Turkey. "Here come those people from Germany".
At the time when Turkish hip hop suddenly appeared for the first time...
When I heard it, I called my brother, played it again, and asked: "What's that?"
He said: "We'll do it too!" And we began to write raps.
This is Almanya, I see grey skies, everything's shit here.
We put all our emotions into the music.
During the transition to adolescence. We were in the middle of puberty.
Emotions and big pimples. And suddenly the hormones, girls...
Our next artist has written a song about a heartbreaking, unhappy love affair.
He calls his style R'n'B-esque.
It's a mix of R'n'B and Arabesque. Completely new!
He's not only a hit with the Turkish kids.
He's Muhabbet!
She's in my arms. I cannot bear it.
Her last words were "I love you", then she left.
She's in my arms...
People can buy your CDs anywhere. It's funny, but that's a problem, right?
Right. Our kids have never bought a CD in a German record store.
They tell us: "I was in the Turkish store,
and they don't have your CD." And I say: "But that's normal."
It seems like a miracle to them, that a Turkish singer
can be found at the normal German retailer's.
The German stores were run over.
All of a sudden, hundreds of kids were in the music departments,
who for the first time in their lives went to an autograph session.
At the end of each session I had to pay for my own release,
because none of them knew they had to pay for the CD.
The store detectives kept saying: "Hey, they stole them!"
I explained: "No, they didn't. They thought the CDs were for free.
I had personalised them, like "For Esra, with love, Muhabbet."
Written with a permanent marker. They couldn't return it anyway.
Muhabbet. Everything that changed, or was transformed,
I found that interesting.
That included Muhabbet's success, which I thought was wonderful.
The way he sang, it fit so well.
It did something with the German language.
It did something with the arabesque culture.
In both directions, it just went: "Ey, here!"
And that is what it is now.
And again!
She's in my arms... Everybody!
- I cannot bear it... - Louder!
Her last words were "I love you", then she left.
It didn't happen by accident.
It was inevitable that a "Kanak" would some day reach a mass audience in German.
But if I'd known that so many Turkish musicians, Gurbetci,
expats, people who lived here, were producing so much,
made so much music, landed in the charts, sold millions of records,
that would have helped me finding my identity.
Now I feel fulfilled.
I actually belong to a select circle of expats
who have made the most of their situation.
Before, I used to think I was the first and only one.
Not us, we've got enough hardships for ourselves.
I don't need people who are hostile towards us.
Kanak for life, kanak for life.
My hood, my blocks.
Everything's mine.
Kanak for life, kanak for life.
Finally, this tradition is broken. We also built cultural bridges.
The German kids can even talk a bit of Turkish slang.
And Arabic slang. And sometimes you can see a German kid
on TikTok saying: "Alhamdulillah, I'm doing good."
A cultural crossover has taken place.
With me, it was radio listener Heinrich, age 57 from Bremen,
calling the radio station and saying:
"If you play that howling one more time, I'm never listening again!"
That's the kind of feedback I got from the mainstream.
I believe the story will always continue.
There's one connection. And that's racism.
It's racism.
Racism leads people to resist,
to start to rebel in different kinds of ways.
The result is not always
politically correct, anti-racist rap.
The moment of racism is important
because it motivates you to say:
I'm here, I'm here to stay, so fuck you.
Send me the karaoke.
Yes.
Oh-oh, by the time it gets started, the battery will be empty.
The bluetooth device is ready to pair.
So?
Dede, hand me a cigarette.
This is where I learned to ride a bike and first fell in love.
My school was over there.
I plunged into the world of music in this park.
It is very precious to me.
Is it my turn?
I'll start from the beginning.
Now we're stuck.
I'll make it short, then you can do what you like.
Wait your turn. Have you got enough film?
- He's going to start with kindergarten. - See, they're always like that.
Our friends are good musicians. We're hanging out, listening to music.
We're entertaining ourselves a bit.
That's all.
For twenty years at least, we've played live music here.
Everyone likes it. And we're thankful for it.
And we'll keep on going, what else can I say, my friends?
Life goes on.
40 years of friendship.
40 years of walking through the grass, eating and drinking together.
Watch the wacky people and take care of the healthy.
Not everyone can do that.
The park means everything to us.
We are sitting in the garden from which Adam was expelled.
Come home with me tonight.
He understood, he's laughing.
That's it.
Can you imagine if I played on the moon
and looked down to Earth while I was playing, and recorded it?
What would I play at that moment?
What do you see, Ismet Abi?
I see the stars. There's nothing else to see.
It's so beautiful.
You feel so pure and free.
You see how fragile the world is.
It's so elegant and fragile.
As though it might burst when you touch it, this giant world.