Because we've all faced very similar challenges. Some of these were inherent difficulties in academics, but far more were the challenges of being an academic in Türkiye. I see our young colleagues, not yet wearing their robes, right behind them: our research assistants—heroes of their own stories—on the verge of experiencing the same challenges their professors faced, albeit with slight variations. We have close colleagues and administrative staff scattered around the hall right now. Each one of them is busy writing a challenging story, the details of which I can't even begin to imagine. And most of them are our new students and their precious families. We've just met, but we're actually the heroes of a shared, time-spanning narrative. Dear students: 20, 30, 40 years ago, we were sitting in the same seats you're sitting in now—making plans for the future, dreaming—and you are dreaming too. Never give up on that. But throughout your education, please remember that we are all heroes of similar stories. And when we look at you, we're not dreaming; we've learned how to support your dreams through experience. Because while you dream of being in these robes, when we look at you, we already see you in them. Dear families, our stories are very similar. Don't be fooled by our seats at the front of the room. We once sat in the same seats you do now, either here or in other halls. We share your justified pride in your children. And we strive to give your children even more than we expect from those we trust to nurture our own children's stories. After this brief assessment, we can now trace the story behind our own stories—that is, the umbrella story that gathers us here, incorporating hundreds, even thousands, of different stories into its own: the Kültür Education Foundation and Istanbul Kültür University. This hall we’re in, this building, this university, the Istanbul Kültür Education Institutions—which also include Kültür Colleges—and its umbrella foundation, the Kültür Education Foundation—this entire giant organization—is also the century-long story of Fahamettin Akıngüç, a child of the Republic who will turn 100 in a few months. In the late 1940s, when he and the Republic of Türkiye were still in their early twenties, Fahamettin Akıngüç was an engineer who discovered the decisive role of education in the country’s future while teaching mathematics at the Kültür Dersevi (Kültür Classroom), founded by his father, Halil Akıngüç, and began to dream. But he possessed a crucial characteristic that distinguished him from other engineers and his peers: he realized that the story he had just begun to write could not be written independently of the story of the Republic, which was only three years older than he was. His love for Atatürk and the founding values of the Republic would become the overarching narrative that enveloped his own story throughout his life. When he felt his own story had stalled, he clung to this overarching narrative, allowing him to view his own path from above. And so, it was. In 1960, during the days of revolution, Kültür College’s first educational building opened amidst the astonished gazes of soldiers filling the streets. Despite warnings that this investment—made at a time when no one else was thinking about education—was inappropriate, ill-timed, and wasteful, Mr. Fahamettin opened the school. Initially, enrolment was only four. The warnings seemed justified. But for Mr. Fahamettin—who, like every engineer, loved to understand the world through numbers—those four were enough and held a completely different meaning. Because he knew that the generation that founded the Republic had won an impossible war with only four planes. When the number of graduates from Kültür College reached 73 in 1964, Mr. Fahamettin’s eyes filled with a different kind of happiness, unnoticed by anyone. For him, the number 73 was no longer just the number of enemy battleships that had once anchored in the Bosphorus eight years before his birth—etched in his mind by stories he’d heard from his father. With those 73 graduates, the process of “leaving as they came” was, in Mr. Fahamettin’s mind, forever completed. In the most painful periods of economic crisis, he found astonishing peace. This time, the number that circled in his mind was 200. Two hundred was the number of kilograms of gold sent to Ankara as aid from the Soviets on May 27, 1919—gold that provided lifeblood for the National Forces. The national struggle had begun with this small budget—not even the equivalent of 1 billion Turkish lira today. And in his view, the children of a nation that achieved this could overcome any hardship. As he wrote his century-old story, his focus was nothing but doing his job well. Because in his view, this was never just his own story. During the years when the streets were surrendered to anarchy, he established Türkiye’s first guidance and psychological counselling unit at Kültür College. While other schools shrank under austerity measures, he sent his teachers abroad to learn modern educational models. Yes, the overarching story that envelops the story of all Kültür members—both those present and absent in this hall today—is the true story of Fahamettin Akıngüç and the Republic. We are not ordinary members of an ordinary institution, living ordinary lives. We are a valuable part of larger stories—stories we can reach out to, cling to, and use to illuminate our path again when the personal hardships we experience, the political and economic difficulties our country faces—in other words, when the natural pace of our stories—pushes us toward despair, discouragement, and the search for solutions outside our core values. Just like Fahamettin Akıngüç and the Kültür Educational Institutions, who love this country—with all its stones and soil, poetry and songs—and who have endured two constitutional amendments, two coups, one uprising, three memorandums, nine economic crises, and one global pandemic, yet have not succumbed to discouragement or despair. On behalf of all of us, I extend my best wishes for health and well-being to Professor Fahamettin, and I hope the 2025–2026 academic year will be productive and successful. We will continue to do our best—and continue to build upon this great story. WHERE THERE IS KÜLTÜR, THERE IS HOPE! Thank you.” |