When James Baldwin first arrived in Istanbul in October 1961, he was searching for something he could not seem to find anywhere else: space to breathe and think freely. His journey had already taken him to many places around the world, yet he still felt unmoored, pursued by the racial storms of the United States and haunted by a novel that refused completion. In Istanbul, he hoped for a different rhythm, one that might release him from distraction and disillusionment. Tellingly, Baldwin would remark, years later, that Turkey saved his life.
Baldwin’s arrival to Istanbul came at a low point in his fortunes. By late 1961, he was physically exhausted, emotionally raw, and financially broke. But he had an open invitation from the Turkish actor Engin Cezzar RC 55, who, several years earlier, had appeared in a workshop production of Giovanni’s Room at the Actors Studio in New York. Baldwin had cast him as Giovanni, and the two became fast friends.
For nearly a decade, Istanbul provided him with what he needed most: a sanctuary, a dynamic community tied to RC, and the perspective he needed to see both himself and his homeland with new clarity. It offered him a measure of anonymity and peace unavailable in the United States and France, where he was increasingly recognized as a famous author and, more reluctantly, an unofficial spokesman for civil rights. In the close orbit of RC alumni, faculty, and students, he discovered both solace and stimulating conversation. Here, in Turkey, he was simply “Jimmy.”
One of the crucial people who soon entered Baldwin’s life during his first Istanbul visit was David Leeming, then a young English instructor at RC who would later become Baldwin’s personal assistant and definitive biographer. Baldwin was staying with Cezzar’s sister, Mine, and her husband, Cevat Çapan RC 53, while Cezzar was doing his mandatory military service. One evening, the Çapans invited Leeming, along with many other RC friends, to meet “Jimmy.” When Leeming arrived, Baldwin was perched on a kitchen stool, scribbling on a yellow notepad. Suddenly, Baldwin stopped and stared at the page. “God,” he said, “it’s finished.” He had just written the final lines of Another Country and dated it “Istanbul, Dec. 10, 1961.”
Another member of the RC world who would later on become an important figure in Baldwin’s life was Sedat Pakay RA 64, whose camera became a key witness to Baldwin’s Istanbul sojourn (see RCQ 63, p. 51). Pakay’s short documentary James Baldwin: From Another Place offers a rare and striking glimpse into Jimmy’s Turkish decade.
Baldwin soon formed bonds with Turkish intellectuals and artists outside RC. Among these were painter Aliye Berger, as well as novelist Yaşar Kemal and his wife, Tilda. Journalist and theater-critic Zeynep Oral also engaged him in thoughtful exchanges on politics, race, art, and love, and later worked as his assistant in 1969 and 1970.
Baldwin’s time in Istanbul was further shaped by his friendships with humanities professor Hilary Sumner-Boyd and physicist-historian John Freely. He also met local theater personalities such as Ali Poyrazoğlu, and in 1969 and 1970 joined Sururi and Cezzar’s theater endeavors. He crossed paths with African-American singer Bertice Reading and novelist-essayist Geoffrey Wolff. Through these relationships, Baldwin found not only intellectual companionship but also a broadening perspective on art, politics, and community.
During his years in the city, Baldwin welcomed visits from his brother, David, and his longtime mentor, Beauford Delaney. He also hosted international figures such as Hollywood icon Marlon Brando and writer Alex Haley in Istanbul.
The city’s vibrant spirit and rich cultural life resonated deeply with Baldwin. He moved through its streets with ease, thumbing through old books in the Grand Bazaar, lingering in teahouses, and crossing the Bosphorus by ferry as the sun set behind minarets. On more than one occasion, people mistook him for Brazilian soccer player Pelé—an error that amused Baldwin, while reminding him how freely he could exist here, unburdened by fame or expectation.
Though hostility was not entirely absent in Turkey, Baldwin found it far less frequent than in many parts of America. Far more often, he encountered curiosity, hospitality, and kindness. Crucially, he could escape the spotlight that dogged him in the United States. In interviews with local journalists, he steered conversation toward conscience, freedom, and art rather than racial tension—though he never stopped worrying about civil rights battles at home.
During this Turkish decade—consisting of multiple visits between 1961 and 1971—Baldwin completed or refined several of his major works. He believed that recharging in Istanbul was crucial: to keep writing was, in essence, to keep fighting. The city’s layered heritage, bridging continents, resonated deeply with Baldwin’s sense of being an outsider who belonged to many worlds at once.
By the early 1970s, new projects and urgencies lured Baldwin elsewhere. But each time he left, he carried Istanbul with him. He never claimed to be an expatriate—his heart remained, in part, anchored in Harlem—but he made clear that the city on the Bosphorus had given him a crucial vantage point. Over a decade of sporadic residence, he had found creative renewal, lasting friendships, and an unexpected home. He even considered buying a house in Istanbul. For RC’s extended community, hosting Baldwin meant forging an extraordinary bond that bridged continents as deftly as Istanbul’s own bridges span the Bosphorus.
More than fifty years have passed since Baldwin first arrived in Istanbul. Last year, the world celebrated the 100th anniversary of his birth. Yet the traces of Baldwin’s presence in Istanbul remain palpable and have become part of the city lore. In photos by Pakay, we see Baldwin with a mischievous grin at a waterfront café, lost in thought under the towering minarets of the city’s mosques, or tenderly touching the hand of an infant on the street. In recollections shared by Leeming, Cezzar, Pakay, Oral and many others, we glimpse a writer who arrived weary but left triumphant, buoyed by the kindness and camaraderie he found in a city that was neither entirely Western nor Eastern, but very much its own.
Istanbul gave Baldwin what he needed: a vantage “from another place,” a crucial distance from America’s turmoil, and the hope and warmth required to keep imagining a more compassionate and just world.
All Photos: © Sedat Pakay | www.sedatpakay.com
