The Turkish Ensemble

Text: Misha Hadar

On June 15, 1980, Giden Tez Geri Dönmez, Those Who Leave do not Easily Return, premiered in Kreuzberg, Berlin. This perhaps does not strike us as particularly remarkable today, as Kreuzberg is strongly associated with the Turkish community in Berlin, and is the home to the pioneering Ballhaus Naunynstraße as well as the slightly less familiar Tiyatrom.1 But the production was a landmark indeed. Performed in the Hebbel-Theater, then still the home of the renowned Schaubühne under the artistic direction of Peter Stein, it inaugurated a new project within the theatre. At the time it was known as the Turkenprojekt (Turkish Project) later the Turkish Ensemble.

Over the next four years the Turkish Ensemble would perform fourteen productions, enjoyed by over seventy-thousand audience members. At a time in which Turkish cultural production was slowly gaining visibility in West Germany, the project was a unique attempt at developing a major Turkish speaking theatre in Berlin. Looking at the history of the project gives us insight into the expectations from migrant cultural production at the time and the difficulties faced by those committed to making space for it in Germany. As Germany was adapting to the idea of multiculturalism, the theatre had to adapt, offering a combination of classical Turkish materials and original play written for a young audience – both of Turkish-migrant background and German roots.

The formation of the Turkish Ensemble has a double history. One came out of a theatre production, the other a happenstance meeting on a Turkish seaside-getaway. In 1978 the Schaubühne premiered Gross und klein by Botho Strauß. In it was a (first on a major German stage) role of a Turkish man, played by a local Turkish migrant actor-- Meray Ülgen. The production was directed by Peter Stein, then the main artistic driver of the theatre. And so initial connection was struck between the two, which built on the existing interest of Stein, and the Schaubühne, in developing non-bourgeois theatrical projects within the theatre. Since the early 1970s, the Schaubühne had attempted to develop Zielgruppen-Projekte, targeted political-theatrical projects oriented towards the political education of workers, apprentices, and children.2 This recent history is illustrative of the commitments of the Schaubühne, far removed from its contemporary image. This is a different context from which to imagine that initial connection between Ülgen and Stein, and the spark of potential collaboration. While we might know the Schaubühne today, with its house in upscale-Charlottenburg, as unambiguously bourgeois, in the Turkish Ensemble in the late 70s and early 80s we can see its commitment to a worker-theatre that reaches out to the large Turkish migrant worker population both in West Berlin (and in West Germany more generally). 

The second history is more incidental. Sometime in the second half of the 1970s, Stein was vacationing in Bodrum, a coastal region of Turkey known as a summer resort, when he met the Algans. Ayla Algan was a famous actor, known for her comedic acumen and for her voice, particularly as a folk singer. Beklan Algan was an important experimental director, and a theatre teacher at the esteemed Language and Culture Center, a theatre and performing arts institution in Istanbul. It makes sense that the Algans and Stein got along: all three were interested both in the political re-interpretation of the classics, and in experimental challenges to conventional staging practices.

And so, in 1978 the Algans arrive to Berlin to work with the Schaubühne on a new project, the Turkenprojekt. Over the following two years they produced numerous scripts, mostly assortments of scenes concerning the lives of migrant. Some of these followed the conventions of social realism, capturing key moments in the difficult interrelation between “host” culture and migrants, from the demeaning experiences of medical examination, through racist interaction in bus stops. And these scenes were not exclusively representing Turkish migratory experiences; numerous scenes attempted to capture what is shared between the different migrant ethnicities, as well as tensions: one scene follows the conversation between young women from different backgrounds heading to a night club discussing their expectations of interactions with men.  

In these scripts and the production meeting notes over the next two years we see some of the difficulties that the project was struggling with. The Algans did not speak German, and so there is need for translation (into English), both of the scripts and the imagination of the theatrical event (more on that shortly). The collaboration had to involve further collaborators from “outside” the theatre, from Fred Berndt, a producer who had done freelance work with the Schaubühne, to Peter Greiner, a playwright who had recently published the play Kiez which would have its moment in the spotlight a few years later when it was selected for the 1981 Theatertreffen. Other collaborators from Turkey, such as Mecit Koper that would co-direct Giden with Ayla Algan, and with whom the Algans had worked before in Istanbul. Ideas to open the rehearsal space to the local community were proposed and then dropped. And while the project was envisioned as a collaboration with the Schaubühne, interactions seem to have been strained – while the design team was the regular Schaubühne collaborators, there was difficulty bringing in the actors.

Eventually, Beklan Algan gave up on the project and returned to Turkey. This could not have been an easy decision—these were years of intense political tension, that would result in a military coup in Turkey in September 1980. The Algans were, as well as many of the collaborators that would be part of the Turkish Ensemble over the years, all known leftists, and while Ayla Algan claimed that they were under no pressure to go into exile and that the project had nothing to do with that background, it is hard to disconnect between the events (Koper, for example, could never return to work in Istanbul after the coup). These were years when leftist political exiles could be found throughout Europe, some of which started Turkish theatres abroad—one such example is the Halk Oyunculari, the Peoples Theatre, that was based in Stockholm and came to Berlin for a residency at the Schaubühne with their production of the play Kurban (in 1982).3

In the aftermath of Beklan Algan’s leaving the project, Ayla Algan and Mecit Koper took over the production of the piece. The result, Giden Tez Geri Dönmez, was a production in two distinct halves. The first part of the play was focused on the wedding of a young couple in rural Anatolia, and the subsequent leaving of the husband to Istanbul in search of work. The second half of the production opens after a second migration, this time from Istanbul to West Germany in search of work, and depicts the life of migrant there in a series of vignettes, culminating in a series of direct address monologues delivered directly to the audience from the diversity of perspectives of migrants, airing the challenges they face and their disaffection with the conditions they met in Germany. 

The production was clearly a far cry from the early imagination of the project that is found in the fragments in the archive. The broad engagement with the conditions of migrant, not only Turkish but others as well, was replaced by a performance of Turkish authenticity, particularly in the first half which leaned heavily on traditional Anatolian costumes, songs, and dance in the depiction of the wedding. Discussions of moving stands that recreated the segregated conditions of life between migrants and Germans, and scenes where the tensions and potential of deep change in German society, are nowhere to be found. The performance relied heavily on the prowess Ayla Algan as a singer, and the comic genius of another Turkish actor, Sener Sen, who had joined by this point, to patch together relatively “safe” fragments from the two-year-long process of investigation.

The production was well received by German critics, focused primarily on the work of cultural communication, the sharing of heritage and tradition. Some critics however, such as Wolfgang Hammer who wrote an article about Turkish theatre in West Germany for the prestigious Theater Heute, highlighted the local social-political meaning of the work, and the importance of the voice it gave to the challenges of migrants in the second half of the play.4 The reviews also seem to indicate the struggle to attract German speaking audiences: many reviews focus on the accessibility of the piece, and the work done by the theatre to ensure that non-Turkish-speaking audiences could understand what was happening.

It is important to note that the ensemble was not without controversy. During the rehearsal of the next production one of the actors, Ali Haydar Cilasun, quit the production, and led protests against the project. While it seems like the root issue was a (personal) struggle over power within the project, this episode highlights some of the tensions within the Turkish community – Cilasun was Kurdish, and in a press release against the project accused it of giving a safe, false, and harmonious or romantic representation.

Over the next couple of years the Turkish Ensemble at the Schaubühne experimented with different directions and focuses for its productions. It staged Turkish political theatre, some relatively contemporary (Isgal, by Basar Sabuncu, staged in 1981, on the plight of workers during the boom of building in the Turkish major cities as they expanded) and more classical (Keshanli Ali, by Haldun Taner, staged in 1980, a play about political corruption and the conditions in the slums in Ankara). It also tried its hand at special literary evenings, focused on giants of classical Anatolian poetry. These were partially successful, drawing limited audiences, and the project was coming under growing pressure as the Berlin senate was becoming more reluctant to continue funding.

One very different project, a second original piece, was performed in 1981 as well. Keloğlan, which premiered July 5th 1981, was an adaptation of a famous children character, and the production was intended for school-children. The adaptation was created by both Ayla Algan and Meray Ülgen, and was directed by Ülgen. This production, which brought in both Turkish speaking and German speaking classes, fit well with the newly emerging ideas of multicultural exchange, of encountering the culture of the other as well as creating conditions under which migrants of a Turkish background are able to stay connected with their heritage and language. This was in line with the introduction of teachers designated by the Turkish government into German schools to ensure continued linguistic and cultural contact with Turkey. 

This production proved key for the continuation of the project. Following it the Turkish Ensemble created four more original plays for children, most of which followed other famous Turkish children stories, and one that depicted a circumcision party in Kreuzberg, to which a German neighbor is invited. At the center of all these materials was a focus on cultural sharing – the ensemble’s took the role of cultural emissary for Turkish heritage and traditions in West Germany. This is a clear and distinct shift, from politically challenging material that examined the complexity of the migration experience both on migrants and on the receiving society to practices of cultural sharing (displaying Turkish culture for migrant Turkish and German audiences).

The project came to an end in 1984 when the senate discontinued the funding. They had toured shows throughout West Germany, and even took part in a theatre festival in Holland. The ensemble was an important steppingstone in the careers of theatre makes, like Ülgen, who continued to a respectful career in theatre and film. It was also not simple: for example, it exposed the tensions within the “Turkish” community, with major fights between Kurdish and Turkish actors resulting in some Kurdish collaborators leaving the project. It exposed the difficulty of developing socially and politically challenging material, both in terms of interest within the migrant community and receptiveness of the German community. Aras Oren, a key Turkish cultural figure in West Germany, saw in this a real disappointment and missed opportunity, for example. 

However, we can see in the early attempts and aspirations of the ensemble an attempt at material we might think of today as a precursor to post-migrant theatre; theatre that takes at its starting-point the reality of large-scale migration and examines the conditions that come in its aftermath.  

About the author

Misha Hadar is an assistant professor of Theatre History in the Theatre and Dance department at the University of Alabama. He writes on questions of representation of borders and migration, with a special focus on recent German theatre history. His work on the Turkish Ensemble has been published in Theatre Journal (Performing Multiculturalism: Turkish Ensemble at the Schaubühne, 2019)

• 1Tiyatrom is a Turkish theatre in Berlin that was founded right after the ending of the Turkish Ensemble at the Schaubühne, including participants from the Ensemble and with some support from the Schaubühne. It is still functioning today. See: https://renk-magazin.de/en/feeling-at-home-on-stage/
• 2See Iden, Peter. Die Schaubühne am Halleschen Ufer 1970-1979. Hanser, 1979. See the Chapter on "Die Zielgruppen-Projekte", P. 41-43
• 3This production was directed by Tuncel Kurtiz, an early collaborator and famous Turkish actor, who was forced to leave the ensemble after its first performance after an altercation that threatened to turn physical – another echo of the difficulties faced by the project. 
• 4Wolfgang Hammer, “Großes Klagelied vom Arbeits-Emigranten“, Theater Heute, September, 1980; interestingly, Hammer also points to the projection of expectation and bias in German reviews of the piece that portray it as ‚naive‘.