Independenta disaster (1979)

The Independenta disaster was a tanker collision and fire in the Bosphorus on November 15, 1979. In Kemal Basmacı’s recollection, it is at once a public catastrophe and a private turning point: a blaze visible across Istanbul gathers strangers into a temporary community, while Kemal imagines that living through disaster together might reopen his connection with Füsun and the Keskin family. That hope is tested when he finally visits their home and finds Füsun joyless and hurt.

Collision and First Response

In the early hours of November 15, a powerful explosion woke Kemal and his mother. They ran into the hallway and held each other as their apartment rocked. Because Istanbul had grown accustomed to bombs detonated in coffeehouses, bookstores, and public squares, they initially thought another act of political violence had occurred near Teşvikiye Avenue. Then they saw flames across the Bosphorus, off the Üsküdar shore. They watched the fire and its distant red clouds for a while before returning to bed, not yet knowing what had caused it.

The next day’s reports identified an accident at sea: a Romanian tanker carrying crude oil had collided with a small Greek ship off Haydarpaşa. Oil spilled into the water, and explosions inside and outside the tanker’s hull ignited the blaze. Newspapers issued special editions, and conversation across the city turned to the fire and the dark clouds hanging over Istanbul. The name Independenta came to stand for an event whose cause was maritime collision, though its image immediately entered the city’s wider experience of crisis.

A City Drawn to the Flames

At Satsat, Kemal sensed that the fire had stirred the office’s clerks and managers as well as himself. He considered using the event as a reason to visit the Keskin family for supper: the fire would dominate conversation, leaving no need to mention the society gossip that otherwise might have occupied the evening. Yet the spectacle did not erase the surrounding hardship. Kemal placed it alongside political assassinations, breadlines, hyperinflation, and the country’s impoverished appearance, and recognized that his fascination with the blaze was connected to disasters in his own life.

That evening, he walked through unusually empty Beyoğlu and along İstiklal Avenue. Near Galatasaray Square, the streets reminded him how close he was to Füsun’s home. He wondered whether their paths might cross, but saw neither women nor families out walking. Uneasy at being drawn toward her house, he turned away and continued past Galata Tower toward Yüksekkaldırım. At the Galata Bridge, he joined the crowd watching the fire; even people fishing for mackerel had their attention fixed on the flames. Without deliberately deciding to follow them, he went as far as Gülhane Park.

The fire illuminated the park, Topkapı Palace, the mouth of the Bosphorus, Üsküdar, Salacak, and Leander’s Tower. Against the darkened city, the orange light made the gathering seem more peaceful than it was, or perhaps the shared spectacle briefly lifted the spectators’ spirits. People had arrived by bus, car, and on foot, rich and poor alike. Grandmothers, parents carrying sleeping children, unemployed men, drivers, and vendors filled the park. Sellers offered food and drinks around the Atatürk statue and through the crowd. Kemal bought tea, sat beside an old man, and felt happy as he watched the flames.

Repetition, Hope, and Disappointment

Kemal returned to Gülhane Park each evening until the end of the week. The fire weakened, but at times the flames rose again, washing the faces of the watchers and distant landmarks, including Haydarpaşa Station, the Selimiye Barracks, and Kadıköy Bay, in orange and gold. The crowd would stand still, absorbed in the view; later an explosion might sound and embers fall, or the flames would quietly shrink. Then the spectators turned to eating, drinking, and talking. The repeated visits made the fire not just a report but a shared interval in the city’s ordinary life.

One evening Kemal saw Nurcihan and Mehmet and ran before they noticed him. Only after seeing a family whose three shadows resembled the Keskins did he recognize how much he wanted to see Füsun there with her parents—and that this longing might be why he had joined the nightly crowd. He recalled how, in the summer of 1975, the sight of anyone resembling Füsun made his heart race. He imagined the Keskin family as people who would believe that disaster could bind them together, and hoped to visit before the Independenta fire went out. In his mind, the catastrophe might let them endure hardship together and begin a new life.

On Sunday evening, after sleeping through the day and having lunch with his mother, Kemal went to the Keskin home feeling optimistic. His reunion with Füsun immediately undid that expectation: when he saw her, she appeared joyless, hopeless, and hurt. The fire had offered him a vivid image of fellowship, but it could not guarantee intimacy or repair their relationship. Its decisive significance in his recollection lies in that contrast: a public spectacle briefly gave shape to his hope, while the meeting he had hoped it would prepare ended in painful disillusionment.