The laudable aim was to make immediate a universe of prejudice and discrimination by describing how the same person could be treated so differently simply because of the pigmentation of their skin. The book was published in 1961, when the civil rights issue in the United States had come to the boil, but I suppose part of the book's appeal was not just its political thrust, but the Kafkaesque supposition that a familiar world could metamorphose into a completely hostile environment from one day to the next. I have waited many years to conduct a similar sort of experiment but was finally able to seize the opportunity several weeks back after I managed late one night to slip down the steps of my house and break my foot. I woke up the next day, not as a cockroach but with a cast. I was under doctor's orders not to put any weight on the injury and for the following six weeks had the uncomfortable sense of what it is like to negotiate the city of İstanbul, hopping on one good foot.
The greatest surprise was that I found myself far more isolated than I expected. Those of you reading this who have children will surely remember a time when none of your friends were parents -- and then suddenly the streets were filled with pregnant women -- and then low and behold, as if by magic, every person you ever met had a young child the same age as your own. I expected to be transported instantly into a subculture of the halt and the lame. However, hobbling around the streets on crutches on those occasions when I plucked up the courage to go out, I came to the conclusion that other people with disabilities were equally reluctant to set foot outside.
It isn't difficult to speculate why this should be the case. İstanbul is just not designed for people with one working leg. The very first barrier to even taking a taxi represented getting over a barrier on the other side of my pavement designed to keep cars from parking on the curb. A compulsory shopping expedition to Mecidiyeköy turned into something of an Everest expedition with neither the roads nor the shops themselves designed for people like me. A hotel in Taksim, where I was giving a lecture, had an access ramp so steep that I imagined it would take a wheelchair with a Ferrari motor to propel me to the top.
There are a lot of new public transportation systems in the city, and many have made thoughtful provision for people who need handicap access. There are lifts and public escalators and moving walkways. Not all the systems are equally blessed. The new Metrobus is a fine addition to the city, but access to most of the station platforms is via very steep and narrow steps. A greater problem is that the public transport systems do not interconnect very well, and you find yourself stranded once you reach your stop.
Let me not whine too much. I had to make a trip abroad and could not fault the arrangements at İstanbul Atatürk Airport. By contrast, returning from Brussels, the walk to the flight gate was only slightly longer than the walk to the spot where you have to get to in order to get a wheelchair. For the most part, people were remarkably considerate, and I was able to rely on the kindness of strangers when my foot had mended sufficiently to allow me to navigate my way onto one of the boats that cross the Bosporus or onto a bus. (I have yet to see a bus that has a hydraulic lift for a wheelchair.) And I became adept at dealing with the few bad apples, striking cars on the back fender with my crutch as they drove past me through red lights, then waving it menacingly after they screeched to a halt.
My real remedy has been to get rid of my cast and gradually resume the two-legged existence I once led. However, I have been left with a sympathy for those less fleet of foot. Turkey is a signatory to the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, and Article 20 obliges signatories to "take effective measures to ensure personal mobility with the greatest possible independence for persons with disabilities." My advice to those responsible for its implementation is to break their foot for the day.
