ABSTRACT
A group of four young men in a cooperative ‘second-chance’ school in Yenibosna, a poor suburb of I˙stanbul, were discussing how to describe themselves to me. Vasıf G and Furkan A (all names used in this book are pseudonyms) were both 17; Vasıf’s parents were labourers, Furkan’s a farmer and a housewife. I˙brahim Y and I˙smail G were 19; I˙brahim’s father was unemployed, while I˙smail’s was a construction worker. The school was a couple of rooms above a grocery. We were sipping black tea at dusk on a February evening in 2010. Outside, the Maghrib call to prayer had begun.
