 And the third presentation is from Gündüz Vassal. Thank you. When I was a graduate student at university in Ankara, I had a night job on the radio as a broadcaster. Exactly at midnight, I would open the night's international program beamed to the rest of the world with the words, this is the voice of Turkey. Although the following text is in my words, I'm indeed humbled to speak in the name of Istanbul, my city, our city. The voice of Istanbul. Once, when gods and humans mingled together, I was called Byzantium, named after Bezos, the grandson of Zeus. Then came Konstantin, who named the city after himself. Now the Turks insist on calling me by their own version of my Greek name, Stimpoli, while the Greeks claimed the name of a Latin conqueror as one of their own. What's in a name? I rose by any other name, which smell is sweet, but no. I've had at least 30 names from New Rome to Istanbul. Even the Swedes had a name for me. Now they say I'm somewhere between East and West. An identity crisis. Whose, mine or theirs, enough of this nonsense. Take the labels off and just look at me, just look. You won't need a guidebook. Like all cities, I have my own sense of time. Unlike most cities, you will never be disoriented. If you're hesitant, not sure which way to go as you walk about. Follow one of my cats or dogs. They will lead you to places, introduce you to people, point out secrets that they keep, even from me. They, more than anyone, are the oldest continuing residents of the city. Some cities are dazzling, some humbling, some are pious, some cater to whims, provoke desires. I am a labyrinth of layers that only make sense without a compass. Trust in me, let yourself be, let yourself go, but be careful what you go away with. When you leave, all my empires, my religions, my crimes and passions, will be a fertile soil wherever you go. I have been captured, I have been looted. Many a fleet has landed on my shores. One after another, people have raised their flags on my soil. I have no flag. I have no religion. I have no loyalty. They come and go. I remain. Listen to those long gone, my diaspora. It is they who are loyal to me. It is they who yearn for me. Praised that I am. I'm not proud. Much has been written about me. To those who find me melancholic, I say, do not look for sparks in ashes long buried. To those who seek amusement, I do not exhibit my past as decorations for perpetual carnival. Though I have given birth to empires, I'm not an imperial sitting. My monuments do not awe people into submission or glorify the might of conquest. Nobody need stand on ceremony before my doors. I'm a home. I'm a home without owners. Some protect me. Some abuse me. A challenge to those who see the future in my past, I'm an obstacle for those who see only the future. I'm an old coin, appreciated by some, worthless to others, but always in demand. Pay no notice to those who, in rediscovering me, seek to glorify their edifices in empty new shells. I see change with the patience of centuries. Some want only to change the past and shout opportunity. Look at my silhouette from the bridge on the golden horn. Time has not passed me by. It has protected me. I ask of you the same. And now I'd like to share with you my visions for a democratic city. Who does a city belong to? Who does Istanbul belong to? Or, for that matter, any other city. Like Istanbul, all cities have their own voices, their own personalities, their sense of being. Yet, we treat all the cities the same as if they're part of a chain. From urban planners to tourists, we all look upon the city only from our own perspective. In the same way that doctors look upon their patients as manifestations of illnesses rather than as individuals, we too look upon cities from the perspective of our interests and specialties. Some look at transportation. Some at museums. Some at waste disposal. Some at the economy. Who looks at the city? The organizers of this meeting have to be commended for having brought so many of us together from different disciplines in the awareness that each of us with what we focus on will be a part of a bigger picture. Before the last year's elections, I remember saying that America is too important for the world to be left to the Americans. In a sense, in this new world empire, we're all Americans. Rather than simply raising our voices and protesting, we all have a responsibility for the sake of the world to give shape to the future of any other empire-bound country as well. The same can be said of our belonging to cities like Istanbul, Baghdad, Beijing, Mumbai, London, New York, and Sao Paulo, or for that matter, any other city. Whether it's tourists or taxpayers, chain store entrepreneur or international student, devout pilgrim or ardent football fan, academic or banker, migrant or native, we all belong to our particular city or cities. Millions of us across the world have affiliations with more than one city, one country. We are the city's citizens. No matter what our religion, no matter what our flag, we belong to the city as the city belongs to us. Yet, we are all disenfranchised. Who decides where to build the hotels? Who statues the erect? What to do, as is more often the case, what not to do with cars? Who decides to destroy the old city of a thousand years to cast away the gypsy quarters, to build on land prone to earthquakes where thousands will die? Who decides what to illuminate and what to keep in darkness? As globalized as the world is, we still live on a planet where nations plant their flags on top of the moon or at the bottom of the Arctic Sea. How then to define the new city of the globalized 21st century? I'm searching for a new city. I'm searching for world cities, universally accessible, universally accountable, responsible to all of us as we shall be responsible to them. Liberated from the trinity of politician, bureaucrat and developer. If companies can be multinationals and if shareholders from anywhere in the world, why not us as stakeholders and cities? If a person with just one share in the Coca-Cola company has a voice and a vote in the company's global affairs, why aren't you and I even consulted about what they do to our cities? Why do their plans remain in the dark until it's too late for us to react? If consumers of cars and can openers have rights to address the producers, why not us as the users and inhabitants of cities? Where is UNESCO? How can we redefine what we mean by world heritage sites? That here and now should not be forsaken while seeking to protect the past. If cities like companies invest in the areas ranging from the cultural industry to urban development, if cities are looked upon as profit-making enterprises by even municipalities, why should we not have the opportunity and the right to say what we want? If the notion of profiting from a city has replaced the city serving the needs of its citizens, is it not time to take back our cities? The powers that be tear down our cities, build up edifices, stadiums, shopping malls, bridges, as if we who live in those cities, we who visit and love those cities, we who care for those cities as our homes don't exist. If I come to Istanbul and see that the ancient Theodosian walls of the city are being ruined in the name of restoration, or the old city in Beijing is destroyed in the name of modernization, shall I not have a voice? If I'm terrorized by the police asking for my ID papers on the Paris Metro, should I not be able to have the same rights If I see the skyline of London being ruptured by one monstrosity after another, should I not be able to add my voice to that of the Prince of Wales? If my city stands in the neon shadows of a jungle of advertisements for banks and beer, cell phones and underwear, if my cathedrals and palatios, squares and streets are backgrounds for billboards, should I not call out for new vision? In the recent past, even our poets were lured by the sirens beckoning them to the city. The word was modernity, and modernity meant progress. We stood in awe of our own power. The ideal city was a mega machine, and the poet sang its praise. Thus the American poet Carl Sandberg, with these words, could abandon his city, Chicago, to the forces of progress. Chicago, hog butcher of the world, toolmaker, stacker of wheat, player with railroads, and the nation's freight handler, shoveling, wrecking, planning, building, breaking, rebuilding. In the new Jerusalem of the 20th century, the city hummed like a machine, and the poet became one with it. Here's the Turkish poet, Nazim Hikmet. Trum, trum, trum, trum, traktikitak makinalaşmak istiyorum. Today's Istanbul has a new message. In closing, let's listen to her again. I have been captured. I have been looted. Many a fleet has landed on my shores. One after another, people are raised at flags on my soil. I have no flag. I have no religion. They come and go. I remain. I'm an old coin, appreciated by some, worthless to others, but always in demand. Pay no notice to those who, in rediscovering me, seek to glorify their edifices in empty new shells. I see change with the patience of centuries. Someone only to change the past and shout opportunity. Look at my silhouette from the bridge on the golden horn. Time has not passed me by. What has protected me? I ask of you the same. Thank you, and I'd like to add one more thing. I invite the Istanbul Urban Age Conference to take the initiative in drawing up a world city charter. Let the first article be the city, above all, belongs to its citizens. Thank you very much.