OLIVE: THE SACRED TREE

The most recent law passed by parliament abolishes the last remaining protective shields for olives—protections that had already been eroded or destroyed over the past twenty years. Now, no law remains to save the olive. The fact that such space has been made available to multinational corporations reveals just how desperate the country’s economic situation truly is. Yet, with the right policies, olives and grapes alone could have secured economic prosperity for our nation and its farmers. Not by producing raisins, but by making wine; not by producing low-quality olive oil as we do now, but by crafting exceptional oils—it would have been possible to make our country both lush and prosperous. But imperialism does not allow this. It never does.

According to data from the United Nations Climate Change Conference, Turkey faces severe drought in the coming decade, which will bring with it a host of intensifying problems—chief among them, poverty. The decrease in agricultural yield due to drought will lead to economic collapse, mass migrations, and widespread hunger and thirst. Gold mining is one of the greatest threats to the global ecosystem, and this law was enacted precisely for that: to enable multinational mining companies to more easily plunder our country.

The common practice of imperialist countries is exploitation. In recent years, the four horsemen—China, the U.S., Russia, and the UK—have been joined by the EU, which cloaks itself in the guise of culture and justice. As resources dwindle, exploitation becomes harsher, more ruthless, and conflicts deadlier. Today, what is called gold mining across various regions of Turkey is in fact a chemical operation rather than traditional mining. The country’s natural resources, groundwater, forests, arable lands, and genetic wealth are on the brink of extinction. Despite all this tangible evidence, hydroelectric power plants, the conversion of farmland into real estate, anti-olive legislation, the opening of forests to tourism and construction, and the great pillage by multinational mining companies—especially in gold—continue unabated. Opposing these processes has become increasingly difficult due to the country’s steadily deteriorating democratic structure. Protecting nature and habitats, and opposing ecological destruction, have come to be branded as “treason.”

From Muğla to Artvin, and from there to Antakya and Antalya, agriculture—and particularly olive culture—is under multidimensional threat from migration, urban development, tourism, and mining, as well as to a lesser degree, from the tourism and real estate sectors. Agricultural inputs fail to support the livelihood of small farmers and livestock producers, and agricultural policies are pushing small farmers to the brink of extinction. They are under constant pressure to convert their land into real estate or to sell it and migrate to cities. Sooner or later, this transformation occurs: fields, olive groves, and orchards are turned into housing projects or summer sites, which then decay into structures used only for one month a year. Some years, olives, peaches, mandarins, or citrus fruits are not even harvested because the cost outweighs the return—they rot on the branch. The macro policies decided in Ankara, enforced with overwhelming pressure at the local level, are eradicating family farming and transforming small farmers into mere “suppliers.” For the same reasons, traditional practices such as making cheese, tarhana, tomato paste, bread, soap, and jam are no longer passed down through generations, and this accumulated knowledge is vanishing. Despite all these adverse conditions, village communities are defending their olive trees with every last ounce of strength.

It is exceedingly difficult to produce quality products and deliver them to consumers at the low prices dictated by large food monopolies and the state. Today’s completely fragmented and solidarity-deprived farmers and small producers cannot produce high-quality, honest, and ethically sound food at current market prices. Even when they manage to do so, intermediaries take the profits within this commercial structure. Small producers cannot convey either their products or their vital struggles to consumers—they cannot make their voices heard. Of course, large-scale producers cannot produce quality food under these market conditions and costs either—but unlike small farmers, they don’t even try. They simply dominate the market. They easily manufacture, transport, and sell extremely low-quality, and often harmful, products. In this cycle, small farmers lag far behind in terms of costs, marketing, design, and public relations, ultimately becoming unable to sustain their livelihoods. As a result, the most essential protector of biodiversity is not only failing to protect biodiversity—it is itself fighting for survival. Today, the production of olive oil, milk, cheese, honey, and many foodstuffs, fruits, vegetables, meat, and fish is in this dire state. The market, entirely shaped by massive food monopolies, determines prices far below the minimum costs required for proper food production, leaving neither the small farmer the right to live and produce ethically, nor the small consumer the opportunity to access proper food. And if the small farmer disappears, so does life itself. The small farmer is the foundation of diverse and differentiated production, and this diversity is the basis of biodiversity. The small farmer is the living memory where traditional knowledge is preserved. As villages are emptied, olive groves and forests—already stripped of their legal protections—are abandoned to the ecological crimes of multinational corporations.

Even in the Aegean, villages are emptying. The few villagers who remain do not leave because they have nowhere to go and nothing to do. They do not leave because they cannot. But each day, they are forced to move away from producing healthy food—because survival demands it—forced to sell their goods at a loss or to accept the terms imposed by the market. For instance, in the South Mediterranean region, farmers in Demre and Gazipaşa have for years produced tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers using hybrid seeds that could almost be called poisonous, and have led relatively affluent lives doing so. These farmers do not eat the tomatoes they grow for the market; instead, they cultivate a small garden using traditional seeds to meet their personal needs. (Nevertheless, these regions have some of the highest cancer rates; even if they eat chemical-free tomatoes, they are poisoned by the pesticides they use around their homes and in their fields.)

This cultural, moral, and ecological disintegration is accelerating because no support is given to efforts aimed at protecting small farmers and producers. Breadmaking, tarhana production, traditional seeds, natural herbal remedies, traditional phytotherapy knowledge—all of it is rapidly vanishing. One of Mount Ida’s and Anatolia’s greatest riches is not only its globally rare genetic diversity and flora, but also its sacred and infinite underground drinking water. These waters, olives, and lands are not just important for us—they are vital for the future of the world. The terrifying rise in mining activities threatens all these resources. Their recovery or renewal is impossible.

A crucial component of the struggle for democracy in our country is the struggle for ecology. The Anatolian people—who throughout history have always rebelled against injustice and wrongdoing, no matter the cost—will, no doubt, tear to shreds these misguided prescriptions forced upon the country.