Home / Sivas culture
Nestled in the heart of Anatolia, Sivas is a city that often flies under the radar of mainstream tourism. Yet, beneath its unassuming exterior lies a cultural gem—a place where ancient traditions collide with contemporary global issues. From its rich history as a Silk Road hub to its modern-day struggles with urbanization and cultural preservation, Sivas offers a microcosm of Turkey’s broader societal tensions and triumphs.
Sivas has long been a melting pot of cultures, thanks to its strategic location along historic trade routes. The city’s architecture tells the story of its past: Seljuk-era mosques stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Ottoman hans (caravanserais), while remnants of Byzantine and Roman influence peek through in its cobblestone streets. The iconic Gök Medrese, with its intricate turquoise tilework, is a testament to the Seljuks’ artistic legacy.
Few events shaped modern Turkey as profoundly as the 1919 Congress of Sivas, where Mustafa Kemal Atatürk laid the groundwork for the Turkish War of Independence. Today, the city’s Atatürk Congress and Ethnography Museum serves as a pilgrimage site for those seeking to understand Turkey’s secular roots—a topic of heated debate in today’s politically polarized climate.
One of Sivas’ most enchanting traditions is Aşıklık, a form of poetic improvisation accompanied by the saz (a long-necked lute). For centuries, wandering bards—called aşıks—have preserved Anatolian folklore through their verses. But with younger generations flocking to cities or glued to smartphones, this oral tradition risks fading into obscurity. Local NGOs are scrambling to document the art form, but funding is scarce.
Sivas was once famed for its handwoven carpets and copperware, but globalization has hit hard. Cheaper, machine-made imports from China and Iran have undercut local artisans. In the bazaars, elderly craftsmen lament the lack of apprentices. "No one wants to spend years learning these skills anymore," one copper-smith told me, wiping sweat from his brow.
Sivas’ surrounding villages have practiced transhumance—seasonal livestock migration—for millennia. But erratic weather patterns, blamed on climate change, are disrupting this rhythm. Droughts have turned once-lush pastures into dust bowls, forcing herders to sell their flocks. "My grandfather’s grandfather herded sheep here," said one villager. "Now? The land doesn’t recognize us anymore."
As rural livelihoods crumble, Sivas’ urban population swells. The city’s outskirts now resemble a patchwork of half-finished apartment blocks—a common sight across Turkey’s rapidly developing heartland. Critics argue that this haphazard expansion ignores eco-friendly design principles, exacerbating heat islands and straining water resources.
Sivas’ cuisine is a carnivore’s paradise, with dishes like Sivas köftesi (spiced meatballs) and madımak (a wild herb stew). But even here, change looms. Fast-food chains are creeping into the city center, while industrial farming threatens the quality of local ingredients. A grassroots movement led by chefs and farmers is pushing for Slow Food certification, but bureaucracy moves slower than a Sunday morning in the kahvehane (coffeehouse).
Ironically, while Sivas doubles down on meat-centric traditions, Istanbul’s vegan craze is sparking curiosity among the city’s youth. "I tried a vegan döner in Ankara," confessed a university student, "and it wasn’t terrible." Whether this signals a lasting shift or a passing fad remains to be seen.
Sivas made international headlines in 1993 when an arson attack at the Madımak Hotel killed 33 intellectuals, mostly Alevi artists. Today, the city’s Alevi minority keeps their musical traditions alive as an act of quiet defiance. The haunting strains of the bağlama (a lute-like instrument) still echo in clandestine gatherings, a reminder of resilience in the face of intolerance.
In a surprising twist, Sivas has birthed a niche hip-hop scene. Young artists rap about unemployment, censorship, and the clash between tradition and modernity. Their lyrics—delivered in a mix of Turkish and Sivas slang—are raw, unfiltered, and spreading fast on TikTok.
The Turkish government’s push to attract tourists has reached Sivas, with restored caravanserais now housing boutique hotels. But some locals grumble about "Disney-fication." As one shopkeeper put it: "They want our culture—but only the pretty parts, neatly packaged for photos."
Budget travelers are beginning to trickle in, lured by Sivas’ affordability and off-the-beaten-path allure. Hostels are popping up, and the phrase "çay kaç lira?" (How much for tea?) is now met with fewer bewildered stares. Whether this nascent tourism will empower or erode local culture is the million-lira question.
In Sivas’ villages, women’s cooperatives are reviving textile arts while providing financial independence. These ventures—often funded by EU grants—are quietly challenging patriarchal norms. "My husband didn’t speak to me for a week when I joined," laughed one weaver. "Now he brags about my earnings to his friends."
Despite progress, Sivas’ female literacy rate lags behind Turkey’s coastal cities. Conservative families still prioritize sons’ education, and early marriages persist in rural pockets. Activists are using mobile libraries and YouTube tutorials to bridge the gap—one tablet at a time.
Walking through Sivas today is like watching a high-wire act between past and future. The call to prayer mingles with the hum of scooters; women in headscarves debate politics over glasses of çay next to students in ripped jeans scrolling through Twitter. In this tension lies the city’s vitality—a reminder that culture isn’t static, but a living, breathing thing, constantly rewriting itself.
Whether Sivas can navigate the 21st century without losing its soul depends on choices made now: Will its youth stay or leave? Will traditions fossilize or evolve? One thing is certain—this unassuming Anatolian city has stories left to tell, and the world would do well to listen.