Republic Monument

Listen for a moment. Before you look up, notice the sound around you. There is the steady rush of traffic, the clang of a tram bell drifting up from the avenue, and pigeons settling on warm stone. Somewhere a simit seller calls out. Now raise your eyes. In the middle of all this motion stands a block of stone and dark bronze that does not move at all. This is the Republic Monument, the still centre of Taksim Square.

The monument marks the birth of modern Turkey. In 1923, after years of war, the Ottoman Empire gave way to a new state: the Republic of Turkey, led by Mustafa Kemal, later known as Atatürk. Within a few years, the young republic wanted a public symbol in its largest city. The monument was unveiled in 1928, only five years after the republic was declared. For a nation still being built, that was quick work.

Here is the first surprise. The sculptor was not Turkish. He was an Italian artist named Pietro Canonica, a well-known portrait sculptor of his day. Turkey in the 1920s had very little tradition of large figurative public sculpture. In Ottoman culture, statues of people in public squares were rare. So the new government looked abroad for the skill it needed. The result is one of the earliest public monuments of the republic, and it set a pattern that many Turkish towns would follow.

Walk slowly around the base. The monument has two main faces, and they tell two different stories. On one side, Atatürk appears in military dress, with soldiers around him. This side remembers the War of Independence, the struggle that came before the republic. On the opposite side, he wears civilian clothes. That side speaks about the peaceful state that came after the fighting. War on one face, civic life on the other — the whole message is in that turn of the corner.

Look closely at the figures who stand near him. Among them are two of his closest companions: İsmet İnönü, who later became the second president, and Fevzi Çakmak, a senior military commander. These men led the country through its first difficult years. Their faces are rendered with care, in the realistic style of portrait sculpture. Canonica wanted people to recognise them, not just admire a general idea of heroism.

Now for the second surprise, one that many visitors miss. In the group of figures, there are two Soviet military men. They are usually identified as Mikhail Frunze and Kliment Voroshilov. Their presence reflects a real chapter of history. During the War of Independence, the young Soviet state sent support to Atatürk's forces. Including these two figures was a public thank-you, set in bronze, in the heart of Istanbul. Few people walking past today would guess it.

The monument was paid for, in large part, through public donations. That detail matters. It suggests that this was not only a project of the state. Ordinary citizens contributed to a symbol of their new country. When you stand here, you are looking at something that many people in the late 1920s chose to help create. It is a shared object, as much as an official one.

The square itself has an older story. The name Taksim comes from an Arabic-rooted word meaning division or distribution. Look for a low stone building at the edge of the square, near the top of the avenue. That is the old water distribution house, built in the eighteenth century. Water arrived here from reservoirs to the north and was divided into channels for different parts of the city. So the name of this busy square comes from water, not from politics.

From the monument, turn toward İstiklal Avenue, the long pedestrian street that runs downhill. Its name means Independence. The red nostalgic tram rolls along it, ringing its bell. The avenue is lined with nineteenth century buildings, churches, shops, and arcades. Standing here, you sit at the hinge between two worlds: the old cosmopolitan district of Pera below, and the modern republican square around you.

Take in the other buildings that frame the square. On one side stands the Atatürk Cultural Center, a large venue for opera, concerts, and theatre. The building was rebuilt and reopened in recent years. Nearby, a large new mosque now rises over the square, completed in 2021. Behind the monument, the trees of Gezi Park offer shade. Each building represents a different idea of what this public space should be.

That question has never been settled quietly. Taksim Square has long been a place for gathering, celebration, and protest. In 2013, plans to redevelop Gezi Park led to large demonstrations that spread across the country. Over the decades, the square has seen both joyful crowds and tense moments. Through all of it, the monument has stayed in the same place, a fixed point while the city argues around it.

On national days, the monument comes back into official focus. Republic Day falls on the 29th of October, marking the declaration of 1923. Around that date, and on other national holidays, you may see wreaths of red and white flowers placed at the base. Flags appear across the square. Officials and ordinary families come to pay respects. If you visit at those times, the mood is quite different from an ordinary weekday.

Before you leave, stand still once more. Look at the bronze faces, darkened by almost a century of rain and city air. Notice how small the figures seem against the open sky, and how people sit on the steps nearby, scroll their phones, and wait for friends. The monument was made to remember a beginning. Today it is also simply a meeting point, the place where Istanbul says, see you at Taksim. As you walk away, listen again for that tram bell.