On Feb. 6, 2023, two massive earthquakes struck Turkey and Syria, followed by more than 30,000 aftershocks in the subsequent three months. The epicenter of the 7.7- and 7.8-magnitude quakes were near Antakya (Antioch), Turkey — a city near the Syrian border, known for its rich history and celebration of Islamic, Christian and Judaic religions.
Antakya has been the focus of decades’ worth of Dr. Jens Kreinath’s research, giving him a scholarly perspective of the region’s cultural and political landscapes before and after the 2023 disaster.
“This city where I spent so much time, knowing the corners and landscape — and then, to see that this is basically all erased is, of course, shocking and heartbreaking,” said Kreinath, an associate professor and cultural anthropologist at Wichita State University. “I saw the scale of destruction, which was just horrendous. Whole neighborhoods were completely erased.”
Upon visiting Antakya several months after the earthquakes, Kreinath was aghast at the hauntingly unrecognizable topography of the place where he’d grown as a scholar, became familiar with the region’s ancient monuments, and befriended its denizens.
He was struck by an overwhelming need to help. “I wanted to give back, to do something for the collective or cultural memory of the place, or it will be forgotten. There's only so much you can do. As a scholar, I can write.”
And so, he wrote: “,” which was published in the November 2024 issue of Mission Studies. The paper falls into a particular field of study called engaged anthropology, meaning that “rather than writing about the people, it’s writing for the people,” Kreinath said.
“There are some rare moments usually unknown in the common conduct and daily routine of academic life, like the earthquake in Antakya, that too suddenly make one aware of the fragility and vulnerability of all human life. These moments are calling for a fundamentally different approach, diverging from the style of a distanced observer: one that aims to face the unbearable suffering of victims. It is this approach of empathy and compassion that I have chosen in writing this article in the attempt to honor the dead and to even vaguely comprehend the unspeakable devastation and pain the earthquake survivors endure,” Kreinath wrote.
The paper — carefully written, and with heartbreaking detail — chronicles the destruction, death and cultural ruin of Antakya and examines “how such a scale of devastation can be addressed through questions of human dignity when considering the ethical imperative and moral obligation of helping the neediest in the face of such a deadly catastrophe,” according to Kreinath’s article.
The loss — which includes nearly 60,000 victims across Turkey and Syria, with hundreds still missing, and the crumbling of the vast majority of buildings and homes — is compounded by the historical and religious significance of the region, particularly for Judaism, Christianity and Islam.
For almost two millennia, Antakya has been celebrated as the birthplace of Christianity and, according to the article, “the location where Christians were, for the first time, called Christians.”
“The co-existence of these three monotheistic religions in such near proximity as materially embodied in their houses of worship was considered the pinnacle of the so-called Abrahamic triangle, where a synagogue, church and mosque are visible within eyesight and a short walking distance,” Kreinath wrote. “The old town of Antakya was like a multiethnic and multireligious mosaic with a blend of Arab and Turkish languages and cultures, cuisine, food, and music, with all of them being tightly interrelated, yet finely differentiated.”
While there are, of course, occasional conflicts and tensions, Kreinath said, people are relatively peaceful and respectful, rarely resorting to violence. There’s a comfortable intermingling of cultures, and that’s what he wants to capture in his writings.
“For instance, a Sunni Muslim may have played in the courtyards of a synagogue, or maybe he was invited to a Christmas celebration or Easter celebrations,” he said. “Blending of these traditions and where this becomes almost indistinguishable is what I find so fascinating conceptually, but also ethnographically: how people manage to live in different social worlds and realities and the similarities between particular groups.”
However, the beauty of this peaceful coexistence was shaken by the unprecedented loss that the earthquakes inflicted upon the region.
“The scale of death and despair caused by these double earthquakes, continuing governmental negligence, and ongoing aftershocks reached apocalyptic proportions especially for those who saw their houses collapsing in front of their eyes or heard the last and long despairing cries of their dying children, partners, or parents that were trapped in the rubble,” Kreinath wrote.
Even a year after the earthquakes, the media reported that the government has supplied less than 10% of the promised homes, leaving the future of Antakya uncertain and many of the victims to live in tents or move away from the region all together.
“They need investment,” Kreinath said. “It’s literally building the city from scratch.”
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