Between Empire and Nation: Muslim Reform in the Balkans 1503613372, 9781503613379

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Between Empire and Nation

Stanford Studies on Central and Eastern Europe Edited by Norman Naimark and Larry Wolff

Between Empire and Nation Muslim Reform in the Balkans

Milena B. Methodieva

Stanford University Press Stanford, California

Sta n for d U n i v er si t y Pr ess Stanford, California © 2021 by the Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of Stanford University Press. Printed in the United States of America on acid-free, archival-quality paper Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Methodieva, Milena B., author. Title: Between empire and nation : Muslim reform in the Balkans / Milena B. Methodieva. Other titles: Stanford studies on Central and Eastern Europe. Description: Stanford, California : Stanford University Press, 2021. | Series: Stanford studies on Central and Eastern Europe | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2020021108 (print) | LCCN 2020021109 (ebook) | ISBN 9781503613379 (cloth) | ISBN 9781503614130 (ebook) Subjects: lcsh: Muslims—Political activity—Bulgaria—History— 19th century. | Nationalism—Bulgaria—History—19th century. | Group identity—Bulgaria—History—19th century. | Bulgaria— Politics and government—1878-1944. | Turkey—History— Ottoman Empire, 1288-1918. Classification: LCC DR6 4.2.M8 M47 2021 (print) | LCC DR6 4.2.M8 (ebook) | DDC 949.9/022—dc23 L C record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020021108 L C ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020021109 Cover photograph: The Banya Başı mosque in Sofia, 1917. NBKM – BIA, C II 1225. Cover design: Jordan Wannemacher Typeset by Kevin Barrett Kane in 11/13.5 Adobe Garamond Pro

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

vii

Dates, Place Names, Currencies, Translations

ix

Map of Bulgaria in 1886 x Introduction

1

1 The Ottoman Imperial Context

11

2 Untangling from Empire

33

3 Doing Away With Empire

72

4 A Quiet Upheaval

101

5 Negotiating Modernity

136

6 Navigating Politics

178

7 Homeland, Nation, and Community

211

Conclusion

234

Abbreviations

239

Notes

241

Bibliography

303

Index 321

This page intentionally left blank

Acknowledgments

I would like to start by thanking my advisor at Princeton University Şükrü Hanioğlu, as well as Stephen Kotkin, for their guidance, encouragement, and feedback. I am also particularly grateful to Kate Fleet and the Skilliter Centre for Ottoman Studies at Newnham College, the University of Cambridge, for giving me the opportunity be part of a lively intellectual environment while I was working on this book manuscript. My conversations with Ebru Boyar were particularly stimulating. Research was carried out in a number of institutions; I would like to thank the following archives and libraries and their staff: the (then) Prime Ministry Ottoman Archive in Istanbul; the Central State Archive and the National Library SS. Cyril and Methodius, particularly the Manuscripts and Old Printed Books Department, in Sofia; the State Archive in Vidin; the Ivan Vazov public library in Plovdiv; the Hakkı Tarık Us library, the Beyazıd library, and Atatürk Kitaplığı in Istanbul; the Firestone Library at Princeton University; and the Robarts Library at the University of Toronto. I must also thank the owners of the private archive of the Şefkat kıraathane for giving me access to the collection. Along the way I have benefitted from the help and friendship of many mentors, colleagues, and friends. Rossitsa Gradeva has been a wonderful mentor and supporter. Nikolay Antov, Grigor Boykov, Maria Kiprovska, and Orlin Sǔbev were not only great friends but also helped me in various ways. Zorka Ivanova brought out treasures of documents for me. Peter Holquist offered encouragement and shared some ideas about his ongoing research on the Russian occupation of Bulgaria. I am grateful to several colleagues as the University of Toronto.

viii Acknowledgments

Victor Ostapchuk read parts of this manuscript and offered feedback; he has also been a very supportive colleague. Jens Hanssen provided help and invaluable feedback on the general direction of this project. Jennifer L. Jenkins and Lynne Viola helped me in various ways. I would also want to thank the two anonymous manuscript reviewers for their insightful comments and suggestions. Some material in chapter 5 originally appeared in my “Muslim Culture, Reform and Patriotism: Staging Namık Kemal in Post-Ottoman Bulgaria (1878– 1908),” in Ebru Boyar and Kate Fleet, Eds., Entertainment Among the Ottomans (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 208–24. I thank Brill Publishers for allowing me to use it. Figure 1 is reproduced with permission of the National Library SS. Cyril and Methodius; figures 2, 4, and 5 are courtesy of the Hakkı Tarık Us library. It has been a pleasure to work with Stanford University Press. I would like to thank Margo Irvin for her interest and guidance, as well as the entire production team of the press. I am honored that this project was appreciated by the series editors Norman Naimark and Larry Wolff. My biggest debt is of a personal nature. My husband, Spyros, and daughter, Elena, offered endless love and support, particularly through some testing times, and put up with my long hours of work. My in-laws, Eleni and Aris, were always there for me. The greatest debt I owe to my mother, Tatiana, who, unfortunately, did not live to know about the completion of this book, and to my grandmother, Radka. Without their love and support I would have not even embarked upon this road. This book is dedicated to them.

Dates, Place Names, Currencies, Translations

At the time the Ottoman bureaucracy used the lunar Hicri and the Rumi calendars; so did Bulgaria’s Muslims in the sources they produced. Bulgaria used the Julian calendar. For simplicity, all dates in this book have been converted to the Gregorian calendar. For places located in Bulgaria, this book uses the Bulgarian version of names common at the time: for example, Kurtbunar instead of Tervel. For places in the Ottoman Empire, it uses the Ottoman names: for example, Edirne rather than Adrianople or Odrin. The national currency of Bulgaria—lev (sg.), leva (pl.)—was roughly equal to the French frank during the period under consideration. Contemporary sources occasionally used the two currencies interchangeably. All translations are the author’s unless otherwise specified.

Silistra

ROMANIA

Vidin

Tutrakan

Danube

Russe

BA

SERBIA

LKA

Sofia

N M OUN TAINS

Dobrich

Razgrad

Pleven

Shumen

Tŭrnovo

Provadi

Osman Pazar

Pirin Mts.

Plovdiv RH

BLACK SEA

E A S T E R N RU M E L I A M a r i tsa

OD

OP

IM OU

NTA

Edirne

INS

OTTOMAN EMPIRE Salonika

A EGEA N SEA MAP 1 

Bulgaria in 1886.

Varna

BULGARIA Stara Zagora

Rila Mts.

N

Istanbul 0

50 mi

0

80 km

Between Empire and Nation

This page intentionally left blank



Introduction

of the newly founded Muslim Teachers’ Association of Bulgaria sent out an impassioned appeal that was simultaneously published in several local Muslim newspapers. In the appeal its authors drew in stark Darwinian terms the predicament of Bulgaria’s Muslims, pointing to the source of their troubles. IN 1907 THE MEMBERS

Today in the civilized human societies to guarantee one’s livelihood, to be able to earn a living every person must be capable of fighting in the field of life. To guarantee its lasting existence every society, every nation must be capable of fighting. It is in the sense of this Muslim truth that sociologists have said: for man to live means to fight, to struggle. To score victory on this battlefield one must possess the perfect weapon and must have the power to use this weapon. . . . If in this struggle for life the most accomplished weapon is scientific knowledge, the power to use it in a beneficial way is intellectual discipline. . . . Let us take a look at the social organization of the Turks in our homeland. We see that according to the law they have broad rights and privileges and, although, after the Bulgarians they are in the largest number, they can neither take advantage of these rights and privileges nor of their numbers. Why? Because to be able to take advantage of those rights and privileges, science and knowledge are necessary, intellectual discipline is necessary. But among us they do not exist.

2 Introduction

In short, we Turks, who have had a glorious past and illustrious history, are nowadays condemned to live poor, humbled, and abused in our homeland among our other compatriots; in this poverty and degradation we cannot assert our rights and honor before anyone. Even though we are the children of this homeland, we are in the condition of being a foreign element. We live as strangers in our own homeland. Why is that? It’s all because of ignorance, because we are intellectually ill-equipped.1

This proclamation is not a singular document expressing the views of a small group of idealistic people eager to publicize their enterprise but a vivid reflection of the sentiments among Bulgarian Muslims. Many of them were actively engaged in efforts to reform their institutions. The story of these endeavors has been overshadowed by preoccupation with issues such as nation- and statebuilding, imperial disintegration, and interest in the turbulent twentieth century. The current study is an attempt to reconstruct this obscured story; it seeks to pose new questions and to place the history of the Muslims of Bulgaria in a different framework. This book is about the activities of a movement for cultural reform and political mobilization among Bulgaria’s Muslims. More broadly, it tells the story of how Bulgaria’s Muslims navigated between empire and nation-state and sought to be a part of an increasingly wider modern world. The initial goal of the movement was to reform education and encourage the pursuit of modern knowledge, as demonstrated by the quote above. But ultimately, its activists aimed to bring about a thorough transformation of Muslim society, reform Muslim institutions, and encourage effective political participation guided by patriotic ideals. Elsewhere in the world Muslims similarly grappled with the challenges of modernity and produced varying responses, ranging from complete rejection, through efforts for institutional reforms, to the formulation of new theologies. In Bulgaria reformist endeavors did not seek to produce reformist Islamic theology. The goal was not to reform religion, although there were discussions of how it could serve the Muslims in new ways; instead, efforts focused on reform of institutions, culture, and society. A living legacy of Ottoman rule in the region, the Muslims were Bulgaria’s largest and politically most significant minority. At the beginning of the twentieth century they numbered six hundred thousand, making up one-fifth of the population. Most of them were Turks followed by smaller numbers of



Introduction 3

Slavic-speaking Muslims (Pomaks), Roma, and Tatars. The majority were Sunnis, but there were also representatives of unorthodox Muslim groups and Sufi orders. In spite of ethnic differences, during the period under consideration Muslims referred to themselves in religious terms, similar to those in the Ottoman Empire, although they occasionally also used ethnic names. Reform activities in Bulgaria were spearheaded by a younger generation of Muslims, mostly teachers and journalists, but they involved many Muslims from other backgrounds. Although the reform movement did not become a mass one, it produced a considerable impact as it steered the Muslims into a more cohesive communal life. Just as importantly, it contributed to the spread of new ideas about knowledge, culture, and community. Reformist Muslims and their endeavors were also the targets of criticism. Because of their links with the Young Turks, they were treated with suspicion and sometimes open resentment by other local Muslims who were loyal supporters of the sultan. The reform movement in Bulgaria also assumed some distinctive political characteristics. This was partly because of the specifics of the Bulgarian context. As the Muslims found themselves in the position of a minority, they became particularly conscious of their place in Bulgarian political strategies. They became a part of parliamentary and electoral politics from the very beginning. Even more importantly, Muslims began appealing to ideas such as rights, equality, and freedom and called for upholding the guarantees set by the constitution. By engaging in such discourses, Bulgaria’s Muslims sought to renegotiate their relationship with the state by seeking to be effectively accepted as full citizens.2 Bulgaria’s Muslims were not preoccupied only with local concerns. They took active interest in the developments in the Ottoman Empire. In fact, from their vantage point they could clearly see the predicaments it was facing, and their own experiences were a stark warning of what would happen to its Muslim inhabitants if imperial disintegration continued. Consequently, many were drawn into the realm of Ottoman politics. While some found a common cause with the Young Turks, others were staunch supporters of the regime of sultan Abdülhamid II, which they saw as the only possible advocate for their rights. Furthermore, as a result of the expansion of print, communication technologies, and travel, they began imagining themselves as part of a larger world in which many of their coreligionists shared a fate similar to theirs. Such awareness paved the way to expanding the boundaries of community and created a sense of new solidarities.

4 Introduction

There is a considerable body of scholarship on the Muslims and Turks of Bulgaria in various languages, but its scope is uneven. Most of the literature on the subject provides a longer view, spanning a hundred-year period with a focus on twentieth-century history, and particularly the “revival process,” the forced name-changing assimilationist campaign of the 1980s.3 Scholarship was also influenced by the political circumstances in Bulgaria. There were more possibilities to write about the history of the Muslims and other minority communities after the end of the Communist regime.4 From the 1990s onwards there appeared numerous works in Bulgarian and other languages on questions related to the history of the Muslims and Turks in Bulgaria. While many offered little more than general observations, there were also a number of solid scholarly endeavors. Among them are works on the Ottoman period that considerably advanced our knowledge of the history of Ottoman rule and Muslim culture in Bulgaria and the Balkans.5 Scholars also turned to the period after the establishment of modern Bulgaria. Some explored the actions of the Bulgarian state, while others sought to reexamine the Bulgarian national imagination concerning the Muslims.6 However, most studies provided only limited understanding of Muslim perspectives and agency, though this trend is changing.7 The experiences of the Muslims in the first decades after the end of Ottoman rule in Bulgaria have remained understudied,8 while the reform endeavors among the Muslims have been almost completely neglected. There are two lasting narratives about the community during this period. The first is what can be called the “death and exile” narrative, to borrow the title of one well-known study.9 Such works have focused on the killing and expulsion of Muslims during major conflicts over the course of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, such as the Russo-Ottoman War of 1877–78 and the Balkan Wars (1912–13), as well as subsequent Muslim emigration to the Ottoman Empire and Turkey. Undeniably, this narrative reflects true events. The Russo-Ottoman War alone led to the displacement of hundreds of thousands of Muslims. In its aftermath the number of Muslims on the territory of what would become Bulgaria dropped by at least 370,000, or about a third of the prewar Muslim population. Thousands of Muslims emigrated over the course of the next three decades, and the Balkan Wars (1912–13) produced another exodus from former Ottoman territories captured by the armies of the Balkan nation-states. The other commonly reiterated narrative concerns those Muslims who remained in Bulgaria. According to it, during the war and following the establishment



Introduction 5

of Bulgaria the members of the higher Ottoman military, administrative, and intellectual elites left the country. Those who stayed were mostly the uneducated masses. Deprived of competent leadership and the guidance of an enlightened state, the remaining Muslims succumbed further to ignorance, conservatism, and discord, which the Bulgarians readily exploited. Muslims made only sporadic efforts to reorganize their communal life with the initiative coming from somewhere else. The Ottoman state was deemed to be their natural leader, and certain authors have even suggested that coordinated reform initiatives emerged as a result of Bulgarian Muslims’ contacts with the Tatar jadid movement in the Russian Empire.10 It was only in the 1920s, with the establishment of the Turkish republic, that sparkles of enlightenment emanating from the Kemalist reforms, another state-led reform project, enlivened Bulgaria’s Muslims.11 Although this historical narrative refers to some real events—Muslim education, for example, was in a dire condition—its main argument is largely inaccurate. The goal of this book is to bring to light another story: that of Muslim experiences of modernity. It emphasizes the Muslims’ agency and seeks to shift the focus toward the Muslims and away from the prevailing state-centered approaches, although at times discussion of state actions is inevitable. Understanding the transformations that took place in this formative period is important for tracing the subsequent history of Bulgaria’s Muslims, their relationship with the Ottoman Empire and Turkey, and Bulgarian nationalism. This book also seeks to contribute to the scholarship of Islam, Muslims, reform, and modernity. There is a considerable body of literature on modernist Muslim movements. Yet, most such works have focused primarily on Muslimmajority societies, including the Middle East and the Ottoman Empire, and more sizable Muslim populations, such as those in South Asia.12 The original scholarship of Adeeb Khalid has shown how debates on culture and reform of society animated the Muslims in Central Asia under Russian imperial rule.13 In comparison, such questions have seldom been explored in relation to Muslim communities in the Balkans in the post-Ottoman period, particularly those that came to be in the position of minorities. Most works dealing with reform of communal institutions have focused on Bosnia, an area with a historically substantial Muslim population. Recently, there have been efforts to revisit these phenomena within a new theoretical framework.14 This book looks at the experiences of a minority community; however, it should not be read simply as the history of this community or interpreted within

6 Introduction

the narrow frame of “minority studies.” Parallel to this, it tells a history of Bulgaria during its formative period as a modern nation-state from the vantage point of a minority population. At the same time this book looks at the Ottoman Empire at a particularly challenging time, when external pressures and territorial losses raised fears about its future. The first decades of Bulgaria’s existence were a crucial period during which it embarked upon nation- and state-building initiatives. While all Ottoman Balkan successor states came to incorporate Muslims as part of their populations, Bulgaria’s case was somewhat different because its Muslim population was especially numerous. In 1879 the Principality of Bulgaria, which at the time comprised roughly the territories north of the Balkan mountains, was inhabited by 580,000 Muslims, who made up more than a quarter of its population. In Eastern Rumelia, which remained an autonomous Ottoman province until 1885, there were 190,000 Muslims, comprising a fifth of its residents. Although the number of Muslims decreased to 600,000 by the beginning of the twentieth century, they still represented a considerable part of Bulgaria’s inhabitants. Previously founded Balkan nation-states had had to deal with miniscule Muslim communities in the first years following their inception. In 1828 in newly independent Greece there were 11,000 Muslims, or less than 2 percent of its population. In 1833 in newly founded Serbia there were 4,500 Muslims, or less than 1 percent of all inhabitants. In terms of the size of its Muslim population, Bulgaria was comparable to Bosnia. The former Ottoman province, which came under Austro-Hungarian occupation in accordance with the Berlin Treaty, had 450,000 Muslim inhabitants in 1879. Over time the number of Muslims increased, and by the first decade of the twentieth century its Muslim population was comparable to Bulgaria’s Muslim community.15 In facing the task of administering a large Muslim-minority population implicitly linked to the Ottoman Empire, Bulgaria encountered a situation with which other Ottoman Balkan successor nation-states did not have to deal. And whereas the Austro-Hungarian authorities could count on their experience of administering a multiethnic and multireligious empire, Bulgaria had to forge its own path in these endeavors while also elaborating its own national project. Eventually what determined Bulgarian endeavors were not just nationalist aspirations but also calculated strategic considerations. The Muslims in Bulgaria and the Christian Slavic populations in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace, claimed by many Bulgarians as their fellow-nationals, came to be regarded as



Introduction 7

counterparts in a particular “hostage populations” strategy pursued by both Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire. This awareness prevented the pursuit of more aggressive Bulgarian nationalist assimilationist actions at the time; such projects appeared later. For the Ottoman state this was a challenging period. In 1878 the empire lost vast territories, most of them in Europe, undermining its standing in an area where it had a strong historic presence. Bulgaria was founded on what had been core Ottoman lands in relative proximity to Istanbul, where the far-ranging Tanzimat reforms had scored major success. The Danube, whose symbolism as the Ottomans’ “spring of life” was celebrated in the patriotic works of Namık Kemal, was lost for good. The new political settlement came on the heels of a turbulent three-year period marked by rebellion, international outcry, and a devastating war with Russia, when Russian armies reached the outskirts of the Ottoman capital. The war also precipitated the flight of thousands of Muslims, leading to a major humanitarian crisis. The fate of Bulgaria and the Bulgarians featured prominently in these critical events. The suppression of the 1876 Bulgarian uprising led to outpourings of sympathy, calls for action, and anti-Ottoman rhetoric in Europe; Gladstone’s pamphlet “The Bulgarian Horrors” was the most notable example. The RussoOttoman War was similarly waged in the name of bringing justice to the Bulgarian cause. These events galvanized leading Ottoman figures and public opinion that pointed instead to Bulgarian and Russian assaults against the Muslims. Such arguments continued even after the dust settled, turning into a lasting counterrhetoric underscoring European and Bulgarian duplicity. They were motifs in the discourses of the Hamidian regime and the Young Turks, but they were also echoed among Muslims elsewhere in the world. The separation of sizable Muslim populations who were also former Ottoman subjects presented dilemmas about maintaining relations and providing protection. The Ottoman state had lived through similar crises before with the establishment of Serbia and Greece, while the influx of Tatars and Circassians from the Russian Empire in the 1860s put considerable pressures on it. Yet, in 1878 the situation was different. The number of former Ottoman Muslim subjects remaining beyond Ottoman control was much larger than in the case of the previously established Balkan nation-states. As the Ottoman authorities grappled with such questions, for the Young Turks the experiences of the Muslims in Bulgaria were crucial in strengthening nascent Turkish nationalist ideas.

8 Introduction

Furthermore, what went on in these years in the Balkans was important for the part the region assumed in the Ottoman imagination.16 Finally, I have made special efforts to reconstruct the lives and activities of many of Bulgaria’s Muslims involved in the events under discussion. In this way I have tried to bring out “faces” and reconstruct real historical figures from what has so far remained an impersonal mass of people. This book is as much about their ideas and endeavors as it is about them.

Note on Structure, Scope, and Sources Chapter 1 sets the background for the events discussed in this book, including the Russo-Ottoman War of 1877–78 and the subsequent Berlin settlement. Chapter 2 examines how Bulgaria imagined, organized, and governed its Muslim subjects within the complex backdrop of Ottoman-Bulgarian relations. Chapter 3 follows Bulgarian efforts to do away with the vestiges of the Ottoman imperial legacy in the cities and the countryside, as well as the impact on the Muslims. Chapter 4 looks at the intellectual and social origins of the Muslim reform movement. The chapter also introduces some of the main figures who played a crucial role in the events under consideration. Chapter 5 examines in detail the initiatives undertaken to reform the community. Chapter 6 deals with Muslim efforts to navigate Bulgarian parliamentary politics along with the struggles over the leadership of the Muslim community. The final chapter turns to questions of identity and community. The nation, with its various characteristics and forms, stood at the center of such discussions. But at a time of a growing globalization, Bulgaria’s Muslims also began to imagine themselves and seek connections with the wider world. The book closes with the tense standstill of Muslim life following Bulgaria’s declaration of independence and evaluates this crucial period against subsequent events. The focus of this book is the Muslim reform movement, so by necessity certain topics have received limited attention. The Russo-Ottoman War of 1877–78, a formative experience for Bulgaria’s Muslims and the Ottoman Empire, the period of the Russian provisional administration, the Muslim refugee crisis, and Muslim emigration merit more extensive consideration. Finally, while the book looks at the attitudes of Ottoman representatives and the sentiments of members of the Young Turk opposition organization towards Bulgaria’s Muslims, it does not present a comprehensive discussion of the views of a broader spectrum of Ottoman society.



Introduction 9

I have used Bulgarian and Ottoman sources, both archival and published, in addition to other primary source materials. But above all, I have sought to utilize sources produced by the Muslim community. The local Muslim press of the time, which was published almost exclusively in Ottoman Turkish, is a particularly important source, and one that has remained largely undervalued. However, it is only by looking at the press that one can grasp the full range of lively debates, struggles, and aspirations of the local Muslims. Ottoman and Bulgarian archival records provide valuable information about Ottoman and Bulgarian aspirations, as well as insights into the context that engendered the rise of reform initiatives. Yet, taken by themselves they do not reveal much about the Muslims’ activities. Bulgarian sources repeat a narrative of Muslim ignorance and apathy. A similar story emerges when one looks only at sources produced by the Ottoman authorities, except that it is enhanced with laments about communal discord and vitriol against the spread of Young Turk sedition. Muslim periodicals are important in other ways. Certain publications, above all the main reformist organ Muvazene, actively solicited and published readers’ letters. These contributions, whose veracity is undisputed, give a voice to many ordinary Muslims and attest to the spread of reform ideas. Periodicals are supplemented by documentation from the archival collections of mufti offices and regional Muslim boards, petitions Muslims sent to the Ottoman and Bulgarian authorities, and pamphlets. The few published memoirs have proved particularly valuable. Poetry was the only kind of literary work produced by Bulgaria’s Muslims during this period. The poems that made appearance on the pages of the Muslim press in many cases give a sense of the intense emotions with which members of the community responded to the world around them. The records of sharia courts, sicills, have traditionally been an important source for the study of the social, economic, and legal history of the Ottoman Empire and Muslim societies. In Bulgaria sharia courts continued to function after 1878, but they resolved only matters of family law, such as marriage, divorce, and in some cases inheritance. Consequently, the information their records provide is limited to such matters. Reconstructing the experiences of certain groups during this period is difficult because of the scarcity of original documentation relating to them. There are no sources reflecting the perspectives of unorthodox Muslims, such as Alevi, Bektashi, and Kızılbaş; other documentation provides only scant insights, so it is difficult to draw even a partial picture of their life in those years. The Roma,

10 Introduction

Muslim and non-Muslim, remained a marginalized group. Although there is more information about them in Bulgarian and Ottoman sources, invariably reflecting the perceptions and prejudices of those who produced them, it is still largely insufficient to provide a more detailed account of their experiences. With limited information on certain subjects, sometimes conjecture is inevitable.

1

The Ottoman Imperial Context

Ottoman Rule in the Balkans and the Formation of Muslim Communities The Balkans had only sporadic contacts with Islam and Muslims prior to the fourteenth century. From the eighth century onward, the Byzantines felt the growing military pressure of Arab armies, which besieged the capital Constantinople twice. In the thirteenth century a group of Seljuk Turks seeking refuge in the Byzantine domains were resettled in the area between the Danube delta and Varna. Those who stayed permanently converted to Christianity, setting the beginning of the Gagauz community.1 Turkish mercenaries also served in the Byzantine civil wars. Yet, it was the Ottoman conquest of the region that brought it into more extensive contacts with Islam and led to the permanent establishment of Muslim communities. The Ottoman state emerged from a small Turkoman principality, or beylik, in northwestern Anatolia. It was one of many such entities that sprung up in the area following the movement of Turks from Central Asia from the eleventh century onward and the dissolution of the Seljuk Empire that had displaced the centuriesold Byzantine supremacy. The people of these principalities were predominantly nomads-pastoralists, but at the same time they engaged in a particular kind of warfare, gaza, fueled by religious fervor and the prospects of booty.2 The start of the rule of Osman in 1299 is usually taken as the birth of the Ottoman state, although it would take a while for the modest principality to turn into a large empire. Being conveniently located next to the rump of the Byzantine

12

Chapter 1

domains, Osman’s people launched upon steady expansion at the expense of the ailing empire and some of their Muslim gazi neighbors. Along the way they attracted more followers. In 1354 under the leadership of the second ruler, Orhan, the Ottomans gained a foothold on the Gallipoli peninsula; from there they made their way into the Balkans. They skillfully navigated local politics, taking advantage of the region’s volatility. The Byzantine Empire was torn by civil wars waged by rival imperial factions, with Thrace bearing the brunt of military and punitive action. Although they initially backed one of the Byzantine factions, the Ottomans broke off the alliance to continue their own advance. Other Balkan states were in a similarly weak condition. Bulgaria was divided into three: the Vidin and the Tǔrnovo kingdoms and the despotate of Dobrudja. Serbia was split into two competing entities. Several smaller principalities under the authority of independent rulers existed in Macedonia, whereas the Peloponnesus was a patchwork of statelets governed by Byzantine and Venetian families. By the end of the fourteenth century the Ottomans established control over most of the central, eastern, and southern parts of the region. They put an end to the Bulgarian states and reduced the Byzantines and the Serbian principality of Raška to vassal status. Some of the Balkan rulers recovered, temporarily revoking vassalage at the beginning of the fifteenth century, after the Ottomans collapsed at the hands of the Mongols. Yet, the Ottomans were able to rebound and resume their advance. In 1453 Mehmed II (r. 1444–46; 1451–81), subsequently styled the Conqueror, took Constantinople, bringing the Byzantine Empire to an end. The city became the new Ottoman capital. Under his reign the Ottomans extended their control over other Balkan territories, such as Bosnia, Albania, and the remnants of Serbia. Over the sixteenth century the Ottomans drove further into Europe, taking over the bulk of Hungary and imposing vassal status over Wallachia and Crimea. In 1529 they laid their first siege on Vienna. Meanwhile, Ottoman rulers extended their control over the rest of Anatolia, Egypt, and most Arab lands of the Middle East. Through skillfully brokered alliances with local rulers, the Ottomans claimed considerable territory in North Africa, including Libya, Algeria, and Tunis, as part of their domains. The once-small beylik had turned into a formidable empire. Ottoman rulers saw their state as the embodiment of several legacies, which were reflected in the titles they assumed. In addition to sultan, with the takeover of Constantinople Mehmed II took the title Caesar of Rome. In the years following the conquest of Egypt, which at the time was the home of



The Ottoman Imperial Context

13

an offshoot of the Abbasid caliphal family, Ottoman rulers adopted the title of caliph. In this way they claimed the supreme spiritual leadership of the Sunni Muslim world.3 The Balkans, the bulk of which came to be known as Rumeli, became one part of this expansive and diverse empire. In the Balkans the Ottoman conquest brought a change of political order. Local dynasties and ruling elites came to an end. Many of their members were killed or exiled or passed in oblivion, but some became part of the new Ottoman order.4 While the Ottoman state saw itself as the champion of Sunni Islam, generally it did not try to impose its faith upon the non-Muslim inhabitants, including those in the Balkans. As “people of the book,” Christians and Jews were given the status of protected subjects, or zimmis.5 They were allowed to practice their religion, and matters of internal religious organization were largely left in their hands. In return they recognized the political supremacy of their Muslim rulers. In addition, they had to pay a special tax, the cizye, and were the subject to other limitations, such as restrictions on the construction and repair of religious buildings.6 Ottoman tolerance was a function of the empire’s efforts to manage difference and govern effectively. It did not mean equality and it could fluctuate, depending on many factors, such as the state of relations with European Christian powers.7 Non-Muslim groups were organized through the millet system. According to this system, Orthodox Christians, Gregorian Armenians, and Jews interacted with the state on communal matters via their supreme religious leaders. The system took some time to develop, and other millets were established later, particularly in the nineteenth century, when millet became largely synonymous with nationality. The first Muslim communities in the Balkans emerged over the course of the Ottoman conquest in the fourteenth century. The number of Muslims increased over the next centuries through migration and conversion to Islam. Following the early conquests, the Ottomans encouraged Turks from Anatolia to settle in Thrace, Macedonia, and later in the northeastern parts of the peninsula in order to strengthen their hold on the region. Another aim was the need to revive the local economy as these areas had suffered extensive devastation and depopulation. In many cases migrants from Anatolia arrived on their own initiative. Among the most significant migrant groups were the yürüks. In times of peace yürüks engaged in transhumant pastoralism, but during war they participated in Ottoman military campaigns. Yürük groups settled in Thrace, Macedonia, and

14

Chapter 1

the eastern and northeastern Balkans, including Dobrudja. Some subsequently migrated further north and northwest. Place names, such as Saruhanlılar, Maraş, and Karamanlı point to the origins of their first settlers.8 Another method of population settlement were the forced migrations, sürgün, that entailed the movement of entire communities from one location to another. The purpose was to repopulate particular regions, while easing demographic pressures elsewhere.9 Relocating rebellious populations was another motive. In the sixteenth century, for example, when the Ottoman Empire was engaged in wars with the Safavids and faced continuous rebellions of Kızılbaş groups in Anatolia, the Istanbul authorities exiled many of them to Dobrudja and the Deli Orman.10 The migration of Tatars and Circassians added to the diversity of Muslims in the region. Similar to the yürüks, Tatar groups were brought to the area from Anatolia and Crimea from the late fourteenth century onward. In the seventeenth century members of the Giray family, who ruled the Crimea, were given estates in various places throughout northeastern and eastern Bulgaria. In the 1860s another larger wave of Tatars and Circassians from the Russian Empire were settled in the Bulgarian lands.11 The activities of prominent Ottoman military leaders also contributed to the Islamization processes. Notable gazis, such as Evrenos Bey, were awarded estates in the newly conquered regions. The legendary warrior and his descendants, for example, sponsored the establishment of various institutions, including tekkes, imarets, and baths. In turn they spurred the development of economic and cultural centers in southern Macedonia and western Thrace, attracting more settlers, while also providing conditions suitable for conversion.12 Another notable gazi family, the Mihaloğlu, were awarded the administration of lands around Nikopol and Pleven.13 Such patterns were repeated elsewhere throughout the region. Sufi groups and leaders played an important part in the conquest and the strengthening of Ottoman rule. Dervishes were an integral part of the early Ottoman armies, but they also contributed to the spread of Muslim spiritual institutions, such as zaviyes and tekkes, which in turn led to the expansion of Muslim communities. By the sixteenth century there were a number of Sufi convents in the Bulgarian lands, among them those of Otman Baba near Haskovo, Akyazılı Baba near Varna, Kademli Baba in Nova Zagora, and the most renowned local Muslim saint, Demir (Timur) Baba near Razgrad.14 As the Balkans were



The Ottoman Imperial Context

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incorporated into the Ottoman administrative system, representatives of the authorities, migrants from Anatolia, and new converts also moved throughout the region. Finally, the introduction of the timar system, which combined administrative and military functions, contributed to the movement of Muslims throughout the Balkans and around other parts of the Ottoman Empire. With the Ottoman conquest and the influx of Muslim settlers came conversion to Islam.15 Conversion has been a divisive topic not only in the Bulgarian but generally in the Balkan historical tradition and popular perceptions. In the nineteenth century, prominent Bulgarian intellectuals began arguing that most local Muslims were Bulgarians who had accepted Islam as a result of coercion. The Pomaks, the Bulgarian-speaking Muslim populations who lived in the Rhodopi mountain region and some parts of north-central Bulgaria, were frequently cited as examples of this phenomenon. Such claims assumed wider popularity after the establishment of Bulgaria.16 While there is little credible substantiation for the arguments about mass forced conversion, there were indeed some instances of involuntary conversions. The most significant example was the devşirme, the levy of Christian peasant boys for the janissary corps and the ranks of the higher imperial bureaucracy. After the collection, the boys were converted to Islam.17 Furthermore, at certain periods, particularly with the consolidation of confessionalism in the seventeenth century, society became less inclined to show tolerance, and there were instances of involuntary conversions.18 However, most conversions were not a result of force but a product of a combination of social, economic, religious, and cultural circumstances, as well as regional specifics. Most conversions were individual, and many were followed by linguistic assimilation. In certain areas in the Balkans, conversions occurred on a larger scale, so such communities preserved their native language. This was the case in Bosnia and Albania and for the Pomaks in the Rhodopi. In the Balkans, conversions to Islam began as early as the Ottoman conquest, and the process reached a peak in the seventeenth century. Initially, the process was more intensive in urban centers and gained speed in the countryside later. Interaction with Muslims and the desire to preserve or advance economic and social status or alleviate economic pressures played a role in conversion. Among the earliest converts, for example, were some representatives of the Balkan aristocracy. The condition of religious organization and institutions also played a role. In places where the church had limited influence, people had little meaningful

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connection with Christianity. Just as importantly, ecclesiastical taxes increased over time, putting additional pressure on the Christians. In the first couple of centuries of Ottoman rule, there were also more positive stimuli: by becoming Muslim, people joined a dynamic and victorious force.19 There were some similarities between popular Christian and Muslim beliefs, particularly those associated with Sufi orders. So, converting from one religion to another did not constitute a dramatic change in one’s spiritual and mental world. Sufi orders and unorthodox Muslim groups were also present in the region. Unorthodox or heterodox Muslim groups followed Islamic traditions that combined elements of Shi‘a Islam with a variety of popular beliefs. The early Ottoman state enjoyed a close relationship with such groups, whose disciples and leaders were an integral part of Ottoman armies. They were among the earliest settlers and founders of Islamic institutions in the Balkans. Among them were the Rum-Abdal, Kalenderi, Babai, Bektashi, and Bedreddinis. The latter group were the followers of Sheikh Bedreddin, whose messianic rebellion, partly fueled by ideas of social and religious equality, was centered in the region. In the sixteenth century the presence of unorthodox Muslim groups in the northeastern part of the Balkans was strengthened through the deportation of Kızılbaş from Anatolia. As the Ottoman state turned into a champion of Sunni Islam, the relationship with such groups cooled. In the seventeenth century Sufi groups deemed to be challenges to Ottoman authority were persecuted, whereas those amenable to collaboration merged under the umbrella of the Bektashi order, which enjoyed state protection in spite of its unorthodox leanings because of its connections with the janissaries.20 The teachings of other groups, such as the Mevlevi, Helveti, and the Nakşbendi, were in harmony with Islamic orthodoxy, so they continued to be tolerated and supported by the Ottoman authorities. The religious, ethnic, and cultural diversity of the area that would become Bulgaria was reinforced by the presence of other groups. There were Greek communities along the Black Sea coast, as well as in large cities, such as Plovdiv. Jews, Romaniot and Ladino-speaking, lived in numerous Balkan cities. Roma, both Muslim and Christian, were present in the cities and the countryside, while some led an itinerant life. The Ottoman authorities treated them as a separate category, and Muslim Roma were even required to pay cizye. This distinction existed well into the nineteenth century as is evident from Ottoman statistics books featuring separate categories for Roma, apart from other Muslims and non-Muslims.21



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The Challenges of a Changing Imperial World From the end of the sixteenth through the eighteenth century, many Ottoman institutions, as well as governing and administrative practices, experienced a gradual transformation. The label decline given to this period by earlier generations of historiography has been increasingly challenged. Scholars have argued instead that while crisis plagued certain aspects of Ottoman administration and society, these centuries should be seen as a period of transformation during which the Ottoman state introduced new governing, fiscal, and military mechanisms.22 The Ottoman state increasingly resorted to tax-farming since it was a convenient practice for gaining ready cash, and in the process it delegated power from the dynasty to palace officials and provincial administrators. The changing nature of warfare, particularly the use of handheld firearms and artillery, rendered the sipahi cavalry and timar system obsolete, while the demand for cash-paid infantry, such as janissaries and other mercenaries, increased. Long and costly wars further sapped the empire’s resources, driving the authorities to impose more taxes throughout the seventeenth century. As the Ottoman state was challenged more successfully by European rivals, it began suffering territorial losses. At the same time provincial elites acquired more military recruitment, provisioning, and tax-collection responsibilities, so their authority vis-à-vis the central government grew. By the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth centuries the empire had become extremely decentralized. The sultan’s effective authority did not extend beyond Istanbul, while the provinces were under the control of local power figures, known as ayan, or notables. The phenomenon was particularly pronounced in the Balkans, which were in the immediate proximity of the Ottoman Empire’s European rivals. The region plunged into bloody chaos as notables warred with each other and large bands of brigands, the so-called kırcali, ravaged the countryside.23 Attempts to reinstate central control and introduce reforms took years to score success. By the end of the 1830s the power of the notables was curtailed, the janissaries were abolished, and the Ottoman government managed to institute the first successful organizational reforms. These efforts paved the way for the wide-ranging transformations of the Tanzimat period (1839-76). As the Ottomans became conscious of the limits to their military potential, they also began to seek alliances with European powers even though they were viscerally aware of European ambitions towards to their domains. They sought to play on

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Great Power rivalries, yet weakness left the empire prone to foreign pressures, which would increase over the course of the nineteenth century. In the nineteenth century the Ottoman state encountered other internal challenges. Contacts with Europe and the spread of Enlightenment ideas contributed to the emergence of romantic nationalist ideas among Balkan Christian intellectuals. To be sure, at the time the appeal of such ideas was limited to particular elites, many of whom travelled extensively or lived outside the Ottoman domains. Even though notions of greater cultural and national awareness gained a following, these never reached the scale of popular nationalist mobilization during the Ottoman period. Popular national consciousness would emerge only with the advent of nation-building endeavors. At the same time, during the chaos of the early nineteenth century, economic grievances with the çiftlik system that bound peasants, mostly Christians, to the service of Muslim landlords as well as the state’s efforts to impose effective control and new taxes contributed to growing discontent in the Ottoman Balkans. These grievances were not caused by the spread of nationalist ideas, yet they grew into uprisings that ultimately led to the establishment of the first Balkan nation-states. In 1804 the prospects of the reinstatement of janissary control in Belgrade precipitated a revolt whose participants soon began demanding autonomy. In 1821 two revolts broke out in the Danubian principalities and the Peloponnesus whose leaders called for the establishment of a Greek state. After decades of protracted struggle and eventually Great Power intervention, in 1830 the Ottomans recognized the creation of an autonomous Serbia, and in 1832, an independent Greece.24 Consequently, the reforms of the nineteenth century were also spurred by desire to rein in secessionist demands among the empire’s Christian populations, as much as by the intention to strengthen the Ottoman state. In line with these goals during the Tanzimat, the imperial authorities promoted the cultivation of Ottoman identity and embarked upon a policy of Ottomanism. All imperial subjects regardless of their faith were encouraged to display civic loyalty as Ottomans. Muslims and non-Muslims were granted legal equality, and various measures allowed non-Muslims a voice in local affairs and the imperial administration. Non-Muslims, for example, became part of provincial councils. Many of the pioneering reforms were first introduced in the newly established Danube vilayet, which would subsequently form the bulk of the Bulgarian Principality, by one of the most notable Ottoman statesmen, Midhat Pasha.25



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The Tanzimat reforms generated tensions and criticism within Ottoman society, but they did produce considerable changes. Separation, or at least the active separatist pursuits, did not seem to be on the minds of many Christian inhabitants of the European Ottoman provinces in the 1860s and early 1870s.26 Yet just because Bulgarians did not systematically challenge imperial rule does not mean that they were not open to other political possibilities. Serbia and Greece loomed as prominent precedents that separation from direct Ottoman rule was possible. By the 1860s–1870s among Bulgarians there were discussions of various political projects, which ranged from a separate Bulgaria or a South Slav state through municipal autonomy within the Ottoman Empire, to the proclamation of a dual Turkish-Bulgarian monarchy.27 Such discussions were a response to the situation in the Ottoman Empire, as well as a consequence of Bulgarian experiences. Bulgarian communal cohesiveness had grown in the nineteenth century over the course of the struggles for the establishment of a Bulgarian church and school network independent from the Greek Patriarchate.28 These struggles produced changes in identity and popular sentiments: many began to identify themselves explicitly as Bulgarians rather than Orthodox Christians, and the name Bulgarian began to carry a new connotation.29 In spite of furtive discussions about a separate political life, most Bulgarians did not take an active part in revolutionary action. Bulgarian revolutionary groups operated in Romania, from where they carried out incursions across the Danube that became more frequent in the 1860s. In the early 1870s there were attempts to establish a clandestine revolutionary network in the Bulgarian lands, but they were cut short. The Tanzimat reforms, Great Power intervention in Ottoman affairs, and the emergence of separatist demands among the empire’s Christian populations affected relations among the various communities. Ottoman Muslims who identified themselves with the Ottoman order increasingly began to see the Christians as the protégés of foreign powers whose goal was to increase their influence in the empire. When it came to the Bulgarians specifically, revolts and the incursions of revolutionary groups deepened suspicions towards them. Misgivings about Bulgarian loyalties were further roused by awareness that they enjoyed the special sympathy of Russia, the most relentless Ottoman adversary. At times they even acted as eager collaborators with Russian ambitions. During the wars of 1806–12 and 1828–29 when Russian armies occupied parts of the eastern Balkans, they were joined by Bulgarian volunteers. In the areas bordering

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Serbia, fears of Serbian incursions and possible Bulgarian collaboration led to a buildup of tensions and mutual suspicions between Bulgarians and Muslims. The year 1875 marked the beginning of a period of upheaval that ultimately led to the establishment of Bulgaria. Encouraged by the outbreak of a rebellion in Herzegovina, the Bulgarian Secret Revolutionary Committee based in Bucharest attempted to organize an uprising in the Bulgarian lands. The attempt, which centered around Stara Zagora, fizzled out quickly. Taking advantage of Ottoman preoccupation with unrest in Herzegovina and rumors of war with Serbia, a group of Bulgarian revolutionaries began planning another uprising. The organizers maintained a distance from the central committee in Bucharest, keeping few of its members involved in their plans.30 After hasty preparation, the uprising broke out in April 1876. Rebellious activity engulfed several areas south of the Balkan mountains but most of the region north of the mountains remained largely undisturbed. Because most of the regular Ottoman army had been dispatched to the border with Serbia, the Ottoman authorities sent whatever forces were available to put down the unrest, including many irregulars. Within weeks the uprising was suppressed, and in some places, such as Batak and Perushtitsa, with considerable brutality. The uprising’s bloody end was a prelude to a series of dramatic events. Ottoman actions produced an outcry in Europe, but the turmoil was an opportunity for action to the critics of the regime. A group of pro-constitutional Ottoman bureaucrats led by Midhat Pasha staged a coup; sultan Abdülaziz I (r. 1862–76) was deposed, and Murad V (r. 1876) was installed in his place. Within three months he was dethroned too, his place taken by Abdülhamid II (r. 1876–1909), who appeared open to the coup leaders’ demands for introducing a constitution. In the meanwhile, the Ottomans fought a war with Serbia and Montenegro. Great Power reaction to events in the Balkans proved more consequential. European public opinion was galvanized. Notable figures like William Gladstone called for the expulsion of the Ottoman Empire from Europe.31 In Russia the outpouring of popular sympathy was most vocal. To resolve the crisis, Great Power representatives gathered at a conference in Istanbul in December 1876 as cannon salutes announced the proclamation of the first Ottoman constitution. Among the decisions of the conference was a proposal to establish two autonomous provinces in areas inhabited by Bulgarians. In this way, the Great Powers hoped unrest would come to an end.32 The Ottomans rejected the proposals,



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since they would effectively undermine their sovereignty over large territories. As the Ottoman authorities proceeded to organize the first parliamentary elections in the empire, the conference disbanded amidst a tense atmosphere. Four months later, Russia declared war on the Ottoman Empire.

The Russo-Ottoman War of 1877–78 The Russo-Ottoman War of 1877–78 was a watershed event for the region. It led to the establishment of modern Bulgaria, so for Bulgarians it became known as their War of Liberation. The day of the signing of the preliminary OttomanRussian treaty of San Stefano, 3 March 1878, though not the final peace settlement, subsequently became Bulgaria’s national holiday. For the Ottomans, the war was a major blow because of the territorial and population losses, although they also saw it as a heroic struggle against a better equipped enemy. For the Muslims in the area, including those who remained as part of Bulgaria, the war represented a collective trauma and a defining experience. For Russia, the war was an opportunity to realize its long-term goal of expanding its territorial and strategic influence in the Balkans and Asia Minor at the expense of the Ottoman Empire, possibly even taking over Istanbul. The suppression of the April uprising and the subsequent outcry and sympathy at home provided the advocates of war with a powerful moral justification. Quick victory seemed attainable. The Russians expected to meet a weak Ottoman army and widespread popular support in the areas inhabited by Bulgarians. But the war was important in other respects too. In anticipation of its successful end, Russia made plans for the administration of the lands that would fall under the occupation of its armies, as well as for the organization of the future Bulgarian state. In this context, the war presented an opportunity for realizing other longterm aspirations. Russia had been engaged in efforts to redefine international laws on the conduct of war, and the campaign was an opportunity to demonstrate its genuine commitment to that cause.33 On 24 April 1877 Russia officially declared war on the Ottoman Empire. The war began with an offensive on the Caucasus front, and effective military activities on the Danube commenced in June. On 22 June 1877, just before the Russian troops crossed the river, Tsar Alexander II issued a special proclamation to the Bulgarians announcing Russia’s mission. Led by the sympathies it cherished for its coreligionists, Russia had come to bring an end to the suffering of the Bulgarians. Russia’s mission was to build, not destroy, the proclamation underscored, so

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it pledged readiness to set the beginning of new political life and institutions in Bulgaria and promised justice for all its inhabitants. The proclamation appealed expressly to Bulgaria’s Muslims. It affirmed the Russians’ commitment to bring to justice only the perpetrators of atrocities and not to levy collective punishment upon all Muslims. At the same time, it sought to influence the Muslims, relying on stereotypes about their fatalism. Russia’s mission was presented as the expression of divine justice, so they were urged to bow to their predestination. In return for their obedience, Muslims were guaranteed their lives, honor, and freedom of religion. Bulgarians were encouraged to forget their grudges and, inspired by Christian love, to unite in friendship with people of other religions and nationalities.34 At the beginning of the war, the Russian command deployed 260,000 troops at the Balkan front and 100,000 in the Caucasus. These forces reflected the ethnoreligious diversity of the Russian Empire. In addition, the command had at its disposal 6,000 Bulgarian volunteers and 50,000 Romanian soldiers, all of them active on the Balkan front. Montenegro, still formally at war with the Ottomans, resumed military activity, diverting their attention from the main theater of Russian advance. Serbia, which had previously concluded a peace agreement with the Ottomans, joined Russian efforts a bit later.35 The bulk of Ottoman forces, or about 186,000 soldiers, were dispatched to the eastern Balkans. Most were concentrated in the area between the Danube and the Balkan mountains. More than 140,000 were stationed in other parts of the Balkans and in Istanbul, while 70,000 were deployed to the Caucasus. Several battalions of Egyptian troops were part of Ottoman forces in the European front.36 After crossing the Danube, Russian troops scored quick victories, capturing a number of cities in central and western Bulgaria. Russian forces did not manage to make major inroads in the northeastern regions in the area delimited by Shumen, Varna, Dobrich, and Silistra. Following the crossing of the Danube, a detachment of Russian and Bulgarian troops led by General Gurko advanced south of the Balkan mountains in July, capturing and holding Kazanlǔk and Stara Zagora for a brief period. The initial success was disrupted as Süleyman Pasha moved with many of his units from Montenegro, while Osman Pasha, the Ottoman commander in the northwestern regions, managed to fortify himself in Pleven. The Ottoman counteroffensive forced Gurko’s detachment to withdraw north of the Balkan mountains, while Russian hopes for quick victory were dashed as the siege of Pleven dragged on. At first Russian control over the captured areas was



The Ottoman Imperial Context

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insecure, and decisive advance did not resume until after the fall of Pleven in early December. The situation was further complicated as thousands of Bulgarians from the areas south of the Balkan mountains fled north under the protection of Russian armies following the Ottoman counteroffensive. 37 Shortly after the declaration of war, the Ottoman government established a special council in Istanbul to coordinate military action over a wide geographic area. Critics of the Hamidian regime presented it as one of Abdülhamid II’s first steps in exercising personal control over the empire’s affairs to disastrous ends. Ottoman commanders saw the council as an instrument of the palace. The change of supreme command on the Balkan front shortly after the beginning of the campaign was deemed another strategic blunder.38 To raise morale and capitalize on popular fervor, the Ottomans boosted the ideological elements of the war. In May 1877 Abdülhamid II was awarded the title Gazi, underscoring his leadership in such testing times.39 There is contradictory information about the efforts to qualify the war as jihad. The Ottoman authorities hesitated to proclaim publicly the war a jihad because of concerns about international and domestic repercussions, but they encouraged the publication of pamphlets portraying the war in such terms.40 Domestically, official rhetoric frequently presented the war as a defensive endeavor in which Muslims and non-Muslims participated with equal patriotic zeal. At the same time there were more specific appeals to Muslims portraying the campaign in religious terms underscoring their duty to participate. Such calls were apparently made in a bid to mobilize all available manpower and discourage desertion.41 From August until December 1877 the Ottomans focused on bringing troops north of the Balkan mountains to aid Osman Pasha in the besieged Pleven. The city’s long resistance became the most celebrated moment of the war for the Ottomans. Consequently, the Balkan mountain range and its passes, particularly Shipka, assumed a crucial strategic significance as the Russian troops and their allies tried to prevent the passage of Ottoman military aid to the north. After months of deadlock, at the beginning of December 1877 Osman Pasha’s starved and exhausted forces collapsed as they made one last bid to break the siege. The Caucasus front had already surrendered. With the fall of Pleven, Russian forces continued their advance south, largely unimpeded until they reached the outskirts of Istanbul. On 31 January 1878, the two warring sides signed an armistice at Edirne.42 To foil a further Russian advance to the Ottoman capital, Britain sent two ships to the Bosphorus.

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The war had a profound impact on civilians. Following the declaration of war, the Ottoman authorities introduced military law in the Danube region and the Edirne vilayet, critical areas that Russian armies were expected to pass on their way to Istanbul. Muslim men, apart from the elderly and the disabled, were recruited for auxiliary functions. Strict surveillance of non-Muslims, particularly those suspected of seditious activity, was introduced, and their arms were confiscated.43 The war led to a complete breakdown of societal order and intercommunal relations. People in cities sought to secure guarantees from each other for their own safety. This was particularly important since Bulgarians and Muslims often feared each others’ hostility more than the actions of regular armies. In various places, such as Plovdiv, Stara Zagora, and Kyustendil, prominent Muslims and non-Muslims representing their respective communities gathered to sign agreements pledging that they would not attack each other and would not allow Russian or Ottoman irregular troops to brutalize them.44 In many cases, such contracts proved useless. As Russian troops advanced, capturing more territory, Bulgarians saw the tide of events turning in their favor. A desire to avenge past injustices and the prospects of looting and gaining a position of influence, along with a newly found sense of patriotism, set many of them against the Muslims. In many places the Muslim quarters were looted or set on fire and Muslims were assaulted and killed. Armed bands followed the rear of the Russian army closely and terrorized the remaining Muslims.45 But Bulgarians too feared reprisals from the authorities or fellow Muslims. The situation in areas vacated by regular troops and authorities was particularly precarious. In such places, especially in the countryside, Bulgarians were exposed to the depredations of başıbozuks, bandits, and breakaway groups of retreating Ottoman soldiers.46 People took to hiding in the mountains or sought protection in cities, even if they were under the control of the Ottomans. Shumen, for example, sheltered Bulgarians, as well as Muslims from the neighboring countryside.47 Others sought safety by following Russian troops. Fearing the wrath of Süleyman Pasha’s advancing armies, thousands of Bulgarians from areas south of the Balkan mountains followed Gurko’s retreating detachment in July 1877, causing congestion at the Shipka pass.48 The area south of the Balkan mountains witnessed the worst of violence. Tensions had accumulated from the time of the Stara Zagora and April uprisings, so hostility flared up at the earliest opportunity. As Gurko made his first foray in July 1877, Bulgarians rushed to exact retribution from the Muslims, whereas the



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latter sought revenge after the Ottoman counteroffensive. Stara Zagora became a symbol of devastation and suffering for both Muslims and Bulgarians. In ten days in July 1877 the sizable provincial city was reduced to ashes, its 35,000 inhabitants killed or scattered away. Devastation was so thorough that after the war there were doubts about the continuing existence of the settlement. Stara Zagora is notable in another respect because the events that unraveled there were documented in the only account of the war written by a Muslim civilian, a teacher and poet from the city, Hüseyin Raci Efendi. His chronicle of the days the city changed hands and the perils of Muslim emigration provides vivid insights into Muslim experiences of the war. Unlike the few other published Ottoman accounts of the war, which underscore Ottoman heroism, Raci Efendi’s account is one of suffering. As in other places, Bulgarians and Muslims in Stara Zagora concluded an agreement for mutual protection. But the agreement proved void. Once the Russian vanguard took control of the city, a temporary administration of Bulgarians and Russians set out to prosecute Muslims accused of oppressing Bulgarians in the past. The process was accompanied by a tide of violence against the local Muslims perpetrated by Bulgarians from the city and the neighboring villages, as well as by Bulgarian volunteers and Russian troops. The tide of bloodshed was reversed as Süleyman Pasha’s armies recaptured the city ten days later. This time Bulgarians were exposed to the ire of Ottoman forces and their own Muslim fellow-townsmen. After the Ottoman recapture of the city, most Muslims, including Hüseyin Raci, left Stara Zagora for Istanbul as the city burned down.49 The surviving Bulgarians fled or were sent to other bigger cities, such as Plovdiv.50 After such a bitter showdown, reconciliation between Bulgarians and Muslims seemed impossible. Nevertheless, many Muslims returned to Stara Zagora after the end of the war, when it was already part of the autonomous Eastern Rumelia province. Among them was Hüseyin Raci, who continued serving as a teacher and mufti. His account was posthumously published for the first time in one of Bulgaria’s Muslim reformist newspapers. The war led to an unprecedented displacement of people. Muslims constituted the prevalent number. The wide geographic scope of the war would have made it impossible for the Ottoman authorities to organize the evacuation of all civilians, even if they had any such intentions. They also needed the extra manpower. In some cases, particularly in the Edirne vilayet, the government mobilized Muslim men to help with constructing fortifications. Finally, the authorities had not anticipated the course of the war, hoping that they would be able to hold out against the Russian

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offensive at the Danube. Thus, their responses varied. After the declaration of war, the governor of Tulcha was ordered to ensure that all local inhabitants, Muslims and Christians, evacuate, and burn the depots of provisions. Christians, though, were not inclined to leave.51 In other instances, like Russe, people began fleeing to the neighboring countryside as the city was exposed to bombardment.52 With the fall of Pleven and the retreat of the Ottoman armies, Muslims from areas south of the Balkan mountains began fleeing en masse. A British officer in the Ottoman service witnessed the same sight over large parts of the Bulgarian lands: “Turks moving, in mass, possessed by an almost indescribable terror.”53 The Muslim inhabitants of Sofia began retreating southwards with the Ottoman armies at the beginning of January 1878.54 Around the same time in Plovdiv about fifteen thousand Muslims had gathered at the train station, scrambling to leave.55 Trains were in short supply. Gripped by fear, they tried to secure their place on a train in every possible way. Some clambered on the carriages and even clung to the sides even though they risked freezing to death or perishing under the wheels, as occasionally happened. Once on board, no one moved out of their place even for days for fear of losing the chance of escape. Sometimes people travelled with dead bodies beside them in order not to delay their escape, or they simply dumped them out. With no sanitary facilities, disease spread in dramatic proportions, claiming more lives.56 The Eastern Railway company that owned the line had little control over the transport. A train from Edirne on its way to Plovdiv was stormed by a group of refugees who boarded it at one of the earlier stations and forced it to turn back.57 Most refugees, though, travelled with cattle carts or on foot. Occasionally, Ottoman armies could offer some protection, but most refugees travelled by themselves, usually in groups in the hope of greater safety. The journey exposed them to the perils of the scorching sun and then the severe winter weather, as well as the onslaughts of marauding bands.58 After the conclusion of the armistice, the Ottoman government issued orders for those ready to leave to remain in place.59 The Ottoman parliament sought to initiate measures to alleviate the population pressure on Istanbul by passing measures to transport and resettle a number of refugees in Anatolia and elsewhere in the empire.60 Those who survived the passage were huddled in overcrowded camps and buildings, but some remained outside, where they were decimated by famine, disease, and exposure. In April 1878, for example, a typhoid epidemic in Istanbul claimed the lives of eighteen thousand refugees.61



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It is difficult to provide verifiable estimates about the number of refugees and lives lost during the war and its immediate aftermath. An estimate by a medical commission in the service of the Ottoman refugee authorities suggests that more than half a million refugees from the European part of the Ottoman Empire passed through Istanbul, Rodosto, Burgas, Dede Ağaç, and Varna.62 A comparison of the number of Muslims on the eve of the war with that in the early 1880s after the establishment of Bulgaria and Eastern Rumelia could give a better sense about the demographic changes in these areas. It should be kept in mind, though, that statistics during this period were not precise and the movement of people remained in flux for some time after the conclusion of the definitive peace. According to information in the 1876 Ottoman statistics books for the relevant parts of the Danube and Edirne vilayets that subsequently became part of the Bulgarian state, the number of adult Muslims was about 1,150,000.63 Ottoman statistics books provide no information about underage population so it is difficult to come up with a specific number for the population of all ages. According to census information in Bulgaria and Eastern Rumelia for 1880–81, there were about 750,000–780,000 Muslims living in the two entities.64 Thus, at least 370,000 Muslims disappeared from the area—they either emigrated or died. But in reality, the number was much higher. Proportionally, this represented about a third of the prewar Muslim population. Bulgarian refugees and casualties are more difficult to establish. Only the statistics for the Danube vilayet provides specific information about Bulgarians (Bulgar milleti), while the Edirne salname groups them within the Christian Orthodox category along with the Greeks. According to Ottoman statistics, in 1876 there were 1,170,000 adult Bulgarians in the Danube vilayet; in 1880 there were 1,300,000 Bulgarians in the same area that formed the newly established principality.65 In addition, Bulgarians migrated. In December 1878, for example, the Russian occupation authorities estimated that about 50,000 people had migrated from Ottoman Thrace to the principality.66

Peace Treaties On 3 March 1878, Russia and the Ottoman Empire signed the San Stefano preliminary peace treaty. It represented the triumphant conclusion of fourteen years of Russian diplomacy towards the Ottoman Empire conducted by the prominent Russian ambassador Count Ignatiev, who actively presided over the negotiations. The treaty decreed the establishment of a sizable Bulgarian state,

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which would emerge as the largest country in the Balkans. It would be subject to a two-year Russian occupation. The status of Muslims in Bulgaria and the question of Muslim refugees were among the major issues preoccupying the two negotiating sides. The Ottoman representative Safvet Pasha protested the territorial span of Bulgaria, pointing to the presence of numerous Muslim and Greek populations in certain parts, particularly in the eastern regions. The Russian reaction towards the Muslims in Bulgaria and Muslim refugees was ambivalent. At first, Russian diplomats appeared to indicate that it would be impossible for Muslims to remain.67 They were also reluctant to facilitate the quick repatriation of Muslim refugees, pointing to security concerns, particularly fears of reprisals by both Bulgarians and Muslims.68 Such claims left doubts that this was a premeditated strategy to limit the number of Muslims in the new Bulgarian state. In response, the Ottoman delegation proposed an exchange of populations with respective territorial adjustments. It appears that the proposal represents the first plan of this kind in the region. Later, in the first decades of the twentieth century, the exchange of populations was seen as a viable strategy for resolving the complicated problem of external minorities and was made a reality. According to the Ottoman proposal at San Stefano, Bulgaria would be limited to the territory north of the Balkan mountains, whereas the south would remain an integral part of the Ottoman Empire. The Muslims from the north would be exchanged for the Bulgarians in the south, and each side would be compensated for their property. Russian emissaries rejected the plan.69 Moreover, subsequently the prospect of facilitating the emigration of Bulgarians from the Ottoman imperial domains to Bulgaria and Muslims from Bulgaria to the Ottoman Empire was largely unpopular with Bulgarian and Ottoman governments. Minority populations claimed as fellow-nationals by either side came to be used to assert national aspirations, historic presence, and political leverage.70 In the circumstances, the San Stefano treaty incorporated provisions affirming the rights of various non-Bulgarian populations, including the Muslims (art. 7). The treaty also pledged guarantees for the rights of nonresident Muslim landowners and promised to settle the vakıf question (art. 11).71 For the Ottomans San Stefano represented a major blow, but the pressure of circumstances compelled them to sign it. A “Greater Bulgaria” under Russian influence would soon advance all the way to Istanbul, they feared. However, San Stefano was unacceptable to all the other Great Powers, who feared that it



The Ottoman Imperial Context

29

would practically leave Russia in control of the region. Serbia and Greece also objected to the prospects of a “Greater Bulgaria.” Under Bismarck’s auspices a Great Power congress was convened in Berlin in June 1878 to renegotiate the final peace. In spite of its spectacular victory, Russia had to agree because resistance was difficult: its military forces were exhausted and this time it stood against not only the Ottomans but also its Great Power rivals. The discussions of the congress were dominated by the Great Powers. Ottoman delegates were given to understand that they had little say in the negotiations and had to agree by the final decisions.72 Bulgarian observers could not participate in the debates and relied on Russia to argue their position. Matters relating to Bulgaria and Eastern Rumelia preoccupied several days of the congress discussions. The product of the congress, the Treaty of Berlin,73 was a comprehensive settlement that provided the framework of relations in the Balkans and the Ottoman Empire, as well as other former Ottoman territories. It became the main legal document to which Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire referred in their mutual interactions. The treaty also catered to Great Power aspirations. It sanctioned the Austrian occupation of Bosnia, the Russian takeover of parts of Eastern Anatolia, and the establishment of British administration in Cyprus, all of them former Ottoman territories. Other provisions included the recognition of independence for Serbia, Montenegro, and Romania. The Bulgarian state inaugurated by the Berlin Treaty was dramatically diminished in size. In private meetings, the Great Powers briefly considered a longitudinal division of Bulgaria, a solution favored also by the Ottoman representatives since it would reflect demographic considerations. However, under British pressure the congress adopted the north-south split since the border would be more easily defined by the Balkan mountain range.74 The newly established Bulgarian state was confined in the area between the Danube and the Balkan mountains in addition to the region around Sofia. Bulgaria was to be an autonomous principality under Ottoman suzerainty with a Christian ruler and national militia. An assembly of notables was to convene in Tǔrnovo, Bulgaria’s medieval capital, to vote an organic statute and elect a Bulgarian prince from among candidates approved by the Ottomans and the Great Powers. The Ottoman army was required to leave the country, and Bulgaria was obliged to destroy all fortifications on its territory. The Berlin Treaty also bound the principality to the existing Ottoman customs and railway agreements. In addition, Bulgaria

30

Chapter 1

was expected to pay its Ottoman suzerain a yearly tribute. The period of Russian occupation was cut from two years to nine months, and its expenses would be shouldered by Bulgaria. South of the Balkan mountains, the treaty proclaimed the establishment of a new political and administrative entity—the autonomous province of Eastern Rumelia.75 The province remained under the political and military authority of the sultan but was to be ruled by a Christian governor appointed by the Porte and approved by the Great Powers. Similar to Bulgaria, Eastern Rumelia was subject to a nine-month Russian occupation. However, its internal administration would be designed and supervised by an international commission. A local gendarmerie aided by local militia was charged with maintaining order following the departure of Russian occupation forces. The sultan preserved the right to send troops to the province upon the request of the governor in case its internal security was seriously threatened. Most of the remaining areas originally part of San Stefano Bulgaria were ceded back to the Ottoman Empire. The Berlin Treaty was regarded as a blow by many Bulgarians, who vehemently protested its decisions. That the long-suffering south Bulgarian lands should go back under the sultan’s authority was an unjust and bitter irony.76 One of the most notable characteristics of the Berlin Treaty was the preoccupation with guaranteeing the rights of all populations, particularly those who remained in the position of minorities. In this sense the Berlin Treaty and to some extent San Stefano were the culmination of a growing international trend of concern with the fate of minorities. Eleven of the Berlin Treaty’s sixtysix clauses were about guaranteeing religious freedom and political and civil rights of various populations in Bulgaria, Eastern Rumelia, Serbia, Montenegro, Romania, and the Ottoman Empire.77 The treaty and the negotiations surrounding it did not mention the word minority. The term entered lastingly into the legal and diplomatic vocabulary and widespread use with the negotiations of minority protection treaties following the Treaty of Versailles (1919). Yet the deliberations of the Berlin Congress and the treaty itself suggest concern with such populations. The Berlin Congress and treaty were the first occasions when Great Powers considered seriously the fate of Muslims and made explicit guarantees for their rights. In their dealings with the Ottoman Empire prior to 1877–78, the European Great Powers had been preoccupied with the fate of Ottoman Christians. The Treaty of Paris (1856) and the Andrassy note (1875), as well as general



The Ottoman Imperial Context

31

European policy towards the empire during the Tanzimat, were all examples of this trend. The Muslims had rarely been taken into consideration. The legal documents sanctioning the existence of Ottoman successor states, such as Serbia and Greece, showed no such concerns. According to the imperial decree recognizing Serbian autonomy in 1829, all Muslims, except for those residing in the fortresses and their immediate vicinity, were required to leave.78 When it came to Greece, the 1832 treaty signed by the Ottoman Empire, Britain, France, and Russia had a somewhat evasive wording. It gave permission “to individuals to quit the ceded territories and to sell their estates,” an indirect reference to the Muslims. It was only a few months later, on the occasion of the incorporation of further territory into the Greek kingdom, that the Greek regency pledged to grant the remaining Muslims the same protection and freedom of conscience as those enjoyed by the other subjects.79 The Ottoman Empire itself had made an earlier attempt to act as a protector of the rights of Muslims outside the empire. The Treaty of Küçük Kaynarca (1774) negotiated between the Ottomans and the Russians, upon ceding Crimea to Russian control, recognized the Ottoman sultan-caliph as the supreme spiritual leader of the Crimean Tatars. However, this was a bilateral treaty, not a larger international convention, and for all its exalted rhetoric, the sultan had no real authority. Nor was this treaty a part of a systematic discourse of protection of rights. By 1878 sentiments among Europeans had changed so that Muslims too were deemed worthy of being granted guarantees of freedom and rights on a par with non-Muslims. This was also due to the fact that the Ottomans themselves became attuned to European discourses of rights, freedom, and humanitarianism, as well as to their growing resentment towards European preoccupation with the Christians. Upon the outcry over the suppression of the April uprising, Ottoman public figures, among them the Young Ottoman activist Ali Suavi, penned pieces to European journals to deny the accusations of brutality and instead point to Bulgarian rebel attacks upon Muslim civilians.80 Just as importantly, the Russo-Ottoman War and the flight of thousands of Muslims played a role in evoking sympathies and raising humanitarian concerns. European diplomats followed closely the course of military activities, while journalists reported on them in considerable detail, relaying heartbreaking scenes—with words but also illustrations. As the Berlin Congress began its deliberations, it received an appeal from Muslims in the affected areas in the Balkans and

32

Chapter 1

Anatolia demanding justice.81 Thus it was impossible to continue ignoring the Muslims and simply give ear to Gladstone’s calls for driving the Turks bag and baggage out of Europe. The San Stefano Treaty also included pledges for the protection of various groups, including Turks, in Bulgaria, Serbia, and Montenegro. It affirmed the Muslims’ right to hold property in these countries and envisioned convening an Ottoman-Bulgarian vakıf commission. The Berlin Treaty extended guarantees for the individual rights and liberties of the region’s populations, even adding a clause on freedom of religion.82 With regard to Bulgaria, article 5 guaranteed the freedom of religion and religious organization of the various creeds and outlawed religion-based discrimination. Article 4 proclaimed that the rights and interests of the Turkish, Vlah, and Greek populations in Bulgaria were to be respected in the course of the elections for the assembly of notables. Article 12 affirmed the property rights of the Muslims regardless of whether they stayed in or left the principality, and it envisioned the appointment of a joint Ottoman-Bulgarian commission to settle the vakıf question. The Ottoman Empire too was obliged to protect freedom of worship and guarantee equal civil and political rights for all its inhabitants (art. 62). In addition, a special European commission was convened to investigate the condition of the thousands of Muslim refugees in Thrace and the Rhodopi. In spite of the ambitions of the Berlin Treaty to secure a lasting settlement, its conditions were not strictly abided by. About seven years after its signing, Bulgaria annexed Eastern Rumelia, turning it into an integral part of the Bulgarian state. The Ottoman-Bulgarian vakıf commission did not convene until 1909, after Bulgaria’s declaration of independence. As for the clauses promising freedom and equality, their application was a matter of debate. On 13 July 1878, after the representatives of all powers signed the Berlin Treaty, the congress disbanded. As the modern Bulgaria state came into existence, its inhabitants had to forge new lives in the changed political environment.

2

Untangling from Empire

administrative apparatus of Bulgaria and Eastern Rumelia were set during the nine-month Russian provisional administration. When most Russian personnel left by early 1879, the organizational framework was complete. In this respect Bulgaria’s experience was unique compared to other Balkan states. Newly established Serbia and Greece had also employed foreign personnel or brought Serbs and Greeks from abroad to aid their initial organization, but these did not amount to systematic organizational projects. Russia’s expectations that it would enjoy overwhelming influence over the new country’s affairs were soon dashed, following a rift with the first Bulgarian prince Alexander Battenberg. In 1886 he was forced to abdicate by a group of Russophile Bulgarian officers. The new ruler, Ferdinand Saxe Coburg Gotha, headed Bulgaria as a prince from 1887 until 1908 and then as a tsar until 1918. He sought to play an active role in internal politics, particularly from 1903 onward, which provoked resentment on the part of many Bulgarians. The Bulgarian political regime was remarkably liberal for its time. The first Bulgarian constitution was based on a project prepared by Russian administrators and Bulgarians, drawing on the Romanian and Greek constitutions, which in turn were modeled on the Belgian one. The constitution project underwent additional modifications over the course of debates in the Bulgarian constituent assembly in February 1879, becoming even more liberal in its final form. The constitution was in force throughout the entire period under consideration, except for a brief period in 1881–82 when it was suspended by prince Battenberg. THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE

34

Chapter 2

Eastern Rumelia remained an autonomous province in the Ottoman empire under the rule of a Christian governor. A special European commission took up the province’s organization, with the departure of Russian officials producing a project for an organic statute. In spite of guarantees for the rights of all groups, Bulgarian predominance was becoming increasingly apparent, and the sultan’s authority was tenuous. The Ottoman flag was never hoisted, and the only anthem Bulgarians in the province sang on every formal occasion was a version of the Bulgarian one, at times with modified verses that called for the capture of Istanbul.1 Thus when the coup proclaiming the union between Eastern Rumelia and Bulgaria was staged in Plovdiv on 18 September 1885 by a group of Bulgarian officers, not many were taken by surprise. The Ottoman Empire avoided formally acknowledging the union by recognizing prince Battenberg as the governor of Eastern Rumelia in the spring of 1886. While the Ottomans continued to insist that Eastern Rumelia was an imperial province with special status, in reality it became an integral part of the Bulgarian state, and its populations of various ethnoreligious backgrounds were considered Bulgarian subjects. In the meanwhile, Bulgaria fought a short war with Serbia in 1885 that gave it the first taste of military victory and boosted the confidence of the young state. From the mid-1890s onward there were visible changes in the country’s priorities. The attention of governments and ordinary people turned towards pursuing the Bulgarian cause in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace. The task was becoming increasingly difficult as Bulgaria had to compete not only with the Ottomans but also with Greek and Serbian aspirations. There was also a growing awareness and sympathy towards the fate of these areas among ordinary Bulgarians, particularly with the outbreak and suppression of the 1902 Gorna Djumaya and 1903 Ilinden-Preobrazhenie uprisings. The struggle intensified with the establishment of the Internal Macedonian Adrianople Revolutionary Organization (IMARO) and the Supreme Macedonian Committee; the two ultimately became bitter rivals. The Bulgarian authorities sought to advance the Bulgarian cause in Macedonia through the Exarchate, a legal institution in the Ottoman Empire, yet some were not averse to using the revolutionary committees. What went on in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace played an important role in the development of the Bulgarian national imagination and transformation of Bulgarian nationalism, and in turn in the state’s policies towards the Muslims.2



Untangling from Empire

35

Bulgaria’s first years were also a time when the country sought to untangle from the Ottoman imperial fabric by pursuing its own state- and nation-building endeavors. The basic organization of the new state had been laid during the period of Russian administration, but there was more do, particularly as Bulgarians tried to circumvent the limitations of their autonomy and forge a state as independent as possible from their imperial suzerain. At the same time Bulgarians faced the task of governing a country inhabited by significant numbers of non-Bulgarians, which, like many other experiences, was a novel one. Building a nation and elaborating ideas of nationhood were other challenges. Delving into these processes in full complexity and detail is beyond the scope of this study. Hence the current chapter and the next one will focus primarily on those aspects relating to the Muslims and the Ottomans. The Muslims constituted a special case not only because of their significant number but also because of their implicit connections with the Ottoman Empire. Bulgarian policies towards them were initially guided by the framework provided by the Berlin Treaty, the rules set by the Russian administration that reflected Russian imperial practices, as well as by what Bulgarians already knew from their own experiences in the Ottoman Empire. Yet, over time, other considerations became more prominent: most notably, the treatment of the Muslims increasingly came to be seen as leverage in Bulgarian strategies with regards to the Bulgarian national cause in the Ottoman Empire.

Vassal and Suzerain: A Complex Relationship Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire put considerable efforts into establishing proper bilateral relations although tensions continued simmering under the surface. The two countries concluded railway and telegraph conventions and signed a commercial and customs agreement. In 1904 they negotiated a treaty in a bid to normalize relations after an exceptionally tense period following the uprisings in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace. Beyond these formal agreements, relations were uneasy. Both countries were aware of each other’s clashing aspirations and harbored mutual mistrust. The Ottoman Empire and Bulgaria tried to make the most of the general provisions of the Berlin Treaty, as well as the lack of specific regulations on various other matters, to advance their interests. The tug between them characterized much of the first years of Bulgaria’s existence. Disputes over titles and protocol, along with bickering over the validity and appearance of travel documents lasted longer. Official Ottoman statistical

36

Chapter 2

books listed Bulgaria in the category of the autonomous provinces until the end of the period under discussion, though its special status was noted by placing it in a separate entry box. Eastern Rumelia continued to be treated as an autonomous Ottoman province even after it practically became part of Bulgaria in 1885. Although Ferdinand was recognized as Bulgaria’s prince, he was listed as the governor of Eastern Rumelia and regularly referred to as such in the Ottoman press, much to the displeasure of Bulgarian officials.3 The Ottomans did not miss opportunities to remind the country of its position, occasionally delivering nonchalant jabs. They chided protesting Bulgarian officials for holding an arrogant stance unbecoming to a vassal state.4 In the early years Bulgaria’s ability to act with its own diplomatic powers was another issue of contention. The Ottoman government claimed the right to represent Bulgaria at the negotiations of the Danube commission, an act that Bulgaria vehemently protested,5 while Ottoman statistical books considered foreign representatives stationed in cities such as Sofia and Russe as diplomats sent to the Ottoman Empire.6 Bulgarians for their part sought to demonstrate that they were the new masters of their state. The Bulgarian authorities refused to recognize foreign representatives who carried a letter of introduction to the Ottoman, rather than the Bulgarian, government.7 They sought to assert their authority in other, more symbolic ways. They demanded that Austro-Hungarian ships travelling in Bulgarian waters along the Danube should display the Bulgarian flag along with other appropriate naval insignia and instructed Great Power representations in the country that their staff should not wear fezzes.8 Bulgarians also sought to underscore their country’s special position in comparison to their Balkan neighbors: while Serbia and Romania were founded by a sultanic ferman, Bulgaria was established through the deliberations of an international conference, a fact that apparently gave it a more legitimate and noble birth.9 Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire established diplomatic relations early on. In July 1879 Bulgaria dispatched its first diplomatic representative to Istanbul, who took the title Diplomatic Agent. A few months later, in early 1880, the Ottoman government sent its first commissioner, Nihad Pasha.10 Because of Bulgaria’s vassal status, he could not be styled an ambassador. Nihad Pasha’s title and that of his successors was Ottoman Commissioner to Bulgaria (Bulgaristan komiseri). The Bulgarians accepted him as an official whose duties would involve the resolution of the vakıf question. Consequently, they frequently referred to the Ottoman Commissioners as vakıf commissioners, but they assumed the de



Untangling from Empire

37

facto duties of ambassadors. Initially, the sultan recommended that Ottoman Commissioners should be Muslims, given the fact that they would have to defend the rights of the local Muslims and deal with questions of their estates, but later this rule was loosened.11 In 1880 the Ottoman authorities installed three trade representatives, in Russe, Varna, and Vidin. Another trade representation was opened in the 1890s in Burgas.12 Bulgarians hesitated to recognize them without strict definition of their duties out of concerns that they would intervene among the local Muslims. 13 Ottoman trade representatives were formally recognized in 1896–97 with the establishment of Bulgarian trade representations in the empire.14 Another Ottoman official, with the title Second Secretary to the Ottoman Commissioner, was appointed in Plovdiv in the 1890s.15

Bulgaria’s Muslims: Composition and Geographic Distribution In spite of the Muslim exodus during the war, Bulgaria remained the home of a significant Muslim population. The first official census in the Bulgarian Principality was conducted in December 1880–January 1881. According to it, the country’s population was 2 million. About 1.4 million were Orthodox Christians and 580,000 were Muslims, representing 28 percent of its population. Bulgarian censuses classified populations in terms of mother tongue as well. According to this criterion, 1.35 million were Bulgarians and about 530,000 Turks. In addition, there were other ethnoreligious groups: Roma, Jews, Tatars, Greeks, and Armenians.16 In Eastern Rumelia the first census was conducted in 1880. Out of a population of over 800,000, about 570,000 were Bulgarians, 170,000 Muslims, 42,000 Greeks, and close to 20,000 Muslim and non-Muslim Roma. The province’s population included about 10,000 Catholics, as well as Jews and Armenians.17 Over the subsequent years the Muslim population, which had already dropped significantly since the Ottoman period, continued to decline, mainly because of emigration but also lower birth rates (see table 1). By 1905 the number of Muslims fell to 600,000 and their proportional representation to 15 percent.18 Muslims were unevenly distributed throughout the territory of Bulgaria. The overall pattern was similar to that of the Ottoman period, but the absolute numbers of Muslims were lower. Muslims lived in greater numbers and concentration in the northeastern part of the country (the eastern part of the original principality). In the 1880s the districts around Shumen, Eski Cuma, and Razgrad, Turks accounted for 50–80 percent of the local inhabitants, while in the districts

TABLE 1 

Religious distribution of the population of Bulgaria, 1881-1910.

Religious groups

1881 Principality/ North Bulgaria only

1885 Eastern Rumelia only

1888

Absolute numbers

%

Absolute numbers

%

Absolute numbers

1,404,409

69.94

730,370

77.48

2,424,371

578,060

28.79

192,453

20.42

14,342

0.72

6,885

Catholics

6,085

0.30

Gregorian Armenian

3,837

Protestants Other or unknown

Christian-Orthodox Muslims Jews

Total

1893 %

1900

1905

Absolute numbers

%

Absolute numbers

Absolute numbers

%

Absolute numbers

%

76.86 2,606,786

78.74

3,019,999

80.66 3,344,790

82.88

3,643,136

83.99

676,215

21.44

643,258

19.43

643,300

17.18

603,867

14.97

602,084

13.90

0.73

24,352

0.77

28,307

0.86

33,663

0.90

37,656

0.93

40,070

0.92

10,430

1.10

18,505

0.59

22,617

0.68

28,569

0.76

29,684

0.74

32,149

0.74

0.19

1,720

0.18

5,839

0.19

6,643

0.20

13,809

0.37

12,622

0.31

12,270

0.28

523

0.02

580

0.06

1,358

0.04

2,384

0.07

4,524

0.12

5,644

0.14

6,254

0.14

763

0.04

242

0.03

3,735

0.11

718

0.02

419

0.01

1,312

0.03

1,550

0.03

2,007,919

100

975,030

100 3,154,375

100

3,310,713

100 4,337,513

100

100 3,744,283

%

1910

100 4,035,575

Table compiled from information in Mihail K. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria po trite pǔrvi prebroyavania,” part 3; Statisticheski godishnik na Bǔlgarskoto Tsarstvo, 1912. SOURCE 



Untangling from Empire

39

of Varna, Russe and Provadi, Muslims constituted from a quarter up to a half of the local population. The highest concentration of Turks was in the Deli Orman region. In the Akkadınlar district, for example, Muslims were over 90 percent of all inhabitants. The Muslims in these regions were predominantly Turks. Westward, the number of Muslims gradually decreased. In Sevlievo, Svishtov, Pleven, and Lovech counties, they were about 6–15 percent. Most of the Muslims were Turks, yet some of the villages around Pleven and Lovech were inhabited by Pomaks.19 In the eastern part of the principality the Bulgarians lived primarily in urban centers and settled only reluctantly into the countryside and the purely Muslim villages. In some areas this occurred as late as 1900.20 South of the Balkan mountains, Muslims were proportionally dominant in the eastern parts. Muslims accounted for between a quarter and a third of the population in the districts of Karnobad, Anhialo, and Kazanlǔk. Many Muslims lived in the region south of Plovdiv and Tatar Pazardjik through the Rhodopi mountains. The higher ridges of the eastern Rhodopi were inhabited mainly by Turks, while the western part of the mountains was the home of sizable Pomak populations. Over a third of the villages in the districts of Rupchos and Peshtera were Pomaks. Muslims lived in small, even negligible, numbers in the western and southwestern part of the country. In the 1880s Muslims were 2–3 percent of the inhabitants of the districts of Vratza, Sofia, and Kyustendil. In these regions most Muslims were concentrated in the towns; there were only few purely Turkish and mixed Turkish-Bulgarian villages.21 Turks made up the overwhelming majority, or over 90 percent, of all Muslims in Bulgaria. Besides Turks, there were smaller groups of Muslim Roma, Tatars, and Pomaks. Turks lived throughout most of the country, but they were in higher concentrations in the northeastern regions. Most Tatars lived in villages and towns in the northeastern parts of the country usually mixed with Turks. Many of the Roma were Muslim. Roma were also among the ranks of the refugees during the war. Frequently treated with contempt by Bulgarians and Turks alike, they lived in towns and villages throughout the entire country, and some led an itinerant life. Most Roma spoke their own language, but about a third spoke Turkish, and some spoke Romanian and Bulgarian (table 2).22 The Circassians were the only Muslim group barred from staying in Bulgaria. For Bulgarians they were synonymous with terror, ruthlessness, and anarchy. The degree of animosity was such that when the candidacy of prince Alexander Mingrelli was put forward in 1886 to replace the abdicated Battenberg as the new Bulgarian ruler, Bulgarians vehemently objected not only because of the nobleman’s reputation for gambling and profligacy but also because he was Circassian.23

TABLE 2 

Distribution of the population of Bulgaria by mother tongue, 1881-1910.

Religious groups

1881 Principality/ North Bulgaria only

1885 Eastern Rumelia only

1888

%

Absolute numbers

1,345,507

67.01

681,477

72.29 2,326,250

73.75 2,505,326

527,284

26.26

168,881

17.92

607,331

19.25

569,728

17.21

Roma

37,600

1.87

26,724

2.83

50,291

1.59

52,132

Jewish

14,020

0.70

6,982

0.74

23,541

0.75

Greek

11,552

0.58

53,018

5.62

58,326

Serbo-Croatian

1,894

0.09

German

1,275

0.06

161

French

164

0.01

Russian

1,123

Turkish

Other and unknown Total

Absolute numbers

%

Absolute numbers

1900

Absolute numbers Bulgarian

%

1893 %

1905

1910

Absolute numbers

%

Absolute numbers

%

Absolute numbers

%

75.67 2,887,860

77.13

3,210,502

79.48

3,523,311

81.23

589,656

14.41

514,658

12.75

504,560

11.63

1.57

89,549

2.39

67,396

1.67

76,424

1.76

27,531

0.83

32,573

0.87

36,446

0.90

38,554

0.89

1.85

58,518

1.77

70,887

1.89

69,820

1.73

50,866

1.17

2,142

0.07

818

0.02

1,503

0.04

2,630

0.07

3,022

0.07

0.02

2,245

0.07

3,620

0.11

4,432

0.12

5,039

0.12

4,800

0.11

106

0.01

544

0.02

356

0.01

606

0.02

648

0.02

607

0.02

0.06

168

0.02

1,065

0.03

928

0.03

1,714

0.05

3,299

0.08

2,538

0.06

67,500

3.36

5,163

0.55

82,640

2.62

91,756

2.78

115,503

3.08

125,137

3.10

132,700

3.06

2,007,919

100

975,030

100 3,154,375

100

3,310,713

100 4,337,513

100

100 3,744,283

100 4,035,575

Table compiled from information in Mihail K. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria po trite pǔrvi prebroyavania,” part 3; Statisticheski godishnik na Bǔlgarskoto Tsarstvo, 1912. SOURCE 



Untangling from Empire

41

The most numerous Pomak populations were concentrated in the western Rhodopi mountains, where in the 1890s their number was about 15,000.24 Pomaks lived in north Bulgaria too around Lovech, Pleven, Oryahovo, and Teteven, where immediately after the war their number was around 10,000.25 Many of them fled during the Russo-Ottoman War and later continued to emigrate to the empire.26 Emigration, however, was not the only way to avoid the new political order. In 1879 twenty-one Pomak villages in the eastern Rhodopi refused to accept the authority of the Eastern Rumelian administration, earning the label “the Pomak republic.” They were officially ceded to the empire at the Tophane conference in 1886.27 The arrangement remained in place until the Balkan Wars (1912–13), when these villages along with other territories with Pomak populations were incorporated into Bulgaria. The experiences of unorthodox Muslims, more specifically the AleviKızılbaş communities, in the period under consideration are difficult to reconstruct because of the lack of sources. Unlike Sunni Muslims they could not rely on the support of the Ottoman authorities, and it remains unknown to what extent emigration to the Ottoman Empire was an appealing option. It is impossible to estimate their numbers since censuses did not record sectarian differences among the Muslims. Most Alevi-Kızılbaş lived in the Deli Orman, Gerlovo, and Dobrudja, though there is information about other scattered populations around Stara Zagora and the eastern Rhodopi. In the countryside they often lived in separate villages, rarely mixing with the Sunnis. Kızılbaş also lived in towns. The small town of Akkadınlar had an overwhelmingly Kızılbaş population.28 The central Bulgarian authorities at the time did not show concern with sectarian differences among the Muslims, though some Bulgarians were aware of the Kızılbaş and their differences from Sunnis.29 But regional administrators in the Deli Orman were familiar with these unorthodox groups. They regarded Kızılbaş-Alevi practices as ritual peculiarities, and doctrinal differences, to the extent that they were detected, were viewed with scorn. While the opinions of Bulgarian officials were probably informed by their understanding of Islamic practices, it appears that they also gave an ear to some of the Sunni Muslims, who were set on preserving their dominant position. Siding with the Sunni majority was also a way for Bulgarians to provide concessions to them in exchange for cooperation in other matters. Administrative pragmatism was probably another concern. Dealing with one single group of Muslims, the Sunnis, was a practical solution to an already complicated situation.

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With time, some Kızılbaş began expressing their identity more openly. This process became more pronounced towards the beginning of the twentieth century, when ethnographers noted the appearance of Kızılbaş communities where they had not been previously recorded.30 Alevi groups also made attempts to reassert claims over their institutions. The most prominent case concerned the tekke Demir Baba, located in the village of Mumcular near Razgrad, which was the most important Kızılbaş-Alevi spiritual center in the area. In the aftermath of the dissolution of the janissaries, Ottoman authorities confiscated the tekke and its estates, their management being left to local administrators. In the 1860s the tekke was formally restored to the Bektashi order, but its administrators fled to the empire during the war.31 Since no one claimed the tekke and its properties within the officially specified period, they passed under Bulgarian state ownership. Through the 1880s the tekke and surrounding thick woods remained abandoned, though they were probably open occasionally for visitations. At night the building, avoided even by armed police, served as a bandit hangout. An attempt to reclaim the tekke as a vakıf was made in 1888. In spite of initial skepticism that the place was visited only by “followers of superstition,” the Bulgarian authorities recognized the tekke and its possessions as a vakıf. 32 In 1899 Alevis apparently tried to take control of the tekke’s administration, although it is difficult to know whether they succeeded.33 In the twentieth century AleviKızılbaş groups began drawing the attention of Bulgarian ethnographers.34 One scholar would argue that the Alevi in the Deli Orman were descended from the Bulgars,35 and the tekke became the focus of intense interest in the 1920s–30s following claims that it was built above the grave of khan Omurtag, the second medieval Bulgarian ruler.36 Even less is known about the Sufi orders that were part of the Sunni tradition. In 1903 in Shumen there were still Nakşbendi-Khalidi, Shazeli, and Kadiri sheikhs, though there is no information about their following. These orders were traditionally closely linked to the Sunni establishment, and the sheikhs in question tended to belong to factions supportive of the Ottoman regime. A Shazeli tekke with a resident sheikh existed in Russe in the 1880s.37 In Belogradchik and Plovdiv there were Mevlevi convents that received support from local vakıfs and the imperial treasury, yet there is no information about any resident or nonresident followers. By 1902 the convent in Plovdiv had no disciples, so its sheikh petitioned the Ottomans for permission to sell the tekke and its estates and reestablish it in the empire.38



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The Challenges of the First Years The first years of modern Bulgaria was a testing time for the new state and its Muslim subjects. One challenge lay in establishing effective control over parts of the northeastern regions of the country inhabited by numerous Muslim populations that were plagued by brigandage. During the war Russian troops did not capture the four major fortresses—Silistra, Varna, Dobrich, and Shumen—nor the area delimited by them. The region passed into the hands of the provisional administration when Ottoman troops evacuated following the conclusion of peace.39 The cities came under the new authority without any incidents, but the situation in the countryside was uncertain. As the change of authority loomed, parts of the area saw an increase of brigandage. Brigandage had been endemic in the local thick forests even during the Ottoman period. In the aftermath of the war, though, it assumed a different dimension, raising fears that it was a concerted challenge against the new regime and would grow into a larger Muslim uprising. The brigands were exclusively Muslims and were a motley crew: Ottoman army deserters, common highwaymen, and conscription evaders.40 Among them there were also people who sought to purposefully challenge the new authority or avenge the suffering of their coreligionists in the war. They were aided by groups of Circassians and Turks, some of them originally from the area, who crossed from the Ottoman Empire directly or via Romania. According to a tip-off about one such incursion in the summer of 1880, a group planned to attack the Bulgarians in several villages because during the time of the Russian administration, they had robbed many Muslims.41 Most of the time, though, the targets of the brigands’ exploits were both Bulgarians and Muslims, but generally, they did not dare attack the Russian military.42 To counter brigandage, the Bulgarian government declared a state of emergency in the eastern districts, giving the executive authority extraordinary prerogatives to act. A field court-martial staffed by Russian officers travelled around to dispense justice. The authorities also sought to enlist the collaboration of Muslims by encouraging them to join the militia and gendarmerie.43 The Eastern Rumelian militia also engaged in operations across the border.44 By 1883 brigandage was largely uprooted and the area brought under control. However, the violent measures of these first years were deeply ingrained in the Muslims’ memory.

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The Rhodopi was another troubled region. In the spring and summer of 1878, remnants of the Ottoman army, başıbozuks, Muslim refugees, and some local Muslims, Turks, and Pomaks, whose number was estimated to be about ten thousand, put up a tough resistance.45 The Rhodopi uprising petered out in the fall of 1878. A pocket of resistance did remain: the area around the Tǔmrash village headed by Ahmed Ağa refused to yield to the Rumelian authorities. A special European commission was appointed in accordance with the decisions of the Berlin Treaty to investigate the situation.46 The fear of Muslim insurgency persisted in subsequent years, particularly when tensions with the Ottoman Empire ran high. Rumors about an imminent Muslim uprising in the northeastern parts of the country circulated in 1885 and in 1897, when the Bulgarian Ministry of Foreign and Religious Affairs instructed muftis to advise the Muslims to abandon any such plans.47 In the summer of 1903 there were anxious rumors about a secret organization in the Deli Orman whose members would rebel in the event of an Ottoman-Bulgarian war.48 The refugee crisis and the repatriation of Muslim refugees were other daunting challenges. In July 1878 the Russian provisional administration estimated that just in Istanbul and the area around it, there were about 100,000 Muslim refugees awaiting repatriation.49 The Rhodopi commission, citing Ottoman statistics, put the number of Muslim refugees in eastern Thrace at 150,000.50 In addition, as the terms of the postwar settlement took shape, there was a growing stream of Bulgarian refugees from areas remaining under Ottoman control. In December 1878 in Eastern Rumelia there were 30,000 Bulgarian refugees from the Edirne sancak; another 20,000 from Ottoman Macedonia were in the district of Sofia.51 It is impossible to determine the number of people who fall into the category of what can be called internally displaced, but they were also a considerably high number. Repatriation was complicated by logistical and security considerations. Because of the 1875–76 uprisings and the war, in many areas intercommunal relations had broken down completely, so there were risks of bloody reprisals. In places such as Batak, Stara and Nova Zagora, Shipka, and the valley of the river Tundja, the return of Muslims was deemed virtually impossible. Russian officials even proposed repatriating Muslims originally from these areas somewhere else.52 Food and shelter were other pressing problems because of the wartime devastation.53 Crops were meager, since a substantial part of the land had remained uncultivated, and many of the cattle and horses were either



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requisitioned or had perished. To complicate the problem further, Bulgarians whose homes had been destroyed, along with Bulgarian refugees, had been settled in empty Muslim houses. They had to be evicted after the original owners returned, causing further logistical pressures and discontent.54 The brunt of dealing with the crisis fell upon the Russian administration. According to the rules of repatriation negotiated by a special Ottoman-Russian commission, returning refugees were expected to present documents confirming their residence; they would then be organized in convoys escorted by Russian soldiers. Muslims accused of committing atrocities against the Christians were not allowed back.55 The Russian provisional authorities complied with the repatriation agreement but at the same time sought to limit the number of returning Muslim refugees, pointing to safety concerns and provisioning constraints. Such arguments did not lack validity, but they also suggest that the situation was seen as an opportunity to limit the number of Muslims in the new state. Citing the risk of disturbances, the head of the Russian administration, Dondukov-Korsakov, advised letting back as few Muslims as possible. He instructed the mufti of Edirne to dissuade the forty thousand refugees in the area from returning to their native places, pointing to the perils to which they would expose themselves.56 Dondukov-Korsakov proposed an exchange of populations to his superiors, suggesting that the Muslims of Eastern Rumelia should be exchanged for the Bulgarians in the mixed areas of the Edirne vilayet. The process would involve a swap of estates as well. The properties of the two hundred thousand Bulgarians living in parts of the Edirne province would be sufficient to compensate for Muslim estates in Eastern Rumelia, he reckoned.57 There is no evidence that the proposal was considered. Yet, it attests that arguments about population exchange continued to circulate. The repatriation of Muslim refugees continued as authority in the principality passed into Bulgarian hands. In the early years Bulgarians pursued a similar strategy of controlling the number of returning Muslims. Bulgarians often cited logistical and security concerns. They declared that they were unable to support destitute people, so only those who had adequate means would be allowed to reenter the country.58 Strict control was also necessary to prevent the entry of people who might join the ranks of the brigands. To these ends Bulgarians ordered shipping companies in Istanbul not to allow Muslims without Bulgarian visas and refused to recognize the Ottoman passports granted to returning refugees.59 In other cases they openly advised Muslims who had been implicated

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in repressions against the Bulgarians in the past not to go back as they could not guarantee their safety against popular anger.60 Knowing the fate of their coreligionists also dissuaded some Muslims from returning. In the summer of 1878, a court-martial in Plovdiv sentenced to death two prominent Muslim notables for complicity with the Ottoman irregulars in the suppression of the 1876 April uprising. The sentence was commuted to deportation to the Ottoman Empire,61 but the case served as a warning to others. Population movement continued in subsequent years. Many Muslims returned only briefly to sell their estates, after which they emigrated permanently, while Muslims living in Bulgaria and Eastern Rumelia sought to leave too. The constant flux exasperated the Bulgarians, fanning further concerns about the infiltration of people seeking to undermine order. The authorities tried to counter this trend by issuing temporary travel documents to Muslim families emigrating from Bulgaria, since such a measure would effectively prevent them from returning.62 For the Bulgarians, fixing the residence of Muslims was crucial for settling their status and citizenship, and consequently, the taxes they owed. It was also important for preventing the emergence of ambiguous categories that could become channels of Ottoman influence. Even more significantly, limiting the number of Muslims facilitated the prospects of their lands passing into Bulgarian hands, an issue that will be discussed in more detail in the next chapter. The Ottoman authorities repeatedly protested the difficulties posed to the repatriation of refugees and their claims to their properties. Bulgarians in turn rejected such charges, denying any ulterior motives. In the winter of 1882–83 relations reached a breaking point as the two countries were on the verge of severing diplomatic relations, though the crisis eventually dissipated. Muslim emigration from Bulgaria and Eastern Rumelia to the Ottoman Empire continued over the following decades. This time the Bulgarian stance shifted, though it still remained rather ambiguous. Contrary to the first years, when the authorities sought to limit the repatriation of Muslims and were tacitly supportive of Muslims leaving, later on certain Bulgarian officials pointed to the adverse consequences of Muslim emigration. Their views reflected economic and demographic ideas characteristic of the nineteenth century that linked the size of a country’s population to its economic prosperity. Fewer people meant fewer productive hands and less taxes.63 To such Bulgarian officials it mattered little whether it was Muslims or Bulgarians who were working and paying taxes. Although Bulgaria’s population was growing as a result of higher birth rates



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and immigration of Bulgarians from the Ottoman Empire, it was not enough to offset the adverse impact of Muslim emigration.64 In Eastern Rumelia the authorities and provincial legislators had similar concerns.65 Consequently, Bulgarians started to show increasing concern with emigration and even called for measures to curb it. Over the 1880s and early 1890s the consequences of emigration were becoming tangible. Every year provincial governors noted the departure of scores of Muslim families from their districts. Bulgarian estimates suggested that in the period 1881–93 about 190,000 Muslims left the country, including the territory of Eastern Rumelia.66 And it was not just a matter of loss of sheer labor force but also of particular skills. Muslims living in the arid areas of the northeast, for example, knew how to cultivate such land, whereas newcomers did not. Other traditionally prominent occupations in these areas, such as horse breeding, were on the wane as the Muslims who had dominated these vocations left the country.67 In addition Bulgarians were concerned about Muslim emigration since it undermined the image of Bulgaria as a civilized state ruled by law. If life in Bulgaria was so good for the Muslims, then why were they leaving? Indeed, Muslim and Ottoman protests frequently quoted mistreatment or encroachment upon Muslim institutions as the most common reasons for emigration.68 In 1902 in conjunction with another government inquiry into the matter, the authorities introduced new rules for conscription exemption of Muslims, a measure justified partly by a desire to discourage them from emigrating.69 Beyond this, there were few other ostensible steps to address the problem. In spite of such efforts, the realities were contradictory. On one hand, Muslims were exposed to the pressures of nation building and mistreatment, forcing many to leave. On the other, the authorities tried to curb Muslim emigration through bureaucratic measures.70 The documents that potential migrants had to collect from various financial and administrative institutions to receive an emigration passport were numerous, and the fees constituted a considerable burden.71 A more serious barrier to emigration were military obligations: effective army service or the complete payment of the exemption fee, measures that the authorities pursued with particular zeal. Military exemption bound not only the man liable to conscription but also the people acting as his guarantors and his family. Consequently, many Muslims, particularly those living in border regions, tried to flee to the Ottoman Empire illegally.72

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For Muslims, even those who did not want to live under the new political order, leaving their native place was no easy decision. The few records of people parting portray moving scenes. As a group of three hundred Pomaks prepared to leave Chepelare for a new village in Ottoman Thrace, they cried and sang sad songs, bidding farewell to their relatives and fellow villagers. On the way to the border, women cried and occasionally prostrated themselves with their faces touching the ground.73 The prospect of emigration was on many Muslims’ minds. It brought a sense of uncertainty and dissuaded them from investing efforts in their future in Bulgaria.74 Muslim reform movement activists were particularly critical of emigration, as will be discussed in the final chapter.

The Bulgarian Nation and the Muslims Prior to the establishment of Bulgaria, nationalist activists and intellectuals discussed at length the suffering of the Bulgarians under Ottoman rule. Yet, they only rarely spoke about the future Bulgarian nation and state or the possible place of non-Bulgarian communities. It was understood that the Turkish oppressors would be driven away. But what would happen to the multireligious and multiethnic mix that inhabited the Bulgarian lands? And what would be the fate of the numerous Muslims? These were questions seldom considered, at least in writing. In an article published in 1875, Hristo Botev (1848–76), the fiery revolutionary, poet, and publicist known for his socialist sympathies, considered the possible participation of the Turks in revolutionary struggles. In this article Botev, who usually poured indiscriminate scorn on all Turks, stressed that the existing oppressive order of “sultans and capitalists” was the real reason for the suffering of the Bulgarians as well as of the Turks. So, if the latter abandoned their fanaticism and paid no attention to national distinctions, the Bulgarians would readily embrace them in the struggle for overthrowing tyranny.75 The words that Vasil Levski penned a few years prior to Botev’s have become more renowned, particularly in the twentieth century. Levski envisioned the future Bulgarian state as a republic where “all people will live under the same pure and holy laws. . . . For the Turk, for the Jew, etc., whatever they are, it will be equal for all.” It was not the Turkish people who his organization was fighting but the Ottoman government, which ruled in a “barbaric way” over Bulgarians as well as Turks.76 Even though the statement was not as popular during the period under consideration, the idea of a government guided by civic principles that



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afforded equal treatment of all diverse communities, which in essence this quote conveyed, underpinned the official policies and rhetoric of the Bulgarian state. Just as importantly, in this respect Bulgaria had to take into account the provisions of the Berlin Treaty, which guaranteed equal treatment for all communities regardless of their ethnic or religious background. When it came to the Muslims, this approach was intertwined with strategic considerations. For the Bulgarians, the period under consideration was crucial for constructing their visions of the Bulgarian nation. Bulgarian national imagination and the nation-building endeavors had two interrelated dimensions: internal and external. The internal one concerned developments within Bulgaria itself. The external was directed at realizing the national dream of expanding the Bulgarian state to include Macedonia and Thrace, areas that were at the time under Ottoman control. Similarly, in the Bulgarian imagination there emerged two coexisting concepts of the nation. One was a larger nation defined according to civic criteria, the Bulgarian narod, or people, which included all inhabitants of the country regardless of their ethnic, religious, or cultural background. They were the citizens of the same homeland, to which they owed civic loyalty, and they were to enjoy full equality and rights according to its laws. This was the nation envisioned in legislation and the one that government officials, intellectuals, and patriotic individuals frequently invoked when they addressed audiences, corresponded with foreign officials, or discussed legislation. This nation was made up of various nationalities (narodnosti), such as Bulgarians, Turks, Jews, Greeks, and Roma, who all enjoyed equal individual rights. They were all “compatriots” (sǔtoechestvenitsi).77 The other nation was more narrowly defined, though its imagined geographic span was much larger. It consisted of the Bulgarians, or those deemed to be Bulgarians, and included not only the ones living in Bulgaria but also many of the inhabitants of Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace. This category could be fluid. Shared religion was not indispensable for being considered Bulgarian, as the case of the Pomaks demonstrates. Bulgarian officials and intellectuals were well aware that national consciousness and loyalties could be steered and cultivated. Education was regarded as instrumental in such endeavors. The authorities realized its potential in Ottoman Macedonia and made considerable efforts to use it in Bulgaria as well, though when it came to the Muslims there was more rhetoric than actual initiatives.

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The two concepts of the nation coexisted in uneasy tension and even conflict. And in spite of the inherent strains and contradictory goals of the two national agendas, the Bulgarian state pursued both at the same time. Despite the exalted rhetoric about the equality of all nationalities, there was an implicit understanding that the Bulgarians were the dominant group within the larger narod. They were its backbone and most loyal element. Other groups could retain their religion, language, and institutions, but Orthodox Christianity held a prominent position, and Bulgarian language and culture were the dominant ones in public life. And while all citizens of Bulgaria were legally equal, the Bulgarians were culturally superior. What was even more relevant to the Muslims, Bulgarian nationalism, along with many of its public displays, had a strong anti-Ottoman character. There were other inherent ambiguities. While the Bulgarian constitution and official rhetoric emphasized individual rights, the authorities often tended to treat non-Orthodox communities as groups whose interests were represented by their religious leaders. This was particularly true for the Muslims. Ironically, this arrangement was reminiscent of the situation in the Ottoman Empire at the time. The Tanzimat reforms sought to transform the empire’s inhabitants into Ottomans, an ostensibly nondenominational category, but at the same time the millet system, which classified non-Muslim Ottoman populations in terms of religion headed by their respective leaders, remained. It was not only in Bulgaria or in nation-states where broader concepts of the nation coexisted uneasily with more exclusive ones. In the Ottoman Empire, Ottomanism emphasizing the legal equality between Muslims and non-Muslims coexisted alongside other concepts that focused on the Muslims and then Turks as the backbone of the Ottoman nation, a trend that became increasingly pronounced during the Hamidian and Young Turk periods. In the Russian Empire in the nineteenth century, the primacy of Orthodox Christianity was consistently underscored, while the rightful place of non-Orthodox populations was reaffirmed alongside the idea of the tsar as the protector of all imperial subjects.78 The Muslims, who were implicitly associated with the Ottoman Empire, constituted a special case. They became the objects of specific cultural discourses, while policies towards them were shaped by a complex mix of cultural representation, strategic considerations, and adherence to the Berlin Treaty. Bulgarian discussions of state- and nation-building were formulated in implicit relationship to Europe, the Ottoman Empire, and the idea of civilization. Echoing



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contemporary European discourses, Bulgarians saw Europe and the Ottoman Empire as standing at different levels on the civilizational ladder. Bulgarians regarded themselves as rightful members of the European family whose development had been stalled by Ottoman rule. Now that they were free, they hurried to catch up with what they believed they had missed in terms of civilization, European states serving as the natural models. To them it was not just a matter of building a new state and nation but constructing them at a higher cultural level corresponding to the principles of modern civilization. These arguments reflected contemporaneous developments. Civilization was a ubiquitous concept in Europe that also justified colonial endeavors—from the British in India and the French in West Africa to Austrians in Bosnia and Russians in Central Asia.79 European powers often invoked it with regard to the Ottoman Empire.80 Bulgarians quickly internalized and began reproducing such tropes. It proved an ironic turn. The Bulgarians’ own fate in the Ottoman Empire a few years previously had contributed to the elaboration of European discourses of civilization, humanitarianism, and the Ottomans’ otherness. But as they embarked upon the road of catching up with this civilization, Bulgarians, along with the whole Balkan region, would not be seen as fully European.81 Bulgarian claims of civilization rested, among other things, on the country having a constitutional government, laws guaranteeing equality, justice, and tolerance, and freedom for all subjects regardless of their religious or national background. These practices allowed Bulgaria to assert not only cultural but also moral superiority. The treatment of the Muslims could serve Bulgarians in flaunting their own civilizational success.82 Consequently, Bulgarian officials reiterated that in Bulgaria the Muslims enjoyed full constitutionally guaranteed freedom and rights, as well as equality with their Bulgarian compatriots.83 And because of certain concessions, such as the possibility for military exemption and support for Muslim schools, some even came to argue that the Muslims enjoyed excessive privileges compared to their Bulgarian compatriots. The words of one parliamentary deputy are indicative of such sentiments: to him the Muslims were the “spoiled children of Bulgaria.”84 In this vein any complaints alleging the mistreatment of Muslims were rejected as untrue or as gross exaggerations of trivial incidents or common criminal acts. If such concerns were raised by the Ottoman authorities, they were seen as a pretext to meddle in Bulgarian internal affairs and lame attempts to divert attention from their misdeeds in Macedonia.

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A particular strand of orientalist discourse developed concurrently with Bulgarian nation-building endeavors.85 Bulgarians frequently described the Muslims as backward, fatalist, conservative, incapable of progress and unable to appreciate the benefits of free constitutional government. Many attributed this to their fanaticism, which was a fundamental trait of their character, they claimed. After losing their politically dominant position, Muslims were unable to get used to the new political order. As one district governor put it: “The constitutional regulations and the liberal institutions remained incomprehensible to [the Turk’s] understanding and seem to him contradictory to the centuries-old traditions. Respect and obedience to any authority, this is a duty that the Turk carries out like a religious obligation, but under the condition that this authority corresponds in terms of culture to his worldview and does not limit the expression of his instincts for wild freedom. The authority here, however, would never go down to this level.” To shake off poverty and “rise to the level of a citizen of a constitutional country, the Turk needs education and culture.” But these, according to the report’s author, were difficult to attain.86 Other Bulgarians argued with an air of patronizing sympathy that the backwardness of the Muslims was a consequence of their poverty and small numbers, which deprived them of the advantages of the majority. It was the duty of the Bulgarians to help Muslims by uplifting them culturally through paternal guidance.87 When it came to concrete civilizing efforts with regard to the Muslims, there was more rhetoric than action. The Bulgarian authorities were conscious that direct intervention into Muslim life would bring about Ottoman retaliation with regard to Bulgarian church and school affairs in the empire. Just as significantly, there was little discussion of how these civilizing efforts could be achieved. Bulgarian statesmen and administrators anticipated that life in the conditions of civilized Bulgaria would exercise a beneficial influence upon the Muslims, contributing to their cultural uplifting.88 In addition to cultural attitudes, far more important strategic considerations guided Bulgarian policies towards the Muslims. Over the course of time the Muslims of Bulgaria and the Slavs in Ottoman Macedonia came to be regarded as the counterparts within a “hostage populations” strategy pursued by both Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire. Most frequently associated with Muslims and Hindus in South Asia,89 the idea behind this strategy was that the way a dominant state or majority population treated a minority population would be reciprocated in a state where its own population was a minority. The purpose



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was to deter hostility towards minorities, as well as to use them as leverage for maintaining good bilateral relations. The hostage populations theory was not explicitly formulated by the Ottoman Empire or Bulgaria, yet a look at their actions reveals that such considerations guided their policies. Bulgaria regarded most of the Slavic Orthodox inhabitants of Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace as members of the Bulgarian nation, and its ultimate national ambition was to bring these areas under control. But the patriotic sentiments of the imagined fellow nationals had to be strengthened along with the Bulgarian cause in the empire. In the process, the role of the Bulgarian church, the Exarchate, and its school network was instrumental. Ironically, at this initial stage such aspirations were difficult to fulfill without Ottoman good will. The head of the church, the Exarch, and the Exarchate headquarters were in Istanbul. Bulgarians were keen to keep them there because the institution was crucial for advancing the Bulgarian cause in the empire. The Ottomans were well aware of Bulgarian goals. So, in 1882–83 because Bulgarians were reluctant to give back repatriating Muslims their lands, the Ottomans demonstrated an unfavorable disposition towards the Exarch, prompting fears that the Exarchate itself would be banished from Istanbul to Plovdiv.90 In line with this strategy in Bulgaria, Muslims came to enjoy certain special provisions that were not available to other minority communities. Muslim schools were classified as private along with the schools of other religious communities, yet they were the only ones in this category eligible to receive state and municipal funding. The Muslims were the only group entitled to exemption from military service in return for the payment of a special tax. The implicit connection between the two populations was reflected in the issue of Bulgaria’s Muslim religious organization. For all their eagerness to limit interactions between muftis in Bulgaria and the Ottoman authorities, Bulgarians recognized that in response to such steps, Istanbul might retaliate in a similar manner with regard to the Exarchate, so they adopted a more conciliatory stance.91 Such considerations were only seldomly stated. In one rare case an education official alluded to the factors determining education policies in the following way: “The [Bulgarian] state always takes into account the actions with which the other foreign states, particularly Turkey, might respond to it. That is why the requirements of the state with regard to the Turkish schools should be the smallest; they should even be favored not only with providing support but with other concessions. . . . In such a way the free development of Bulgarian schools outside Bulgaria is also

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secured. A careful look at the law demonstrates that this was taken into account during its compilation.”92 But even then, to many Bulgarians it appeared that in Bulgaria Muslims enjoyed greater advantages than their brethren beyond Rila and the Rhodopi. Consequently, the Bulgarian discourse of cultural superiority was not an end in itself and was not simply aimed to reinforce the Bulgarian image domestically. Such rhetoric targeted the Ottoman Empire, catering to Bulgarian pursuits there. Arguments about Bulgaria’s civilizational advancement were expressed most prominently in comparisons with the Ottoman Empire, particularly in juxtapositions of the fate of the Muslims in Bulgaria and the Slavs in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace. By casting themselves as civilized and tolerant towards the Muslims, Bulgarians sought to affirm their cultural and moral superiority over the Ottomans and draw Great Power sympathy for their cause in the empire. Comparisons between the fate of the two communities came up particularly from the late 1890s onward as tensions in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace escalated. Oftentimes, whenever the subject of one community was brought up, it invoked the other. “Make a little comparison, a little parallel between the condition of the Turk in Bulgaria and that of the Bulgarian in the Turkish empire. No comparison is possible,” reasoned one parliamentary representative, and after dwelling at some length on the advantages of the former, which included sitting in parliament to decide the fate of the country, he asked: “Well, is it the same in the Turkish empire with regard to our compatriots?”93 Another deputy defiantly pronounced: “I want to ask . . . in what respect does the Muslim population here in Bulgaria stand below us? They have schools, they have freedom, they have representation, they have electoral rights equal to ours. . . . I wish our brothers in religion and blood wherever they are have one ten-thousandth of what the Muslims have here and we will be more than happy.”94 In Bulgaria everyone was equal to the law and the constitution, it was a country where “religious tolerance” (verotǔrpimost) and justice, formally inscribed in the constitution, reigned, unlike in the Ottoman Empire, where non-Muslims were mistreated in spite of official proclamations of equality.95 According to the Bulgarian trade agent in Edirne, the Muslims in Bulgaria “live in bliss,” bravely taking advantage of existing laws, while the Bulgarians in the area where he served were subjected to arbitrary treatment at the hands of Ottoman officials.96 Bulgarians even concluded their correspondence with Ottoman officials on such matters



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with the wish to see their compatriots in Macedonia and Thrace treated just like the Muslims in Bulgaria.97 The Ottomans similarly drew parallels between the two populations. For their part, they argued that the empire held the higher moral ground. Ottoman Commissioners emphasized the benevolence with which the imperial government treated all Ottoman subjects regardless of religion, while anticipating that this stance would be returned by the Bulgarians with regard to the Muslims.98 However, occasionally they could exercise more overt pressure. At times they turned up the pressure on the Exarchate, as in the case mentioned earlier. In another case, when protesting a mufti’s dismissal, the energetic Ottoman Commissioner Ali Ferruh warned that the Ottoman state could take similar actions towards the Bulgarian priests in the Ottoman European provinces.99 As to Bulgarian claims of tolerance, the Ottomans only scoffed at them. Instead of living in a civilized state ruled by law, the Muslims in the principality were subjected, as one Ottoman Commissioner put it, to various “barbarities—in other words, Bulgarities” (barbarlıklar iani bulgarlıklar).100 Although the implicit link between the Ottoman Empire and Bulgaria’s Muslims was recognized, it was not so easy for the Ottomans to act more decisively on behalf of the Muslims. Bulgarians were particularly sensitive to Ottoman intervention in their internal affairs, consistently underscoring that the Muslims were Bulgarian subjects. In the circumstances, the caliphate with its ostensible emphasis on spiritual rather than political authority emerged as a convenient instrument. Abdülhamid II’s reinvention as a caliph was part of the overall emphasis on Islam that accompanied his reign. When expressing concerns about the condition of the Muslims in Bulgaria or protesting their mistreatment, Ottoman representatives frequently referred to caliphal authority rather the sultan’s power.101 But in spite of the religious rhetoric, the caliphate was used for secular purposes—safeguarding the rights of Bulgaria’s Muslims. In this sense Ottoman policies, even if justified by appeals to religious symbols, resembled those of a nation-state concerned with the condition of an external minority. The Muslims of Bulgaria and the Christian Slavs in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace came to be regarded as counterparts not only at the official state level but also by ordinary people. Yet people’s reactions were different from those of the authorities. In Bulgaria incidents of hostility against the Muslims became more frequent in times of violence in the Ottoman European provinces. Reports about the mistreatment of Christian Slavs or news about the

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feats of the revolutionary committees galvanized public opinion and boosted national morale, and popular anger directed at the Ottoman state or misconstrued patriotism was unleashed against the Muslims. A number of incidents occurred in 1895 following the first incursions of the Supreme Macedonian Committee across the Ottoman border. Another wave of violence came with the suppression of the 1902 and 1903 uprisings. In the fateful fall of 1902, the Ottoman Commissioner even requested the Bulgarian authorities to prevent the press from publishing reports about events in the empire because they incited hostility towards the Muslims.102 Bulgaria’s Muslims were well aware of such perceptions, having experienced their consequences firsthand. An anonymous report, apparently by a local Muslim, summing the complaints of his coreligionists from various parts of the country suggests that the Bulgarians felt it was justifiable to treat the local Turks in the same way that the Ottoman authorities treated their fellow nationals in the empire.103 Worried that the rumors of the mistreatment of Bulgaria’s Muslims would turn into popular hostility against the Christian Slavs in Macedonia, the Bulgarian authorities tried to dispel such unfavorable perceptions among the Muslims in the empire by planning the publication of a propaganda brochure. Even though this bizarre enterprise into which Bulgarians poured significant resources and efforts was not realized, it attests to the seriousness of the problem, as well as the Bulgarians’ sensitivity to upholding their image.104

New Categories Bulgarians generally conflated Muslim with Turk. Becoming a Turk or the process of turning Turkish (poturchvane) was synonymous with converting to Islam. Bulgarian legislation used the terms “Muslim” (sg. myusyulmanin, pl. myusyulmani) and occasionally “Muhammedan” (sg. mohamedanin, pl. mohamedani) when referring to Muslims or various institutions of the religious community. But on other occasions Muslim and Turk were used interchangeably. At the same time Bulgarians were also aware of the ethnic distinctions among the Muslims, which they made into official classifications. Bulgarian censuses gradually introduced more categories or offered retroactive calculations for particular groups, such as the Tatars and Pomaks. As ideas of the nation started to be elaborated and nation-building initiatives took off, there were also questions of the origins of various Muslim groups and their relationship with the Bulgarians.



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For many Bulgarians there was little doubt that the Turks were descendants of settlers from Anatolia mixed with a significant number of Bulgarians who had converted to Islam, mainly because of coercion.105 While these were the prevailing perceptions, there were also alternative theories. In the late 1890s the brothers Karel and Hermengild Škorpil, prominent Czech archaeologists who resided and conducted excavations in Bulgaria, hypothesized that the Turks in certain parts of northeastern Bulgaria were descendants of the Proto-Bulgars who founded the first Bulgarian state in the seventh century.106 Such hypotheses remained marginal, yet they attest to the attempts to seek autochthonous roots of the local Muslims. The one Muslim group that became the focus of special attention was the Pomaks. Since they were the target of more assertive nationalization efforts in the twentieth century, it has been frequently assumed that they held a special place in the Bulgarian national imagination from the very start. However, popular interest, as well as state preoccupation with them, did not spring up immediately after the establishment of Bulgaria but developed gradually as a result of the initiative of local intellectuals, ethnographers, and officials. The first Bulgarian and Eastern Rumelian censuses did not even have a separate category for the Pomaks, and they were counted as Bulgarians or Turks in different localities. The category “Bulgarian Muhammedans” (bǔlgaromohamedani) used to describe them became a special entry only in the 1890s. The Pomaks drew the attention of certain Bulgarian ethnographers and intellectuals towards the mid-nineteenth century. To such figures, as well as to the Christians living alongside these communities, it was clear that they were converts to Islam, but the question of their conversion acquired a new meaning with the rise of Bulgarian nationalism. Even before 1878 there were arguments that the Pomaks had converted to Islam under pressure, but this narrative gained wider popularity after Bulgaria’s establishment through scholarly and ethnographic publications.107 For the champions of the cause, the Pomaks, or Bulgarian Mohammedans, were Bulgarians. The only difference was their religion, because of which they were wrongly lumped together with the Turks or the Ottomans in general. However, with the right approach and initiatives, Pomak loyalties could be cultivated. One of the pioneers of the Pomak cause was Konstantin Jireček during his tenure in the Bulgarian government in the early years of Bulgaria’s existence. He was convinced that with proper attention the Pomaks would begin identifying with their Christian Bulgarian brethren rather than with their Muslim coreligionists

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or the Ottoman state. Jireček, a prominent scholar, was well aware of other Muslim Slavs, most notably those in Bosnia and the circumstances of their conversions.108 As a loyal Habsburg subject, he was surely aware of Austrian efforts to win the loyalties of the local diverse populations without encroaching upon their religious sensitivities. To him, the most suitable means was the establishment of special “Bulgaro-Muhammedan” schools, where the Pomaks would receive instruction in Bulgarian along with other subjects. With the help of like-minded teachers and inspectors, Jireček put efforts into promoting the establishment of such schools around Lovech and Oryahovo.109 At the same time, local officials, ethnographers, and teachers in the Rhodopi sought to raise popular awareness and win Pomak loyalties through similar means. As a result of the initiative of a local Bulgarian teacher, the village of Kamenitza, while still part of Eastern Rumelia, acquired its first Pomak school.110 Conscious that the best way to popularize these education endeavors was through the Pomaks themselves, Jireček sought to arrange for talented Pomak pupils to continue their studies in Bulgarian schools.111 An education society, Rodopska iskra (Rhodopi Spark), and later a women’s society, Prosveta (Enlightenment), were established to complement the education activities.112 A journal, Rodopski napredǔk (Rhodopi Progress), was founded in 1903 by Stoyu Shishkov and Vasil Dechev, who were prominent officials, public figures, and ethnographers. The journal focused on the problems of the region in general, but one of its ostensible goals was to publicize the customs and life that Pomaks shared with their Christian brethren.113 The efforts to increase awareness of the Pomaks and their organic links with the Bulgarian nation had mixed results. Popular enthusiasm within wider Bulgarian circles was not forthcoming. Many Pomak schools remained underfunded and with few teachers. Indifference and skepticism were frequent reactions. The bureaucratic apathy and obstacles to his mission frustrated Jireček. People simply did not understand, he exasperatedly exclaimed in his diary.114 The Ottoman authorities too showed awareness of the Pomaks’ distinctive characteristics. In 1876 the Ottoman governor of Tǔrnovo suggested that the Pomaks of Lovech could serve as good spies against the revolutionary committees since they spoke Bulgarian and were familiar with Bulgarian customs and manners.115 It remains unclear whether the proposal was realized. After 1878 the Ottomans became more concerned about the Pomaks’ loyalties, especially as they noted Bulgarian efforts to gain their sympathies. In 1880 an Ottoman border



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officer who toured some areas of the Rhodopi reported with anxiety how the Rumelian authority was trying to win over the ambitious Pomak leaders with promises and presents, and thus ultimately to “Bulgarianize” (Bulgarlaştırmak) them. Stressing that the Pomaks knew no Turkish, the officer pointed out that the Bulgarians had taken advantage of the negligence shown by the Ottomans, who had not established proper schools to teach them the language, and urged taking measures to reverse the trend.116 During the period under consideration, there is no evidence of efforts or even arguments for converting the Pomaks to Christianity. Such steps were undertaken only later in the context of the Balkan Wars (1912–13). In general, among Bulgaria’s Muslims, conversions to Christianity remained limited to singular incidents and they often occurred in connection to romantic involvement.117 One notable case where other motives were at play took place in 1906 in Sevlievo and some villages around it where a number of Muslims converted to Christianity along with the mufti himself. Information about the incident is scarce. Many details remain unclear, including the ethnic background of the converts. However, this was an area where Pomak populations were present, so it is possible that those involved were Pomaks. From what one can tell, there was no specific act of coercion. Yet judging from the reported testaments of the converts, being a Muslim had become very difficult. Clearly, the political and social environment favored those who belonged to the religion of the majority.118

Muslim Organization and Institutions The organization of Bulgaria’s Muslim community and institutions was guided by pragmatic considerations alongside concerns about preventing the Ottomans from using them as a means of intervening in the country’s internal affairs. The Berlin Treaty (art. 5) affirmed freedom of religion and provided general guarantees for the rights of various religious communities, including the right to relate to their spiritual leaders. Beyond this stipulation, there were no other specific provisions, which allowed Bulgarians relative autonomy in organizing such religious institutions. Muslims became Bulgarian subjects in accordance with Bulgarian citizenship laws. The first such legislation of 1880 was in fact based on the Ottoman one, which was in turn inspired by French models. Everyone born on the territory of the principality who had been an Ottoman subject prior to the war and had not otherwise accepted foreign citizenship was considered a Bulgarian subject.119

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Yet in Bulgarian censuses, starting with the very first one, Muslims often declined to report themselves as Bulgarian subjects and instead tried to register as Ottoman ones. They argued that they were in the country only temporarily and used various documents issued by the Ottoman representations.120 In 1887 there were fifteen thousand Ottoman subjects in the country.121 A number of them were probably migrants from Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace, but many were local Muslims who had taken up Ottoman citizenship.122 Nevertheless, the overwhelming majority of Muslims were Bulgarian citizens. In Bulgaria sharia courts continued to function. Their jurisdiction was limited to family law, about matters such as marriage and divorce, as well as property disputes within families. Sharia courts existed in the cities where the offices of muftis and deputy muftis were located. In Bulgaria there was no higher Muslim court to resolve cases of appeal, although early on the authorities considered setting up such an institution. In 1883 they even halted the implementation of muftis’ rulings, anticipating its prompt opening.123 Bulgaria’s Muslims could appeal muftis’ decisions to the Şeyhülislam in Istanbul, who in turn sent his judicial opinion to the muftis in Bulgaria for implementation. The practice irked the Bulgarians, who saw it as a dent in their sovereignty, and it is difficult to determine to what extent such appeals were indeed carried out.124 The execution of sharia court sentences was left to the officials in the district courts and the police.125 One difference from the Ottoman practice was that muftis and deputy muftis officiated in these courts instead of kadıs. 126 Records (sicills) were kept in Ottoman Turkish and the parties were free to use Turkish or other languages in their interactions in the sharia court.127 To establish firmer control over the Muslims and limit the possibilities of Ottoman intervention, Bulgarian efforts focused on the creation of a Bulgarian Muslim religious hierarchy. The Berlin Treaty pledged to religious communities the right to maintain connections with their higher spiritual leadership. For the Muslims, it was the Şeyhülislam in Istanbul. However, producing lasting legislation about Muslim religious organization proved a challenge even though consultations involving the local Muslims, the Bulgarians, and the Ottomans were undertaken on several occasions.128 There were two major disputed questions. The first was how to reconcile maintaining connections with the spiritual leadership in Istanbul, a crucial demand of the Muslims and the Ottomans, with Bulgarian concerns of limiting Ottoman interference in the country’s internal affairs. The second was the



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complicated vakıf issue. The Bulgarian authorities sought to resolve the problem of religious organization to their advantage by trying to establish a Muslim religious organization as independent as possible from Istanbul. According to them, the caliph was largely a symbolic figure with no spiritual authority beyond the borders of his own state. Religion in general had to be under the supervision of political authority for the sake of national unity, as was the practice in all “civilized states.” Their ideal was the empires of Britain, Russia, France, and Austro-Hungary, which maintained independent Muslim hierarchies with no institutionalized connection to the caliph and where Muslim leaders were essentially appointed by the political authorities from among Muslim elites sympathetic to the imperial regime. However, Bulgarians recognized that this was not feasible in their country since such efforts could bring retaliatory actions towards the Exarchate in the Ottoman domains. To their great displeasure, Bulgarians could not even effectively prevent the muftis from relating directly with Ottoman representatives. A formal ban issued in 1900 had to be rescinded soon after.129 The Bulgarian Ministry of Foreign and Religious Affairs (MFRA) tried to establish itself as the only intermediary through which the Muslims could correspond with the sultan and the Şeyhülislam on matters concerning religion. The Bulgarian authorities frequently underscored that the Muslims were Bulgarian subjects and consequently their grievances were of no concern to foreign governments.130 These convictions were embedded in legislation. During the period under consideration, Muslim religious affairs were regulated by two temporary pieces of legislation: the Temporary Regulations for the Spiritual Government of Christians, Muslims and Jews of 1880,131 which was replaced by the Temporary Regulations for the Religious Government of Muslims of 1895.132 A Bulgarian-Ottoman comprehensive mufti agreement was signed in April 1909, after the declaration of Bulgarian independence. However, the convention formalized the main points of the existing Muslim religious organization and the de facto autonomous Muslim religious hierarchy.133 According to Bulgarian legislation concerning Muslim spiritual organization, in each of the country’s districts there was a mufti elected by the Muslims of the district from a pool of individuals who possessed the necessary qualifications certified by the Şeyhülislam. The electors had to be Muslims who either were of certain means or had completed secondary school. The muftis were officially appointed by the MFRA after receiving approval from the Şeyhülislam.

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The election process was different from that in the Ottoman Empire, where muftis were elected only by local ulema and benefactors, a substantially smaller pool of voters than in Bulgaria.134 In Bulgaria the muftis and their representatives (myuftiiski namestnitsi, müftü vekilleri, nüvvab) were counted as Bulgarian state officials whose salaries came from the state budget, a fact that the Bulgarian authorities frequently emphasized as a counterargument to Ottoman protests about muftis’ appointment and dismissal and the practice of corresponding directly with Ottoman officials. All correspondence between the muftis and the Şeyhülislam related to matters of religious affairs in Bulgaria, and communication about their appointment was expected to go through the MFRA. Unsurprisingly, many Muslims regarded the mediation of the MFRA, a state institution of secular character controlled by Bulgarians, as objectionable and contrary to religious tradition. The 1895 Temporary Regulations took a further step towards solidifying a local Muslim religious hierarchy with only formal links with Istanbul. It decreed the establishment of the office of a chief mufti in Sofia, who was pronounced the supreme religious leader of Bulgaria’s Muslims though he still had to be confirmed by the Şeyhülislam. The chief mufti was elected by all muftis in Bulgaria and was expected to supervise the functioning of regional mufti offices, mosques, Muslim legal matters, and the local vakıf commissions. Muftis were expected to communicate with the MFRA on pertinent matters through the offices of the district governors. Thus, Muslim religious organization was integrated even more closely into the system of Bulgarian state bureaucracy. Throughout the country, Muslim communal affairs were entrusted in the hands of special commissions or boards (known as nastoyatelstvo, komisyon, or cemaat-ı İslamiye,135 particularly in Plovdiv) elected from among the local Muslims. The functions of these commissions were related to the administration of vakıfs, so they were also called vakıf commissions. Along with the muftis, they served not only as the competent administrators of the Muslim communities but also as their representatives. The earliest regulations envisioned the election of a Muslim board of three or four people to administer every mosque. The election principle was not specified, being left to the discretion of the Muslims, and it appears that there was lack of uniformity. In many cases the administration of vakıfs of a particular locality was loose, being left in the hands of a group of vakıf supervisors or even the secretary of the sharia court. Accountability was not strict, and sometimes these loose bodies could not provide competent



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administration of the vakıfs or effective communal representation. The administration of vakıf income came under the authority of the district government council. Once Muslim commissions paid the expenses of the mosques and Muslim schools, they deposited the surplus to the regional treasury. The 1895 Temporary Regulations provided a concrete legislative framework for the organization of communal representation and vakıf administration. The regulations decreed the establishment of vakıf commissions for every place with Muslim institutions to manage vakıf properties and funds. The commissions varied in size. In the villages they were made up of three to five members, while in major centers, such as Plovdiv and Shumen, their membership consisted of fifteen people. They were elected by the local Muslims from among the eligible members of their communities. The members served for a term of three years and could be reelected. The muftis supervised the commissions, and the MFRA exercised financial supervision over the funds. Service on the vakıf commissions was gratuitous, except for the treasurer. However, serving on the commission brought considerable authority and prestige. In addition, those who were less scrupulous could find ways of profiting from communal funds and properties. But even in this case the legislation did not take immediate effect. In certain places governors did not issue orders for elections of the vakıf commission until two years after the inauguration of the law leaving the local Muslims in legal limbo. There was no new commission to take over the administration of vakıf affairs, while the authority of the preexisting vakıf administrators to initiate legal cases against debtors was not recognized. 136 To the Muslims such policies suggested that their aim was the destruction of the vakıfs or their appropriation. While muftis and vakıf commissions were to be elected by the local Muslims according to the law, there were instances when the Bulgarian authorities intervened directly to change muftis or appoint vakıf commissions. As party politics became a widespread phenomenon and the activities of the reformers unfolded, the supporters of the various groups sought to draw the authorities in their struggles against their adversaries.137 In response, the Ottoman religious authorities sought to maintain some leverage in Bulgaria’s Muslim religious affairs. The Meşihat, the office of the Şeyhülislam, had some limited ways of controlling the choice of Muslim religious leadership in the principality. In certain instances, it refused to approve muftis whose competence or election was deemed questionable. Without such formal authorization, all Muslim court decisions and documents were considered void, which led to complications,

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confusion, and discontent.138 Muftis issuing judicial decisions that bore a seal with a crown and cross caused upset.139 Furthermore, Ottoman Commissioners often sent protests to the Bulgarian authorities complaining about irregularities and violations in Muslim religious affairs, such as the appointment of muftis and vakıf administrators.140 The Ottoman authorities made efforts to maintain their influence over the religious organization and vakıfs on the territory of the former Eastern Rumelia, trying to keep them independent from the rest of Bulgaria.141 Such overtures were justified by the conditions of the 1886 Tophane Act, which settled the issue of Eastern Rumelia’s annexation to Bulgaria. The document made no specific references to religious organization. However, it envisioned the convening of a Bulgarian-Ottoman commission to revise the province’s organic statute for the purpose of guaranteeing the rights of all its inhabitants (referred to as Ottoman imperial subjects in the document) and the interests of the Ottoman treasury, an expression that also included the vakıfs.142 Yet, these provisions were not carried out in practice. The Ottomans also insisted that the mufti of Plovdiv and the deputy muftis in the former Ottoman province should be appointed directly by the Şeyhülislam.143 The Ottoman Vakıf Ministry paid the salary of Plovdiv muftis even after Eastern Rumelia was already part of Bulgaria,144 undoubtedly in a bid to maintain leverage and boost prestige. But regardless of such efforts, the Ottomans wielded little real influence over the religious affairs of the local Muslims. Like all Bulgarian subjects, Muslims had the right to attend Bulgarian public schools, though not many did. At the same time, the Bulgarian state allowed Muslims to maintain their own network of schools consisting of primary schools (mektebs), middle schools (rüşdiyes), and medreses. Muslim schools, which were formally classified as private along with those of other ethnoreligious communities, were the only ones in this category eligible for state and municipal support. According to Bulgarian legislation, each Muslim school was to be supervised by a special education commission elected from among the Muslim inhabitants of the area that administered its affairs.145 Even though Bulgarians recognized the social disciplining role of education, they made no efforts to force Muslims to attend public schools. Just as importantly, Muslim education was one area of Muslim life where they did not make any attempt to intervene. This attitude of benign neglect had the consequence of allowing Muslim reformers considerable opportunity for action without coming into conflict with the Bulgarian authorities.



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The Vakıf Question One of the most complex problems related to Muslim affairs and BulgarianOttoman relations concerned the vakıfs. It is important to underscore that in the Ottoman Empire vakıfs were institutions dedicated to charitable and religious purposes, but they were also a way for individuals to establish virtually private possession over property and pass it on to their descendants. Consequently, many vakıfs fell within a larger domain between public and private property. Prior to the Ottoman reforms of the nineteenth century, there were several categories of vakıfs in terms of characteristics such as purpose, possession and fiscal rights, and method of administration. These included land and buildings and/ or the income they produced, as well as cash. However, the distinctions among the different categories were often blurred. Until the eighteenth century vakıfs throughout the Ottoman Empire were under the jurisdiction of a dozen separate vakıf administrations. In a bid to regularize vakıf administration, end financial abuse, and bring back substantial revenue under state control, the Ottoman authorities undertook a series of reforms from the end of the eighteenth century onward. In 1826 the Ministry of Vakıfs (Evkaf Nezareti) was established, which consolidated the preexisting administrations. Over the following years, and particularly during the Tanzimat (1839–76), the Evkaf managed to establish a degree of control over such institutions. Others were converted into regular private property after paying the necessary compensation. Through various means, the Ottoman government also took over a substantial part of the resources, particularly land, from which vakıfs derived their income. In this way, considerable revenue from vakıfs was redirected to the state treasury and many vakıfs came under close state control. There were, however, certain vakıfs that remained essentially private possessions under the immediate administration of a commission made up usually of family members. In the provinces special officials who were part of the provincial administration had the task of managing the financial affairs of vakıfs.146 With the establishment of Bulgaria in 1878, numerous vakıfs and their estates fell within its territories. The Berlin Treaty envisioned the opening of special Bulgarian-Ottoman consultations within two years of its signing to resolve the issue of vakıfs and state properties. However, a formal resolution was reached only in 1909, after the Bulgarian declaration of independence. Bulgarian-Ottoman

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negotiations were undertaken on a couple of occasions in the early 1880s and in 1902 but came to an impasse soon after they began. Discussions were complicated by a number of factors. To start with, there was little clarity or agreement on the definitions of state properties and vakıf estates, along with different understandings of ownership and possession. Furthermore, there was no reliable information about the number of vakıfs, and even now it is difficult to determine their number, properties, and the amount of income they produced. The status of many vakıf properties was vehemently disputed, as there was little reliable documentation or they had changed hands and were converted into regular private property. In the fall of 1908, the Ottoman Commissioner suggested that the yearly income from vakıfs in Bulgaria came to almost 18 million guruş, but the source of his estimate remains unclear.147 There is some information about the overall amount of vakıf land. In 1897 about 3,200 hectares of land belonged to vakıfs; it increased to 4,100 hectares in 1908.148 The increase was probably a result of the fact that land previously classified as state-owned was recategorized as belonging to vakıfs following contestation.149 Beyond this, there is partial information about the income from specific years and regions, but once again it is impossible to reconstruct a more thorough picture based on the information we have from Bulgarian, Ottoman, or other sources. What further complicated the problem was the existence of several kinds of vakıfs that involved state and private interests. In 1902 in one of the bids to reach a settlement, the Ottoman authorities identified five types of vakıfs following the classification of such institutions in the empire. They were divided into two broad categories. The first included establishments serving communal or public interests, such as mosques, medreses, and bridges; in the Ottoman Empire they were supervised by the Ottoman Evkaf Ministry. The second category consisted of commercial establishments or land. They provided support for the institutions in the first category. Depending on their kind, the Evkaf Ministry or the vakıfs’ heirs administered them and collected some or all of their income.150 Furthermore, the status of many vakıf properties was vehemently disputed, as there was little reliable documentation or they had changed hands and were converted into regular private property.151 Even more significantly, many of the vakıfs came to a virtual end: they either had no property or their sources of income decreased progressively. Among the prominent examples of this trend were urban vakıfs, which relied on the income of shops or other rental buildings. Many such buildings were adversely



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affected by the new city planning initiatives. Muslims further complained that municipalities maintained no proper records and required them to pay taxes on income or property that no longer existed. This put them in debt, inducing them to dip into the income provided by other establishments to pay their taxes and bills, in the process depriving their communal institutions of more funds. In other instances, the particular establishment that vakıfs supported had ceased to exist or its purpose became obsolete after Muslim emigration. Among them were mosques and tekkes.152 The 1880 Bulgarian legislation envisioned that the income belonging to defunct religious institutions would go to a special fund that would eventually support the establishment of a higher Muslim religious school in Sofia to be set up some time in the future. This promise, however, did not go beyond the pledge stage during the period under discussion. And since there was no special vakıf fund similar to the one in the Ottoman Empire (Hazine-i Evkaf) where the income of such defunct institutions would go, in many cases the revenue most likely ended up in the state treasury. In certain cases though, vakıf commissions managed to preserve the compensation from destroyed buildings and put it again to the use of the Muslim community. The Ottoman authorities sought to negotiate compensation for the institutions and properties remaining under Bulgarian control. According to their 1902 proposal, religious buildings not in use were to be sold after being divested of their religious symbols in a respectful manner. In order to transform vakıf establishments into ordinary private property, buyers had to pay thirty or forty times their yearly income, depending on the type of vakıf. Vakıf lands could be sold for the equivalent of two years of income. In case the Bulgarian authorities determined that a particular institution no longer served any religious purpose, they had to provide a sound argument for their decision and inform the Ottoman Commissioner. A different solution was envisioned for the territory of the former Eastern Rumelia, which the Ottomans continued treating as part of the empire. There, most of the vakıfs were to be under the administration of the Muslim commission (cemaat-ı İslamiye).153 This was the body that had been responsible for supervising Muslim affairs in Eastern Rumelia, but by the early twentieth century it had largely turned into one of the vakıf commissions responsible for Plovdiv and the area. To the Bulgarians, such proposals amounted to stripping income from the country, a bid for blatant intervention in its internal affairs, and a means of keeping it in economic and political subservience. To foil such attempts, Bulgarian

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officials looked at Ottoman legal texts concerning the status of vakıfs. They also sought to explore the precedents of places formerly under direct Ottoman control, such as Serbia, Romania, and Lebanon, as well as the measures undertaken by the Ottoman government itself in its efforts to bring vakıfs under state control. According to the Bulgarians, the Ottomans had the right to deal only with vakıfs pledged to Mecca. All other kinds of vakıfs were to be under the jurisdiction of the Bulgarian government.154 The administration of vakıfs in Bulgaria was regulated by Bulgarian legislation about Muslim religious organization. According to it, vakıf income was expected to go for maintaining the original purpose of the benevolent establishment to which it was dedicated, supporting mosques, the salaries of their personnel, and the repair of vakıf properties. In case there was a surplus, it went for the support of Muslim schools. In Eastern Rumelia, the organic statute itself provided more guarantees and clearer regulations concerning the status of the vakıfs, as well as the conditions under which they could be expropriated and converted into ordinary private property.155 But Bulgarian legislation was implemented there as well once the province became a de-facto part of the Bulgarian state much to the displeasure of the Ottoman side. Clearly, Bulgarian laws envisioned those establishments dedicated to some benevolent use, whereas there was no particular mention of vakıfs that were de facto in private possession (the so-called müstesna category). The vakıf question was settled in 1909, after Bulgaria’s declaration of independence, with a special convention that dealt with Muslim religious organization. The convention gave an official conclusion to the matter, but in many respects it formalized preexisting practices similar to those regarding the muftis. In addition to specifying regulations about the vakıfs’ functioning, it provided rules about compensation. In case it was necessary to demolish or dispense of vakıf property, the authorities had to reimburse the Muslim community with land of the same value and monetary compensation for the building. The compensation was pledged exclusively for the support of vakıfs in Bulgaria and for the construction of other benevolent establishments.156 The conditions in which vakıfs in Bulgaria had to function, as well as their gradual decline, had an important impact on Muslim institutions and communal life. In the Ottoman Empire over the course of the nineteenth century, vakıfs changed their organization and functions. Many of them came under state supervision. At the same time the state and municipalities took on services



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traditionally provided by vakıfs, such as support for schools and hospitals and relief for the poor, or they supervised the channeling of vakıf funds into such enterprises. In Bulgaria, the vakıfs’ functioning also came to be regulated by the state—only it was the Bulgarian one. For the local Muslims, the vakıfs assumed particular importance because their communal institutions, especially the schools, to a great extent depended on them. Thus, the obliteration of vakıfs or Bulgarian aspirations to seize their properties threatened the community’s very existence.

The Muslims and Military Conscription: Dilemmas of Loyalty As Bulgarian subjects, the local Muslims became liable to military conscription in the Bulgarian army. Conscription was a particularly challenging experience for the Muslims, and the Muslims’ service in the army was a divisive question for Bulgarians. For the local Muslims, military conscription was not a novel experience. The Ottoman authorities had first introduced conscription in 1848 and reformed the practice in 1869, so many of the Muslims in the region served in the Ottoman army prior to the establishment of Bulgaria. Non-Muslims received exemption in exchange for the payment of a special tax.157 However, serving in the Bulgarian army—where Bulgarians were the overwhelming majority, where nationalist sentiments ran high, and where in the first few years after 1878 most of the officers were Russians—was a new and challenging experience for the Muslims. The foundations of the Bulgarian army were set up during the Russian occupation.158 The first draft was called in the summer of 1878, but only for Bulgarians.159 A year later the authorities introduced conscription for Muslims as well. They also introduced accommodations catering to the Muslims’ religious sensitivities. Muslims could take an oath of allegiance with the Qur’an in the presence of mollas and observe their religious holidays.160 Nevertheless, the prospect of being enlisted in the Bulgarian army was unappealing to many Muslims. As there are no sources documenting Muslim experiences, one can only speculate about them. Some occasional clues are provided in petitions. One concern was food. A petition by the Muslim members of parliament dated 1884 cited complaints that army food was cooked in pots alongside other products offensive to Muslim sensitivities.161 Beef, lamb, and mutton but not pork were served by law in military canteens,162 so it is unclear to what the petition referred. It might have been a question of meat or animal products that were not halal

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or perhaps even pork fat used for cooking. According to Bulgarian officials who claimed to know Muslim grievances, another was about the uniform, particularly the cap, as well as the fact that Muslims were required to obey Christian officers.163 Furthermore, military service was not easy, and there were always risks of accidents or the outbreak of war. Given the political circumstances, the most probable war in which Bulgaria could have been involved would have been with the Ottoman Empire, so hardly any Muslim wanted to be compelled to fight on the Bulgarian side. But even without an actual war, the culture in the army would have been difficult for some Muslims to bear. In the army nationalist spirits ran high, so Muslims probably would have been teased, if not insulted, about their religion, customs, or language; they would have had to listen to and probably made to sing patriotic songs and hear speeches in which Turks, Muslims, or Ottomans were scorned as the enemy. They might have had to endure additional humiliation through the various hazing practices to which new soldiers were invariably subjected. Many Muslims tried to avoid military service. In the first years Muslims petitioned prince Battenberg for exemption in view of the hardships endured during the war.164 But they also tried to avoid conscription in other ways. Some gave incorrect information for population records;165 others embarked upon a lengthy curriculum to obtain a religious degree. Still others fled to the Ottoman Empire before being drafted.166 In the early years of the principality, some of the conscription evaders joined the bands of brigands active in the northeast until they found ways to reach Ottoman domains.167 When Eastern Rumelia effectively became part of the principality and conscription was introduced for the local inhabitants, Muslims there appealed to the Ottoman government vowing that they would join the Bulgarian army only if the sultan ordered them to do so.168 Bulgarian officials were divided over the question of the Muslims’ military service. Some argued that they should bear equal responsibility with their Bulgarian compatriots for such hard duties. Others had misgivings about arming them and doubted their loyalty to the Bulgarian state, particularly in case of war with the Ottoman Empire.169 Such unease was reflected in the first regulations for the organization of the Bulgarian army in the spring of 1878. According to one of its provisions, Muslims could comprise no more than one third of a particular army unit.170 Furthermore, certain military officers found training Muslims exasperating as many of them did not understand Bulgarian making it difficult to follow orders.171



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Consequently, conscription exemption appeared to be a convenient solution. In December 1881 with a special decree Muslims were given the right to exemption in return for a fee of 1,000 leva, a substantial sum at the time.172 Later, the tax was lowered, and in 1902 it was adjusted according to income. Muslims liable to conscription were divided into four categories whose members had to pay an annual fee of 20, 30, 50, or 60 leva for seventeen years.173 In spite of ostensible reluctance, many Muslims did serve in the army. In the 1890s the ratio of Bulgarian to Muslim soldiers was 4:1, a proportion that roughly reflected the size of the two populations in the country.174 And regardless of their misgivings about Muslim loyalties, Bulgarians were eager to enlist the help of Muslim volunteers during the Serbo-Bulgarian War.175 After the first years of Bulgaria’s existence, Bulgarian officials developed more complex attitudes towards the Muslims. They were aware that Bulgaria would remain the home of many Muslims; to some pragmatists who were concerned about the adverse impact of Muslim emigration, this was even beneficial for the country’s economic fortunes, at least in the short term. Bulgarians, though, were wary about the Muslims’ allegiances, suspecting that they were loyal to the Ottoman Empire and could serve as a channel of Ottoman influence. Consequently, it was essential to make efforts to win the Muslims’ loyalties and bring their institutions under the control of the Bulgarian state to minimize possibilities for outside influence. But alongside mistrust, there emerged a certain vision: making the Muslims who remained in Bulgaria into model Bulgarian Muslim subjects. They would be loyal to Bulgaria rather than the Ottoman Empire, learn Bulgarian, and attend Bulgarian schools. They would preserve their religion but would be under the jurisdiction of the Muslim religious organization in Bulgaria with as little connection as possible to the Ottoman Empire. Such a transformation would attest to Bulgaria’s success at rising to the level of the much admired civilized European states whose empires ruled over Muslim populations. It would prove Bulgarian moral superiority over the Ottoman Empire, giving Bulgarians justification to pursue their national cause in the same way that Europeans advanced their interests around the world. Bulgarian ambitions were at odds with the Muslims’ aspirations about their institutions. And just as importantly, the exalted Bulgarian rhetoric of tolerance and civilization in reality often fell short of its self-professed goals.

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Bulgaria has, therefore, had an independent [sic] existence of some twenty-five years. And yet, what a difference between the former Turkish province and the present Principality! Where misery and devastation reigned before, a flourishing country extends now, full of energy and promise. In the place of the former oppressed “rayas,” today there is a young nation whose aptitude for progress, for the sciences and industry has already [been] proved. . . . Everything had to be replaced. It is not only the political conditions which have altered, but social life itself. . . . Hardly anything of the preceding regime was or could be utilized. In this connection, it is interesting to observe the different fortunes of a conquered province. When a province which had formed part of a civilized country passes to a nation equally civilized, one may say that in many respects the change is an unimportant one, because in such a case the conqueror retains almost all the institutions, the only difference being that in the future they work in the name of the new sovereign authority. . . . On the other hand, if one attempted to form a modern state out of a country which has been devastated for centuries, or if one tried to transform a Turkish province into a country after the pattern of the European States, every step would be strewn with obstacles, and there would be nothing of the former state of things that could be utilized. In such a case, the only thing to be done would be to borrow from other nations the experience which they have accumulated during their long efforts and to transplant it into the desolated land. Bulgaria may truly be proud today of the work accomplished. Her perseverance in the path of civilization has been crowned with success. Her organization is now completed. In all the branches of public life order has been introduced. The organizing genius which all the historians . . . have noticed in the ancient Bulgarians has once more revealed itself.1 Excerpt from Bulgaria of Today, a Bulgarian publicity brochure accompanying the country’s participation in the 1907 Balkan states exhibition in London AS THE QUOTE ABOVE DEMONSTRATES, for Bulgarians the social reorganiza-

tion initiatives they undertook in the first decades of the country’s existence were a colossal mission. Bulgarians saw no use for Ottoman practices and institutions, which were even regarded as impediments. Doing away with the remnants of the



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Ottoman imperial legacy was necessary and justifiable if Bulgaria was to pursue the path of modern European civilization. However, contrary to the impression this quote conveys, the vestiges of Ottoman rule were not dysfunctional institutions and obsolete practices; they included institutions that actively served the local Muslims. The most noticeable transformations took place in the cities, but the developments in the countryside, particularly the land regime, were just as radical. Witnessing and experiencing the impact of these changes produced a sense of crisis among Bulgaria’s Muslims, which in turn became a catalyst for the rise of the reform movement.

Bulgarian Cities and Demographic Change Bulgarian ambitions of transforming the urban environment were facilitated by the decline of the number of Muslims in the country. Over the course of time cities became increasingly Bulgarian as the size of the Bulgarian population expanded and people moved from the countryside into towns. To be sure, many urban centers, particularly larger ones, continued to be inhabited by diverse non-Bulgarian communities for many years to come. However, with exceptions, such as the Roma and the Armenians, their numbers and proportional representation decreased over time. The outlook of cities was also influenced by regional demographic characteristics. In the eastern and northeastern parts of the country where Muslims lived in larger numbers, urban centers continued to be the home of more sizable Muslim communities. But in spite of these general trends, different cities and their inhabitants, including the Muslims, had different experiences, which were determined by the city’s role, geographic location, and economic networks, as well as its Ottoman background. Before examining the main trends in urban development and their impact on the Muslims, it would be useful to provide insight into urban demographic transformations along with a brief overview of several Bulgarian cities. When it comes to demography, comparisons with the preceding Ottoman period are a bit difficult because of the specifics of the existing statistics. Ottoman statistics listed taxpaying adults and families, whereas Bulgarian statistics counted individuals. Furthermore, there are gaps and the available data is not always reliable. Nevertheless, there is sufficient information to reconstruct a picture of the major demographic trends in a number of Bulgarian cities. After the establishment of Bulgaria, Muslims continued living in many Bulgarian cities, and in certain ones they made up sizable communities. At the beginning of the twentieth century, the Muslim urbanization rate was

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about 17 percent. It did not differ significantly from that of Orthodox Christians, which was a little over 19 percent.2 Comparisons with urbanization rates during the preceding Ottoman period are difficult, but a rough estimate suggests that about a quarter of Muslim inhabitants lived in urban centers.3 In the Ottoman as well as in the Bulgarian period, most urban centers in the Bulgarian lands were small and midsize towns. Their outlook and the lifestyle of many of their inhabitants did not differ significantly from those of the neighboring countryside. Although the size and proportional representation of urban Muslim populations declined following the establishment of Bulgaria, the overall pattern of territorial distribution remained similar to that of Ottoman times. In the western parts of the country, urban Muslim communities were generally smaller, whereas in the eastern and northeastern parts, they were more numerous. Muslims continued to live in cities and towns south of the Balkan mountains, such as Stara Zagora and Kazanlǔk, while Plovdiv had a large and particularly active Muslim community. Changes depended on the impact of the war, as well as on a variety of social and economic circumstances. Sofia, the new Bulgarian capital, was an example of radical transformation. In the Ottoman Empire, Sofia had once been the capital of Rumeli, the province encompassing virtually the entire Balkan peninsula. Its fortunes dwindled in the nineteenth century as a result of a series of earthquakes and the fact that Russe became the new provincial capital. Nevertheless, it did remain an important Ottoman administrative center. Ottoman census data from the 1860s suggests that Sofia was a city with over 13,000 adult inhabitants, among whom were about 5,000 Muslims.4 During the Russo-Ottoman War almost all Muslims in the city fled, and only few would return. In 1881 Sofia had a total population of 20,000. The Muslims were 1,200, fewer than half of them being Turks; the rest were Muslim Roma.5 Not many Muslims wanted or could return for good to the city that became the new Bulgarian capital, where the change of political fortunes was most palpable. Sofia’s Muslims were not particularly active in reform initiatives, probably because they were relatively few. The few Muslim journals published in the city were short-lived, and although aspiring to speak for Bulgaria’s Muslims, they were largely detached from Muslim communal affairs. Nevertheless, Sofia retained significance for the Muslims because it was the seat of the chief mufti, who was expected to represent all Muslims in the country. The city also hosted the offices of the Ottoman Commissioner, an institution



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closely invested in advocating for Muslim interests. Finally, it was the center of Bulgarian parliamentary politics, which involved Muslims too. Similar demographic changes occurred in parts of north Bulgaria. Lovech, an important urban center in the nineteenth century, had over 10,000 adult inhabitants in the early 1870s, of whom about 5,000 were Muslims. In the late 1880s the city had 500 Muslims.6 In the early 1870s Tǔrnovo was a large city of about 11,000–12,000 adult residents, with the Muslims accounting for about a third. In the aftermath of the war there were about 1,300 Muslims left, though the surrounding countryside had more numerous Muslim populations.7 In the 1860s Pleven was the home of over 7,000 adult Muslims; after the establishment of Bulgaria, the city had 2,000 Muslims. 8 The most sizable urban Muslim community in the western parts of Bulgaria was in Vidin. In the Ottoman period Vidin was a major fortress whose strategic significance increased with the establishment of Serbia. Similar to other cities on the Danube, it prospered from the beginning of the nineteenth century, when the river became a major transportation route connecting the Ottoman domains with central Europe. In the 1860s its population was well over 15,000, the Muslims comprising two-thirds of it. During the war many fled, and subsequent emigration diminished the number of Turks in the city to 1,800 at the beginning of the twentieth century.9 In Bulgaria, Vidin continued to be an important administrative center, as well as a midsize commercial and transportation hub although its fortunes began fading. Vidin was the seat of a regional mufti office serving the northwestern part of the country and an Ottoman trade representation.10 Some Muslims were prosperous by local standards; they were merchants, craftsmen, or owners of small flour and tobacco factories.11 The city was the home of the Şefkat vakıf, benevolent society, and kıraathane. In the eastern parts of Bulgaria, larger cities had more sizable Muslim populations. In the early 1880s Russe, Varna, and Shumen had 9,000–10,000 Muslims among their inhabitants, comprising up to a third of their populations. By the early twentieth century, however, their number had dropped by half. In the 1860s in the Ottoman period, Russe and Shumen were the two largest cities in the Danube vilayet with populations of over 20,000 adult inhabitants. In Russe there were equal numbers of Bulgarians and Muslims. Located on the Danube, Russe owed its increasing prosperity over the course of the nineteenth century to the expansion of transportation along the river as well as to the fact that it became the capital of the Danube vilayet. The city became the

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home of a variety of administrative offices, including the provincial government and the provincial council. The construction of a railway line between Russe and Varna augmented Russe’s significance along the route connecting continental Europe and the empire’s European provinces with Istanbul. After the establishment of Bulgaria, the focus of political and administrative life shifted to the rapidly expanding Sofia, but Russe continued to thrive. One of the largest Bulgarian ports on the Danube, Russe remained a major administrative center and a lively commercial and transportation hub. Its population was diverse. In the 1880s it had about 26,000 inhabitants, of whom Muslims were about 8,000–10,000. In addition, there were sizable Jewish and Armenian communities.12 Russe was the home of several diplomatic missions, including an Ottoman trade representation, and the seat of a regional mufti office. Russe also became one of the centers of Muslim publishing. Periodicals published there included the first reformist and pro-Young Turk journal, Sebat, and leading reformist journals such as Uhuvvet and Tuna. The city boasted well-run girls’ and boys’ rüşdiye schools, a kıraathane, and a Muslim benevolent society. In 1906 it became the home of the headquarters of the Muslim Teachers’ Association. Varna was another major city with a substantial Muslim population. From the seventeenth century onward, the Ottoman authorities expanded its fortifications, turning it into the most important Ottoman fortress on the western Black Sea coast. In the nineteenth century, Varna became a key link along the route from Europe to Istanbul.13 In the 1870s it had more than 12,000 adult inhabitants, about half of them Muslims.14 After the establishment of Bulgaria, the city became its most important Black Sea port. In the first few years of Bulgaria’s existence, Varna was a somewhat atypical Bulgarian city. In the 1880s its population, which amounted to 25,000, was diverse: the Bulgarians were about a quarter, the Muslims a third, and the Greeks a fifth. There were also Armenian and Jewish communities. Over time, though, the Bulgarian population grew.15 Varna was not affected directly by military action during the Russo-Ottoman War, which may explain the continuing presence of many Muslims even after the end of Ottoman rule. Turks, Tatars, and Roma made up most of the local Muslims. But the bustling city hosted residents of other countries, including Muslims from the Ottoman Empire in search of work and better economic fortunes. In addition to merchants, scores of Muslim seasonal workers sought employment in Varna’s busy port. Their presence occasionally provoked hostile reactions from local Bulgarian workers, most probably because of competition over jobs and wages.16



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While most Muslims in Varna led a modest existence, there were also more prosperous ones. A number of Muslims were craftsmen and owners of small industrial operations. Muslim merchants were mostly petty, but some were involved in commerce around the Black Sea coast, including with Ottoman ports.17 Greeks, Armenians, and Jews dominated merchant and entrepreneur circles in the city, although Bulgarians became increasingly prominent over time. Varna had Ottoman and other diplomatic representations, and a regional mufti office. For three years the city was the home of Muvazene, the major reformist publication, when it was forced out of Plovdiv. Shumen was one of the most notable centers of Muslim culture in Bulgaria. The local Muslims were particularly active in reform initiatives. The expansion of Shumen in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries was linked to its transformation into a key Ottoman military stronghold in the northeastern Balkans. Shumen accommodated a large Ottoman garrison and a modern military hospital. As already mentioned, in the 1860s it, along with Russe, was one of the two largest cities in the Danube Province, with about 20,000 adult inhabitants. About half of them were Muslims; the rest consisted of a prosperous Bulgarian community, as well as smaller Armenian and Jewish groups.18 During the Russo-Ottoman War Shumen was not occupied by the Russian troops but endured its consequences by sheltering thousands of refugees who flocked there to safety. After the establishment of Bulgaria, Shumen continued to be a major administrative and military center, only this time it hosted a Bulgarian garrison. In the 1880s the population of Shumen was over 23,000. Muslims, most of them Turks, were about a third of all inhabitants. In spite of emigration, the size of the Muslim community remained substantial; by the beginning of the twentieth century, there were still 7,000 Turks in the city.19 Most of the urban Muslim inhabitants were craftsmen, landowners, or merchants, small or big. But while the city was changing, in the Muslim quarter, life preserved its own dynamics and traditions, according to the memoirs of Hafız Abdullah Fehmi, one of the prominent local reformers.20 The city had well-organized Muslim schools and a kıraathane, and it hosted the first Muslim Teachers’ Congress in 1906. In Shumen communal politics were particularly divisive, following the emergence of rival factions allied with the long-serving mufti Kesimzade on one side and his opponents, many of whom were Young Turk sympathizers and reform activists, on the other. Shumen Muslims showed interest in politics, and some frequently served as representatives in the Bulgarian parliament.

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Plovdiv was another important urban center. In the mid-nineteenth century, it was a flourishing city, and one of the main sources of its economic prosperity was the woolen cloth industry. In the period 1878–85 it was the capital of the autonomous province of Eastern Rumelia. Plovdiv’s population was diverse and remained so after it became part of Bulgaria. Its inhabitants included Bulgarians; Muslims, including Muslim Roma; Greeks; and Jews. In the late 1880s the Muslims were about a sixth of its 33,000 residents.21 The city was well connected via railway with Istanbul and, after 1885, with Europe. Although the wool enterprises fell in decline, the city continued to thrive with newly emerging industries whose products were locally consumed or exported.22 Similar to other places, most Muslims in Plovdiv led a modest existence but there were also more prosperous craftsmen and merchants. Muslims were particularly well represented in the wholesale rice trade.23 A few owned or co-owned small factories for leather processing.24 Others enjoyed influence because they were from traditionally prominent families. The city had well-organized Muslim primary schools and exemplary rüşdiyes, some of whose graduates continued their studies in schools in the Ottoman Empire. Plovdiv was dubbed the capital of Muslim publishing in Bulgaria because it the home of several Muslim journals. Among them was the most notable reformist publication, Muvazene; its rival, Gayret; and later the reformist Rumeli and Balkan. Politics among the Muslims could turn particularly divisive. Among the local Muslims, there were pro-reformist and Young Turk sympathizers, although in spite of the presence of high-profile figures such as Ali Fehmi and Edhem Ruhi, the opposition organization did not grow deep roots in the city. Plovdiv was the home of foreign diplomatic missions, as well as the office of the Ottoman second secretary, the most senior Ottoman representative in the country after the Commissioner in Sofia. In addition to these larger cities, a number of other urban settlements in the eastern and northeastern regions had sizable Muslim populations, such as Silistra, Razgrad, Dobrich, Eski Cuma/Tǔrgovishte, and Osman Pazar. In the late Ottoman period, Muslims made up more than half and sometimes up to two-thirds of their population. Dobrich was a special case because half of its inhabitants were Muslim migrants, most likely Tatars,25 many of whom continued living there after Bulgaria’s establishment. In the 1880s these towns had 10,000 residents, of whom about 5,000–6,000 were Muslims.26 It is more difficult to trace in detail the demographic and social transformations of smaller towns in the northeast, such as Akkadınlar, Balbunar, Kurtbunar, and Kemanlar. Even after



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the establishment of Bulgaria, the surrounding countryside was overwhelmingly Muslim, reaching up to 90 percent in certain districts,27 so this trend was probably reflected in the population of the towns themselves. In Stara Zagora, an important city south of the Balkan mountains, the demographic and physical transformation was dramatic, in great part because of the destruction it suffered during the war. If we take as correct the estimates of Hüseyin Raci, the Stara Zagora native who left us his account of the war, the city had 36,000 inhabitants in the Ottoman period, a third of whom were Muslims.28 Following the brutal fate that befell the city, its population dropped to 15,000 in the mid-1880s, of whom 2,500 were Muslims.29 The community began rebuilding itself, partly encouraged by the fact that Stara Zagora was initially part of Eastern Rumelia. The demographic transformations in Bulgarian cities were not the only sign of change that showed the end of Ottoman rule. Bulgarians put considerable efforts into reshaping urban space in an attempt to do away with the vestiges of the Ottoman imperial past.

Cities: Towards a New Spatial Order The nineteenth century was a golden age of the transformation of European capitals and larger cities, and it was over the course of these endeavors that the concept of modern urban planning developed. In this period many European cities underwent a thorough makeover, acquiring the main features of their characteristic look. Paris was radically reorganized and got its radial street patterns in accordance with Haussmann’s vision, while Vienna acquired its Ringstrasse.30 During the Tanzimat, attempts to improve the appearance and functionality of cities were also made in the Ottoman Empire. Most efforts were in Istanbul,31 though there were also initiatives in the provinces. The expansion and amelioration of Russe, the capital of the Danube vilayet, was one prominent example. Along with a new political beginning, the establishment of Bulgaria signaled the start of vigorous urban development initiatives that looked to European examples for refashioning the urban fabric. Urban planning ventures in Europe were motivated by concerns about population growth, public health, transportation, and the overall goal of enhancing functionality.32 In Bulgaria urban planning initiatives were led by similar considerations, yet at the same time there were other even more important concerns. Urban improvement was undertaken with the implicit goal of catching up with European development and disposing of

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the Ottoman oriental legacy that was deemed foreign and backward. Doing away with the material, architectural, and esthetic vestiges of Ottoman presence would complete the process of reasserting Bulgarian political authority. The fact that the Ottoman legacy was most visible in the urban environment made the task more urgent. Cities and towns, after all, were the mirrors of the young Bulgarian state, which reflected its progress along the path of European civilization. However, Bulgarian efforts to remodel cities along European patterns did not just have the consequences of uprooting a defunct legacy. They also inflicted a heavy blow on Muslim institutions and had a crucial impact on the vakıfs. In this way they affected the lives of Bulgaria’s Muslims, for whom the introduction of new city plans and urban improvement initiatives rang a bell of doom. The first systematic efforts for urban development in bigger Bulgarian cities began early on, during the time of the Russian administration. The Russian occupation authorities were accompanied by scores of engineers, topographers, and technicians, who dispatched their expertise in surveying the terrain. These efforts continued when effective authority passed into Bulgarian hands. Urban development in Bulgaria during the period under consideration was under public control, and there was virtually no private initiative in this respect. Consequently, such ventures often reflected the Bulgarian national agenda. Starting in 1881 parliament passed a series of acts setting rules for the construction of private buildings, as well as city and village regulation. All settlements were required to have regulation, levelling, and cadastre plans, and construction in unplanned areas was banned. By 1885 there were twenty-six new plans for cities in the principality and ten in Eastern Rumelia. Foreign experts were enlisted to contribute to the making of a new urban order. In the 1880s in Bulgaria there were about a hundred architects, urban planners, and civil engineers from Austro-Hungary, Russia, Germany, and France. In the 1890s Bulgarians, trained in Austro-Hungary, Germany, and Switzerland, took the lead. Most foreign professionals came from Austro-Hungary. Many of them were Slavs, so cultural affinities along with expertise probably played a role in their selection. Consequently, styles and ideas prevalent in the Dual Monarchy influenced the outlook of Bulgarian cities during this period. Another reason for looking to the Habsburg experience was that the reorganization of Vienna had emerged as a model of emulation for a number of major Bulgarian cities. In Vienna the introduction of ring roads accommodated historical landmarks. This approach



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was deemed more suitable to the Bulgarian context, so Russe, Plovdiv, and Bulgaria’s new capital were modeled after this concept.33 The scope and dynamic of change were uneven. Sofia represents a dramatic example of urban transformation where the vestiges of Ottoman rule were rapidly obliterated. To be sure, it was a special case. As Bulgaria’s capital, it was expected to be the showcase of the new state, where its progress would be most visible, so its transformation was imperative. The remaking of the city was not simply an exercise of urban development but a matter of nation-building and image-making. The task was facilitated by the fact that the city did not have a large Muslim population. In Sofia urban regulation initiatives had already been undertaken in the 1860s–1870s during the Tanzimat. As part of the plan inaugurated by the Ottoman authorities, entire rows of houses were levelled in order to expand and straighten five major roads connecting the city with the regional road network. The streets converged at the city center, located at a newly emerging square near the mineral baths and the Banya Başı mosque.34 The war had left scars on Sofia though it was spared the massive devastation of cities like Stara Zagora. In the first few years of modern Bulgaria’s existence, Sofia hardly had the appearance of a state capital. Many of its streets lacked pavement, frequent fires ravaged the wooden buildings, and ruins stuck out. Konstantin Jireček mockingly dubbed it the “Bulgarian Venice” for the mud and puddles covering the streets. The city was far from railway lines, and the poor road conditions combined with its location south of the Balkan mountains meant that the capital had little connection with the rest of the country during the snowy winter months. 35 Systematic efforts for transforming Sofia began during the time of the Russian administration. The first city plan for the new capital prepared by a French engineer was inaugurated in 1879, followed by cadastre and regulation plans. A spate of new development efforts took place in the 1890s, and a new city plan was promulgated in 1907 to suit the needs of the expanding city. The plans envisioned the introduction of ring roads that accommodated topographic and historical landmarks. Between them streets were organized in grid-line patterns to diminish the city’s “oriental” appearance due to meandering roads. In addition, there were other improvements. Many streets, particularly the central ones, were paved and electric streetlights were installed. The city was equipped with water mains and sewers. Streetcars were introduced to facilitate commuting. By the first decade of the twentieth century, one specialized publication could

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proudly proclaim that the once-cramped medieval-style Turkish town had come to resemble the major European cities.36 By the first decade of the twentieth century, Sofia acquired many of its landmark buildings: the parliament, the prince’s palace, the national theater, the mineral baths, and the military club, as well as a new central railway station. The monument of Levski had been consecrated, and the construction of the monumental St. Alexander Nevski Cathedral was under way. Prosperous and esthetically conscious private citizens commissioned houses that reflected the contemporary architectural styles. Even religious buildings used designs inspired by European trends. The Jewish community of Sofia commissioned architects from Austro-Hungary to construct a synagogue in the fashionable neo-Moorish style.37 In spite of the glowing pictures of the city’s center, the outskirts of Sofia expanded with little regulation, housing the growing influx of migrants. Life there was strikingly different.38 When the Ottoman authorities complained about the assault on the Muslim heritage in Bulgaria, they frequently referred to Sofia. Prior to 1878 the city had more than forty mosques, but by the beginning of the twentieth century only one had survived—the Banya Başı mosque was the only functioning one in the capital. The premises of the two other bigger domed mosques survived but they came to serve alternative purposes. The Dokuz Kubbeli mosque, hosted the newly established national library and subsequently the archaeological museum. The other one, popularly dubbed the Black Mosque after the color of its minaret plaques, had been damaged by an earthquake and had become a military depot back in Ottoman times. Its adjacent building lodged a political prison used during the Bulgarian period as well. Other smaller mosques made of brick or wood were scattered throughout the city. Over time, they were either converted to depots or gradually demolished. According to anecdotal stories, the demise of Sofia’s numerous mosques took place early on in the first months of the Russian administration: during a severe thunderstorm one night many minarets were blown up under the cover of lightning bolts and thunder. It is difficult to ascertain the veracity of this story. While such destructive interventions cannot be ruled out completely, in all likelihood most mosques were brought down in less dramatic ways. During his stay in Bulgaria in the first couple of years of its existence, Jireček, a perceptive observer, witnessed how groups of Bulgarians pulled down minarets with the help of ropes. It was a symbolic way of bringing down Ottoman authority linked



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to Islam, and people engaged in such actions with unconcealed enthusiasm. Other smaller mosques, especially wooden structures, empty and abandoned, gradually fell apart or their materials were pilfered. A similar fate befell other nonreligious Ottoman-era buildings, such as khans, some of which were damaged by military activities. While the ruins languished, durable materials, such as pieces of their lead roof covers, were taken away.39 In 1902–1903 the Black Mosque met a different fate: after a widely publicized popular campaign, it was converted into a church. The mosque, originally called Mehmed Pasha mosque, was erected in the first half of the sixteenth century.40 As mentioned earlier, after sustaining earthquake damage, the building ceased to be used for its original purpose and was converted into a depot, which is how the young Bulgarian state inherited it. Archaeological remains found in the vicinity of the site affirmed legends and popular Bulgarian convictions that it had been a Christian temple prior to the Ottoman conquest. However, although converting churches into mosques was a practice during the Ottoman period,41 this was not the case with the particular building. The campaign gained momentum from 1900 onward as the celebrations of a quarter century of Bulgaria’s existence approached. A popular fundraising drive for its restoration gathered over 100,000 leva, and the decision for its conversion into a church was widely publicized as the outcome of people’s wishes. The new church was consecrated in the summer of 1903.42 The building was restored in a national-Romantic and neo-Byzantine style inspired by artistic practices prevalent during the second medieval Bulgarian kingdom.43 The church was dedicated to Sts. Cyril and Methodius and their disciples (Sv. Sedmochislenitsi in Bulgarian). The act of turning the mosque building into a church and the choice of its name were symbolic of Bulgarian national aspirations. The popular campaign came at a time of heightened patriotic fervor stirred by the anticipation of the massive celebrations of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Russo-Ottoman War and the establishment of modern Bulgaria. Patriotic sentiments were intensified by the outpouring of sympathy and anger at the suppression of the 1902 uprising in Ottoman Macedonia. Elation and anger fused, feeding into a determination to triumph over the oppressor by erasing the final vestiges of Ottoman and Muslim domination over the country. It was a sign of rebirth— of suppressed faith and Bulgaria’s past glory. The choice of patron saints for the church was similarly emblematic. Sts. Cyril and Methodius and their disciples were celebrated as the creators of the Cyrillic alphabet, whose work was

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foundational for the development of Slavic literary culture. The dedication of the building to figures spreading enlightenment implicitly contrasted to the moniker “Black Mosque.” Moreover, the dedication underscored Bulgaria’s historic role: it was medieval Bulgarian rulers who had given shelter to Sts. Cyril and Methodius’s disciples when they had fallen out of favor elsewhere. In such a way Bulgarians salvaged their mission and secured its subsequent success around the Slavic world. Although the building had not been in use as a mosque, the Muslims saw its transformation into a church as an assault on their heritage and a sign of their fate in Bulgaria. The Muslim parliamentary representatives protested to the council of ministers but to little avail. So did the chief mufti, Hafız Bilal, who even presented several fetvas to demonstrate that each religious community was legally in charge of its own religious buildings and vakıfs were entitled to appropriate compensation for dissolved property.44 The event was marked by a brief note in Muvazene.45 Perhaps Ali Fehmi tried to contain his feelings or perhaps the act was, after all, not unanticipated. For their part, the Ottomans reacted with indignation. The sultan claimed to be personally upset, while the Ottoman government pointed to the unfavorable impression the affair would produce upon the Muslims of the principality and their coreligionists around the world.46 Another crisis loomed in 1906, when news spread about the decision of the Sofia municipality to pull down the last functioning mosque in the city, the Banya Başı mosque (figure 1), a creation of the architect Sinan. The mosque stood in the way of a project for a modern mineral bath, and there were concerns about its collapse in case of extensive excavation works in the vicinity. However, there were probably more compelling reasons for seeing to its end. The mosque, located on the main street leading from the railway station towards the city center, was the first sight that visitors arriving in Sofia would see. This created an unfavorable impression of the modern Bulgarian capital and reminded Bulgarians of the Ottoman past. As compensation, the municipal authorities planned to commission the construction of a new modern mosque to cater to the needs of Sofia’s Muslim community, though no concrete plans were under way. Amidst rising alarm, the Ottoman representatives protested about the project to the Bulgarian authorities. They also sought support from the Exarch, as well as the French consul in Sofia and the French engineer involved in preparing the plan.47 The mosque was saved, although the Sofia



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The Banya Başı Mosque in Sofia, 1917. Source: SS. Cyril and Methodius National Library, Sofia, NBKM–BIA, C II 1225. Reproduced by permission. FIGURE 1 

municipality denied serious intentions of disposing of it, and it continues to function to the present day. Stara Zagora represented another dramatic example of urban transformation. As discussed earlier, the city suffered extensive devastation during the war. Only a quarter of its prewar buildings survived, but many of them were damaged. Given the scale of destruction, reconstructing Stara Zagora was an urgent task, and the Rumelian authorities took to it with zeal. Stara Zagora was the first city to have a street and regulation plan. Similar to other cities, the municipal authorities enlisted the assistance of professionals from the Dual Monarchy. An engineer of Czech background was hired to prepare the first city plan. The model, dubbed “American,” was drastically different from plans inspired by European cities. The urban layout followed strict rectangular grid-line patterns. The plan broke down and unified the previously existing traditional quarters (mahalles), which in many cases were organized along confessional lines. Functionality was the main guiding principle. Another pioneering feature was the introduction of certain standards and limitations on the size of buildings and their plots, a regulation that set an example emulated elsewhere. The authorities began

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implementing the plan in the summer of 1879.48 Active efforts to rebuild the city followed the introduction of the plan and led to a steep hike in the price of construction materials.49 By the first decade of the twentieth century, the regional authorities would find Stara Zagora’s plan elementary, but at the time of its inception, it was seen as a pioneering endeavor.50 The Muslims of Stara Zagora were particularly resentful of the urban planning initiatives. They complained to the Rumelian authorities of not being allowed to repair their damaged buildings, houses, and commercial establishments, which they feared would continue to deteriorate and become subject to demolition. Because many buildings belonged to vakıfs, the harm was greater as the community was deprived of their property and income. In 1884 a delegation of Muslims met with the city governor to protest the implementation of the plan.51 Elsewhere in Eastern Rumelia, the local authorities also made efforts to improve city planning. Kazanlǔk was another town heavily damaged during the war. Nevertheless, many of its Muslims managed to preserve and repair their properties, at least in the 1880s.52 Sofia and Stara Zagora represent two examples of drastic transformation, but similar developments took place in other Bulgarian cities, where mosques, vakıf buildings, and Muslim cemeteries were demolished or converted to serve alternative purposes. Some widely publicized cases took place in Burgas, Plovdiv, Russe, Razgrad, Vidin, Chirpan, Varna, Tatar Pazardjik, and Kazanlǔk.53 In Russe the efforts to transform the former provincial capital into a flourishing Bulgarian city were similarly at the expense of Ottoman and Muslim buildings. By 1897 thirty-three mosques and tekkes, large chunks of their vakıf properties, and two cemeteries had been either obliterated or on the verge of being so. The plots where they used to stand were either developed by the municipality or sold to entrepreneurs. Rows of butcher and grocery stores, a school, and a brick factory appeared in their place, while part of one plot was added to a park.54 To counter Muslim protests, the authorities argued that bringing Bulgarian cities up to modern standards required sacrifices from everyone. Even churches and Christian cemeteries were not spared, they pointed out. But more importantly, the newly constructed edifices and spaces would have benefits for all inhabitants. A public park, for example, was a place of leisure for everyone, whereas a mosque served only Muslim needs. They cited Ottoman examples when religious sensitivities were sacrificed in the name of modernization: the



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noted Ottoman reformer Midhat Pasha had unceremoniously ordered the construction of a road through a Muslim cemetery in Eski Cuma during his tenure as a governor.55 The plots of Muslim cemeteries in places where large numbers of Muslims had emigrated were among the first to be sold or developed, along with unused mosques. Such acts were regarded as a double assault: Muslims received barely any compensation and saw them as insults to the memory of their ancestors.56 In Aytos, cemeteries avoided complete destruction but were to exist in an uneasy proximity to newly planned army barracks. Some of the gravestones, however, would be taken away; those with inscriptions were sent to the mufti’s office, while the unmarked ones were used in the construction of the barracks.57 Similarly, cemeteries in the vicinity of hospitals were to be relocated in accordance with the new public health regulations.58 In Plovdiv and Russe, cemetery plots eventually turned into public parks.59 Buildings heavily damaged by the war became liable to prompt demolition.60 Fires, some of them of dubious origin, facilitated the process.61 Converting buildings to alternative purposes because of implicit esthetic considerations was not uncommon. One such case dating to the early 1880s involved a mosque in Vidin. The mosque had been damaged during the war, but the municipality was reluctant to allow the Muslims to restore it, anticipating the passing of the new city plan. However, the municipal authorities did not conceal their intentions to convert the mosque into a public building, pointing to the fact that there were nineteen mosques in the town whereas the size of the Muslim community had considerably diminished. But there were further compelling motives. The mosque coexisted in an uneasy proximity with the expanding city promenade, so the respectable Vidin citizens strolling nearby regularly witnessed the Muslims performing their ritual ablutions, a scene that many found rather unsightly and even morally offensive. The Ministry of Foreign and Religious Affairs, which intervened in the matter following Muslim protests, objected to the arguments of the Vidin municipality since performing religious rituals was no reason for turning the mosque into a public building. It was another matter, it underscored, giving the Vidin municipality a useful tip, if the mosque indeed stood in the way of the new plan or spoiled the appearance of the city. Razing such buildings, regardless of their purpose, was completely legitimate.62 Individual Muslims and Muslim communities were entitled to compensation for the demolished property either in monetary value or in the form of a piece of

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land elsewhere. However, Muslims saw such reimbursement as inadequate. Even more importantly, while such funds might cover some of the material losses, Muslims felt that they could not compensate for offending their religious and cultural sensitivities.63 In many cases, compensation did not reach the recipients. Towards the end of the 1890s, the Muslim community in Plovdiv was still waiting for more than 40,000 leva for vakıf buildings that had been destroyed during the Eastern Rumelian period for the purpose of expanding the streets.64 In other instances municipalities first deducted outstanding taxes on existing vakıf and religious buildings and then paid out whatever was left. If there were large outstanding debts, no compensation was disbursed. This was the case with many buildings in Russe towards the end of the 1890s.65 And sometimes Muslims were required to relinquish their property to the state in return for compensation rather than sell it privately, presumably at a more competitive price, as was the case of a plot adjacent to the prince’s palace in Sofia.66 On other occasions, Muslims protested that they had not been given due notification about the demolition of particular buildings, one example being the Bayraklı mosque in Russe, which turned into another casualty of the plan.67 The scope and dynamic of urban change varied and depended on the specific local circumstances. A number of Ottoman-era buildings survived and kept their original purpose in urban centers with more numerous Muslim populations. Larger monumental edifices, such as mosques and baths that continued to be used by the community, tended to be preserved, along with buildings that were deemed to be of historical and artistic value. For example, at the beginning of the twentieth century, there were twenty-two mosques and one tekke in Plovdiv, among them the famous Cuma mosque, considered to be the first monumental Ottoman mosque in the Balkans. In Shumen, another city with a sizable Muslim population, there were thirty-two mosques and four tekkes. Among the surviving notable Muslim landmarks were the Tombul mosque in eighteenth-century Ottoman baroque style, as well as the mausoleum of Cezayirli Hasan Pasha, the commander who supervised the fortification of the city. In Vidin there were twelve mosques and two tekkes. The mosque of Osman Pazvantoğlu, with its distinctive crescent, and the adjacent library were among the prominent surviving buildings. Russe had eighteen functioning mosques and three tekkes. In Varna there were fourteen mosques. Stara Zagora had five mosques and one tekke. Haskovo had five functioning mosques, among them the notable Old Mosque (Eski Cami), one the earliest examples of Ottoman architecture in the Balkans.



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In the relatively smaller town of Eski Cuma, there were eleven mosques.68 Other Ottoman-era buildings of nonreligious purpose also survived, such as the covered market (bedestan) in Yambol, though its significance as a commercial and social spot was waning. In some exceptional cases Muslim protests succeeded in bringing back Muslim institutions to their original purpose. A mosque in Vidin that had served for more than a decade as an arms depot was restored to the community. The plans for turning a mosque in Balchik into a church were forfeited as a result of the efforts of one prominent Muslim from the town.69

Urban Development and the Vakıfs Urban development was a crucial factor leading to the demise of vakıfs in the cities, which in turn affected the Muslim institutions they supported. Over time the detrimental effects turned into a vicious cycle. There was the destruction and loss of the vakıf buildings and income they produced, but there were further ramifications. When vakıf buildings were razed, completely or partially, the institutions they supported were deprived of income. With limited or no funds for maintenance, the establishment, be it a mosque, tekke, or school, could come into disuse and begin to fall apart. And disused and crumbling buildings were subject to demolition or could be expropriated. Urban regulation and public safety concerns were cited to back such resolutions. What happened in cases when the establishment was demolished but its vakıf properties remained is somewhat unclear, and there were probably different scenarios. They either fell into municipal possession, especially in places with smaller Muslim populations, or passed to the administration of the city Muslim vakıf board, their income directed to supporting other functioning Muslim establishments. Oftentimes both the establishment and the vakıf properties were simultaneously affected because they were located in each other’s vicinity. Furthermore, in anticipation of the implementation of the city plan, the repair of such buildings was discouraged, so many were left to languish half-destroyed for years. Eventually their demolition seemed completely justified. Taxes—on the establishment and vakıf properties—further affected the vakıfs and the institutions they supported. Taxes were deducted from the vakıf income itself, yet many establishments and vakıf businesses fell in arrears. Because of lack of payment, municipalities seized the properties, which then met various fates. They were either razed outright and their plots sold, or if they had any commercial value, they were exploited by the new municipal owners, who

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collected rent and other income from them. Speculation was not uncommon, so Muslims chafed as they watched how plots or buildings they had owned were taken over by the municipality for a pittance and were subsequently resold for larger amounts. What further worsened the situation was that Muslim communities were required to pay taxes for buildings, religious establishments, and vakıf properties that had already been destroyed or were not commercially viable. Whether such demands resulted from complicated bureaucratic procedures, negligence, lack of updated plans and records, or purposeful acts is difficult to determine. Muslim vakıf commissions spent lengthy periods, occasionally years, entangled in legal disputes with the municipal authorities to no fruitful conclusion. Hiring lawyers only led to incurring further expenses. At the same time, compensation offered by the municipalities in exchange for destroyed buildings was not only deemed insufficient but was also delayed for years, and as mentioned earlier, occasionally never reached its recipients. And if other Muslim establishments and vakıfs had outstanding debts, the compensation went first for covering them. Information about vakıf properties in the countryside is scarcer, but from the available sources it appears that a similar process unfolded there as well. In several villages around Russe, vakıf lands and mills were expropriated, while the mosques they supported deteriorated or were seized. The lack of large numbers of Muslims in these areas facilitated the process.70 Examples of these trends are evident in a number of cases. In Vidin, for example, in the mid-1890s within a short period of time, the municipality knocked down a mosque, a tekke, and almost forty vakıf shops, justifying its decision with the argument that because of their decrepit state they represented a hazard to people’s safety.71 A few years later the Tabakhane mosque along with fifteen vakıf shops in the same city met a similar fate because of street expansion. The local vakıf commission had been unable to do much to prevent the act, and the compensation was deemed inadequate.72 Some of the sacred and more precious objects from the destroyed buildings, such as pulpits, candleholders, pieces of glass, and boxes, were collected by the Muslims.73 In Russe, according to a report of the Ottoman trade representative, thirtythree mosques, tekkes, and their vakıf properties had met a similar fate by the late 1890s. The New Mosque (Cami Cedid), for example, had been a richly endowed establishment. But its existence was under question since part of it fell into the new city plan, and most of its properties had already been taken for



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failure to pay taxes. The Old Mosque fell into the plan, but it was already practically defunct because its properties had been seized. Because of failure to pay taxes, its impending demise was certain. The Guguna mosque remained outside the plan, but it was closed since its properties had fallen into the urban plan and had been destroyed. The Said Pasha mosque with substantial endowments had managed to survive due to the active efforts of one of its mutevellis, who was a member of parliament. But once he passed away, its end loomed: part of it fell into the plan, and its properties were seized. Two of the four tekkes had survived; one was as good as gone because it fell within the borders of the new plan and there was no permission for its repair. The fate of the Shazeli tekke was uncertain. In the mid-1880s its destitute sheikh had petitioned the Bulgarian authorities for support because many of the vakıf shops that provided the tekke with income had been damaged during the war. By the late 1890s, though, all its properties were gone, and its surroundings fell within the plan. 74 Local Muslims were aware of the far-reaching adverse consequences that the obliteration of vakıfs brought about. Witnessing the fate of Muslim heritage and the vakıfs brought a sense of despair and anxiety among them. But at the same time, it spurred the rise of reform initiatives: Muslims could not sit by and watch the destitution around them; they themselves had to mobilize to prevent it.

The Countryside, Land Regime, and Agriculture The end of Ottoman imperial rule and the advent of modern Bulgarian statehood brought crucial transformations in the countryside that overhauled the land regime linked to the fate and socioeconomic position of many Muslims. The changes in the agrarian regime were of particular significance to Bulgaria since it was a country with a predominantly agricultural economy, and 80 percent of its population was rural.75 But even in small towns and the outskirts of bigger cities, many people had a lifestyle similar to those in the countryside, cultivating small land plots and gardens, raising a few animals, or working fields near the town as their chief occupation or for supplementary income.76 The Russo-Ottoman War, the establishment of Bulgaria, and the departure of many Muslims were associated with one of the most important economic and social changes in the countryside: the mass transfer of land from Muslims to Bulgarians. The process has been termed “agrarian revolution” (agraren prevrat) in traditional Bulgarian historiography partly in order to underscore its scale and relatively swift pace.77 Frequently presented as the predictable consequence of

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the change of political regime, the process has been reexamined by a recent work, which has linked it to the development of ideas about sovereignty, economic independence, and land ownership.78 Even during the Tanzimat, most land in the Ottoman Empire was technically owned by the state, and according to law, peasants had the right to lease such land, which over the course of time amounted to actual possession. By the first half of the nineteenth century as a result of various developments, military and economic elites, mainly Muslim, had come to treat large chunks of land, formally owned by the state, as private estates known as çiftliks that relied on hired, mainly Christian, labor. Their expansion was further stimulated by the development of commercial agriculture. To reduce the power of such notables, diminish rural discontent, and increase productivity, during the Tanzimat the Ottoman authorities introduced a series of measures ultimately aiming to foster individual tax-paying subjects and land cultivators.79 It is unclear how many potential small and medium landowners, Muslims and non-Muslims, took advantage of these policies and circumstances and what proportion of the land in Bulgaria and Eastern Rumelia was in private possession on the eve of the war. After 1878 the process of land privatization and distribution into smallholdings that began in the Ottoman period continued, but in the context of the Bulgarian state and under the Eastern Rumelian regime. The main beneficiaries were Bulgarian peasants. Larger Muslim landholders whose authority had begun to unravel in the preceding Ottoman period lost their economic influence in Bulgaria after 1878. For example, the once powerful owners of the fertile çiftliks around Akkadınlar and Balbunar gradually lost their prosperity and clout after 1878. They had to rely exclusively on hired labor and began to administer the estates themselves. Thus, as their çiftliks gradually declined, the owners became no different than ordinary prosperous farmers.80 Many large landlords also emigrated during the war or afterward, though it is impossible to determine their numbers. The process was similar in Eastern Rumelia, although the province was under the sultan’s authority; it continued when it became part of the Bulgarian state. To curb the authority of larger landlords, usually Muslim, help peasants acquire the plots of land they cultivated, and provide incentives for more productive land exploitation, the authorities of Eastern Rumelia substituted the tithe with a land or cadastre tax. The tax made no distinction among lands of different productivity. It was a major burden and became a source of complaint for Muslims. Facing



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the burden of the land tax and uncertainty about the future, many Muslims sold their estates and emigrated to the empire proper. Bulgarians grumbled about the tax as well, though not as vocally, and some migrated to the principality in search of better economic prospects.81 Well aware of Muslim resentment, Bulgarians in Eastern Rumelia even sought to convince Muslims to support a union with the principality, pointing out that the heavy cadastre tax would be abolished and substituted by the tithe, which was the case in the principality.82 The result of the process was evident in the region of Stara Zagora, one of the areas with numerous çiftliks. Prior to 1878 there had been more than 100 çiftliks in the area around the city. By 1894 there were fourteen left, only four of which were still run by their owners. There were similar developments in other neighboring settlements. By the 1890s the land in the district was divided into small plots.83 Nevertheless, there remained Muslims who derived considerable profits from owning or farming land. Some prominent figures came from the Giray family, descendants of Crimean Tatar dynasty that settled in the area around Vǔrbitsa in the seventeenth century. The family managed to preserve a significant portion of its estates though its authority was diminished in comparison to Ottoman times. Mesut Giray, a prominent patriarchal figure, remained sufficiently influential to be elected three times to the Bulgarian national assembly.84 Other Muslims who engaged in farming were considered important enough to be listed among the more prominent inhabitants of various towns and districts. There is no information about the size of their estates, but it would have been substantial by local standards, and they probably used hired labor. These owners, though, were not simple renters but engaged in commercial agriculture and animal husbandry too. Such farmers predominated among the middle classes in the overwhelmingly Muslim northeast in towns like Akkadınlar, Balbunar, Eski Cuma, Kemanlar, Kurtbunar, and Osman Pazar.85 Given the appeal of land ownership, many Bulgarian peasants sought to take advantage when the political situation turned in their favor. Seizures of land owned by Muslims occurred during the Russo-Ottoman War, but they were subsequently revoked because the Berlin Treaty provided guarantees for the rights of Muslim landowners regardless of whether they resided in the country. Landowners, however, had to claim their estates within three years of the treaty, a term subsequently extended. Unclaimed land became state or municipal property. The turbulent circumstances of the early postwar years facilitated the process of land transfer. Legislation passed in 1880 and 1885 opened the way for

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privatization of long- and short-term lease lands and the lands formerly taken by Circassians and Tatars. Specific regulations required owners to have a deed or to prove their ownership rights in court. The stipulation presented a particular obstacle for Muslim refugees and even put their repatriation under question, as many of them did not have title deeds. In the absence of such documents or other proof of residence, they could be denied entry into Bulgaria and Eastern Rumelia during the immediate postwar period.86 The Ottoman representatives sought ways of assisting the refugees and other Muslims by providing them with title deeds. The legality of such documents was vehemently contested by the Bulgarian authorities, who accused the office of the Ottoman Commissioner in Sofia of fabricating 170,000 land deeds.87 In some cases three or four people presented a deed for the same land.88 The Muslims who returned to their native places oftentimes sought to sell their land and emigrate permanently to the Ottoman Empire. As a result, the land market became so glutted that the price of land fell about 40–50 percent in comparison to pre-1878 levels.89 There are few available statistics about the amount of land and money that changed hands, though some estimates suggest that between 450,000 and 700,000 hectares of land previously owned or cultivated by Muslims passed into the hands of Bulgarians or the Bulgarian state.90 The principality did not maintain statistics on land sales, but it was estimated that by 1884 the Muslims had received 20 million franks from the sale of their estates. The authorities in Eastern Rumelia kept a general account of the land sales, which provides some insight into the process. The results of the transactions between the various religious groups in the autonomous province for the period 1879–1883 are represented in the following table, drawing on information provided by Jireček.91 Land sales and value in Ottoman kuruş and leva/franks Muslims to Christians 72,229,516 kuruş (roughly equal to 16,641,680 leva/franks) Christians to Muslims 401,752 kuruş (roughly equal to 92,663 leva/franks) Christians to Christians 24,799,084 kuruş (roughly equal to 5,713,709 leva/franks) Muslims to Muslims 4,727,885 kuruş (roughly equal to 1,089,305 leva/franks)



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In the postwar period as plenty of land came on offer, many peasants sought to buy their own plots or add to what they already possessed. This, however, did not lead to the formation of large land estates or a dramatic improvement in their material status. In spite of the low prices, peasants had to take out loans to help them with payments. Many resorted to the services of moneylenders who charged exorbitant interest of up to 100 percent a year. Peasants borrowed more to pay for seeds, to cover expenses in the years when the harvest failed, or to pay taxes. It was a widespread practice in all parts of Bulgaria and affected considerable segments of the population.92 When people were unable to repay their loans, either they had to sell their land or it passed into the hands of their creditors. Moneylenders occasionally operated land speculation schemes as well, so Muslims were a particular target.93 The availability of land also opened opportunities for speculation; companies or individuals sought to buy large pieces of land in order to resell or rent them out. In a village near Pleven, for example, from which all its Muslim inhabitants had fled during the war, the Bulgarian peasants collected money and sent an emissary to the Ottoman Empire to buy the land from its previous owners. To their disappointment, a company from the city had already sent its own agent who was able to purchase the estates at a higher price than the villagers could afford.94 Occasionally, Muslims participated in land speculation operations as well, with certain dubious entrepreneurs shuttling between Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire.95 The authorities were interested in facilitating land redistribution as long as it benefitted Bulgarian peasants, but they were wary of speculation since it threatened to undermine socioeconomic stability and productivity.96 They were also adamant that Greeks or Jews should not acquire Muslim land.97 The large-scale transfer of Muslim land did not lead to the formation of large land estates. In the 1890s large and very large landowners (those who possessed between thirty and more than one hundred hectares) were less than 1 percent of all landowners; the land they owned was 10 percent of the total cultivated area. At the beginning of the twentieth century, Bulgaria emerged as a country of small and very small peasant landowners. Ninety percent of peasants owned estates whose size ranged from two to ten hectares; this represented over half the cultivated land in the county.98 Demand for land continued particularly as Bulgaria’s population increased. Over the first three decades of its existence, the country’s population rose from 3 million99 to about 4.3 million, yet the amount of cultivated land did not increase

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significantly after the mid-1890s. Consequently, land owned by Muslims looked quite appealing to Bulgarian peasants. Incidents when Bulgarian villagers attacked or harassed their Muslim neighbors with the intention of forcing them to sell their estates cheaply or to abandon them and emigrate were not uncommon. Devious entrepreneurs who engaged in various business schemes did not hesitate to use intermediaries to commit criminal offenses to drive Muslims away. In 1906 a lawyer from Plovdiv was implicated of sending men to set a çiftlik owned by a Muslim on fire so that he could acquire the property cheaply. Sometimes throwing a piece of pork in the well of a village mosque was enough to propel Muslims to leave swiftly, abandoning their lands. Muslims were painfully aware of the ultimate goal of such offensive actions.100 The advent of Bulgarian rule brought more adverse economic impact on particular regions. The establishment of the southern border with the Ottoman Empire negatively affected the economy of the Rhodopi and parts of south Bulgaria where sheep breeding was a major occupation. In the Ottoman period the region produced wool for the traditional textile industries and supplied Istanbul with meat. The new border cut off the routes of pastoral migration, curbing the development of the industry. And while Bulgaria continued exporting meat and wool to the empire, these goods were subject to customs fees. The economic situation deteriorated further as both the Bulgarian and the Ottoman authorities tightened border security in order to prevent the crossing of revolutionary bands.101 These developments created favorable conditions for the flourishing of an underground economy around the border, a phenomenon familiar even today. Such enterprises were risky and occasionally affected people not involved in them, but they were a way of making a living. Muslims residing in the vicinity of the border, particularly in the Pomak villages, engaged in tobacco smuggling.102 Bulgarian border guards were not averse to bribery to turn a blind eye to Muslims fleeing across to the Ottoman Empire illegally.103 The restless canton of Tǔmrash inhabited by Pomaks had been ceded to the empire but was practically under no effective authority, so some of its inhabitants engaged in smuggling and occasionally sheltered fugitives sought by the authorities. The Ottomans were exasperated about the Tǔmrash people’s uncertain loyalties. Though Muslims, they had no qualms about secretly transporting arms and gunpowder from Plovdiv to the Edirne vilayet for the Bulgarian revolutionary committees in return for money, the Ottoman Second Secretary complained



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when his offices coordinated a sting operation with his superiors to capture the smugglers on Ottoman ground.104 One branch of agriculture affected by the end of Ottoman rule was rice cultivation. Coincidentally, it was one where Muslims were well represented. In the Ottoman period, rice cultivation enjoyed special state protection. It was particularly well developed around Plovdiv and Pazardjik. Rice fields were owned mainly by Muslims, with many Bulgarians serving as laborers. In Plovdiv many rice merchants were Muslims. After 1878 concerns about the endemic presence of diseases, such as malaria, led the Eastern Rumelian authorities to ban rice cultivation and make efforts to drain the rice paddies. Rice cultivation was reintroduced again once the province became part of Bulgaria after certain representatives of the authorities argued that with proper regulation of cultivation methods, the economic advantages would overshadow the public health risks. However, the tug between the sanitary authorities on one side and the administrators and rice cultivators on the other persisted.105 Another area of the economy where Muslims were well represented was tobacco cultivation, production, and trade. Tobacco production and commerce expanded after 1878, with a certain encouragement from the state. Some Muslims even owned small tobacco factories, though over time their operations either folded or merged with other enterprises.106 Muslims were well represented in horse breeding in certain regions. The Deli Orman and other parts of northeastern Bulgaria were renowned for producing valuable horse breeds. In the Ottoman period horse breeding was promoted in the area due to its strategic significance. The Russo-Ottoman War dealt a heavy blow to this economic activity as many animals were requisitioned or stolen. Horse breeding was revived in the decade after 1878. Muslims dominated almost exclusively the ranks of horse breeders and regularly won the local livestock competitions. The animals were exported or sold on the Bulgarian market.107 Aware of the economic potential and long tradition of horse breeding, the Bulgarian authorities sought to support it and even cautioned that Muslim emigration from the area would ultimately bring it to an end.108 Most of the Muslims who were involved in the reform movement were of urban background, but some had roots in the countryside or served as village teachers. They were aware of the conditions in the villages. For them, the poor state of the peasants was rooted in the same problem plaguing Muslims in all aspects of their life: ignorance. Consequently, education was expected to open

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the doors to improving the peasants’ condition.109 There were no specific reform proposals with regard to agriculture; in fact, for Muslim reform activists, industry was more important. People from the countryside were not completely isolated or opposed to reform initiatives. Village inhabitants wrote to reformist newspapers to express their grievances or relate their experiences.110

Public Health and Private Lives Building a modern state also entailed improving hygiene conditions, so the Bulgarian authorities embarked upon vigorous public health initiatives. Vaccination campaigns and the imposition of quarantines were pursued with considerable energy. These measures intruded on individuals’ private lives. Tensions over such interference surfaced on a number of occasions when it came to the Muslims, although Bulgarians showed similar resentment. Various methods of immunization against smallpox, such as variolation and vaccination, were practiced informally throughout the Ottoman Empire until 1846, when the Ottoman government made vaccination compulsory. However, the requirement was not systematically implemented throughout the provinces until the later nineteenth century, and it was also met with much resistance.111 After the establishment of Bulgaria, the Bulgarian authorities began conducting annual vaccination campaigns and monitored disease outbreaks with greater scrutiny. To overcome opposition and implement the new health measures, they occasionally enlisted the help of the police. Evasion and resistance to vaccination were common, particularly in the countryside. Traditional beliefs about disease mixed with concerns about the vaccines’ safety. Many rural inhabitants also came to see such measures as excessive interference on the part of the state in their lives. Officials reported with scorn the common superstitions about disease and the traditional medical practices that not only led to the patients’ demise but contributed to the spread of contagion. Although Bulgarians and Jews resisted vaccination, evading vaccines seemed more widespread among the Muslims. In an exasperated bid to deal with the problem, the authorities enlisted the help of the few nurses and midwives in the public health service to reach out to Muslim women, who were most likely to care for the children in the family. Vaccination campaigns were more successful in the cities. The situation gradually improved over time.112 For Muslims, just like Bulgarians, traditional beliefs about disease played a role in avoiding vaccination and quarantines. But privacy, particularly that of women,



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and mistrust of state health officials were also common concerns. In 1906 a medrese teacher in Plovdiv who had been accused of covering up an outbreak of scarlet fever in his family and consequently exposing the pupils in his school to the disease vocally protested that the city doctor involved in enforcing quarantine measures had links to the Macedonian committees. This fact made the doctor more relentless towards the Muslims, he suggested, and his presence in Muslim homes was unwelcome.113 Other public health measures, particularly the efforts to control pilgrimage, were at odds with Muslim religious traditions. Just like a number of other states in the nineteenth century, Bulgaria was concerned not only with controlling disease domestically but also with preventing its spread from outside, so the country became a part of the international quarantine system. Muslim pilgrimage had long been associated with risks of spreading plague and cholera. The Ottomans established quarantine in 1838, and from the second half of the nineteenth century onward, Muslim pilgrims returning from the hajj via sea were required to pass through two quarantine stations at Suez and İzmir. The Bulgarian authorities exercised considerable vigilance towards returning pilgrims particularly during epidemics, such as the plague outbreak in Jeddah around 1900. The authorities also regularly made appeals to the Muslims, advising them paternalistically to avoid the journey, pointing to the dangers to which they risked exposing themselves. In addition, they sought to keep track of the returning pilgrims and their possessions, including their destination in Bulgaria. Returning hacıs were subject to quarantine, and their luggage to disinfection. The measures occasionally roused indignation when Bulgarian officials mishandled, purposefully or inadvertently, or sought to disinfect the containers of zemzem water carried by the travelers. Such sanitation measures were regarded as a sacrilege, while the inspection was seen as inappropriate intrusion. To avoid them, Muslims resorted to leaving their possessions with friends or relatives in the Ottoman Empire, who brought or sent them to Bulgaria later.114 Reformist Muslims emphasized the significance of maintaining personal hygiene though they were less preoccupied with its ultimate public health benefits than with its potential to cultivate moral discipline. It was especially important for schoolchildren to form such habits early on, so teachers had the duty of inspecting the students’ appearance once a week. A neat appearance was a sign of an educated and cultured mind.115 Reformist publications also moralized to

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their audiences about the dangers of syphilis, a scourge worse than tuberculosis, yet in many cases preventable.116 For Bulgaria’s Muslims, it was becoming increasingly clear that in spite of the official rhetoric of equality, they lived in a state catering primarily to the Bulgarian majority. Some responded by emigrating to the Ottoman Empire, but others were spurred into action. The emergence of reform initiatives among the Muslims in the 1890s was a response to the sense of crisis precipitated by their experiences. Yet, it was the influx of new ideas and the rise of new social actors and means of public debate that led to mobilizing the Muslims for concrete actions.

4

A Quiet Upheaval

THE BEGINNING OF LIVELY DEBATES and coordinated reform initiatives among

Bulgaria’s Muslims can be traced to the mid-1890s. To be sure, prior to this time Muslims did discuss their condition. Muslim figures of influence, such as religious leaders and parliamentary representatives, lobbied the Bulgarian authorities to adapt their policies to accommodate Muslim demands, traditions, and sensitivities. Mufti appointments, funding of schools, intervention in the functioning of Muslim religious institutions, and incidents of abuse were among their main concerns.1 However, these initiatives were fragmentary and did not involve wider segments of Muslim society. Nor were they accompanied by discussions of systematic transformation. In comparison, later developments were more organized and reflected more specific ideas. Reform initiatives among Bulgaria’s Muslims emerged in response to the acute sense of crisis they experienced living in the aspiring Bulgarian nation-state whose nation- and state-building initiatives affected their culture, institutions, and heritage. There was a growing feeling that although freedom and equality were enshrined by legislation, they remained inaccessible to the Muslims. Their feelings of doom were amplified by witnessing the fate of the Ottoman Empire. The integrity of the Ottoman state seemed to be under constant menace, while Great Power pressures over its internal affairs increased. With the 1890s Armenian crisis, the Ottomans were pressed to implement reforms in the eastern Anatolian provinces.2 Granting greater autonomy to Crete left little illusion that the island would soon separate completely and be annexed

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by Greece.3 Another crisis arose in the empire’s European provinces from the mid-1890s onward with the surge of incursions of revolutionary bands and the competing aspirations of Bulgaria, Greece, and Serbia. Following the 1903 Ilinden-Preobrazhenie uprising, Istanbul’s sovereignty over Ottoman Macedonia was limited with the introduction of an Austrian and Russian-sponsored reform program. Europe’s advocacy of Ottoman Christians was regarded as mere duplicity concealing its own expansionist and economic goals, many Muslims argued. European powers cared little for the injustices Muslims suffered—be it under the rule of the sultan or their new Christian masters. Muslims critical of the Istanbul regime regarded Abdülhamid II as yet another source of oppression adding to their misery.4 Contemporary events elsewhere fanned further anxieties. British, French, and Russian imperial enterprises threatened Muslims around the world. News of British-French rivalry and German aspirations in Africa, along with the Great Game in Central Asia, for example, were anxiously followed by Bulgaria’s Muslims.5 These events evoked a sense despair, but they also strengthened arguments for action. The rise of the reform movement in the mid-1890s was linked to several interrelated developments in Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire. These were the liberalization of the Bulgarian political setting, the emergence of an independent Muslim press, which would turn into the main platform for debating reform, the coming of age of a new generation of Muslims, and the spread of the Young Turk organization to Bulgaria. In 1894 with the resignation of the then prime minister Stefan Stambolov, who had dominated political life over the previous eight years, there was a widespread sense of freedom.6 During his time Stambolov, a former revolutionary, took the unconventional step of initiating a rapprochement with the Ottomans because he believed that such a move would best serve Bulgarian national aspirations in the empire. He earned further resentment as he and his supporters throughout the country persecuted political rivals relentlessly, while elections were accompanied by threats and coercion. By the early 1890s he had become particularly unpopular; so, unable to handle the tide of discontent, Stambolov resigned in 1894, and the following year he was assassinated. His resignation brought about jubilation. Public debates proliferated, while the number of periodicals increased. A sense of new possibilities was in the air, and Muslim voices became more prominent. A new kind of Muslim press, itself a product of the changed circumstances, became the medium where Muslims began discussing their condition.



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The Muslim Press and Muslim Public Opinion The press was instrumental for the rise of discussions and reform initiatives among Bulgaria’s Muslims. It was also a crucial medium for coordinating individual reform endeavors and turning them into a movement. Just as significantly, it contributed to the emergence of a more distinct sense of community that sought to act together for the sake of the common good. The development of the Muslim press in Bulgaria was influenced by the Bulgarian context and developments in the Ottoman Empire, but also, crucially, it was shaped by the local Muslims. Press publishing had its own history during the Ottoman period. The press had made its way in the Ottoman provinces during the Tanzimat. The inhabitants of the Bulgarian lands were familiar with Istanbul-based periodicals, official provincial publications such as the bilingual Tuna/Dunav (1865–77) and Edirne (which started in 1867), and some local independent Ottoman-language journals. The early provincial and other official journals were largely means of one-way communication through which the authorities informed the local inhabitants about various administrative decisions and reported select local news. Debates and reader contributions were limited. At the same time, periodicals in Bulgarian, Greek, and other languages also appeared in Istanbul and other major cities and began circulating throughout the Ottoman Empire. Such journals often addressed issues of concern to specific communities, although they did so within the existing imperial context. The official Ottoman provincial press aimed to serve all imperial subjects, Muslims and non-Muslims alike, although because of its association with the Ottoman state, it was seen by many as a reflection of Muslim interests. In comparison, the Ottoman-language press that appeared in Bulgaria after 1878 catered specifically to the Muslim community. Consequently, this book will refer to such periodicals as Muslim press.7 In Bulgaria, the constitution and other legislation explicitly guaranteed freedom of expression and banned censorship. Yet press freedom was a flexible concept, so government changes often served as pretexts for persecuting political opponents and their publications. Press publishing was further affected by economic uncertainties related to the limits of readership. But in many respects, the challenges Muslim periodicals encountered were greater than those faced by Bulgarian newspapers. Press publishing was hardly on the mind of many Muslims in the first uncertain years of Bulgaria’s existence. Arabo-Persian letter printing equipment was expensive and had to be imported, and the relatively

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limited demand for these newspapers rendered the enterprise unprofitable. Legislation, such as education requirements for editors, affected Muslims more adversely since few among them had such qualifications. Even more significantly, Muslim journals had to walk a fine line in comparison to their Bulgarian counterparts when it came to criticizing the Bulgarian authorities out of fear of being perceived as subversive. Nevertheless, certain periodicals, such as Muvazene and Gayret, were remarkably daring in their criticism. Muslim periodicals coming out in Bulgaria were influenced to some extent by the press regime in the Ottoman Empire. During the Hamidian period, the press in the empire proliferated but its contents were increasingly censored, especially from 1889–90 onward. Publications coming out abroad, including in Bulgaria, that were not supported by the Ottoman government were viewed with mistrust. The Ottoman authorities were aware that the press was instrumental in advocating for Muslim interests. At the same time, though, they were concerned about their proper adherence to the agenda of the Ottoman regime. Suspicions increased when Young Turk fugitives launched vigorous publication activity in the mid-1890s. The Ottoman authorities could keep a check on the journals that entered the empire officially. However, their ability to control the Muslim press in Bulgaria was limited and depended on Bulgarian cooperation. For their part, Bulgarians were not shy about using local Muslim publications as bargaining leverage. In these circumstances Ottoman officials had to find various ways of silencing critical publications, such as paying editors and owners to shut down their newspapers. Alternatively, they provided support to publications or allowed their circulation in the empire if they abided by censorship regulations. In Bulgaria, the first Muslim journals came out as a result of the initiative of the Bulgarian authorities and were linked to the figure of Yusuf Ali (known also as Arnavud Yusuf Ali, Yusuf Ali Albani, Türabi, or Derviş). Originally from the southern Albanian lands, Yusuf Ali had a rocky relationship with the Ottoman authorities and intermittent links with Albanian nationalist groups. He settled in Bulgaria shortly after the Russo-Ottoman War of 1877–78.8 He was regarded by the Bulgarians as reliable enough to be entrusted with the task of translating the Bulgarian constitution into Ottoman Turkish and to be installed as the editor of the first Muslim newspaper in the country, Tarla (Field). The idea belonged to the Bulgarian authorities, particularly prince Battenberg, who was keen on setting up such a journal as a means of providing the



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local Muslims with translations of Bulgarian legislation. Beyond these practical considerations, there were also political motives. Such a journal was expected to be a platform for controlled discussions among the Muslims, allowing them to voice their concerns as proper Bulgarian subjects and encouraging their loyalties to the Bulgarian state. The Bulgarian authorities purchased printing equipment from Istanbul,9 and the journal used the facilities of the state printing house.10 Tarla, the first Muslim periodical in Bulgaria, was a weekly and came out for six months in 1882. It was published in Ottoman Turkish and Bulgarian although the contents of the two sections were not always identical. True to the original intent, the journal sought to cultivate Muslim loyalties to the Bulgarian state.11 Soon, however, it was closed because of objectionable content. Yusuf Ali published another ephemeral periodical called Nadas (Fallow; 1883). In April 1883, again with the tacit but wary backing of the Bulgarian authorities, he launched Dikkat (Attention), which was published with some interruptions until 1886, when it was permanently suspended with the introduction of state of emergency following the political crisis surrounding Battenberg’s abdication. Yusuf Ali moved to Romania and returned to Bulgaria in 1894. He launched another short-lived periodical, İttifak (Union), which was largely free of Bulgarian tutelage. A few years later he emigrated to the Ottoman Empire and disappeared from the scene of Muslim journalism in Bulgaria.12 Although the Bulgarian authorities were instrumental in setting the stage for the publication of the first Muslim newspapers in the country and Yusuf Ali showed exceptional diligence in reaffirming his loyalties to the Bulgarian state, these first periodicals should not be dismissed as mere Bulgarian propaganda tools. Yusuf Ali showed genuine sensitivity to the problems of the Muslims, publicizing some of their grievances.13 Nevertheless, these journals did not become independent platforms for debating the problems of the Muslim community. Muslim periodicals also appeared in Eastern Rumelia. The main publication, the newspaper Hilal (1883–85), was in some respects similar to other Ottoman provincial newspapers by discussing problems concerning the province. Yet it was meant to advocate mainly the interests of the province’s Muslim population; its name, which means “crescent,” symbolically underscored its aspiration. The journal’s editor was one of the Plovdiv notables, and the printing press was donated by the sultan.14 Even more significantly, its pages featured more extensive discussions of Muslim life in the province, as well as contributions

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from the local inhabitants. Hilal came out until September 1885, when along with other periodicals in Eastern Rumelia, it was disbanded after the province was annexed to the principality. Two other Muslim journals made their appearance in the late 1880s: Varna Postası (The Varna Post) (1887–88) and Serbest Bulgaristan (Free Bulgaria) (1888–89). Both were associated with Necib Nadir, a figure from the Ottoman Empire with no links to Bulgaria, who also served as a rüşdiye teacher in Varna. Varna Postası showed eagerness to discuss the problems of the Muslims, though criticism was carefully worded.15 After these two journals folded and their editor departed for the empire, there was a five-year gap, during which, apart from one fleeting attempt, no Muslim journal came out. This interlude could probably be attributed to two main reasons. First, no Muslim figure appeared to be willing or able to launch such an enterprise. But second, Bulgarian policies were just as significant. This period coincided with Stambolov’s strong grip over the country’s affairs, as well as his rapprochement with the Ottomans. Knowing the sultan’s sensitivity to outside Ottoman-language publications, he apparently sought to curtail their appearance, as suggested by the scant available documentation, though he probably had his own political considerations too.16 From the mid-1890s onward, the number of Muslim periodicals increased dramatically, and Bulgaria’s Muslims made forays into political journalism, thus bringing about a new period of Muslim press publishing. Twenty-seven Muslim journals appeared between 1894 and 1908. About half of them were associated with the Young Turks. The rest displayed loyalty to the sultan to varying degrees or maintained a fairly neutral stance. This seeming boom of Muslim publishing should not be exaggerated. Many of the publications came out for a limited time, but several major journals were published over a longer period. Russe and Plovdiv emerged as the main centers of Muslim publishing. The latter city even gained the reputation of being the capital of Muslim newspaper publishing in Bulgaria. The Muslim press of this time stands in sharp contrast to previous endeavors. Above all, these periodicals came out largely upon the initiative of the Muslims and reflected their experiences and concerns. The fact that there were two or more publications coming out simultaneously allowed them to debate with each other and compete for readership. Reformist journals associated with the Young Turks were more likely to engage in arguments with publications sympathetic to the empire’s regime. The latter were dependent on subscribers in the empire



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and occasionally on the sultan’s subsidies. Consequently, they tried to abide by Ottoman censorship rules and refrained from making references to any opposition activity or publications. Several newspapers, such as Muvazene, Tuna, and Uhuvvet, became outspoken leaders of reform initiatives. The development of reformist press played a crucial role in merging separate initiatives into more coordinated actions and contributed to greater awareness of shared experiences among Bulgaria’s Muslims. The first reformist publication was Sebat (Perseverance) (1895–96) of Russe. However, the most influential reformist journal was Muvazene (Equilibrium) (1897–1905). After its closure, other journals carried on the legacy of reform. The most notable ones were the first Muslim daily, Tuna (Danube), and its sister weekly publication, Uhuvvet (Brotherhood), along with the daily, Balkan. Among the journals aligned with the sultan’s regime, the most important one was Rıza Pasha’s Gayret (Zeal).

Ali Fehmi and Muvazene The most important figure of the reform movement was Ali Fehmi. The appearance of his journal Muvazene gave momentum to the movement. The journal emerged as the main platform for debating Muslim affairs, and many Muslims looked to it for guidance and advice. In turn, Ali Fehmi, well aware of its significance, cast himself as a new kind of intellectual and political leader. Similar to other Muslim intellectual and political figures active in Bulgaria, Ali Fehmi’s activities and life straddled Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire, though he also travelled much farther than others. Ali Fehmi was born in Plovdiv in 1871 to a prominent Muslim family.17 After attending the local rüşdiye, he went on to study in the elite school for civil servants in Istanbul, the Mülkiye. He graduated in 1889 and for eight years served as a teacher and principal in various schools throughout the Ottoman Empire. According to a petition he presented to the Ottoman representatives in Bulgaria, his career there was cut short when he was unjustly implicated in a fire incident at a school in Ankara. Unable to find another job in the Empire, he returned to his family in Plovdiv sometime in early 1897. In Plovdiv, however, he was denied appointment in any of the local schools in spite of his superior qualifications. His petition to the Second Secretary in Plovdiv to be posted to an Ottoman diplomatic mission abroad was similarly unsuccessful.18 Deprived of other professional prospects, Ali Fehmi decided to cast his fate with journalism.

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The real reason for the Ottoman refusal to appoint Ali Fehmi to any position in the state bureaucracy was his Young Turk sympathies. Most probably suspicions about his activities had led to his dismissal from the Ankara school. He had published an article in the provincial newspaper lamenting the condition of the refugees settled in the area and also criticizing the negligence of the Ottoman authorities.19 His appeal to the Ottoman representatives in Bulgaria in a tacit bid for reconciliation was not exceptional. Around the same time other Young Turks, such as Mizancı Murad Bey, agreed to abandon their activities opposing the sultan in exchange for amnesty.20 The Ottoman representatives tried to foil the publication of Muvazene. They asked the Bulgarian authorities to prevent Ali Fehmi from publishing the journal and requested his extradition to the empire.21 At first the Bulgarians complied with Ottoman demands, but the initial ban was short-lived. In the meanwhile, the Ottoman authorities resorted to other measures. They sent Gayret’s editor, Rıza Pasha, to persuade Ali Fehmi to join his journal, which was known for its sympathetic attitude to the sultan.22 In the late summer of 1897, the Ottoman Commissioner Nasuhi Bey even tried to coax Ali Fehmi into returning to Istanbul with a promise to plead for his amnesty.23 By this time, though, Ali Fehmi had grown suspicious of Ottoman reassurances, so he abandoned all plans for reconciliation and threw his energy into launching the publication. On 2 September 1897, the first issue of Muvazene came out. That Muvazene would take off successfully was far from certain. While the Ottoman authorities harbored particular mistrust towards Ali Fehmi, he entered the scene of Muslim publishing at a precarious time when the Istanbul government, through its representatives and other special emissaries, had launched a campaign aiming to limit the number of Muslim periodicals coming out in Bulgaria. With monetary rewards and intricate negotiations, they managed to coax the staff of three journals (Hamiyet, Emniyet, and Bedreka-i Selamet) to close their enterprises. The Bulgarians bothered little about their demise. Yet, they tacitly allowed Muvazene to operate, no doubt aware that it could serve as a further bargaining tool. As part of the campaign, producers of printing type, in many cases Ottoman Armenians who had recently settled in Bulgaria, were also bought off. One of them had promised Ali Fehmi to produce the type for his journal but backed out, sending the aspiring journalist into a fit of anger. With no chance of getting letter type from the Ottoman Empire, Muvazene bought it from Vienna at a steep price.24 Muvazene weathered the rocky start, and in fact,



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its position was bolstered by the introduction of a requirement that newspaper editors should have higher education. On the occasion, Ali Fehmi boasted about his Mülkiye credentials and reassured his readers, some of whom had sent him concerned letters, that the journal’s staff were all Muslims.25 Clearly, many Muslims were eager to have a publication genuinely dedicated to their own problems. Muvazene came out until March 1905, becoming one of the two longestrunning Muslim journals in Bulgaria during the period under consideration. Members of Ali Fehmi’s family also contributed to the venture. His brother, Mehmed Sabri, helped with editing and probably wrote some pieces, whereas his brother-in-law Tırnovalı Osman Nuri published articles on pedagogy and schooling. Initially, the publication treaded carefully in its criticism of Bulgarian national endeavors, so it was left largely undisturbed. Tensions intensified later as Ali Fehmi stepped up his criticism of the treatment of the local Muslims and Bulgarian aspirations in Ottoman Macedonia. The attitudes of the Plovdiv Muslims towards the journal were mixed. While Muvazene enjoyed considerable popularity among many, its scathing criticism of the established Muslim leadership and the sultan gained it numerous opponents. Ali Fehmi himself was a prominent Young Turk, although he never admitted it openly. Nor did he serve in any capacity in the organization. Similarly, Muvazene never identified itself as a Young Turk organ and constantly underscored its impartiality. Nevertheless, its contents leave little doubt about its political sympathies. Ali Fehmi became a more outspoken critic of the Ottoman regime over time, frequently linking the problems the empire experienced in its domestic and foreign affairs to the regime’s maladministration.26 For the Young Turks in Bulgaria, Ali Fehmi emerged as an impartial and respected figure amidst the factionalism that plagued the secret society. In 1902 he was invited as a delegate to the congress of the united Ottoman opposition in Paris, where he maintained his neutrality in the midst of the havoc that engulfed the organization.27 He used the opportunity to travel to Switzerland, Austro-Hungary, and Romania,28 subsequently sharing his impressions from this trip in his journal.29 The period of 1900–1901 was trying. Ali Fehmi experienced financial difficulties and health problems. Hounded by his Muslim critics and under the watchful eye of the Bulgarian authorities, he knew that he had no sound chances of going to the empire without the threat of being arrested. In despair, he pleaded with the Ottoman authorities for pardon in return for closing down Muvazene. He denied any association with the Young Turks, repented for any criticism of the

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sultan, and requested financial support to issue another journal, Kıymet (Value). This new journal would defend the Ottoman government and abide by the acting Ottoman censorship rules in return for being allowed into the empire. His brother, Mehmed Sabri, visited the Ottoman Commissioner’s office along with his entire family to reiterate the request for reconciliation. Ali Fehmi did not accompany them probably more out of pride rather than ill health.30 The Ottomans showed initial interest in these proposals, but they did not act. In the meanwhile, Ali Fehmi attempted to run for a seat in the Bulgarian parliament in the January 1901 elections. On this occasion he published a brochure titled The Muslims of Bulgaria (Bulgaristan İslamları) that served not only as electoral platform but also presented his vision for a thorough reform of the Muslim community.31 He did not make it to parliament, and judging from the scarce information, he might have been disqualified.32 Eventually, Ali Fehmi returned to his journalistic career. He relaunched Muvazene in Varna in 1901–1903. In 1903 the journal relocated back to Plovdiv, and Ali Fehmi was appointed a member of the criminal court.33 He also openly demonstrated his defiance towards the Ottoman authorities by attending the 1902 Ottoman opposition congress in Paris. The incident that brought Muvazene’s demise in 1905 was the publication of an article that openly confronted a question that undoubtedly was on the minds of many Muslims in Bulgaria: what would happen to them if there was a war between Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire?34 Such a possibility seemed likely at the time, in spite of the efforts of the second Stambolovist regime to maintain a façade of a good relationship with the Ottomans. Moreover, the series of incidents against the Muslims in Bulgaria in apparent revenge for the clampdown on the uprisings in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace raised further their anxieties about what might follow in case of an open armed conflict. The article titled “Indeed, It’s Not a Shame to Ask!” drew attention to the worsening relations between Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire over Macedonia. The Bulgarians were daring in their actions as they counted on support from Russia, which had not abandoned its ambitions of gaining a foothold on the Bosphorus in spite of being at war with Japan. The raids of revolutionary bands in the Ottoman Empire, however, could rapidly escalate into an open war between Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire. In this case, Ali Fehmi asked, “What is the Muslim population of Bulgaria thinking of doing since, anyway, even now it is subjected to various torments and offenses? What measures has it taken or



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will it take to protect its honor, property, and life? . . . When the komitecis start robbing and wounding, who shall we ask for help?” The journal discussed several possible scenarios. The Muslims could complain to the Bulgarian authorities, but that would have no effect since they themselves could back the violent actions. Addressing the Ottoman authorities was equally useless as they were powerless to take care of their own subjects even in times of peace, let alone defend the Muslims of Bulgaria in a time of war. The Muslims could turn to the Great Powers to demand guarantees for their safety. Yet, Muvazene doubted the feasibility of this tactic because of lack of Muslim unity. Relying on the Muslim members of parliament was equally fruitless because they were not moved by patriotic feelings, he judged. Emigration was the easiest solution and the one on everyone’s mind, but it would be accompanied by unbearable agony. Before Muvazene could get any responses from its eager Muslim readers, the Bulgarian authorities, who had been following the journal with unease, acted. As Mehmed Sabri would observe later, the article stirred up the Bulgarians more than the Muslims.35 Seeing the piece as an open provocation for Muslim revolt, the Bulgarian authorities closed down the journal.36 Ali Fehmi fled to Geneva, so his brother bore the brunt of retribution. As the responsible journal editor, he was prosecuted for allowing the publication of the article accused of instigating disobedience and armed revolt against the Bulgarian state. The prosecution even considered the death penalty. The sentence was commuted to three and a half years imprisonment and a 2,000-leva fine. He was released after eight months and continued publishing another journal called Ahali, noted for its distinctive Turkist and anti-imperialist style that regularly targeted the sultan’s regime.37 In Geneva, Ali Fehmi published a couple more issues of Muvazene. They made their way to Bulgaria, but the authorities imposed a ban on further import. Copies of the journal were handed to them by the “good Turks” in Shumen, who were equally scandalized by their content.38 In this case Bulgarian interests conveniently dovetailed with those of Muvazene’s opponents from more conservative circles. After Geneva Ali Fehmi travelled to Egypt, where he spent two years. Except for his continuing association with the Young Turks nothing is known about his activities there. In late 1907 he responded to an invitation from the emir of Afghanistan, who sought to recruit educated Ottomans to help the country’s

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modernization. The former journalist journeyed to Kabul, where he spent a couple of years as an advisor on education for the Afghan government.39 He returned to Istanbul a couple years after the Young Turk revolution. But in the Ottoman Empire, his activities never reached the scale and impact of his endeavors in Bulgaria. He attempted to relaunch Muvazene unsuccessfully.40 It is unclear whether he tried to enter Ottoman politics, although his association with the Committee of Union and Progress (CUP) continued. Around the time of the Balkan Wars (1912–13), he worked for the commission responsible for resettlement of Muslim refugees. During the First World War he was part of another Ottoman government body in charge of population management: he served in Akşehir, central Anatolia, on one of the commissions responsible for the deportation of Greeks and Armenians. There is no information about his activities at this time, but in 1919 he was among the CUP functionaries charged by Ottoman military tribunals set up under Allied pressure to investigate crimes committed against the Armenians during the war. He sought refuge in Bulgaria for a couple of years, making another foray into journalism with the newspaper, Türk Sözü (Turkish Word). Then he went back to what became the budding Turkish republic, though he did not live to see its proclamation. From the limited and somewhat uncertain information available, we know that in 1922 Ali Fehmi was killed in Istanbul in unclear circumstances, possibly by an Armenian.41 One can only surmise that his violent end was related to his activities on the deportation commission during the war. It is impossible to make further conclusions without more information. Yet, it is pertinent to remember here that the Balkan Wars (1912–13) and events in the Balkans played a role in the emergence of more radical nationalist outlook among CUP sympathizers and served as a legitimation for their own violent actions.42 Looking at the trajectory of people like Ali Fehmi would bring out some interesting aspects of this dynamic. Such an analysis, though, remains beyond the scope of this study. Ali Fehmi became involved in Muslim reform endeavors in Bulgaria somewhat fortuitously after his career prospects in the Ottoman Empire were cut short. But once there he took the cause of Muslim reform to heart. He held strong independent opinions and spoke out about any injustices he saw regardless of whether the culprits were the Ottomans, the Bulgarians, or local Muslims. A perceptive observer, his articles could portray with stark realism international politics and the condition of the Muslim community. His writing exuded a certain sense of impatience,



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frustration, and even anger. He relentlessly pursued his critics through the pages of his journal and directed the Muslims’ seething frustrations against them. When Rıza Pasha had a row with İsmail Gasprinski and his journal Tercüman in Crimea, Ali Fehmi readily offered his services to the illustrious Tatar intellectual to find a lawyer for him in Plovdiv in order to file a suit against Rıza Pasha in the local court.43 Above all, Ali Fehmi advocated action. The fate of the Muslims in Bulgaria rested on their own shoulders, he emphasized; they themselves had to make efforts improve their condition. Ali Fehmi saw himself as a leader who had a legitimate right to criticize the Muslims, even levy abstract punishments upon them by comparing his reprimand for those not heeding his advice to a “moral whip” (manevi kamçı).44 Just as importantly, he regarded himself as a teacher par excellence, worthy of instructing the entire community if not the nation. Under his guidance, Muvazene organized student competitions in subjects such as history and geography 45 that aimed to shape the political convictions of its young readers. The geography question asked students to identify the kind of government in the Ottoman Empire and discuss the best political system. The journal gave only one award; the winner was a student who named the Ottoman state an absolute monarchy and argued that the best political system was constitutional government.46 In addition to political articles and didactic pieces, Muvazene solicited reader feedback and contributions about local affairs.47 Such pieces offer valuable insights into the experiences of Muslims throughout the country. The journal gained the reputation for being an authority to which Muslims could appeal to publicize their grievances and get justice, at least in the eyes of the public. Muvazene enjoyed popularity among broader circles. Among its subscribers there were teachers, artisans, merchants, Muslims in various administrative posts, and even the ulema.48 Muvazene’s print run was about one thousand,49 but its contents reached wider audiences. A single copy often circulated among several readers. In addition, coffeehouses, grocery stores, tobacconists, barbershops, and the newly established kıraathanes were places where the journal’s message spread among more people through public readings and discussions.50 If Muvazene and Ali Fehmi had any matching rivals, these were Gayret and Rıza Pasha.

Rıza Pasha and Gayret Rıza Pasha İbrahim was born in Plovdiv to a prominent local Muslim family in 1850, thus being a generation older than most of the Muslim reformers. During the Eastern Rumelian period, he served as a member of court in Tatar Pazarcık

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and Plovdiv. He was also a prosperous rice merchant. Starting in 1894, he ran in Bulgarian elections, becoming a parliamentary representative in 1897 for the mixed Bulgarian and Pomak area of Rupchos. He was fluent in both Turkish and Bulgarian, and during his parliamentary tenure took an active part in debates concerning Muslim affairs. His official parliamentary photograph gave clues of his identity and allegiances. Rıza Pasha posed proudly in a frock coat and fez, around his neck an Ottoman medal instead of a necktie.51 In January 1895 Rıza Pasha launched the Gayret newspaper, which came out with some interruptions until September 1902. Rıza Pasha, who was decorated by the Ottoman authorities, was known for his favorable disposition towards the sultanate.52 Thus, when he began issuing the journal, the local Ottoman representatives were quick to recommend that it should be allowed access to the empire. Even though some of its issues were denied entry into the empire, the journal was generally tolerated.53 Ottoman support was boosted in 1898, when upon the recommendation of the sultan, Rıza Pasha was awarded a monthly stipend of 1,500 guruş from the Ottoman budget for publishing Gayret.54 Perhaps Ottoman benevolence was further swayed by the fact that Rıza Pasha served in the Bulgarian parliament and in this capacity acted as an advocate of Muslim interests. Ottoman representatives praised Gayret as indispensable for defending the rights of the local Muslims.55 Rıza Pasha also sought to prove his allegiance to the empire and the Muslim community by writing reports about the situation in Bulgaria. Most of these were about the internal political situation in the country, the activities of the Macedonian committees, and military preparations, issues that were of the greatest interest to the Ottoman government.56 As for the Bulgarian authorities, they tolerated Gayret but barely hid their aversion. The journal’s popularity in the Edirne vilayet was a particular concern to them since its columns about committee incursions provoked retributions against the Bulgarians there.57 In spite of his explicit demonstrations of loyalty to the Ottoman Empire, to his great surprise the Ottoman authorities pressured Rıza Pasha to fold his publication and hand over his printing press to them in 1902.58 After running unsuccessfully for parliament and for membership in the Muslim commission of Plovdiv in 1902–1903, Rıza Pasha put an end to his activity in Bulgaria.59 In late 1904 or early 1905 he emigrated to Istanbul, where he was appointed an inspector in the Ministry of Interior, probably in the censorship department. Later he was given an administrative post in Mersin.60 Shortly after the Young Turk



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revolution, he relaunched Gayret in Istanbul, but the journal was short-lived. This time Rıza Pasha emerged as a critic of the Hamidian regime even though he loathed in equal measure the new order. He detested the secretive committee made up of inexperienced youngsters and the prospect of common people dictating their will upon the government. He clearly saw politics and government as an elite profession.61 In 1910 he entered the Ottoman parliament,62 but nothing is known about his activity there. The trail of information about him ends with this last post. Although Rıza Pasha denounced the Hamidian regime after the revolution, during the period under consideration he did not show any critical attitude. It is possible that he disapproved of certain Ottoman policies, yet when it came to the fate of the Muslim community and the Ottoman state, he regarded the sultan as their only viable defender. Joining the chorus of critics threatened to further weaken the Ottoman Empire, spelling doom for its subjects and all those who relied on it. Many of Gayret’s readers probably espoused such views. Although occasionally it discussed the need for improvement of education and vakıf organization,63 Gayret did not participate in the activities of the reform movement or advance any systematic alternatives. The journal did not engage in polemics with reformist endeavors, and just as significantly, it did not refer to any opponents of Abdülhamid II. Perhaps Rıza Pasha was skeptical about the movement’s ability to produce change, or it was simply below him to engage in serious discussion with a bunch of upstarts. He probably disagreed with the attacks against the Ottoman suzerain, which he equated with an onslaught on the Ottoman state. And he probably refrained from alluding to any criticism of the sultan for the sake of complying with Ottoman censorship regulations since even the reference to an opposition journal could have jeopardized Gayret’s entry into the empire. Gayret mentioned Muvazene only once, on the occasion of its imminent bankruptcy in 1900, and then only in the form of a vague pun.64 Many of those following Gayret and supporting Rıza Pasha probably identified with such convictions. With its vocal criticism of various instances of mistreatment against the Muslims, vehement anti-imperialist rhetoric, and candid advocacy of Muslim unity around the world, Gayret appealed to the sentiments of many, becoming a popular and authoritative journal. Since its writings were more forthright than those of the Istanbul press, the journal was in demand in the empire, where at its peak, according to Rıza Pasha, it maintained two thousand subscribers.65

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Gayret published reader feedback only rarely. Among the noteworthy contributions were several poems by Mehmed Âkif (Ersoy) (1873–1936), who also praised Gayret’s agenda. At the time this author was serving as a deputy veterinary inspector in Edirne. But years later he became the author of the national anthem of the Turkish republic.66 In contrast, reformist journals had nothing to lose by criticizing Gayret and its owner. They sought to discredit it by alluding to its connections with the Ottoman regime.67 Ali Fehmi and Muvazene were particularly relentless in their scorn, perhaps also out of awareness that Rıza Pasha and his journal were rivals. Muvazene labeled Rıza Pasha “an instrument of tyranny” (istibdad maşası), a charlatan, and spelled the title of his journal, meaning “zeal,” upside down in an apparent attempt to disparage its agenda.68 But apart from Gayret, reformist Muslims had other adversaries who did not rely on publications or identify explicitly with Rıza Pasha’s periodical. Conflicts and competition for influence took other forms, such as campaigns and petitioning.

Social Transformations and the Biographies of a Community The emergence of the reform movement in the mid-1890s was linked to the coming of age of a new generation of Muslims who became its main driving force. Before examining these new social actors and their role in the process, it will be useful to look at the social structure of the Muslim community. This is not an easy task since there is not much information. Some sense of the community’s social makeup can be obtained from the statistics on the background of fathers of primary school–age students. According to information for the mid-1890s for Turkish schools, over 85 percent of the fathers were farmers, 4 percent were craftsmen, over 1 percent were merchants, and fewer than 1 percent were teachers or religious functionaries. The number of civil servants was minuscule. In the case of Tatars, the percentage of farmers was a bit lower, and they were slightly more represented in trade. Among the Pomaks, farmers were even fewer, and about a third had no specified profession.69 The scholarship about Bulgaria’s Muslims has underscored the adverse impact of emigration during the war and its aftermath on the community’s social makeup. According to such arguments, the ostensibly enlightened social, military, and economic leadership left, and the remaining poor and uneducated Muslims had no ability or authority to act as leaders, which, in turn, condemned



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them to weakness and backwardness.70 Indeed, many of the representatives of the higher Ottoman administration along with the military, particularly those who had no connection with Bulgaria, left the country.71 The new political environment offered few prospects for them, nor could they readily shift loyalties to the new state. Many were further discouraged from remaining by concerns about facing prosecution for accusations, real or spurious, of participating in repressions against the Bulgarians, or simply fears of becoming the target of popular retribution. Furthermore, as suggested by some contemporary sources, the material prosperity of most Muslims in Bulgaria declined.72 Nevertheless, Muslims of some means and authority did remain. Most could be considered members of a more prosperous middle class, though others had more substantial wealth and influence. When assessing economic and social means, however, one should keep in mind the Bulgarian context. Bulgaria was a country with a predominantly rural population, most of whom were largely self-sufficient small landowners. Industrialization was developing relatively slowly, and large-scale foreign capital investors shunned the country for lack of substantial opportunities. It is also important to note that many of the bigger merchants and entrepreneurs in the country were Greeks, Armenians, and Jews, particularly in larger cities, though Bulgarians were increasingly gaining the upper hand. Muslim merchants and owners of small businesses were active in cities such as Varna, Plovdiv, Vidin, Tutrakan, Eski Cuma, Osman Pazar, Shumen, and Provadi. They participated in the trade of commodities, such as wheat, eggs, salt, and timber; some were part of wider networks that extended beyond their city and even reached international markets.73 In 1902 the wholesale trade of rice in Plovdiv and the surrounding area was still dominated by Muslims,74 a phenomenon related to the facts that rice was a staple food for many Muslims and they had been traditionally prominent in the industry. Rıza Pasha, whose journalistic pursuits were discussed a bit earlier, was an example of this group. Muslims also owned lumber warehouses, mills, and small flour factories.75 One notable case were the brothers Halil and İbrahim Ahmedbegov/Ahmedbeğoğlu, prominent merchants from Vidin, who left their wealth for the establishment of a vakıf and kıraathane. Muslims featured prominently in tobacco production and trade, although their role declined over time. Some enjoyed greater prosperity as the owners of small tobacco factories in Vidin, Shumen, Provadi, Russe, and Varna.76

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Most operations were relatively small, employing twenty to thirty workers,77 but there were also more sizable establishments. In the 1890s in Shumen, the competitors Necib Bey Çilingirov and Kara Mehmed had considerably larger enterprises that processed about twenty-seven to twenty-nine tons of tobacco annually.78 By the early twentieth century, however, it appears that the two factories no longer existed or they had been taken over by Bulgarians. 79 Necib Çilingirov continued to reside in the city but devoted himself mainly to politics. Another Muslim prominent in the tobacco trade was İsmail Arnaudov of Provadi. Necib Çilingirov and İsmail Arnaudov took part in the 1894 international exhibition in Antwerp, where Çilingirov’s products received a gold medal.80 Both of them were noted supporters of reform and served as members of parliament, where they distinguished themselves in speaking on issues concerning the Muslims.81 Some larger Muslim landowners also remained in Bulgaria. It is difficult to provide an estimate about the size of their estates, though such people were apparently considered influential enough to be listed in Bulgarian almanacs among the more important inhabitants of particular towns. Muslim landowners and larger farmers were represented in towns in the northeast such as Akkadınlar, Balbunar, Eski Cuma, Kemanlar, Kurtbunar, and Osman Pazar. One well-known figure from this group was Mesut Giray of Vǔrbitsa, a member of the Crimean Tatar dynasty who settled in the area in the seventeenth century. He was elected to parliament in 1896, 1902, and 1903.82 Members of the ulema were another group of authority who remained in Bulgaria. They continued to exercise influence not only among the Muslims but were also regarded as the representative of Muslim interests by the Bulgarian authorities. Other Muslims were artisans, tailors, coffeehouse and grocery shop owners, petty merchants, and barbers.83 However, the rise of reform initiatives is related to the emergence of a new group, one of whose most distinctive characteristics was age. Most of the activists and leaders in the reform movement belonged to a younger generation of Muslims, born around the time of Bulgaria’s establishment. Thus, their outlook was shaped by their experiences in Bulgaria, as well as their relationship with the Ottoman Empire. They grew up and received their education in the Muslim schools in Bulgaria, although some also attended educational institutions in the Ottoman Empire. They witnessed the transformations around them, being conscious of the Muslims’ position in the country.



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Professionally, many of them were teachers or were involved in education in other ways, such as being members of Muslim school boards. A few figures were journalists, Ali Fehmi being among the prominent ones, but most others engaged in journalistic activity and contributed to public debate as side pursuits to their other occupations. Most also came to be associated with the Young Turks. Calling these groups intellectuals would be a fitting characterization. They showed enthusiasm for engaging in public debate as they grappled not only with identifying and solving the problems of the community but also eagerly seeking to understand the larger world and the complex times in which they lived. At the same time, in addition to being involved in discussions, they demonstrated readiness to engage in action. The members of this budding reform movement increasingly came to link the poor condition of the local Muslims to the lack of modern knowledge and education. Another target of criticism was the existing community leadership, whose abilities to advocate for the Muslims’ interests were questioned. In certain ways this was also a generational struggle. Their opponents were disparaged as “old heads” (eski kafa)84 and “moldy brains” (beynleri küflenmiş),85 and their teaching methods were “rotten” (kokmuş).86 They were implicitly juxtaposed to competent and energetic young teachers and members of boards of education.87 Certain activists in the movement came from a more traditional background and pursued a mix of religious and secular education. Hafız Abdullah Fehmi (Meçik) (1869–1945) from Shumen was one such example.88 He received his primary education in a Qur‘an school, and then he went on to attend a rüşdiye. Knowledgeable in Arabic and Persian, he subsequently served as a mufti scribe in Shumen and then a teacher in Eski Cuma, Vidin, and Russe. He stopped wearing traditional religious attire later in life as he became more conscious of standing out among his Muslim colleagues. Initially, he was associated with more conservative circles. The Shumen mufti Kesimzade, a particularly divisive figure in the local Muslim community, was his teacher and longtime mentor. But in the mid-1890s Hafız Abdullah Fehmi increasingly became associated with reformist groups and the Young Turks. He was among the founders of the kıraathane and evening school in Shumen. He contributed articles under a pseudonym to Istanbul periodicals, such as Servet-i Fünun, and served as Muvazene’s correspondent in Shumen. Having acquired the reputation of an outstanding pedagogue, Hafız Abdullah Fehmi was an active participant in the organization of the Muslim teachers’ congresses. Nevertheless, he maintained a close relationship with

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religion, seeing it as a vital pillar of identity and communal integrity. In 1920 he was among the founders of the first higher Muslim religious school in Bulgaria, the Medresetünnüvvab. Several figures followed a trajectory similar to that of Ali Fehmi. They were originally from Bulgaria and studied in the Ottoman Empire but because of their Young Turk activity were forced to return to their native places and families. One example is Mehmed Masum (1874–1939). Originally from a village near Silistra, he studied in the respected Fatih medrese in Istanbul before transferring to an idadi, a secular secondary school, in the empire. He fled to the Russian Caucasus in 1895 ostensibly because of his Young Turk sympathies. After serving for a couple of years as a teacher there, he made it to Bulgaria, where he took up a string of teaching posts and participated in reform endeavors, including the Muslim Teachers’ Association. Later he composed textbooks suited to the needs of the local Muslim community. Eventually, he emigrated to the Turkish republic, remaining active as a teacher.89 Tahir Lütfü (1870–1942) was originally from Russe. A distinguished graduate of the Mülkiye, he fled back home because of his involvement with the Young Turks. He was prominently associated with the publishing of Uhuvvet and Tuna and served as the chair of the Muslim Teachers’ Association. In 1908 he was elected to the Bulgarian parliament.90 Among the movement activists, there were some who attended Bulgarian state schools as well. Ali Haydar (Taner) (1883–1956) studied in the rüşdiye in Russe and then a Bulgarian high school. Afterwards, he completed a degree in a Bulgarian higher pedagogical school. He worked as a teacher in his native town, Kazanlǔk, while being actively involved in education reform endeavors. Subsequently, he pursued a doctorate in psychology in Germany; upon completing it, he emigrated to the Ottoman Empire. After the establishment of the Turkish republic, he held a post at the Ministry of Education, where he was in charge of designing school curricula.91 Osman Nuri (Peremeci) (1874–1945), originally from Shumen, was a teacher for many years in various towns in Bulgaria before emigrating to Turkey. His passion for local history and his dedication to his native community resulted in two works that acquired certain popularity: Tuna Boyu Tarihi (History of the Danube) and Edirne Tarihi (History of Edirne).92 Most prominent figures in the reform movement came from this group of younger intellectuals and activists, but prominent Muslims of other vocations were also actively involved. Among them were a group from Russe associated



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with the first short-lived reformist publication Sebat: the veteran politician and Young Turk leader Ahmed Zeki, the merchant and publicist Moamelecizade Emin, and İskender Mahmudov. A figure from the same town was the owner of Tuna and Uhuvvet, Mehmed Teftiş. Another prominent activist was Necib Çilingirov, from Shumen, who was mentioned earlier in this chapter. While it is possible to give a sense of the background of reform activists, their critics and adversaries were a more amorphous group. In reformist rhetoric, they were often disparagingly referred to as the ignorant ones, the “turbaned” ones (sarıklı), ağas, beys, and efendis, or were accused of siding with oppressive forces. Many belonged to the circles of established Muslim leadership, some of them religious functionaries, and their supporters. One overarching characteristic was sympathy for the sultan, whom they regarded as the community’s natural protector. Rıza Pasha, Gayret’s owner, was a notable critic of the activist group. But others were of a different background. One of the eminent personalities and most influential Muslim leaders was Kesimzade Mehmed Rüştü (1848–1908). Born in Shumen in the middle of the nineteenth century, he belonged to an established Muslim family with links to the ulema class, who were also patrons of vakıf establishments.93 Kesimzade himself belonged to the ulema. He was a medrese teacher, a regional mufti, and a large landowner. After the establishment of Bulgaria, he took a number of official posts, including membership on the district court and mufti. He was elected to the Bulgarian parliament several times, where he advocated for Muslim interests in matters such as military service and protested legislation infringing upon Muslim traditions. The cleric and politician regarded the Ottoman state and the sultan as the Muslims’ main protector. In 1889 upon his own initiative, he even visited the Yıldız Palace in Istanbul in a vain attempt to meet with Abdülhamid II and draw his attention as a caliph to the fate of the Muslims in Bulgaria. It remains unknown whether there was any substance to his claims that he eventually did meet with the sultan, although he was lavishly decorated by the Ottomans for his service. Kesimzade was a polarizing figure. He had an extensive network of supporters but also acquired bitter enemies from among the Muslims, some of whom accused him of misconduct and financial abuses. It was his utmost devotion to the sultan that pitted Kesimzade against the Young Turks and the reformers. As the two camps became embroiled in intense competition, he turned into their archrival in Shumen.

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One of the most intriguing characters is Mustafa Sadık, who also referred to himself as Dospatlı Mustafa or Mustafa Dospatski.94 In terms of education and pursuits, he did not fit in the typical group of adversaries identified by Muslim reformers. Just as importantly, he was a Pomak from the Rhodopi, the only such high-profile figure of that background to be involved in Muslim and Bulgarian politics. His life trajectory presents a fascinating story of how someone originating in the Rhodopi Pomak communities sought to navigate between the pressures and opportunities provided by the Bulgarian state on one side and the possibility of forging a different path as part of the wider Muslim entity. Mustafa Sadık was born in the eastern or southern Rhodopi, either in Chepine Banya/Chepino in 1860 or Yanıklı near Dospat. There is no information about his family. Whatever his place of birth, after the Berlin Congress he was firmly settled in Eastern Rumelia. He first studied in a traditional medrese, then claimed to have attended a pedagogical school in Plovdiv. But he was also a student in the pioneering Pomak school in Chepino. When Jireček visited the village in the summer of 1882, Mustafa was among a group of students who introduced themselves as Bulgarians of Muslim faith to him. At the time, Mustafa Sadık had wholeheartedly embraced the school’s mission. Impressed by the students’ patriotic zeal and intelligence, Jireček arranged for some of them to continue their studies in Bulgarian high schools. Mustafa Sadık was sent to the prestigious Sofia high school. Apart from Mustafa Sadık’s brilliance, Jireček was probably motivated by further considerations in bringing him to Sofia. The Rhodopi native could serve as an example of a model Muslim Bulgarian citizen, and he could convey his patriotic sentiments to other Pomaks. At first Mustafa Sadık took this mission on his own initiative, visiting the Pomak villages around Lovech, where he exhorted the local people not to emigrate, pointing out that the country did not belong to the “gâvur” (infidel), that Bulgaria had a constitution, and there was no compulsory religious faith. He drew parallels with other states ruling over Muslim populations, pointing to “the freedom of Islam in Russia, where there were even Muslim generals, in British India and French Algeria.”95 After graduating, Mustafa Sadık served for about fifteen years in the Eastern Rumelian, and subsequently Bulgarian, administration in various positions, among them deputy governor, police commissioner, secretary of the chief mufti in Sofia, and judge. He completed a law degree at the newly founded Sofia University. But in the meantime, his convictions had undergone a profound



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shift. He fell silent on the prospect of integrating the Pomaks into the Bulgarian nation. He drew closer to the larger Muslim community and the sultan, occasionally even collaborating with the Ottoman Commissioner’s office. In the mid-1890s he made attempts to leave Bulgaria, aspiring to enter the higher sharia school in Sarajevo or the Ottoman administration in Macedonia or Kosovo. Instead, he received an appointment as a Bulgarian language teacher in the Mülkiye in Istanbul. But he chose to stay in Shumen. There he cultivated a close relationship with Kesimzade. Mustafa Sadık was elected to the Bulgarian parliament representing Shumen in 1901. His education, language abilities, and influential post turned him into a valued representative of Muslim interests. In 1903 he abruptly left for the Ottoman Empire, where he served on the Ottoman council of state. Over his lifetime, Mustafa Dospatski’s convictions changed drastically. From a fervent advocate of the Bulgarian Pomak initiative, he turned into a supporter of common Muslim action independent of Bulgarian support and began to see the Ottoman regime as a crucial pillar of Muslim interests. There is no direct testimony about how this shift occurred, but his experiences probably contributed to the transformation. Disenchantment with the prospects for the Muslims in the Bulgarian state was one likely explanation. His service in the Bulgarian administration perhaps made him question Bulgarian commitment to building a state committed to fostering equality for all its subjects. His decision to study law and enter Bulgarian parliamentary politics probably reflected his belief that local Muslims had to take a more proactive stance in determining their fate. Most likely, another traumatic event led Mustafa Dospatski to abandon his erstwhile convictions. In the summer of 1895, a Supreme Macedonian Committee band attacked Yanıklı, his native place, devastating the village and killing many of its inhabitants.96 The incident touched him personally. He wrote a letter to the Ottoman Commissioner denouncing Bulgarian actions and demanding a thorough investigation into the incident.97 Perhaps he was also disappointed with the way he was personally treated by many Bulgarians. As he embarked on his career, he found that not everyone was invested in the Pomak cause. In parliament, no one saw Mustafa Dospatski as the Bulgarian of Muslim faith whose allegiances had to be courted. There he encountered no particular sympathy. Upon his election, the other parliamentarians persistently questioned his citizenship and military service with visible mistrust rarely shown to Bulgarian representatives. One deputy referred to him repeatedly as a Turk, completely oblivious of his

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background.98 Mustafa Sadık conducted himself with dignified poise, yet such encounters probably only strengthened his views that most Bulgarians were deeply mistrustful of the Muslims’ loyalties. Muslims, whatever their ethnic background, had to act together to defend their interests, he believed, and the Ottoman state seemed a natural and willing ally. Among reformist Muslims, Mustafa Sadık evoked mixed reactions. His election to parliament was greeted by Muvazene with optimism that he would be an effective advocate for Muslim interests.99 But hope soon turned into resentment when Mustafa Dospatski emerged as a Kesimzade supporter and was accused of reporting to the Ottoman Commissioner on Muslims suspected of Young Turk links.100 Yet he was not the typical ignorant adversary lampooned by the reformists; he was a well-educated man who had a vision for the Muslim community. It is difficult to know what Mustafa Sadık thought of his critics. There is no indication he was involved in any of their education initiatives, although he was briefly a chair of the Shumen Muslim education board. In many respects, his life had followed a path very different from theirs. Equipped with elite education, he had come to regard himself as a leader, perhaps even superior to many reformist Muslims. Mustafa Sadık’s experiences were not representative of those of most other Pomaks. Yet his shifting convictions and complex loyalties were not atypical of his times.

The Impact of the Young Turks Muslim reform initiatives in Bulgaria were given a decisive spur by the expansion of the Young Turk opposition organization in Bulgaria. Association with the Young Turks gave the reform initiatives a distinctive character and made many local Muslims part of Ottoman politics. The Committee of Union and Progress (CUP), as the Young Turk organization was formally known, was founded in June 1889 by a group of students in the Imperial Medical Academy in Istanbul. The clandestine organization expanded as students from other higher schools in the imperial capital began joining it. In 1894, when the Ottoman authorities uncovered the scale of the committee’s activities, they launched upon a spate of arrests; more suspects were rounded up the following year. Many of the committee’s sympathizers began fleeing to western Europe, the neighboring Balkan states, and British-occupied Egypt. For most of the period until the 1908 revolution, the Young Turks operated mainly in exile.101 In Paris and Geneva, the fugitives joined other dissident figures



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who had fled previously, such as Ahmed Rıza and Mizancı Murad. Yet the committee was not a monolithic entity. Initial divisions emerged over the leadership of Ahmed Rıza and Mizancı Murad, while their respective publications became rivals. Furthermore, as the committee sought to recruit new sympathizers, the CUP transformed into an umbrella organization of diverse groups, whose common goal was the deposition of the regime of sultan Abdülhamid II. But beyond this shared objective, there were disagreements over strategy and even visions of the subsequent order.102 In 1902, following the divisive congress of the Ottoman opposition, the CUP virtually fell apart. In its aftermath, the Young Turks emerged more divided. In 1906, however, advocates of more radical action established the Committee of Progress and Union (CPU) in Paris. As the CPU embarked upon political activity, it began enlisting allies, including people in the Ottoman Empire. In 1907 it merged with the Ottoman Freedom Society in Salonika, a clandestine organization particularly popular among the military in Ottoman Macedonia. This new group of Young Turks had a more distinctive activist disposition, and the military featured prominently within its ranks. It was members of this group who carried out the revolution of 1908.103 The CUP founders and many of its sympathizers espoused a mix of positivism, materialism, and social Darwinism. They showed particular fascination with modern science, to which they credited Western progress and which they saw as the solution for the empire’s problems, they felt. With regard to religion, their stance was ambiguous. Privately, they viewed religion as an obstacle to progress and disparaged it, particularly in its institutionalized form. Yet, they recognized its mobilizing potential in modernizing initiatives, anti-imperialist opposition, and communal and national identity. Thus, religion was often used as a rhetorical device to such ends in the public discourse of committee members. Elitism was another distinctive feature of the Young Turks.104 Their superior education and visceral understanding of the problems of the Ottoman state made them the natural leaders of the people. Some of them also showed distinctive Turkist proclivities, though such sentiments were used only selectively in open rhetoric because of the multinational composition of the Ottoman state.105 While Paris, Geneva, and Cairo emerged as the major centers of Young Turk groups in the mid-1890s, they also established a presence in Balkan states neighboring the Ottoman Empire. Bulgaria turned into a particularly important Young Turk center, where the organization grew strong roots. The country was

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convenient because its immediate proximity to the Ottoman Empire facilitated the smuggling of opposition publications.106 The fact that the local authorities did not persecute Young Turk groups too vigorously and the presence of a sizable Muslim population plagued by many problems presented a favorable ground for the expansion of their influence. But one of the main reasons for Young Turk popularity in Bulgaria was that the opposition organization virtually merged with the reform movement. Young Turk ideology and rhetoric helped in articulating local Muslim grievances. In Bulgaria, the Young Turks transformed from a clandestine organization preoccupied mainly with political propaganda and aspirations to change the Ottoman regime into a more popular movement dedicated to transforming Muslim society. The fact that some of the fugitive activists were originally from Bulgaria, such as Ali Fehmi, Tahir Lütfü, and Mehmed Masum, helped in adapting the organization’s ideology to the local context. In turn, for the Young Turks, the condition of Bulgaria’s Muslims was a vivid portrayal of many of the problems Muslims around the world experienced: from being subjected to repression to wallowing in ignorance under corrupt religious leaders. Consequently, the situation in Bulgaria provided an opportunity to test some of the Young Turks’ ideas in practice. The fate of Bulgaria’s Muslims also offered a stark example of what might happen to other Ottoman Muslims should the existing Ottoman regime continue its policies. Humiliation and resentment mixed with indignation about what Muslims suffered at the hands of the Bulgarians, who until recently had been Ottoman subjects. These circumstances contributed to the emergence of more radical discourses among certain Young Turk groups: if they did not act soon, other Ottoman Muslims would share a similar fate, they warned. The person usually credited with setting the foundations of the Young Turk organization in Bulgaria was İbrahim Temo, one of the original CUP founders, who fled from the empire to Romania in the fall of 1895. Once there, he expanded CUP’s organizational network throughout the region. He attempted to establish contact with possible sympathizers in Russe in 1896, where he sought to enlist the support of several politically active Muslims who were involved in publishing Sebat.107 Among them were İskender Bey, Ahmed Zeki, and Moamelecizade Emin, who had already had some connections with Young Turks. Their periodical was cautiously advocating ideas, such as the reintroduction of parliament in the Ottoman Empire.108



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According to Temo’s memoirs, by 1897 he had founded branches in cities with larger Muslim populations, such as Vidin, Lom, Tutrakan, Russe, Varna, Shumen, Plovdiv, and Dobrich.109 The Russe branch acted as the local central committee, with Ahmed Zeki as its leader, though Shumen held a prominent place as well.110 Shumen under the leadership of Talat Efendi became the new Young Turk center in Bulgaria after the organization fell into disarray in 1902.111 Young Turk pamphlets began circulating, being read and discussed in coffeehouses, at local fairs, and sometimes even in the countryside.112 Sebat’s team read such publications at public gatherings of Muslims.113 The committee’s main organs Mechveret, Mizan, Osmanlı, and Şura-yı Ümmet, along with other Young Turk journals published in Europe and Egypt, had many local subscribers and were openly sold in Russe, Silistra, and Plovdiv in spite of a formal Bulgarian ban.114 The number of Muslims in Bulgaria who were members of the committee or were directly involved in its activities was small. However, many were exposed to Young Turk ideas and sympathized with some of them without necessarily embracing its entire platform. They were probably more interested in reading Young Turk journals for their candid discussion of events in the Ottoman Empire and the world than in working for the deposition of Abdülhamid II. But even then, how could one explain the appeal of the Young Turks among Bulgaria’s Muslims, particularly given their fervent criticism of the sultan, whom many regarded as the main protector of the community? In Bulgaria Young Turk sympathizers shared similar grievances with critics elsewhere. They doubted the ability of Abdülhamid II and his regime to lead the empire through the critical political circumstances. Their own experiences made them painfully aware of the dire consequences of failure to do so: loss of sovereignty and territories as a result of which other Muslims could face life under foreign domination or would be forced to migrate, leaving their homes. Abdülhamid II’s regime was accused of maladministration, weakness, yielding to foreign pressures, and surrendering Ottoman territories, such as Bulgaria and Eastern Rumelia.115 The Muslims felt abandoned by the only power who could act as their protector. Critical Muslim attitudes towards the Hamidian regime surfaced in various forms from puns to more serious arguments. The Sublime Porte (Bab-ı Âli) was mockingly dubbed the “Empty Porte” (Bab-ı Hâli) to allude to its worthlessness. The grand vizier (sadrazam) was called “the lowest vizier” (sadrasgar), while the minister of justice (‘adliye nazırı) turned into “the minister of indolence”

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(‘atli’ye nazırı).116 A provocative article in Ahali coined another name for the sultan following rumors that he intended to flee to Russia fearing that he would be overthrown: Hamitkof. The name bore pejorative connotations in more than one way because it was made of three distinct words, “Ham-it-kof” meaning “unreasonable-dog-ignorant.”117 People entertained themselves with more sophisticated humor such as satirical stories depicting the sleepless Tsar Nicholas tormented by thoughts of his “Russian ‘Youngs’” (Rus Jönleri), eventually coming up with the brilliant idea of writing for advice to Abdülhamid II.118 Occasional scandalous incidents involving Ottoman trade representatives amused and angered them in equal measure.119 But perhaps the most vivid example of such sentiments is a poem by Hüseyin Raci, the author who left us his harrowing account of Stara Zagora during the Russo-Ottoman War. Titled “The New Hamidian March” (Yeni Marş-ı Hamidi),120 the poem was published posthumously in 1906 in Uhuvvet: Since the day you sat on the Ottoman throne No honest and proud look was left among the Muslim people The enemy killed and trampled upon hundreds of thousands of Muslims Rumeli was lost, you gave it to the Bulgarian, bending your head submissively You destroyed the nation with tyranny, you sedition maker You destroyed the state, get lost at least from the present Ottoman glory became disgrace, you distanced your praiseworthy name [Hamid] Away from the holy descendants of the Ottoman dynasty, away. ... You destroyed a great state of six hundred years in an instant To the world you gave convulsions, sighs, cries, and distress.

But alongside sympathy, the Young Turks and those associated with them also drew hostility. A local Muslim newspaper scorned them as causing divisions among the Muslims and, after publishing the names of several prominent figures in different cities, accused them of going as low as the Armenian committees.121 Glimpses of Young Turks’ critical attitudes towards religion and their campaigns against religious functionaries in Bulgaria fanned doubts about



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their commitment to the faith. Local Muslims also denounced people of alleged Young Turk connections to the Ottoman authorities.122 Reformist journals complained about spies following their activities.123 In Shumen, people labeled them “‘young’ infidels” (cöngâvuru) and referred to the kıraathane, a well-known Young Turk hangout, as an “infidel nest” (gâvurocağı) and fesadhane (house of sedition).124 Elsewhere Young Turks were called “apostates” (mürted).125 Being a “jeune” (cön) became a threatening charge even for those remotely related to individuals suspected of links with the committee.126 Thus, the reformers’ association with the clandestine opposition organization was one of the most compelling arguments used to discredit their initiatives.127 Bulgarian policies towards the Young Turks were determined by the state of relations with the Ottoman Empire and pragmatic considerations. Collaboration between Bulgarians and Young Turks might appear a natural prospect since both sides shared a common adversary—the Istanbul regime—and were interested in undermining it. However, their common objectives were only short-term ones. Each side was aware of the incompatibility of their ultimate goals. Bulgaria yearned to annex Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace and undermine the empire’s integrity. The Young Turks, on the other hand, sought to dismantle the Hamidian regime but not the Ottoman state. The Bulgarians were also aware that the Young Turks were staunch critics of their aspirations in Ottoman Macedonia and the treatment of the Muslims in Bulgaria.128 They were also anxious about the impact of Young Turk activities among the local Muslims. The case of Ali Fehmi and his Muvazene was instructive. But even more significantly prior to the 1908 revolution, the prospects of the Young Turks as a viable political force were questionable. Scattered into mutually hostile factions, constantly persecuted by the Ottoman government, and forced to live in exile, they did not seem capable of seriously challenging the sultan’s regime. The revolution of 1908 took many contemporaries by surprise.129 Bulgarian officials preferred to deal with the regime of sultan Abdülhamid II, the adversary they knew well, rather than openly cast their fate with the Young Turks, whose future was uncertain. However, unease about Young Turk activity among Bulgaria’s Muslims and skepticism about the organization’s political prospects competed with awareness that the Istanbul regime regarded it as a major threat. Thus, Bulgarian officials came to see the Young Turks as convenient bargaining leverage. At times, the Bulgarian authorities tried to limit Young Turk activities in response to Ottoman requests in order to present themselves as exemplary vassals. They shut down

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periodicals and introduced bans on the distribution of certain publications. The Bulgarians responded favorably to Ottoman requests to restrain Young Turk activities in 1897 after receiving a series of concessions: Ferdinand was formally recognized as a prince by the sultan, and Bulgaria received three berats for bishops in Macedonia along with permission to open trade agencies throughout the empire.130 For a while, the Bulgarian authorities procrastinated about allowing the publication of Muvazene.131 Bulgarian officials showed particular fervor if the implicated periodicals and figures were local political opponents.132 In 1905–1907, the Sofia government demonstrated its commitment to the tenuous BulgarianOttoman rapprochement by banning Muvazene, which had become a daring critic of Bulgarian policies, and shut down other pro–Young Turk newspapers such as Ahali, Efkâr-ı Umumiye, and Şark. Nevertheless, the Bulgarian authorities never completely uprooted Young Turk activity. The fact that subsequent pro–Young Turk journals, such as Tuna, Uhuvvet, and Balkan of Plovdiv continued to come out for several years suggests that there was little interest in completely eradicating the organization. Likewise, Bulgarians never properly carried out Ottoman demands for extradition. Targeted figures were either officially sent to the western border, where they could escape to Europe, or were allowed to slip away from police surveillance.133 The presence of Young Turk groups could keep the Ottoman regime at bay, giving the Bulgarians another source of leverage. On the other hand, the threat of suppression and extradition helped Bulgarians set limits for Young Turk activities in the country. However, some Bulgarian officials urged making more extensive use of the Young Turks. In 1899 Ivan Geshov, the Bulgarian diplomatic agent in Istanbul, noted the sultan’s extreme fear of the Young Turks and suggested to the foreign ministry that it use them to influence him “psychologically.”134 In 1902 in a speech to the Bulgarian parliament, Dimitǔr Rizov, a prominent member of the Supreme Committee and former trade agent in Skopje, openly called upon the government to respond to Ottoman actions in Macedonia by giving a free hand to Young Turk activities in Bulgaria.135 Bulgarians even resorted to more opportunistic actions. In the most notable case, in 1905–1906 the Skopje trade agency conspired with its dragoman, a Young Turk, to publish a propaganda brochure that served not just Bulgarian but also Young Turk interests. The agency tacitly covered the activity of the opposition organization’s sympathizer until he was intercepted by the Ottoman authorities and a diplomatic scandal broke out.136



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The Young Turks in Bulgaria pursued a similarly ambiguous course, motivated by a sense of vulnerability and pragmatism. Even those critical of the Bulgarian authorities praised the country’s constitutional government, often censuring the Muslims for not taking advantage of its beneficial provisions.137 They courted sympathy by underscoring that they too fought against the repressive Ottoman regime.138 They skillfully appealed to Bulgarian sensitivities. In its Bulgarian section, Balkan of Russe called the Young Turks “apostles of freedom” (apostoli na svobodata) fighting to liberate from oppression all nationalities in the Ottoman Empire, not just the Turks.139 Bulgarians used the expression to refer to prominent revolutionaries. Such an analogy with regard to the Young Turks was an effective way of explaining their goals to the larger Bulgarian public. But this was a tactical device. The Ottoman Turkish version of the article aimed at Muslim audiences referred to the Young Turks as “zealous fighters for the faith” (gayur mucahidin).

The Reform Movement and Young Turk Ideas In Bulgaria, Young Turk ideas assumed some more specific characteristics. While Young Turk groups in Europe reviled Abdülhamid II, in most cases in Bulgaria, with some exceptions, open criticism of the sultan was measured. Certain publications, such as Muvazene, became openly critical of Abdülhamid II only later on;140 others underscored that they were not against the sultan but only called for the introduction of a parliamentary regime141 or directed their scorn at the excessive influence of his coterie.142 This tactic was dictated by caution as relentless denunciation of Abdülhamid II, who was a symbol of the Ottoman state, could undermine their popularity among wider Muslim circles. In Bulgaria, ideas about constitutionalism and parliament also underwent a certain modification. In their public discourse, the Young Turks were champions of constitutionalism and representative government, but in private many of them harbored misgivings about their effectiveness in the Ottoman context.143 Yet in Bulgaria, the Young Turks were genuine supporters of these institutions because they saw them as valuable to the local Muslims in their quest to assert their rights. Certain Young Turk ideas resonated well with Bulgaria’s reformist Muslims as they related to their problems. One crucial point was the critical attitude towards religion, or more specifically, criticism of the condition of religion and the way it was manipulated to stifle the development of the Muslims. The problem was not with religion itself, they argued, but the way it had been corrupted by

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unscrupulous ulema and statesmen.144 There were calls for uncovering the true tenets and authenticity of Islam and adjusting its institutions to the needs of the contemporary age.145 Islam was seen as a major source of identity and pillar of the Muslim community. Bulgaria’s Muslims were sensitive to the slightest criticism targeting religion and reacted with indignation to any perceived allusions to their lack of religious commitment.146 Occasionally, Young Turks even had to bolster their religious credentials. In 1906 as the CPU sought to expand its organizational network in Bulgaria, it had to reassure one group in Kazanlǔk of its unconditional embrace of Islam. The committee further declared Muslims superior to Europeans in terms of morals and customs, though it underscored that the latter’s technological advances were worthy of emulation.147 In reformist and pro–Young Turk publications, Islam was portrayed as humane and morally superior to Christianity and European civilization. They underscored Muslim tolerance, countering foreign accusations of fanaticism,148 and pointed out that the virtues of Islam were recognized even by intelligent Europeans.149 Various Islamic practices, such as fasting, were given rational explanation.150 Examples from Islamic history, Qur’anic citations, and hadiths were used to convey ideas, such as constitutionalism.151 However, beyond the exhortations for embracing religion’s authenticity, there was little explanation of how this would be achieved. The calls did not amount to attempts to reform religion. Nor was there much interest in the works of contemporary Islamist modernist scholars, such as Muhammad Abduh or Cemaleddin al-Afghani. In Bulgaria, critical attitudes towards religion transformed into vitriol against the ulema. Occasionally, ordinary people also contributed to this rhetoric as frustration with certain religious figures turned into censure of the whole religious establishment. Arguments and mutual attacks became more abrasive over time. Religious leaders from muftis to imams and their supporters, often derisively called “the turbaned,” were accused of ignorance, colluding with the Bulgarians to maintain their authority, embezzlement of vakıf funds, and immoral conduct. Their ignorance, selfishness, and greed exposed the Muslims to destitution. The disparagement of religious leaders is best exemplified in the pieces by Mehmed Cemil, who wrote under the pen name Behzad. An émigré who fled the Ottoman Empire in the mid-1890s, Behzad spent time in Bulgaria working as a journalist, a teacher, and even a grocer.152 His portrayal of the religious establishment, an example of which is below, frequently assumed the form of scornful satire. And as it was typical for such writings, they were relevant to both



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the Bulgarian and Ottoman contexts. The piece here also provides a glimpse into the ways Young Turks envisioned reforming the ulema. “Hoca” . . . This is one of the words whose meaning needs no description. “Hoca” Efendi means “a great man.” He has acquired knowledge for the ulema class. Because in terms of knowledge and virtue, they are the great men of the nation. Among us the hocas are divided into two kinds. One kind is those who have completed their education in 15–20 years in the way that has been accepted for hundreds of years, that is, the hocas who have a diploma. In Bulgaria, there are two or three of them. The other kind has wrapped their heads with two-three arşin of cloth and have memorized with some mistakes the prayers for weddings and burials along with a few holy verses; their living is dependent on the death of some wealthy person or the conclusion of a marriage; they are the lazy ones whose names are imam, muezzin, hatib, and school hoca. The hocas in Bulgaria, the great people of the nation, are all from among them, from among this beggar group. Even, yes, unfortunately, even the majority of those who have risen to the rank of mufti thanks to partisanship belong to this group. Now let me describe the first kind, those who have taken their diploma in 10–15 years. When they were children, even though they did not know to read or write Turkish, their hocas started teaching them Arabic grammar; in their first class, apart from “I know that the gates of knowledge . . . ,” the words lengthy like Qur’anic interpretations, they left without understanding anything else. All classes pass in this way. ... Two days a week there are no classes. Throughout the Three Holy Months, classes cease. Then solicitation, in other words, begging, begins. Each one goes to a village. Our grammar student goes up the pulpit with one of the sermon books in Persian letters under his arm. He examines some of the most difficult religious questions. Then, in order to collect some more money, he drives the congregation into hell. Then he takes them out and brings them to heaven. At the end, on the day of the bayram he takes the special gift, he spreads the white cloth called sergi and there, while the hoca efendi’s neck is bent, his eyes half closed in rapture, his ears eased by the sound of the coins clinking on each other, people throw some money and also a few kile of grain. Thus, if he does not have a preacher aide, the support of our student

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of religion for one year depends on that. With the passage of years, his skills in begging improve. ... What [the hoca] has learned does not correspond to the time he has wasted. Especially his knowledge of the contemporary sciences and the advancements of civilization is very narrow. He has been deprived of these benefits. Now think of it, what benefit can the people see from such hocas who spent their youth in begging and who are deficient in knowledge? ... We must know well that the reason for the poverty, idleness, misery, and ignorance of all Muslims nowadays are the hocas; and the reason for this state of the hocas is the Muslim governments, especially the government of Turkey. The first reforms in the Muslim states should start from the hocas. Because if we don’t rescue the religious beliefs from the hands of ignorant people for whom they have become playthings, in other words, if we don’t clean the face of the nation, our international position will not be free of uncertainty.153

Another sentiment shared by Young Turks and reformers was fascination with science and progress. According to Muslim reformers, positive knowledge and modern education, especially in the sciences, would save the Muslims from their predicament. Scientific knowledge aided technological development, which ultimately determined political power and even victory in a possible war. It was the driving force behind the advance of European states, as well as the key to their ability to dominate large non-European territories and populations.154 Young Turk ideas about science probably reached the local Muslims in watered-down form, though those who had studied in the empire or had access to Young Turk publications were probably exposed to more sophisticated texts. Scientific metaphors also featured in the writings of reformist periodicals. As improvement of education turned into a key goal of local reformers, they advocated for including more science classes in school curricula. They sought to impress wider audiences by organizing shows of scientific experiments as part of various celebrations, such as school graduation ceremonies.155 Muslim advocates of reform saw a larger shared cause with the Young Turk movement. Both groups attached a strong value to positive knowledge and were fascinated with modern science, viewing it as the vehicle of progress. A critical attitude towards the religious establishment was another common point. Both



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groups challenged the authority of the established leadership—the Hamidian regime in the empire or the religious establishment and traditional elites whose guidance was deemed detrimental to national interests. They saw themselves as being engaged in an existential struggle: between progress and decline, enlightenment and ignorance, independence and subjugation. The fate of the state and nation depended on its outcome. Thus, the spread of the Young Turk organization acted as a catalyst for the emerging reform initiatives. As they came in contact with Young Turk ideas, many Muslims in Bulgaria felt, perhaps for the first time, that others too shared their sentiments. The Ottoman regime and its supporters offered little practical support. In comparison, the Young Turks addressed openly their fears and frustrations. These contacts inspired activism that promised a deliverance—one that depended on the efforts of the Muslims themselves.

5

Negotiating Modernity Mobilizing Knowledge, Education, and Culture

Despair and the Path to Salvation From the mid-1890s, a sense of deep anxiety and crisis permeated Muslim voices. There was a grave feeling that the Muslims in Bulgaria had fallen behind other communities, and this was the condition of Muslims in the Ottoman Empire and other parts of the world as well. They wallowed in misery, having succumbed to economic and political dependence, while others continued advancing. The main reason for this pitiful state, many Muslims concurred, was ignorance, while the key to progress was knowledge. They also pointed to the existing Muslim leaders, whom they accused of bearing the brunt of responsibility for the community’s pitiful condition since they purposefully kept it ignorant for the sake of reinforcing their own power. But the consequences were grave: the Muslims risked losing their religious and national consciousness. Eventually, their very existence was under question. Many also recognized the challenges of life in Bulgaria. The Bulgarian authorities were not genuinely interested in supporting Muslim schools, tacitly content to see ignorance engulf the community, which facilitated their encroachment upon the vakıfs, so valuable for providing Muslim schools with income. Consequently, acquisition of knowledge suitable to the modern age turned into an existential matter for the Muslims. An article published in Muvazene in November 1903 illustrates these sentiments: Since education resembles the life and soul of the nation, an uneducated nation is like a soulless body. And a soulless body has no value. Similarly, the societies and the nations that are ignorant of education have no virtue, no



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national consciousness. The ignorant nations are always under the yoke of the civilized ones. They lose their nationality and gradually even their religion. Although this is a reality, that is to say, the civilized nations and states are growing and progressing day by day and enjoying reform and welfare, while the ignorant nations remain in the pit of misery and slavery due to their lack of education and their ignorance, although we observe this throughout history, it is a pity that the Muslims of Bulgaria wallow in corruption and ignorance, and do not think about their own future or that of their little children and continue living their bestial lives in an indifferent way. . . . Those who wear fezzes on their heads, the turbaned ağas, beys and efendis who bear Muslim names are examples of what the Muslims think and what is on their mind. Even though many sacred hadiths have sanctioned [the necessity] of education and learning sciences, [these people] do not pay attention to this question that concerns the life and death of the Muslims in Bulgaria; they do not work for the improvement of the schools and providing education worthy of our age to the children of the fatherland; they do not show even a trace of patriotism and humanity and because of their personal grudges and interests, they ruin the existing schools; they destroy them by not spending what is necessary from the vakıfs and from [other] income. What could the Muslim community expect from a bunch of microbes, who are the embodiment of ignorance from which [the people] need to liberate themselves, who profit from the innocence of the people and do not think of anything else but weaving their own baskets, who along with not serving any benevolent cause suck the people’s blood and destroy the Muslim world intellectually and materially! . . . If the so-called leaders who are indeed petty people had a trace of national and patriotic feelings, the Muslims of Bulgaria would not be the last ones among all other people after twenty-five years of freedom and liberty; they would have advanced at least a few steps along the road of education. But Muslim education in Bulgaria right now is no different than it used to be. . . . On the other hand, the other nations advance. [The Muslims] get enslaved and subjected, while the foreign nations become masters and rulers. And the lazy Muslim community does not even look around, it does not get the warning. It suffers and it is always doomed to suffer. This is the condition and position of the Muslims!1

Other articles drew attention to the Muslims’ poor economic condition. The Muslims made their living in traditional occupations, turning into one of

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the poorest and most socially disadvantaged groups. “If one looks around, in Egypt, Cyprus, Rhodes, Akka, and even in the Ottoman capital, the Muslims are no different than they used to be at the times of the pharaohs,” one author stated. “Who could deny that the Muslims in Bulgaria belong mostly to the class of the simple laborers [amele]? If one looks at those who break stones from morning till evening, it will be seen that all of them are Muslims.”2 Another pointed out that unlike the other groups, among the Muslims in Bulgaria there were no lawyers, doctors, or other skilled professionals, and he enumerated the occupations where they toiled in a slave-like way: carriage and boat driving, portering, and farming. But he warned that soon machines would render manual labor obsolete, so the Muslims would lose even these sources of meager subsistence.3 In a similar vein, an article entitled “Will the Turks Progress?” began in the following way: Our question should not seem strange. If we had said, ‘Will the Ottomans progress?’ this would also include the other people living in Turkey. But the various people living in the Ottoman Empire have progressed a lot in comparison to the Turks; the Turks who appear to be the ruling nation are the ones who are deprived of everything and are the subjects everywhere. The people we call Turks are not one but made up of various groups; by Turk, one means the Arabs, Tatars, Circassians, Zeybeks, Georgians, Laz, Albanians, Kurds, Pomaks, Chitaks, and others. These are the people who have stayed behind. It is obvious that the Iranians and all the Muslims have remained behind by a whole degree.4

In short, as one piece put it, drawing upon a scientific metaphor, the Muslims everywhere, just like all matter in nature, existed in three states: “poor, humbled, and abused.” But unlike nature, where matter passes from one state to another, the Muslims existed in these three states simultaneously.5 The situation had become unbearable, suggested one piece fittingly titled “The Knife Has Reached the Bone,”6 while another author could almost hear the ominous peal of pending doom, exclaiming, “There is no time to lose. It is 11:30!” in a bid to make Muslims shake off their slumber and take immediate action to escape calamity.7 Muslim advocates of reform attributed all calamities that had befallen the Muslims around the world, ranging from backwardness to moral decay, to



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ignorance. Ignorance had consumed the community and its leaders to such an extent that they were not even aware of its debilitating grip. Indeed, there were leaders who knew of the advantages of knowledge, yet they purposefully kept the Muslims in the dark to maintain their power. Consequently, the road to salvation from this pitiful state was one of attaining knowledge and education befitting the condition of the modern age. Education and the sciences were the all-powerful “weapon” that could deliver the Muslims from their predicament and help them reassert their honorable place in the modern world. “[In] our age the extent of the power of a nation and the guarantee of its future is no longer determined by the possession of cannons, guns, and other ammunition but by education!” contended one activist.8 As to the knowledge venerated by Muslim reformers, they left little doubt that they meant the sciences spearheaded in Europe.9 Ignorance and knowledge had the power of turning around the fate of states and nations. Ignorance was blamed for the weakening of the Ottoman Empire, leading to loss of sovereignty (hükumetsizlik), economic decline, and moral degeneration, as well as for Muslim resistance to some beneficial technological and cultural innovations.10 In turn, knowledge opened the way to progress and political emancipation. The fate of the Ottoman Empire and its former subjects offered an instructive example. “Half a century ago the Turks were the masters of Bulgaria, Serbia and even Romania,” noted one author. He continued: But because they did not heed the commandments of their sacred religion, they remained ignorant and neglected the exalted order “embrace science and education, wherever they are, as your own property.” That is why they remained strangers to the sciences, education, and civilization of the West, in other words, Europe. However, the Vlahs, Serbs and Bulgarians, who were our compatriots at that time, understood that the sciences and education would serve as a torch of salvation and that is why they spent huge sums to send their children to schools in Europe, and by opening European-style schools watered the fields of their children’s minds with the sweet water of education; and in their minds, that became suitable for all kinds of seeds—the seeds of “freedom” and “patriotism” were sowed and subsequently came to bear fruit.11

Ignorance had led to the alienation of the Muslims within the very country where they lived. Because of their ignorance or that of their parliamentary representatives, vakıf boards, and leaders, the Muslims in Bulgaria were

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harassed, victimized, and did not know how to defend their rights. They did not even know that they had rights. As some publications pointed out, the Berlin Treaty, the constitution, and various other laws ensured the protection and equal treatment of all subjects regardless of religion and nationality. But the Bulgarians turned a blind eye on them, and the Muslims did not know how to take advantage of such provisions.12 The address of the Muslim Teachers’ Association of 1907, quoted at the beginning of this book, reflects these sentiments. To be sure, the Muslims were not always like that, the reformers underscored, and the descent into ignorance was not because of, but contrary to pivotal Muslim religious commands. Islam did not oppose the study of the sciences or the adoption of innovation, even if it was from outside, but on the contrary, it encouraged progress and the pursuit of learning.13 Arab civilization boasted scientific achievements, while powerful sultans, such as Mehmed the Conqueror, had readily used innovations. Ignorance spread within Muslim society only after the corruption of the ulema.14 Such contentions sought to legitimize reform by placing it within accepted religious traditions. But they also countered external allegations that there could be no reconciliation between Islam on one side and science and modern civilization on the other.15 Discussions of reform cited hadiths to uphold reformist legitimacy. “Search for knowledge even in China” and “Learning is the sacred duty of every Muslim man and woman” were occasionally invoked to motivate the wider public and as implicit counterarguments to the attempts to discredit reform initiatives as being contrary to Islam.16 Thus, the expansion of knowledge among the Muslims as the principal means to their progress became the main goal of reformist endeavors. In this context, improving schools became a priority. But the reformers cherished a more ambitious aspiration: the thorough transformation of Muslim society to make it compatible with and competitive in the modern age. Consequently, in addition to education, they sought to reform the vakıfs and their functions, to bring new interpretations of family relations where women were accorded a special role as mothers of the nation, and to cultivate a sense of patriotism intrinsically linked to morality. Such exalted sentiments were to guide the community through engaging meaningfully in parliamentary politics to advance their rights. To realize their agenda, reform activists used a variety of means other than schools: theater, kıraathanes (reading salons), the press, and popular political campaigns. Mobilizing the Muslim community in these endeavors was instrumental. This was an ambitious project guided by an idealistic vision that, for all



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the reformers’ efforts, was not shared by larger segments of the Muslim community and was brought to fruition only partially. But it would be a mistake to dismiss it as an elitist enterprise of limited impact. Bulgaria’s Muslims were transformed over the course of these endeavors. They emerged as a more coherent community that played an active role in organizing its life and institutions. In fact, upon their own initiative, the Muslims set up new organizations, such as the Muslim Teachers’ Association, and new institutions, such as kıraathanes. These were lasting achievements that shaped the future development of the community.

A Comprehensive Reform Program: Ali Fehmi’s The Muslims . of Bulgaria (Bulgaristan Islamları) Reform initiatives and their ideological underpinnings were discussed in various Muslim reformist journals, but there was no systematic programmatic document outlining the major steps of reform. However, a brochure written by Ali Fehmi entitled The Muslims of Bulgaria (Bulgaristan İslamları) represents a synthesis of the reform agenda. The brochure was not only concerned with education but represented a blueprint for a thorough reform of Muslim society, reaching into its religious institutions, social organization, and political participation. The booklet was published by the printing house of Muvazene in Plovdiv in January 1901 on the occasion of Ali Fehmi’s unsuccessful bid in the Bulgarian parliamentary elections. Consequently, it was an electoral program, but it was also a statement of the larger goals of the reform movement. The brochure was divided into six sections discussing respectively reform of schools, mosques, marriage, industry, partisanship, and morals. The brochure begins with a discussion of education, the key to the Muslims’ salvation. Muslim schools in Bulgaria were in a particularly poor state, he flatly declared. Their pitiable condition was a result of the “freedom of instruction and education” granted by the constitution, the incompetence of the education commissions comprised of “old, rich” notables who enjoyed unmerited influence among the simple people, as well as the ineptness of most teachers, who had no clue about pedagogy. “How can the people liberate themselves from the legally permitted ignorance?” asked Ali Fehmi. The answer was to take matters into their own hands rather than awaiting outside help. He proceeded to discuss some of the key steps along the way. All Muslim primary schools needed to be united under a common program

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and standards; the boards of education everywhere had to be elected “from among the youngest people” (en genç adamlardan), who had acquired proper education; and teachers had to be provided a decent living in order to be able to carry out their duties. Classes in the schools were not to last longer than five hours, and the students given regular breaks. Rather than memorizing, students were to learn by understanding the material. Teachers had the responsibility of maintaining discipline among the students, who were to be prevented from ganging up to play pranks on or bully others. Many schools suffered from a lack of adequate support, which affected their quality. Consequently, reforming the inefficient vakıf administration was instrumental to the financial security and, consequently, the prosperity of schools. All surplus vakıf income had to go to education, Ali Fehmi adamantly insisted.17 The section on the mosques contains some of Ali Fehmi’s most original and somewhat unconventional ideas. The section was dedicated to the mosques, but it revealed the author’s attitude towards religion. According to Ali Fehmi, the purpose of the mosques (camiler) was for gathering (ictima), as their name implied; they were not only for worshipping. In fact, they were not even sacred (mukaddes değildir), because prayer could be performed anywhere: in the open fields and even in churches and synagogues. The mosques were places where people would gather to hear sermons and advice about their past and future. They were also schools (dershane) where people would study various sciences. This had certainly been the case more than two decades earlier, the author contended, referring to the Ottoman period. In the present day, however, the mosques were in a state of abandonment. Many were destroyed, whereas the crumbling walls of the remaining ones stood like sacred tombstones. The empty medreses were in a similar destitute state. This condition was a consequence of the Muslims’ ignorance, as well as the resulting thoughtless greed, though the author subtly denounced Bulgarian actions too. In spite of the gloomy picture, the author showed optimism, noting that patriotic and driven people in Bulgaria could save the remaining buildings. Restoring the mosques to their essential purpose again boiled down to the reorganization of the vakıfs. Thus, Ali Fehmi urged the Muslims to take every possible action to resolve the vakıf question—from sending petitions to the Şeyhülislam and the Bulgarian authorities to raising awareness through the press.18 Marriage and family relations among the Muslims were also in need of reform. In such matters, reason took precedence over feelings. For Ali Fehmi, marriage was a contract, so just like any contract, its conclusion and dissolution depended



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on reason. The practice of marriage was most sensible among the Muslims, he noted. The Europeans and others had begun to emulate the Muslim example by introducing civil marriage and legal divorce. If the morals of the Muslims were not in such decline, the other people would call civil marriage “marriage alla turca” (alaturka izdivac). The author hurried to point to the great moral responsibilities of such an act. A man could not simply decide to abandon a family with many children. To avoid future injustice, Ali Fehmi suggested that marriage should be made as difficult as divorce. He urged Muslims to avoid spending lavishly on weddings only to condemn the family to live in need afterwards. Muslim men were to marry only when they had the necessary means to support a family to avoid subjecting it to deprivation. As for women, it was far more dignified for them to die chaste than to enter a marriage where they would just provide for the “carnal pleasures” (huzuziyat-ı hayvaniye) of their husbands. The brochure further criticized the local Muslims for continuing to marry according to the will of their parents rather than choose their own companions even though it was known that one could not expect love in a forced marriage. This section ended with advice on social manners, particularly on respecting family privacy.19 Ali Fehmi’s discussion of industry and commerce was relatively brief even though the matter was deemed important, and the author offered more observations than solutions. The condition of the peasants was pitiful: they tilled the land with archaic methods and succumbed to the pressures of heavy taxation. Commerce was to be practiced according to contemporary economic imperatives, rather than relying on chance. Forming commercial partnerships with Jews was a useful, beneficial practice. But above all, Muslims had to engage in productive work.20 Ali Fehmi’s discussion of partisanship was the most forceful section of the booklet. In his view, partisanship was the gravest misfortune for the Muslims in Bulgaria because it contributed to divisions and consequently further weakening. Those who succumbed to it were drawn by the allure of personal gain, but in fact they brought their own destruction and harm to the community. The booklet painted a stark picture of division among the Muslims: coffeehouses were split among the supporters of different parties, and even within each coffeehouse, the people supporting different candidates sat in different places. Instead, the Muslims needed unity. “The light of education” (meşale-i maarif) would surely help the Muslims abandon this reckless behavior. The author proceeded with impassioned appeals for national unity and criticism of the incompetent Muslim

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parliamentary representatives, calling upon the community to act for the sake of national pride: “Oh, sons of the great Turks! They think that our nation is dead. The foreigners present us in such a way. . . . But the mistake again is ours. You saw that until now the people you elected for the municipalities or as members of parliament were mostly oxen in human disguise, who were not even able to say anything to those who destroyed your schools and medreses.” He urged the Muslims to abandon the bait of partisanship and act in unity, voting always for competent and patriotic Muslim candidates regardless of their political affiliation. Then he announced his candidacy: “Don’t think that you are few; everyone has the right to vote. Write the name Ali Fehmi on the ballot and put it in the box. Little by little one can gather a lot. . . . because we are supported from several places. Once successful, you will see the result.”21 The brochure concluded with a discussion of morality, which for the author was intrinsically linked to national dignity and unity. Ali Fehmi bemoaned the lack of morality that had set in among the Muslims. Though their ancestors censured dishonesty, in the current age people boasted about engaging in factionalism, duplicity, and spying in exchange for petty rewards. Improving morality was essential for reform. If people spent at least an hour of their time thinking about the future of the nation, then disaster would be avoided.22 Ali Fehmi’s brochure drew the path to an orderly ideal society where knowledge and reason reigned supreme. The only acceptable emotions for its members were love for the nation and family bliss. Its leaders belonged to a younger generation that had the necessary education and modern knowledge to lead the community. Religion was not sacrosanct but in the service of national sentiment. The brochure offered an activist program where the Muslims were encouraged to take the initiative and mobilize along national lines. There is no information about the contemporaneous or subsequent Muslim responses to Ali Fehmi’s proposals. Yet, the ideas it advanced constituted the signposts of Muslim reformist initiatives.

Muslim Education: The Bulgarian Context and the Ottoman Impact In Bulgaria, Muslim education followed its own path although it remained linked in some ways to Ottoman educational developments and was influenced by the Bulgarian context. In the Ottoman period the territory that would become Bulgaria was one where education reforms had scored remarkable success in



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comparison to other imperial provinces. Prior to the reforms of the nineteenth century, Muslim schools in the provinces had been under the umbrella of the religious establishment. The network consisted of Qur’an schools (mektebs) and medreses. With the advent of reforms, particularly during the Tanzimat, there were efforts to reform the education system and bring it under state regulation.23 The authorities sought to introduce improvements in the existing Qur’an schools and medreses but at the same time promulgate new institutions under closer state supervision. The policy reflected the belief that state regulation provided better control and, consequently, more efficient learning and implementation of the modernizing agenda. New experimental elementary schools, the ibtidais, which ran according to the so-called new method (usul-i cedid), opened in Istanbul in the 1870s. The “new method” represented a combination of several pedagogical approaches suitable to local conditions and reorganized programs including a range of subjects, as well as the phonetic method of reading instruction. They spread throughout the Ottoman provinces starting in the 1880s but did not replace the Qur’an schools, which continued to proliferate. The most intensive efforts during the Tanzimat concentrated on the rüşdiyes. These new schools that became the signature education institutions of the period provided education for two to four years beyond the elementary level. Their expansion throughout the provinces was encouraged after 1856 in a bid not only to provide education for the local inhabitants but also to boost their loyalty to the empire. In religiously mixed areas, such as the Danube vilayet, the authorities encouraged the enrollment of non-Muslims.24 By the eve of the Russo-Ottoman War, the Danube vilayet, which was roughly equivalent to the territory of the original Bulgarian principality, held the leading place among all Ottoman provinces in terms of number of rüşdiyes: it had forty rüşdiyes with over two thousand enrolled students.25 There were twelve such establishments in the territories of the Edirne vilayet, which would be included in Eastern Rumelia and later Bulgaria.26 The medreses that traditionally offered education beyond the Qur’an school level and whose programs centered on religious studies also continued to function. In fact, their numbers surpassed those of the rüşdiyes. In the late 1860s and 1870s there were about one hundred such institutions on the territory of the future modern Bulgaria.27 The war and the establishment of Bulgaria brought about disruption and a stark new environment for Muslim schools. After 1878 Muslim education

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continued to develop in the context of the Bulgarian state, where it was regulated by Bulgarian legislation and formally supervised by the Bulgarian ministry of education. Bulgarian public schools were open to all Bulgarian subjects regardless of ethnoreligious affiliation. Non-Bulgarian communities, including the Muslims, were allowed to maintain their own schools. They came under the category of private education institutions. Such establishments could be supported by private funds and benevolent societies but could not receive state funding. Muslim schools, along with other schools in this category, were required to offer Bulgarian language as a subject. They were supervised by the regional inspectorate, except for religion classes, which were under the control of the muftis. The authorities appointed Muslim school inspectors, in part because of Muslim demands, yet the practice was short-lived and its effects uncertain.28 In Bulgaria, the Muslim education system was represented by elementary schools, both mektebs and reformed ibtidais, rüşdiyes, and medreses. Few schools reopened their doors in the immediate postwar years; however, they gradually recouped over time. Towards the beginning of the twentieth century, there were about thirteen hundred Muslim elementary schools. Most of them had traditional programs. The impact of the war, as well as the uncertainty and the consequences of Muslim emigration in the first years of Bulgaria’s existence, can be illustrated by the fact that out of the forty rüşdiyes on the territory of the former Danube vilayet, only four opened their doors in the early 1880s. Over time though, rüşdiyes too recouped. By the 1907–1908 school year, there were almost forty such establishments though less than half of them offered a full three- or four-year education course. During the same period there were nine medreses, a category of schools whose number continued to decline steadily.29 Although Muslim schools were declared private, in reality they had a special status. They were given a considerable degree of autonomy in their internal organization, including setting curricula and hiring teachers. Each Muslim school was to be administered by a board elected from among the local Muslim inhabitants. Teachers had to be Bulgarian citizens and at minimum have the necessary qualifications to be called “hoca,” a title signifying the completion of a certain level of religious schooling. Sources of funding included vakıf funds and, if they were insufficient, special fees collected by the Muslim inhabitants of the area. Most significantly, they became the only private schools eligible to receive



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state and municipal funding.30 As already mentioned in an earlier chapter, the special treatment of Muslim schools was guided by pragmatic considerations of Bulgarian aspirations in Ottoman Macedonia and the fate of the Exarchist schools there. However, legislation was not strictly implemented. Supervision consisted of little more than inspectors’ dismissive remarks on the poor standards of Muslim schools. Rural schools were a particular target of criticism.31 Reluctance to intervene in Muslim school affairs was justified by concerns of awakening Turkish fanaticism or provoking hostility. Similarly, the requirement for including Bulgarian as part of school programs oftentimes was not implemented. In 1907 the weekly programs of the better-organized Muslim primary schools in Russe, Silistra, Razgrad, and Tutrakan offered Bulgarian language classes only in the fourth year. The extent to which students knew the language was questionable. Inspectors reported that in Russe fourth-year students could not respond to basic class commands in Bulgarian and wrote the Cyrillic letters from right to left.32 Nor did the plans for the establishment of a Muslim higher religious school in Shumen materialize, although the Bulgarian parliament voted for funds for it in 1883 and considered the project again about a decade later.33 Such a school was founded only after World War I. The situation was similar with regard to funding. State and municipal funding, while indeed provided,34 was often inadequate and dependent on availability of funds. In the late 1890s as the country’s finances worsened, support for Muslim schools was cut by a third.35 In addition, some Bulgarians objected to the policy of financing private Muslim schools. Candid debates on the matter even found their way in parliament. Muslims had to live up to the reality of being subjects of the Bulgarian state and start taking advantage of the superior opportunities public schools offered, critics argued. But pragmatic considerations prevailed: after all, Muslim schools were linked to the Bulgarian cause in Macedonia.36 Of course, Bulgarians were aware that private schools could cultivate competing loyalties. While such wariness was voiced about Muslim establishments, Bulgarians seemed most concerned with Greek schools, as well as Catholic and Protestant educational institutions and teachers.37 Article 10 of the 1892 education law decreeing that all children belonging to the various Christian faiths had to receive their education in the Bulgarian language implicitly targeted Greek schools. There was no such requirement for the schools of the various non-Christian denominations. The Bulgarians even expressly

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reassured the Ottoman authorities that this provision would not be applied to Muslim schools.38 The only Muslim group that became the target of the special education policies were the Pomaks. But these measures were not consistent and depended on the commitment of particular figures dedicated to the Pomak cause. Schools were regarded as the most efficient means of fostering Bulgarian national consciousness among the Pomaks. The first Pomak schools were established after 1878 in the principality and Eastern Rumelia. By the 1907–1908 school year, in Bulgaria there were twenty-three Pomak primary schools with around twelve hundred enrolled students. Most of them were located in the Rhodopi.39 In addition to public schools, there were also Pomak schools with private status, indicating that such establishments might have been the initiative of Pomak communities. Teachers in these schools consisted of a mix of Pomaks, Turks, and Bulgarians, most of whom also taught in nearby Bulgarian and Turkish schools.40 In spite of the claims of the proponents of the Pomak school cause, the initiative was not always voluntary. Pomaks in the Rhodopi complained of the Bulgarian authorities seeking to dissuade them, sometimes with the help of the police, from attending the medreses.41 In spite of these endeavors, Pomak schools were not a priority. They remained underfunded, while doubts about their effectiveness lingered. More decisive efforts for winning over Pomak loyalties followed only in later years. While Muslim schools in Bulgaria remained largely beyond the reach of the Ottoman education system, they were not completely cut off from Ottoman education initiatives. The Ottoman authorities provided some support to Muslim education in Bulgaria. They sent teachers(some in fact were Muslims from Bulgaria who had recently graduated from Ottoman schools),42 paid for the repair of Muslim school buildings,43 and provided textbooks.44 Student achievement was recognized. Outstanding graduating male and female students in Plovdiv were awarded watches and golden bracelets.45 Further support came in the form of scholarships. Every year the Ottoman government provided three scholarships for Muslim students from the principality and two from the territory of Eastern Rumelia to continue their studies in Ottoman higher education institutions.46 Yet upon graduation, many of them stayed in the empire rather than returning to their native places. In Eastern Rumelia, schools functioned under a different regime while the province remained under formal Ottoman authority. All schools were administered



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by the respective communities; they had their own inspectors and were entitled to receive financial support from the provincial budget.47 Bulgarian was not compulsory, although it seems that some schools, such as the Plovdiv rüşdiye, taught the language probably out of practical considerations.48 To increase the qualifications of teachers, there were teachers’ training courses. Regulations were introduced that only graduates who had passed a special exam could serve as teachers.49 Discussions about school reform also spread among the Muslim public in the province.50 This can explain why Plovdiv later became an important center of reform debates. When Eastern Rumelia became part of Bulgaria in 1885, education, just like many institutions, passed under Bulgarian authority. Muslim attitudes towards Ottoman and Bulgarian support were ambiguous. On many occasions, Ottoman support came following the request of local Muslims.51 Many of those involved in reform initiatives saw Ottoman support as inadequate. Some harbored doubts about the quality of Ottoman education itself, arguing that it had taken a downturn after the Tanzimat, following the enthronement of sultan “Adu’ül-maarif” (enemy of education). Under his rule, the study of the sciences and history were purposefully stifled to cloud people’s minds. Preoccupation with religion and Islamic morals was a hypocrisy to cover the regime’s repressive practices.52 Censorship meant that students could not properly study any subject from history to sciences; they would invariably have to skip crucial segments of the material because it contained banned words or mentioned dangerous events, such as “revolution,” “dynamite,” and even “telephone,” and most of recent Ottoman history.53 Ottoman support was mere publicity for the regime rather than genuine help, according to the critics.54 The teachers dispatched by the Ottoman ministry of education were probably good enough to serve in Yemen, widely regarded as the most backward Ottoman province, but certainly not the Muslims of Bulgaria, quipped Uhuvvet with an air of superiority. If the Ottoman government was truly concerned for their wellbeing, the journal stated, it was better to support twenty Muslim students each year at the University of Sofia and in such a way create among them an “enlightened” (münevver fikirli) leadership.55 Yet Muslims were just as skeptical about Bulgarian conduct, which they saw as deliberate and calculated indifference. They were reluctant to point openly to its goals, but they probably discussed it among themselves. Ali Fehmi, who did not mince words, scoffed with a hint of sarcasm that the poor condition of Muslim schools was a consequence of the “freedom of instruction

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and education” granted by the constitution, and he asked defiantly, “How can the people liberate themselves from the legally permitted ignorance?” 56 So if Bulgarians were content to see Muslims lulled by ignorance or if the Ottoman authorities were unable to help, the Muslims themselves had to take the initiative and seek each other’s support.57

Reforming Education: Schools, Literacy, and Practical Knowledge The improvement of education envisioned by local Muslim reformers targeted both the primary schools and the rüşdiyes. Concrete goals included the implementation of the “new method” (usul-i cedid) in primary schools, the diversification of rüşdiye programs to include sciences and other relevant subjects, and the introduction of standardized curricula for all Muslim schools throughout the country. At the same time, there were efforts to disseminate knowledge among wider Muslim circles through ventures such as evening classes and kıraathanes. The most significant achievement of educational reform was the convening of the first Muslim teachers’ congresses and the establishment of the Muslim Teachers’ Association in 1906. Because of the particular circumstances in Bulgaria, Muslims were limited but also less restricted in certain ways to devise and pursue their own agenda of education reform. To be sure, they had to maneuver carefully within the Bulgarian political and legal context. But at the same time, Bulgarian benevolent neglect meant that they had a fairly free hand in implementing their ideas. They could not count on more extensive and much needed funding from the Ottoman authorities, yet the fact that Muslim schools were not bound by Ottoman bureaucratic constraints and supervision allowed them to avoid the pressures and censorship practiced in the empire at the time, as well as consider a variety of educational models: Ottoman and Bulgarian practices, examples from schools in Europe, and learning methods pioneered by Russia’s Tatar jadids. In such a way, Muslim education in Bulgaria took its own path. One of the main goals of education reform was the introduction and uniform implementation of the new method in primary schools. In the Bulgarian context, the meaning of new method was somewhat flexible. Most generally, it was used to distinguish certain reformed primary schools from ordinary Qur’an mektebs. The programs of these schools included other subjects in addition to the usual staple of the traditional mektebs, such as religious sciences, Arabic, and Persian. The teachers in new method schools had some advanced education. But beyond



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these general characteristics, there appears to have been a certain variation in terms of standards among new method schools. Just as significantly, new method teaching was spread unevenly throughout the country. Predictably, schools in urban centers, particularly larger ones, were more likely to have new method programs, to have more qualified teachers, and in general to be more efficient. In many cases the introduction of the new method was linked to the presence of people actively interested in reforming education.58 Even those who looked for support to Istanbul were aware of the effectiveness of the new method. Petitions to the Ottoman authorities requesting the appointment of teachers specified that they should be trained in the new method.59 A central part of new method schooling was the phonetic method of reading instruction, whose purpose was teaching functional literacy. During the period under consideration, literacy rates among the Muslims in Bulgaria remained the lowest of all inhabitants, of which reformist Muslims were painfully aware. The literacy rate of Muslims was 3.6 percent. For Turks, Tatars, and Pomaks, it was respectively about 4, 8, and 2 percent. There were divergences of the literacy of urban and rural populations, which was respectively 12 and 2 percent.60 The new method of reading instruction popularized in Bulgaria originated in the Ottoman Empire, but there were other versions of this instructional practice that caught the attention of Bulgaria’s Muslims. In 1906 İsmail Gasprinski, the celebrated leader of the Tatar jadid movement, visited Russe to give a lecture and practical presentation of his reading methodology. The demonstration so impressed Ali Haydar, one of the rüşdiye teachers in the city, that he proposed implementing Gasprinski’s methodology in Muslim schools throughout the country.61 The new method was nothing new to Bulgaria at this time. So, what prompted Ali Haydar’s call for adopting Gasprinski’s methodology? One explanation is that Gasprinski’s instruction was more efficient. Another possibility is that Ali Haydar, who was a Young Turk sympathizer, was eager to find an alternative to Ottoman textbooks and education methods associated with the Hamidian regime. As mentioned earlier, certain reform activists were critical of Ottoman education practices. Resentment surfaced occasionally, and there were even attempts to impose counter-censorship. Many Ottoman textbooks published during the Hamidian period included praises for the sultan or stressed his absolute authority.62 In an apparent attempt to limit the undesirable impact of such pronouncements, the textbook commission of the first teachers’ congress decreed that the

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first page of one of the elementary schoolbooks it recommended, the Kılâvuz (Guidebook) of Mehmed Şemseddin, should be omitted.63 The page probably contained praise for Abdülhamid II. But even Muslims in Bulgaria could claim a contribution to the development of the new method pedagogical approach. At the first teachers’ congress, Hafız Abdullah Fehmi showed a primer he had designed in accordance with the phonetic method, which he had used among his students and found very efficient.64 The congress committed to making extensive efforts to implement the phonetic method in primary schools throughout the country. The textbook committee, however, decided in favor of Mehmed Şemseddin’s book, along with the reading instruction books by Reşad, Arakel, and the Ottoman writer Ahmed Rasim popular in the empire at the time.65 The new method also entailed the introduction of subjects such as Ottoman history, geography, and natural sciences, as well as expanding the study of arithmetic and geometry. Wherever possible, schools were encouraged to add classes in music and painting, as well as gymnastics, which was deemed crucial for boosting the physical prowess of the nation.66 The implementation of these recommendations depended on the availability of textbooks and qualified teachers, among other crucial conditions. Consequently, the curricula of elementary schools showed considerable variation. Reforming elementary schools in the villages was more challenging. Inadequate funding and the poverty of the rural population condemned any teacher to a life of privation, while reluctance or outright hostility to introducing reforms further made serving in such schools undesirable. To tackle the problem, there were proposals to establish model village schools, whose schedules and organization would later be emulated by others.67 Reform plans also extended to the rüşdiyes though they were deemed to be in a somewhat better condition than elementary schools.68 The aim was to bring them to the level of rüşdiyes in major Ottoman Balkan provincial cities, such as Salonika, Manastir, and Edirne.69 Introducing common programs and standards was the most important goal but more organized efforts were made from 1907 onward as a part of the activities of the Muslim Teachers’ Association.70 Rote learning at all levels was another pervasive problem. To uproot the practice, students were encouraged to abandon memorization because it was not real learning. Conscious that sermonizing would be wearisome and eager to draw a wider following among the students, Muvazene even ran a competition asking its student readers to share their strategies for effective learning. In the



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Students and teachers from the rüşdiye and Hacı Mehmed primary school in Russe. Source: Uhuvvet 117, 9 August 1906. FIGURE 2 

end it publicly praised those who suggested that one should learn from books and teachers but above all seek to understand the material.71 Teachers had to find ways to stimulate interest and effectively convey knowledge and learning with understanding. In science lessons this could be achieved by relating the subject to natural phenomena students witnessed or by bringing to the classroom an object, such as a piece of ore, that could demonstrate the practical applicability of the material.72 Some teachers took a step further by organizing with their students public demonstrations of scientific experiments. In addition to engaging students, these events showed the superiority of reformed schools and provided an opportunity to educate the wider public and raise funds.73 The rüşdiye teachers, the Muslim education society in Pleven, and the local kıraathane organized several events with the help of a Bulgarian science teacher, which stunned audiences with various experiments, culminating in the launching of a hot-air balloon.74

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Knowledge of Bulgarian language was deemed essential for all Muslims living in Bulgaria. It would help them understand the laws, advocate for themselves, and participate in economic life, as well as interact more effectively with their Bulgarian compatriots. To be sure, studying Bulgarian at the elementary level when children had not yet mastered their native Turkish was not advisable since it was essential for everyone to learn first their mother tongue. But Bulgarian language classes in rüşdiyes were crucial. Command of the language would also allow Muslim students to continue their education in Bulgarian high schools and thus enhance their qualifications.75 The requirement was formally affirmed by the first Muslim teachers’ congress,76 yet the extent of its effective implementation remains uncertain. Just as importantly, it was essential that schools teach practical skills though these arguments remained largely at the theoretical level. In Ali Fehmi’s view, industrial schools that combined theoretical learning with vocational training were the best solution for the local Muslims, as well as for the Ottoman Empire. This idea crystallized in his mind following his trip through Switzerland.77 The Muslims had to emulate not Bulgarian, Greek, Jewish, or Ottoman schools, others suggested, but the education establishments in Britain and Germany that combined schooling with practical training. In such industrial schools, students would not only study science but also learn about its practical application, gaining professional qualifications.78 Efficient learning depended on good textbooks. Finding suitable textbooks was a major challenge for Muslim schools in Bulgaria, and the issue was deemed critical enough to convene a special textbook committee at the Muslim teachers’ congresses. During the period under consideration, almost all textbooks used in Muslim schools came from the Ottoman Empire either through purchase by local school boards or as donations from the Ottoman authorities. Ottoman donations came from the corpus of books approved by the Ottoman Ministry of Education for use throughout the empire. If Muslim schools in Bulgaria wanted books outside this list, they had to purchase them at their own expense.79 Consequently, Muslim schools in Bulgaria that used Ottoman books largely followed the subject matter taught throughout the empire. But the books also complied with the views and censorship regulations of the Hamidian regime. For Muslim reformers in Bulgaria, the selection of textbooks was determined by political sympathies and practical considerations. History was a particularly sensitive and crucial subject because of its connection to politics and society, as well as its implications for identity construction. The textbook committee of the



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first Muslim teachers’ congress recommended that rüşdiyes use the world history textbook by Mizancı Murad Bey. The selection of his textbook was dictated by both political and pragmatic considerations. Murad Bey was not only one of the Young Turk leaders prior to an uneasy reconciliation with the empire’s regime but also an accomplished textbook writer and history teacher at various higher imperial schools. For Ottoman history, the congress recommended Reşad Bey’s illustrated textbook.80 This was probably a practical choice. Although it contained praises for Abdülhamid II as a sultan and caliph, it was one of the commonly used history textbooks in the empire.81 For subjects like chemistry, physics, and algebra, students would study from class notes.82 The lack of qualified teachers remained a ubiquitous problem. Criticism of incompetent teachers, particularly in the countryside, complaints of inadequate support for those who had reasonably good qualifications, and calls for improving teachers’ conditions and training were common in Muslim reformist publications. A number of contributions came from members of the public.83 But for the advocates of reform, many of whom were teachers themselves, teachers were significant in another way. They were to be the leaders of the ideal society, their status legitimized by superior knowledge that rendered them fit to guide the Muslims in the modern age. Among all professions there were two privileged ones, the rulers and the teachers, declared one article.84 It was reprinted from an Ottoman journal in İzmir. Such sentiments should not be surprising since teachers were accorded high moral status and authority within the Hamidian system as well.85 But in contrast to the empire, where teachers played a conservative role in upholding the sultan’s patrimonial regime, for the Muslim reformers in Bulgaria, teachers had a revolutionary role. Such perceptions were also likely influenced by the parts played by Bulgarian and other non-Muslim Balkan teachers in their nationalist endeavors where education was instrumental. The teachers, who one author called “national self-sacrificing volunteers” (millet fedai), a term that drew a parallel to Armenian and Macedonian revolutionaries, were not and did not want to be limited only to their teaching role.86 They had more exalted social and political duties to the nation: to enlighten minds and provide moral guidance.87 Teachers were models for society. Muslims were encouraged to emulate their behavior and manners, just as they were expected to follow the ways of their worthy fathers. Only then one would become “a great man” (büyük adam) able to serve his people and country.88

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The fate of teachers elsewhere evoked sympathy. They were portrayed as valiant characters struggling for enlightenment against the dark forces of ignorance and fanaticism. One journal recounted the heartbreaking scene of a teacher killed alongside his pupils whom he did not want to desert during the 1907 peasant uprising in Romania,89 while another lamented the martyrdom of a Russian female teacher at the hands of a crowd of ignorant people and priests during the 1905 Russian revolution.90 Of course, such model teachers came from the younger generations and those trained in the new-style schools. They were contrasted to the hocas, invariably old, apathetic, and ignorant. Muslim schools and education boards were often urged to hire “young” (genç), well-trained individuals or to select competent teacher candidates through competitions.91 Proposed reforms were carried out with varying degrees of success. In many parts of the countryside, there was hardly any ostensible impact; certain places were too distant even for the echo of such arguments. Apathy was a frequent reaction encountered by energetic teachers.92 The attempted measures defied longstanding traditions of learning and knowledge and encroached upon the interests of established elites. Therefore, in many cases new method schooling and attempts to introduce certain innovations provoked negative reactions ranging from skepticism to open hostility. Critics questioned their efficiency and suitability for the local circumstances. Innovations were dismissed as providing alafranga (Western style) education, a term that had come to bear connotations of ridicule and enmity. Some detractors found them undermining religious faith or claimed that their proponents’ ulterior motives had nothing to do with education.93 Those studying according to the new method were reportedly even condemned as “curse-readers” (lanethân).94 School reform and its champions even smacked of political subversion. Teachers introducing innovation could be framed as anarchists, whereas their pupils were in danger of turning socialists, some critics implied.95 Alleged links with the Young Turks were an even more alarming incriminating association. One Muslim from a village near Balchik complained how some Muslims, derogatorily labeled “talking animals” (hayvan-ı natik), visited it to agitate against school reform. “By saying that the books nowadays are all ‘jeunes’ shams [hep ‘Cön’ düzmesi], they confuse the thoughts of those who still haven’t appreciated the importance and blessedness of the new method; [according to them] Islam was not like that [İslamlık böyle olmazmış].”96



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Such responses were seen as nothing but ignorance and fear, somewhat justified, that new method teachers would make the hocas dispensable.97 On other occasions insecurity about the Muslims’ future in Bulgaria undermined any long-term plans for school improvement. In a village near Svishtov, the Muslims hired a new method teacher and even decided to gather money to construct a new school building. However, skeptics among them questioned the initiative, pointing out that given the circumstances, emigration was inevitable, so their money would only go into Bulgarian hands.98 Thus, uncertainty and low morale probably discouraged others from taking more decisive actions. There were also attempts to improve adult literacy and training with the establishment of evening schools. The first evening school that taught literacy to adults was launched in Shumen in 1892 by Hafız Abdullah Fehmi and Talat Efendi. The enterprise lasted for eight years, and the certificates it issued were recognized by the state.99 Other similar schools, such as those in Russe and Plovdiv, offered literacy classes not only in Turkish but also in Bulgarian and French.100 Similar initiatives were launched in Dobrich and Tutrakan,101 while the evening schools in Varna and Shumen provided vocational training classes.102

Kıraathanes: Knowledge and New Sociabilities The kıraathanes were the most significant establishments associated with the reform movement. They became the signature institutions that symbolized the reform movement’s ideology and initiatives. In the Ottoman Empire kıraathanes appeared in Istanbul the 1850s. Their emergence was related with the growing trends of book and periodical publishing and reading in public. They became public spaces for reading secular materials, compared to mosques where public reading was mainly of a religious character. In many cases they represented hybrids between coffeehouses and places where people gathered to read. Some were designated specifically for reading, while certain establishments assumed the functions of scholarly reference libraries, such as the one founded by the Ottoman Scientific Society.103 Kıraathanes also appeared in the provinces. In the 1870s in the Danube vilayet there were kıraathanes in Russe and Shumen. The latter served the needs of the military garrison stationed in the city.104 Following the establishment of modern Bulgaria, kıraathanes opened their doors in the 1890s. The first kıraathanes were founded in Russe and Shumen in 1895.105 At the beginning of the twentieth century, there were also kıraathanes in Karnobat, Vidin, Nova Zagora, Silistra, Tutrakan, Pleven, Razgrad, and Dobrich.106

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They received periodicals but some accumulated small book collections, assuming the functions of public libraries for the local Muslims, where they could access works in Ottoman Turkish. Occasionally, they acquired periodicals and books in Bulgarian, French, and other languages. In Bulgaria kıraathanes were more like the Bulgarian chitalishta than the original Ottoman establishments. The chitalishta were social and cultural institutions that had played a vital role in the advancement of Bulgarian cultural nationalism in the preceding Ottoman period. They continued to be a central part of cultural life following the establishment of modern Bulgaria. The chitalishta were not only reading salons, as the literal translation of their name suggests. At the same time, they were centers of cultural and educational initiatives, and thus they contributed to fostering community cohesiveness. Similarly, kıraathanes in Bulgaria became places where people gathered to read and discuss, but they also became institutions promoting cultural and education endeavors. Kıraathanes organized theater performances, soirees, and philanthropic events. There Muslims could continue their intellectual and moral growth after graduating from school. They were beneficial to the wider Muslim public, even those who had little or no formal schooling. The kıraathanes emerged as places of new public sociability in contrast to traditional venues such as coffeehouses. In reformist discourse, the latter loomed as symbols of indolence and intrigue, where people spent their time in empty talk, scheming, and gossip. Such conversations were even harmful as they undermined Muslim communal unity.107 In contrast, discussions in the kıraathanes were to be genuine intellectual endeavors informed by periodicals or books, while the initiatives conceived there were for the sake of the common good. According to some devoted kıraathane patrons, these establishments were to be solely for reading and discussion. Coffee drinking was to be strictly prohibited or else they risked turning into pubs or gambling halls (kumarhane). But such rules were apparently hard to implement. In Tutrakan Muslims griped that the local kıraathane had turned into a common coffeehouse instead of a reputable establishment devoted to learning, and they urged fixing the situation.108 Kıraathanes were occasionally established in conjunction with benevolent societies. The latter also existed independently. Such societies were founded in Russe, Sliven, Nikopol, and Balchik in the period 1905–1908.109 Their impact is difficult to assess, though many Muslims regarded them as a viable solution to the problem of funding education.110



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Kıraathanes came to have another important function: they provided a space where Muslims could gather in order to plan various initiatives and discuss matters concerning the community. In such a way they aspired to become centers of the new communal public life and leadership.111 Kıraathanes were perceived as a challenge to established leadership, so they provoked divisive reactions. Their association or suspected connections with Young Turk activities made them even more controversial. It was for this reason that they were a thorn in the side of the Ottoman representatives. Virtually all kıraathanes had some connection with the opposition organization. The kıraathanes in Russe, Vidin, and Shumen received Young Turk journals published in Bulgaria and Europe. The one in Vidin corresponded with Young Turk periodicals in Paris and Egypt.112 The Milli Turk kıraathane in Shumen was even more daring. Its reading salon displayed the portraits of the “national martyrs” (şüheda-yı ümmet) Midhat Pasha and Ali Suavi, figures venerated by the opposition organization for their advocacy of constitutionalism. One night unknown Shumen Muslims broke into the establishment and took Midhat Pasha’s picture, an act the kıraathane’s chair attributed to their desire to curry favor with the Ottoman commissioner.113 In the eyes of their detractors, kıraathanes did not live up to their claims of being establishments dedicated to promoting education. In reality, they were “houses of sedition” (fesadhanes). Their association with the opposition organization was alluded in references such as “ittihad kıraathanes” (“Union” reading salons). The kıraathane in Shumen and its patrons drew the censure of many local Muslims, as suggested by the incident of the stolen picture. They complained to the Ottoman authorities that its subversive activities threatened to turn the gullible local Muslims against the sultan.114 Other establishments also stirred resentment. The İmdat kıraathane in Pleven became embroiled in a feud with the local mufti after organizing several soirees, the latest one accompanied by music and “festive lights” reportedly on the occasion of the sultan’s birthday. This kind of partying was not to the liking of the spiritual leader, who in turn organized an alternative birthday celebration. Both sides appealed to Bulgarian officials, who were alarmed enough to order an investigation into the kıraathane’s activities.115 One of the most notable kıraathanes about which there is more surviving information is the Şefkat kıraathane and benevolent society in Vidin, which served both intellectual and philanthropic purposes. Şefkat was founded at the initiative of Halil and İbrahim Ahmedbeğoğulları/Ahmedbegov (1839–96), two

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prominent merchants from the city.116 Upon their death within months of one another in 1896, the brothers left a remarkable fortune consisting of buildings, land, money, and jewels, among other things. The idea for a kıraathane had crystallized over the course of their trips to Europe. The brothers came to see knowledge as the driving force behind European advancement. Consequently, they became committed to expanding educational opportunities among Bulgaria’s Muslims. A kıraathane and a benevolent society promised to fulfill these aspirations. Before they could realize their intentions, however, they passed away (figure 3). In their will Halil and İbrahim left their substantial fortune as a vakıf that would support the kıraathane and a benevolent society to provide assistance to Muslim students from Vidin. Şefkat was noteworthy in several respects. From what we know, it was the only new vakıf founded after the establishment of Bulgaria, at a time when the vakıfs in the country were gradually becoming obliterated. Just as significantly, the vakıf was devoted to secular purposes. This was not exceptional; vakıfs traditionally could support establishments that had no immediate religious purpose, such as libraries, baths, or bridges. But beyond the formulaic Islamic terminology in the vakfiye will, there were no references to religion. Even more significantly, the will expressly forbade giving money to religious students coming from abroad, alluding to those visiting from the Ottoman Empire to preach during Muslim holidays, leaving little doubt that what was valued was a new kind of knowledge. The Şefkat kıraathane opened its doors in 1897 on the premises of one of the brothers’ commercial buildings. In accordance with the will, the kıraathane subscribed to various Muslim, Bulgarian, Ottoman, French, German, and Russian periodicals and began purchasing books, the start of its library. The vakıf provided support to Muslim students and schools in the town, and from 1909 onward it began funding students attending higher Bulgarian, Ottoman, and European institutions. They were expected to master Bulgarian and French, and study law or medicine or pursue some other professional degree and eventually contribute to the uplifting of the local Muslim community. In case the Muslims from Vidin emigrated, they were to sell the vakıf’s properties and reestablish the kıraathane’s library at the new place where they would settle.117 Its establishment was greeted by Muslims elsewhere with the hope that it would become a model for more regular vakıf administration and encourage similar benevolent initiatives.118 Through the first years of their existence, the vakıf and kıraathane were



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Monument at the grave of Halil and İbrahim Ahmedbegov in Vidin (built c. 1930s), whose bequest led to the establishment of the Şefkat vakıf and kıraathane. Nowadays many people from Vidin who are familiar with the city’s history know about these extraordinary contributions, although the monument is engulfed by thick vegetation. Photo: Milena Methodieva. FIGURE 3 

involved in considerable controversy because of Ottoman attempts to disband them.119 But the Şefkat vakıf and kıraathane endured, gradually cementing their role as important institutions for the Vidin Muslim community.

Theater: A School of Morals and Patriotism Theater was another activity distinctively linked to reform endeavors. Modern theater was one of the necessities of civilization that brought to life on stage human feelings and great historical events, while also producing profound educational and emotional impact surpassing even the most powerful religious

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sermons, proclaimed one author.120 In extolling the virtues of modern theater, local Muslims often repeated the phrase “Theater is a school of morals.” Some inaccurately attributed the quote to Namık Kemal (1840–80).121 However, there is no evidence that the celebrated Ottoman author uttered this expression. He viewed theater primarily as entertainment, although the most beneficial of all entertainments.122 Reformist journals occasionally published in serialized form major Ottoman plays, particularly those of the historical patriotic genre, such as Namık Kemal’s Celaleddin Harezmşah and Muallim Naci’s Gazi Ertuğrul.123 The former was a fictionalized account set in twelfth-century Central Asia, portraying Turkic efforts to forge wider Islamic unity, whereas the latter depicted the life of the father of Osman, the Ottoman dynasty’s founder. Local printing houses occasionally put together booklets of some of these plays, advertising them for sale to their customers, though none of these editions appears to have survived. The buyers of Namık Kemal’s works even received a bonus—a small portrait of the author.124 Audiences in Bulgaria were also familiar with the performances of Ottoman troupes that toured the country in the 1890s and early 1900s. The plays they presented were in Turkish, so they clearly catered to Muslim audiences, though among the spectators there were non-Muslims too, including Bulgarians.125 With some singular exceptions, the repertoire presented by these companies was a mix of European and Ottoman plays popular at the time in Ottoman theaters. From about 1900 onward Muslims in Bulgaria also began organizing theatrical performances. They set up amateur troupes made up of rüşdiye students and teachers, and sometimes they were aided or directed by professional actors. Non-Muslim actresses, mostly Armenian, were occasionally hired for the female roles, though men too were cast in such parts. Theatrical performances, short sketches, or parts of plays of didactic nature were incorporated into school celebrations in which even the smallest students participated. Kıraathanes, schools and municipal salons served as the venues for such events.126 By 1906 there was sufficient popular interest for a group of Muslims from Tutrakan, Silistra, Russe, and Dobrich to suggest establishing a professional Muslim troupe.127 However, theater did not evoke unanimous enthusiasm. In 1907 when one Ottoman troupe, the Agopyan company, visited Plovdiv, the reformist Muslim newspaper Balkan lamented that only a few Muslims could be seen among the diverse audience even though the plays were in Turkish, their “national



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language.”128 Many Muslims remained skeptical about the artistic merits of theater, treating it as morally subversive and little more than vulgar entertainment. The presence of women on the stage remained a sensitive topic. Others saw the performances as contrary to religious traditions, resenting the organization of such events during religious holidays.129 In Dobruch, for example, theater drew enthusiasm and opposition in equal measure. In 1906 the planned performance of Namık Kemal’s Gülnihal was cancelled by the Muslim education board because of the opposition of many local Muslims who did not want money earned in immoral ways. Popular indignation about the planned event reached such a scale that the aspiring actors were chased away from an unused building where they rehearsed in the evenings. The chair of the education board defended his actions by pointing to the seditious convictions of the theater enthusiasts, who were deluded by reading “liberal” (ahrar) newspapers “in the French letters” and posed as being “patriotic in the Western manner” (alafranga hamiyetli). He further questioned arguments about women’s presence on stage. The chair underscored that he was not against the patriotic plays of writers such as Namık Kemal; however, it was more beneficial to read them rather than put them on stage. Finally, he pointed out, no honorable Muslim woman would expose herself to such an indignity; this conduct only befitted foreign women.130 In spite of the arguments that traditional Muslim mores were at odds with theater, religious functionaries did not always shun theater. The mufti of Silistra was in the audience of Namık Kemal’s moralistic play Zavallı Çocuk (The Wretched Lad) presented by the Bengliyan company, another Ottoman troupe.131 Muslim reformist journals sought to dispense with misconceptions about theater. They pointed out that the new theater was an exalted art. It was not “karagözcülük,” the raunchy traditional shadow puppet theater, or a “brothel” (fuhuşhane). They further pointed out tauntingly that even the Abdülhamid II who was also a caliph enjoyed theater in his own palace, and that if theater promoted vice, the Şeyhülislam would have banned it from Istanbul long time ago.132 In order to emphasize that theater was respectable, even patriotic entertainment, performances were often called “milli tiyatro” (national theater).133 Theater was also put to philanthropic use. On various occasions performances were used to raise funds for Muslim schools, kıraathanes, and needy Muslim students.134 The acclaimed performance of The Fatherland or Silistra given in Varna in March 1905 brought record amounts of donations (figure 4).135

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Performers of the play The Fatherland or Silistra staged in Varna. Source: Uhuvvet 118, 16 August 1906. FIGURE 4 

In comparison to the repertoire of Ottoman troupes, the plays presented by the Muslims of Bulgaria came almost exclusively from the body of Ottoman dramatic works, drawing upon Ottoman and Islamic history and showcasing patriotism, courage, and self-sacrifice. The works of Namık Kemal, hailed by one Varna Muslim as “the great writer, immortal poet, and lamenting nightingale of the Ottoman nation,” enjoyed overwhelming popularity.136 It was through them that most of Bulgaria’s Muslims at the time familiarized themselves with modern theater and the new Ottoman dramatic tradition. The ubiquity of Namık Kemal’s works in Bulgaria stands in notable contrast to their virtual disappearance from public view in the Ottoman Empire, as far as we know. Namık Kemal and his dramatic works experienced their fair share of vicissitudes. The noted writer and member of the Young Ottoman Society spent periods of exile in Europe and later in the Ottoman Empire through the 1860s–80s for his political convictions. His position was precarious both under the rule



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of Abdülaziz I and Abdülhamid II. As Abdülhamid II began consolidating his authority, Namık Kemal was sent into virtual exile as a governor of the Aegean islands, where he passed away in 1888. At the same time, he drew the popular admiration within Ottoman circles identifying with his ideas, particularly constitutionalism and a new notion of patriotism centered on the homeland. The first staging of The Fatherland or Silistra (1872–73), his first and most influential play, had an exuberant popular reception that alarmed the Ottoman authorities to such an extent that they sent him into internal exile. Because of his advocacy of constitutionalism, Namık Kemal was a venerated figure for Young Turk groups. This contributed to the popularity of his works in Bulgaria, where they were initially championed by such political activists, and where his plays could be staged without Ottoman intervention. The two most popular plays performed in Bulgaria were Namık Kemal’s The Fatherland or Silistra and Akif Bey. Both plays are set in the context of the Crimean War (1853–56), but at the same time their plots revolve around personal relations. The Fatherland tells the story of İslam Bey, who bids farewell to his beloved Zekiye to fight as a volunteer in defense of the fortress of Silistra. Seeing life meaningless without him, his fiancée dresses up as a man and joins the Ottoman forces at Silistra. The play has a happy end. The enemy is repelled after a heroic struggle, Silistra remains in Ottoman hands, the fortress commander turns out to be Zekiye’s long lost father, and the young couple marry with his blessing. Akif Bey also focuses on patriotism and self-sacrifice, but the personal plot centers on betrayal rather than loyalty. Akif Bey, a valiant sailor, leaves his new bride, Dilruba, in order to join the naval battle at Sinop. But his wife turns out to be a deceitful woman. So, while her husband performs feats of bravery, she spreads rumors of his demise and prepares to marry one of his friends. When he hears of the betrayal, Akif Bey returns home to seek redress, but he and his rival kill each other in the standoff. In the end, however, Akif Bey’s father, Süleyman Kaptan, exacts a deadly vengeance upon the unfaithful woman (figure 5). The two plays were popular not only because of their dramatic plots that elicited strong popular reactions but also because they vividly showcased Ottoman valiance and self-sacrifice in the name of higher patriotic and moral ideals. They evoked pride among the Muslims. At the same time, they counteracted stereotypes portraying the Ottomans as fanatic, indolent, and indifferent to any exalted ideals. Just as importantly, they represented fine examples of Ottoman literature, so they were worthy of being presented to wider audiences. The

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The last scene of the play Akif Bey staged in Silistra. Source: Uhuvvet 120, 5 September 1906. FIGURE 5 

sentiments were exemplified in an announcement of the board of education in Eski Cuma, which organized a performance of The Fatherland in March 1908 “in order to present our national language and literature to the general public, to portray these famous historical events, sources of our national glory.”137 What further accounted for the popularity of The Fatherland was that Silistra, the city fortress where most of the play is set, was in Bulgaria. By the 1880s the city had acquired enough symbolic fame that an Ottoman émigré travelling through the country could note with thrill his visit to the “glorious city” (şehr-i şehriye) popularized by the play, which, alas, had vanished from public view in the empire.138 So the city’s Muslims could be proud of its notable place in history. And although Silistra was now in Bulgarian hands, it still could enjoy a reputation of invincibility: it was never taken by the Russian armies during the 1877–78 war but was surrendered by the Ottoman garrison after the signing of the Berlin Treaty.



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With the staging of The Fatherland, the local Muslims had to tread a fine line when it came to Bulgarian sensitivities. The play could be perceived as potentially subversive. Proclaiming the lands around the Danube sacred Ottoman land, as the play did on several occasions, and cheering for the Ottoman victory at Silistra would have provoked the resentment and suspicions of many Bulgarians. There is no information about Bulgarian reactions, but from what we know the play was not performed in Silistra, though it was repeatedly staged in other places. The city, however, saw Akif Bey; among its excited audiences were many Bulgarians.139 Perhaps it was not coincidental that many theater performances were organized around the time of Bulgarian national holidays, such as the anniversary of the signing of the San Stefano Treaty on March 3. Public celebrations of these events were accompanied by displays of Bulgarian nationalism with strong anti-Ottoman rhetoric and an emphasis on Ottoman defeat. They would have provoked a mix of sentiments among the Muslims, such as resentment, nostalgia, and uncertainty about the future, but also a desire to draw attention to more glorious times and honorable features of the Ottoman character. At such times, theater served to boost communal morale, but it also allowed the Muslims to assert in public their own narrative of themselves and the past.140 For many Muslims, seeing such plays proved a transformative experience. They evoked strong feelings and stirred a sense of national pride. A Muslim from Razgrad felt that during a performance of “our national play The Fatherland Silistra [sic]” (milli oyunumuz Vatan-ı Silistra) by the local rüşdiye students, he was overtaken by powerful feelings he had never experienced before upon hearing the word fatherland. He could not help falling into ecstasy (gaşy) when the actors began chanting in chorus “Rise up, people of the fatherland.” Another man from Silistra felt a sense of “national awakening” (intibah-ı milli) in the audience following the staging of Akif Bey in his city.141

The Muslim Teachers’ Congress and the Establishment of the Muslim Teachers’ Association The most significant achievement of the reform movement was the convening of the first Muslim teachers’ congresses and the establishment of the Muslim Teachers’ Association. This was the first major organization that was exclusively the initiative and product of Muslim efforts. Neither Bulgarian legislation nor the Istanbul authorities played any role in the endeavor. In many ways it was a natural

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development, given the facts that education lay at the foundation of reform efforts and many reform leaders were teachers. The initiative came from the realization of the necessity to coordinate better reform efforts throughout the country and bring coherence to school programs, as well as awareness that teachers needed to unite themselves in a professional organization to improve their condition. The idea was advanced as early as 1898 in the columns of Muvazene142 but was taken up with greater vigor in 1906. The polemics featured prominently on the pages of reformist journals such as Uhuvvet and Tuna, as well as Şark. In 1906 many contributors concurred that convening a congress where teachers would directly discuss the problems of Muslim education was necessary and even overdue.143 However, there were dissenting opinions. One strong current argued that the Muslims did not have the necessary power to bring the desired reform into reality or that they were not mature enough for such a step. Others endorsed the idea for congress but doubted whether it could take place, pointing out that teachers from more distant places would not be able to attend the event due to financial constraints.144 The strongest opposition came from some Şark contributors, among them a deputy principal from Shumen, who pointed that convening the congress would not bring effective solutions since its decisions would not be binding. Instead, they argued for the appointment of a chief Muslim inspector responsible to the Bulgarian Ministry of Education, who would have the authority to impose regulations and demand accountability. Such activists went on to accuse Uhuvvet’s contributors of opposing the Bulgarian ministry’s supervision out of fear that it would effectively end the autonomous status of Muslim schools and result in Bulgarian takeover of Muslim education. In response Uhuvvet denounced its critics’ plan as an attempt to bring the schools under the control of the mufti offices, which were framed as the primary culprits of spreading division among the community. It mocked Şark for responding in Bulgarian rather than Turkish, hinting at its attempt to ingratiate itself with the Bulgarians rather than participate in a productive discussion with other Muslims.145 Neither side explicitly laid out its platform or concerns, but it is quite likely the accusations they hurled against each other contained elements of truth. Indeed, reformers and the Muslim religious establishment were vying for control over Muslim schools. The Muslim Teachers’ Association was an organization linked with the reformers. Expanding its control over the schools would



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increase the reformers’ influence over education and undermine the authority of the muftis. Şark presented itself as a critic of the regime in the empire and a supporter of the Young Turk cause, but it was also known for its pro-Bulgarian stance, particularly with respect to Macedonia. Yet it remains unknown whether Bulgarian officials in any way encouraged that side of the polemic. The first teachers’ congress convened in Shumen on 1 August 1906. It was attended by twenty-five delegates; among them were primary and rüşdiye teachers, members of education commissions, and “supporters of education” (maarifperveran) from Vidin, Rahovo, Russe, Tutrakan, Silistra, Dobrich, Varna, Shumen, Osman Pazar, Karnobat, the village of Hebelli, and the Razgrad villages. There were no delegates from Plovdiv and no teachers from Shumen, although people originally from Shumen who served elsewhere as teachers were present. Shumen was represented by the “supporters of education” Talat Efendi, the Young Turk leader and chair of the local kıraathane, and Ahmed Fethi.146 This absence was particularly palpable since the two cities were among the most significant centers of Muslim education in Bulgaria. The reasons for the lack of delegates from Plovdiv are difficult to determine. Local representatives might have been skeptical of the venture. But another reason could have been the fact that Plovdiv schools, particularly the rüşdiye, had strong links with the Ottoman authorities, who often appointed teachers from the empire there. Meeting with other teachers of Young Turk leanings would have been unthinkable. As for Shumen, as it will be recalled, some of the critics of the congress idea were teachers from that city, which can explain why they probably shunned the event. The Muslims of Shumen were further divided because of the fallout from a recent scandal surrounding the deposition of the former mufti Kesimzade, a notable figure critical of the reform movement’s initiatives. The congress delegates received a cold shoulder not only from the Shumen teachers but also from the local Muslim education commission, which refused to allow them to use the building of the local rüşdiye for the meeting, suggesting that the congress was a partisan political gathering.147 The vakıf commission, chaired by Necib Çilingirov, Kesimzade’s rival, assisted the delegates, offering them the girls’ school building that was under its direct administration for their meeting.148 Among the most significant results of the congress was the foundation of the Muslim Teachers’ Association, which would increasingly come to play greater role in coordinating reform in the schools. The association would be administered by a central committee, which was to be headquartered in Russe

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and have branches in various Bulgarian cities. Its members were to pay a yearly membership fee of six leva, representing about a tenth of the modest monthly salary most of the association’s members received, and they were expected to participate in its activities. A year after its establishment, the association membership doubled, reaching fifty-one members.149 The congress meeting lasted for four days and debated matters such as the introduction of the phonetic method of reading instruction in primary schools, the unification of the rüşdiye programs, adoption of suitable textbooks, the improvement of village schools, and teachers’ qualifications. The extent to which resolutions were implemented over time is difficult to assess. A year later Tahir Lütfü, the chair of the Muslim Teachers’ Association, noted that schools had not changed much but cautioned about expecting quick results.150 However, the association gradually started working. Within its first year, it requested information from all rüşdiyes in Bulgaria on their condition and their curricula to determine the extent to which they could follow the exemplary program of the Shumen rüşdiye. It appealed to Muslim school boards to cover the expenses of the delegates to the second congress. Many complied.151 These developments demonstrated that the Muslims increasingly recognized the association’s authority and legitimacy. Muslims had taken control of their educational institutions, and the reform movement had scored a success. The congresses became annual events and drew larger attendance, attesting to the growing membership and influence of the Muslim Teachers’ Association. The 1907 congress convened in Russe with forty-three delegates.152 The third congress, which took place in Varna in July 1908, was attended by one hundred people.153 The congresses began dealing in greater detail with the administration and reform of schools. The second congress focused on the internal reorganization of the schools, school libraries, and the internal regulations of the association and local education societies.154 The agenda for the third one consisted of questions such as the administration of the central committee, the funding of the association, the draft statute for school libraries, and reference letters.155 Bulgarian reactions remain unknown; contemporary sources remain silent as to how they regarded these developments. Yet, the fact that the association continued to expand and formalize its functions suggests that it was being increasingly recognized by the Bulgarian authorities. Ottoman representatives monitored the meetings from a distance, noting with a certain satisfaction that the teacher delegates did not go out of their professional concerns during the debates.156



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Reform and Women Questions of education and societal reforms touched upon the role of women. Although such concerns did not assume exceptional urgency and were never identified as specific priorities, they did acquire a certain prominence after 1900. Most frequently, women’s social roles and education were discussed in the context of other rubrics, such as school reform, family, and society. Unfortunately, none of the available sources were produced by women, so it is impossible to bring in their own voices. It was exclusively men who dominated public debates. This was not uncharacteristic for other cases, such as the Ottoman Empire or the Muslims of Russia, where men initially dominated discourses on women’s reforms or emancipation though women gained increasing prominence over time. In the Ottoman Empire the first journal dedicated specifically to Muslim women, Hanımlara Mahsus Gazete (The Ladies’ Special Gazette), appeared during the period under consideration. Its editorial staff and contributors were women. The journal advocated a version of Ottoman patriotism consistent with the spirit of the Hamidian regime. At the same time Fatma Aliye, the first prominent Ottoman female writer, identified some of the problems of Muslim women in her work Nisvan-ı İslam (Muslim Women; 1891).157 Women’s education and social reform became notable elements of the Tatar jadid movement. İsmail Gasprinski’s daughter Şefika and sister Pembe took up roles as publishers and educators.158 In comparison, in Bulgaria women did not join public debates until after the First World War. However, the absence of women’s voices in the public sphere does not mean that Muslim women did not discuss such ideas or were not involved in reform initiatives. Uhuvvet introduced a special women’s section in 1906, suggesting that the journal sought not only to instruct society about women’s roles, but also that it counted on female readership. Some women probably followed the specialized journals coming out in the Ottoman Empire. Furthermore, female family members of men involved in reform could have inspired their arguments and initiative concerning women, and at the same time were supported by their families in their educational pursuits. While working as a teacher in Vidin, Hafız Abdullah Fehmi enrolled his daughter in the local co-ed rüşdiye, for example, and signed her up for violin lessons. When the family moved to Russe, the daughter, whose name is never mentioned in her father’s memoirs, put her qualifications to good use by becoming a

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teacher in the local girls’ primary school. In those times, Hafız Abdullah Fehmi remarks, Muslim girls received traditional “old method” schooling, which was deemed sufficient. However, this practice was being challenged by Tahir Lütfü, the chair of the Russe education commission, one of the most prominent reformers, and a strong proponent of women’s education.159 Since he was a regular contributor to Uhuvvet it explains why the journal actively discussed questions concerning women. Uhuvvet sought to convey its convictions through various didactic pieces and moralistic anecdotes. Muslims were tacitly encouraged to follow the examples set in these stories. One such piece related the story of a wise father who announced that he was giving his daughter in marriage with a large dowry of 100,000 franks. Numerous keen suitors presented themselves, yet the father chose a worthy young man who was a merchant. The candidate, however, was surprised to find that most of the dowry was not real money but instead represented the value of the young lady’s education, virtues, and ability to keep household economies. This revelation, though, did not discourage him, and in the end the father’s promise was indeed fulfilled.160 The message was subtle but clear: women’s qualities had great value, so people were to recognize and nurture them. Discussions revolved around the crucial place of women in the family, society, and ultimately, the nation. Their roles as mothers and spouses remained largely traditional, yet they were vital. Women were the guardians of morals and virtue. They were by no means inferior to men, proponents of women’s education contended, and those who claimed that they deserved no schooling exposed their own ignorance. Women and men simply possessed different qualities, which determined their distinctive roles. “If men are the reason and brain of humanity, women are its heart and feelings. Man is good at strength, and woman—in goodness. If men provide guidance of the mind, women rule the feelings and morals. Women also influence reason through their affection and duties. But this influence is not as much as that of men. Since women’s hearts are full of feelings, the seed of virtue is above all planted by them,” one author suggested. Women were principally mothers and spouses who were responsible for the upbringing of future generations and maintaining family happiness and stability. In these capacities they were crucial in ensuring the perpetuation of society and civilization.161 Women were a mirror of society: if they were ignorant and immoral, the whole society would be ignorant and immoral, and vice versa. Ignorant women could have far-reaching detrimental impact undermining the roots of society.



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Since people received the foundations of education at home, the role of mothers was vital. An ignorant mother would neglect her children, she would not understand their needs, and the children themselves were likely to grow up ignorant. Children raised in families where mothers had no morals (ahlaksız) would turn out immoral, causing ruin for themselves or other innocent people. Women’s emotional nature was beneficial in nurturing virtue. But if left unbridled, it was dangerous, as the ignorant ones could not control their temper. It was from them that children learned some of the worst qualities, such as anger, selfishness, and impatience. Ignorance could have material implications. Ignorant women exposed themselves and their offspring to various perils. If an ignorant woman had the misfortune of being widowed, during inheritance disputes she would not know how to defend her rights and the rights of her children against unscrupulous greedy relatives. Getting educated was beneficial for the women themselves as it would help them make good choices in personal life. An educated girl would be able to select a worthy spouse; she would not marry just any wretched fool, or “drummer or zurna player” (davulcu veya zurnacı).162 Finally, along with their husbands, women were to be equal heads of the family, so a family union in which the wife was ignorant was flawed and bound to be unstable. Consequently, women deserved to be given the necessary respect and good education. Yet educating women was beneficial in terms of a larger cause: children who learned to respect and love their families would undoubtedly grow up to love their country and nation. At the time, the discussion on women was theoretical and didactic rather than engaging with the problems of social realities. Such attempts would have been unpopular. And in spite of their positive words about the exalted roles of women, to certain reform activists, Muslim women in Bulgaria were still gullible and morally vulnerable, and they needed the patronage of their male relatives. One author—judging from the direct tone, perhaps even Ali Fehmi himself— while discussing the condition of the Muslims cautioned Muslim men of some of the most dangerous consequences of ignorance and economic destitution, perhaps in the hope of stirring them into action by evoking their sense of male honor: “Your wives, your daughters becoming envious of the women and girls of the other nations and [wishing] to have a cheerful and easy life like them will turn to . . . ,” the author warned, unable to bring himself to name the depraved trade. He continued: “Our women whose brain and reason are short because of ignorance will soon be tricked. They will become fickle, they will get corrupted. . . .

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Those who have two–three children have difficulty taking care of them, bringing them up, and, saying that’s enough, the women try to abort them, [make them] die, kill them. In such a way the nation is suppressed in the worst way.”163 But education could prevent women’s destitution and descent into a life of vice. Women could turn into much-needed teachers, providing a living for themselves while doing service to the rest of the community.164 At school, girls could be trained in useful crafts, like knitting, so they would be able to secure a living for themselves.165 Girls deserved to be educated in the new method too, and certain education boards sought to hire new-method teachers for girls’ schools.166 The roles of women envisioned by reformers in Bulgaria did not differ significantly from the visions of womanhood prevalent in the Ottoman Empire and Europe at the time, with their emphasis on motherhood, domesticity, and service to the nation. The only difference from the Ottoman case was the ostensible omission of the figure of the sultan from such discussions. But reformist periodicals drew attention to women in new independent roles in education and politics. The appointment of Marie Curie as a professor at the Sorbonne was noted with acclaim. Uhuvvet reported on the struggles of the suffragettes in Europe, although it refrained from offering an opinion on whether women should be allowed to vote.167 A number of articles were related to the revolutionary turmoil in Russia. One examined the contribution of women in the Russian revolutionary movement, drawing attention to the daring acts of Vera Zasulich and Sofie Perovskaya against the tyrannical tsarist regime.168 Examples came from Muslim female political activism as well. Uhuvvet published a petition of the Bashkir Muslim women to the Orenburg parliamentary representative asking him to defend their rights in the Duma against the injustices perpetrated by their men. It reprinted a fetva originally published in a Muslim journal in Russia in which a Tatar kadi reaffirmed the right of Muslim women to vote in parliamentary elections.169 Along with such news, Uhuvvet featured lighter articles and curious information, such as the long, punishing preparations to which Western women subjected themselves prior to attending balls. Others discussed the hazards of the corset, a piece of clothing that hardly any Muslim women in Bulgaria wore at the time.170 The most frequent target of reformist criticism was traditional educational methods and teachers, the hocas, who were male. But there were educational enterprises dominated by women that also drew censure. Many Muslim schools for young children, especially those for girls, were often run by women, usually



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in their own homes.171 Reformers turned against them, questioning their adequacy. A series of well-publicized efforts were undertaken in Russe. By 1905 the girls’ primary school at the Benli mosque was thoroughly reorganized by the Muslim board of education and advertised in a way suggesting that it was the only recognized Muslim girls’ school in the city. But the initiative did not stop there. The board appealed to the Muslim public to stop sending their children to the “disorderly women’s schools” (yolsuz nizamsız kadın mektepleri), warning them that its representatives would go around the city and if they found such schools with children above the age of seven there, they would report them to the authorities. The board members cautioned that they would even invoke the law envisioning fines for both the female teachers and the parents who sent their children to such establishments.172 In comparison to women, specific discussions of men’s roles were not as prominent, though men too were expected to take up new responsibilities as fathers. The duty of the father was not simply to feed his children, as it had been before, but also to ensure their education. Sending children off as apprentices to gain vocational training and earn a livelihood was a sensible step, but only after they had completed school. Fathers who were responsible for such decisions had to understand these realities. In the present day, leaving a child unschooled was the equivalent of killing it.173

Vakıfs: Reforming the Foundations Arguments about reform ultimately extended to the question of vakıfs. Knowledge was the means for the Muslims’ salvation, but money was instrumental for its expansion. Since Bulgaria’s Muslims could hardly expect support from elsewhere, the vakıfs became vital sources of funding for education. Reorganizing them lay at the foundations of reform. For Bulgaria’s Muslims, vakıfs were central to their traditions and the wealth of the community inherited from their ancestors.174 They ensured the continuity and functioning of Muslim institutions, and, ultimately, the community’s welfare. The vakıfs’ annihilation would spell the end of the Muslims’ very existence. Facing the destruction of a number of vakıf properties in Vidin, the local Muslims protested to the Bulgarian authorities that the obliteration of their heritage risked destroying them in a “national-religious respect” (natsionalnoreligiozno otnoshenie).175 In fact, for Bulgaria’s Muslims, the vakıfs became even more important than for their coreligionists in the Ottoman Empire. As discussed

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in chapter 2, in the Ottoman Empire the administration of vakıfs came increasingly under state control, and while they never lost significance, many of the functions they performed were taken over by the state. Similarly, in the Ottoman Empire, establishments serving the Muslims, such as schools, could count on other support as well. However, this was not the case in Bulgaria. Concerns about the vakıfs were ubiquitous in all major Muslim periodicals of the time, as well as numerous petitions and pieces of correspondence. But how could the vakıfs be reformed and saved? The question proved exceptionally challenging. Muslims agreed that it was essential to safeguard the vakıfs’ existence, regularize their administration, uproot financial abuse, increase Muslim control over them, and boost the amount of vakıf income channeled into Muslim institutions, particularly the schools. Yet, there were no concrete steps or agenda towards achieving these goals. Furthermore, the vakıf question proved extraordinarily complicated to resolve because it entailed an array of occasionally competing interests and because many aspects of its resolution were not within the Muslims’ capabilities. On one side were the Bulgarian authorities and their ostensible aspirations of appropriating vakıf estates. Vakıfs were the casualties of Bulgarian urban planning initiatives, another aspect over which Muslims did not have much control. Muslim vakıf boards and muftis were accused of rampant maladministration, yet those criticized claimed that they were in fact acting with the community’s best interests in mind.176 Most reformist criticism focused on the poor administration perpetrated by members of the Muslim community. Yet some Muslims alluded or even pointed openly to the Bulgarian goal of appropriating the vakıfs,177 while others even cautiously demanded better compensation.178 Still others were also critical of the Ottoman commissioners for their failure to fulfill their responsibility of protecting the vakıfs.179 Most efforts concentrated on denouncing and ousting incompetent administrators, for which Muslims from all sides displayed considerable zeal, occasionally seeking assistance from the Bulgarian or the Ottoman authorities.180 Muslim periodicals often publicized the problems accompanying vakıf administration, censuring the culprits, and calling for the election of competent administrators. They appealed for the protection of the existing vakıfs and urged the establishment of new ones.181 Concrete constructive solutions remained local. In addition to the case of Şefkat in Vidin, there were other efforts made in Russe. In 1906 the Russe Muslim



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community managed to negotiate a compromise with the municipal authorities. It began the construction of a new vakıf building on the plot of the destroyed Salkımlı mosque. The large two-story modern edifice would accommodate nine shops on the ground floor and two apartments on the second. Their rent would go for the support of the Muslim schools, and the remainder into a special vakıf fund. A photograph of the official ceremony marking the beginning of the construction project was proudly publicized in Uhuvvet, and Muslims elsewhere were encouraged to take it as an example.182 The only proposal for more coordinated action came in 1899, when Ahmed Zeki, the seasoned Muslim politician from Russe, suggested convening a congress to resolve the question of vakıfs, whose significance to Bulgaria’s Muslims he likened to the Eastern Question for Europe.183 The idea did not lead to concrete action. Competition over control of the vakıfs became one of the major reasons for the reformist campaigns mobilizing numerous Muslims. But in the context of these campaigns, grievances surrounding the vakıfs became intertwined within a larger discourse on patriotism and the nation. The efforts to mobilize the community along with campaigns for parliamentary representatives will be the subject of the next chapter.

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Politics as Usual With the establishment of Bulgaria, its inhabitants became not only part of a new state but also participants in a new political system. Bulgaria was a constitutional monarchy and a parliamentary electoral democracy, where a unicameral assembly chosen directly by the people held legislative power. Political rights were extended to all adult male Bulgarian citizens regardless of their ethnic or religious background, though there was one notable exception: the itinerant Muslim Roma. According to Bulgarian legislation, all male Bulgarian citizens age twenty-one and above had the right to vote in parliamentary elections. Those who were thirty and above and were literate could be elected. Suffrage was not limited by property status, except for the brief period of Battenberg’s regime in 1881–83, and one man had the right to one vote. Those who could not participate in elections were the monastic and higher clergy, men in active military service, prisoners, and people engaged in immoral trade, such as brothel owners.1 These regulations put Bulgaria among the countries with the most liberal electoral regimes at the time.2 In addition to parliament, there were other elected institutions and offices. These included mayors and city councils, while religious communities elected the commissions administering their local religious affairs, and Muslims voted for muftis. The liberal character of the political system was determined from the very start with the Tǔrnovo constitution and the debates in the 1879 Bulgarian constitutional assembly. The constitution project was produced by the Russian



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administration, using as model legislation in neighboring Serbia and Romania, which in turn reflected the principles of the Belgian constitution. But there was also significant input from prominent Bulgarian figures who expressed liberal convictions and who believed that such ideas reflected inherent national values. The liberal character of the system was reinforced over the discussions in the constituent assembly.3 Bulgaria’s inhabitants, Muslims and non-Muslims, had some experience with elections and participation in consultative bodies during the Ottoman period. During the Tanzimat, the Ottoman authorities introduced provincial and district councils, the Danube vilayet being one of the first provinces where these institutions were pioneered. People from the area that would become Bulgaria also took part in the elections for the short-lived Ottoman parliament in 1877–78. Several local deputies of Muslim, Bulgarian, and Greek backgrounds were elected to that parliament, although the war raged through the region. The elections for these institutions, however, were two-tiered, leaving governors and appointed officials considerable influence on the selection of the members of these bodies.4 Such experiences were somewhat limited, though, and it was after the establishment of Bulgaria that more people became exposed to institutionalized politics on a regular basis. Many took to these endeavors with zeal, so partisanship and political squabbling became a characteristic feature of the time. What accounts for this phenomenon is the fact that traditional and local politics became subsumed into the realm of institutionalized politics. To be sure the new context introduced novel ideas. But at the same time new political rhetoric came to frame many existing local conflicts and issues. Bulgaria’s democracy was not perfect, nor were the lofty ideals embedded in legislation always implemented in practice. Not all eligible voters took part in elections. Some were not interested; others were prevented from voting through various manipulations or coercive means. At the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century about 40–50 percent of men entitled to suffrage voted in Bulgarian parliamentary elections.5 Even more importantly, elections and politics were characterized by irregularities. Elections were often manipulated through scams and coercion. Ballots were forged and tampered with, and election results were rigged.6 Intimidation of political adversaries and their sympathizers was common regardless of the ruling government. Representatives of the authorities did not hesitate to use the police, gendarmerie, firemen, and even the army to

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threaten opposition sympathizers and prevent them from voting. Candidates, either government supporters or contenders, often used the services of gangs of roughnecks or simply crowds of people occasionally armed with weapons but more commonly with sticks.7 In exchange, such acolytes enjoyed generous libations at the local pubs and coffeehouses, while their moral and actual ringleaders received promises for appointments to administrative posts and other favors.8 Election days were festive occasions, but they were also times when rivals showed off their power, so they never passed peacefully. People headed to the polls in groups and celebrated with music. Voters supporting competing sides hurled insults at each other and squabbled. For the winners, revelries continued into the night, but they could spin into threatening rallies and pranks against the losers.9 The mood in the parliament could also be confrontational. Sometimes deputies jeered at each other and passions boiled so high that they abandoned all acceptable decorum, hurling insults, such as “swine,” at each other.10 The spirit of the time is vividly reflected in the satirical works of the writer Aleko Konstantinov, the most perceptive critic of the existing political and social mores. One of his satirical pieces written in the format of an electoral law reads as follows: “Art. 29. When voting has ended the chair of the election bureau without counting the ballots declares winners those candidates who were indicated in advance and asks the armed voters to sign a telegram [to the government] in gratitude for securing the freedom of elections.”11 The political system that emerged in Bulgaria, similar to other Balkan states at the dawn of their parliamentary life, can be characterized as rudimentary machine politics that relied extensively on patronage networks.12 None of the Bulgarian political parties during this period were ideological. The main distinctions in their political platforms concerned external orientation: some were pro-Russian, others favored Austria or Britain more specifically or were generally pro-Western. Another critical issue, particularly from the 1890s onward, was the expansion of Bulgarian influence in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace. Mass parties, such as socialist and agrarian groups, appeared in the 1890s but their appeal remained limited. Political parties or factions were often associated with particular personalities who gave them their names. These were not charismatic figures but leaders who had become associated with and attained prominence within the party at a certain time. The National Liberal Party, for example, was divided into rival factions: Stambolovists and Radoslavists, named



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after two of its prominent leaders. The Stambolovist sobriquet lasted even after the demise of the original leader. Parties sought to extend their apparatus throughout the country and gain appeal by seeking the collaboration of local patronage networks and tapping into traditional politics. Figures of local influence willing to lend their support acted as mediators and were remunerated with suitable administrative appointments. Choice of candidates and voting were never individual decisions but collective ones. Under the direction of a local powerful figure, groups of people, often entire villages or town quarters, decided in advance to back particular candidates who could best advocate for their interests.13 Political activity was not limited to elections. Campaigns, including petition writing and demonstrations, against officials were other common political strategies.14 So, how did the Bulgarians see their Muslim compatriots when it came to politics? How did Muslims navigate the political system, and how did it influence their understanding of politics? The following pages will attempt to address these questions.

The Muslims and Bulgarian Political Strategies Bulgarian law pledged the right of political participation to all Bulgarian citizens, including the Muslims. But in the early dawn of Bulgaria’s parliamentary life, Bulgarians balked at the prospect of Muslim participation in legislative debates. This attitude was evident from the debates in the constituent Tǔrnovo assembly. It was originally intended as an assembly of notables, but the Russian administration later decided to include eighty-nine other elected representatives.15 Among all the deputies, two were Muslims. To give a more equitable representation to the sizable Muslim population, the head of the administration DondukovKorsakov added eleven more Muslims to the assembly from among the other candidates.16 There is no information available about the background of the thirteen Muslim deputies in the constituent assembly. Likewise, it is difficult to determine whether all of them showed up. Their activity was very limited, the main obstacle being language. The language question flared up shortly after the opening of the assembly, when the commission responsible for the assembly’s procedural rules received a petition in French from several deputies stating that they did not understand Bulgarian and could not contribute to the discussions. The petitioners, whose names and religions were not alluded to but who were probably Muslims,

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asked for permission to speak in Turkish at the meetings. The commission referred the petition to the assembly. Bulgarian deputies appeared shocked by this demand and were reluctant to address it, so after a vague statement that the matter was one for the Russian imperial commissioner, the assembly took a recess.17 Language became an issue again a bit later when the counting of votes revealed ballots written in languages other than Bulgarian.18 The incident provoked an outburst of debates among the two rival groups that would transform into the Liberal and Conservative Parties. The Conservative leaders rejected the foreign language ballots as null, arguing that this was the practice in constitutional assemblies abroad, including the Ottoman parliament. The Liberals on the other hand, appealed for justice and warned that the “deputies of other kin” (inorodni) would be forced to leave the assembly since they could not contribute to discussions or vote. The deputies accepted a temporary compromise allowing the ballots to be translated into Bulgarian. Yet they were determined to settle immediately the language question. By a vote of 116 to 100, it was decided that Bulgarian should be the only language used in the assembly.19 Although most of the Muslim deputies attended the assembly sessions until the end, it appears that they did not participate in the debates.20 The final version of the constitution was signed by eight Muslims. 21 Muslim reactions remain unknown. It is also possible that sympathetic deputies translated for them, as was the case in later assemblies. The reluctance of many Bulgarian deputies to accept people who did not know Bulgarian and were ostensibly non-Bulgarian as part of the deliberations was perhaps rooted in the sense of uncertainty in the immediate aftermath of Ottoman rule. Allowing other languages besides Bulgarian was seen as a threat to the country’s newly won sovereignty, so any such attempts had to be nipped in the bud. Debates related to language, this time the language of literacy of the parliamentary representatives, surfaced in later parliaments. According to Bulgarian legislation, those who could stand for election had to be above the age of thirty and literate.22 Legislation on the language of literacy remained deliberately vague, allowing different interpretations. But the discussions of the language of literacy were about much more than procedural requirements. They revealed ideas of who constituted part of the Bulgarian nation and had the right to deliberate its future in the country’s supreme legislature. In 1897 while debating a new electoral law, for example, the Narodna Party–dominated parliament struck



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down a proposed note specifying that literacy meant the ability to read in the official language, namely, Bulgarian.23 Heated arguments erupted at times of contested election results involving Muslim deputies. In 1899 during one such debate, the National Liberal Party was rebuked by opposition deputies for irresponsible and even criminal behavior for allowing people who were unable to understand the legislation they supported determine the future of the country and nation just because it wanted to increase its parliamentary presence. But the problem was larger, according to a number of other deputies. Was it possible for anyone to be assimilated among the other Bulgarian citizens if he could not “think” in the Bulgarian language, asked one representative, while also calling upon the Muslims “to be Bulgarians by feelings, not religion.” In the future only those who could read, write, and think in Bulgarian deserved to be parliamentary representatives, he opined. Other deputies belonging to the National Liberal and Liberal Parties protested that such demands would deprive Muslims of their constitutional rights. Pointing to the difficulty of learning a foreign language at a fairly advanced age, they expressed hopes that younger generations of Muslims would be able to learn Bulgarian in due time.24 Another spate of debates occurred in 1902, when a deputy argued that allowing people not knowing Bulgarian to be present in parliament might perhaps encourage some one day to dare to stand up and speak Turkish, which would certainly be offensive to national dignity. This time Mustafa Dospatski, the Rhodopi native whose mother tongue was Bulgarian, intervened in the discussion. He argued that making Bulgarian compulsory would deprive numerous inhabitants of the country of their right of representation, something which the original legislature had sought to avoid.25 However, if there were reservations about allowing Muslims who did not know Bulgarian deliberate the future of the nation, they competed with realistic considerations that the Muslims constituted a substantial proportion of the population. For the pragmatic purposes of governmentality, they had to have representatives to voice their concerns and interests and had to be made part of any local power-sharing arrangements. Such pragmatism was visible in the approach of the Russian occupation authorities who encouraged the appointment of Muslim mayors in areas inhabited by significant Muslim populations, as long as such people were not incriminated in violent acts against the Bulgarians in Ottoman times. Subsequently, the Bulgarian authorities also appointed Muslim deputy district governors in such regions.

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Political entrepreneurs reached out to the Muslims for other compelling considerations as well: the newly emerging political parties soon realized that Muslims constituted valuable voters. Their numerical preponderance in certain areas could play a decisive role in the outcome of elections. Consequently, parties consistently sought to appeal to the Muslim vote, while their local representatives followed the moods among the Muslims closely. In 1893, for example, a pro-Stambolovist functionary in Shumen voiced concerns about discontent among the party’s supporters in the town. Such moods among the Bulgarians were naturally a concern, but divisions among the local Muslims were extremely alarming because of their decisive vote in the region.26 Although the Stambolovists had a certain dubious reputation for actively seeking to harness Muslim votes, other parties, such as the Radoslavists and the Narodna Party, also sought support among the Muslims.27 The fact that minorities could influence the outcome of elections because of their tendency to vote as groups was also seen in other Balkan contexts. In Greece, the support of Jews, Muslims, and Slavs in the north helped anti-Venizelist parties win elections and consequently influenced national politics, provoking discontent and contributing to arguments that people alien to the nation had become arbiters of its politics and future. This trend led to experimenting with separate electoral colleges for Jews and Muslims in the 1930s, though the practice was subsequently discontinued.28 Collaborating with a particular party or being on its list during elections does not mean that Muslims were necessarily its members or committed supporters. More frequently, these were just temporary strategic alliances, and Muslim candidates often switched sides or parties from one election to another. Consequently, Bulgarians often stated that Muslims were unreliable, lacked political loyalties and principles or simply could not understand the nature of party politics. They disparagingly quipped that Muslims were always with the government and once in parliament, Muslim deputies switched their support to the government regardless of which party’s ticket they had been on when they entered.29 Nevertheless, many Muslims tended to be more sympathetic to the Stambolovist and Radoslavist factions of the National Liberal Party. The Stambolovists were seen as preferable because of their official policy of avoiding open confrontation with the Ottoman Empire and pro-Western foreign policy, which implied opposition to Russian expansion in the region, though they were hardly an ideal choice.30 So even at times of upheaval among the electorate, Stambolovists could



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be somewhat comforted that wherever their true political sympathies lay, the Muslims would not support Russophile parties or, as one party loyalist reassured his boss, “The Turk does not become a Muscovite.”31 Although Muslims generally did not show firm commitment to any particular political force, some were long-term activists of the National Liberal Party, such as Moameleci Emin, Ahmed Zeki, and İskender Mahmudov in Russe.32 Political parties sought to reach to Muslims through intermediaries, usually people of certain authority, who in turn used their power networks to mobilize wider Muslim populations. Such intermediaries, though, could fall from grace and be replaced by others if parties realized that their popularity among the locals was waning. In areas with significant Muslim populations, such as the Deli Orman, Muslims were often able to negotiate to have Muslim candidates or to have Muslims run in tandem with Bulgarians.33 Occasionally Muslims agreed to back exclusively Bulgarians, in spite of their numerical preponderance, a fact that incensed many of their coreligionists, as well as the Ottomans. It also happened that Bulgarians voted for Turkish members of parliament. The most notable case was the election of Rıza Pasha in 1896, with considerable support from the inhabitants of Chepelare, a mix of Bulgarians and Pomaks. The Chepelare Bulgarians agreed to vote for Rıza Pasha in exchange for a pledge to move the municipal center back to their village, though some did this rather reluctantly.34 Political candidates sought to play on Muslim interests and fears and occasionally did not hesitate to threaten them. In 1897 in a bid to harness the vote of the Deli Orman Turks for the government-backed Bulgarian and Muslim candidates, the local Muslims were threatened that unless they supported the favorites, they would not only have to prepare to emigrate but would also be fined and excommunicated, so that the imams would not even administer final rites to their dead; the government for its part would persecute them mercilessly. But if they chose the government protégés, they would be treated benevolently by the authorities and even given forests and land.35 Bulgarians, as well as Muslims, took part in agitations that occasionally took violent turns. In 1901, for example, in the Akkadınlar villages the Muslim deputy district governor, a local tough known under the sobriquet Deli (Mad) Beytullah, grimly joked about becoming an infidel and, accompanied by gendarmes, threatened Muslims with deadly consequences if they did not vote for the government-backed Muslim and Bulgarian candidates. To set an example, he even hung one man with his sash. The

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unfortunate victim survived but the parliament was not persuaded to cancel the election results of the district.36 The practice of relying on traditional Muslim power figures as community intermediaries had important ramifications for boosting the power of local notables. In Ottoman historiography, the politics of notables has come to describe a particular power relationship in which the Ottoman state came to depend on the authority of local power figures. It varied according to region and period, and at its height at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth century, it reached crippling proportions. The Ottoman Empire was in an extreme state of decentralization, while the phenomenon flourished in the Balkans, or Rumeli. Notables varied in terms of their power and the size of their domains, ranging from major figures, such as Osman Pazvantoğlu of Vidin, to smaller beys and ağas in the villages. The Ottoman government gradually managed to suppress their power from the 1820s onward, but many of those willing to collaborate were subsumed under the new provincial administration, becoming agents of the state. But others living in particular areas recognized Ottoman authority only nominally.37 Ottoman rule in Bulgaria came to an end but such preexisting patterns of local authority continued, so the remnants of Ottoman notables adapted themselves from the Ottoman political system into the Bulgarian one. To be sure, the phenomenon was not uniform, and it was more pronounced in particular areas inhabited by large numbers of Muslims, such as in the Deli Orman. For the Bulgarians, dealing with local powerful figures was convenient. They posed no threat as they had been co-opted by the new political system, though Bulgarians were conscious that some of them maintained connections with the Ottomans. On the other hand, the fact that such notable figures had the ear of the Bulgarian state bolstered their power among the Muslims, reinforcing their status as mediators on whom the Muslims depended. Such developments did not escape the attention of the Ottoman representatives. The Ottoman Commissioner Ali Ferruh crossly observed that those fanning divisiveness were the local Muslim notables, the descendants of the infamous Rumeli ayan “spared by the sword” (bakiyet el-suyuf) who had defied the sultan’s authority for centuries. Vying for influence, they showed their temperament at times of parliamentary and mufti elections when they engaged in disgraceful competition.38 This phenomenon was not limited to Bulgaria. In parts of Turkey, such as the eastern Black Sea coast, following the establishment of the republic notable factions wove themselves into the political system as supporters of different



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parties.39 In Bulgaria, prominent Muslims who could be classified as notables included Mesut Giray of Vǔrbitza, Hacı Yahya Ömerov of Silistra, Şemseddin Latif of Shumen, and most prominently Kesimzade Mehmed Rüştü. Their lasting influence and traditional networks can explain why they were present for a long time on the Bulgarian political scene. Rıza Pasha, in comparison, while a widely respected figure in certain Muslim circles, did not have the same type of influence and network. In spite of the advantages of being the editor of an important Muslim newspaper, he could not muster the same kind of commitment to his cause, so his political activity was relatively short. Notables were influential players not only on the parliamentary political arena but also in Muslim communal politics as members of vakıf and education boards. However, such political arrangements were beginning to be challenged in the 1890s. In 1899 one Bulgarian parliamentary representative publicly lamented the changing circumstances. Around Silistra, Dobrich, and in the Deli Orman, the situation had been special even during the Ottoman period, he emphasized. The vilayet authorities barely touched the region, tacitly leaving it to the rule of local notables. With the advent of Bulgarian authority, Bulgarian governments sought to establish control over the area through the mediation of the same beys, ağas, and their descendants. This situation lasted until the end of Stambolov’s rule in 1894, when the new Stoilov cabinet dispatched a new district governor, a teacher, who unwisely showed no reverence or understanding of the existing power arrangements. He did not want to know who was a bey or an ağa, but instead, calling upon the powers of the constitution, he declared to the Muslims that “whoever pays taxes is a bey.” Thus, they were free to promote as a candidate and elect whoever they wanted. Such statements produced a new sense of freedom and an unanticipated commotion among them. The Muslims wanted to select their own candidates from among themselves and not choose outsiders, exploitative notables, or representatives the latter imposed on them. But the unintended development unleashed a deluge of difficulties as the preexisting power structure previous governments had so painstakingly cultivated collapsed. It took four subsequent governors to bring some order to the situation. In the meanwhile, the government sought to revert to well-tested practices. It boosted the authority of Hacı Yahya Ömerov, a notable who had traditionally collaborated with Bulgarian governments and had a long record of serving in parliament, in the hope that he would exert his powers to placate the restless spirits. However,

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the idea that all taxpayers were masters had already taken root in the Muslims’ minds. With the fall of Stoilov’s government, there was turmoil again as they made another bid to promote their own candidates.40 Ending the power of such notable figures and bringing a new understanding of politics, where national and communal interests were the leading principles, were the main goals of Muslim reformers.

Muslims Contest Politics Navigating politics in Bulgaria as a Muslim politician and aspiring parliamentarian presented an array of challenges. Undoubtedly, the most difficult one was balancing the display of loyalties to different sides—the Muslims, the Bulgarian state, and the Ottoman Empire—a tricky task since such simultaneous commitments were often regarded as incompatible. Just as importantly, Muslim politicians had to convincingly reassure their political patrons that they served the interests of the particular party with which they collaborated. Oftentimes Bulgarians, Ottomans, and even Muslim critics scoffed that Muslims were always with the ruling party or with the government, a characterization implying lack of political will and reliability. Yet, such conduct was precipitated by pragmatic considerations. Given the Muslims’ uncertain position, displays of allegiance to the government in power were seen as the only way to obtain concessions for their demands. There was also a concern that Muslim opposition to the governing party could be interpreted as a challenge to Bulgarian rule. Many Bulgarians doubted the Muslims’ loyalties in any case. In an irritated note to the Bulgarian Istanbul agent, prime minister Racho Petrov called Muslim parliamentary representatives little more than agents of the Ottoman Commissioner.41 Just as importantly, Muslim politicians had to demonstrate to their Muslim constituents and to the Ottoman authorities that they were true defenders of Muslim interests and devoted to the Ottoman Empire. Consequently, Muslim representatives sought to draw legitimacy from their links with the Ottoman government—real, exaggerated, or fictitious—to convey the impression that their power extended far beyond Bulgaria and that they served not the Bulgarians but the sultan and caliph, as well as the Muslims. Some Muslim parliamentarians indeed maintained relations with the Ottoman Commissioners, who did not shy away from giving them advice on how to act.42 Predictably, such close connections drew censure from the Bulgarians.43



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Many Muslims felt that the realities of Bulgarian politics were particularly detrimental for them. They were viscerally aware that all Bulgarian parties unscrupulously exploited Muslim votes only to gain power. Municipal politics were no different. Even if Muslims got seats in parliament or municipal councils, they had virtually no influence. Their erstwhile Bulgarian allies forgot about them until they needed their votes again to pass legislation or to use them in other ways. The influential notable Hacı Yahya Ömerov, whose authority was summoned to placate the restless Deli Orman Muslims, for example, accompanied prince Ferdinand on his state visit to Istanbul in 1895 in order to personally reassure the sultan of Bulgaria’s good intentions.44 Sometimes Muslims were remarkably plucky in voicing their indignation about these practices, on one occasion even addressing a group of several government ministers on their pre-electoral visit in the Deli Orman in 1899.45 When parties did not have enough votes to form their own governments, they were ready to promise anything to the Muslims; perhaps one day they would even pledge Muslim government ministers, Gayret bitingly observed. So, although Muslims had equal rights according to the law and had representatives in parliament and were sufficiently large in number, they were politically weak. Because they were fewer than the Bulgarians and joined different parties, they were invariably on the losing side. The reason for this pitiful state was the widespread factionalism among the Muslims—or partisanship, in the term of the day. Such views were shared by Muslims from a broad spectrum of political convictions.46 The “contagion of partisanship,” as Gayret put it, was the biggest affliction that undermined the unity of the community, and this was certainly how many Muslims felt. The term partisanship did not imply stalwart support for a particular political party, although it was used in this sense as well, but rather meant factionalism and divisiveness. It surfaced not only during parliamentary elections; muftis, mayors, as well as education and vakıf board members succumbed to this affliction. Some mistakenly believed and claimed that supporting a particular party was the only way for the Muslims to fulfill their demands. Others threw themselves into this undignified venture because of personal grudges. Partisanship turned Muslims into other people’s instruments and each other’s enemies and gave convenient excuses for Bulgarian intervention in Muslim religious affairs, which further weakened the community, the periodical observed.47 To put an end to division, Muslims had to act together politically.

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In spite of the detrimental effects that party politics and competition for parliament had upon the Muslims, many demonstrated a genuine belief in the constitutional and parliamentary system, along with the principles of equality and popular representation it guaranteed. Participating in the parliament was the only way to struggle for recognition of Muslim demands and effective guarantees for the Muslims’ rights. Thus, Muslims often appealed to their parliamentary representatives while also invoking the provisions of the constitution that pledged equality and rights for everyone.48 The parliamentary representatives were declared “the spirit of the people” (ahalinin ruhu), a characterization suggesting the profound power invested in them. In a parliamentary state like Bulgaria, one representative had the power of twenty thousand people, the number whom he represented according to the law, so the demand of ten representatives was the popular will of two hundred thousand people, which the state had to take into consideration.49 Yet, Muslims more often applauded the idealized principles of parliamentary representation and constitutionalism than their practical manifestation in Bulgaria. In fact, they were often critical of their shortcomings in Bulgaria: to encroach upon the rights of the Muslims while officially pledging equality for everyone was unbecoming to a constitutional state, they repeatedly argued.50 Discussions of the merits of constitutional and parliamentary government transcended the local context to refer to the Ottoman Empire. From the safety of Bulgaria pro–Young Turk journals could appeal for the restoration of the Ottoman constitution.51 At times they compared Bulgaria favorably to the Ottoman state, exaggerating the advantages of its political conditions. “In Bulgaria, a Bulgarian cannot even be taken out of his house without being questioned or without a ruling of the court because the constitution does not permit it,” stated Edhem Ruhi authoritatively, before turning to criticize arbitrary rule in the Ottoman Empire.52 A number of Muslim leaders were aware of the rights Muslims had according to the law and sought to popularize them among wider audiences. Bulgarian legislation guaranteed the equality of all people regardless of their religion and nationality. Thus, Muslims too had the right to have their own officials, religious representatives, and proper schools, asserted a series of articles titled “The Right of Equality” published as early as the 1880s.53 In Bulgaria, people had election and association rights, so Muslims had to take advantage of them, urged others.54 Muslims could claim their basic rights enshrined in the constitution, and they could resort to various strategies permissible by law, such as holding demonstrations.55



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How Bulgarian politics looked from the Muslims’ perspective is attested by Ali Fehmi’s writings, which display his characteristic sharpness. Bulgaria was a constitutional country where elected deputies represented the people in parliament, he stressed. However, for the Muslims the constitution and the guarantees it provided remained empty words. Partisanship, widely spread among the population, was most detrimental to the Muslims because regardless of which party they belonged to, they would always be loathed by the others. And although there were numerous political parties in name, in reality there were only two: Black (Kara) and White (Beyaz). Black Party members were all Russophiles who advocated close relations with Russia and lobbied for Slavic solidarity. Thus, they supported the interests of the Ottoman Empire’s most formidable adversary, Russia, and openly encouraged Bulgarian expansion at the expense of the Ottoman state. The White Party was made up of some of the Liberals, especially from the National Liberal Party with its Stambolovist and Radoslavist wings. They stood for closer relations with Europe, distanced themselves from Russia, and formally maintained a neutral stance towards the Ottoman Empire. However, they were devious: at home they supported the Bulgarians above all other groups and repressed the Muslims, sowing detrimental discord among them. There were indeed other parties, Ali Fehmi noted, such as the socialists and the Democratic Party. The socialists’ aspirations for equality were praiseworthy, he conceded, but he dismissed them as utopian and politically unviable. And just as importantly, the socialists and the Democrats were other Russophile incarnations. So, who were the Muslims to support? No self-respecting Muslim would back the Russophiles, Ali Fehmi pointed, given their goals of undermining the Ottoman Empire. However, the Stambolovists were not a natural alternative either. Instead, the Turks had to start working for themselves and stop being the instruments of the Bulgarians. They were the ones who could best defend their own interests, nation, and families. Consequently, it was only reasonable for them to unite in one party.56 Ali Fehmi was the most forceful voice to promote such ideas, but he was not the only one. The notion of coordinated Muslim political action, and even arguments about forming a Muslim political group, acquired increasing prominence in public discussions from the 1890s onward. Its advocates included Muslims from a wide spectrum of political convictions—not only reformers and Muvazene devotees but also figures like Rıza Pasha. The proponents of these ideas

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urged Muslims to unite and support competent candidates from among their coreligionists. It was essential that these people knew Bulgarian in order to act as effective advocates. If this was impossible, Muslims had to obtain reliable commitments from Bulgarian candidates.57 But although different sides urged common Muslim action and electing competent representatives, there was little agreement on who they would be. Muvazene harbored an open dislike for Rıza Pasha, and established Muslim leaders urging its followers to abandon the old practices of electing corrupt and ignorant people: “hacıs, hocas, beys, pashasmashas,” who could not defend the rights of the nation. They were regularly urged to vote for educated, younger, and freedom-loving Muslims who had only national interests at heart.58 The competition over who constituted competent leaders brought more discord. That common Muslim political action was possible in practice was shown by the events of Russia’s constitutional revolution of 1905. The revolution and subsequent establishment of the state Duma opened the way to a limited form of parliamentary politics in which many of the tsar’s Muslim subjects participated as well. Russia’s diverse Muslims did not form a single party, but in the Duma they took joint action on matters concerning Muslim interests as part of the Muslim Faction, which functioned from 1906 to 1917.59 These developments were followed with considerable interest by Bulgaria’s Muslims.60 The drawbacks of the Bulgarian political context and possibilities for common Muslim action were also noted by the Ottoman authorities. Abdülhamid II was personally interested in the involvement of Bulgaria’s Muslims in parliamentary politics and even expressed concern to Bulgarian representatives when the number of Muslim members of parliament declined. Known for suppressing parliamentarism in the Ottoman Empire, the sultan saw it as beneficial to Bulgaria’s Muslims.61 Ottoman Commissioners kept him informed about developments in Bulgaria and even sent him photographs of the Muslim representatives.62 Ottoman Commissioners sought to aid Muslim parliamentarians in various ways. Ali Ferruh even urged the Bulgarian prime minister Danev to increase the number of Muslim parliamentary representatives to guarantee the protection of Muslim rights.63 At the same time Ottoman officials underscored the decisive role Muslim parliamentarians could play: if they worked together, a dozen of Muslim MPs could determine whether a government stayed in power.64 But although Muslims also recognized their potential leverage, moments of joint action were rare. Muslim parliamentarians and their electorate, consumed by



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partisan passions spurred by shortsightedness and Bulgarian intrigue, remained irreparably divided.65 The predicament and opportunities of the Bulgarian political context were also noted by Young Turk groups outside Bulgaria. While they lamented the fate of Bulgaria’s Muslims, they also admonished them for not being adequately proactive. The journal Türk, expressing the position of the CPU, was particularly censorious. The publication regularly received letters from Bulgarian Muslims complaining of the Bulgarian “yoke” (boyunduruk) and the lack of unity among the people. True, Türk’s contributors noted, the fate of Bulgaria’s Muslims was unenviable, but they themselves were partly to blame for it. If they were not so ignorant, they would have taken a course of “national politics” (milli bir politika) a long time ago. Bulgaria had a parliament and the Muslims were quite numerous, so if they worked together, they could make a difference in the country’s politics to their own advantage. Instead of entire Muslim villages electing a Bulgarian to represent them and splitting their votes among numerous parties, they could make “a Muslim faction or party” (bir İslam fırkası, bir İslam partisi). In parliament Muslims could similarly establish their own independent “Muslim group” (İslam güruhu). Such small parties could be quite influential in determining the course of a country’s affairs if they traded their support for the appropriate price, one contributor noted, pointing to the examples of similar parties in Austria, France, and Britain. If nothing came of their protests in parliament, they could walk out, staging a “political strike” (siyasi grev) and if needed, appeal to the Great Powers.66 In spite of candid discussions and general enthusiasm, joint Muslim political action did not become a reality, and Muslim parliamentarians acted together relatively rarely. In 1883, 1902, and 1903 the Muslim members of parliament joined forces to present lists of demands for improving the condition of Muslims, including requests such as the appointment of Muslim school inspectors, allowing the obligatory education tax paid by Muslims to go exclusively for the support of rüşdiyes, and the appointment of Muslim assistant governors and officials who knew Turkish in areas with large Muslim populations.67 Most of the demands of such petitions remained without follow-up. One notable mobilization initiative was the convening of the first Roma political congress in 1905–1906. The venture grew out of the exasperation of many Roma with their inferior status. Reflecting traditional prejudice, the Bulgarian legislation had put considerable restrictions upon the Roma. The 1895 regulations for the spiritual government of Muslims contained an explicit note

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that did not allow Muslim Roma to participate in mufti elections, while in 1901 the parliament voted to ban itinerant Roma from participating in parliamentary elections because of their alleged reputation as troublemakers. It seems though that the ban was arbitrarily applied to all Muslim Roma, a fact that some contemporaries interpreted as poorly concealed pressure to convert the Roma to Christianity. The Roma congress convened in Sofia with numerous Christian and Muslim Roma participants who demanded the reinstatement of their full political rights as Bulgarian citizens. Though Muslim reformist activists greeted the event, they were not associated with it. The Roma congress drew the attention of the Ottomans as well. So although Roma were the subject of similar prejudices in the empire, the threat to their religious identity spurred the Ottoman Commissioner Sadık el-Müeyyed to suggest to the Istanbul authorities to fund a special school for them in Plovdiv.68 The idea, though quickly dismissed, should not be seen as an oddity. At a time when the Hamidian regime pursued civilizing projects towards a variety of allegedly backward populations, educating the Muslim Roma in Bulgaria for the sake of bolstering their religious identity seemed like an issue of certain importance.

Mobilizing the Muslim Community: Public Opinion and Popular Action Although the reformers’ ability to muster more decisive Muslim action in the Bulgarian political arena was limited, there were opportunities to realize their aspirations in Muslim communal politics. One of their goals was to end the influence of traditional Muslim elites, becoming instead the community’s new leaders. In turn, under their competent leadership the Muslims would come closer to the goal of common political action. To this end, they used many of the strategies characteristic of the Bulgarian political context: denunciations in the press, petition writing, popular campaigns, and demonstrations. Their adversaries, however, proved just as savvy. If reformers wanted to see their project triumph, mobilizing wider Muslim society was essential. Even more importantly, they had to show how their aspirations were the outcome of the people’s will. So, although some of their writings showed elitist attitudes (the ignorant masses could not comprehend the high ideals of the enlightened leadership),69 they simultaneously sought to enlist the support of the Muslim community. Challenging the legitimacy of the traditional leaders and the local Muslim supporters of the Hamidian regime



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was one of their goals. People suffered under the misrule of these leaders and yearned to be liberated, they argued. The widespread ignorance among the Muslims against which the reformers railed was a human condition, but it also had a human face—it was, in the sharp language of reformist journals, all those ağas, beys, efendis, hocas, imams, “vakıf-eaters” (vakıfhoran), and “spies” (hafiyeler). Consequently, their pursuits were not a selfish power competition but part of an epic struggle: one between knowledge and ignorance, progress and decline, life and death. Behzad’s critical pieces offer some prominent examples of this rhetoric. “Why are we ignorant?” asked one article and pointed to the first reason—the people’s lack of knowledge—but there was a second, more important one. Ah! This second reason of devastation. . . . Here, brothers in religion, he is the reason that deprives us of our religion and world, who doesn’t allow us to present ourselves to God, who leaves us hungry, poor, and insecure. When I say “he,” do you know who, or rather which ones they are? You see, they are those whom you call bey, efendi, and ağa in the small towns and the villages, in front of whom you stand ready to receive orders, whose every word you know as right, whose every order you are ready to obey, who have become rich with what they have inherited from their fathers or have stolen, the ones turbaned like hacıs, dressed like hocas, who pray five times a day, it is them. . . . These beys, efendis, and ağas who want to revive the times of the janissaries and the derebeys, to use the people for their own gain, know very well how good education is and how bad ignorance is. They know just as well that as soon as the people get rid of their ignorance, they will slip out of their yoke. That is why they use all their powers against studying and the school.70

The press became one of the most important means of confronting established Muslim elites and undermining their credibility in the eyes of the Muslim public. Thus, reformist periodicals regularly published news of cases when prominent community leaders or vakıf commissions were caught redhanded.71 But they also encouraged the Muslim public to denounce the offenders and act against them. Behzad’s invocation to the Muslims sounded like a battle cry: “Denounce the education commissions who give no account and the teachers who do not know what they teach through the newspapers; try to fire them. Otherwise, you won’t accomplish anything but putting the servitude

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you’ve experienced for years, the ordeal you’ve been suffering around the necks of your children like a ring of curse.”72 Thus, reformist journals, and Muvazene in particular, solicited readers’ contributions: criticism was far more convincing if it came in the voice of common Muslims. There is no doubt that these readers’ letters were genuine and not masked editorial contributions. Their language was simple, often colorful, and they came from different parts of the country, even villages, relating local troubles in considerable detail. These letters provide valuable firsthand insights into the how the Muslims perceived their problems. But just as importantly they demonstrate how the exalted reformist discourse was interpreted and appropriated by common people in their daily struggles. If the offenders could not be brought to effective justice, then at least they would be morally discredited in the eyes of Muslim society. In 1904 a series of letters from Tatar Pazardjik complained about the misdeeds of the vakıf commission under the “rule and tyranny” (idare ve istibdad) of Köroğlu (also a pun on “the ignorant”) Kahveci İsmail. One Muslim “patriot” finally managed to draw the attention of the Bulgarian authorities, so the commission was forced to resign. When the new one started to investigate its predecessor, the mufti fled to Istanbul, presumably to evade responsibility. But the previous commission had also ruined Muslim schools, people complained. 73 Ay, what education the children have seen in the past four-five years! Disgrace! If the teacher is ignorant, if he doesn’t understand what he reads, what could he offer the children? Nothing, nothing! The brother of the former mufti, Kırcalili Hafız Mustafa, is the primary schoolteacher. If you only could see how well he teaches. The teacher reads, the child reads, in five–six months they finish. But they don’t know the letters—this is not necessary. It’s over. It’s done. This old ox is a very good hoca! In the morning he tends the buffalos. He cleans the stables. Did you see the children studying? And, shamelessly, those who study according to the new method are called curse-readers [lanethân].74

Some showed irony in writing about their problems. A Muslim from Varna described how the cashier of the vakıf treasury was shocked to find out that someone had stolen 10,000 franks from the strongbox, an insinuation that the commission had embezzled money. But the thief was merciful, the letter continued. He left six thousand franks so that the mice that might accidentally fall into the strongbox would not break their heads.75



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These letters also strengthened the sense of community as Muslims addressed not only the periodicals but also each other. A man from the Düştübak village near Razgrad complained with indignation that the hoca taught nothing but the Qur’an at school and was rather negligent about his duties at the mosque.76 In response, a “village shepherd” (Köy çobanı) from Sarı Hızır near Varna stated that although their own hoca was lacking, he had been disciplined by the local Muslims to carry out some of his basic duties, and he urged the Düştübak people to kick out their faulty religious functionary.77 Those accused of being obstacles to progress and perpetrators of corruption risked more than being the target of public denunciation. Disaffected Muslims could mount coordinated campaigns involving hundreds of people to depose certain leaders. Such campaigns drew inspiration from the Bulgarian political context, where denunciations in the press, mass rallies, and petitioning were common strategies. To aid their cause, the participants in these campaigns did not hesitate to enlist the support of the Bulgarian or the Ottoman authorities, even though they denounced their adversaries’ attempts to get outside assistance. One mass campaign took place in 1898–99 against the Russe mufti Osman Nuri and Hami Bey, the Ottoman trade representative in the city, an alleged accomplice in his misdeeds. The campaign was precipitated by rumors that about three thousand lira from the vakıfs were missing and were embezzled by the mufti. Muslims from Russe and the surrounding countryside began petitioning the Bulgarian authorities, the Ottoman Commissioner, and the Şeyhülislam complaining about the mufti’s misconduct. The architects of the campaign were Ahmed Zeki, the parliamentary representative İskender Mahmudov, Moamelecizade Emin, Mehmed Şevki, and several other Muslims in Russe who were known for their Young Turk leanings, though judging from the popular support of the campaign, they seemed to capitalize on widespread discontent. One of the petitions, reportedly backed by about one thousand Muslim signatures, was presented by a Muslim delegation to the Bulgarian minister of Foreign and Religious Affairs. The Russe city governor was ordered to conduct an investigation. He hastily completed his inquiry, claiming to have found that a number of signatures were fake and allowed the mufti to continue serving at his post.78 The campaigners’ petition to the Ottoman authorities described the lamentable condition of the Muslims in Bulgaria, being the last among all communities in Bulgaria because of the incompetent and corrupt actions of leaders like

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Osman Nuri. He was accused of conspiring against capable preachers, stealing money designated for Muslim schools, and appointing his cronies to the local school board. The Russe trade representative Hami Bey covered for the mufti because the latter had given him loans that he had no intention of repaying.79 Hami Bey rushed to the mufti’s defense, attributing the campaign to sedition makers. If Osman Nuri was deposed, he warned, he would only be replaced by a man suitable to the Bulgarians. The Ottoman commissioner Nasuhi Bey conducted his own investigation into the matter. He found irregularities in the financial records and speculated that if Osman Nuri had not suited Bulgarian goals, he would not have been kept in his post for ten years. He could do nothing about the mufti, but he managed to have Hami Bey recalled.80 The turmoil showed no sign of abating, so the Bulgarian authorities had to dispatch a financial inspector to conduct an audit. The campaign had initially been stirred by the Russe journal Balkan, edited by Ahmed Zeki, and it was shut down to silence the affair. But the torch was readily taken up by Muvazene. In this journal the disgruntled Russe Muslims were given plenty of space to voice their grievances. The Russe “muhti,” a pun on his title meaning “offender” or “sinner,” was accused of disposing with vakıf funds as personal property. Under his “tyranny” (istibdad), the teachers never received their salary, with the excuse that they were not dispensed by the Bulgarian authorities. The legitimacy of his decisions was questionable: he performed fake marriages, forced orphaned village girls to be his servants, and fabricated title deeds for vakıf land. He was notorious for his nepotism and cronyism, and he was of scandalous moral character as well. People claimed that they had seen him molesting a boy, amusing himself during the Ramadan with an Armenian music band, and being involved in a prostitution scandal in Ottoman times. But as long as the current Bulgarian cabinet, which he had pledged to serve as loyally as the previous one, was in power, there was no chance for him of being ousted.81 As the shocking accusations began pouring from the journal’s pages, bringing Osman Nuri an unenviable reputation around Bulgaria, his antagonized supporters decided that it was time to act more decisively. They wrote to Muvazene to exonerate him, and the journal published their appeals in a bid to show its impartiality. Osman Nuri was a capable leader of the Russe Muslims since his prudence and tactfulness were essential in dealing with the Bulgarians, his supporters claimed. The campaign against him was concocted by envious rivals, and if it had not been for him, Muslims would be forced to emigrate. And in a



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more emphatic expression of support, in December 1898 a group of 2,000–3,000 Muslims from the surrounding countryside arrived in Russe to protest the investigation against him.82 But Osman Nuri’s opponents were relentless. Encouraged by the imminent collapse of the Stoilov cabinet that signaled the possibility of political change, they organized a counter-rally in front of the Arasta Mosque. Its two thousand participants called for the mufti’s resignation. To memorialize this important event, the organizers brought a photographer to take a picture; copies were even made available for purchase. This act is a demonstration of how Osman Nuri’s opponents regarded the campaign. For them, this was not a petty squabble. They seemed to truly believe that they were making history that deserved to be properly documented.83 In March 1899, about two months after Stoilov’s cabinet had resigned, the mufti was finally fired. Without his Bulgarian protectors, Osman Nuri lost power, while the new government undoubtedly sought to capitalize on the scandal to win the sympathies of numerous discontented Muslims. The campaigners rejoiced over their success. For the campaign’s organizers, this was not simply a victory over Osman Nuri but a triumph in the greater struggle for justice and progress. The following letter that a Muslim sent to Muvazene demonstrates how traditional discontent and rivalries had a assumed a new meaning. This question that has preoccupied and troubled our fellow-townsmen for many years on the outside appears to be the struggle against the mufti, but in reality this was an offensive [led] by the idea of progress that raised the banner of struggle against a justice- and freedom-killing oppressive force, repression, and tyranny. At the beginning, justice and progress and their supporters were few and weak, while the supporters of tyranny and oppression were strong. But no matter how weak it was, the idea could not be defeated [and] gradually began spreading to everyone’s minds to such an extent that almost all the Muslims, cursing oppression and tyranny, took shelter under the bliss of [its] banner. Once the supporters of justice and progress acquired this power, they convened a rally as befits the people of a country that has accepted the right of popular sovereignty. They exposed to the people the truth about the despotic tyrant.84

Osman Nuri was a divisive figure, but similar to other cases it is difficult to determine to what extent the charges against him were true. While the vakıfs

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could have been damaged by his allegedly incompetent and corrupt administration, there were other detriments inflicted within the Bulgarian context about which the mufti could do little. That the Bulgarian authorities initially kept the mufti in his position suggests that he was convenient to them. In turn, his opponents were either oblivious or more likely purposefully sought to underscore the mufti’s personal responsibility. By accusing Osman Nuri in material and moral corruption, they skillfully played on questions of real and symbolic significance to the Muslims, possibly exaggerating and even inventing charges to spur people into action. The mufti used the funds of the Muslim community for personal gain in spite of its desperate condition. Chosen as the Muslims’ leader, he instead betrayed their interests to the Bulgarians. Instead of dispensing justice, as someone in his position was expected to do, he oppressed and deceived the people. The accusations of his moral character were just as significant. Entertaining himself during the Ramazan, the holiest time for Muslims, with a music band of Armenians, who were often portrayed as treacherous elements, symbolized his moral decay. But some of the contributions to the campaign suggest that there could have been further reasons for the antagonism towards Osman Nuri. He was aware of the spread of Young Turk ideas among the local Muslims and tried to gauge who was a sympathizer, allegedly to denounce such people to the Ottoman authorities. “He informs on us that we, people with white hair and beards, are young Turks,” an appeal against the mufti signed by fifty people complained, in a tone that feigned innocence and indignation,85 even though several of them were well-known Young Turks. Osman Nuri had realized the rising challenge to the authority of people like him and sought to ward it off. That there was more to the campaign against him is also suggested by the jubilant letter proclaiming its end. With Osman Nuri’s deposition, the struggle was far from over, the letter pointed out, but it had to continue this time against the “raison d’état” (hikmet-i hükumet) of the Ottoman government. Another mass campaign took place in 1903 in Plovdiv against the local administration of Muslim religious affairs. The Cemaat-ı Müslime, by which name the administration was known, had been established during the Eastern Rumelian period to represent the interests of all Muslims in the province. As the province became part of Bulgaria, it became the equivalent of a Muslim commission for Plovdiv and its vicinity, but the name remained. The campaign took place during a crucial time. The three short-lived Bulgarian cabinets headed by Stoyan Danev



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between December 1901 and May 1903 tried to appoint reliable muftis and bring regulation to the administration of vakıfs while negotiating with the Ottoman authorities a resolution to the vakıf question. The campaign was embraced with considerable zeal by Muvazene. Back to Plovdiv after a two-year spell in Varna, Ali Fehmi probably seized the moment as an opportunity to take revenge on his adversaries who had driven him from his native city. As rumors began circulating about financial abuses of the vakıfs Muvazene readily capitalized on them. Muvazene launched a series of articles entitled “Bulgaria’s Vakıf Thieves Dens and Their Accomplices,” with which it sought to prove how the members of the Plovdiv vakıf commission, mockingly called “the commission of problems” (cemaat-ı müşkile instead of Cemaat-ı Müslime) and the “Small Empty Porte” (Küçük Bâb-ı Hâli), had appropriated large sums from the vakıfs. The articles urged that the commission be sacked and brought to justice. The vakıf records were sent to the Bulgarian authorities for inspection, so there was no doubt that the truth would surface, Ali Fehmi announced, but in the meanwhile he urged Muslims to take matters in their own hands. “More will come to your heads,” the journal warned the accused, among who were well-established notables, merchants, the mufti, and a certain unknown “Bulgarian gentleman.”86 Since Ali Fehmi was newly appointed as a member of the local criminal court, the threat sounded credible. The authorities ordered elections for new vakıf commissions throughout the country. The ones in Plovdiv were scheduled for May 1903.87 Although the last of the Danev cabinets had stepped down, the elections went ahead. The old vakıf commission was dismissed, and the Plovdiv Muslims hired one of the few Muslim lawyers in the country, Mehmed Sıdkı, to launch a lawsuit against it. In the meanwhile, an interim commission conducted an audit establishing that close to sixty thousand leva were missing from the vakıf treasury.88 While numerous Plovdiv Muslims met the legal action with enthusiasm, others saw it as a road to peril. Rıza Pasha, the owner of the recently closed Gayret, sank into panic as he saw how the reckless Muslims had opened the way to Bulgarian intervention and alerted the Ottoman Commissioner Ali Ferruh. The Commissioner, sensing a disaster, summoned a number of prominent Plovdiv Muslims, including people who had signed a petition denouncing the old Commission. Realizing their disastrous actions, they recanted but it seemed too late. Their attempt to organize earlier elections to minimize Bulgarian intervention was warded off.89

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But even the regular elections did not produce a satisfactory result for those who had launched the campaign. The new commission included many members of the previous one. In these circumstances, achieving anything against the culprits was impossible. In the meanwhile, the vakıf records remained in the hands of the Bulgarian authorities, who appointed an investigating committee consisting of two Christians and one Muslim. The Muslim on the committee was Ali Fehmi.90 In 1904 Muvazene published detailed copies of two of the account books but did not complete the rest.91 At this time the campaign came to a sudden end without explanation. It is possible that the Bulgarian authorities ordered a closure. The new commission either served them well or they were busier with other important developments, such as the fallout from the uprisings in the Ottoman Empire. Or the mysterious “Bulgarian gentleman” had proven someone important. These campaigns were tumultuous; however, they paled in comparison to the long-standing rivalry and bitter confrontation with one of the most influential Muslim leaders, Kesimzade Mehmed Rüştü.

Kesimzade: The Last of the Notables Regardless of what people thought of Kesimzade, everyone agreed that he was a very important man with vast influence among the Muslims of Shumen and the area. His long historical shadow can be seen even nowadays, as the archival collection of the Shumen mufti office in the Bulgarian National Library is colloquially known as the Kesimzade collection. The Bulgarian authorities sought to co-opt his assistance in governing the Muslims in the area, while political parties knew that Kesimzade could sway the Muslim vote one way or another. They either courted his help or tried to find ways to neutralize him, usually through his Muslim adversaries. He was always an important consideration in any political plans for Shumen and the area. No other Muslim figure at the time enjoyed comparable eminence. Kesimzade drew legitimacy from his position as a religious functionary. But even more importantly, he was a typical notable who with the establishment of Bulgaria skillfully adapted himself to the new political context, turning into a successful politician. His career spanned close to three decades, and, despite frequent clashes with his Muslim critics and Bulgarian adversaries, he proved difficult to topple. His dominance ended only with his death. Kesimzade capitalized on his authority among the local Muslim population, who were used to such power arrangements, to convince them that he was the only reliable representative who could mediate successfully between



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them and the Bulgarian state. In turn, he convinced Bulgarian political parties that he was the one who could deliver to them the much coveted Muslim votes. But his popularity to a great extent rested on his allegiance and close connections with the Ottoman authorities, which he did not hesitate to flaunt, much to the irritation of the Bulgarians. He did not miss opportunities to remind the Muslims that his authority extended far beyond the Shumen area, or Bulgaria for that matter, and into the Ottoman capital. Kesimzade proudly sported his Ottoman medals whenever he toured the Deli Orman. He stoked up rumors that he enjoyed the special disposition of the sultan and caliph Abdülhamid II, whom, he claimed, he had visited and whose beard he was even allowed to touch as a sign of adoration.92 But the Shumen mufti was not averse to underhanded tactics: he threatened disobedient Muslims, as well as those who were not inclined to vote for him, that since their emigration to the empire was certain, he would make sure that they found peace only on the bottom of the sea. He did not hesitate to report on alleged critics of the Ottoman regime, even resorting to blackmail to dissuade them from their daring ways.93 Consequently, Kesimzade emerged as a particularly divisive figure among the Muslim population. On the one hand, he was venerated by many of those who regarded the sultan as their protector and saw the mufti as the only person capable of defending their interests. On the other, he had numerous adversaries. Kesimzade had an ongoing rivalry with Şemseddin Latif, a Nakşbendi sheikh in Shumen; the two often competed in parliamentary elections. Necib Çilingirov, once a close ally and collaborator in political pursuits, parted ways to join reformist efforts and the Young Turk cause, thus turning into a staunch adversary. And many common Muslims had grudges against the powerful mufti because of his overbearing conduct. But Kesimzade’s most formidable Muslim opponents were the reformers to whom he exemplified everything they challenged: the unjustified and arbitrary power of traditional elites, their recalcitrance at accepting innovations, and their veneration of the sultan and his regime. Consequently, to them he became something of a symbol of the corrupt traditional leadership who had to be deposed. The struggle against Kesimzade was the longest and most rancorous of all. Regardless of the setbacks, Kesimzade demonstrated remarkable resilience, always managing to spring back into a position of authority. Eventually, his power was brought to an end not by the concerted efforts of his reformist adversaries

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by his death. Looking in more detail at the long struggle against Kesimzade will not only shed more light into the political strategies and discourses of the reformers. Just as importantly, it will provide an insight into the perspective of traditional elites and the many Muslims for whom such figures were the legitimate leaders of the community. Over the course of his long career, starting in 1882, Kesimzade served a number of terms in parliament regardless of which party was in power.94 He was always in some position of authority among the Muslims, so he also served as a court member, mufti, and chair of the Shumen vakıf board. In the 1890s discontent against him surfaced as he and his then ally Necib Çilingirov were accused of maladministration of the vakıfs.95 With the influx of Young Turks and the rise of the reform movement, he gradually emerged as their antagonist. He refused to collaborate with pro–Young Turk reformers on initiatives such as a campaign against the Ottoman representative in Varna.96 Although there had been previous complaints against Kesimzade,97 a serious campaign against him was mounted in 1902 following popular dissatisfaction with the election of a new vakıf commission in Shumen. As in other cases, it began with a series of readers’ letters in Muvazene aiming to publicize his misdeeds and those of the vakıf commission. The mufti was accused of embezzlement of vakıf funds, and because of his conduct, he had lost everyone’s respect.98 Others pointed out that members of his family were also part of the financial and moral corruption: Kesimzade’s son had taken some of the money, which he subsequently spent in certain dubious places. Even the circumstances of Kesimzade’s election as a mufti had been a result of a shady deal, people implied.99 Sensing the mounting tide against the mufti, Muvazene sought to undermine his authority and that of immoral religious functionaries further by publishing a series titled “Advice,” which criticized unworthy religious leaders, mockingly calling them “heirs to the robbers” (vereset-ül-eşkiya), a mocking distortion of the respectful phrase “heirs to the prophets” (vereset-ül-enbiya). Muvazene appealed to the Muslims to stage demonstrations and draw the attention of parliament to such scandalous behavior.100 The articles proved particularly inspiring to some Muslims who saw Kesimzade as an illustrative example of unworthy leaders. Emboldened, a number of Shumen Muslims proceeded to express their grievances with Kesimzade, whose offenses ranged from the embezzlement of vakıf property to allegations of immoral conduct and abuse, as can be seen in the excerpt from one letter below.



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Mr. Editor, I read the likable serious article called “Advice” published in Muvazene this week. I was very moved. You have portrayed accurately the ignorance and powerlessness of our people, the deeds and the vileness of the wastrels in ulema garb. And while I was reading about the deeds of the robbers in mufti and ulema dress who destroy the vakıfs in order to take advantage of them and do not prevent those who want to eat them, it was impossible not to remember our “great trouble.” Because it describes precisely the man’s deeds. . . . The evil deeds and the dishonesties of the man who defiles the mufti post cannot be described in just a few letters. This very incarnation of the accursed devil is a harmful creature not only for the vakıfs but for all existing Muslim things. All efforts to oust him have remained fruitless. Because the Bulgarian brothers know that they won’t find a better instrument than him, they hold tight onto his unclean skirts. The way things are going, it is understood that the Muslims will have this trouble spinning over their heads for a few more years. The Muslim members of parliament who are obliged to defend and protect our existence as Muslims for some reason do not say even a few words about this man to the proper authorities. If they at least made effort to procure a [new mufti] election order, they would have done a service to Islam, to humanity. . . . Once this man sat in the mufti office, there has been no good either for the vakıfs, or for the schools. This man is an eternal enemy of Islam. He works with all his powers to prevent the nation from achieving accomplishment, the nation’s children from getting educated, and he is successful. The examples are manifest. Even though there are [several] vakıf estates in Shumen, today our schools cannot use a single penny from them. There is no way of solving that. In the rüşdiye school there is a principal sent by Istanbul (may God turn him into stone and with the hand of Providence send it to the head of his master); from one side this man, from the other the scoundrel defiling the mufti’s office have made our schools resemble lunatic asylums more than schools. The children of the fatherland go to school as animals and come out as oxen. The children’s morals are also being corrupted. If there is a handsome child, first he is sent to Kesimzade’s room to take a lamp or to bring the prayer beads forgotten in the barbershop; then, a few times later, the door closes as soon as the child enters.101

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The appeals to the Muslim members of parliament to investigate Kesimzade did not produce the desired effect. The Shumen Muslim representative at the time was Mustafa Dospatski, who had turned into a close ally of Kesimzade. So instead of condemnation, Dospatski delivered a passionate speech in parliament in his defense, upholding his innocence. Disillusioned, Kesimzade’s Muslim critics in Shumen decided that it was time to seek other ways of ousting the mufti.102 Events in Bulgaria facilitated their aspirations. The elections of 1903 brought about a change of government and new Muslim parliamentary representatives, one of who was Necib Bey Çilingirov, Kesimzade’s archrival, who was closely involved with the reform movement and the Young Turks. The campaigners began working immediately, and by the spring of 1904 they had scored considerable success. Kesimzade was ousted from the mufti office, and there was a new vakıf commission chaired by Çilingirov. For all their criticism of Bulgarian intervention in Muslim affairs, the campaigners too sought Bulgarian assistance. In violation of the law, the new vakıf commission was appointed rather than elected. The new commission launched an investigation into the activities of its predecessor, and in May 1904 Kesimzade was summoned to court.103 Kesimzade did not give up easily, although he showed signs of exasperation. He rallied his supporters in a vigorous counter-campaign and sought support from the Ottoman authorities. He sent several petitions to various offices in Istanbul, some of them backed by the signatures of his supporters. Blaming the campaign on traitors to the empire, he extolled his loyalty to the Ottoman state and the sultan. In the end he requested an appointment in the empire, since at his venerable age he could no longer tolerate the harassment of a bunch of “Young Ottomans” (Yeni Osmanlılar).104 Shortly, he sent another petition either to the Ottoman Commissioner or the Ottoman government. However, it somehow ended up in Bulgarian hands, which did not serve him well. The petition, partly quoted below, denounced the campaign against him as the product of the Young Turk sedition makers, who were headed by Çilingirov and ultimately served Bulgarian interests with their reckless activities. As it is known to the Imperial government and the Commissioner’s Office in Bulgaria, there has existed for twelve years in Shumen . . . a seditious committee under the name “Young Turk” consisting of about twenty people, traitors to the empire, intriguers who constantly curse and insult the holy caliph of



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the Muslims, receive harmful journals published in Egypt, London, Paris, and other places, and have correspondence with the lowly committees and people abroad and in Istanbul. The protector of these rebels in Bulgaria and Istanbul is the Shumen resident Necib Çilingirov, who in one pocket carries a fez, and in the other a hat [kalpak], and who has a Bulgarian and an Ottoman passport.. . . . These rebels have in Shumen [something] called a reading salon [kıraathane], which in fact is a house of sedition [fesadhane] about whose administration they are always making some plans. . . . The authorities are helping him a lot since the Bulgarians want to take the vakıfs from the hands of the Turks and have found an instrument in the person of Necib Çilingirov. . . . Saying, “The dervish convent [founded by sultan Mahmud in 1837–38] is in ruins,” . . . this depraved Necib sold it to the Bulgarians and intends to spend the money he got from it for the committee.105

Kesimzade also mobilized his Muslim supporters in the city, who were not as few as his adversaries suggested. In 1905 over twenty mütevellis (vakıf supervisors) petitioned the grand vizier, complaining that muftis and the new Shumen vakıf commission were mere instruments in Bulgarian hands.106 The trial against Kesimzade, of which there is no record, lasted until the fall of 1905. In the end the vakıf commission withdrew its charges after Kesimzade presented it with written permission for construction on the grounds of one of the vakıfs and a sharia court’s approval for the construction expenses. Kesimzade was still sentenced to one year in prison. He had to pay the legal expenses, amounting to a considerable sum, as well as outstanding vakıf dues and fines.107 He was indeed detained for a period of time,108 after which he took temporary shelter in the empire. In response, over a hundred Muslims from Shumen, including numerous artisans, guild leaders, merchants, medrese teachers, and vakıf mütevellis rallied against the new vakıf commission headed by Çilingirov. But they also protested against reform efforts. To them the arguments of vakıf and school reform masked the seditious goals of Young Turk sympathizers and personal grudges, all of which were detrimental to the Muslim community. Along with committing crimes, the seditious societies founded under the pretext of spreading education also serve the ploys of the Bulgarians. Everywhere there are Union [ittihad] kıraathanes; in order to continue per-

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petrating their crimes, the despicable men who fled the Ottoman Empire for Europe use those kıraathanes to instigate the Muslims against the Holy Caliph and the Ottoman state attracting them [to their cause], and by using the Muslims of Bulgaria, they find a way to continue their intellectual crimes against the other imperial domains. Being of this kind, the chair of the Shumen kıraathane, who was awarded the title Pasha in recognition of his service to the sultan, Çilingiroğlu Necib Pasha, in addition to inciting the Muslims against the Ottoman state also threatens those who know the sacred duty of how to be loyal and to serve the Ottoman Empire with the help of the Bulgarian Macedonian and Armenian committees. If things continue this way, soon all the Muslims in Bulgaria who are loyal to the faith and the state will be destroyed. As if the crimes committed in such a way were not enough, they also have been destroying the mosques and have attempted to shake our sacred religion from its roots.109

Similar to other cases, the veracity of the charges against Kesimzade is difficult to ascertain. Embezzlement of vakıf money, tolerating poor education standards, and immoral behavior were frequent blanket accusations against traditional Muslim leaders and Muslims sympathetic to the Ottoman regime. But the accusations against him might well have been true, entirely or partially, although even then one cannot rule out that personal grudges and ambitions to undermine his authority were at stake. The campaign against Kesimzade demonstrated the criticisms many Muslims had about the reform project. To them reform initiatives were not genuine endeavors for improving the condition of Bulgaria’s Muslims but a cover for Young Turk sedition. The reformers’ readiness to rely on Bulgarian help further discredited them. However, Kesimzade showed considerable resilience and skill in maneuvering in the volatile political circumstances. In the spring of 1908, he appeared one last time on the Bulgarian political scene, aided by Mustafa Dospatski, and another of his long-term supporters, Esad Efendi, a former Tǔrnovo mufti, both of whom had already taken permanent residence in Istanbul. In May during the run up to the upcoming parliamentary elections, they secretly distributed an agitation leaflet among the Muslims of Shumen and the surrounding countryside urging them to vote for Kesimzade. The leaflet extolled Kesimzade as the only trustworthy candidate who had worked for the rights of the Muslims and loyally served the caliph for thirty years. It called upon them not to be duped by the



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hypocritical overtures of various political parties that would rush to court the Muslim vote, as usually happened during elections.110 Kesimzade and his allies probably hoped to capitalize on the general discontent with the Stambolovist government that had presided over the country’s affairs since 1903 and possible Muslim dissatisfaction with his bitter adversary, Çilingirov, the previous Shumen member of parliament. Although Kesimzade ran as an independent,111 he seemed to enjoy a tacit alliance with the Stambolovist rivals, the Radoslavists and the Narodna Party. While he had always served the interests of whichever party was in power, this time he openly threw in his lot with the opposition. According to a Shumen publication, the Radoslavists had helped Kesimzade come out of his trial with only a limited prison term and they now sought a return of the favor. The agitation, however, did not go as anticipated. Several Turkish village deputy mayors handed the leaflet to the police, perhaps either out of concern for the consequences of being caught red-handed collaborating with the Ottoman government or out of dislike for Kesimzade. A public scandal ensued, as the incident caused utmost indignation among the Bulgarian authorities and the Shumen public. To them it proved with indisputable evidence what many had maintained for a long time: that the Ottomans sought to interfere in Bulgaria’s internal affairs, manipulating its Muslim citizens through the help of elements of dubious loyalties. Mustafa Dospatski drew public scorn for his perceived ingratitude; the Pomak from the Rhodopi who had completed a law degree at the Sofia higher school was “more Turk than the sultan.”112 The Bulgarians vigorously protested to Istanbul. When presented with the leaflet, the grand vizier understandably denied involvement and pledged to order its authors to stop its dissemination. According to the Shumen governor, the Ottoman warning to the agitators was not adequate and the leaflet had produced a considerable impact upon the Muslim electorate.113 In June 1908 Kesimzade scored an overwhelming victory, becoming the second Muslim MP in the whole of Bulgaria in terms of number of votes.114 That he was so publicly implicated in collaborating with the Ottoman authorities to achieve his victory did not seem to much bother his Bulgarian political allies, who were content to have his support in parliament. But Kesimzade’s last appearance on the Bulgarian political scene proved short. He died in early September the same year. It was a few weeks after the Young Turk revolution in the empire had broken out, the CUP and the Ottoman

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armies under its command had established control over the empire’s European provinces, and sultan Abdülhamid II was forced to restore the constitution on 23 July 1908. Moreover, the revolutionaries seemed to enjoy overwhelming support and enthusiastic reception among populations of all religious backgrounds in the empire, as well as among many Muslims in Bulgaria. Some were not surprised to hear of the former mufti’s passing, knowing that he had suffered from ill health for some time. However, his death was no mere coincidence but the result of an event that was important enough to make its way into parliamentary discussions. On 3 September 1908, a large group of Turks from the nearby Shumen villages, which according to various estimates ranged from five hundred to two thousand people came to town to celebrate “the hürriyet” (freedom), as the revolution was dubbed, and staged a demonstration that demanded the resignation of the Shumen parliamentary representatives, including Kesimzade. In the evening, a crowd of two hundred men separated from the demonstration and, accompanied by civilian-clothed gendarmes, stormed Kesimzade’s house, sending the mufti into extreme panic.115 But the demonstration was just the tip of his troubles. Kesimzade surely followed nervously the news from the empire. The Young Turk revolution was a triumph for his adversaries at home and in the empire, and its quick, unanticipated success signaled not only the demise of the Hamidian regime but also his own imminent loss of power. Defeated, disillusioned, and anxious about the future, Kesimzade succumbed a few days after the attack on his home. Upon his passing a Bulgarian newspaper in Shumen that had reported extensively on the electoral scandal with little sympathy for the mufti remarked on the loss of the most influential representative of the Turks in Shumen and the Deli Orman with a brief epitaph: “One sort of man or another, Kesimzade was respected and did not lose influence among the Turkish population.”116 Kesimzade’s adversaries literally scared him to death. The triumph of their cause was not a result of their successful struggle but a consequence of events in the empire. The Young Turk revolution signaled the end of an old order and triumph of the reformers’ cause. To many reformist Muslims, it was probably seen as destiny, history’s validation of the rightness of their struggles. The event marked the end of an era when traditional elites were the main acceptable interlocutors of Muslim society, though the passing of time and generational changes also contributed to the demise of such power arrangements.

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the Muslims of Bulgaria developed new notions of identity and community. Many came to see themselves not simply as a minority but part of a larger entity—the nation, or millet. The Bulgarian context where expressions of nationalism were rife, the sense of vulnerability—of the local Muslims and of the Ottoman Empire—and the various mobilization endeavors contributed to changing ideas about the boundaries of community. At the same time, with the expansion of communications and travel, Bulgaria’s Muslims increasingly became part of a larger interconnected world in which they found new notions of solidarity with Muslim communities elsewhere but also related to the experiences of various people. DURING THE PERIOD UNDER CONSIDERATION,

Homeland, Nation, and Identity ”What is the thing that everyone must love most of all?” asked one clue in a crossword in the entertainment section of Uhuvvet. The following issue published the key with the answer: the homeland (vatan).1 Love for the homeland and patriotism were among the most exalted feelings, reformers often asserted, as they tried to impart their convictions in every possible way—from didactic pieces to theater performances. And one had to be conscious of it even when engaged in leisure activities, such as solving crosswords. The frequently repeated hadith “Love for the homeland is part of the faith” added further legitimacy to their arguments.2 The greatest and most admirable deeds in human history were the result of selfless patriotism and zeal (hamiyet), they asserted.3 Reformers

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argued that their endeavors were led by patriotic sentiments and often referred to those working for the common good as patriots (hamiyetperver). In Ottoman Turkish, vatan originally meant one’s native place, a particular city or region. The term, however, assumed a different meaning in the 1860s in the ideology of the Young Ottomans, particularly in Namık Kemal’s writings, for whom it came to signify the homeland. Bulgaria’s Muslims continued to use the concept in its traditional meaning, but more often they came to utilize it in its sense of homeland. The common good of the nation and the homeland were the ideals guiding them in their struggles. But what was the homeland for Bulgaria’s Muslims? Their writings reveal that while it commanded utmost devotion, the homeland was imagined in different ways. The homeland could be Bulgaria, the Ottoman Empire, or both of them. The Muslims were conscious as well that the Bulgarian lands used to be part of the Ottoman Empire. At times, the homeland was real and palpable; at others, an idealized abstract notion. Such complex loyalties were not an exception at the time or particular to the Muslims. As one study has skillfully demonstrated, the Greeks of Bulgaria similarly espoused and debated varying notions of belonging.4 Bulgaria, where the Muslims felt they had their roots and continued living, was one of their homelands. They did not explicitly elaborate on their attachment, yet such sentiments are evident from numerous discussions,5 as well as their actions. The fact that Muslims worked to reform their institutions and sought to claim a place in Bulgarian political and public life is the most compelling evidence that they regarded the country as their homeland. In line with such convictions, reformers harshly condemned emigration to the Ottoman Empire. The solution to the Muslims’ problems was not leaving their native places for lands that they hardly knew, but attaining the necessary qualifications to stand up for their rights. Some Muslims mistakenly believed that going to the Ottoman Empire was akin to a hijra, a reference to the act of joining a community of people of the Muslim faith, but they were wrong, reformers argued. Bulgaria was their country and the country of their ancestors. Leaving it was equal to obliteration (izmihlal).6 In a similar vein, they underscored the significance of learning Bulgarian if one was to live as a full member of Bulgarian society.7 The Ottoman Empire was another homeland. Bulgaria’s Muslims also explicitly identified as being part of the Ottoman nation. “It is known that we, the people along the Danube, . . . [who] belong to an exalted religion are Ottomans, Muslims,” wrote one Muslim from Russe.8 The fact that Muslims migrated to the



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Ottoman state was evidence of such sentiments, but their loyalties were demonstrated in various other ways. Local Muslims marked Ottoman state holidays, such as the sultan’s birthday and the anniversaries of his accession to the throne. On these occasions, delegations of muftis, Muslim members of parliament, and other dignitaries visited the Ottoman Commissioner in Sofia, the Second Secretary in Plovdiv, or the offices of the Ottoman trade representations in Bulgaria to present their congratulations. After Abdülhamid II survived an assassination attempt in 1905, scores of Muslims visited the Ottoman representations or the mufti offices to offer prayers for his survival.9 Muslims from Bulgaria also showed solidarity with their coreligionists in the empire in difficult times. After a destructive earthquake hit Istanbul in 1894, they sent donations to help people affected by the catastrophe.10 In 1896–97 Muslims from Plovdiv, Stara Zagora, Yambol, and the surrounding villages donated money to the Ottoman commission for the support of military establishments to help in the war efforts with Greece, while others contributed money to help the Muslim refugees from Crete.11 Muslims critical of the Hamidian regime showed their commitment to the Ottoman homeland through their involvement in Young Turk activities whose ultimate purpose was the salvation of the Ottoman Empire. Dozens of Muslims, for example, sent congratulatory cards and telegrams to the Young Turk daily Ahali on the occasion of Muslim holidays, in which they expressed wishes to each other to see the homeland, clearly envisioning the Ottoman state liberated from tyranny.12 Devotion was also expressed in other symbolic ways. Muslims purchased cards with the Ottoman coat of arms13 and images of notable Ottomans, such as sultan Selim I, the noted Tanzimat reformer Midhat Pasha, and members of the Young Ottoman society, such as Namık Kemal and Ali Suavi.14 Finally, they watched with fervor Namık Kemal’s patriotic plays that extolled the deeds of characters readily sacrificing themselves for the Ottoman homeland. Throughout the period under consideration, the Muslims of Bulgaria referred to themselves primarily in religious terms with expressions such as “Müslüman,” “İslâm,” “ahali-i islamiye,” “ahali-i müslime,” and “Müslüman milleti” or “İslâm milleti,” though in many cases reformist Muslims used Turk and Turkish interchangeably. Ottoman too was used, though not as frequently. The name Muslim underwent a transformation pointing to a shift in social and political identity. Muslim no longer had just the meaning of someone belonging to the community of believers but also came to express national identity and belonging to a Muslim or Turkish nation, implicitly connected with the Ottoman one.

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Conflating religion and nationality is not incompatible or contradictory. A variety of national identities and projects have a strong religious component and draw on preexisting religious communities. The various expressions of Jewish nationalism, as well as Muslim and Hindu nationalisms of South Asia, are notable examples of nationalism closely related to religious community, while Protestantism played an important role in the shaping of British national identity.15 This was the case in the region too. Rival national claims in Ottoman Macedonia were closely related to religious belonging: the Orthodox Christian followers of the Exarchate were deemed to be Bulgarians, and the Patriarchists, Greeks. The emergence of a more distinct sense of national community among Bulgaria’s Muslims was influenced by the Bulgarian context where they acutely felt that they were the “other” and where they experienced various nationalist pressures. In Bulgaria, the Muslims witnessed and became an object of national discourses that targeted them and the Ottoman Empire. Being in Bulgaria at a time when the Bulgarian national cause stirred the popular imagination and inspired radical action in Ottoman Macedonia in unprecedented ways was a catalyst for the rise of national sentiments among the local Muslims as well. Consequently, the sense of community and calls for action in the name of the nation emerged partly as a juxtaposition to Bulgarian nationalism and in close relation to developments in the Ottoman Empire. Bulgaria’s Muslims were critical of Bulgarian actions, but for Muslim reformers, they also provided valuable examples. To them, Bulgaria illustrated the natural progression of a successful claim to nationhood and sovereignty: it began with education and the adoption of modern knowledge, which elevated the minds of the people, who, in turn, began striving towards exalted patriotic ideas. Bulgarians followed a similar strategy with notable persistence in Macedonia, which had already borne fruit for all its adverse consequences on the Ottoman Empire. Such strategies were worthy of emulation.16 Learning from rivals was characteristic of Young Turk groups, as well as of Ottoman military officers in Macedonia. They had ambiguous attitudes towards the revolutionary strategies of Macedonian revolutionary organizations. On one hand, they denounced their aspirations (and Ottoman military had to fight against them); on the other, their organizational strategies and mobilization were singled out as examples to be emulated.17 Just as importantly, the sense of Muslim communal cohesiveness developed in conjunction with reformist efforts.



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It was the discussions, debates, and mobilization endeavors that transformed the mentalities and identities of Bulgaria’s Muslims. To be sure, similar to other cases, the emergence of national sentiments among Bulgaria’s Muslims were far from a mass phenomenon. Urban populations, particularly those involved in reform efforts, were the ones to espouse such ideas most prominently. Yet, over the course of time they assumed wider popularity. Bulgaria’s Muslims were aware of the ethnic differences among them, as well as of the diversity of Muslim communities in the Ottoman Empire. They used ethnic names, such as Turks, Albanians (Arnavudlar), Kurds, and Arabs, but did not elaborate on them. Some, such as Rıza Pasha, underscored explicitly that religion was the most important characteristic of the Muslims’ identity. Nationality (cins) and language were not of primary significance. Thus, he sought to refute the insinuations that the Pomaks were in fact Muslim Bulgarians, and the Muslims of Crete, Greek converts, suggesting that their religion was the defining feature of their identity and had to guide their allegiances.18 At the same time, in many cases Bulgaria’s Muslims, particularly those from reformist circles, called themselves Turks or used Turk and Muslim interchangeably to refer to themselves or to the inhabitants of the Ottoman Empire.19 However, some of them espoused nascent Turkism and showed increasing interest in the fate of Turkic communities around the world, though Islam and Turkishness remained largely overlapping categories. Ahali was the journal that was most outspoken in its Turkist agenda. According to its mission statement, one of its goals was to inform the public not only about the Muslims around the world but also about the Tatars, Circassians, Georgians, Turkmens, and “the real Turks” (asıl Türkler) “with whom we have a racial and religious connection” (ırken ve dinen münasebetimiz olan). The journal also carried out its promise to start a special column about “the Turks in Bukhara, Samarkand, Khiva, Khokand, Fergana and Tashkent under the Russian yoke who are Turks, sons of Turks (Türkoğlu Türk olan) by descent, customs and religion” by publishing a series on Turkestan.20 The complex sentiments towards fatherland and nation are visible in some occasional contributions by common people. A Muslim from Svishtov praised with heartfelt admiration the Ottoman patriotic credentials of the journal Sebat for coming out in the “national” (nasyonal) language and publishing Muallim Naci’s play Gazi Ertuğrul, an account of the exploits of the father of Osman,

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the founder of the Ottoman dynasty. At the same time, he suggested that if the periodical wished to serve the homeland (vatan) further, it was appropriate to publish literary works by local people as well. To set an example, he presented poems written by one of his coreligionists from Russe.21

Turks and Tatars The emergence of new understandings of identity and community is evident in an episode of heated exchanges concerning Turks and Tatars that took place in 1906. This is the only known instance when public discussions among Muslims focused on ethnic and linguistic differences as characteristics of identity. Tatars represented only a small proportion of Bulgaria’s Muslim population, being about twelve thousand at the beginning of the 1880s. There was considerable interaction and intermixing between Tatars and Turks, yet in many cases Tatar communities were more distinctive. Tatars had settled in the Bulgarian lands in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but most of them came as refugees in the 1860s. A considerable number of them lived in the northeastern parts of the Balkans. In the 1860s the population of the city of Hacıoğlu Pazarcık (Dobrich) consisted almost exclusively of refugees (muhacir), most of them most probably being Tatars. Dobrich continued to have many Tatars among its inhabitants after the establishment of Bulgaria. The Ottoman authorities counted the refugees as a separate group, which contributed to maintaining more distinct social identities. In Bulgaria, in some places Tatars lived in separate quarters in the cities and had their own schools. Tatars and Turks usually collaborated when it came to Muslim communal matters, but there were occasional rifts. In 1891 one Silistra official reported on the rivalry between the Tatars and Turks in the town. The two groups had long had their own factions, which usually worked together. Recently, though, there had been simmering discontent among the Turks since for some time many influential positions in the area, such as the offices of the mufti and the assistant county governor, had been taken by Tatars. Even the long-serving member of parliament, Hacı Yahya Ömerov, was a Tatar. The Turks announced that it was high time for them to have a turn at putting their own people in positions of authority.22 Further details of this row remain unknown. Yet it appears that the source of discord was not nationality but rather rival power networks that ran along ethnic and probably family lines.



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In 1906, however, there were arguments of different nature. The discussions that made their way into the press also concerned local rivalries, and people who identified themselves as Turks and Tatars participated. But who was a Turk and who was a Tatar, and were there differences between them? According to some of the contributors, clearly critical of the Tatars, it was the Tatars who initially stirred controversy since they harbored vain hopes of inciting nationalist sentiments. They emulated the fashion set by other nations trying “to initiate a ‘national’ dispute” (“milliyet” niz‘aı çıkarmak) and demanded emancipation from the “oppressive ‘Mongols’” (zalim “Moğollar”), apparently referring to the Turks. Those identifying with the Tatar dissenting camp accused the Turks of appropriating their vakıfs and lands, demanded to have their own muftis, school boards, and representatives in the administration, and even boycotted them economically. In Dobrich, the center of the row, some Tatars reportedly claimed that they would rather become Bulgarians than Turks.23 The exact circumstances in which the conflict arose remain unknown along with the reasons for Tatar grievances. Beyond the press, there are no other sources concerning this episode, and just as significantly, there are no sources directly reflecting the views of the Tatars who sought to differentiate themselves from the Turks. It is possible that traditional factionalism and local rivalries were at play. Most likely, however, the Tatar demands were influenced not only by the Bulgarian context but were also linked to events in the Russian Empire. The unfolding of the 1905 Russian constitutional revolution was followed with considerable interest by Bulgaria’s Muslims. Russia’s Muslims contributed to the ensuing debates on parliamentary representation. Among them, Tatars, particularly Crimean ones, who were linked to the jadid movement, played an important role. The spotlight on Tatar activism in Russia probably contributed to attempts to articulate a separate political identity among Bulgaria’s Tatars as well. Certain Muslims attributed the row to local scuffles starting in Dobrich: the fallout from the sacking of a teacher, according to some, or a dispute between “reformers” (müteşebbisler) and their opponents over the staging of a play, according to others.24 However, other factors undoubtedly were at play since the discussions turned to the question of the identities of Turks and Tatars. All direct contributors maintained that the two groups shared common ancestry and there was no real distinction between them. “Turks and Tatars are one in terms of origin and descent; they are brothers,” declared one contributor who signed as “A Turk from Russe,” whereas another, apparently a Tatar, rhetorically

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asked, “What is a Turk? What is a Tatar? Aren’t these two from one mother and father?”25 Still another writer, who was possibly Tuna’s editor Tahir Lütfü himself, stated that while he was “Tatar by descent,” he was “a Turk by heart.” The two nations (kavm) shared not only the same religion but also other common bonds proven by history, ethnography, and philology. The claims that the Tatar language was distinct were downplayed with the argument that most recently a similar language dispute among the Muslims of Russia was resolved in favor of adopting Ottoman Turkish as a standard literary language. Certain contributors turned to history, recalling how decades earlier the Turks had provided shelter to the Tatars fleeing Russian oppression and let them settle in their homeland. After the settling of the Tatars, the two “nations of common descent” mixed and formed even stronger bonds with each other. But the Turks, being in the majority, began representing the Tatars, who were in the minority “in accordance with the rules of natural law.” Now it was not appropriate for the Tatars to respond to this act of kindness with demands for separation. In a bid to remember the not-so-distant times of friendship and cooperation, Uhuvvet even published a 1905 photograph of a theater cast of Turkish and Tatar youths from Dobrich.26 The height of the Turk-Tatar controversy in Bulgaria coincided with İsmail Gasprinski’s brief visit to Russe in May 1906. The Tatar luminary was not invited expressly to arbitrate but was nevertheless asked to pronounce his authoritative opinion on the matter.27 Gasprinski reaffirmed that Turks, Tatars, and other Turkic peoples shared a common origin. He then skirted further involvement in the dispute by underscoring the significance of education and joint political action among all Muslims in Bulgaria as the only way for their communal uplifting.28 The dispute soon petered out and there were no similar incidents during the rest of the period under consideration. The episode is notable for bringing to light how certain characteristics of identity assumed a new meaning for the local Muslims. While religious identification was not abandoned, elements of common history, language, and ethnic descent started to be incorporated into the articulation of identity, which acquired political connotations.

Global Communities At the same time that Bulgaria’s Muslims were elaborating ideas of national community and identity locally, they increasingly turned their attention outside as they began to imagine their place in a larger, globalizing world. In “the age of



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steam and print,” the world drew closer, allowing new kinds of interactions that had not been possible before.29 Bulgaria’s Muslims avidly followed international political developments. News and discussions of topics such as European alliances, imperialist rivalries over Africa and Central Asia, conflict in the Far East, Japan’s achievements, and the rising wave of revolutionary upheaval filled the pages of local Muslim journals. Their implications for the Ottoman Empire and the Balkans were fervently discussed.30 Among Bulgaria’s Muslims, these developments contributed to a sense of living in a larger, interconnected world and a new age, which was full of possibilities but was also charged with crisis. They viewed this world through the lens of their own experiences. Religion, shared fate, and struggles became major sources of solidarity with other Muslim communities. The period from the 1880s until the outbreak of the First World War saw a peak of the idea of a Muslim world, a notion held by Europeans and Muslims themselves. This phenomenon, as a recent major study has eloquently argued, was the product of a combination of factors such as the racialization of Muslims in European discourses, imperial globalization, and the advance of communication technologies. It was also at this time that the juxtaposition of the notions of a Muslim world and a Christian West took place.31 Bulgaria’s Muslims were part of this trend. Print was one of the means that allowed them to imagine themselves as being part of this Muslim world and to establish connections with others. They became increasingly aware and compared their experiences to the fate of their coreligionists elsewhere. Their own vulnerability, troubles, and disunity seemed to be mirrored among the Muslims in other parts of the world. Muslims elsewhere, from North Africa to Bosnia to Central Asia and India, suffered under the rule of Christian colonial masters, wallowed in misery, and struggled for improvement. The Ottoman Empire, the target of Great Power ambitions, was also part of this trend. Bulgaria’s Muslims responded with intensity and visceral understanding partly because of their own experiences. Such awareness elicited ideas about common Muslim action. Yet arguments about joint action and transnational Muslim solidarity remained mainly ideas rather than becoming realities. Many Bulgarian Muslims argued that unity based on common religious bonds and experiences was the solution to overcoming their precarious existence. In such endeavors the Ottoman Empire and the Ottomans were deemed natural leaders. Such views were shared by the sympathizers of the Hamidian regime, as well as its Young Turk critics. The difference was that the latter made no mention

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of Abdülhamid II as the leading authority. Gayret and Rıza Pasha were among the boldest advocates of the idea, which garnered them considerable popularity among other like-minded Muslims in Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire. According to Gayret, Islamic unity was possible even between the Ottoman Empire and Iran, although the former was predominantly Sunni and the latter Shi’a. In such a way the Muslims could claim what rightfully belonged to them (Müslümanların Müslüman olması). Eventually such efforts would lead to the establishment of “United Muslim States” spreading to India and Central Asia, the journal mused. In this endeavor the leadership of the Turks or the Ottomans, who were deemed more advanced than the other Muslim nations, was only natural.32 Gayret eulogized Abdülhamid II’s powers as a caliph, pointing to his increasing recognition among Muslims beyond the Ottoman Empire.33 The contributors of two other pro-Hamidian periodicals also lamented the condition of Muslims in various places like Bulgaria, Crimea, Algeria, and Tunisia, who, according to a powerful metaphor, suffered like slaves with chains around their necks. Consequently, Pan Islam or Islamic unity was the Muslims’ defensive tactic to protect themselves from foreign encroachments, rather than being an aggressive policy, as portrayed by outsiders. The Ottomans were the natural leaders because of their historic role in such ventures, a fact purposefully underplayed by the Europeans. In a typical romantic fashion, Muslim unity was portrayed as the rule in the past, accounting for the Muslims’ invincibility. Yet, as ignorance set in, so did divisions and weakness. Sensational titles in foreign newspapers about Islam’s spread in Africa unnerved the Europeans. But in fact, these African tribes had already been Muslim for a long time, advocates of the idea claimed. Because of their ignorance, however, they had forgotten about it, so the reemergence of their long-lost sentiments was only natural.34 Arguments about Muslim solidarity were likewise shared by Young Turk sympathizers. Ali Fehmi dismissed the Hamidian regime’s talk of Islamic unity as empty posturing, but he underscored its benefits. All three hundred million Muslims around the world were repressed in some way, he contended, but if they united, they would be able to end domination. When a Bulgarian newspaper mockingly suggested that Abdülhamid II should marry the widowed Chinese empress so that the two greatest tyrannies on earth could unite, Ali Fehmi saw the idea of dynastic marriage useful. If Ottoman sultans concluded well-negotiated dynastic marriages with members of the Iranian, Egyptian, and Afghan royal houses, they would establish valuable strategic



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alliances beneficial to all Muslims.35 In this spirit Muvazene’s radical successor Ahali portrayed Pan Islam as a spontaneous defensive response to European imperial encroachments. Abdülhamid II though was seen as the culprit for preventing the Muslims from coming together, rather than as the legitimate leader in such endeavors.36 What was worse, at home he had even managed to antagonize some Muslims against their own coreligionists, as was evident from the discontent among the Albanians.37 Parallel to this, Muslims elaborated visions of Europeans, the West, and Western civilization. Imperialism, along with critical European attitudes towards Islam and the Ottoman Empire, played an important role in shaping such views. Muslim reformers saw the knowledge promulgated in the West along with many features of the West’s social and political organization as worthy of emulation. But at the same time the European West was construed as duplicitous, greedy, oppressive, and morally corrupt. Europeans boasted of being civilized and superior to the Muslims, scorning them for their barbarism, but in fact they were the ones who perpetrated unspeakable offenses and showed religious bigotry. They pursued similar cunning policies towards the Muslims, as well as in other places in the world, such as China.38 The most daring critics referred to Europeans with disparaging and sarcastic monikers such as “crusaders,” “the civilized ones,” “civilized barbarians,” and “the civilized crows” ready to descend upon weakened victims, while imperialist aspirations were often dubbed crusades. Europeans had double standards with regard to justice: it existed only for them but not for the rest of the world, particularly their downtrodden subjects. Such pieces often warned about Western imperial powers’ expansionist ambitions and drew apocalyptic pictures of the Ottoman Empire’s future. Austrian, French, and British aspirations with regard to the empire were well known. But Germany, frequently presented as neutral, was hardly trustworthy. Some argued that it would ultimately profit from the Great Power infighting about the Balkans. Austria might succeed in occupying even greater parts of the Ottoman Balkans, but when Franz Josef died, Germany would annex it along with all its colonial possessions. Then, the German state, which recently had obtained a concession for the construction of the Baghdad railway line, would reach deep beyond the heart of Anatolia and ultimately strike at the British in India. Ottoman Asia would be divided along the railway into areas of German, French, and British economic influence.39

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Europeans were portrayed as morally corrupt people who did not treat each other humanely even in their own societies. To illustrate this point, Ahali published translations of crime reports from European journals that described in most graphic and gruesome details shocking incidents of murder, rape, and infanticide taking place in European cities. In most cases the victims were women, girls, and children, the weakest individuals in society, the journal stressed. Such incidents revealed the Europeans’ true nature. But even though the Turks were repeatedly called inhuman by Europeans, no such assaults could take place among them.40 On certain occasions Muslims even turned to race, pointing to the discriminatory treatment of African Americans perpetrated by the American descendants of the Europeans.41 Westerners spread their moral corruption further around the world under the mask of pursuing civilizing missions. Assessing the impact of twenty-five years of French occupation of Tunisia, Ahali remarked that France, instead of advancing civilization (sivilizasyon—medeni) in the colony, had contributed to the spread of “syphilization” (sifilizasyon—frengi).42 Within this wider Muslim world apart from the Ottoman Empire, two particular groups evoked special interest from Bulgaria’s reformist Muslims: the Muslims in Habsburg-occupied Bosnia and the Crimean Tatars in the Russian Empire. Solidarity with these two groups was precipitated not just by common religion and relative proximity but also by a sense of shared experiences and background. More significantly, these communities were engaged in struggles aiming at their educational and moral advancement just like those taking place in Bulgaria. Expressions of solidarity had their specifics and certain limitations. The Muslims of Bosnia shared similar experiences with Bulgaria’s Muslims. They were also former Ottoman subjects who came under foreign rule in 1878. In Bosnia the Austrian authorities succeeded in undermining Ottoman influence faster: none of the clauses guaranteeing Ottoman say in the affairs of the province was implemented. Unlike Bulgaria, there was not even an Ottoman Commissioner. In Bosnia, Muslim activism had different expressions. There was a movement for vakıf and education autonomy,43 alongside initiatives for cultural reform led by a newly emerging literary intelligentsia. The latter actively debated the condition of the Muslims in Bosnia and were also behind the notable literary renaissance of the period.44 At times these movements advocated different visions of society and eventually evolved into competing political parties. The new literary intelligentsia regarded the autonomy movement as a vain attempt by conservative



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landowners and religious functionaries to bring Bosnia back under the influence of the Ottoman Empire, whereas their competitors saw them as Austrian collaborators.45 Bulgaria’s Muslim reformers became attuned to the differences between these movements, drawing parallels with their own struggles.46 Yet, they often tended to idealize the situation in Bosnia, portraying Muslim institutions there as more efficiently organized.47 Contacts, however, remained rather restricted by language as Bosnia’s reformist Muslims used Bosnian rather than Turkish in their periodicals and other literary output. The fate of the Muslims in the Russian Empire, particularly the Crimean Tatars and the Azeri Turks, elicited even greater interest, which became more pronounced following the 1905 Russian constitutional revolution and the call for Duma elections, and Muslim congresses put Russia and the fate of its Muslim subjects at the center of attention.48 Even more significantly, there was a growing awareness of linguistic and ethnic connections with Turkic groups, as well as of their similar political plight. Indeed, contacts and exchanges were facilitated by linguistic similarities. Bulgaria’s Muslim reformist journals reprinted articles from Tercüman, the mouthpiece of the Crimean Tatar jadid movement, and the reformist İrşad (Enlightenment) published by Azeris in the Caucasus. Tercüman directly reached wider Muslim populations in Bulgaria through local kıraathanes.49 The Tatar jadid movement and its leader İsmail Gasprinski evoked particular fascination.50 Until 1905 the jadid movement had primarily cultural goals, but it became engaged in political endeavors after the revolution.51 Reformist Muslims in Bulgaria extolled its achievements, even arguing that some of its innovations, such as the phonetic method of reading instruction, were practices worthy of adoption. Gasprinski deserved to have a monument erected in his honor for bringing Russia’s Muslims out of perilous backwardness, Muvazene argued. Others lauded him for his ability to skillfully steer the Tatars in the precarious revolutionary situation.52 Gasprinski himself was invited to Russe in May 1906 to give a practical demonstration of his teaching methods. He agreed to the invitation, though his visit was brief and there is scarce information about.53 While reformist Muslims held Gasprinski in high regard, Rıza Pasha was critical of him for his ostensibly accommodating attitude towards Russian rule. In 1898 there was an acrimonious exchange between them. Gayret attacked Gasprinski for urging Muslims to obey the Russian state. Instead, it suggested that they should be encouraged to swear allegiance to the caliph.54 The accusations of

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being a Russian stooge incensed the eminent Tatar intellectual, who threatened to settle matters in the Bulgarian court. To him, Rıza Pasha’s arguments were reckless, as they could lead Bulgaria’s Muslims down a dangerous path that would end in their own perdition.55 Ali Fehmi, eager to put down his adversary, readily offered to find Gasprinski a suitable lawyer to launch a lawsuit, perhaps hinting at his own readiness to serve as such.56 A showdown was avoided and the row gradually subsided. But Gayret did not miss opportunities to criticize Tercüman for closing its eyes to the repressions against Russia’s Muslims.57 Interest in the Muslims of Bulgaria was reciprocated. Muvazene began advertising subscription rates for Russia in 1901, clearly counting on readership there, and Tercüman recommended to its readers journals coming out in Bulgaria, such as Şark, Rumeli, Tuna, and Uhuvvet, occasionally reprinting news from them.58 Some of the exchanges, however, bore a more personal touch. In 1902 a Muslim from Yalta wrote to Muvazene to relate a poignant story. When prince DondukovKorsakov, the head of the Russian provisional administration, left Bulgaria in 1880, he took along many Muslim books and tombstones. The books were sold to the St. Petersburg library, and the tombstones were placed in the public park in Yalta, where they were no longer marks honoring the memory of the deceased but testimonials to the prince’s thievery. The Yalta Muslim pondered the fate of those commemorated by the stones and, overtaken by emotion and indignation, decided to write to a Muslim journal in Bulgaria, hoping that his word would reach some of the relatives of the deceased who were seeking in vain for their ancestors’ tombstones.59

Existential Anxieties The emergence of reform initiatives and nascent nationalist sentiments within certain Muslim circles was precipitated by an acute sense of vulnerability. In spite of official Bulgarian rhetoric underscoring the equal and humane treatment of all Bulgarian subjects, the Muslims often found themselves the targets of various acts of mistreatment. Such experiences added to the sense of deep anxiety that the community was in peril and strengthened indignation with the double standards of the Bulgarian authorities and the Great Powers. An idea of Muslim grievances can be gained from the complaints they sent to the Ottoman authorities and Muslim journals, such as Muvazene and Gayret. Muslims addressed the Bulgarian authorities too, calling upon them to put an end to such injustices but they doubted their genuine concern about their fate.



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With some exceptions,60 the Bulgarian authorities dismissed such incidents as common criminal acts and, if they were voiced through the mediation of the Ottoman authorities, regarded them as a calculated strategy for diverting attention from their own misdeeds in Macedonia. On a number of occasions, they did conduct investigations and punished the culprits, but Muslims often deemed such penalties as incommensurately lighter than the violations. While criminality might have played a role in some of the instances of mistreatment, there is little doubt that many others targeted Muslims for what they were. A variety of reasons stirred incidents of assault and abuse. Economic motives, more specifically the desire to get coveted Muslim land, played an important role in many cases. Muslims were targeted by officials as indolent people with little investment in their native land who sought to rob the country of its resources and then leave. Such arguments, implicit or explicit, often accompanied the implementation of measures to limit illegal logging or cross-border smuggling. What went on in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace was particularly important as Bulgaria’s Muslims turned into scapegoats of popular anger directed at Ottoman repressive actions there. And sometimes Muslims were harassed for no other reason than to make them conscious of their de facto weak political position. Other instances of mistreatment probably involved preexisting tensions. A series of incidents, for example, took place in the fall of 1905. Muslims from Kazanlǔk, Karlovo, and the surrounding villages complained of the many everyday forms of harassment and pressures to which they had been subjected. Under the pretext of implementing the new law for the forests, which contained provisions to prevent illegal logging, gendarmes and forest guards arrested twentyone Muslims and searched their houses for poached timber. According to the Muslims, the gendarmes showed exceptional severity towards them, while they turned a blind eye to similar offenses committed by Bulgarians. Their actions crossed the legally acceptable limits: on a couple of occasions gendarmes and forest guards beat some Muslims and stole money from them. But the Muslims were also harassed by their Bulgarian fellow-villagers and townsmen. In a nearby village some Bulgarians stole the chickens of one Muslim and chased away the bees of another, then taking the honey and distributing it openly in the local coffeehouse. Other Muslims complained that Bulgarians let their cattle destroy their crops, stole fruit from the orchards, and defiled a mosque by throwing pork and impurities in it. In another incident, a Bulgarian

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boy cut off the ear of a Muslim blacksmith. If this continued, the Muslims declared that they would be forced to emigrate.61 After being ordered to conduct an investigation, the Kazanlǔk governor reported no noteworthy incidents. He concluded that the petition was concocted by the local mufti representative who sought to ingratiate himself with the Ottomans. According to him, Muslims exploited the forests and planned to emigrate after destroying them completely. The actions of the gendarmes and forest guards were completely justifiable because of the new law, which was so strict, the ministry underscored, that even Bulgarians objected to it. As for the Bulgarian boy who cut off the Muslim’s ear, he was declared mentally handicapped and therefore could not be arrested.62 At the same time, Muslims from other towns and villages in the larger Plovdiv district also complained of being harassed and beaten. They accused some of their fellow Bulgarian townsmen of burning a Muslim house, abducting a boy, and purposefully driving their animals through a Muslim’s rose garden from which he derived his livelihood. In Karlovo several Bulgarians drank coffee in a Muslim coffeehouse and then threw the cups and pushed the owner into the nearby river.63 The measures to prevent tobacco contraband across the southern BulgarianOttoman border provided other occasions for repressive actions. The Bulgarian authorities often implicated Muslims in participating in smuggling; consequently, they were held under closer scrutiny. But in some cases, the measures went beyond tighter surveillance. In March 1907 a dozen Bulgarian soldiers arrived in the village of Ustina, inhabited by Pomaks, Turks, and Bulgarians, to put a curb on the rampant tobacco smuggling. The soldiers set up quarters in the house of one Bulgarian and then embarked upon their exploits. After pillaging the village chickens and ordering them roasted for dinner, they went around to Muslim houses under the pretext of searching for hidden tobacco. Over the course of their mission, they beat several men and assaulted a woman. During the next few days, they introduced their own version of order in the village: Muslims, even the elderly, had to salute ordinary Bulgarians by standing up, sometimes for hours. The Muslims managed to send out for help, and a gendarme was dispatched to inspect the situation. Yet, he declared that he could not do anything against the soldiers. The Muslims felt angry, helpless, and humiliated to see how a handful of Bulgarians bullied a whole village, although there were two hundred to three hundred strong youths who could have easily overpowered



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them but did nothing out of fear for the consequences. Following complaints, the Bulgarian authorities prosecuted the lieutenant who was declared the chief culprit. He received a five-day prison sentence and was subsequently transferred to another location, a penalty deemed quite light in view of the offenses committed under his command.64 The incident was not an isolated one. Similar episodes took place in other border villages.65 As in Ustina, many cases of mistreatment involved Bulgarian soldiers. While soldiers were trained to follow discipline and conduct themselves with honor, in the army they were also subjected to considerable nationalist indoctrination. The Muslims, being implicitly associated with the Ottomans, turned into targets of various misinterpretations of patriotic struggle. The fact that the men acted in groups facilitated the perpetration of offenses. In one such incident, a group of new conscripts killed a Muslim.66 In another, a detachment of six hundred soldiers, incidentally under the command of an officer who was a high-profile member of the Supreme Macedonian Committee, was sent to the Shumen countryside to pursue a group of Muslim fugitive prisoners. Since the command suspected that the local Muslims were hiding the fugitives, they subjected them to violence and intimidation. The Bulgarian authorities acknowledged the incident and even fired the Shumen governor but sought to downplay the seriousness of the offenses.67 On another occasion, several drunken members of a military orchestra broke into a mosque in Plovdiv on Christmas Eve and vandalized it. The Bulgarian authorities paid for the repair and dispatched a gendarme to guard the building, but the perpetrators were not punished.68 Incidents became more frequent in times of crisis in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace. In 1895 there was a wave of violence against the Muslims following the first incursions of the Supreme Committee bands into Macedonia.69 Assaults against Muslims became more common in 1902–1903, at the time of the two uprisings in Ottoman Macedonia and Thrace when news about their violent suppression stirred Bulgarians to exact retribution on the local Muslims. Incidents of mistreatment continued as tensions in the restless areas persisted. In Russe armed men strolled around threatening the Muslims that they would make “streams of blood as red as their fezzes flow on the streets.”70 In one of the nearby villages, a group of armed Bulgarians attacked the house of a Muslim, killed him, wounded his son, and stole their money; a Bulgarian beat a neighboring Muslim family and a gendarme shot and wounded two Muslims.71 In Stanimaka and Plovdiv, members of the gymnastic society Yunak (Hero) went

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around the Muslim quarter with guns in hand, threatening to kill all the Turks, their women, and even the youngest children.72 In Razgrad and its surrounding villages, a Muslim was killed, others were beaten or pelted with stones, and the mosques did not dare to make the calls for prayer. Fearing for their safety, Muslim families resorted to gathering together at night to protect themselves.73 That such acts could escalate further into a more threatening wave of collective violence was not unimaginable. Just a couple of years later, there were pogroms against the Greeks of Bulgaria following the news of the massacre of the Slavic inhabitants of Zagorichane in Ottoman Macedonia by a Greek revolutionary band.74 Muslims could witness first-hand the effect of nationalist agitation even on festive occasions. A group of Muslims in Stara Zagora was invited to attend a public rally on the occasion of the twentieth anniversary of the signing of the San Stefano Treaty. But the celebratory speeches soon gave way to forceful denunciation of Ottoman actions against the Bulgarians in the Ottoman European provinces. As the speakers accused the Ottomans of exploitation, humiliation, murder, and rape in a way that would “make the blood of the Bulgarians boil,” the Muslims stood petrified amidst the agitated crowd.75 In some cases, assaults did not bring physical harm but targeted Muslim sensitivities. Muslim women’s veils were pulled, and men’s fezzes were knocked off.76 Sometimes humiliation was inflicted in the course of implementing administrative measures. A deputy governor ordered the seizure of the property of a Muslim woman in Aytos who had failed to pay her debts. The order was carried out so diligently that even most of her clothes were confiscated, and she was left without a coat and veil that were necessary for a proper Muslim lady to wear in public.77 Muslims complained that the Bulgarians put pork in their water wells or threw pork meat, lard, and dirt in the mosques.78 On one occasion a Bulgarian teenage boy hit a Muslim youth in his mouth with a piece of pork; in another case a pig was left to run in the yard of a mosque.79 To many Muslims, the ultimate purpose of such actions was clear: they aimed to drive them away. And sometimes they were openly told to go away. In one of the Plovdiv villages, a municipal clerk who seemed to harbor a certain grudge against the local Muslims went drunkenly around their quarter at night shouting offenses and urging them to leave.80 In addition to complaints, Muslim often voiced open outrage, referring to Bulgarian protests about Ottoman repressions in Macedonia. “Is this Bulgarian freedom?” one Muslim indignantly asked in a letter to Muvazene, and another



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asserted, “In short, the Bulgarians who exaggerate to the skies that the Turks are unjust do not fall behind in committing injustices and, in fact, sacrifice the defenseless oppressed Muslims, offering them to the committee sedition-makers.”81 Journal editors were more audacious. After publishing a letter from Muslims complaining about abuse, Gayret asked, “How is it, Macedonian Bulgarians? Do you like our freedom and comfort? If you envy us, how about swapping our places and estates!”82 Muvazene was even more outspoken: In fact, for everyone to work for the greatness and progress of their own nation and state is not worthy of criticism but, on the contrary, of emulation and veneration. Yet, holiness, exaltedness do not go hand in hand with horrors and oppression but with improvement and reform. . . . The injustices and excesses attributed to the Muslims on the contrary are committed by the Bulgarians and, naturally, are deemed proper responses to the assaults; there are no physical and moral offenses that the Bulgarians, even the officials, taking example from the actions of the government, have not committed against the poor Muslims. The oppression in Macedonia attributed to the Turks is not only there; even in Bulgaria, robbery and excesses committed by the spoiled Bulgarians are not lacking.83

The sense of the Muslims’ vulnerability in Bulgaria was exacerbated by witnessing the fate of the Ottoman Empire. Muslims anxiously speculated about the empire’s future, which loomed rather dark. To them it appeared that events of the past were about to be replayed. Bulgaria had once been an integral Ottoman territory, and their ancestors, Ottoman subjects. Yet circumstances had changed, so Ottoman sovereignty over many Ottoman territories was an illusion. Crete’s effective separation from the empire seemed an inevitable, harrowing prospect. The next territory to go would be Macedonia, however; the struggle would be long and bloody, Muvazene pronounced an ominous warning in 1898.84 Developments in Ottoman Macedonia were of particular concern since crisis there threatened the future of the Ottoman state. Bulgarian aspirations along with those of other neighboring nation-states towards the troubled area were well-known, they argued. Bulgaria relentlessly worked for establishing schools there, sent priests, and gave opportunities to students from the area to study in Bulgaria or abroad. Such aspirations were facilitated by the Europeans, who cunningly tricked the empire’s Christian subjects under the guise of

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humanitarianism, encouraging their separatist ambitions, while their ultimate goal was to drive the Turks from Europe. As a result of twenty-five years of such policies, Macedonia was now a powder keg on which Europe’s stability rested— one spark and all Europe could go up into the air. But ultimately, it was the future of the Ottoman Empire and the Muslims that were at stake. Austrian ambitions in the area had long been known, so thanks to the principle of balance of power, Europeans would soon reach Aya Sofya and turn it into a church. Great Power proposals for reform benefitted only the Europeans and the Christians, but not the Muslims. The Great Powers could not even be trusted to uphold their word in the international treaties they had signed. The Berlin Treaty had promised reforms for Macedonia, and the Bulgarians constantly clamored about them. Yet, they were silent about their own breaches of the treaty, such as the annexation of Eastern Rumelia, and no one held them accountable.85 What was more worrisome for those with Young Turk sympathies was that the Ottoman government did not act adequately to counter such advances. Consequently, it was imperative for the regime to change. “It’s a good calculation, after dividing Turkey into little pieces to gobble up like a grouse one by one the small states that were formed. They will be easily digested,” Ahali warned. ”Even though the executioners with axes in their hands are aiming at the life of the Turks and the future of the nation, this government of the age of mules and harlots still tricks the people. It lulls them. If there is a deserving, rightful, courageous government, the policy and attitudes of the villains will change.”86 In Bulgaria, nationalist sentiments among Muslims remained confined largely to rhetoric, and their actions did not go beyond the legally acceptable framework. Yet fears about their own fate and that of the Ottoman Empire made some of Bulgaria’s Muslims sympathetic to the advocates of more radical actions with regard to the Ottoman regime, particularly to the Committee of Progress and Union.

Triumph of Liberty The Committee of Progress and Union (CPU) was founded in Paris in 1906 by a group of Young Turks who advocated a more radical agenda. In addition to their opposition to the sultan, CPU’s followers professed a mix of anti-imperialism, a critical attitude towards the separatist tendencies among the empire’s nonTurkish subjects, and an ostensibly growing Turkism. Even when they advocated



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Ottomanism, they envisioned a special leading role for the Turks within the Ottoman nation. In their public rhetoric though, its followers espoused interchangeably Ottomanist, Islamist, and Turkist ideas depending on the audience they were addressing.87 The CPU found eager sympathizers in Bulgaria, where its ideas resonated with many reformist Muslims. The reformist periodicals Tuna and Uhuvvet showed sympathies for the committee, while Ahali was particularly outspoken. With the help of a Young Turk émigré who had also been involved in reform initiatives, the CPU established several branches throughout the country. Muslims from various Bulgarian towns, such as Kazanlǔk, Vidin, and Tutrakan, corresponded directly with the leadership in Paris, seeking information about the goals and nature of the committee. To Bulgaria’s Muslims, the CPU frequently emphasized its commitment to a form of nationalism based on religion. Religious and political symbols, such as the caliphate, frequently featured in its correspondence with Bulgarian branches. CPU activists maintained that their goal was to take over the Ottoman government in order save the Muslims and the Ottoman Empire from the enemies who trampled upon their rights under humanitarian pretexts. But its cause would bring benefits to the millions of coreligionists who were bound politically and “with their hearts” (kalben) to the caliphate. The Muslims were encouraged to adopt only the scientific and technological advances of the “Westerners” (Frenkler), just like the Japanese had done, in order to increase their strength, but to preserve their customs and morals, which were undoubtedly superior to European ones. The committee further reassured its correspondents in Bulgaria that all its leaders were Turks.88 Some Muslims in Bulgaria yearned to be part of more radical action ostensibly inspired by the example of the Macedonian and Armenian revolutionary committees. About ten people from Dobrich, Varna, and Shumen established a cell of revolutionary volunteers (fidai),89 though it remains unknown if they did anything more concrete to realize their revolutionary yearnings. From what we know, Muslims from Bulgaria were not directly involved in the Young Turk revolution that unfolded in Ottoman Macedonia in July 1908.90 The military coup, which subsequently became known as a revolution, was carried out by military from the Ottoman Freedom Society and the CPU, in collaboration with Albanian organizations and the left wing of the Internal Macedonian Adrianople Revolutionary Organization. However, the experiences of Bulgaria’s Muslims served as an important example of the empire’s vulnerability and,

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consequently, the need for urgent action. References to their fate became a frequent part of the arguments of the Young Turks in the run-up to the revolution. The CPU, for example, began soliciting information from its branches in Bulgaria about the mistreatment of the local Muslims, which was subsequently publicized through its print organs.91 But Bulgaria’s Muslims were already contributing to Young Turk publications abroad to give a voice to their grievances. One of the journals that readily responded was Türk (1903–1907), which came out in Cairo and was notable for being the first journal to pursue a Turkish nationalist line. Although not an official CPU organ, it had the committee’s support and shared many of its ideas. Türk frequently featured articles about events in Ottoman Macedonia and the aspirations of the Great Powers and neighboring Balkan nation-states. The contributions of Bulgarian Muslims exacerbated the sense of vulnerability and added urgency to the calls for regime change.92 If the existing policies continued, the Ottoman state would keep losing territories. The plight of Bulgaria’s Muslims was a stark example of what awaited their coreligionists, who would have the misfortune of falling under the control of new masters. Such arguments were used by revolutionary activists such as Enver Pasha to convince Muslim populations in Ottoman Macedonia to join their cause since the area was in imminent danger.93 News of the Young Turk revolution made its way to Bulgaria only gradually. At first, for those outside, but even for people in the Ottoman European provinces, it was difficult to determine the nature and scope of the military uprising in Macedonia. European observers pointed out that the situation in Macedonia had reached such a lawless state that even the military there revolted, also predicting that the unrest would be an opportunity to resolve the Macedonian question.94 In Bulgaria, people doubted the genuine intentions of the Young Turks, and there was even open talk as to whether the coup should be used as an opportunity to stir a revolt in Macedonia or how Bulgaria could turn into a key player for the recognition of the Young Turk regime.95 At first the responses of Bulgaria’s Muslims, even those sympathetic to the Young Turk cause, were guarded. Judging from the limited information we have, the event was seen as a revolution or a military rebellion precipitated by the poor treatment of the army. Edhem Ruhi’s first commentaries in his daily Balkan were somewhat ambiguous, pointing out that it demonstrated deep divisions among Ottoman subjects. As the Ottoman government and the sultan surrendered to



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the revolutionaries’ demands and the Ottoman constitution was restored, there was an outpouring of support.96 Nevertheless, it took Bulgaria’s Muslims some time to begin rejoicing and even organize rallies to celebrate the “proclamation of liberty” (ilan-ı hürriyet) as the revolution became popularly dubbed.97 Above all, for the reformers, many of who were Young Turk sympathizers, the revolution appeared as a triumph of the reformist cause. The advent of the new constitutional regime in the Ottoman Empire encouraged Bulgaria’s Muslims to seek more support from the new Ottoman regime. In August 1908 a group of Muslims petitioned the grand vizier’s office, requesting the appointment of a new, more proactive Ottoman Commissioner who could lead them out of ignorance and help them walk together with their “Ottoman brothers and dear compatriots” along the path of progress.98 The newly appointed Ottoman Commissioner for his part urged his superiors to help improve the condition of Bulgaria’s Muslims. Bulgarians were taking advantage of the freedom in the Ottoman Empire, and activists from Bulgaria were sent to Ottoman Macedonia to organize the people there for the Bulgarian cause, he pointed out. The Ottomans could dispatch enlightened youths to various Bulgarian cities to help set up clubs and kıraathanes and show the Muslims how to benefit from their constitutional rights.99 There is no indication that any such initiatives took place. Elation with the revolution was just beginning to unfurl when Bulgaria’s Muslims encountered another challenge.

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of many Bulgarian Muslims for the Young Turk revolution was cut short. For Bulgaria, the turmoil in the Ottoman Empire presented a good opportunity for realizing a long-desired dream. On 5 October (22 September old style) 1908, prince Ferdinand and the Bulgarian cabinet proclaimed in Tǔrnovo, Bulgaria’s historical capital, the independence of the country. Ferdinand proudly took the title of tsar. This act was followed within days by Austria’s formal annexation of Bosnia and autonomous Crete’s proclamation of union with Greece. Although by this time these entities were only nominally Ottoman, the quick wave of secession was a considerable blow to the empire, and it was the first major international challenge for the Young Turk regime. With the failure of bilateral negotiations and the inability to convene an international conference, Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire began mobilizing troops. The passions of soldiers on both sides ran high.1 War was avoided through Great Power mediation. After all, one of the violators of the Berlin Treaty was Austria, so a regional conflict involving one of the major powers risked escalating into a larger conflagration. In April 1909, under Russia’s auspices, Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire signed a protocol outlining the conditions of Bulgarian independence.2 In September 1909, the two countries reached an agreement on Muslim religious organization and the vakıfs. The agreement recognized the existence of a separate Muslim religious hierarchy that had already been in place over the past decades, although the supreme religious authority, the Şeyhülislam, was still in Istanbul. The document also provided a framework for administering the vakıfs in Bulgaria and envisioned a mechanism for settling disputed cases. THE ENTHUSIASM



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Bulgaria’s Muslims followed these developments with much anxiety because they were viscerally aware that the worsening of Ottoman-Bulgarian relations would have adverse consequences for them. Although they had been Bulgarian subjects for three decades already and the Bulgarian state repeatedly claimed them as such, they continued to be associated with the Ottoman Empire. Indeed, there were disruptions in Muslim life. Muslim journals ceased coming out for some time. The Bulgarian authorities instructed their editors privately not to publish any news alleging mistreatment of the local Muslims as it could jeopardize the delicate balance of Ottoman-Bulgarian relations. Whenever such publications appeared, they were met with indignant reactions in the Bulgarian press.3 Consequently, because hardly any other sources reflected Muslim perspectives, we know very little of the Muslims’ responses to the declaration of independence and the tense period that followed. In the meanwhile, some reformist Muslims began harboring doubts about events in the Ottoman Empire. Within the whirlwind of euphoria there, they realized that the newly proclaimed freedom was fragile and its meaning uncertain. The biggest threat, they argued, was ignorance, only this time it was not ignorance of modern knowledge but of the of the principles of free society. A Muslim from Russe, Edhem Raci, expressed these sentiments in a poem emphatically titled “Are We ‘Free’?” published in November 1908 in Tuna. They say: the rule of the unjust ones ended, now we Are worthy of humanity, justice, and brotherhood! ... But if we don’t know what is life, If we are ignorant of the meaning of Unity, brotherhood, I am sure that After a few days pass while we are laughing Along with the yearning for freedom, justice We will not be able to distinguish between tyranny and freedom We will be disappointed with justice Because we are still ignorant. Look at the words of the wise man Here is what they say: “The ignorant nation Cannot liberate itself from slavery and darkness In the freest of places.”4

236 Conclusion

The Young Turk revolution and the Bulgarian proclamation of independence had important repercussions among Bulgaria’s Muslims. However, these events were not historical ruptures; instead they added new dynamics to developments that had already been taking shape over the preceding years. In the three decades after 1878, the Muslims in Bulgaria transformed from being part of the wider Ottoman imperial society into a minority community in the aspiring Bulgarian nation-state, although they preserved strong links with the Ottoman Empire. Their transformation into a distinct community was partly the product of the new political and social circumstances and took place in the Bulgarian national context. But just as significantly, the sense of community was fostered through the efforts of the Muslims themselves. The Bulgarian state set up the framework of Muslim religious and educational organization. But beyond this, the Muslims themselves were the architects of important institutions that reinforced communal cohesiveness, such as an independent Muslim press, the Muslim Teachers’ Association, kıraathanes, and theater troupes. Discussions of reform, as well as dissent from them, were instrumental in forging a sense of belonging to one entity. After all, the more radical reformers and their conservative critics both claimed to act in the name of the community or the nation. At the same time, the Muslims remained organically linked to Ottoman politics and society. Their connection with the Ottoman Empire was in many ways natural as it was the historical community from which they emerged, with which they felt strong affinity, and which they expected to defend their interests. The fact that they remained connected to and discussed Ottoman politics and society reaffirmed the links and allowed for their parallel development. The transformation of Bulgaria’s Muslims did not stop there; it continued throughout the coming decades in different political contexts. In the 1920s Bulgaria’s Muslims witnessed the emergence of the Turkish national project and the Kemalist reforms, and they began identifying themselves primarily as Turks. They experienced and engaged with the Kemalist reforms in a different way compared to their coreligionists in Turkey. Whereas in Turkey the reforms were a state project, in Bulgaria they were initiated and interpreted for the specific context by local reformist Muslims. Some of them were part of the first generation, but numerous others belonged to a second generation of reformers. Just as importantly, in Bulgaria Muslims of various political convictions could debate and contest Kemalism more openly, which was impossible in Turkey at the time.5 The reform initiatives of this period were in fact a continuation



Conclusion 237

of those that took place in the first decades of Bulgaria’s existence and can be understood properly only in light of these earlier developments. After the first decade of the twentieth century, many reformist Muslims stayed in Bulgaria, where they continued to play an important part in local cultural and political life. But many others emigrated to the Ottoman Empire and later the Turkish republic. Among them were some of the most prominent figures discussed in this book. Ali Fehmi settled in the Ottoman Empire after several years in exile in Europe and Afghanistan. His journalistic career failed to pick up and he eventually headed one of the deportation commissions in Anatolia during World War I, a fact that casts a certain shadow on his legacy. Edhem Ruhi, the Young Turk émigré and editor of the daily Balkan, was forced to flee Bulgaria to what was left of the Ottoman state in 1918, ostensibly because of his criticism of the Bulgarian authorities. In the 1920s he embarked upon a career as a lawyer. Tahir Lütfü, the editor-in-chief of Tuna and Uhuvvet, emigrated after the establishment of the Turkish republic, serving as its diplomat in various Balkan and Middle Eastern countries. Ali Haydar (Taner), who left Bulgaria to study psychology in Germany, served as a high-ranking official in the Ottoman and later Turkish Ministry of Education. Hafız Abdullah Fehmi stayed in Bulgaria the longest, being involved in the establishment of the higher Muslim school in Shumen in the 1920s. Eventually he too made his way to Turkey, where he saw in the Kemalist education reforms a version of his own reformist ideas, which he had tried to implement years earlier throughout various schools in Bulgaria. To him, this was a historical validation of his cause. As they emigrated to the empire and later Turkey, reform activists brought to the new environment their ideas about society, politics, reform, the nation, and its “others.” Their passage into the new state and society, as well as those of other, lesser-known people, will be the subject of another story. For Bulgaria’s Turks and other Muslims, the rupture came with the advent of the communist regime in 1944. Within a short period of time, as the new authorities consolidated their power, they put an end to Muslim institutions, such as courts, schools, and Turkish language periodicals, though they preserved the structure of a Muslim religious hierarchy. With many of the institutions that contributed to maintaining communal life and cohesiveness gone, the Bulgarian authorities proceeded to do away with what was left of the Muslims’ identity: their names.6 How the ensuing sad story ended is known to anyone with some knowledge of the region’s history.

238 Conclusion

At the same time, because of the specific political circumstances and the Cold War context, Bulgaria’s Turks lost connection with political processes in Turkey. This does not mean that they did not know about events there, but rather that they did not debate them publicly. In this environment, for many Bulgarian Muslims, Turkey became an ever more monolithic entity endowed mainly with one meaning: it turned into the “mother-homeland” (anavatan), an image Turkey itself eagerly cultivated. It was this dissociation, along with the distance of time, that subsequently left Bulgaria’s Turks largely detached from Turkey’s politics. The contemporary political tensions in Turkey, for example, provoked no divisive public discussions among them, certainly not on a scale comparable to the conflicts between Young Turk sympathizers and the advocates of the Hamidian regime or those between the Kemalist supporters and the conservative Muslim opposition in the interwar period. The end of the communist regime and advent of democracy in Bulgaria is frequently presented in narratives about Bulgaria’s Muslims as the culmination—and triumphant end—of long-lasting suffering and struggle. The Turks and other Muslims of Bulgaria finally gained freedom, religious and political, and got back their names. Just like all other Bulgarian citizens, they got the right of democratic representation and even organized their own party, which, although denying any ethnic affiliation, for a long time was regarded as representing their interests. Its monopoly has recently been challenged from within, leading to the emergence of a rival political formation. Real developments were not as bright as implied by such narratives. The new period unleashed other challenges, among them dire economic woes, a political system frequently beset by corruption, and more recently, resurgent nationalism. Yet, the changed circumstances presented new possibilities. The introduction of political pluralism, the opportunities for free discussion, travel, and information exchange, as well as the advent of another wave of globalization generated among the Muslims questions about community and belonging, not just in Bulgaria but also in Europe and the contemporary world.7 At their heart, these questions are not so different from those Muslims began debating well over a century ago.

Abbreviations

Abbreviations BAN Bǔlgarska Akademia na Naukite BOA T. C. Cumhurbaşkanlığı Devlet Arşivleri Başkanlığı— Başbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivi DA-Vidin Dǔrzhaven arhiv Vidin DV Dǔrzhaven vestnik MFRA Bulgarian Ministry of Foreign and Religious Affairs NBKM Natsionalna Biblioteka Sv. Sv. Kiril i Metodii OC Ottoman Commissioner ONS Obiknoveno Narodno Sǔbranie PSp Periodichesko spisanie RN Rodopski napredǔk Second Secretary Second Secretary to the Ottoman Commissioner in Plovdiv TsDA Tsentralen Dǔrzhaven Arhiv UP Uchilishten pregled Agent Dahiliye Harbiye Meşihat Mabeyn Sadaret Şura-yı Devlet

Bulgarian diplomatic agent in Istanbul Ottoman Ministry of Interior Ottoman Ministry of War office of the Şeyhülislam in Istanbul sultan’s chancery Grand Vizier’s office Ottoman Council of State

240 Abbreviations

The following abbreviation style is used in the endnotes for the titles of the reports of Bulgarian provincial governors: Doklad Plovdiv 1888/89

Doklad na Plovdivskii Okrǔzhen Upravitel za obshtoto sustoianie na okrǔga prez g. 1888/9.

Periodical articles with no title are identified by the first word or meaningful expression followed by a three-dot ellipsis and enclosed in quotation marks; for example, “Za golemo . . . ,” Tarla 27 (16 December 1882), 4.

Notes

Introduction 1. “Beyanname—2,” Balkan 202 (23 June 1907), 1–2. 2. On substantive or full citizenship, see Rogers Brubaker, “Migration, Membership, and the Modern Nation-State: Internal and External Dimensions of the Politics of Belonging,” Journal of Interdisciplinary History 41:1 (2010), 61–78. 3. Ali Eminov, Turkish and Other Muslim Minorities in Bulgaria (London, 1997); Valeri Stoyanov, Turskoto naselenie v Bǔlgaria mezhdu polyusite na etnicheskata politika (Sofia, 1998); İbrahim Yalǔmov, Istoria na myusyulmanskata obshtnost v Bulgaria (Sofia, 2002); Bilal Şimşir, The Turks of Bulgaria 1878–1985 (London, 1988); Ali Dayıoğlu, Toplama Kampından Meclise: Bulgaristan’da Türk Müslüman Azınlığı (İstanbul, 2005); Kemal Karpat, ed., The Turks of Bulgaria: The History and Political Fate of a Minority (Istanbul, 1990). 4. For earlier scholarship on the post-Ottoman period, see Alexandre Popovic, ed., L’Islam balkanique: Les musulmans du sud-est européen dans la période postottomanne (Wiesbaden, 1986). 5. It is impossible to recount here even a partial list of such works, but it is worth noting several titles by scholars from Bulgaria: Evgeni Radushev, Pomatsite— hristianstvo i isliam v Zapadnite Rodopi s dolinata na r. Mesta, 15–30–te godini na 18 vek, part 1 (Sofia, 2008); Anton Minkov, Conversion to Islam in the Balkans: Kisve Bahasi Petitions and Ottoman Social Life, 1670–1730 (Leiden, 2004); see also the collection of works by Rossitsa Gradeva, Rumeli under the Ottomans, 15–18th Centuries: Institutions and Communities (Istanbul, 2004); Rossitsa Gradeva and Svetlana Ivanova, eds., Istoria na myusyulmanskata kultura po bǔlgarskite zemi: Izsledvania, 2 (Sofia, 1998); Orlin Sǔbev, Knigata i neiniat hram: istoria na osmanskite biblioteki v Buˇlgaria (Sofia, 2017).

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6. For some representative examples, see Mary Neuburger, The Orient Within: Muslim Minorities and the Negotiation of Nationhood in Modern Bulgaria (Ithaca, 2004); Zhorzheta Nazǔrska, Bǔlgarskata dǔrzhava i neinite maltsinstva, 1879–1885 (Sofia, 1999); and Stoyanov, Turskoto naselenie. 7. These include Anna Mirkova, Muslim Land, Christian Labor: Transforming Ottoman Imperial Subjects into Bulgarian National Citizens, 1878–1939 (Budapest, 2017); and a work focusing on the post-Communist period, Kristen Ghodsee, Muslim Lives in Eastern Europe: Gender, Ethnicity, and the Transformation of Islam in Postsocialist Bulgaria (Princeton, 2010). 8. Mirkova, Muslim Land, Christian Labor represents one notable exception. For general insights about Muslim life during this this period, though much in need of critical analysis, see Ömer Turan, The Turkish Minority in Bulgaria, 1878–1908 (Ankara, 1998). Bernard Lory, Le sort de l’héritage ottoman en Bulgarie: L’exemple des villes bulgares, 1878–1900 (Istanbul, 1985) also provides some insightful observations on Bulgarian Muslim life in this period. 9. Justin McCarthy, Death and Exile: the Ethnic Cleansing of Ottoman Muslims, 1821–1922 (Princeton, 1995); Hakan Yavuz and Isa Blumi, eds., War and Nationalism: The Balkan Wars, 1912–13, and Their Sociopolitical Implications (Salt Lake City, 2013); Kemal Karpat, “Introduction,” in Karpat, The Turks of Bulgaria. 10. Ömer Turan and Kyle T. Evered, “Jadidism in Southeastern Europe: The Influence of Ismail Bey Gaspirali among Bulgarian Turks,” Middle Eastern Studies 41:4 (2005), 481–502. 11. Turan, Turkish Minority; Stoyanov, Turskoto naselenie. 12. Examples include Şerif Mardin, The Genesis of Young Ottoman Thought: A Study of the Modernization of Turkish Political Ideas (Princeton, 1962); Malcolm Kerr, Islamic Reform: The Political and Legal Theories of Muhammad Abduh and Rashid Rida (Berkeley, 1966); M. Şükrü Hanioğlu, The Young Turks in Opposition (New York, 1995); Muhammad Qasim Zaman, The Ulama in Contemporary Islam: Custodians of Change (Princeton, 2002). 13. Adeeb Khalid, The Politics of Muslim Cultural Reform: Jadidism in Central Asia (Berkeley, 1998). 14. For an excellent reevaluation, see Leyla Amzi-Erdoğdular, “Alternative Muslim Modernities: Muslim Intellectuals in the Ottoman and Habsburg Empires,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 59:4 (2017), 912–43; other prominent works include Robert Donia, Islam under the Double Eagle: The Muslims of Bosnia and Herzegovina, 1878–1914 (New York, 1981); Nusret Šehić, Autonomni pokret Muslimana za vrjeme Austrougarske uprave u Bosni i Hercegovini (Sarajevo, 1980); and an article by one of the participants in these struggles, Osman Nuri Hadžić, “Borba Muslimana za versku i vakufsko-mearifsku autonomiju,” in Vladislav Skarić, ed., Bosna i Hercegovina pod



Notes to Introduction and Chapter 1 243

Austro-ugraskom upravom (Belgrade, 1938), 56–101. For a particularly insightful recent work on Albania, see Nathalie Clayer, “Transnational Connections and the Building of Albanian and European Islam in the Interwar Period,” in Nathalie Clayer and Eric Germain, eds., Islam in Inter-War Europe (London, 2008), 45–66. 15. On respective population statistics, see Robert Donia and John Fine, Bosnia and Herzegovina: A Tradition Betrayed (New York, 1994), 87; Nikolay Todorov, The Balkan City (Seattle, 1983), 328, 332. 16. For an excellent discussion of the image of the Balkans in the late Ottoman Empire and the Turkish republic, see Ebru Boyar, Ottomans, Turks and the Balkans: Empire Lost, Relations Altered (London, 2007). Chapter 1 1. Machiel Kiel, “The Incorporation of the Balkans into the Ottoman Empire, 1353–1453,” in The Cambridge History of Turkey, vol. 1, Byzantium to Turkey, 1071–1453 (Cambridge, 2010), 138–91. 2. The nature of gaza has been widely debated; for a more recent interpretation, see Heath Lowry, The Nature of the Early Ottoman State (Albany, 2003), 45–94. 3. For a detailed survey of the history of the region during this period, see John V. A. Fine, The Late Medieval Balkans: A Critical Survey from the Late Twelfth Century until the Ottoman Conquest (Ann Arbor, 1994), 345–452. On the Ottoman conquest, see Colin Imber, The Ottoman Empire, 1300–1650: The Structure of Power (New York, 2009), 7–74; and Kiel, “The Incorporation of the Balkans,” 1353–1453. 4. Lowry, Nature of the Early Ottoman State, 115–30. 5. Yohanan Friedmann, “Dhimma,” in Kate Fleet, Gudrun Krämer, Denis Matringe, John Nawas, and Everett Rowson, eds., Encyclopaedia of Islam, 3rd ed. (Brill Online, 2012), http://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-3/ dhimma-COM_26005. 6. Imber, Ottoman Empire, 244–46; Halil İnalcık and Donald Quataert, An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 1300–1914 (Cambridge, 1994), 66–69: Claude Cahen, Halil İnalcık, and Peter Hardy, “Djizya,” in P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C. E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, and W. P. Heinrichs, eds., Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed. (Brill Online, 2012), http://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/djizyaCOM_0192. For some estimates for the cizye in the region, see Machiel Kiel, “Razprostranenieto na isliama v bǔlgarskoto selo prez osmanskata epoha (XV–XVIII v.): kolonizatsia i isliamizatsia,” in Gradeva and Ivanova, eds., Istoria na myusyulmanskata kultura, 2, 56–126. 7. For a particularly insightful discussion, see Karen Barkey, Empire of Difference: the Ottomans in Comparative Perspective (New York, 2008), 109–23.

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8. M. Tayyib Gökbilgin, Rumeli’de Yürükler, Tatarlar ve Evlad-ı Fatihan (İstanbul, 1957), 9–29, 53–86, 255–56; and Machiel Kiel, “Anatolia Transplanted? Patterns of Demographic, Religious and Ethnic Changes in the District of Tozluk (N.E. Bulgaria) 1479–1873,” Anatolica 17 (1991), 1–29. 9. Ömer Lütfi Barkan, “Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda Bir İskan ve Kolonizasyon Metodu Olarak Sürgünler,” İstanbul Üniversitesi İktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 13:4 (1952), 56–78. 10. Nevena Gramatikova, Neortodoksalniat isliam v bǔlgarskite zemi: Minalo i sǔvremennost (Sofia, 2011), 196–205. 11. Gökbilgin, Rumeli’de Yürükler, 86–167; Mark Pinson, “Russian Policy and the Emigration of the Crimean Tatars to the Ottoman Empire, 1854–1862,” Güney-Doğu Avrupa Araştırmaları Dergisi 1 (1972), 37–56. For an earlier case of Tatar settlement, see Grigor Boykov, “In Search of Vanished Ottoman Monuments in the Balkans: Minnetoğlu Mehmed Beğ’s Complex in Konuş Hisarı,” in Maximilian Hartmuth and Ayşe Dilsiz, eds., Monuments, Patrons, Contexts: Papers on Ottoman Europe Presented to Machiel Kiel (Istanbul, 2010), 47–68. 12. Heath Lowry, “The Role of the İmarets and Zaviyes in the Settlement of the Greek Lands, 1370–1670,” in The Shaping of the Ottoman Balkans, 1350–1550: The Conquest, Settlement, and Infrastructural Development of Northern Greece (Istanbul, 2008), 65–106. 13. Maria Kiprovska, “The Mihaloğlu Family: Gazi Warriors and Patrons of Dervish Hospices,” Osmanlı Arıştırmaları 32 (2008), 173–202. 14. Ömer Lütfi Barkan, “Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda Bir İskan ve Kolonizasyon Metodu Olarak Vakıflar ve Temlikler I: İstila Devirlerinin Kolonizatör Türk Dervişleri ve Zaviyeler,” Vakıflar Dergisi 2 (1942), 279–386. All these tekkes were linked with unorthodox Islamic traditions whose followers were influential in the Ottoman conquests; Gramatikova, Neortodoksalniat isliam, 411–557. 15. For some recent prominent examples of the growing revisionist literature on conversion, see Tijana Krstic, Contested Conversions to Islam: Narratives of Religious Change in the Early Modern Ottoman Empire (Stanford, 2011); Minkov, Conversion to Islam in the Balkans. On the processes of conversion and migration, see Nikolay Antov, The Ottoman “Wild West”: The Balkan Frontier in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (New York, 2017). 16. For a critical examination of sources claiming to describe instances of forced conversions, see Antonina Zheliazkova, “The Problem of the Authenticity of Some Domestic Sources on the Islamization of the Rhodopes Deeply Rooted in Bulgarian Historiography,” Études balkaniques 26:4 (1990), 105–11. 17. For discussion of the practice, along with its rules and exceptions, see Imber, Ottoman Empire, 116–30. It should be noted that even though the devşirme levy lasted



Notes to Chapter 1 245

until the early eighteenth century, the Ottoman authorities resorted to other means of enlisting people for the janissary corps, including allowing people of Muslim background to join. 18. Krstic, Contested Conversions, 121–64. 19. Kiel, “Razprostranenieto na isliama v bǔlgarskoto selo”; Lowry, Nature of the Early Ottoman State, 115–30; Minkov, Conversion to Islam in the Balkans, 82–89. For a particularly insightful discussion of Nevrokop and the area, see Radushev, Pomatsite, 199–222. 20. On unorthodox Muslim groups, their relations with the Ottoman state, and their networks, see Ahmet Yaşar Ocak, Osmanlı Toplumunda Zındıklar ve Mülhidler (15.-17. Yüzıllar) (İstanbul, 1998); and Gramatikova, Neortodoksalniat isliam. On the northeastern regions, see particularly Antov, Ottoman “Wild West,” 41–115. 21. Elena Marushiakova and Veselin Popov, The Gypsies in the Ottoman Empire (Hatfield, 2001); Salname-i Vilayet-i Edirne, 1 def‘a (Edirne, 1287 [1870/71]), 145–46; Salname-i Vilayet-i Tuna, 8 def‘a (Rusçuk, 1292 [1875/76]), 54. 22. A prominent example discussing these transformations is Ariel Salzmann, “An Ancien Regime Revisited: Privatization and Political Economy in the Eighteenth Century,” Politics and Society 21 (1993), 393–423. 23. On the ayan, see Ali Yaycıoğlu, Partners of the Empire: The Crisis of the Ottoman Order in the Age of Revolutions (Stanford, 2016); Rossitsa Gradeva, “Osman Pazvantoğlu of Vidin: Between Old and New,” in Frederick Anscombe, ed., The Ottoman Balkans (Princeton, 2006), 115–62. 24. On the Serbian and Greek revolts, see Charles and Barbara Jelavich, The Establishment of the Balkan National States, 1804–1920 (Seattle, 1977), 26–53. For a recent reappraisal, see Frederick Anscombe, “The Balkan Revolutionary Age,” Journal of Modern History 84:3 (2012), 572–606. 25. On nineteenth-century Ottoman reforms, see Şükrü Hanioğlu, A Brief History of the Late Ottoman Empire: (Princeton, 2008), 86–122. 26. Milen Petrov, “Everyday Forms of Compliance: Subaltern Commentaries on Ottoman Reform, 1864–1868,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 46:4 (2005), 730–59. 27. “Ustav na Bǔlgarskiat Revolyutsionni Tsentralni Komitet,” in Zahari Stoyanov, Zapiski po bǔlgarskite vǔzstania (Sofia, 1890), 89–90. 28. Todor St. Burmov, Bǔlgaro-grǔtskata tsǔrkovna razpra (Sofia, 1902), 102–13, 364–445, 550. 29. Stoyanov, Zapiski, 184. 30. Stoyanov, Zapiski, 188–92. 31. William Gladstone, The Bulgarian Horrors and the Question of the East (London, 1876).

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32. “Protocoles de la Conférence de Constantinople pour le rétablissement de l’ordre dans les Pays Balkaniques,” in Gabriel Noradounghian, Requeil d’actes internationaux de l’Empire Ottoman, 1856–1878, vol. 3 (Paris, 1902), 400–493. 33. For a particularly insightful discussion of this revisionist argument, see Peter Holquist, The Russian Empire as a “Civilized State”: International Law as Principle and Practice in Imperial Russia, 1874–1878, National Council for Eurasian and East European Research report (Washington, DC, 2004), http://www.ucis.pitt.edu/ nceeer/2004_818-06g_Holquist.pdf. 34. “Appeal of the Emperor to the Bulgarians,” in N. R. Ovsianyi, Sbornik materialov po grazhdanskomu upravlenyu i okkupatsii v Bolgarii v 1877–1878–1879 g. g., vol. 1 (St. Petersburg, 1903), 3–5. 35. Opisanie Russko-turetskoi voiny, 1877–78 na Balkanskom poluostrove, vol. 2 (St. Petersburg, 1901), 17. 36. Ahmed Midhat, Zübdetülhakayık (İstanbul, 1295 [1878]), 228–29. The total size of the Ottoman army was about half a million; other armies were stationed elsewhere throughout the empire. 37. N. R. Ovsianyi, Russkoe upravlenie v Bolgarii v 1877–78–79 g. g., vol. 1 (St. Petersburg, 1906), 56. 38. For representative arguments, see Abdülkerim Nadir Paşa, Serdar-ı Ekrem Abdülkerim Nadir Paşa’nın Müdafaanamesi (İstanbul, 1329 [1911]). 39. Meclis-i Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi, 1293 [1877], vol. 1 (İstanbul, 1940), 271–72. 40. Mustafa Aksakal, “The Ottoman Proclamation of Jihad,” in Erik-Jan Zürcher, ed., Jihad and Islam in World War I (Leiden, 2016), 53–70. 41. “Turkish Appeal to Muslims to Fight in the Holy War against Russia, 30 June 1877,” in Edward Hertslet, Map of Europe by Treaty, vol. 4 (London, 1891), 2643–44. Such arguments were probably made out of pragmatic considerations. The appeal envisioned that deserters would be reincorporated into the army and not executed or otherwise punished. Unfortunately, no Ottoman version of this appeal could be located or corroborated with other primary documentation. 42. “Convention of Armistice between Russia, Servia and Romania, and Turkey. Signed at Adrianople, 19/31 January 1878,” in Hertslet, Map of Europe by Treaty, vol. 4, 2661–67. 43. Ahmed Midhat, Zübdetülhakayık, 233–34, 250–52, 269–70. 44. Yakim Gruev, Moite spomeni (Plovdiv, 1906), 50. Governor of Sofia Veysi Bey to Sublime Porte, 11 January 1878, in Bilâl N. Şimşir, Rumeli’den Türk Göçleri: Belgeler, vol. 1 (Ankara, 1968), 265. 45. Ahmed Midhat, Zübdetülhakayık, 333; “Report of Prince V. A. Cherkasski on the Introduction of Civil Administration in Bulgaria in 1877,” in Ovsianyi, Russkoe upravlenie, vol. 1, 51–53.



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46. Commander of 9th Cavalry Division to Gen. Gurko, 22 January 1878; Military Governor of Plovdiv Gen. Velyaminov to Gen. Gurko, 27 January 1878, in Sbornik materialov po russko-turetskoi voiny, vol. 71, 4–5, 70–71; Vasil Dechev, Minaloto na Chepelare, vol. 2 (Sofia, 1936), 5, 10–11. 47. Gen. Dondukov-Korsakov to commander of Turkish troops in Shumen, Sbornik materialov po russko-turetskoi voiny, vol. 77, 4 February 1878, 60. 48. Ovsianyi, Russkoe upravlenie, vol. 1, 54, 56. 49. Hüseyin Raci, Tarihçe-i Vak‘a-i Zağra (İstanbul, 1326 [1910/11]). 50. Gruev, Moite spomeni, 52–53. 51. Governor of Danube vilayet to sub-governor of Tulcha, 25 April 1877, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 109; Sub-governor of Tulcha to Danube vilayet governor, 26 April 1877, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 110; Governor of Danube vilayet to Tulcha district governor, 29 April 1877, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 111. 52. Danube vilayet governor to Mabeyn, 26 June 1877, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 126. 53. Noel Allix to British Ambassador Layard in Constantinople, 19 January 1878, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 286–89. 54. Osman Pasha, Sofia commander, to Reuf Pasha, 5 January 1878, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 251. 55. Filibe district governor to Edirne vilayet governor, 12 January 1878, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 267. 56. Noel Allix to British Ambassador Layard to Constantinople, 19 January 1878, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 286–89. 57. Plovdiv Railway Commissioner Anastas to Süleyman Pasha, 11 January 1878, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 264. 58. Süleyman Pasha to Mabeyn, 15 January 1878, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 271. 59. Grand vizier to district governors of Tekfurag and Gelibolu, 31 January 1878, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 311. 60. Proceedings of the Ottoman parliament, 14 January 1878, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 270; British consul in Beirut Eldridge to Ambassador Layard, 3 March 1878, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 357. 61. Ambassador Layard to Salisbury, 28 April 1878, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 423. 62. Mordtmann, Gabuzzi, and Stécouli, Les réfugiés de la Roumélie en 1878 (Constantinople, 1879), 8. 63. Number calculated on the basis of the Tuna and Edirne salnames, Salname-i Vilayet-i Tuna, 8 def‘a, 54; Salname-i Vilayet-i Edirne, 7 def‘a (Edirne, 1293 [1876/77], 113–14. 64. Mihail K. Sarafov “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria spored trite pǔrvi prebroyavania,” part 3, PSp 44 (1894), 201–46; Konstantin Jireček, Pǔtuvania po Bǔlgaria (Sofia, 1974), 47.

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65. Salname-i Vilayet-i Tuna, 8 def‘a, 54; Sarafov “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 3, 201–46. 66. Ovsianyi, Russkoe upravlenie, vol. 2, 227. 67. See the report of Safvet Pasha to the Sublime Porte, 26 February 1878, in Ali Fuat Türkgeldi, Mesail-i Mühimme-i Siyasiyye, vol. 2, Haz. Bekir Sıtkı Baykal (Ankara, 1957), 308–12. British sources corroborated the veracity of such arguments. Henry Layard to Lord Derby, 26 February 1878, in Şimşir, Rumeli’den, vol. 1, 350. 68. Türkgeldi, Mesail-i Mühimme, 301–6; N. P. Ignatiev, Zapiski grafa Ignat’eva (St. Petersburg, 1916), 117, 132–34. 69. Safvet Pasha’s report 27 of February 1878, in Türkgeldi, Mesail-i Mühimme, 313–17. 70. For such sentiments, see BOA, A.MTZ.04 170/23, OC to Sadaret, 17 August 1908; for example, the Bulgarian authorities put considerable efforts in dissuading Bulgarians from the area around Edirne from leaving, even threatening that they would not be welcome to Bulgaria. TsDA, f. 336k, op. 1, a. e. 6, Edirne Agent to MFRA, 17 July 1899, 81–82; MFRA to Edirne Agent, 11 November 1899, 103. 71. “Preliminary Treaty of Peace between Russia and Turkey, Signed at San Stefano, 19th February/3rd March 1878,” in Hertslet, Map of Europe by Treaty, vol. 4, 2672–96. 72. For an account and insight into the Ottoman perspective, see the report of one of the Ottoman representatives to the Congress, Alexander Karatheodori, published in Bertrand Bareilles, ed., Le rapport secret sur le Congrés de Berlin, addressé a la Sublime Porte par Karathéodory Pacha (Paris, 1919), 75–81. 73. For full text of the Berlin Treaty, see “Treaty between Great Britain, AustroHungary, France, Germany, Italy, Russia and Turkey for the Settlement of Affairs in the East (Berlin),” in Hertslet, Map of Europe by Treaty, vol. 4, 2759–800. 74. W. N. Medlicott, The Congress of Berlin and After (London, 1938), 54. 75. The British and the Austrian delegates were particularly anxious that the province’s name should not be Southern Bulgaria, so that it would not provoke any potential expectations for a future union with the principality. Medlicott, The Congress of Berlin, 55–71. 76. “Memoar otpraven do poslannitsite na Velikite Sili v Tsarigrad ot Bǔlgarskii narod,” Maritsa, 23, 25 October 1878, 4; “Memoar podnesen ot makedontsite do poslannitsite na Velikite Sili v Tsarigrad,” Maritsa, 24, 29 October 1878, 2–3. 77. Carole Fink, Defending the Rights of Others: The Great Powers, the Jews, and International Minority Protection, 1878–1938 (New York, 2004), 3–38. 78. “Hatt-i Sherif by the Sublime Porte to Servia, Constantinople, October 1, 1829,” in Hertslet, Map of Europe by Treaty, vol. 2, 832–84. The condition was repeated four years later, extending the period of evacuation by twelve months. “Firman of



Notes to Chapters 1 and 2 249

the sultan Mahmoud II addressed to the prince of Servia, 1833,” in Hertslet, Map of Europe by Treaty, vol. 2, 929–35. 79. “Agreement between Great Britain, France, Russia and Turkey for the Definitive Settlement of the Continental Limits of Greece, Constantinople, 21 July 1832;” “Act of the Regency of Greece declaring the Incorporation within the Kingdom of the Territories assigned to Greece by the Treaty of 21st July 1832, Nauplia, 21st February 1833,” in Hertslet, Map of Europe by Treaty, vol. 2, 903–8, 918–19. 80. Ali Suavi, “The Truth about Bulgarian Affairs,” Diplomatic Review, 24:4 (1876), 270–75. 81. Appel des Musulmans Opprimés au Congrés de Berlin: Leur situation en Europe et en Asie depuis le Traité de San-Stéfano (Constantinople, 1878); for Muslim petitions concerning Bulgaria, see pages 60–61, 75–81. 82. The initial motion came from French representatives during discussions related to Bulgaria. They were adamant that all its inhabitants regardless of religion should enjoy equal rights, free religious expression, and no interference in their religious hierarchy. The motion might have been an indirect attempt to secure the position of Catholic clergy, as subsequent French actions implied, yet the concern with guaranteeing the rights of all religious and national groups was unanimously embraced by all Great Power representatives. “Protocols of Congress of the Representatives of Great Britain, Austria-Hungary, France, Germany, Italy, Russia and Turkey for the Settlement of the Affairs of the East, Berlin, June–July 1878,” British and Foreign State Papers, vol. 69 (London, 1879), 917, 935, 937, 942–43. Chapter 2 1. The couplets read “March, march, Tsarigrad is ours” (Marsh, marsh, Tsarigrad e nash). Mihail Madzharov, Spomeni (Sofia, 1968), 327; “Muharebe-i . . . ,” Hilal 87 (30 August 1885), 1. 2. For an excellent overview of this period of Bulgaria’s history, see Richard Crampton, Bulgaria: A History, 1878–1918 (Boulder, 1983). 3. Salname-i Devlet-i Aliye-i Osmaniye, 1326 Sene-i Hicriye 64 sene (İstanbul, 1323 [1908–1909]), 992–95; TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 877, Agent to MFRA, 29 April 1896, 43; Agent to MFRA, 20 May 1896, 47. 4. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 964, OC to MFRA, 9 January 1897, 11. 5. MFRA to Agent, 30 July 1880, in Vǔnshnata politika na Bǔlgaria. Dokumenti i materiali, vol. 1 (Sofia, 1978), 134–35. 6. For some Great Power diplomatic representatives in Bulgarian cities such as Sofia and Russe, see Salname-i Devlet-i Aliye, 35 def‘a (İstanbul, 1297 [1879-1980]), 378–80. 7. MFRA to Agent, 13 November 1879, in Vǔnshnata politika, 51.

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8. MFRA to Austro-Hungarian agent in Sofia, 7 September 1880; and MFRA to Great Power representatives in Sofia, 9 October 1880, in Vǔnshnata politika, 155–56, 172. 9. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 10, MFRA to Agent, 24 January 1880, 180–81. 10. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 10, MFRA to Agent, 19 January 1880, 3–5. 11. BOA, Y.EE.d 1178, İrade no. 646, 28 November 1885, 87. Two of the Ottoman Commissioners were Christians: Nikola Gadban was from Egypt, and Necib Melhame hailed from the prominent Lebanese Maronite family of the Melhames, who had acquired a certain notoriety as masters of intrigue. 12. MFRA to Agent, 7 June 1880, in Vǔnshnata politika, 81–82. The representative in Burgas carried the title Third Secretary, again because of Eastern Rumelia’s vassal status. BOA, Bulgaristan Tezakir Defteri 959–60/23, Sadaret to Hariciye, 26 November 1897, 106. 13. Agent to MFRA, 24 February 1884, in Vǔnshnata politika, 431–32. 14. BOA, A.MTZ.04 2/3, Report, 13 August 1883; Legal advisers İlyas, Naum Efendi, and Ziya Bey, 12 July 1883; A.MTZ.04 40/91, MFRA to OC, 10 November 1896, 10. 15. BOA, Bulgaristan Tahrirat Defteri, 962–60/26, to OC, 20 December 1888, 183. 16. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 3, 216. An estimate of the country’s population had been made earlier, in 1879, in connection with the organization of the elections for the constituent assembly; according to it, the population was 1.7 million, but there were no further details. Konstantin Jireček, Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria, vol. 1 (Plovdiv, 1899), 53. 17. Jireček, Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria, 54; BOA, ŞD (TNZ) 1999/26, Population statistics, 2 April 1881, 9. In Eastern Rumelia the Pomaks were recorded as Turks and their actual number was subsequently recalculated. 18. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 3, 216. 19. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 3; for specific information, see pages 220–21, 231. See also M. K. Sarafov, “Narodnostite v istochnata chast na Kniazhestvoto,” PSp 5 (1883), 1–18; for specific information, see pages 8–10; M. K. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v zapadnata chast na Kniazhestvoto,” PSp 8 (1884), 46–67; for specific information, see pages 48–50 and 52–56. 20. Vasil A. Marinov, Deli Orman—Yuzhna chast: Oblastno-geografsko izuchavane (Sofia, 1941). 21. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v zapadnata chast,” 52–53. 22. For comparison, Statisticheski godishnik, god. 1, 1909 (Sofia, 1910), 40. On Roma refugees, see The Rhodope Inquiry: Report and Protocols of the International Commission Instituted by the Congress of Berlin, trans. Edgar Whitaker (Constantinople, 1878), 27–28. 23. BOA, A.MTZ.04 21/16, OC to Sadaret, 8 December 1886.



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24. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 3, 236–38. 25. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v zapadnata chast,” 48–50, 52–56. 26. Konstantin Jireček, Bǔlgarski dnevnik, vol. 1 (Sofia, 1930), 229, and vol. 2, 499; BOA, A.MTZ.04 72/94, Second Secretary to Sadaret, 29 November 1901; A.MTZ.04 88/25, Selanik Governor to Dahiliye, 30 November 1902. 27. Bernard Lory, “Ahmed Aga Tamrašlijata: The Last Derebey of the Rhodopes,” in Karpat, The Turks of Bulgaria, 179–202; BOA, Y.PRK.ASK 32/21, petition to the Commander of the Second Imperial Army in Edirne, 12 April 1886, 3. 28. Nevena Gramatikova, “Isliamski neortodoksalni techenia v bǔlgarskite zemi,” in Rossitsa Gradeva, ed., Istoria na myusyulmanskata kultura po bǔlgarskite zemi, 7 (Sofia, 2001), 192–281. 29. The prominent Bulgarian revolutionary Rakovski, for example, knew about the Kızılbaş in Gerlovo, as well as about the Bektashis and their historic relationship with the Ottoman state. Georgi S. Rakovski, Gorski pǔtnik (Novi Sad, 1857), 181–82, 186–90. 30. Gramatikova, “Isliamski neortodoksalni techenia”; Marinov, Deli Orman, 141–42. 31. Gramatikova, Neortodoksalniat isliam, 523. 32. TsDA, f. 166k, op. 2, a. e. 119, General decree of the Razgrad commission, 7 October 1888, 52; protocol, Razgrad regional commission, 15 May 1889, 58. 33. TsDA, f. 166k, op. 2, a. e. 119, complaint from the Razgrad MP İsmail Çauş Aliev to MFRA, n.d., 5; Razgrad district governor to MFRA, 10 December 1899, 7. 34. Particular studies include Marinov, Deli Orman; and Vasil Marinov, Gerlovo: Oblastno-geografsko izuchvane (Sofia, 1936). 35. Dimitǔr Marinov, “Narodna vyara i religiozni obichai,” Sbornik za narodni umotvorenia 28 (1914). 36. TsDA, f. 166k, op. 2, a. e. 119, Razgrad archaeological society to Russe Governor, 2 January 1925, 38–39; Razgrad archaeological society to MFRA, 27 March 1933, 50–51. 37. BOA, Y.PRK.MK 13/51, Shumen notables to Ottoman authorities, 3; TsDA, f. 166k, op. 1, a. e. 869, sheikh of Shazeli tekke Seyid Ali Rıza in Russe to MFRA, 4 August 1884, 44–45. 38. BOA, A.MTZ.04 70/1, petition from the Mevlevi sheikh in Plovdiv Mehmed Nasib, April 1901; A.MTZ.04 81/27, copy of OC dispatch, 10 September 1902; Bulgaristan Tahrirat Defteri, 962–60/26, 18 April 1881, 33. 39. Ovsianyi, Russkoe upravlenie, vol. 2, 136–37. 40. “Varna, 27 Avgust,” Maritsa 12 (15 September 1878), 6; “Bulgaristan’dan . . . ,” Hilal 1 (17 December 1883), 2; Jireček, Pǔtuvania po Bǔlgaria (Sofia, 1974), 317. 41. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 39, Agent to MFRA, 18 June 1880, 4; Agent to MFRA, 19 June 1880, 6; Agent to MFRA, 7 April 1880, 31; Agent to MFRA, 18 May 1880, 17. Jireček

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draws interesting parallels between brigandage in eastern Bulgaria and Ottoman Macedonia. Jireček, Pǔtuvania po Bǔlgaria, 314–17. 42. Alexander Mosolov, Bulgaria, 1878–1883: Spomeni (Sofia, 1936), 65. 43. “Zakon za vǔvezhdane na izvǔnredno polozhenie v iztochnite okrǔzhia,” DV 1 (28 July 1879); “Prigovor,” DV 5 (25 August 1879); “Vremenni merki za prekratiavane na razboinichestvoto v Iztochnite okrǔzhia,” DV 10 (16 October 1883). 44. ”Eastern Rumelia—Report of the Commission of Inquiry on the Events of Anhialo and Mesemvria, 20 July 1880,” in Vǔnshnata politika, 102–19; TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 39, Varna governor, 23 May 1880, 12–13. 45. Ovsianyi, Russkoe upravlenie, vol. 2, 19–20, 146; “Report of Dondukov-Korsakov on the Activity of the Administration, 18 September 1878,” in Ovsianyi, Sbornik materialov, vol. 3, 57–113, particularly 102; Dechev, Minaloto, 43–63. 46. See Rhodope Inquiry. 47. “Redaktsiata . . . ,” Varna Postası 42 (30 May 1888), 3; BOA, A.MTZ.04 43/11, Varna trade representative to Hariciye, 1 April 1897, 2; A.MTZ.04 42/21, OC to Sadaret, 8 March 1897, 2. 48. BOA, A.MTZ.04 99/69, OC to Sadaret, 13 July 1903; A.MTZ.04 102/18, OC to Sadaret, 8 August 1903; Y.MTV 248/93, OC to Mabeyn, 28 July 1903. 49. Gen. Dondukov-Korsakov to Gen. Totleben, 25 July 1878, in Ovsianyi, Sbornik materialov, vol. 3, 12–41. 50. Rhodope Inquiry, 11. 51. Ovsianyi, Russkoe upravlenie, vol. 2, 108. 52. Rhodope Inquiry, 23–25. 53. Gen. Dondukov-Korsakov to Gen. Totleben, 25 July 1878. 54. “Report of Gen. Dondukov-Korsakov on the Activity of the Administration, 30 September 1878,” in Ovsianyi, Sbornik materialov, vol. 3, 57–113. 55. “Vrǔshtaneto na musulmanite bezhantsi,” Maritsa 3 (4 August 1878), 8. 56. “Report of Gen. Dondukov-Korsakov on the Activity of the Administration in Bulgaria, 25 July 1878,” in Ovsianyi, Sbornik materialov, vol. 3, 9–51. 57. “Report of Gen. Dondukov-Korsakov on the Activity of the Administration, 30 September 1878,” in Ovsianyi, Sbornik materialov, vol. 3, 57–113. 58. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 10, Agent to MFRA, 26 April 1880, 103–26; Agent to Lovech governor, 14 May 1880, 127; TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 22, Varna governor to Agent, 24 December 1879, 114; TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 39, Agent to MFRA, 29 March 1880, 35. MFRA to Agent, 24 December 1879, 115; Sublime Porte to Agent, 28 December 1879, 116; MFRA to Agent, 5 January 1880, 117. 59. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 8 Agent to MFRA, November 1879, 15; MFRA to Great Power representatives, 28 November 1879, 97.



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60. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 12, MFRA to Agent, 26 January 1880, 68–70; MFRA to Agent, 23 February 1880, 73. 61. Russian Imperial Commissioner Lobanov-Rostovski to Russian foreign ministry, 11 November 1878, in Ovsianyi, Sbornik materialov, vol. 3, 113–14. 62. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 8, Agent to MFRA, November 1879, 15. 63. Incidentally, such views were also put forward in reformist Muslim journals. “Bulgaristan Havadisi,” Muvazene 14 (9 December 1897), 1–2. 64. Izlozhenie Russe 1890/93 (Russe, 1893), 6; Izlozhenie Shumen 1902/3 (Shumen, 1903), 13; Izlozhenie Haskovo 1892/93 (Haskovo, 1893), 3. 65. “Meclis-i Umumi-i Vilayet,” Hilal 1 (17 December 1883), 4. 66. See, for example, Doklad Stara-Zagora 1889/90 (Plovdiv, 1890), 6; Izlozhenie Haskovo 1893/94 (Haskovo, 1894), 6; TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 824, Bureau of Statistics to MFRA, 28 November 1894, 2. 67. Izlozhenie Russe 1890/93, 6; Izlozhenie Russe 1898/99 (Russe, 1899), 16; Izlozhenie Silistra 1893/94 (Silistra, 1894), 6. 68. For some examples, see BOA, A.MTZ.04 97/8, OC to Sadaret, 10 June 1903; A.MTZ.04 129/32, MFRA to OC, 23 May 1905; A.MTZ.04 137/65, OC to Sadaret, 17 January 1906. 69. BOA, A.MTZ.0475/48, OC to Harbiye, 23 March 1902; A.MTZ.04 75/42 OC to Sadaret, 30 March 1902, 1. 70. Doklad Shumen 1889/90 (Shumen, 1890), 9. Agitations against emigration were also conducted by the authorities in Eastern Rumelia. “Geçenlerde . . . ,” Hilal 1 (17 December 1883), 2; “Ahyolu’dan Mektup,” Hilal 22 (11 May 1884), 2. 71. Sbornik na okrǔzhnite pisma izdadeni ot MVR prez 1903 godina (Sofia, 1904), 26; BOA, A.MTZ.04 72/94, Second Secretary to Sadaret, 29 November 1901. 72. BOA, A.MTZ.04 72/94, Second Secretary to Sadaret, 29 November 1901; A.MTZ.04 78/3, Harbiye to Sadaret, 13 June 1902; A.MTZ.04 141/75, Lieut. Şevket to Harbiye, 13 April 1906; A.MTZ.04 144/25, OC to Sadaret, 14 July 1906. 73. Dechev, Minaloto, 202–3. 74. “Rahova’dan Mektub,” Muvazene 49 (10 August 1898), 2. 75. Hristo Botev, “Turtsite mogat da uchastvuvat v revolyutsiata nared s bǔlgarite,” in Hristo Botev, Statii po politicheski i obshtestveni vǔprosi, vol. 3 (Sofia, 1940), 419–22. 76. The famous quote is from a letter to a Bulgarian notable written in May 1871. Vasil Levski, “Nie gonim tsaria i negovite zakoni,” in Vasil Levski, Sviata i chista republika: pisma i dokumenti (Sofia, 1971), 37. 77. Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 1 (Sofia, 1899), 76. 78. See, for example, Hanioğlu, A Brief History; and Robert Crews, For Prophet and Tsar: Islam and Empire in Russia and Central Asia (Cambridge, MA, 2009).

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79. For a discussion of these initiatives, see Robin Okey, Taming Balkan Nationalism: the Habsburg Civilizing Mission in Bosnia, 1878–1914 (New York, 2007); Khalid, Politics of Muslim Cultural Reform, 50–61. 80. The Ottoman Empire too started using such civilizational rhetoric in its endeavors. For its different manifestations, see Selim Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains: Ideology and the Legitimation of Power in the Late Ottoman Empire, 1876–1909 (New York, 1998); and Ussama Makdisi, “Ottoman Orientalism,” American Historical Review 107:3 (2002), 768–96. 81. On Balkanism, see Maria Todorova, Imagining the Balkans (New York, 2009). The case of Bulgaria and the local Muslim populations resembles “nesting orientalism.” For a discussion with reference to the Yugoslav context, see Milica BakicHayden, “Nesting Orientalisms: The Case of Former Yugoslavia,” Slavic Review 54:4 (1995), 917–31. 82. Such ideas reflected contemporary European developments. On the connections between ideas of civilization and rights, see Mark Mazower, “The End of Civilization and the Rise of Human Rights: The Mid-Twentieth Century Disjuncture,” in Stefan Ludwig-Hoffman, ed., Human Rights in the Twentieth Century (New York, 2012), 29–44. 83. For representative sentiments, see Izlozhenie Russe 1888 (Russe, 1888), 7; Izlozhenie Tatar Pazardjik 1890 (Tatar Pazardjik, 1891), 10. 84. Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 3 (Sofia, 1900), 1408. 85. Edward Said, Orientalism (New York, 1994). 86. Izlozhenie Shumen 1902/3, 13–16. For similar sentiments, see Izlozhenie Russe 1901/2 (Russe, 1902), 7. 87. Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 1 (Sofia, 1899), 90; for similar views, see Dnevnitsi na 9–to ONS, kn. 3 (Sofia, 1898), 175–76. 88. For typical sentiments, see Nikola Iv. Vankov, “Chastnite osnovni uchilishta v Bǔlgaria”, UP god. 12:7 (1907), 695–716. 89. See, for example, Venkat Dhulipala, Creating a New Medina: State Power, Islam and the Quest for Pakistan in Late Colonial North India (Delhi, 2015), 194–263. 90. Bulgarian Exarch to Prime Minister, 28 October 1883; Agent to MFRA, 30 December 1883, in Vǔnshnata politika, 480–81, 490. 91. TsDA, 176k, op. 1, a, e. 1737, head of Religious Department to MFRA, 11 December 1902, 1–2. 92. Vankov, “Chastnite osnovni uchilishta v Bǔlgaria,” 715. 93. Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 3, 1410. 94. Dnevnitsi na 11–to ONS, kn. 3 (Sofia, 1901), 2047–48. 95. Dnevnitsi na 9–to ONS, kn. 2 (Sofia, 1898), 365–66. 96. TsDA, f. 336k, op. 1, a. e. 6, Edirne Agent to MFRA, 9 June 1899, 73–74.



Notes to Chapter 2 255

97. BOA, A.MTZ.04 129/32, 10 May 1905. Similar sentiments were echoed in the Bulgarian press. “Edno ofitsialono klevetnichestvo—Ali Ferruh Bey i statistikata,” Vecherna poshta 715 (11 July 1903), 1. 98. BOA, A.MTZ.04 57/45, OC to MFRA, 28 June 1898, 6. 99. BOA, Y.MTV 252/249, OC to Mabeyn, 5 May 1905. 100. BOA, A.MTZ.04 57/45, OC to Sadaret, 5 June 1898, 8. 101. BOA, A.MTZ.04 107/64, OC to Sadaret, 11 December 1903; A.MTV 274/45, OC to Meşihat, 1 May 1905, 1. 102. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1738, OC to MFRA, 26 September 1902, 4–5. 103. BOA, Y.PRK.AZJ 45/1, anonymous report, 21 November 1905. 104. On the propaganda project and Young Turk collaboration, see Milena Methodieva, “How Turks and Bulgarians Became Ethnic Brothers,” Turkish Historical Review 5 (2014), 221–62. 105. Petko R. Slaveikov, “Istoricheski razskazi ot minalite vremena,” PSp 15 (1885), 351–74. Historians were aware that there was extensive Turkic colonization during the Ottoman period in certain parts of the Bulgarian lands. Marin Drinov, “Istorichesko osvetlenie vǔrhu statistikata na narodnostite v iztochnata chast na Bǔlgarskoto kniazhestvo—1,” PSp 7 (1885), 1–24. 106. K. and H. V. Škorpil, “Pametnitsi na gr. Odessos—Varna,” in Godishen otchet na Varnenskata dǔrzhavna mǔzhka gimnazia “Ferdinand I” za 1897–98 uchebna godina (Varna, 1898), 2–45. 107. Marin Drinov, “Bǔlgarski letopisen razkaz ot kraya na 17 vek,” PSp 3 (1882), 1–19; V. Dobruski, “Nekolko svedenia za izturchvaneto na Rodopskite bǔlgare,” PSp 21–22 (1886), 332–38. 108. Konstantin Jireček, “Pomashki pesni ot Chepino,” PSp 8 (1884), 76–94. 109. Jireček, Bǔlgarski dnevnik, vol. 2, 26, 33–34, 93, 499. 110. Jireček, Pǔtuvania po Bǔlgaria, 534. TsDA, f. 173k, op. 1, a. e. 177, petition from people of Kamenitza to the Bulgarian parliament, 14 November 1884, 147. 111. Jireček, Pǔtuvania po Bǔlgaria, 533; Jireček, Bǔlgarski dnevnik, vol. 2, 499. 112. St. N. Shishkov, Otchet za sǔstoianieto na uchebnoto delo v s. Chepelare, Plovdivski okrǔg prez uchebnata 1896/97 godina (Plovdiv, 1897), 26–27. 113. St. N. Shishkov, “Rodopskite pomatsi ot obshtestvteno-ikonomichno gledishte dnes i prichinite za izselvaneto im,” in the following issues: RN 1 (1903), 17–21; RN 2 (1903), 57–60; RN 5 (1903), 165–69; “Sluchaini misli vǔrhu pomashkia fanatizǔm i nevezhestvo v Rodopite,” RN 4 (1906), 172–74. 114. Jireček, Bǔlgarski dnevnik, vol. 2, 499. 115. BOA, DH.MKT.MHM 480/27, Tǔrnovo sancak governor to Danube vilayet governor, 31 March 1876, 2. 116. BOA, Y.PRK-ASK 4/44, Border Officer Mehmed Seyfi, 7 October 1880.

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117. There were occasional forced conversions primarily related to cases of romantic involvement. BOA, A.MTZ.04 65/38, from Vidin trade representative, 30 January 1900; A.MTZ.04 68/36, MFRA to OC, 19 October 1900; OC to MFRA, 22 October 1900, 2. In another instance a teenage Muslim girl converted to Christianity and married a Bulgarian man in Varna; the grand public procession accompanying the event was heavily guarded to prevent brawls. A.MTZ.04 157/92, OC to Sadaret, 27 May 1907, 2. 118. The convert mufti became an ardent proselytizer, urging others to convert and even cursing Islam to the extent that an angered Muslim notable shot and wounded him. “Cehalet Belyeleri Yahud İnkiraz Nümuneleri,” Rumeli 26 (15 June 1906), 2–3. 119. “Zakon za bǔlgarskoto podanstvo,” DV 94 (20 December 1880); “Zakon za bǔlgarskoto podanstvo,” DV 20 (8 March 1883); “Zakon za bǔlgarskoto podanstvo,” DV 3 (5 January 1904). 120. BOA, A.MTZ.04 18/2, Vidin trade representative to Hariciye, 31 January 1881. 121. Statisticheski godishnik, 1909, 33. 122. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 3, 709–804; for particular information, see pages 799–802. 123. TsDA, f. 166k, op. 1, a. e. 869, Lom district governor to MFRA, 20 May 1885, 127; Ministry of Justice to MFRA, 13 June 1885, 132; MFRA to Council of Ministers, 15 June 1885, 133. 124. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1737, head of Religious Affairs Department at MFRA to MFRA, 24 December 1902, 1–2. 125. TsDA, f. 166k, op. 1, a. e. 869, MFRA to district governors, 24 June 1885, 178. 126. The temporary regulations for the organization of the judiciary in Bulgaria issued by the Russian administration in 1878 remained effective until the introduction of another law in 1892. Ovsianyi, Russkoe upravlenie, vol. 1, 118–19; and vol. 2, 112–13; Ovsianyi, Sbornik materialov, vol. 1, 346–48; “Grazhdansko sǔdoproizvodstvo,” Chapter 10 Duhovnite sǔdilishta ot pravoslavni i drugi izpovedania i na myuftiiski sǔd, DV 31 (8 February 1892). The sharia courts were the only religious court to be allowed to adjudicate property cases within the family. Muslim courts with such functions survived in Bulgaria until 1945. 127. Some examples of surviving sicills include NBKM, R 43, Sicill Dobrich, 9 September 1880–11 May 1884. 128. BOA, A.MTZ.04 22/42, OC to Sadaret, 11 December 1888; A.MTZ.04 26/100, Meşihat to Sadaret, 29 November 1894; A.MTZ.04 35/76, Agent Dimitrov to Ottoman Ministry of Justice and Religious Affairs, 30 April 1896, 5; Meşihat to Sadaret, 26 July 1896, 2; A.MTZ.04 42/27, OC to Sadaret, March 4, 1897. 129. TsDA, 176k, op. 1, a, e. 1737, head of Religious Affairs Department to MFRA, 11 December 1902, 1–2.



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130. For typical statements, see TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1738, Russe Governor to MFRA, 10 October 1902, 13–4. 131. “Privremenni pravila za duhovnoto upravlenie na hristiani, myusyulmani i evrei, Chapter 2 Duhovno upravlenie na myusyulmanite,” DV 56 (9 July 1880). 132. “Vremenni pravila za duhovnoto upravlenie na myusyulmanite,” DV 210 (26 September 1895). 133. “Sǔglashenie po myuftiiskia vǔpros” of 6–19 April 1909, in B. Kesiakov, ed., Prinos kǔm diplomaticheskata istoria na Bǔlgaria, 1878–1925: Dogovori, konventsii, spogodbi, protokoli i drugi sǔglashenia i diplomaticheski aktove (Sofia, 1925–26), 31–33. 134. BOA, A.MTZ.04 35/76, Agent to the Ottoman Ministry of Justice and Religion, 30 April 1896, 5; Meşihat to Sadaret, 26 July 1896, 2 135. The term Cemaat-ı İslamiye used for the commission in Plovdiv dates to the Eastern Rumelia period. The term could apply to the vakıf commission itself or overall to the Muslim community of a particular place. 136. DA-Vidin, f. 25k, op. 1, a. e. 4, Vidin Muslims to the MFRA, 14 June 1897, 68–69. 137. BOA, A.MTZ.04 33/33, from Second Secretary, 6 April 1896; Second Secretary to Sadaret, 9 April 1896; A.MTZ.04 36/6, OC to Sadaret, 6 August 1896, 2; A.MTZ.04 91/92, Sadaret to Meşihat, 13 April 1903. 138. In one such instance the Şeyhülislam’s office refused to approve the newly elected Silistra mufti Seyyid Hacı Mahmud, apparently responding to the complaints of some Silistra Muslims. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 260, April 1886. For other instances in Pazardjik, see BOA, A.MTZ.04 35/76, Meşihat to Sadaret, 26 July 1896, 2. 139. BOA, Y.MTV 274/45, OC to Meşihat, 1 May 1905, 1. 140. BOA, A.MTZ.04 119/64, Ottoman Council of State, 26 July 1904; Y.PRK.BŞK 38/75, Yıldız, Mabeyn, 8 December 1894; A.MTZ.04 129/59, MFRA to OC, 2 June 1905, 3. 141. BOA, A. MTZ.04 57/7, to Sadaret, 29 February 1892. 142. “Act Agreed Upon by the Plenipotentiaries of Great Britain, Austria-Hungary, France, Germany, Italy, Russia and Turkey for Modifying Articles 15 and 17 of the Treaty of Berlin, Constantinople, April 5, 1886,” in Hertslet, Map of Europe by Treaty, vol. 4, 3152–57. 143. BOA, A.MTZ.04 26/100, dispatch from Meşihat, 29 November 1894; A.MTZ.04 22/42, OC to Sadaret, 11 December 1888. 144. Similar to other cases in the Ottoman administration, the muftis’ salaries were often late. BOA, A.MTZ.04 60/8, Evkaf to Sadaret, 27 November 1898; A.MTZ.04 90/18, Plovdiv mufti Mehmed Şükrü to the OC, 7 March 1903; A.MTZ.04 167/96, OC to Sadaret, 22 June 1908. 145. “Zakon za narodnoto prosveshtenie,” DV 17 (23 January 1892). 146. For an overview of the vakıf institution and its history in the Ottoman Empire, see John R. Barnes, An Introduction to Religious Foundations in the Ottoman Empire

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(Leiden, 1987), 67–153; Hacı Mehmet Günay and Bahaeddin Yediyıldız, “Vakıf,” in Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm Ansiklopedisi, vol. 42 (Ankara, 1988–2013), 475–86; Astrid Meier, “Waqf Only in Name, Not in Essence: Early Tanzimat Waqf Reforms in the Province of Damascus,” in Jens Hanssen, Thomas Philip, and Stefan Weber, eds., The Empire in the City: Arab Provincial Capitals in the Late Ottoman Empire (Würzburg, 2002), 201–18. 147. BOA, A.MTZ.04 172/41, OC to Sadaret, 13 November 1908. 148. Statisticheski godishnik na Bǔlgarskoto Tsarstvo, god. 4, 1912 (Sofia, 1912), 128–29. 149. One such case involved the Demir Baba tekke. TsDA, f. 166k, op. 2, a. e. 119, Razgrad mufti Ömer Süleymanov to MFRA, 14 May 1904, 11; Ministry of Finance to MFRA, 4 July 1904, 14; protocol of the Russe District Council, 21 September 1904, 60. 150. BOA, A.MTZ.04 80/48, OC to Sadaret, 17 August 1902. 151. One notable case concerned the estates of a vakıf of Gazi Evrenos, whose possessions were divided between Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire. TsDA, f. 166k, op. 2, a. e. 118, Plovdiv district governor to MFRA, 20 February 1893, 7–9; Ministry of Finance to MFRA, 20 October 1908, 35. For other cases, see BOA, A.MTZ.04 22/65, Russe trade representative to Hariciye, 5 July 1899. 152. TsDA, f. 166k, op. 1, a. e. 866, Vidin governor to MFRA, 20 November 1880, 43–44; Vidin mufti to MFRA, 6 January 1881, 52; Dnevnitsi na 9–to ONS, kn. 2, 54. 153. BOA, A.MTZ.04 80/48, OC to Sadaret, 17 August 1902; A.MTZ.04 57/7, Ali Haydar to Sadaret, 29 February 1892. According to the Ottoman authorities, Eastern Rumelian vakıfs produced 30,000 lira from the tithe that they were apparently bound to deposit in the imperial treasury. 154. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 10, MFRA to Agent, 14 February 1880, 63; Agent to MFRA, 23 February 1880, 64–65. 155. “Statut organique de la Roumélie Orientale,” British and Foreign State Papers (1878–1879), vol. 70 (London, 1869), 759–843, particularly chapters 10 and 14. 156. “Sǔglashenie po myuftiiskia vǔpros,” in Kesiakov, Prinos kǔm diplomaticheskata istoria na Bǔlgaria, 31–33. 157. Erik J. Zürcher, “The Ottoman Conscription System in Theory and Practice, 1844–1918,” in Erik J. Zürcher, ed., Arming the State: Military Conscription in the Middle East and Central Asia, 1775–1925 (New York, 1999), 79–94. 158. In 1879 there was already a force of 21,000, with 358 Russian and 36 Bulgarian officers. Protokolite na uchreditelnoto Bǔlgarsko Narodno Sǔbranie (Plovdiv, Sofia, 1879), 342. 159. “Ofitsialno sǔobshtenie,” Maritsa 5 (11 August 1878), 1. 160. “Zakon za privlichane na myusyulmanskoto naselenie na voenna tegoba,” DV 5 (25 July 1879). The general conscription law of 1880 also asserted that it was the



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duty of every Bulgarian subject regardless of religion to serve in the army. “Zakon za vzemane na novobrantsi v bǔlgarskite voiski,” DV 89 (6 December 1880). 161. TsDA, f. 173k, op. 1, a. e. 177, petition from the Turkish members of parliament, 26 November 1884, 25–29. 162. “Zakonoproekt za prehranvaneto na voinitsite, konete i drugia dobituk v voiskata v mirno vreme,” Dnevnitsi na 9–to ONS, kn. 2, 288–89. 163. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 824, Agent to MFRA, 13 December 1894, 4–6. 164. NBKM, Shm 20/27, petition from Muslims to the Bulgarian prince Battenberg, n.d. 165. Ministry of Interior to District Governors, circular, DV 93 (19 September 1885); Doklad Plovdiv 1887/88 (Plovdiv, 1888), 48. 166. BOA, A.MTZ.04 72/94, Second Secretary to Sadaret, 29 November 1901; A.MTZ.04 78/3, Harbiye to Sadaret, 13 June 1902; A.MTZ.04 78/44, Third Imperial Army to Harbiye, 4 July 1902, 1. 167. “Bulgaristan’dan . . . ,” Hilal 1 (17 December 1883), 2; Jireček, Pǔtuvania, 317. 168. BOA, Y.EE.d 1178, İrade 268, 23 February 1886, 114. 169. Jireček, Bǔlgarski dnevnik, vol. 2, 59. For arguments that all groups had equal responsibility to serve in the army, see Izlozhenie Plovdiv 1889/90 (Plovdiv, 1890), 64. For similar discussions among the Russian occupation authorities, see Gen. Dondukov-Korsakov to Russian Minister of War, 23 March 1879, in Ovsianyi, Sbornik materialov, vol. 5, 82. 170. “Temporary Fundamental Rules for the Organization of the Bulgarian Army,” in Ovsianyi, Sbornik materialov, vol. 2, 128–31. 171. For later evidence, see BOA, A.MTZ.04 75/48, Officer Mehmed Ali Efendi to OC, 23 March 1902, 3. 172. “Postanovlenie za osvobozhdavane na myusyulmanite ot voenna sluzhba,” DV 9 (29 December 1881). 173. “Zakon za ustroistvoto na vǔorǔzhenite sili na Bǔlgarskoto Kniazhestvo,” DV 36 (15 February 1892); Sbornik na okrǔzhnite pisma izdadeni ot MVR prez 1897 godina (Sofia, 1898), 37–39; “Zakon za osvobozhdavane ot voenna sluzhba na mladezhite mohamedantsi,” DV 193 (7 September 1902). To give an estimate about the burden of the tax, it is useful to compare it with the prices of some goods. In 1895–1900 in Plovdiv, Varna, and Russe, the price of an ox was in the range of 70–116 leva. Statisticheski godishnik, 1909, 299, 301. 174. National Archives—UK, FO 78/4033, British diplomatic agent in Sofia Nikolas O’Conor to Salisbury, 7 November 1887, 127. 175. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 260, petition from the Muslims of Silistra district to MFRA, 6 February 1886, 3–4.

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Chapter 3 1. Bulgaria of Today (London, 1907), xiii–xv. 2. Estimate calculated from information in Statisticheski godishnik, 1909, 36–37. No specific information is available for Bulgarians in particular for this period. The Orthodox Christian community included other groups, such as Greeks, who lived predominantly in the cities. In 1910 17.9 percent of the Bulgarians and 15.2 percent of the Turks, Pomaks, and Tatars lived in towns and cities; for the Roma, this proportion was 23.4 percent. See Georgi Danailov, “Izsledvania vǔrhu demografiata na Bǔlgaria,” in Sbornik na Bǔlgarskata Akademia na Naukite, klon istoriko-filologicheski i folosofsko-obshtestven, vol. 24 (Sofia, 1931), 39; Kiril Popoff, La Bulgarie économique, 1878–1911: Études statistiques, trans. V. Robeff (Sofia, 1920), 21. 3. Estimates calculated from information dating to the 1860s in Todorov, The Balkan City, 340–65; and Salname-i Vilayet-i Tuna, 1 def‘a (Rusçuk, 1285 [1868-1869]), 101. 4. Estimates calculated from the data about the taxable population of the Danube vilayet in Todorov, The Balkan City, 345, 350. It includes Muslim Roma. 5. M. K. Sarafov, “Studia vǔrhu naselenieto na grad Sredets,” PSp 1 (1882), 134–55. Over the subsequent period the number of Turks continued to decline, reaching a little over three hundred, though Muslim Roma increased. M. K. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria po trite pǔrvi prebroyavania,” part 1, PSp 41–43 (1894), 709–804, and specifically 785–86. 6. Todorov, The Balkan City, 345. According to Kanitz, the city population was 12,000. Felix Kanitz, La Bulgarie Danubienne et le Balkan (Paris, 1882), 203–4. For Bulgaria, Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 1, 777. 7. Salname-i vilayet-i Tuna, 6 def‘a (Rusçuk, 1290 [1873-1874]), 241; also Todorov, The Balkan City, 345. For Bulgaria, see statistics in Richard Crampton, “The Turks of Bulgaria, 1878–1944,” in Karpat, The Turks of Bulgaria, 75; and Jireček, Pǔtuvania po Bǔlgaria, 304. 8. Todorov, The Balkan City, 345. See Bulgarian statistics for major cities in Crampton, “Turks of Bulgaria,” 43–78, and for particular information, see 72. 9. Todorov, The Balkan City, 345; Kanitz, La Bulgarie Danubienne, 65; Crampton, “Turks of Bulgaria,” 72. 10. In 1897 the Ottomans considered closing the offices of the Ottoman trade representation in Vidin and relocating it to Burgas, the second largest Bulgarian Black Sea port. However, the Vidin trade representation survived. BOA, Bulgaristan Tezakir Defterleri 959–60/23, Sadaret to Hariciye, 26 November 1897, 106. 11. Bǔlgarski almanah za 1896 g. (Sofia, 1897), 312–13; Bǔlgarski almanah za 1902 g. (Sofia, 1904), 648–50. 12. Todorov, The Balkan City, 345; Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 1, 785; M. K. Sarafov, “Naselenieto na gradovete Russe, Varna and Shumen,” part



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1, PSp 3 (1882), 30, 50. The Armenian population increased after 1896 with the influx of Armenians from Istanbul. Izlozhenie Russe 1896/97 (Russe, 1897), 6. 13. Kanitz, La Bulgarie Danubienne, 460, 464. 14. Salname-i Vilayet-i Tuna, 6 def‘a, 283; Todorov, The Balkan City, 345. 15. Alexander Ishirkov “Grad Varna, kulturno-geografski belezhki,” PSp 45 (1904), 191–236. Sarafov, “Naselenieto na gradovete Russe, Varna, Shumen,” part 1, 51; Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 1, 786. 16. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 21, a. e. 450, list of foreign subjects, 4 October 1896, 4–15. “Acıklı Bir Mektub,” Balkan 461 (5 June 1908), 2–3. Violent episodes occurred also in 1899; it appears that the Muslims involved were actually migrant workers from the Ottoman Empire. Bulgarians attacked shops employing Muslims, stormed a train loaded with grain, and came to blows with the Muslims working on it. While the motives for the attacks are not clear, it is possible that the migrant workers worked for lower wages or were seen as competitors in a tight labor market. BOA, A.MTZ.04 61/22, Varna trade representative to Hariciye, 25 February 1899, 1; A.MTZ.04 61/69, Sadaret to Hariciye, 15 April 1899; A.MTZ.04 62/25, Bulgarian Agent to Dahiliye, 10 May 1899, 1. 17. Almanah, 1896, 159; Almanah, 1897, 1429; Almanah, 1902, 562, 824. 18. Salname-i Vilayet-i Tuna, 1290, 6 def‘a, 113; see also Todorov, The Balkan City, 345, 350. 19. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v gradovete Russe, Varna, Shumen,” part 1, 30; Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 1, 786–87. Izlozhenie Shumen 1906/7 (Shumen, 1907), 64–65. 20. Hakkı Abdullah Meçik, Şumnu: Bulgaristan Türklerinin Kültür Hayatı (İzmir, 1977), 8. 21. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 1, 783–84. 22. These trends are reflected in the reports of the District Governors. Doklad Plovdiv 1887/88, 15. 23. Almanah, 1902, 680; Doklad Plovdiv 1888/89(Plovdiv 1889), 35. 24. Izlozhenie Plovdiv 1901/2 (Plovdiv, 1902), 46; Izlozhenie Plovdiv 1906/7 (Plovdiv, 1907), 42. 25. Todorov, The Balkan City, 345. 26. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 1, 776–77; Crampton, “Turks of Bulgaria,” 72–73. 27. Sarafov, “Naselenieto v Kniazhestvo Bǔlgaria,” part 3, 220–21. 28. Hüseyin Raci, Tarihçe-i Vak‘a-i Zağra, 91. 29. Crampton, “Turks of Bulgaria,” 73. 30. For a detailed discussion, see Thomas Hall, Planning Europe’s Capital Cities: Aspects of Nineteenth-Century Urban Development (New York, 1997).

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31. For a detailed overview, see Zeynep Çelik, The Remaking of Istanbul: Portrait of an Ottoman City (Seattle, 1986). 32. Hall, Planning Europe’s Capital Cities, 299–308. 33. Grigor Doytchinov and Christo Gantchev, Österreichische Architekten in Bulgarien, 1878–1918 (Wien, 2001), 32–34, 37, 81–205. On Vienna, see Hall, Planning Europe’s Capital Cities, 191–213; Hristo Ganchev, Grigor Doichinov, Ivanna Stoyanova, Bǔlgaria 1900: Evropeiski vliania v bǔlgarskoto gradoustroistvo, arhitektura, parkove i gradini, 1878–1918 (Sofia, 2002), 16–23. 34. Ganchev, Doichinov, and Stoyanova, Bǔlgaria 1900, 21–22. 35. Jireček, Bǔlgarski dnevnik, vol. 1, xviii, 21. 36. “Gradoustroistveniat plan na golema Sofia,” Serdika 5 (1938), 3–17. Doytchinov and Gantchev, Österreichische Architekten in Bulgarien, 29, 37–40. 37. Doytchinov and Gantchev, Österreichische Architekten in Bulgarien, 57, 127. 38. “Gradoustroistveniat plan na golema Sofia.” 39. Jireček, Pǔtuvania po Bǔlgaria, 76–77, 93. 40. On the building, see Ekrem Hakkı Ayverdi, Avrupa’da Osmanlı Mimari Eserleri, vol. 4 (İstanbul, 1982), 99. 41. This was the case particularly with the larger monumental buildings. Some well-known examples include St. Sophia Church in Sofia, which was similarly partly destroyed during an earthquake prior to 1878; several churches in Thessaloniki, among them St. Demetrius; and the Hagia Sophia Cathedral in Istanbul. 42. On the issue surrounding the mosque’s conversion into a church, see BOA, A.MTZ, A.MTZ.04 16/2, Sadaret to Hariciye, 22 March 1902, 1; Sadaret to the OC, 22 April 1902, 12; MFRA to Agent Geshov, 22 March 1902, 15; OC to Sadaret, 27 June 1902, 24; A.MTZ.04 102/22, OC to Sadaret, 8 August 1903. 43. Doytchinov and Gantchev, Österreichische Architekten in Bulgarien, 68. 44. BOA, A.MTZ.04 16/2, copy of the petition from the Sofia mufti Hafiz Bilal to MFRA, 2 June 1902, 26; Fetvas, 25. 45. “Sofya’da . . . ,” Muvazene 292 (20 August 1903), 2. 46. TsDA, 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1818, Istanbul Agent to MFRA, 11 March 1902, 1; MFRA to Istanbul Agent 23 March 1902, 4–5. BOA, A.MTZ.04 102/22, OC to Sadaret, 8 August 1903. A.MTZ.04 16/2, Sadaret to Hariciye, 22 March 1902, 1; Sadaret to OC, 22 April 1902, 12; MFRA to Agent, 4 April 1902, 15; A.MTZ.04 44/75, Sadrazam, n.d. 47. BOA, Y.A.HUS 503/57, OC to Sadaret, 30 May 1906, 2; TsDA, 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2512, Bulgarian Exarch Joseph to the MFRA, 7 June 1906, 1; Sofia Municipality to MFRA, 21 June 1906, 4–5. 48. Ganchev, Doichinov, and Stoyanova, Bǔlgaria 1900, 32–35; Doytchinov and Gantchev, Österreichische Architekten in Bulgarien, 34–37. 49. Jireček, Pǔtuvania po Bǔlgaria, 257.



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50. Otchet po inspektiraneto na Plovdivskii i Starozagorski okrǔzi prez 1904 g. (Sofia, 1906), 98. 51. “Eski Zagra . . . ,” Hilal 34 (11 August 1884), 2; “Eski Zagra . . . ,” Hilal 35 (18 August 1884), 2. 52. “Seyahatımız,” Hilal 82 (26 July 1885), 1–2. 53. BOA, A.MTZ.04 78/40, OC to Sadaret, 2 July 1902; A.MTZ.04 67/8, Sadaret to Hariciye, 15 August 1900, 1; A.MTZ.04 115/25, OC to Sadaret, 14 March 1904; A.MTZ.04 143/71, OC to Sadaret, 5 July 1906; A.MTZ.04 150/35, OC to Sadaret, 28 October 1906; A.MTZ.04 158/45, Dahiliye to Sadaret, 20 June 1907; A.MTZ.04 165/50, OC to the Dahiliye, 23 February 1908, 2; A.MTZ.04 134/60, Bulgarian Minister of Interior to İbrahim Hakkı Bey, legal advisor to Sublime Porte, 10 September 1904, 3; “Geçen hafta . . . ,” Muvazene 4 (23 September 1897), 2. 54. BOA, A.MTZ.04 49/50, Russe trade representative to Sadaret and list of Muslim institutions and properties, 16 October 1897, 1–2. 55. BOA, A.MTZ.04 134/60, Bulgarian Minister of Interior to İbrahim Hakkı Bey, 10 September 1904, 3. 56. BOA, A.MTZ.04 165/50, OC to the Dahiliye, 23 February 1908, 2; A.MTZ.04 23/48 OC to Sadaret, 2 July 1890. 57. BOA, A.MTZ.04 91/47, from OC, 1 April 1903. 58. BOA, A.MTZ.04 134/60, Bulgarian Minister of Interior to İbrahim Hakkı Bey, 10 September 1904, 3. 59. “Pazar gunu . . . ,” Muvazene 268 (25 February 1903), 2. BOA, A.MTZ.04 49/50, Russe trade representative to Sadaret, and list of Muslim institutions and properties in Russe, 16 October 1897, 1–2. 60. See, for example, TsDA, f. 166k, op. 1, 866, Vidin governor to MFRA, 20 November 1881, 413–14. 61. On the fire incident involving the Abdurrahman mosque in Varna, “Makalei Mahsusa—Abdürrahman Caminin İhtirakı,” Muvazene 234 (8 June 1901), 1; BOA, A.MTZ.04 78/40, OC to Sadaret, 2 July 1902. 62. TsDA, f. 166k, op. 1, 866, petition of the Vidin mufti to MFRA, 25 August 1881, 405; Vidin Governor to MFRA, 5 September 1881, 407; MFRA to Vidin Governor, 11 September 1881, 409. 63. BOA, A.MTZ.04 134/60, Bulgarian Minister of Interior to İbrahim Hakkı Bey, 10 September 1904, 3; A.MTZ.04 143/71, OC to Sadaret, 5 July 1906; MFRA circular to the Great Power representatives in Sofia, 19 July 1880, in Vǔnshnata politika na Bǔlgaria, 94–102. 64. “Bulgaristan Havadisi,” Muvazene 13 (2 December 1897), 1. 65. BOA, A.MTZ.04 49/50, Russe trade representative to Sadaret, and list of Muslim institutions and properties in Russe, 16 October 1897, 1–2.

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66. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 12, MFRA to Agent, 15 November 1879, 143. 67. BOA, A.MTZ.04 143/71, OC to Sadaret, 5 July 1906; A.MTZ.04 150/35, OC to Sadaret, 28 October 1906. 68. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2286, list of mosques and tekkes in Vidin and the district, 49; list of mosques and tekkes in Russe and the district, 57; list of mosques and tekkes in Plovdiv and the district, 88; list of mosques and tekkes in Shumen and the district, 91–93, list of mosques and tekkes in Varna and the district, 120, list of mosques and tekkes in Stara Zagora and the district, 126; list of mosques and tekkes in Haskovo and the district, 127—all dated to 1905–1906. 69. BOA, A.MTZ.04 128/14, OC to Sadaret, 25 April 1905; “Balçık’tan Mektub,” Gayret 13 (13 April 1893), 3. 70. BOA, A.MTZ.04 49/50, Russe trade representative to Sadaret, and list of Muslim institutions and properties in Russe, 16 October 1897, 1–2. 71. BOA, A.MTZ.04 49/50, Russe trade representative to Sadaret, and list of Muslim institutions and properties in Russe, 16 October 1897, 1–2; TsDA, f. 166k, op. 1, a. e. 866, Vidin mufti to MFRA, 6 January 1881, 52; DA-Vidin, f. 25k, op. 1, a. e. 8, Muslims of Vidin to the Minister of Interior, 24 July 1897, 1–3; Vidin Muslims to MFRA, n.d. (probably 1897), 4. See also A.MTZ.04 23/41, OC to Sadaret, 7 May 1890. 72. BOA, A.MTZ.04 66/3 Vidin mufti to OC, 16 April 1900; Hariciye to Sadaret, 27 April 1900; TsDA, f. 166k, op. 1, a. e. 869, Shazeli sheikh Seyid Ali Rıza in Russe to MFRA, 4 August 1884, 44–45. 73. DA-Vidin, f. 25k, op. 1, a. e. 4, lists of objects, 11 September 1903, 16, 20–25. 74. BOA, A.MTZ.04 49/50, Russe trade representative to Sadaret, and list of Muslim institutions and properties in Russe, 16 October 1897, 1–2. 75. The ratio remained unchanged throughout the period under discussion. Popoff, La Bulgarie économique, 1878–1911, 11–13. 76. Izlozhenie Varna 1888/89 (Varna, 1889), 50. 77. For a representative analysis, see Lyuben Berov, “Promeni v razpredelenieto na pozemlenata sobstevnost prez pǔrvite dve desetiletia sled Osvobozhdenieto,” Izvestia na instituta za istoria 27 (1984), 224–73. See also Michael Palairet, The Balkan Economies c. 1800–1914 (New York, 2003) 175. 78. Mirkova, Muslim Land, Christian Labor. 79. Halil İnalcık, “The Emergence of Big Farms Çiftliks: State, Landlords, and Tenants,” in Çağlar Keyder and Faruk Tabak, eds., Landholding and Commercial Agriculture in the Middle East (Albany, 1991), 17–34. On the Bulgarian case, particularly south Bulgaria, see Mirkova, Muslim Land, Christian Labor, 59–153; Palairet, Balkan Economies, 43–46. 80. Izlozhenie Silistra 1889 g. (Silistra, 1889), 9. 81. Mirkova, Muslim Land, Christian Labor, 59–123. Muslim complaints, some of



Notes to Chapter 3 265

them reaching the provincial government, are well-documented in Hilal. “Meclis-i Umumi-i Vilayet,” Hilal 1 (17 December 1883), 4; “Kadastro,” Hilal 7 (27 January 1884), 1. On Bulgarian grievances, see “Izselvaneto na zhitelite iz Novo-Zagorskata okolia,” Maritsa 480 (12 April 1883), 3–4. 82. “11 Ağustos . . . ,” Hilal 87 (30 August 1885), 2–3. 83. Izlozhenie Stara Zagora 1894/95 (Kazanlǔk, 1895), 18–19. 84. Almanah, 1902, 625; list of members of parliament in the 9th assembly, 1896 elections, DV 256 (2 December 1896), 4–8; TsDA, f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 16, list of members of parliament elected to the 12th assembly, 1902 elections, 62–64; list of members of parliament elected to the 13th assembly, 1903 elections, 79–80; list of members of parliament elected to the 14th assembly, 1908 elections, candidate only, 101–19. 85. Almanah, 1896, 48, 460, 543, 613. 86. Mirkova, Muslim Land, Christian Labor, 59–93; Tseno Petrov, Agrarnite reformi v Bǔlgaria, 1880–1944 (Sofia, 1975), 29–32. 87. Jireček, Bǔlgarski dnevnik, vol. 2, 51. 88. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 7, MFRA to Agent Tsankov, 31 December 1879, 62. 89. Jireček, Pǔtuvania po Bǔlgaria, 237. Information for Eastern Rumelia suggests that in the early years of its existence, land prices were a third of pre-1878 levels. In the 1890s in the area around Stara Zagora, they were two-thirds of what one would have paid during the Ottoman period. Palairet, Balkan Economies, 175. 90. Tseno Petrov, Agrarnite reformi v Bǔlgaria, 41. 91. Jireček, Pǔtuvania po Bǔlgaria, 237. 92. Izlozhenie Russe 1890/93, 25, 77. 93. Izlozhenie Russe 1901/2, 8. 94. TsDA, f. 173k, op. 1, a. e. 177, petition from the inhabitants of the Bǔrkach village, Pleven, to the Bulgarian parliament, 18 November 1884, 18–19. 95. BOA, Bulgaristan Tahrirat Defteri, 962–60/26, to Cemaleddin Efendi, Chair of the Şarki Rumeli Cemaat-ı İslamiye, 23 April 1888, 179; to Onik Efendi, Secretary of the OC, 7 May 1888, 179. A contribution to the first Muslim newspaper in Bulgaria, Tarla, which maintained a pro-government stance, named a number of Muslims as land speculators operating in combination with Jews and accused them exclusively for taking over and selling Muslim estates. “Varaka/Dopiska,” Tarla 1 (17 June 1882), 2. 96. As late as 1902, for example, two speculators from Tutrakan had managed to come in possession of two thousand hectares of land formerly owned by Muslims. Izlozhenie Russe 1901/2, 8. 97. TsDa, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 7, Agent to MFRA, 23 October 1879, 24; Varna Governor, 20 September 1879, 26–27; f. 370k, op. 1 a. e. 15, Ministry of Interior to District Governors, 8 May 1906, 43; Minister of Interior to District Governors, 7 December 1906, 110. 98. Popoff, La Bulgarie économique, 1878–1911, 110–13.

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99. This number includes Eastern Rumelia as well. 100. Jireček, Bǔlgarski dnevnik, vol. 2, 499; “Eski Cuma’ya tabi’ Karakaşlı Kariyesinden,” Muvazene 325 (19 April 1904), 2; BOA, A.MTZ.04 138/7, Agent to Said Pasha, chair of the Ottoman Council of State, 8 February 1906; A.MTZ.04 138/53, OC to Sadaret, 10 February 1906. 101. This brought additional environmental consequences as people began burning forests to free lands for pastures. Dechev, Minaloto na Chepelare, 140–42; Stoyu Shishkov, Pominǔkǔt v Rodopite (Plovdiv, 1899), 8–9. 102. BOA, A.MTZ.04 165/48, MFRA to OC, 23 April 1908. 103. Such events, however, occasionally resulted in deadly incidents for the migrating Muslims. A.MTZ.04 141/75, Ottoman border inspector to Harbiye, 13 April 1906, 3. 104. BOA, A.MTZ.04 156/70, Second Secretary to Harbiye, 4 May 1907, 3; Sadaret to Rumeli Inspector and Edirne Governor, 11 May 1907, 1. 105. Doklad Plovdiv 1887/8 g., 10, 41; Izlozhenie Plovdiv 1891 g. (Plovdiv, 1891), 24–27; Izlozhenie Tatar Pazardjik 1890, 88–89. 106. Almanah, 1896, 156, 247, 307, 313; Almanah, 1897, 1429, 1447, 1476, 1487, 1516, 1521, 1574; Almanah, 1902, 650, 824. 107. Godishni raporti na zemedelcheskite nadzirateli za 1897 g. (Sofia, 1899), 118–19; Izlozhenie Silistra 1892/93 (Silistra, 1893), 34; Izlozhenie Silistra 1894/95 (Silistra, 1895), 33; Izlozhenie Varna 1892/93 (Varna, 1893), 45. 108. Izlozhenie Russe 1898/99, 16. 109. “Çiftçiliğimiz, Gürgümüz,” Muvazene 3 (16 September 1897), 2–3. 110. See, for example, “Hezargrad’a tab‘i Düştübak Kariyesinden” and “Tutrakan’dan ‘Bir Çiftçi,’” Muvazene 322 (30 March 1904), 2. 111. Malek Sharif, “Missionaries, Medicine and Municipalities: A History of Smallpox Vaccination in Nineteenth Century Beirut,” Archaeology and History in the Lebanon 22 (2005), 34–50. 112. Izlozhenie Shumen 1901/2 (Shumen, 1902), 91–92, 130; Izlozhenie Vidin 1895/96 (Vidin, 1896), 97; Izlozhenie Russe 1898/99, 28–30; Izlozhenie Shumen 1906/7, 84. 113. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2513, Agent to MFRA, 5 October 1906; Ministry of Interior, Directorate of Public Health, to MFRA, 22 November 1906, 1–2, 4–5. 114. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1493, Ministry of Interior to district governors and customs offices, (c. 1900), 1–2; f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 412, Agent to MFRA, 14 December 1890, 93–99; f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 650, Dahiliye to Agent, 18 June 1892, 87; MFRA to Minister of Finance, June 1892, 91. 115. Ali Haydar, “Mekteb Çoculkarının Getirilmesi ve Temizelemesi,” Uhuvvet 111 (13 June 1906), 5–6. 116. “Frengi Tahribatına Bir Nümune,” Uhuvvet 96 (24 January 1906), 4.



Notes to Chapter 4 267

Chapter 4 1. “Provadi . . . ,” “Silistra . . . ,” Dikkat 2 (14 April 1883), 3; “Hakk-ı Müsavat—2,” Varna Postası 11 (23 January 1888), 2; “Müraselatımız,” Varna Postası 36 (19 March 1888), 1; TsDA, f. 173k, op. 1, a. e. 177, petition from the Turkish parliamentary representatives, 26 November 1884, 25–29. 2. “Kosova’dan Bir Muhibb-i Vatan Bir İslamın Sedası,” Sebat 37 (19 October 1895), 2–4; “İcmal,” Sebat 38 (26 October 1895), 1. 3. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Kıbrıs Gazetesine Cevab,” Muvazene 53 (8 September 1898), 1; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—Girid Yunana Virilecek Mi?,” Ahali 27 (6 December 1906), 1–2. 4. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 315 (4 February 1904), 1; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye— Masal ve Misal Yahud Zikr-i Cüz’i İdare-i Kul,” Ahali 11 (16 November 1906), 1–2; “Evvelce . . . ,” Ahali 35 (13 December 1906), 3; “İzmir . . . ,” Muvazene 246 (11 September 1902), 4. 5. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Fransa ve Avusturya İstilası,” Ahali 6 (11 November 1906), 1; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 33 (11 December 1906), 1; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 60 (6 January 1907), 1; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 64 (10 January 1907), 1; “Yeni Sene,” Balkan 119 (17 January 1907), 1. 6. On Stambolov, see Duncan Perry, Stefan Stambolov and the Emergence of Modern Bulgaria, 1870–1895 (Durham, 1993). 7. The only Ottoman-language journal that came out during the period under consideration that was not produced by the local Muslims was the Şahid‘ül-hakaik (Witness of Truths); it was published by Protestant missionaries in Plovdiv. 8. For some aspects of Yusuf Ali’s activity, see Bernard Lory, “L’Activité éditoriale de l’Albanais Jusuf Ali Bey à Sofia à la fin du XIXe siécle,” in Bernard Lory, Les Balkans: de la transition post-ottomanne à la transition post-communiste (Istanbul, 2005), 139–51. 9. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 24, Minister of Education Jireček to Istanbul Agent, 20 October 1881, 35; Jireček to Minister of Finance, 25 October 1881, 36; Prince Battenberg to Agent, 8 March 1882, 54. 10. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 24, prince’s chancery to Agent, 16 May 1882, 45; Agent to MFRA, 12 June 1882, 49. 11. “Garibeden . . . ,” “Za golemo . . . ,” Tarla 27 (16 December 1882), 3–4. 12. “Arnavud Yusuf Ali Bey Yahud İttifak Gazetesi,” Muvazene 39 (1 June 1898), 2. 13. “Provadi . . . ,” Dikkat 2 (26 April 1883), 2; “Hezargrad . . . ,” “Spored . . . ,” Dikkat 4 (17 May 1883), 1, 4. 14. “Arz-ı Mühimdir,” “Mukaddeme,” and “Şura-yı Devlet . . . ,” Hilal 1 (17 December 1883), 1. 15. “Hakk-ı Müsavat,” Varna Postası 10 (19 January 1888), 1; “Hakk-ı Müsavat,” Varna Postası 11 (23 January 1888), 2.

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16. For suggestions of such a stance, see TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 412, Russe district governor to agent, 2 October 1891, 72; agent to Russe district governor, 10 October 1891, 73. 17. BOA, Y.MTV 217/9, Mehmed Sabri (Ali Fehmi’s brother) to OC, 11 June 1901, 2; M. Ali Çankaya, Mülkiye Tarihi ve Mülkiyeliler (Ankara, 1954), 185. Ali Fehmi’s father later served on Plovdiv’s municipal council. “Filibe’de . . . ,” Muvazene 226 (2 April 1902), 2. 18. BOA, Y.PRK.MK 7/78, Ali Fehmi to Second Secretary, 6 July 1897, 1. 19. “Bulgaristan . . . ,” Muvazene 34 (28 April 1898), 2–3. 20. Hanioğlu, Young Turks in Opposition, 98–101. 21. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 1241, Agent to PM, 28 June 1897, 77; f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1061, Agent to PM, 30 June 1897, 1; BOA, Y.PRK.BŞK 52/119, Mabeyn to OC, 29 June 1897. 22. BOA, Y.MTV 165/125, OC to Mabeyn, 22 August 1897. 23. BOA, Y.MTV 166/204, OC to Mabeyn, 12 September 1897. 24. “Açık Mektuplar—Agop Dzeronian . . . ,” Muvazene 8 (18 October 1897), 4. “Filibe’de . . . ,” and “Gayret, Merhum Hamiyet Müdir-i Mesul Yanopoulos Efendi’ye,” Muvazene 11 (18 November 1897), 2; 4; “Filibe’de hafiyelik . . . ,” Muvazene 36 (12 May 1898), 2; “Filibe’de . . . ,” Muvazene 44 (7 July 1898), 2. 25. “Bütün . . . ,” Muvazene 39 (1 June 1898), 4; “Müdir-i Mesul Meselesi,” Muvazene 45 (14 July 1898), 2. 26. “Filibe’de hafiyelik . . . ,” Muvazene 36 (12 May 1898), 2. See also “Bulgaristan’da . . . ,” Muvazene 33 (21 April 1898), 4; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Amerika Muharebesi—Türkiye Maliyesi,” Muvazene 34 (28 April 1898), 1; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 37 (19 May 1898), 1; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 39 (1 June 1898), 1; “Hadisat-i Siyasiye,” Muvazene 273 (8 April 1903), 1. 27. BOA, Y.MTV 225/95, Russe trade representative to Hariciye, 23 January 1902, 2; “Makale-i Mahsusa—Ahrar-ı Osmaniye Kongresi ve Cemiyet-i İttihadiye-i Osmaniye,” Muvazene 224 (12 March 1902), 1–3; “Paris’te . . . ,” Muvazene, 221, (18 February 1902), 3; “Seyahatımızda . . . ,” Muvazene, 223, (4 March 1902), 1–2. 28. “İki aydan . . . ,” Muvazene, 223, (4 March 1902), 2. 29. “Memalik-i mütemeddinede . . . ,” Muvazene 306 (25 November 1903), 1; “Makale-i Mahsusa,” Muvazene 307 (2 December 1903), 1–2. 30. BOA, Y.PRK.MYD 23/45, Mabeyn, 22 October 1900, 1; Y.MTV 217/9, Mehmed Sabri to OC, 11 June 1901, 2; Mabeyn, 18 June 1901, 1. 31. Ali Fehmi, Bulgaristan İslamları—Muvazene-i Ahval ve Amal (Filibe, 1901); see also “Mah-ı hali . . . ,” Muvazene 175 (31 January 1901), 1. 32. He was not even among the candidates who gathered more than a hundred votes. As the editor of one of the major Muslim journals in Bulgaria and a leading figure in the reform movement, he enjoyed a certain popularity. So if he indeed ran in the elections, he would probably have received more than a hundred votes, which



Notes to Chapter 4 269

would normally have been reflected in the electoral protocols. TsDA, f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 2, list of candidates in the 1901 elections, 13 February 1901, 196–97. 33. “İhtar,” Muvazene 262 15 January 1903, 4. 34. “Sormak Ayıp Değil Ya!,” Muvazene 369 (2 March 1905), 2–3. 35. “Arz-ı Meram,” Ahali 1 (April 6, 1905), 1. 36. The article was also translated and published in the Bulgarian language section of Efkâr-ı Umumiye, which appeared to enjoy Bulgarian favor due to its attitude towards the Macedonian question. See “Sormak Ayıp Değil Ya!” (Bulgarian section), Efkâr-ı Umumiye 21 (17 March 1905). 37. Mehmed Sabri was probably tried on various other charges. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2284, PM to Council of Ministers, 7 July 1905, 3; BOA, A.MTZ.04 129/62, OC to Sadaret, 14 June 1905; A.MTZ.04 135/82, informer from Plovdiv to the Edirne vilayet, 21 October 1901, 6; “Muarız-ı İbret: Feyz-i Kanun ve Hürriyiet,” Rumeli 4 (29 December 1905), 3–4. Another casualty was the temporary editor of Ahali, Yunuz Reşid; he was severely beaten, probably by Macedonian committee sympathizers and spent time in hospital. “Arz-ı Meram,” Ahali 2 (5 November 1906), 1–2. 38. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2284, Shumen district governor to PM/MFRA, 30 March 1905, 1; PM to Council of Ministers and Directorate of Posts and Telegraphs, 7 July 1905, 4, 5. 39. Mehmed Fazlı, Resimli Afgan Seyahatı, (İstanbul, 1325 [1909/10]), 6, 52, 93; BOA, Y.A.HUS 503/57, OC to Sadaret, 4 December 1907; İ.HUS 161/1325 Za 70, Yıldız— irade, 1 January 1908; İbrahim Temo, İbrahim Temo’nun İttihad ve Terakki Anıları (İstanbul, 1987), 21. 40. Muvazene, no. 1–376 (20 October 1911). 41. Çankaya, Mülkiye Tarihi, 185; Takvim-i Vekâyi 3585 (26 June 1919), 164. 42. See particularly Fatma Müge Göçek, Denial of Violence: Ottoman Past, Turkish Present, and Collective Violence Against the Armenians, 1789–2009 (Oxford, 2015). 43. “Gayret gazetesinin . . . ,” “Açık Mektuplar,” Muvazene 70 (5 January 1899), 2, 4. 44. “Makale-i Mahsusa,” Muvazene 225 (19 March 1902), 1; for similar sentiments, see “Geçen . . . ,” Muvazene 224 (12 March 1902), 3–4. 45. “Sual,” Muvazene 25 (25 February 1898), 2; “Tarihten . . . ,” Muvazene 30 (31 March 1898), 2–3. On the geography question, see “Evvelce . . . ,” Muvazene 43 (30 June 1898), 2; on methodology, “Mekatib-i İslamiyenin . . . ,” Muvazene 12 (25 November 1897), 2; “Geçen 12 . . . ,” Muvazene 15 (16 December 1897), 2. 46. “Bulgaristan’ın . . . ,” Muvazene 46 (20 July 1898), 2–3. 47. See “Bergos’tan Mektub,” Muvazene 21 (27 January 1898), 2; “Filibe’den” and “Rusçuk’tan,” Muvazene 283 (17 June 1903), 2. 48. See the series “Açık Mektublar” in Muvazene 43 (30 June 1898), 4; Muvazene 46 (20 July 1898), 4; Muvazene 47 (27 July 1898), 4; Muvazene 48 (3 August 1898), 4;

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and Muvazene 51 (25 August 1898), 4. We could even identify certain higher-profile regular Muvazene readers, such as Kartoğlu Ahmed (Ahmed Kartov), a merchant and member of parliament, and the Young Turk leader and chair of the Shumen education board Talat Efendi. “Açık Mektublar” in Muvazene 6 (28 September 1897), 4; Muvazene 8 (18 October 1898), 4; Muvazene 52 (1 September 1898), 4; and Muvazene 319 (10 March 1904), 4. 49. Bǔlgarski periodichen pechat, vol. 3 (Sofia, 1969), 43. 50. Some of the subscribers bore titles such as “kahveci,” “bakkal,” “berber,” and “tütüncü.” See, for example, “Açık Mektuplar,” in Muvazene 6 (28 September 1897), 4; 8 (18 October 1897), 4; 16 (23 December 1897), 4; 20 (20 January 1898), 4; 24 (17 February 1898), 4; 26 (12 May 1898), 4; 38 (25 May 1898), 4; 39 (1 June 1898), 4; 45 (14 July 1898), 4; 47 (27 July 1898), 4; 48 (3 August 1898), 4; 51 (25 August 1898), 4; 52 (1 September 1898), 4; and 198 (28 August 1901), 4. 51. Almanah, 1897, XIV; Almanah, 1902, 680; TsDA, f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 16, list of members of parliament elected to the 8th parliamentary assembly in the September 1894 elections, 1–15; list of members of parliament elected to the 11th parliamentary assembly, 1901 elections, 31; list of members of parliament elected to the 12th parliamentary assembly, 1902 elections, 56–57; Dechev, Minaloto na Chepelare, 385. 52. “Teveccühat ve Nişan,” Gayret 12 (8 April 1895), 1; BOA, A.MTZ.04 76/142, Second Secretary to OC, 7 January 1895. 53. BOA, Y.PRK.A 9/75, Second Secretary to Sadaret, 11 January 1895; A.MTZ.04 179/9, Customs to Dahiliye, 19 June 1895, 3; petition from Rıza Pasha, 11 July 1895, 17; press department to Sadaret, 18 July 1895, 5; A.MTZ.04 181/32, petitions from Rıza Pasha, 10 November 1895, 9; and 24 November 1895, 4. A.MTZ.04 38/16, Ottoman Ministry of Post and Telegraph to Sadaret, 12 October 1896; A.MTZ.04 79/1, OC to Sadaret, 28 May 1902, 1; Dahiliye to Sadaret, 4 August 1902, 3. 54. BOA, A.MTZ.04 56/30, Sadaret to Dahiliye, 12 June 1898, 2; A.MTZ.04 59/3, to Dahiliye, 27 July 1898; Dahiliye, 21 August 1898; to Budget Commission, 31 October 1898. 55. BOA, A.MTZ.04 79/1, OC to Sadaret, 28 May 1902, 1. 56. For example, BOA, A.MTZ.04 16/28, Rıza Pasha, 24 June 1895; A.MTZ.04 79/86, Rıza Pasha to Dahiliye, 26 July 1902, 4; 30 July 1902, 2. The Istanbul authorities were skeptical about the authenticity of the information he provided. A.MTZ.04 79/97, Dahliye to Sadaret, 2 August 1902, 2. 57. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1306, Minister of Internal Affairs to MFRA, 26 November 1899, 8; f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1511, Edirne Agent to MFRA, 29 March 1900, 8–9. 58. BOA, A.MTZ.04 136/40, OC to Sadaret, 5 December 1905; A.MTZ.04 185/14, Second Secretary, 31 May 1904, 7; Şura-yı Devlet, 3 December 1908, 22. 59. TsDA, f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 16, list of members of parliament elected to the 8th



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parliamentary assembly, 1894 elections, 1–15; list of members of parliament elected to the 11th parliamentary assembly, 1901 elections, 31; list of members of parliament elected to the 12th parliamentary assembly, 1902 elections, 56–57. 60. İsmail Hakkı Tevfik Okday, Bulgaristan’da Türk Basını (n.p., 1953), 82. 61. “İfade-i Mahsusa,” Gayret 326 (17 September 1908), 1–2; in a similar vein, Mehmed Gayur, “Ne Oluyoruz?,” 2–3, in the same issue. 62. BOA, A.MTZ.04 185/14, Maarif to Sadaret, 16 November 1910, 29. 63. Bir Misafir, “Esas-ı Mekatib, Ahval-ı Meşkure,” Gayret 16 (3 May 1898), 3–4; and the series “Seyahatta Ne Gördüm,” in Gayret 165 (4 October 1898), 4; 166 (11 October 1898), 4; 168 (25 October 1898), 4; 169 (1 November 1898), 4; and 170 (10 November 1898), 4. “Eski Zağra’dan Mektub—Çırpan Vak‘a-i Faciası,” Gayret 11 (23 March 1895), 2–3. 64. “Şehrimizde . . . ,” Gayret 232 (18 January 1900), 4. 65. BOA, A.MTZ.04 79/1, OC Ali Ferruh to Sadaret, 28 May 1902, 1. 66. “Edebiyat,” Gayret 3 (26 January 1895), 4; Mehmed Âkif, “Terkib-i Bend,” Gayret 13 (13 April 1895), 4; Gayret 14 (20 April 1895), 4; Mehmed Âkif, “Sirbalin-i . . . ,” Gayret 16 (3 May 1895), 4. 67. “Filibe’de . . . ,” Sebat 15 (11 May 1895), 1; “Gayret . . . ,” Muvazene 8 (18 October 1897), 2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Kıbrıs Gazetesine Cevab,” Muvazene 53 (8 September 1898), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 61 (3 November 1898), 1; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 67 (15 December 1898), 1–2; “11 haziran . . . ,” Muvazene 285 (2 July 1903), 2. 68. “Hayvan-ı natikleri . . . ,” Muvazene 227 (2 April 1902), 2; Behzad, “Şarlatanlık,” Muvazene 228 (12 April 1902), 2; “Filibe’de . . . ,” Muvazene 258 (10 December 1902), 2. Similar criticism appears in “Filibeli Gazeteci Rıza Paşa Azalığa Tayyini,” Tuna 195 (7 May 1906), 2. 69. In comparison, the outlook for the Bulgarians was not dramatically different, though there were certain variations. Over 70 percent of parents were farmers, about 5 percent merchants, 8 percent craftsmen, and 2 percent civil servants. Kiril Popov, “Osnovnoto obrazovanie v Bulgaria prez uchebnata 1894–95 g.,” UP god. 2, 10 (1897), 1136–80, particularly 1155. 70. Turan and Evered, “Jadidism in Southeastern Europe”; Stoyanov, Turskoto naselenie v Bǔlgaria, 54. 71. Some evidence for this commonly repeated claim is provided in Meçik, Şumnu, 10. 72. “Mohamedanite v gr. Shumen,” Obshtestven glas 30 (22 June 1907), 1–2. 73. Almanah, 1896, 159, 162, 163, 313. Almanah, 1902, 455, 515, 532, 562, 603, 622. 74. Almanah, 1902, 680. 75. Almanah, 1902, 648–50, 821, 650.

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76. Almanah, 1896, 161; Almanah, 1902, 650, 825; Izlozhenie Varna 1897/98 g. (Varna, 1898), 57. 77. Izlozhenie Russe 1898/99, 20. 78. Izlozhenie Shumen 1897/98 (Shumen, 1898), 38. Another bigger factory owned by a Muslim existed in Varna. It employed fifty workers and processed thirty-eight tons of tobacco per year. Izlozhenie Varna 1892/93, 60. 79. Izlozhenie Shumen 1903/4 (Shumen, 1904), 71. 80. Almanah, 1897, 1447. 81. List of members of parliament in the 9th assembly, 1896 elections, DV 256 (2 December 1896), 4–8; TsDA, f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 2, list of candidates in the 1901 elections, 13 February 1901, 24; list of members of parliament elected to the 13th parliamentary assembly, 1903 elections, DV 239 (5 November 1903); “Ağızımızı Değil Gözümüzü Açalım,” Balkan 388 1(2 March 1908), 3; “Gözümüzü Açalım Ama Neye?,” Balkan 428 (28 April 1908), 1. 82.  For sources on Mehmed Giray’s background see note 84 in chapter 3. 83. Almanah, 1896, 48, 78, 82, 117, 163; Almanah, 1902, 460, 469, 477–78, 510–11, 562, 666; “Mohamedanite v gr. Shumen,” Obshtestven glas. 84. Bir Dede, “Provadililerin Maarife Hidmeti,” Muvazene 309 (17 December 1903), 3. 85. “Varna’dan: Konsolos Patırdısı,” Muvazene 297 (24 September 1903), 2; similarly, “of moldy thoughts” (küflü fikirli), see “Silistre’den,” Muvazene 323 (6 April 1904), 2. 86. Sa’i, “Dobriç’ten Mektub—Teşrih-i Ahval,” Muvazene 263 (22 January 1903), 2–3. 87. See, for example, “Aytos’tan,” Muvazene 312 (21 January 21 1904), 2–3; “Eski Cuma’dan,” Muvazene 248 (26 September 1902), 2. 88. The information on Hafız Abdullah Mecik’s life is based on the following sources: NBKM, Shm 20/87 (Hafız Abdullah) Fehmi (to Kesimzade), 3 January 1890, 1; Hafız Abdullah Fehmi, “İlan,” Tuna 263 (2 August 1906), 4; Meçik, Şumnu, 14–20. 89. Meçik, Şumnu, 18; Osman Keskioğlu, Bulgaristan’da Türkler: Tarih ve Kültür (Ankara, 1985), 184; “Dobriç’ten—Maarif Hakkında,” Balkan 89 (14 November 1906), 3; “İkinci Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi,” Balkan 218 (19 July 1907), 1–2; Masum, “Varna’dan Mektub—Ulum ve Maarif,” Muvazene 171 (26 December 1900), 1–2; Masum, “Mekteb,” Muvazene 223 (4 March 1902), 2–3; Mehmed Masum, “Kaf Dağı Arkasında,” Bulgaristan Türk Muallimler Mecmuası, 2 (1 January 1924), 2–5. 90. “Şumnu Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi,” Tuna 267 (7 August 1906), 3; “Elbette İftihar Ederiz!,” Balkan 501 (22 July 1908), 1–2. 91. One of his notable contributions was the translation of the work of Russian émigré author Grigoriy Petrov, In the Land of the White Lilies, used for its mobilizing



Notes to Chapter 4 273

potential by the authorities in the early Turkish republic. Significantly, Taner translated the work into Turkish from its Bulgarian-language version. 92. Keskioğlu, Bulgaristan’da Türkler, 180; Osman Nuri Peremeci, Osman Nuri Peremeci: Hayatı, Kişiliği ve Tuna Boyu Tarihi (Edirne, 2012). 93. The biographical information about Kesimzade is based on the following sources: NBKM, D 720, the income from vakıf buildings and land belonging to one of Kesimzade’s ancestors went to the Meşikli medrese in Shumen, 371; Shm 20/24, Kesimzade to PM and MFRA, 14 June 1885, 1; Shm 20/26, Kesimzade to MFRA, 8 June 1885; Shm 20/27, Kesimzade to Prince Battenberg, n.d., 1; BOA, A.MTZ.04 129/59, MFRA to OC, 2 June 1905, 3; Y.MTV 285/99, from Meşihat, 9 April 1906, 1; Y.PRK.AZJ 16/37, Report, January 1890; TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 13, MFRA to Agent, 24 September 1879, 42; Dnevnik na 3–to ONS, kn. 1 (Sofia, 1883), 3; list of members of parliament in the 9th assembly, 1896 elections, DV 256 (2 December 1896), 4–8; f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 16, list of members of parliament elected to the 14th parliamentary assembly, 1908 elections, 101–19. Kesimzade apparently ran as an independent; D. V. Simeonov to D. Petkov, 26 January 1893, in Milen Kumanov and Dimitǔr Ivanov, comps. and eds., Stefan Stambolov: Lichen arhiv, vol. 4 (Sofia, 1994), 250–51. 94. Mustafa Sadık Dospatski’s life is reconstructed on the basis of the following sources: BOA, Y.PRK.MK 15/51, Shumen notables to OC, 1 June 1903, 3; from Mustafa Dospatski, 23 August 1903, 5; A.MTZ.04 47/33, Sadaret to Dahiliye, 10 August 1897; A.MTZ.04 50/36, 7 September–12 November 1897; TsDA, f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 16, list of members of parliament elected to the 12th parliamentary assembly, 1902 elections, 62–64; f. 176k, op. 2, a. e. 132, Shumen Governor to MFRA, 19 May 1908, 1; f. 173k, op. 1, a. e. 177, petition from Kamenitza inhabitants to the Bulgarian parliament, 14 November 1884, 147; BAN, f. 3k, op. 1, a. e. 93, Mustafa Dospatski to Jireček, 13 May 1895, 1–2; Jireček, Pǔtuvania po Bǔlgaria, 533–34; Jireček, Bǔlgarski dnevnik, vol. 2, 414, 499. 95. Jireček, Bǔlgarski dnevnik, vol. 2, 499. 96. BOA, Y.PRK-ASK 106/17, Officer Hüseyin Fevzi, 23 July 1895; A.MTZ.04 180/60, Harbiye to Sadaret, 20 August 1895, 38; OC to Sadaret, 26 August 1895, 59. 97. BOA, A.MTZ.04 32/67, Mustafa Dospatski to the Ottoman authorities, 4 March 1896. 98. Dnevnitsi na 12–to ONS, kn. 1, 25, 86–87. 99. “Makale-i Mahsusa,” Muvazene 225 (19 March 1902), 1. 100. “Şumnu’dan Mektub,” Muvazene 263 (22 January 1903), 2; “Şumnu . . . ,” Muvazene 291 (13 August 1903), 2. 101. For a thorough exploration of the Young Turks, see Hanioğlu, Young Turks in Opposition; M. Şükrü Hanioğlu, Preparation for a Revolution: The Young Turks, 1902–1908 (New York, 2001); and Nader Sohrabi, Revolution and Constitutionalism in

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the Ottoman Empire and Iran (New York, 2011). On the initial roundup, see Hanioğlu, Young Turks in Opposition, 28–32, 71–78. 102. For the initial split, see Hanioğlu, Young Turks in Opposition, 71–109. See also Erik J. Zürcher, “Who Were the Young Turks?,” in Erik J. Zürcher, The Young Turk Legacy and Nation-Building: From the Ottoman Empire to Atatürk’s Turkey (New York, 2010), 95–109. 103. Hanioğlu, Preparation for a Revolution, 136–41; 210–78; Sohrabi, Revolution and Constitutionalism, 72–134. 104. On the ideas of the Young Turks, see Hanioğlu, Young Turks in Opposition, 10–13, 18–23; 200–212; Hanioğlu, Preparation for a Revolution, 289–311. 105. Hanioğlu, Young Turks in Opposition, 201; Hanioğlu, Preparation for a Revolution, 295–302. 106. Hanioğlu, Preparation for a Revolution, 55–58. 107. Temo, İttihad ve Terakki, 58. Temo mistakenly gives the name of the journal in Russe as Tuna; in fact, it was Sebat. 108. “Filibe’de . . . ,” Sebat 15 (11 May 1895), 1; “Varna’dan Mektub-i Mahsus,” Sebat 33 (22 September 1895), 4–6; “İhtar ve İtizar,” “Kosova’dan Muhibb-i Vatan Bir İslamın Sedası,” Sebat 37 (19 October 1895), 1, 2–4; Gemici, “Muharrir Efendi,” Sebat 39 (2 November 1895), 7–8; “Paris’ten Mektub-i Mahsus,” Sebat 40 (9 November 1895), 3. 109. Hanioğlu, Young Turks in Opposition, 90; Temo, İttihad ve Terakki, 95. 110. BOA, A.MTZ.04 41/32, Sadaret to OC, 23 February 1897, 1. 111. Hanioğlu, Preparation for a Revolution, 73–76. 112. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 936, OC to MFRA, 24 May 1896, 6; pamphlet “Hareket,” 7, 15–16; MFRA to Russe governor, 26 May 1896, 8; OC to MFRA, 8 June 1896, 10; Russe district governor to MFRA, 14 June 1896, 12; brochure “Dördüncü Hutbe,” addressed to the Hasanov coffeehouse in Plovdiv; TsDA, f. 176k, op. 21, a. e. 749, Plovdiv governor to MFRA, 28 April 1897, 1. Mizan posted from Geneva on 5 April 1897, 45–47. Also see the case of twenty-seven copies of “Hutbe” intercepted in Russe, BOA, A.MTZ.04 50/58, 1 August–24 November 1897. 113. BOA, A.MTZ.04 34/66, Russe trade representation to Hariciye, 20 June 1896, 3. 114. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 21, a. e. 749, OC to MFRA, 8 July 1897, 7; OC to MFRA, 10 August 1897, 9; OC to MFRA, 28 November 1897, 24; MFRA to Ministry of Justice, 10 May 1897, 3; Ministry of Justice to MFRA, 6 September 1897, 16; f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1507, OC to MFRA, 5 November 1902, 19; Filiz Cengiz, Dr. Nazım ve Bahaeddin Şakir’in Kaleminden İttihad ve Terakki Cemiyeti, unpublished MA thesis (İstanbul, 1997), 41, 148, 188. 115. Abu Allah, “Mektub,” Muvazene 214 (25 December 1901), 4; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 247 (19 September 1902), 1; K., “Makale-i Mahsusa,” Muvazene 250 (9 October 1902), 1–2; M. Kemal, “Makale-i Mahsusa—Devlet ve Hükumet,” Muvazene 252 (23 October 1902), 1–2.



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116. “İstanbul’dan . . . ,” Muvazene 226 (2 April 1902), 4; Edhem Safi, “Saray Bosna Mektubunun Ma Bad ve Hitamı,” Muvazene 249 (3 October 1902), 4; “Boğazlar, Makedonya, Arnavutluk, Cebl-i Lübnan Meseleleri,” Muvazene 251 (16 October 1902), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Makedonya Ne Oluyor?,” Muvazene 255 (13 November 1902), 1; “Filibe’de . . . ,” Muvazene 258 (10 December 1902), 2. 117. “Havadis-i Hariciye—İstanbul’dan . . . ,” Ahali 4 (9 November 1906), 2–3. 118. “Mizac—Hezl—Hecv: Guguk, ‘Her Bir Hükümdar Ne Düşünüyor?,’” Uhuvvet 110 (7 June 1906), 6–7. In a similar vein, “Mizac—Hezl—Hecv: Sultan Hamid—Arap İzzet,” Uhuvvet 111 (13 June 1906), 6–7; “Mizac—Hezl—Hecv: Layiha,” Uhuvvet 113 (27 June 1906), 6–7. 119. For various incidents when Ottoman representatives were accused of corruption at the expense of poor local Muslims and of loose moral conduct, see “Lom Palanka’dan,” Muvazene 281 (13 June 1903), 2; “Varna Osmanlı Tüccar Vekaleti ve Şürekası,” Muvazene 253 (30 October 1902), 2–3; “Muhacirler,” Muvazene 256 (20 November 1902), 3; “Vidin’den,” “Tebşir,” Muvazene 258 (10 December 1902), 2–3; Arnavutluk tüccarından, “Mektub,” Muvazene 260 (24 December 1902), 3–4; “Varna’dan— Konsolos Patırdısı,” Muvazene 297 (24 September 1903), 2; “Konsoloslar,” Muvazene 266 (11 February 1903), 4. 120. “Eski Zağra . . . ,” Uhuvvet 107 (15 April 1906), 3. 121. “Bulgaristan . . . ,” Emniyet 12 (16 July 1896), 2; “İstanbul’dan . . . ,” Emniyet 17 (29 August 1896), 1. 122. BOA, A.MTZ.04 56/6, Naşid Beyzade Ahmed to Varna trade representative, 12 May 1898, 2; “Varna’dan—Konsolos Patırdısı,” Muvazene 297. 123. “Eski . . . ,” Muvazene 281 (13 June 1903), 2. 124. Meçik, Şumnu, 15; TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2044, Kesimzade to the sultan, 1 June 1904, 38–40. 125. Edhem Ruhi (Balkan), Edhem Ruhi Balkan Hatıraları—Canlı Tarihler 6 (Ankara, 1947), 31. 126. “Mektub-i Mahsus—Balçık’tan,” Balkan 212 (10 July 1907), 2–3. Bilal, “Mektubi Mahsus,” Balkan 216 (17 July 1907), 2–3. 127. Yekta, “Balçık’tan,” Tuna 203 (18 May 1906), 2–3; M. R., “Şark Ceridesine Cevab ve Tashih,” Feryad 24 (30 May 1906), 2–3. 128. TsDA, f. 176k, op.1, a. e. 2283, Bulgarian Agent in Paris to MFRA, 20 April 1905, 1–2; MFRA to Bulgarian Agent in Paris, 30 May 1905, 5–6; on a case involving Mechveret’s defense of Ali Fehmi and his imprisoned brother Ali Sabri and Bulgarian aspirations in Macedonia, “Le ‘Roi’ de Bulgarie,” Mechveret 163 (1 May 1905), 2–3. 129. For these sentiments, particularly expressed among IMARO sympathizers, see Hristo Silyanov, Osvoboditelnite borbi na Makedonia, vol. 2 (Sofia, 1983), 562–63, 566.

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130. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 21, a. e. 749, Ministry of Justice to MFRA, 5 August 1897, 10; 24 August 1897, 11; 6 September 1897, 16. 131. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 1241, Agent to PM, 28 June 1897, 77; f. 176k, op. 21, a. e. 749, MFRA to Agent, 29 June 1897, 5. BOA, Y.MTV 166/204, OC to Mabeyn, 12 September 1897. 132. On Balkan of Russe and Ahmed Zeki, “Sair mahallarda . . . ,” Sebat 9 (31 March 1895), 4; “19. Asır Medeniyette Katl-i‘ama Teşvik,” “V kraya na XIX v. edna agitatsia za vseobshto klanye,” Balkan (Russe) 6 (6 June 1898), 2. 133. On the extradition of Ubeydullah Efendi, see TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 1241, Agent to PM, 5 January 1898, 3; PM to Agent, 10 January 1898, 3. On Islah’s editor Ahmed Adir, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 1397, Ministry of Interior to Agent, 11 October 1899, 2–3; PM to Agent, 16 October 1899, 9; BOA, Y. EE 149/76, Mabeyn to Agent, 26 October 1899; Y.EE 149/5, Mabeyn to OC, 22 October 1899. 134. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1364, Agent to PM, 21 October 1899, 14–15. 135. Dnevnitsi na 11–to ONS, kn. 1 (Sofia, 1902), 192. 136. Methodieva, “How Turks and Bulgarians Became Ethnic Brothers.” 137. “Mülahaza,” Muvazene 22 (3 February 1898), 2–3; “Ya Kanun-i Esasi Ya Mahvımız Mutlak,” Balkan 181 (13 April 1907), 1–2. 138. “İstidlal Yahud Masal,” Muvazene 72 (18 January 1899), 2–3. 139. “Vazi’-i Kanun, Sansür Olan Şehr Muhafızı!,” “Gradonachalnik zakonodatel i tsenzor,” Balkan (Russe) 7 (8 June 1898), 1–2. 140. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 273 (8 April 1903), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 332 (8 June 1904), 1–2; “Açık Mektuplar,” Muvazene 5 (29 September 1897), 4; “İstidlal Yahud Masal!,” Muvazene 72 (18 January 1899), 2–3. 141. “Varna’dan Mektub-i Mahsus,” Sebat 33 (22 September 1895), 4–6; “Kosova’dan Muhibb-i Vatan Bir İslamın Sedası,” Sebat 37 (19 October 1895), 2–4. 142. Edhem Ruhi, “Hakikat Acıdır Fakat Akide-i Kezb ve Tekâpudan Daha Şirindir,” Balkan 190 (5 June 1907), 1–2. 143. Hanioğlu, Young Turks in Opposition, 28–32, 205–8; Hanioğlu, Preparation for a Revolution, 308–11. 144. “Ulum ve Maarif, Muvazene 10 (4 November 1897), 1. 145. Hoca Ubeydullah, “Müslümanlık,” from Doğru Söz, Uhuvvet 118 (16 August 1906), 7–8. 146. See, for example, local Muslim responses to an advertised Young Turk treatise on religious knowledge and commitment, “Bir Telif-i Güzin,” Balkan 136 (15 February 1907), 4; “Hakikat Şahsa, Hata Zamana Aittir,” Balkan 139 (19 February 1907), 1–2. 147. Cengiz, Dr. Nazım ve Bahaeddin Şakir’in Kaleminden İttihad ve Terakki, 23–26. 148. See, for example, a series of articles discussing Muslim contributions to areas such as medicine and pharmacy: Edhem Safi, “Müslümanların Alem-i İnsaniyete



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Hidmetleri,” in Muvazene 290 (6 August 1903), 4; 291 (13 August 1903), 4; 292 (20 August 1903), 4. “İslam ve Hürriyet,” reprint from Şura-yı Osmani, Balkan 163 (22 March 1907), 1–2; Edhem Ruhi, “Habb El-watan Min El-imân,” Balkan 245 (6 September 1907), 1–2. 149. Sebat published in serialized form a work by Horace Sébastiani, Napoleon’s ambassador to Istanbul, titled “Islam in the Nineteenth Century,” which favorably compared Islam with Christianity, gave rational explanations for its practices, and extolled its tolerance and ability to promote technological novelties. “Muharrir Efendi . . . ” (introduction), and Sebastiani, “Ondokuzuncu Asırda İslamiyet,” Sebat, 6 (10 March 1895), 7. The rest of the tract continues in Sebat 7 (17 March 1895), 7; 8 (24 March 1895), 7; 9 (31 March 1895), 7–8; 10 (7 April 1895), 8; 11 (14 April 1895), 7; 12 (20 April 1895), 7; and 13 (27 April 1895), 8. 150. For example, fasting during the Ramazan was portrayed as a form of promoting self-control and discipline. “Oruç Nedir?,” Balkan 84 (8 November 1906), 1. 151. “Meşveret,” Balkan 160 (19 March 1907), 1; “İslam ve Hürriyet,” from Şura-yı Osmani, Balkan 163 (22 March 1907), 1–2. 152. BOA, A.MTZ.04 138/97, informer to Edirne Governor, 29 January 1906; Y.A.HUS 516/143, Ottoman embassy in Bucharest to Hariciye, 20 October 1907, 4; Temo, İttihad ve Terakki, 101–2. 153. Behzad, “Köy Mektubları—Acı Sözler,” in Muvazene 290 (6 August 1903), 2; 291 (13 August 1903), 2; and 292 (20 August 1903), 2–3. 154. For particularly representative rhetoric, see “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Şark ve Aksa-yı Şark,” Muvazene 305 (20 November 1903), 1–2; Behzad, “Ulum ve Maarif,” Muvazene 306 (25 November 1903), 1; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—Bir Muharebe Olursa Nerede Olacak? Kim Kazanacak?,” Ahali 12 (17 November 1906), 1–2. 155. “Filibe’de Muvazene Gazetesi Muduriyetine,” Muvazene 33 (21 April 1898), 2; “Mufahir-i Milliye,” Balkan 184 (28 May 1907), 1–2. Chapter 5 1. Bir Dede, “Ulum ve Maarif,” Muvazene 306 (25 November 1903), 1. 2. “Ulum ve Maarif—Vakit Nakittir,” Muvazene 64 (25 November 1898), 1–2; “Nasihat—3,” Muvazene 247 (19 September 1902), 1–2. 3. “Nasihat—3,” Muvazene 247 (19 September 1902), 1–2. 4. “Ulum ve Maarif—Türkler İleru Gidecek Mi?,” Muvazene 101 (11 August 1899), 1. 5. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 11 (18 November 1897), 1. For similar arguments “Bu Sefaletin Sonu Karanlıktır,” Balkan 152 (8 March 1907), 1–2. 6. “Ulum ve Maarif—Bıçak Kemiğe Dayandı,” Muvazene 112 (15 October 1899), 1. 7. “Ulum ve Maarif—Vaaz ve Nasihat ve Ümid-i Islahat,” Muvazene 74 (1 February 1899), 1.

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8. Tırnovalı Osman Nuri, “Maarif-i Milliyemize Dair İki Söz,” Muvazene 27 (11 March 1898), 2. 9. “Nasihat—3,” Muvazene 247 (19 September 1902), 1–2. 10. Hamdi, “Makale-i Mahsusa—Ahval-ı Ümmete Bir Nazar,” Muvazene 233 (22 May 1902), 1–2; “Ulum ve Maarif—Vaaz ve Nasihat ve Ümid-i Islahat,” Muvazene 74 (1 February 1899), 1; “Gördünüz Mü Cehalet Belasını?,” Balkan 75 (26 October 1906), 1; “Doktor Pasarof’a Cevabımız,” Balkan 122 (21 January 1907), 1–2; Ömer Lütfü, “Bir Vak‘a-i Faciye ve Müellime,” Balkan 336 (7 January 1908), 1–3. 11. Bir Muhacir, “Bulgaristan Maarif-i İslamiyesi Çare-i Islahı,” Sebat 10 (7 April 1895), 2. 12. To underscore the significance of the Berlin treaty Ali Fehmi even published an eponymous brochure, “Berlin Muahedenamesi,” advertisement, Muvazene 270 (19 March 1903), 4. 13. “Din-i İslam Mani‘-i Terakki Değildir,” from Tahrir al-Mirat, Balkan 341 (13 Jan 1908), 3. 14. “Ulum ve Maarif,” Muvazene 10 (4 November 1897), 1. 15. “Hamdi İmzası ile Varaka—Ecnebilere Müdafaa,” published in the following issues of Muvazene 257 (3 December 1902), 3–4; 258 (10 December 1902), 4; 259 (17 December 1902), 4; 260 (24 December 1902), 4; 262 (15 January 1903), 4; 263 (22 January 1903), 4; and 264 (29 January 1903), 4. 16. Behzad, “Köy Mektubları—Acı Sözler—2,” Uhuvvet 93 (26 December 1905), 2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 311 (7 January 1904), 1–2. 17. Ali Fehmi, Bulgaristan İslamları, 2–9. 18. Ali Fehmi, Bulgaristan İslamları, 10–13. 19. Ali Fehmi, Bulgaristan İslamları, 14–19. 20. Ali Fehmi, Bulgaristan İslamları, 20–21. 21. Ali Fehmi, Bulgaristan İslamları, 22–29. 22. Ali Fehmi, Bulgaristan İslamları, 30–32. 23. Akşin Somel, The Modernization of Public Education in the Ottoman Empire, 1839–1908: Islamization, Autocracy, and Discipline (Leiden, 2001), 33–36, 74–75. 24. Somel, Modernization of Public Education, 37–44, 67, 108–9, 170–73, 188. 25. Salname-i Devlet-i Aliye-i Osmaniye, 31 def‘a (İstanbul, 1293 [1876/77]), 151–52; for comparison with the other provinces, see table in Bayram Kodaman, Abdülhamid Devri Eğitim Sistemi (Istanbul, 1980), 95. 26. Salname-i Vilayet-i Edirne, 7 def‘a (Edirne, 1293 [1876/77]), 103–4. 27. Salname-i Vilayet-i Edirne, 7 def‘a, 124–25; Salname-i Vilayet-i Tuna, 1 def‘a, 106–11. 28. “Mekteblerimiz,” Muvazene 53 (8 September 1898), 2–3. “Ümid,” Muvazene 62 (11 November 1898), 2. 29. Statisticheski godishnik, 1909, 429–30. The rüşdiyes were in Varna, Shumen,



Notes to Chapter 5 279

Razgrad, and Russe. Nikola Iv. Vankov, ed., Iz arhivata na Ministerstvoto na Narodnoto Prosveshtenie, 1878/9–1884/5 (Sofia, 1905), 391. 30. “Zakon za obshtestvenite i chastnite uchilishta,” DV 13 (9 February 1885); and “Zakon za narodnoto prosveshtenie,” DV 17 (4 February 1892); “Zakon za osnovnoto i sredno obrazovanie,” UP, god. 13, 1 (1908), 1-28; Vankov, Iz arhivata na Ministerstvoto na Narodnoto Prosveshtenie, 391. 31. Vankov, Iz arhivata na Ministerstvoto na Narodnoto Prosveshtenie, 91, 106. TsDA, f. 177k, op. 1, a. e. 232, annual report of the school commission in the Burgas district for the 1907–1908 school year, 142. 32. Vankov, “Chastnite osnovni uchilishta v Bǔlgaria,” 707; Izlozhenie Silistra 1890 (Silistra, 1890), 35. 33. Dnevnitsi na 3–to ONS, 120; Bir Muhacir, “Bulgaristan Maarif-i İslamiyesi ve Çare-i Islahı,” Sebat 10 (7 April 1895), 2. 34. Doklad Plovdiv 1888/89, 47. 35. BOA, A.MTZ.04 9/9, OC to Sadaret, 18 August 1894, 20. “Ulum ve Maarif—Hata Mı, Sevab Mı?,” Muvazene 18 (6 January 1898), 1. 36. Dnevnitsi na 9–to ONS, kn. 3, 175. 37. Izlozhenie Plovdiv 1889/90, 38–40. 38. BOA, A.MTZ.04 2/5, Sadaret to OC and Meşihat, 15 February 1892, 26; Sadaret to OC, 18 January 1892, 5. 39. Statisticheski godishnik, 1909, 429; TsDA, f. 177k, op. 1, a. e. 232, report on the schools in the Plovdiv district, 1907/8 school year, 82, 83. 40. Stoyu Shishkov, Otchet za sustoianieto na uchebnoto delo v s. Chepelare, Plovdivski okrǔg prez uchebnata 1897/98 godina (Plovdiv, 1898), 38–39; Chetvǔrti godishen otchet za sǔstoianieto na uchebnoto delo v s. Chepelare, Plovdivski okrǔg prez uchebnata 1899/1900 godina (Plovdiv, 1900), 42. 41. BOA, Bulgaristan Tahrirat Defteri, 962/60–26, 4 August 1887, 168. 42. BOA, A.MTZ.04 6/3, Sadaret to Maliye and Maarif, 4 July 1881, 71. 43. BOA, A.MTZ.04 9/9, Sadaret to Maarif, 19 June 1895, 60; Tezkire, 12 January 1895, 43. 44. BOA, A.MTZ.04 62/50, list of books, n.d. 45. “Muvazene,” Muvazene 286 (9 July 1903), 3. 46. BOA, A.MTZ.04 109/53, OC to Sadaret, 25 June 1902. 47. “Statut Organique de la Roumélie Orientale,” chapter 11; “Zakon za nachalnoto uchenie v Istochna Rumelia,” Maritsa 248 (14 January 1881), 4. “Teşkil-i vilayetten . . . ,” Hilal 3 (30 December 1883), 1–2; “İslimiye . . . ,” Hilal 82 (26 July 1885), 3. 48. “İşbu . . . ,” Hilal 77 (14 June 1885), 3. 49. Vankov, Iz arhivata na Ministerstvoto na Narodnoto Prosveshtenie, 414, 427; “Mektebimiz,” Hilal 81 (12 July 1885), 1.

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50. See, for example, “Maarif,” Hilal 2 (24 December 1883), 1; “Mektebimiz,” Hilal 81 (12 July 1885), 1. 51. BOA, A.MTZ.04 6/3, Sadaret to Maarif, 22 April 1881, 73; A.MTZ.04 9/9, Muslims from Turakan to OC, 12 November 1894, 42; A.MTZ.04 13/2; Ayniyat Defteri 1422, 24 August 1890, 403. 52. “İstanbul Mektubu: Maarifle Beraber Devlet de Batıyor,” Uhuvvet 98 (14 February 1906), 1–2. 53. “Ulum ve Maaarif,” Muvazene 82 (30 March 1899), 1–2. 54. Ali Fehmi, Bulgaristan İslamları, 6. 55. “Türkiye ve Bulgaristan Müslümanları,” Uhuvvet 101 (7 March 1906), 1–2. Similar sentiments in “Tuna Boyu Kasabatı İslam Mektebleri,” “Görüleceği . . . ,” Muvazene 102 (18 August 1899), 2–3. 56. Ali Fehmi, Bulgaristan İslamları, 2, 6. 57. “Defaatla . . . ,” Muvazene 44 (7 July 1898), 2; “Mekteblerimiz ve Muallimlerimiz,” Balkan 220 (21 July 1907), 1–2. 58. “Muvazene Ceridesi Muharrirliğine,” Muvazene 47 (27 July 1898), 2–3; “Rusçuk’tan: Mekteblerde Programların Tevhidi,” Muvazene 84 (13 April 1899), 2–3; Memduh Kemal, “Muvazene İdaresine,” Muvazene 227 (9 April 1902), 2. 59. BOA, A.MTZ.04 13/2, OC to Sadaret, 23 July 1884. 60. Statisticheski godishnik, 1909, 64–65, 72–73. There are no comparable reliable statistics about literacy levels in the Ottoman Empire. Certain estimates put overall literacy at about 2 percent in the 1860, though there were considerable differences among the various ethnic and religious groups and regions, as well as divergences in terms of gender and urban-rural divide. See François Georgeon, “Lire et écrire à la fin de l’empire ottoman: quelques remarkes introductives,” Revue du monde musulman et de la Méditerranée 75–76 (1995), 169–79. For comparison, the first census of the Turkish republic conducted in 1927 recorded an overall literacy of 8 percent. Türküye Cumhuriyeti Başvekalet İstatistik Umum Müdürlüğü—İstatistik Yıllığı, vol. 2, 1929 (Ankara, 1929), 37. The 1926 Bulgarian census recorded 11 percent literacy for the Turks and almost 7 percent for the Pomaks. Statisticheski godishnik na Bǔlgarskoto Tsarstvo, god. 23, 1931 (Sofia, 1931), 43. 61. Ali Haydar, “İkdamat-ı . . . ,” Uhuvvet 109 (9 May 1906), 2. 62. Somel, Modernization of Public Education, 190. 63. “Şumnu’da Birinci Muallimin Kongresi,” Tuna 272 (12 August 1906), 2–3. See the remark “baş sayfası atılacak.” 64. “Şumnu’da Birinci Muallimin Kongresi,” Tuna 269 (9 August 1906), 2. 65. “Şumnu’da Birinci Muallimin Kongresi,” Tuna 272 (12 August 1906), 2–3. 66. Masum, “Mekteb,” Muvazene 225 (19 March 1902), 2–3; Tırnovalı Osman Nuri, “Maarif-i Milliye,” Muvazene 28 (18 March 1898), 2–3; “Bizde Yığıtlık Erkeklik,” Tuna



Notes to Chapter 5 281

42 (1 November 1905), 1; “Şumnu’da Birinci Muallimin Kongresi,” Tuna 270 (10 August 1906), 2–3. Gymnastics in rüşdiyes was also crucial. Students from the Vidin rüşdiye even took part and won an award in a sports competition “Vidin’den,” Muvazene 257 (3 December 1902), 2. 67. “Şumnu’da Birinci Muallimin Kongresi,” Tuna 272 (12 August 1906), 2–3. 68. Tırnovalı Osman Nuri, “Maarif-i Milliyemize Dair Bir İki Söz,” Muvazene 27 (11 March 1898), 2–3; Edhem Ruhi, “Mekteblerimiz ve Muallimlerimiz,” Balkan 220 (21 July 1907), 1–2. 69. “Mekteblerimiz,” Muvazene 9 (5 November 1897), 2. 70. “İkinci Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi,” Balkan 218 (19 July 1907), 1–2. 71. “Geçen 12 . . . ,” Muvazene 15 (16 December 1897), 2. 72. “Uhuvvet İdare-i Aliyesine,” Uhuvvet 120 (5 September 1906), 4–5. 73. “Mufahir-i Milliye—Emin Kami, Eski Zagra’dan,” Balkan 184 (28 May 1907), 1–2. 74. “Ramazan,” Muvazene 21 (27 January 1898), 2; “Filibe’de Muvazene Gazetesi Müdüriyetine,” Muvazene 33 (21 April 1898), 2. 75. Tırnovalı Osman Nuri, “Rüşdiyelerimizde Bulgarcanın Tedrisi,” Muvazene 38 (25 May 1898), 3; “Bizde Bulgarca,” Tuna 202 (17 May 1906), 1–2. Tırnovalı Osman Nuri would later become a teacher of Bulgarian in the prestigious Mülkiye and Galatasaray schools in Istanbul. 76. “Şumnu’da Birinci Muallimin Kongresi,” Tuna 271 (22 August 1906), 2–3. 77. “Makale-i Mahsusa,” Muvazene 307 (2 December 1903), 1–2. 78. “Ulum ve Maarif—1,” Ahali 8 (13 November 1906), 1–2; “Ulum ve Maarif - 2,” Ahali 17 (25 November 1906), 1–2. 79. BOA, A.MTZ.04 62/50, Ottoman ministry of education to OC, 9 July 1899. 80. “Şumnu’da Birinci Muallimin Kongresi,” Tuna 272 (12 August 1906), 2; 274 (15 August 1906), 2–3. 81. Somel, Modernization of Public Education, 196–201. 82. “Şumnu’da Birinci Muallimin Kongresi,” Tuna 274 (15 August 1906), 2–3. 83. “Kırcali . . . ,” Muvazene 19 (13 January 1898), 2; “Hezargrad’a tabi‘ Düştübak Kariyesinden,” Muvazene 322 (20 March 1904), 2. 84. “Makale-i Mahsusa—Usul-i Terbiye ve Ta‘alim Yahud Muallim Nasıl Olmalı,” Sebat 15 (11 May 1895), 7–8. 85. Benjamin Fortna, Imperial Classroom: Islam, the State, and Education in the Late Ottoman Empire (New York, 2000), 229–30, 233–34. 86. Mustafa Reşid, “Bulgaristan Muallimin-i İslamiye Cemiyetinin ve Riyasetinin Nazar-ı Dikkatına,” Balkan 484 (2 July 1908), 1. 87. Tırnovalı Osman Nuri, “Maarif-i Milliye,” Muvazene 28 (18 March 1898), 2–3. 88. “Nezaket,” Balkan 114 (27 December 1906), 4.

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89. “Yürek Parçalayan Bir Sahne,” Balkan 170 (21 March 1907), 3. 90. X., “Bir Sahne-i Faciye,” Uhuvvet 97 (30 January 1906), 2–3. 91. “Maarifin . . . ,” Muvazene 17 (30 December 1897), 2. 92. “Provadi’den,” Muvazene 287 (16 July 1903), 2. 93. Bir Dede, “Provadililerin Maarife Hidmeti,” Muvazene 309 (17 December 1903), 3; “Bizde Okumak Merağı,” Tuna 28 (16 October 1905), 1–2. 94. “Tatar Pazarcık’tan,” Muvazene 323 (6 April 1904), 2; “Tatar Pazarcık’dan,” Muvazene 325 (19 April 1904), 2. 95. “Aytos’tan,” Muvazene 312 (21 January 1904), 2–3; “Köy Çobanı,” “Köy Mektubu—Varna’ya Tabi’ Sarı Hızır Kariyesinden,” Muvazene 321 (23 March 1904), 2. 96. “Balçık’a Tabi‘ Karagöz Kuyusu’ndan,” Muvazene 320 (17 March 1904), 2. 97. Behzad, “Koy Mektubları—Aci Sözler—2,” Uhuvvet 93 (26 December 1905), 1–2. 98. Abdullah bin İskender, “Mekatib,” Uhuvvet 104 (11 April 1906), 3–4. 99. Meçik, Şumnu, 14. 100. “Rusçuk’tan,” Muvazene 82 (28 March 1899), 2–3; A. Zeki, “Okumak Yazmak Meraklılarına Hayırlı Bir Haber,” Tuna 195 (7 May 1906), 2–3; “Filibe’den Mektub,” Muvazene 256 (20 November 1902), 2; “Gece Mektebi,” Balkan 286 (1 November 1907), 3. 101. “Maarif Hakkında, Dobriç’ten,” Balkan 89 (14 November 1906), 3. 102. “Şumnu’dan,” “Varna’dan . . . ,” Muvazene 307 (2 December 1903), 3; Muhlis, “Tutrakan’dan Mektub,” Muvazene 256 (20 November 1902), 2. 103. Frédéric Hitzel, “Manuscrits, livres et culture livresque à Istanbul,” Revue des mondes musulmans et de la Méditerranée 87–88 (1999), 19–38. Benjamin Fortna, Learning to Read in the Ottoman Empire and the Turkish Republic (New York, 2011), 78, 108, 161–62. 104. Peremeci, Tuna Boyu Tarihi, 276. 105. “Tebrik ve Teşekkür ve Temenni,” Sebat 24 (13 July 1895), 1–2. Meçik, Şumnu, 15. 106. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2286, list of Muslim institutions, 1906, 219–21. 107. “Çiftçiliğimiz, Gürgümüz,” Muvazene 2 (September 1897), 2–3; “Bulgaristan . . . ,” Muvazene 6 (28 September 1897), 2. 108. Behzad, “Tutrakan Mektubuna Cevab,” Tuna 110 (25 January 1906), 3; “Mektub,” Tuna 114 (30 January 1906), 2. 109. “İslimiye Cemiyet-i Hayriyesinden,” Tuna 108 (23 January 1906), 3–4; Halil Pomak Hasanoğlu, “Rusçuk Cemiyet-i Hayriye-i İslamiyesi,” Tuna 178 (19 April 1906), 1; “Bir Temenna-i Halisane,” Rumeli 20 (29 April 1906), 4; TsDA, f. 370k, op. 1, a. e. 27, Bulgarian Ministry of Interior to District Governors, 21 February 1908, 19. A similar venture in Shumen, however, was not successful. Hasan Basri, “Şumnu’dan,” Rumeli 20 (29 April 1906), 3. 110. Bir İhtiyar Hoca, “Tutrakan’dan,” Muvazene 283 (17 June 1903), 3



Notes to Chapter 5 283

111. Kıraathanes served similar purposes for Muslims elsewhere. For example, the kıraathane (kiraethana) in Sarajevo functioned as the de facto quarters of local Muslim leadership and a place where Muslims debated their communal affairs. “Saray Bosna’da . . . ,” Muvazene 28 (18 March 1898), 3. 112. 44 godishen yubileen sbornik na turskoto chitalishte “Shefkat” na bratia Halil i Ibrahim Ahmedbegovi / 44–üncü Yıldönümünü Gören Vidin’de Ahmed Bey Mahdumları Halil ve İbrahim Efendi Kardeşlerin “Şefkat” Yuvası Hatırası (Vidin, 1940), 33; DA-Vidin, f. 25k, op. 1, a. e. 15, account book of the Şefkat kıraathane, 1905; “Mektub,” Sebat 26 (4 August 1895), 3. 113. Mehmed Talat, “Şumnu’dan,” Tuna 273 (14 August 1906), 4. 114. BOA, Y.PRK.AZJ 53/118, Tırnovalı Zarifizde Mehmed Esad Efendi to the caliph, n.d. (c. 1903/4); Y.MTV 285/99, Shumen Muslims to Meşihat, 3 April 1906, 3; TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2044, Kesimzade to the sultan, 1 June 1904, 38–40. 115. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1060, Pleven mufti Muhsin to MFRA, 16 February 1897, 1; MFRA to Pleven governor, 22 February 1897, 3. 116. Almanah, 1896, 313; 44 godishen yubileen sbornik na turskoto chitalishte “Shefkat”, 3. 117. “Vidin’den,” Balkan 420 (18 April 1908), 3; private archive of the Şefkat kıraathane. 44 godishen yubileen sbornik na turskoto chitalishte “Shefkat”, 3–13; DAVidin, f. 25k, op. 1, a. e. 15, account book of the Şefkat kıraathane, 1905. 118. M. B., “Ulum ve Maarif,” Muvazene 82 (30 March 1899), 1–2. 119. “Vidin Müfti-i Sabığı Mustafa Efendi ve Şefkat Kıraathanesi,” “Avukat Sıdkı Efendi,” “Za razturvaneto na vidinskoto chitalishte,” “Opredelenie,” “Hronika,” Şark 23 (22 October 1905), 2, 3–4; “Hronika,” Şark 27 (19 November 1905), 3–4; “Prodǔlzhenie na komisarskite pisma,” Şark 28 (25 November 1905), 3–4; “Po dolu . . . ,” Şark 35 (21 January 1906), 4. 120. “Tiyatro,” Uhuvvet 100 (28 February 1906), 4. 121. “Osmanlılarda Tiyatro,” Uhuvvet 108 (2 May 1906), 1. 122. Namık Kemal, “Tiyatro,” Külliyat-ı Kemal. Birinci Tertib. 3. Makalat-ı Siyasiye ve Edebiye (İstanbul, 1909), 395–400. 123. Namık Kemal, “Celaleddin Harezmşah” in Uhuvvet 93 (26 December 1905), 2–3; 94 (3 January 1906), 2–4; 96 (24 January 1906), 2–3; 97 (30 January 1906), 2–3; 100 (28 February 1906), 3; and Muallim Naci, “Gazi Ertuğrul,” in Sebat 19 (9 June 1895), 7–8; 20 (16 June 1895), 7–8; 21 (29 June 1895), 7–8; 24 (13 July 1895), 8. 124. “Celaleddin Harezmşah,” Uhuvvet 105 (4 April 1906), 4. 125. “Silistre’den Mektub,” Muvazene 48 (3 August 1898), 2–3; “Çoktan . . . ,” Muvazene 235 (5 June 1902), 2; “İlanat,” Balkan, 144, 24 February 1907, 4; “İlan,” Balkan 148 (2 March 1907), 4. “Hokkabazın Nedamet-i Vicdaniye,” Balkan 126 (29 November 1907), 1–2.

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126. “Aferin Yavrular,” Balkan 128 (2 February 1907), 3. 127. Behzad and Ali Şakir, “Mektub,” Tuna 206 (22 May 1906), 3–4. 128. “Tiyatro ve Mekteb-i Edeb,” Balkan 145 (25 February 1907), 1–2. 129. “Dobriç’ten Mektub,” Muvazene 172 (2 January 1901), 2; Muhlis, “Tutrakan’dan Mektub,” Muvazene 257 (3 December 1902), 2. 130. Gündüz, “Dobriç’ten,” Rumeli 20 (29 April 1906), 2–3; Kırımi M. Abdüssamed, “Dobriç’ten Mektub,” Şark 50 (13 May 1906), 1–2; “Dobriç Mektubun Ma Badi,” Şark 51 (20 May 1906), 1–2. 131. “Silistre’den Mektub,” Muvazene 48 (3 August 1898), 2–3. 132. “Tiyatro ve Mekteb-i Edeb,” Balkan 145 (25 February 1907), 1–2; “Bazı . . . ,” Muvazene 216 (8 January 1902), 2. 133. H. ‘A, “Milli Tiyatrolar,” Balkan 382 (5 March 1908), 2. 134. “Bazı . . . ,” Muvazene 216 (8 January 1902), 2; “Tiyatro,” Uhuvvet 100 (28 February 1906), 4. 135. “Varna’da Vatan . . . ,” Uhuvvet 118 (16 August 1906), 1. 136. A. Ş., “Varna’dan . . . ,” Balkan 402 (28 March 1908), 4. 137. “Milli Tiyatrolar,” Balkan 383 (6 March 1908), 3. 138. “Seyahatname,” Varna Postası 44 (6 June 1888), 3. 139. “Tiyatro,” Uhuvvet 100 (28 February 1906), 4. 140. “Varna’da Vatan . . . ,” Uhuvvet 118 (16 August 1906), 1, referring to a performance that took place on 6 March 1905; “Milli Tiyatrolar,” Balkan 383 (6 March 1908), 3. A couple of weeks later the troupe presented the same play in Osman Pazar. Süleyman Nuri, “Osman Pazarı’ndan Yazılıyor,” Balkan 391 (15 March 1908), 3; A. Ş., “Varna’dan . . . ,” Balkan 402 (28 March 1908), 4. 141. Hafız İsmail Hakkı, “Yaşayın Evladlar!,” Balkan 329 (28 December 1907), 2; “Milli Tiyatrolar,” Balkan 383 (6 March 1908), 3; “Tiyatro,” Uhuvvet 100 (28 February 1906), 4. 142. Tırnovalı Osman Nuri, “Maarif-i Milliyemize Dair Bir İki Söz,” Muvazene 29 (24 March 1898), 2. 143. Bir Muallim, “Bulgaristan Mekatib-i İslamiyesinin Islahı,” Uhuvvet 95 (17 January 1906), 3–4; Talha Kemali, İIbrahim Hakkı, Mehmed Necati, and Abdullah Hayreddin, “Mektub,” Uhuvvet 108 (2 May 1906), 4; “Muallimin Kongresi,” Uhuvvet 109 (9 May 1906), 2; “Dibriç . . . ,” Uhuvvet 110 (7 June 1906), 3; “Uhuvvet Gazetesi Behiyesine,” Uhuvvet 115 (18 July 1906), 3–4; “Mekatib,” Tuna 203 (18 May 1906), 2–3. 144. Bir Muallim, “Maarif,” Uhuvvet 99 (21 February 1906), 2–3; “Maarif,” Uhuvvet 100 (28 February 1906), 2–3. 145. Bir Muallim, “Bulgaristan Mekatib-i İslamiyesinin Islahı,” Uhuvvet 95 (17 January 1906), 3–4; Muallim-i Sani Rüstem, “Otgovor na otgovora na edin “Muallim” po reformite na uchebnoto delo na myusyulmanite zhivushti v Bǔlgaria,” Şark 37 (4



Notes to Chapter 5 285

February 1906), 4; “Otgovor na otgovora na edin “Muallim” po reformite na uchebnoto delo na myusyulmanite zhivushti v Bǔlgaria,” Şark 38 (11 February 1906), 4; “Şumnu’dan—Şark Gazetesi İdare-i Aliyesine,” Şark 42 (15 March 1906), 1. 146. “Şumnu’da Birinci Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi,” Tuna 265 (5 August 1906), 2–3; “Şumnu’da Birinci Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi,” Tuna 266 (5 August 1906), 3; “Şumnu’da birinci Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi,” Tuna 268 (8 August 1906), 3. 147. T. L., “Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi. Hatırat—3,” Tuna 271 (11 August 1906), 1. 148. “Hatırat—4,” Tuna 273 (14 August 1906), 1. 149. “Şumnu’da Birinci Muallimin Kongresi,” Tuna 272 (12 August 1906), 2; “İkinci Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi,” Balkan 218 (19 July 1907), 1–2. 150. “İkinci Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi,” Balkan 217 (18 July 1907), 2–3. 151. “İkinci Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi,” Balkan 218 (19 July 1907), 1–2. 152. “İkinci Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi,” Balkan 217 (18 July 1907), 2–3. 153. Halil Pomakoğlu, “Muallimin-i İslamiye Cemiyeti,” Balkan 474 (20 June 1908), 3; Mustafa Reşid, “Bulgaristan Muallimin-i İslamiye Cemiyetinin ve Riyasetinin Nazar-ı Dikkatına,” Balkan 484 (2 July 1908), 1; “Muallimin-i İslamiye Konrgesi,” Balkan 507 (29 July 1908), 3. 154. “Muallimin-i İslamiye Kongresi,” Balkan 206 (29 June 1907), 3. 155. Halil Pomakoğlu, “Muallimin-i İslamiye Cemiyeti,” Balkan 474 (20 June 1908), 3. 156. BOA, Y.A.HUS 523/162, OC to Sadaret, 19 July 1908. 157. Elizabeth Frierson, “Women in Late Ottoman Intellectual History,” in Elisabeth Özdalga, ed., Late Ottoman Society: The Intellectual Legacy (London, 2005), 135–62. 158. Hakan Kırımlı, National Movements and National Identity among the Crimean Tatars, 1905–16 (Leiden, 1996), 50. 159. Meçik, Şumnu, 16–17. 160. “Cihazsız Bir Kızın Cihazı,” Uhuvvet 98 (14 February 1906), 4. 161. “Şumnu’dan Mersul Makale,” Sebat 5 (3 March 1895), 3; Eskizağralı Osman Nuri, “Muvazene Gazetesine,” Muvazene 62 (1 November 1898), 2–3; “Evvelki Nüshadan Ma Badi,” Muvazene 63 (18 November 1898), 2–3; Hamdi, “Lüzum-i Ta‘alim ve Terbiye-i Nisvan,” Muvazene 241 (6 August 1902), 1–2; Ali Haydar, “Kızların Tahsil ve Terbiyesi,” Uhuvvet 110 (7 June 1906), 2–3; Halil Hasan Pomakoğlu, “Terbiye Nokta-yı Nazarından Kadınlar ve Hane-i Ubuvvet,” Uhuvvet 117 (9 August 1906), 4–5; Halil Hasan Pomakoğlu, “Terbiye Nokta-yı Nazarından Kadınlar ve Hane-i Ubuvvet,” Uhuvvet 118 (16 August 1906), 3–4; “Terbiye-i Nisvaye,” Gayret 17 (10 May 1895), 4; “Kadınlara Tahsil-i İlm ve Maarifin Lüzumu Hiç Bilmek ile Bilmemek Bir Mi?,” Gayret 234 (1 February 1900), 3–4. 162. Hamdi, “Lüzum-i Ta‘alim ve Terbiye-i Nisvan,” Muvazene 241 (6 August 1902), 1–2. 163. “Nasihat—3,” Muvazene 247 (19 September 1902), 1–2. 164. “Mekteblerimiz,” Muvazene 9 (28 October 1898), 2.

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165. “Ulum ve Maarif—2,” Ahali 17 (25 November 1906), 1–2. 166. “İlanat,” Tuna 21 (7 October 1905), 4. 167. “Kadından Profesör,” Uhuvvet 111 (13 June 1906), 8; Ali Haydar, “Avrupa’da Hukuk-i İntihabiyesi,” Uhuvvet 112 (21 June 1906), 2–5. 168. “Rusya’da İhtilalcı Kadınlar,” Uhuvvet 121 (12 September 1906), 6–7. 169. “Kırım’da . . . ,” Uhuvvet 112 (21 June 1906), 6; “Müslüman Kadınların Mebus İntihabına Hakkı Var Mı?,” Kadi İnayetullah, Uhuvvet 118 (16 August 1906), 5. 170. “Alafranga’da Kadınların Balo Hazırlığı,” “Korse ve Yazı,” “Kadın Busesi,” Uhuvvet 110 (7 June 1906), 5–6. 171.  Vankov, Iz arhivata na Ministerstvoto na Narodnoto Prosveshtenie, 84. 172. “İlanat—Rusçuk Müslümanlarına,” Tuna 4 (18 September 1905), 4. 173. Ahmed İhsan, “Mülahaza,” Tuna 8 (22 September 1905), 1; “Çocuğun Sanatsız Kalmazsın,” Tuna 24 (11 October 1905), 1–2; “Yaşlı Bir Amuca Ağzından İmtihandan Sonra: Ah Ne Güzel Şey Bu Bilgi,” Tuna 26 (13 October 1905), 1–2. 174. “Pazarcık’tan Mektub - Evkafımız,” Muvazene 240 (29 July 1902), 3. 175. DA-Vidin, f. 25k, op. 1, a. e. 8, Muslims of Vidin to the Minister of Interior, 5 August 1897, 1–3. 176. “Eski Zağra’dan Mektub—Çırpan Vak‘a-i Faciası,” Gayret 11 (23 March 1895), 2–3. 177. “Şumnu’dan Mektub,” Muvazene 261 (1 January 1903), 1–2. 178. “Sehrimiz . . . ,” Muvazene 81 (22 March 1899), 2. 179. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 56 (28 September 1898), 1. 180. BOA, A.MTZ.04 23/41, OC to Sadaret, 7 May 1890; A.MTZ.04 81/29, petition from Muslims of Varna to Sadaret, 13 September 1902; Y.MTV 274/45, OC to Meşihat, 26 Safer 1323 [1 May 1905], 1; “Silistra Evkafında . . . ,” Muvazene 32 (14 April 1898), 2–3. 181. “Tutrakan’dan,” Muvazene 283 (17 June 1903), 3; “Bu Pazar . . . ,” Muvazene 295 (10 September 1903), 2. 182. Photo with caption “Rusçuk’ta Evkaf-ı İslamiye Namına İnşasına Mübaşeret Olunan Bina-yı Azimin Vez’-i Esas-ı Resmi,” Uhuvvet 116 (2 August 1906), 1. 183. “Müslümanlar!,” Muvazene 96 (7 July 1899), 2; “Rusçuk, 11 Temmuz 1899,” Muvazene 100 (3 August 1899), 2. Chapter 6 1. “Zakon za izbirane na predstaviteli v obiknovenoto i velikoto narodno sǔbranie,” DV 95 (4 January 1881). 2. For comparisons with other countries, see Richard S. Katz, Democracy and Elections (New York, 1997), 218–29, 248–55. 3. For a particularly incisive discussion, see Diana Mishkova, “Balkan Liberalisms: Historical Routes of a Modern Ideology,” in Roumen Daskalov and Diana Mishkova, eds., Entangled Histories of the Balkans, vol. 2 (Leiden, 2014), 99–198.



Notes to Chapter 6 287

4. İlber Ortaylı, Tanzimat Devrinde Osmanlı Mahalli İdareleri (1840–1880) (Ankara, 2000), 82–84; 89–90; Robert Devereux, The First Ottoman Constitutional Period, a Study of the Midhat Pasha Constitution and Parliament (Baltimore, 1963), 144. 5. TsDA, f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 2, statistics for various districts related to the 1901 elections, 410; Statisticheski godishnik na Tsarstvo Bǔlgaria, god. 2, 1910 (Sofia, 1910), 457; Statisticheski godishnik na Tsarstvo Bǔlgaria, god. 29, 1937 (Sofia: Durzhavna pechatnitsa, 1937), 606. There were no significant differences between urban and rural populations. 6. Dnevnitsi na 11–to ONS, 1901, kn. 1, 671–72. 7. Representative examples include TsDa, f. 173k, op. 2, a. e. 133, petition from Plovdiv inhabitants to the parliament, 18 February 1901, 60–3; f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 10, protest of a candidate from Plovdiv, 1 March 1902, 42; Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 1, 96–97; Dnevnitsi na 11–to ONS, kn. 1, 20, 63–64. 8. TsDA, f. 371, op. 5, a. e. 10, report to the police in Pleven district, 8 March 1902, 229; statement from coffeehouse owner Süleyman Osmanov, 230; Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 2, (Sofia, 1900), 566–67. 9. See, for example, Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 2, 50. Ivan Velev from Kazanlǔk to Stambolov, 9 September 1890, Stefan Stambolov, Lichen arhiv, vol. 3 (Sofia, 1994), 452–54. Dechev, Minaloto na Chepelare, 366–89. 10. Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 1, 46–59, 75. 11. Aleko Konstantinov, “Izbiratelen zakon,” Sǔchinenia, vol. 2 (Sofia, 1957), 46–53. 12. This work refers to machine politics as a concept elaborated in James C. Scott, “Corruption, Machine Politics, and Political Change,” American Political Science Review 63:4 (1969), 1142–258; George Th. Mavrogordatos, Stillborn Republic: Social Coalitions and Party Strategies in Greece, 1922–1936 (Berkeley, 1983), 25–54. 13. Protocol for the establishment of a National Liberal Party bureau in Dobrich, 26 April 1889; Shumen regional governor to Stambolov, 26 August 1890, in Stefan Stambolov—Lichen arhiv, vol. 3, 266–68, 415–18. Dechev, Minaloto na Chepelare, vol. 2, 357–87. 14. See for example TsDA, f. 176k, op. 21, a. e. 16, Düştübaklı Ahmed Efendi to MFRA, 26 July 1886, 3; from Ali Bey, Laz Hasan, et al. to MFRA, 26 July 1886, 2; Emin Moameleci, İlyas, et al. to MFRA, 17 August 1886, 9. 15. Stefan Balamezov, Nashata konstitutsia i nashiat parlamentarizǔm. Chast 1. Tǔrnovskata konstitutsia: istoria na pǔrvonachalnia tekst ot 1879 god. (Sofia, 1919), 9, 19; Cyril E. Black, The Establishment of Constitutional Government in Bulgaria (Princeton, 1943), 69. 16. The total number of deputies was 229 or 231 according to varying information. Protokolite na uchreditelnoto Bǔlgarsko Narodno Sǔbranie, (Plovdiv, Sofia, 1879), ix–xvi. 17. Protokolite na na uchreditelnoto Bǔlgarsko Narodno Sǔbranie, 46.

288

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18. Apart from the Muslim deputies, the assembly included one Jewish member (the rabbi of Sofia) and one Greek (an elected representative from Varna), so it is possible that they also cast ballots not written in Bulgarian. 19. Protokolite na uchreditelnoto Bǔlgarsko Narodno Sǔbranie, 78–80. 20. For example, when the chapter on religion was brought for approval, the only disagreements were in connection to the Conservatives’ suggestion to ban proselytism and the Liberals’ demands to put the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, like the other religions, under the supervision of the ministry of religious affairs. Protokolite na uchreditelnoto Bǔlgarsko Narodno Sǔbranie, 216–19. 21. Protokolite na uchreditelnoto Bǔlgarsko Narodno Sǔbranie, 380–83. Perhaps other Muslim deputies signed the constitution later; according to other sources, there were sixteen Muslim deputies’ signatures, although this number exceeds the number of Muslim deputies we know of. Dnevnitsi na 12–to ONS, kn. 1, 22. 22. “Zakon za izbirane predstaviteli v obiknovenoto i Velikoto Narodno Sǔbranie,” DV 95 (4 January 1881). Legislation, however, specified that only the electoral bulletins had to be written in the “official language,” namely, Bulgarian. 23. Dnevnitsi na 9–to ONS, kn. 3, 402. 24. Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 1, 72–90; “Şumnu . . . ,” Gayret 200 (8 June 1899), 2. 25. Dnevnitsi na 12–to ONS, kn. 1, 18–33. 26. Shumen governor’s report to Stefan Stambolov, 31 January 1893; letter from D. Simeonov to D. Petkov, 7 February 1893, Stambolov—Lichen arhiv, vol. 5 (Sofia, 1994), 244–46; 250–51. For similar statements, see Dnevnitsi na 11–to ONS, kn. 1, 462–63, 474. 27. TsDA, f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 16, list of parliamentary representatives, 1903 elections; 1908 elections results, 66–80; list of parliamentary representatives in the 14th parliamentary assembly, 1908 elections, 88–119. f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 10, 1902 elections results, 324, 338–39; f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 7, list of Razgrad candidates, 1902 elections, 262. Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 1, 77, 89; Talat, “Şumnu’dan,” Muvazene 85 (20 April 1899), 2; “Varna’dan Mektub,” Muvazene 86 (27 April 1899), 2. 28. Mavrogordatos, Stillborn Republic, 226–72. 29. Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 1, 75, 89; Dnevnik na 11–to ONS, kn. 1, 466–67, 471–72; N. Dimitrov to Stambolov, spring 1891, in Stambolov—Lichen arhiv, vol. 4, 430–31; “Kesimzade sled izborite,” Obshtestven glas 26 (13 June 1908), 3. 30. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 83 (5 April 1899), 1–2; BOA, A.MTZ.04 69/62, OC to Sadaret, 12 March 1901. 31. N. Dimitrov to Stambolov, spring 1891, in Stambolov—Lichen arhiv, vol. 4, 430–31. 32. BOA, A.MTZ.04 34/66, Russe trade representative to Hariciye, 20 June 1896; “Sair . . . ,” Sebat 9 (31 March 1895), 4.



Notes to Chapter 6 289

33. TsDA, f. 173k, op. 1, a. e. 1820, Novo Selo district governor to Varna district governor, August 1890, page number not legible; Shumen governor report to Stambolov, 31 January 1893, in Stambolov—Lichen arhiv, vol. 5, 244–46. 34. Dechev, Minaloto na Chepelare, 350–57. 35. Dnevnitsi na 9–to ONS, kn. 1, 22–24. 36. Dnevnitsi na 11–to ONS, kn. 1, 671–72. 37. For a discussion of the phenomenon, see Albert Hourani, “Ottoman Reform and the Politics of Notables,” in William R. Polk and Richard L. Chambers, eds., Beginnings of Modernization in the Middle East: The Nineteenth Century (Chicago, 1993), 41–68; Yaycıoğlu, Partners of the Empire; Halil İnalcık, Tanzimat ve Bulgar Meselesi (İstanbul, 1992), particularly pages 83–107. 38. BOA, Y.MTV 252/249, OC to Mabeyn, 26 October 1903. 39. Michael Meeker, A Nation of Empire: The Ottoman Legacy of Turkish Modernity (Berkeley, 2002). 40. Dnevnitsi na 10–to ONS, kn. 3, 31–33. 41. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2043, PM and MFRA to agent, 16 March 1905, 4. 42. BOA, Y.PRK.AZJ 49/24, petition from Hacı Yahya; A.MTZ.04 76/75, OC to Sadaret, 8 May 1902. 43. BOA, Y. PRK.MK 15/51, petition of Muslim parliamentary representatives, 1 June 1903, 3. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2043, PM and MFRA to agent, 16 March 1905, 4. 44. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 1091, Istanbul agent to MFRA, 16 August 1895, 1. 45. “Alçaklık,” Muvazene 85 (20 April 1899), 2. 46. For representative sentiments, see “Bulgaristan’daki İslam Muayeşeti,” Gayret 21 (8 June 1895), 2; M. F. “Şumnu’dan Mektub,” Gayret 12 (6 April 1895), 1. 47. “İcmal,” Gayret 4 (2 February 1895), 1–2. “Osman Pazar’dan Mektub,” Gayret 11 (23 March 1895), 3; “Müddet-i . . . ,” Gayret 12 (6 April 1895), 1–2; “Bundan . . . ,” Gayret 195 (4 May 1899), 3–4; “Bulgaristan Havadisi,” Muvazene 221 (18 February 1902), 1–2; “Partizanlık,” Muvazene 302 (30 October 1903), 2–3. “Ulum ve Maarif—Bir Encümen Heyetinin Müracaatına Cevab,” Muvazene 46 (20 July 1898), 1; “Provadi . . . ,” Muvazene 90 (25 May 1899), 2; BOA, A.MTZ.04 165/56, OC to Sadaret, 21 April 1908. 48. “Nasihat—4,” Muvazene 260 (24 December 1902), 1–2; “Şumnu’dan Mektub,” Muvazene 261 (1 January 1903), 1–2. 49. “Ulum ve Maarif—Mebuslara Hitab, Engellere ‘İtab,” Muvazene 91 (1 June 1899), 1. 50. “Bulgaristan . . . ,” Muvazene 34 (28 April 1898), 2–3; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 301 (22 October 1903), 1. 51. “Varna’dan Mektub-i Mahsus,” Sebat 33 (22 September 1895), 4–6; and the series “Ya Kanun-i Esasi Ya Mahvımız Mutlak!” in Balkan 173 (4 April 1907), 1; 180 (12 April 1907), 1.

290

Notes to Chapter 6

52. “Ya Kanun-i Esasi Ya Mahvımız Mutlak!—5,” Balkan 181 (13 April 1907), 1–2. 53. See the series “Hakk-ı Müsavat” in Varna Postası 10 (19 January 1888), 1; 11 (23 January 1888), 2; 12 (26 January 1888), 2. 54. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—İntihab ve Hakk-ı İntihab,” Muvazene 85 (20 April 1899), 1. 55. “İzmihlal ve Güya Sebebleri—3,” Muvazene 231 (8 May 1902), 2–3; “Nasihat—4,” Muvazene 260 (24 December 1902), 1–2. 56. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 83 (5 April 1899), 1–2; “Bulgaristan Havadisi,” Muvazene 221 (18 February 1902), 1–2. 57. See, for example, “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—İntihab ve Hakk-ı İntihab,” Muvazene 85 (20 April 1899), 1; “İcmal,” Gayret 4 (2 February 1895), 1–2; “Dahilden Mektub-i Mahsus,” Gayret 159 (24 August 1898), 4. 58. “Partizanlık,” Muvazene 172 (2 January 1901), 1; “Makale-i Mahsusa,” Muvazene 225 (19 March 1902), 1; “Makale-i Mahsusa,” Muvazene 280 (27 May 1903), 1. 59. Kırımlı, National Movements and National Identity, 62–72, 118–22, 131; Larisa A. Yamaeva, ed., Musul’manskie deputaty Gosudarstvennoi dumy Rossii, 1906–1917: Sbornik dokumentov i materialov (Ufa, 1998), 6–15, 40–46, 92–103, 297–98. 60. “Rusya’da Millet Meclisi,” Tuna 201 (16 May 1906), 1–2; “Rusya Millet Meclisinde İslam Mebusları,” Tuna 208 (24 May 1906), 4. 61. TsDA, f. 321k, op. 1, a. e. 1050, agent to MFRA, 27 October 1894, 27–29. 62. BOA, A.MTZ.04 79/75, OC to Sadaret, 31 July 1902. 63. BOA, A.MTZ.04 74/22, OC to Sadaret, 23 February 1902, 2. 64. BOA, A.MTZ.04 76/75, OC to Sadaret, 8 May 1902; A.MTZ.04 107/79. OC to Sadaret, 15 December 1903, 1. 65. See, for example, BOA, A.MTZ.04 36/6, OC to Sadaret, 6 August 1896, 2; Y.A.HUS 498/58, OC, report, 10 January 1906; A.MTZ.04 165/56, OC to Sadaret, 21 April 1908. 66. Turgut, “Bend-i Mahsus,” Türk 31 (2 June 1904), 1; Oğuz, “Bulgaristan’da Müslümanlar,” Türk 39 (28 July 1904), 1. 67. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 101, proposal from the Razgrad MP Hacı Necib Bey to the MFRA, 17 January 1883, 72–74; BOA, A.MTZ.04 107/79, memorandum of Muslim parliamentary representatives to Bulgarian parliament, 28 November 1903, 2; “İslam . . . ,” Muvazene 233 (22 May 1902), 1. 68. BOA, Y.A.HUS 498/58, OC to Sadaret, 10 January 1906; “Ahiren . . . ,” ‘Felix,’ “Politicheskii kongres na tsiganite v Sofia,” Şark 35 (21 January 1906), 2, 4 “Çingene Kongresi,” Tuna 88 (28 December 1905), 3; “Sofya’da Kavm-ı Kıbti Kongresi,” Tuna 90 (30 December 1905), 1; “Filibe’de Kıbti Meclisi,” Tuna 109 (24 January 1906), 1. 69. “Makale-i Mahsusa,” Muvazene 304 (13 November 1903), 3. 70. Behzad, “Köy Mektubları—2,” Muvazene 287 (16 July 1903), 2; Behzad, “Köy Mektubları—3–Acı Sözler,” Muvazene 289 (30 July 1903), 2–3.



Notes to Chapter 6 291

71. See, for example, “Bu hafta . . . ,” Muvazene 5 (29 September 1897), 1. 72. Behzad, “Köy Mektubları—3–Acı Sözler,” Muvazene 289 (30 July 1903), 2–3. 73. Hacı Mehmedzade Damad Hasan, “Tatar Pazarcığı’ndan,” Muvazene 320 (17 March 1904), 2. 74. “Tatar Pazarcık’tan,” Muvazene 323 (6 April 1904), 2. 75. “Mutlaka Şeytan Almıştır,” Balkan 215 (13 July 1907), 3. 76. “Hezargrad’a . . . ,” Muvazene 318 (25 February 1904), 3. 77. “Köy Çobanı,” “Köy Mektubu—Varna’ya Tabi’ Sarı Hızır Kariyesinden,” Muvazene 321 (23 March 1904), 2. For other cases, see “Mekteb Tellalı,” “Hezargrad’dan,” Muvazene 323 (6 April 1904), 2; Bir Biçare, “Silistre’den,” Muvazene 325 (19 April 1904), 2. 78. S. ‘A., “Balkan Gazetesi İdaresine,” and X. Z., “Pismo do redaktsiata,” Balkan (Russe) 7 (20 June 1898), 2, in Turkish and Bulgarian sections; BOA, A.PRK AZJ 37/55, Russe trade representative to OC, 26 June 1898, 3. 79. BOA, A.MTZ.04 57/28, petition of Russe Muslims, 19 August 1898, 5; telegram from Russe Muslims, 16 August 1898, 3; petition of Russe Muslims, 6 August 1898, 2. 80. BOA, A.MTZ.04 57/3, OC to Sadaret, 22 July 1898; A.MTZ.04 56/63, Russe trade representative to Sadaret, 22 June 1898, 2; petition of Russe Muslims, 20 June 1898, 5. 81. Mehmed Hakkı, “Bitaraflığımız Hasebile Aynen Derc Olunmuştur—Filibe’de Muvazene Gazetesine,” Muvazene 47 (27 July 1898), 2; “Garibdir, Ağlamalı,” Muvazene 63 (17 November 1898), 1–2; “Bitaraflığımız Hasebile Aynen Derc Olunmuştur— Cevab-ı Yusufane,” Muvazene 64 (24 November 1898), 2–3; Münzevi, “Rusçuk’tan,” Muvazene 68 (22 December 1898), 2–3. 82. “Muharrir Efendi,” Muvazene 66 (7 December 1898), 2–3; “Evvelki Nüshadan Ma Ba‘d,” Muvazene 67 (15 December 1898), 2–3. 83. “İntibah-ı Ahali-i İslamiye,” “Bende-i Al-i Âbâ Münzevi Baba—Rusçuk’tan,” Muvazene 71 (12 January 1899), 1, 2–3. 84. “Münzevi,” “Rusçuk’tan,” Muvazene 81 (22 March 1899), 2–3; “Münzevi,” “Rusçuk’tan—Evvelki Nüshadan Ma Ba‘d,” Muvazene 82 (29 March 1899), 2–3. 85. “Redd-i Eracif Yahud Te’kid-i Hakikat,” Muvazene 70 (5 January 1899), 3–7; “Garibdir, Ağlamalı,” Muvazene 63 (17 November 1898), 1–2. 86. “Bulgaristan Vakıf Batakhaneleri ve Şurekası—1,” Muvazene 267 (18 February 1903), 1; “Bulgaristan Vakıf Batakhaneleri ve Şurekası—2,” Muvazene 268 (25 February 1903), 1; “Bulgaristan Vakıf Batakhaneleri ve Şurekası,” Muvazene 270 (19 March 1903), 1. 87. BOA, A.MTZ.04 97/18, circular of MFRA, 8; OC to Sadaret, 29 May 1903, 10. 88. “Filibe Evkaf Komisyonundan: 8 Numaro,” Muvazene 277 (7 May 1903), 2; “Şehrimizde . . . ,” Muvazene 289 (30 July 1903), 2; BOA, A.MTZ.04 102/45, Plovdiv mufti Mehmed Şükrü to Ali Haydar, 12 July 1903.

292

Notes to Chapter 6

89. BOA, A.MTZ.04 92/72, petition from Rıza Pasha, 8 April 1903, 5; OC to Sadaret, 14 April 1903, 3. 90. “Şehrimizde . . . ,” Muvazene 289 (30 July 1903), 2; BOA, A.MTZ.04 102/45, Plovdiv mufti Mehmed Şükrü to Ali Haydar, 12 July 1903. 91. “Evkafı-ı İslamiye,” Muvazene 315 (4 February 1904, 2; “İkinci Defter,” Muvazene 316 11 February 1904), 2–3. 92. Dnevnitsi na 14–to ONS, kn. 2, 566–67; “Priatel na sultana,” Obshtestven glas 23 (23 May 1908), 3; “Zashto . . . ,” Obshtestven glas 26 (13 June 1908), 3. 93. BOA, A.MTZ.04 105/69, OC to Sadaret, 6 October 1903, 3; and OC to Sadaret, 18 October 1903, 1; TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2044, Kesimzade to the sultan, 1 June 1904, 38–40. 94. Dnevnitsi na 3–to ONS, 1882–3, 3; Dnevnitsi na 9–to ONS, kn. 1; Dnevnitsi na 9–to ONS, kn. 2. 95. D. V. Simeonov from Shumen to Dimitǔr Petkov, 7 February 1893, in Stambolov, Lichen arhiv, vol. 5, 250–51. 96. BOA, A.MTZ.04 38/60, Varna trade representative to Hariciye, 22 September 1896. 97. “Açık Mektublar,” Muvazene 37 (19 May 1898), 4. 98. “Şumnu’dan Mektub-i Mahsus,” Muvazene 245 (3 September 1902), 2; “Şumnu’dan Mektub-i Mahsus,” Muvazene 248 (26 September 1902), 3; “Şumnu’dan Mektub-i Mahsus,” Muvazene 249 (3 October 1902), 2–3. 99. K. M., “Şumnu’dan Mektub,” Muvazene 252 (23 October 1902), 2 100. “Nasihat—4,” Muvazene 260 (24 December 1902), 1–2. 101. “Şumnu’dan Mektub,” Muvazene 261 (1 January 1903), 1–2. 102. “Şumnu’dan Mektub,” Muvazene 263 (22 January 1903), 2. 103. “Şumnu’dan . . . ,” Muvazene 316 (11 February 1904), 2; BOA, A.MTZ.04 117/89, Kesimzade to the OC, 22 May 1904. 104. BOA, A.MTZ.04 113/36, Meşihat, 19 March 1904; A.MTZ.04 117/89, Kesimzade to the OC, 22 May 1904. 105. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2044, Kesimzade to the sultan, 1 June 1904, 38–40. 106. BOA, A.MTZ.04 133/45, petition to Sadaret, 23 August 1905, 2 107. BOA, Y.MTV 285/99, court decision, 2 December 1905, 2. 108. BOA, Y.MTV 285/99, Meşihat to Sadaret, 9 April 1906, 1. 109. BOA, Y.MTV 285/99, Shumen Muslims to Meşihat, 3 April 1906, 3. 110. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 2, a. e. 132, Shumen district governor to MFRA, 19 May 1908, 1; election leaflet, 8 May 1908, 2. 111. TsDA, f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 16, 1908 elections, 7 June 1908, 101–19. 112. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 2, a. e. 132, Shumen district governor to MFRA, 19 May 1908, 1; election leaflet, 8 May 1908, 2; “Namesata na turski chinovnitsi v deputatskite izbori,” Obshtestven glas 24 (30 May 1908), 2–3.



Notes to Chapters 6 and 7 293

113. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 2, a. e. 132, MFRA to agent, 22 May 1908, 3; Istanbul agent to MFRA, 1 June 1908, 4; Shumen governor to MFRA, 9 June 1908, 6. 114. TsDA, f. 371k, op. 5, a. e. 16, list of parliamentary representatives elected to the 14th parliamentary assembly, 1908 elections, 101–19. 115. Dnevnitsi na 14–to ONS, kn. 2, 2983–87. 116. “Kesimzade se pomina,” Obshtestven glas 40 (15 September 1908), 2. Chapter 7 1. “Bilmece,” Uhuvvet 121 (12 September 1906), 8; “121 numarolu . . . ,” Uhuvvet 122 (20 September 1906), 8. 2. Edhem Ruhi, “Habb el-Vatan Min El-İman,” Balkan 245 (6 September 1907), 1–2. 3. Behzad, “Mektub—Hamiyet,” Muvazene 219 (5 February 1902), 2–3. 4. Theodora Dragostinova, Between Two Motherlands: Nationality and Emigration among the Greeks of Bulgaria, 1900–1949 (Ithaca, 2011). 5. For representative uses, see “Mekteblerimiz,” Muvazene 9 (5 November 1897), 2; “Bulgaristan Müslümanları . . . ,” Muvazene 14 (9 December 1897), 1; “Lom Palanka’dan,” Muvazene 273 (8 April 1903), 2; “Köy Mektubları—Acı Sözler—3,” Muvazene 289 (30 July 1903), 2–3; “Nasihat—4,” Muvazene 260 (24 December 1902), 1–2; “Tatar Pazarcık’tan,” Muvazene 323 (6 April 1904), 2; “Dobriç’ten Mektub,” Muvazene 172 (2 January 1901), 2; “Beyanname,” Balkan 201 (22 June 1907), 1–2; “Beyanname,” Balkan 202 (23 June 1907), 1–2; 6. M., “Hicret Mi? İzmihlal Mı?,” Muvazene 228 (17 April 1902), 2–3; “İzmihlal ve Güya Sebebleri—2,” Muvazene 230 (1 May 1902), 2; “İzmihlal ve Güya Sebebleri—3,” Muvazene 231 (8 May 1902), 2–3. 7. “Bizde Bulgarca,” Tuna 202 (17 May 1906), 1–2. 8. Mehmed Hakkı, “Rusçuk’tan Mektub,” Muvazene 51 (11 August 1898), 2. For other representative uses, see “Dobriç’ten Mektub,” Muvazene 172 (2 January 1901), 2; “Balçık’tan Mektub,” Şark 2 (15 May 1905), 3; “Po vǔprosa za obrazuvanieto (sic.) na myusyulmanskoto naselenie v Bǔlgaria,” Şark 17 (27 August 1905), 4; “Sebat Gazetesi Muharrirliğine,” Sebat 28 (18 August 1895), 7–8. 9. BOA, A.MTZ.04 75/17, İrade-i seniye, 25 March 1902; A.MTZ.04 90/89, from OC, 1902/1903; A.MTZ.04 85/1, OC to Sadaret, 17 November 1902; A.MTZ.04 79/50, Varna trade representative Ibrahim Bey to OC, 27 November 1902; A.MTZ.04 131/64, Tezkire, 1 August 1905, 2; “Veladet-i Hümayun,” Balkan 56 (3 October 1906), 2; “Cülus-i hümayun . . . ,” Gayret 34 (8 September 1895), 2; “Dünkü . . . ,” Gayret 228 (20 December 1899), 1. 10. BOA, A.MTZ.04 9/9, Istanbul governor to Sadaret, 25 August 1894, 26. 11. BOA, Bulgaristan tezakir defteri 959–60/23, to the commission for the support of military establishments, 9 December 1896, 14; to the commission for the support

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of military establishments, 2 February 1896, 26; to the commission for the support of military establishments, 7 February 1897, 28; “Girid . . . ,” Gayret 108 (2 April 1897), 2. 12. “Açık Mektublar,” Ahali 79 (30 January 1907), 3–4. 13. “Yeni . . . ,” Sebat 15 (11 May 1895), 1. 14. “İlan,” Ahali 10 (15 November 1906), 4. 15. Linda Colley, Britons: Forging the Nation, 1707–1837 (London, 2003); Joshua Shanes, Diaspora Nationalism and Jewish Identity in Habsburg Galicia (New York, 2012); Peter van der Veer, Religious Nationalism: Hindus and Muslims in India (Berkeley, 2004). 16. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Makedonya Meselesi Kapanabilir Mi?,” Muvazene 230 (1 May 1902), 1–2. 17. On these developments, see Erik J. Zürcher, “The Young Turks—Children of the Borderlands?,” International Journal of Turkish Studies 9:1–2 (2003), 257–86; Nader Sohrabi, “Global Waves, Local Actors: What the Young Turks Knew about Other Revolutions and Why It Mattered,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 44:1 (2003), 45–79; and Hanioğlu, Preparation for a Revolution, 221–27. 18. “Girid Meselesi Hakkında Bir Papasın Mektubu—1,” Gayret 153 (23 June 1898), 1–2. 19. For such examples, see “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Zehirden Şifa,” Muvazene 6 (28 September 1897), 1; “Aytos . . . ,” Muvazene 274 (15 April 1903), 2; “Makale-i Mahsusa,” Muvazene 307 (2 December 1903), 1–2; Bir Dede, “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—İstiklaliyet ve Hakimiyet,” Muvazene 314 (28 January 1908), 1; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 315 (4 February 1904), 1; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Bulgarya—Türkiye,” Muvazene 321 (23 March 1904), 1; “Müsahibe,” Balkan 81 (3 November 1906), 1–2; “Türkler ve Ermeniler,” Balkan 117 (30 December 1906), 1; Edhem Ruhi, “Kabak Yine Türkün Başına Patladı,” Balkan 391 (15 March 1908), 1–2; “Türkiye ve Bulgaristan Müslümanları,” Uhuvvet 101 (7 March 1906), 1–2; “Bir Türkün Öldürülmesi,” Tuna 180 (21 April 1906), 2; Bir Muhacir, “Bulgaristan Maarif-i İslamiyesi ve Çare-i Islahı,” Sebat 10 (7 April 1895), 2. 20. “Arz-ı Meram,” “Türkestan,” Ahali 2 (5 November 1906), 1–2, 3–4. The series titled “Türkestan,” partly based on information from Grande Encyclopédie, ran in a number of issues, among them the following: Ahali 6 (11 November 1906), 4; 13 (18 November 1906), 4; 17 (25 November 1906), 4; 90 (10 February 1907), 4. 21. Hacı Ahmed Sizay, “Sebat Gazetesine,” Sebat 28 (18 August 1895), 7. 22. N. Dimitrov to Stambolov, spring 1891, in Stambolov—Lichen arhiv, vol. 4, 430–31. 23. Arslan, “Dobriç’ten,” Rumeli 23 (25 May 1906), 3–4; Rusçuklu Bir Türk, “Türkler ve Tatarlar,” Tuna 214 (1 June 1906), 1–2. 24. Gündüz, “Dobriç’ten,” Rumeli 20 (29 April 1906), 2–3; Gündüz, “Türklük ve Tatarlık Meselesi,” Rumeli 27 (29 June 1906), 3; Gündüz, “Türklük ve Tatarlık Meselesi,” Rumeli 28 (6 July 1906), 3–4; “Türkler-Tatarlar,” Tuna 223 (12 June 1906), 2.



Notes to Chapter 7 295

25. Rusçuklu Bir Türk, “Türkler ve Tatarlar,” Tuna 214 (1 June 1906), 1–2; Perukar Mustafa Celboğlu, “Türkler ve Tatarlar,” Tuna 191 (4 May 1906), 1. 26. “İki Tarafa Halisane Bir İhtar,” Tuna 185 (27 April 1906), 1; Rusçuklu Bir Türk, “Türkler ve Tatarlar,” Tuna 214 (1 June 1906), 1–2; Süleyman Nuri, “Osman Pazar’dan,” Rumili 26 (15 June 1906), 2–3; Varnalı M. Kemal, “Türkler ve Tatarlar,” Şark 51 (20 May 1906), 1; “Âkif Bey . . . ,” Uhuvvet 112 (21 June 1906), 1. 27. Perukar Mustafa Celboğlu, “Türkler ve Tatarlar,” and “Tuna,” Tuna 191 (4 May 1906), 1; Varnalı M. Kemal, “Türkler ve Tatarlar,” Şark 51 (20 May 1906), 1. 28. Bahçesaraylı İsmail, “Az Oldu Mu?,” Tuna 227 (16 June 1906), 1–2. 29. James Gelvin and Nile Green, “Introduction,” in James Gelvin and Nile Green, eds., Global Muslims in the Age of Steam and Print (Berkeley, 2014), 14–41. 30. For example, “Mülahaza,” “Fransa’ya Bir Nazar,” “Faşoda Meselesi,” Gayret 169 (1 November 1898), 1–3; “Moskoflardaki Sebatın Derecesi ve Fransızların Haseratı,” Gayret 170 (10 November 1898) 1–2; “Avrupa Ne İle Meşgul?” Gayret 176 (21 December 1898), 1; “İran ve Rusya,” Gayret 231 (11 January 1900), 3. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Şark ve Aksa-yı Şark,” Muvazene 305 (20 November 1903), 1–2; “İttifak-ı müselles . . . ,” Muvazene 312 (14 January 1904), 4; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Fransa ve Avusturya İstilası,” Ahali 6 (11 November 1906), 1; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—Acemistan,” Ahali 24 (11 December 1906), 1–2; “Rusya’da İhtilal,” Tuna 44 (3 November 1905), 1; “Yeni Sene,” Balkan 119 (17 January 1907), 1. 31. Cemil Aydın, The Idea of the Muslim World: A Global Intellectual History (Cambridge, MA, 2017); for the period under consideration, see particularly pages 65–98. 32. “İcmal—İttihad-ı İslam,” Gayret 148 (11 May 1898), 1–2; “Devlet-i Osmaniye ve Hükumet-i İraniye Yahud İttihad-ı İslam’daki Fevaid-i Azimeden Bir Nebze—1,” Gayret 166 (11 October 1898), 1–2; “Devlet-i Osmaniye ve Hükumet-i İraniye Yahud İttihad-ı İslam’daki Fevaid-i Azimeden Bir Nebze—2,” Gayret 173 (28 November 1898), 1–2. 33. “İngiltere’nin . . . ,” Gayret 5 (9 February 1895), 4; “Müddet-i nizamiyesinden . . . ” “Muktebesat” Gayret 12 (6 April 1895), 2–3, 4; “Edirne’den Mektub,” Gayret 33 (1 September 1895), 4; “Yine İslamlar Hakkında Bir Hareket-i Bagiyane,” Gayret 34 (8 September 1895), 3; “İcmal—İngiltere Politikası,” Gayret 150 (27 May 1898), 1–2; “Avrupa Aheng-i Düvelisinin Tahvili,” “Devlet-i Aliyye,” Gayret 152 (16 June 1898), 1–2, 3; “Makale-i Mahsusa,” Gayret 163 (20 September 1898), 1–2; “Mülahaza,” “Fransa’ya Bir Nazar,” “Faşoda Meselesi,” Gayret 169 (1 November 1898), 1–3; “Moskoflardaki Sebatın Derecesi ve Fransızların Haseratı,” Gayret 170 (10 November 1898), 1–2; “Silistre . . . ,” Gayret 179 (11 January 1899), 4; “İngilizler ve Moskoflar,” “İngilizler içün . . . ,” Gayret 195 (4 May 1899), 1, 4. 34. “Müdafaa,” Rağbet 3 (16 January 1900), 3–4; “Bend-i Mahsus,” Rağbet 5 (30 January 1900), 1–3; “Bend-i Mahsus—İttihad-ı İslam, İttihad-ı Osmani,” Rağbet 6 (6 February 1900), 2; “Bend-i Mahsus—İttihad-ı İslam, İttihad-ı Osmani, ma ba’di,”

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Rağbet 7 (13 February 1900), 2–3; “Bend-i Mahsus,” Rağbet 9 (27 February 1900), 1; “İhya-yı İslam,” Rağbet 10 (6 May 1897), 3–4; “İttihad-ı İslam ve Lüzum-i İttihad,” Emniyet 11 (11 July 1896), 1–2; “Mufahir-i İslamiye,” Emniyet 15 (18 August 1896), 1. 35. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—İttihad-ı İslam,” Muvazene 81 (13 March 1899), 1. 36. “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—İttihad-ı İslam,” Ahali 13 (18 November 1906), 1–2; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—Fransa, İspanya, İngiltere Ehl-i Salibi,” Ahali 19 (27 November 1906), 1; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 28 (7 December 1906), 1–2; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye— Almanya ve Afrika Müstemlekatı,” Ahali 42 (19 December 1906), 1–2. 37. “Hadist-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 273 (8 April 1903), 1–2. 38. “İngiltere Politikası,” Tuna 34 (23 October 1905), 1–2. 39. “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—Hacı Gilyom,” Ahali 15 (23 November 1906), 1–2; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—Almanya ve Afrika Müstemlekatı,” “Alman . . . ,” Ahali 42 (18 December 1906), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Esrar,” Ahali 53 (30 December 1906), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Fas,” Ahali 76 (23 January 1907), 1–2; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 84 (4 February 1907), 1–2; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 87 (7 February 1908), 1; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—Rusya—Almanya,” Ahali 90 (10 February 1907), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Bağdad Demir Yolları,” Ahali 97 (16 February 1907), 1; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 98 (17 February 1907), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Almanya—Türkiye,” Ahali 102 (21 February 1907), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 107 (26 February 1907), 1; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 134 (26 March 1907), 1–2; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—Almanya,” Ahali 136 (28 March 1907), 1–2. 40. “Türklere . . . ,” Ahali 15 (23 November 1906), 4; “Avrupa’da . . . ,” Ahali 48 (25 December 1906), 2–3; “Avrupa Medeniyetinden Birkaç Levha,” “Bunlar malum . . . .,” “Sokaklarda . . . ,” Ahali 54 (31 December 1906), 1–4; “Üç dört . . . ,” Ahali 100 (19 February 1907), 2–3; “Avrupa’dan Mektub—Avrupa Medeniyeti,” Ahali 139 (31 March 1907), 3–4. 41. “Amerika’da . . . ,” Ahali 55 (1 January 1907), 3. 42. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 4 (9 November 1906), 1–2; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye— Fransa, İspanya, İngiltere Ehl-i Salibi,” Ahali 19 (29 November 1906), 1–2; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—Tunus,” Ahali 20 (28 November 1906), 1; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—Girid Yunana Virilecek Mi?,” Ahali 27 (6 December 1906), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 61 (7 January 1907), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Ahali 77 (24 January 1907), 1–2. 43. See Donia, Islam Under the Double Eagle, as well as Šehić, Autonomni pokret Muslimana, which offers some discussion about the relations between the two movements. For the perspective of the critics of the autonomy movement, see Osman Nuri Hadžić, “Borba Muslimana za versku i vakufsko-mearifsku autonomiju,” Vladislav Skarić, ed., Bosna i Hercegovina pod Austro-ugraskom upravom, 56–101. 44. For more detailed discussion of this movement, as well as the debates with the autonomy movement, see Ibrahim Kemura, Uloga “Gajreta” u društvenom Životu



Notes to Chapter 7 297

Muslimana Bosne i Hercegovine (1903–1941) (Sarajevo, 1986). For an excellent reexamination, see Leyla Amzi-Erdoğdular, “Alternative Muslim Modernities.” 45. Šehić, Autonomni pokret Muslimana, 233. 46. “Bosna ve Hersek Muharreratının Ma Ba’di,” Muvazene 241 (6 August 1902), 4. Edhem Safi, “Varna’da Muteber ve Bitaraf Muvazene Gazetesine,” Muvazene 247 (19 September 1902), 3–4; Edhem Safi, “Saray Bosna’ya Dair Mektubdan Ma Ba’d,” Muvazene 248 (26 September 1902), 4; Edhem Safi, “Saray Bosna Mektubunun Ma Ba’d ve Hitamı,” Muvazene 249 (3 October 1902), 4. “Salname-i Gayret,” Tuna 159 (25 March 1906), 4. “Saray Bosna Şehrinde Müsamere-i Şebane,” Tuna 165 (1 April 1906), 3; “Bosna Müslümanlarında Hareket,” Balkan 110 (10 December 1906), 2–3. 47. “Bosna . . . ,” Muvazene 8 (18 October 1897), 3; “Hükumet . . . ,” Muvazene 24 (17 February 1898), 2–3; “Saray Bosna’da . . . ,” Muvazene 28 (18 March 1898), 3; “Mekteblerimiz,” Muvazene 53 (8 September 1898), 2–3. 48. “Rusya ve Osmanlı,” from Tercüman, Tuna 208 (24 May 1906), 2–3; “Tarihi Cedid Türkestan,” Uhuvvet 108 (2 May 1906), 2; “Rusya Talebesinin Kazan’da İctima‘ı,” Uhuvvet 114 (4 July 1906), 4–5; İsmail Gaspıralı, “Mühim İki Ay,” “Pekin Müslümanlarından Mektup,” from Tercüman, Uhuvvet 116 (2 August 1906), 4–6. 49. “Rusya . . . ,” Muvazene 28 (18 March 1898), 3; “Mekteblerimiz,” Muvazene 53 (8 September 1898), 2–3; “Meşhur Tercüman . . . ,” Muvazene 244 (27 August 1902), 3, “Meşhur ve Muhterem Tercüman Gazetesinden,” Muvazene 281 (3 June 1903), 4; “Müslümanlar Kongresi,” from Tercüman, 24 April 1908, 1–2; “Terakkiyun-i İslam Cemiyetleri,” from Tercüman, “Rub’ Asırlık Bir Müslüman Gazetesi,” Balkan 457 (31 May 1908), 3; Mehmed Beyzade Emin, “Sebat gazetesi muharrirliğine,” Sebat 26 (4 August 1895), 3; 44 godishen yubileen sbornik na turskoto chitalishte “Shefkat”, 32–33. 50. On Gasprinski, the jadid movement, and its trans-imperial link, see particularly James Meyer, Turks Across Empires: Marketing Muslim Identity in the RussianOttoman Borderlands, 1856–1914 (New York, 2014); and Kırımlı, The National Revival of the Crimean Tatars. 51. The goals of the movement were first outlined by Gasprinski and subsequently elaborated in Tercüman. See İsmail Bey Gasprinski, Russkoe musul’manstvo: mysli, zametki i nablyudeniya (Oxford, 1985). 52. “Meşhur ve Muhterem Tercüman Gazetesinden,” Muvazene 281 (3 June 1903), 4; “Mütalaat-ı Siyasiye—Rusya İhtilali ve Tatarlar,” Ahali 22 (30 November 1906), 1–2. 53. “İsmail Bey Gasprinski,” Tuna 194 (6 May 1906), 3; “İkdamat-ı fevkaladesi . . . ,” Uhuvvet 109 (9 May 1906), 2. 54. “İslamiyet Namına Bir Teessüf,” Gayret 168 (25 October 1898), 4. 55. İsmail, “Filibe ‘Gayret’inden’ Ötürü,” “Chitateli . . . ,” “Gayret’in . . . ,” “Oznachennyi . . . ,” Tercüman 43 (14 November 1898), 172–73.

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56. “Kırım’da Tercüman Unvan ile Çıkan Gazeteye Cevabımız,” Gayret 173 (28 November 1898), 3–4; “Şehrimizde . . . ,” Gayret 176 (21 December 1898), 4; “Gayret . . . ,” “Açık Mektuplar,” Muvazene 70 (5 January 1899), 2, 4. 57. “Moskof Adaleti!,” Gayret 228 (20 December 1899), 3. 58. “Bulgarya’da Müslüman Gazeteleri,” Tercüman 29 (5 April 1906), 2; “Bulgaristan Müslümanları,” Tercüman 68 (5 August 1906), 4. 59. “Rusya’dan,” Muvazene 231 (8 May 1902), 3–4. 60. For some rare open criticism of Bulgarian actions, see the memoirs of Todor Ikonomov, a prominent political figure and subsequently governor, who condemned the reckless actions of the Bulgarian authorities, arguing that in such a way they not only lost “working hands but also [gave] them arms.” Todor Ikonomov, Memoari (Sofia, 1973), 336–39. 61. BOA, A.MTZ.04 137/65, OC to Sadaret, 17 January 1906; Second Secretary in Plovdiv, 11 January 1906; TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 2043, Agent to MFRA, 11 October 1905, 8–9. 62. BOA, A.MTZ.04 136/55, Istanbul Agent to Şura-yı Devlet, 12 December 1905, 3; Kazanlǔk District Governor’s report, 20 November 1905, 4. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 204, 3, Kazanlǔk District Governor’s report, 12; petition, 17–18; Kazanlǔk District Governor to Stara Zagora Governor, 20 December 1906, 23–24. 63. BOA, A.MTZ.04 129/27, OC to Sadaret, 20 May 1905. 64. BOA, A.MTZ.04 159/48, Ottoman Ambassador in Rome to Hariciye, 13 May 1907, 3; OC to Sadaret, 21 July 1907, 5; Second Secretary’s report, 31 March 1907, 11; Second Secretary’s report, 9 April 1907, 8; Second Secretary’s report, 6 April 1907, 12. 65. BOA, A.MTZ.04 165/48, MFRA to OC, 23 April 1907; OC to Sadaret, 13 April 1907; A.MTZ.04 138/22, OC to Sadaret, 14 October 1905, 3; OC to Sadaret, 27 February 1906, 2. 66. BOA, A.MTZ.04 139/47, Edirne deputy governor to Dahiliye, 25 February 1906, 5. 67. BOA, A.MTZ.04 57/45, OC to Sadaret, 5 June 1898, 8; MFRA to OC, 24 June 1898, 5; OC to Sadaret, 25 June 1898, 3. 68. BOA, A.MTZ.04 65/74, Second Secretary to Hariciye, 27 December 1899. 69. BOA, A.MTZ.04 179/56, Varna trade representative to Sadaret, 31 July 1901; A.MTZ.04 31/60, OC to Sadaret, 3 December 1895. 70. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1738, OC to MFRA, 6 October 1902, 4–5. 71. BOA, A.MTZ.04 89/32, Hariciye to Sadaret, 25 January 1903, 10. 72. “Filibe’den,” Muvazene 283 (17 June 1903), 2. 73. “Hezargrad’dan, “ Muvazene 287 (16 July 1903), 3; “Hezargrad’dan,” Muvazene 293 (27 August 1903), 2; “Hezargrad’dan,” Muvazene 298 (1 October 1903), 2; “Hezargrad’dan,” Muvazene 321 (23 March 1904), 2; “Rusçuk’tan,” Muvazene 283 (17



Notes to Chapter 7 299

June 1903), 2; “Geçen . . . ,” Muvazene 286 (9 July 1903), 2; “Karınabad’dan,” Muvazene 303 (6 November 1903), 2; “Şehrimizde . . . ,” Muvazene 308 (9 December 1903), 3; “Bir Vak’a-i Müellime,” Muvazene 324 (13 April 1904), 1–2; BOA, A.MTZ.04 97/8, OC to Sadaret, 10 June 1903; A.MTZ.04 99/83, Sadaret to OC, 15 July 1903, 1; A.MTZ.04 89/32, Hariciye to Sadaret, 25 January 1903, 10; OC to Sadaret, 6 February 1903, 2; A.MTZ.04 109/49, OC’s report, 5 February 1904; A.MTZ.04 135/63, OC to Sadaret, 20 October 1905; A.MTZ.04 136/76, report from Varna trade representative, n.d.; OC to Sadaret, 21 December 1905; A.MTZ.04 138/7, Plovdiv governor to MFRA, 25 January 1906; A.MTZ.04 138/53, OC to Sadaret, 10 February 1906. 74. Dragostinova, Between Two Motherlands, 39–48. 75. BOA, Y.PRK.AZJ 35/85, petition from Stara Zagora Muslims, 5 March 1898. 76. BOA, A.MTZ.04 137/63, OC to Sadaret, 19 January 1906; A.MTZ.04 107/66, OC to Sadaret, 10 December 1903; A.MTZ.04 98/9, OC to Sadaret, 27 June 1903; A.MTZ.04 159/48, Second Secretary in Plovdiv, 31 March 1907, 11; BOA, Y.PRK.AZJ 35/85, petition from Stara Zagora Muslims, 5 March 1898. 77. TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 824, OC to MFRA, 6 March 1895, 16–17. 78. BOA, A.MTZ.04 129/32, MFRA to OC, 23 May 1905; A.MTZ.04 137/65, OC to Sadaret, 17 January 1906; A.MTZ.04 139/47, Edirne Deputy Governor Mehmed Arif bin Ali to Dahiliye, 25 February 1906, 5; Hamiyetli bir köylü, “Eski Cuma’ya Tabi’ Karakaşlı Kariyesinden,” Muvazene 325 (19 April 1904), 2; “Bundan dört . . . ,” Muvazene 327 (4 May 1904), 1–3; “Hezargrad’dan Mektub,” Muvazene 264 (29 January 1903), 2; TsDA, f. 176k, op. 1, a. e. 1738, petition of the Muslims from Chepelare, Chukurkoy, Drenovo, Tsǔvtishte, Hvoina, and Bogutevo to OC, 25 September 1902, 2. 79. BOA, Y.PRK.AZJ 35/85, petition from Stara Zagora Muslims, 5 March 1898; A.MTZ.04 137/63, OC to Sadaret, 19 January 1906. 80. “Filibe . . . ,” Gayret 10 (16 March 1895), 2. 81. “Filibe’den,” Muvazene 283 (17 June 1903), 2; “Hezargrad’dan,” Muvazene 321 (23 March 1904), 2. 82. “Filibe . . . ,” Gayret 10 (16 March 1895), 2. 83. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 301 (22 October 1903), 1. 84. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Yine Girid Meselesi,” Muvazene 54 (15 September 1898), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 60 (27 October 1898), 1. 85. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Makedonya Meselesi Kapanabilir Mi?,” Muvazene 230 (1 May 1902), 1–2; “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Hep Makedonya,” Muvazene 261 (1 January 1903), 1; Hadisat-ı Siyasiye,” Muvazene 259 (17 December 1902), 1; “Sulh-i Umumi Nasıl İdame Olunur?,” Muvazene 262 (15 January 1903), 1–2; “Makedonya Maliye Kontrolü,” Tuna 59 (22 November 1905), 1. 86. “Hadisat-ı Siyasiye—Esrar,” Ahali 53 (30 December 1906), 1–2. 87. On the CPU, see Hanioğlu, Preparation for a Revolution, 130–209.

300

Notes to Chapter 7 and Conclusion

88. Cengiz, Dr. Nazım ve Bahaeddin Şakir’in Kaleminden İttihad ve Terakki, 16–17, 23–26. 89. Hanioğlu, Preparation for a Revolution, 149–151. 90. On the Young Turk revolution see Hanioğlu, Preparation for a Revolution, 210–279; Sohrabi, Revolution and Constitutionalism, 72–134. 91. Cengiz, Dr. Nazım ve Bahaeddin Şakir’in Kaleminden İttihad ve Terakki, 16–18, 39–41, 18. 92. Oğuz, “Bulgaristan’da Müslümanlar,” and “Rumeli,” Türk 39 (28 July 1904), 1; “Rumeli,” Türk 41 (11 August 1904), 2; Şarklı Bir Masum, “Bulgaristan’dan,” Türk 44 (1 September 1904), 4; “Mektub-i Mahsus—Kızanlık’tan,” Türk 45 (8 September 1904), 4; Doğan, “Rusçuk’tan,” Türk 51 (20 October 1904), 4. 93. Enver Paşa’nın Anıları (1881–1908), haz. Halil Erdoğan Çengiz (İstanbul, 1991), 105; Mustafa Ragıb, Meşrutiyet’ten Önce Manastır’da Patlayan Tabanca (İstanbul, 2007), 119–25. 94. “Türkiye’de İnkilab Başladı—3,” Balkan 502 (23 July 1908), 1–2. 95. “Dvizhenieto v Turtsia,” Obshtestven glas 32 (25 July 1908), 2–3; “Shumen, 26 yuli 1908,” Obshtestven glas 34 (8 August 1908), 1. 96. “Genç Türklerin Harekat-ı İcrayesi,” Balkan 495 (15 July 1908), 4; “Türkiye’de İnkilab Başladı,” Balkan 496 (16 July 1908), 1–2; “Türkiye’de İnkilab Başladı—2,” Balkan 499 (19 July 1908), 1–2; “İki . . . ,” “Manastır’dan . . . ,” “İstanbul’dan . . . ,” Balkan 500 (21 July 1908), 4; “Yaşasın Padişahımız!,” Balkan 506 (28 July 1908), 1; Edhem Ruhi, “İstikbal Bizimdir,” Balkan 508 (30 July 1908), 1–2. 97. Most of them were in areas with larger Muslim populations, such as Shumen. Dnevnitsi na 14–to ONS, 2983–87. 98. BOA, A.MTZ.04 170/12, Muslims of Bulgaria to Sadaret, 16 August 1908, 1. 99. BOA, A.MTZ.04 170/23, OC to Sadaret, 17 August 1908. Conclusion 1. “Na granitsata,” Vecherna poshta 2652 (23 January 1909), 1. 2. For the Ottoman-Bulgarian protocol, see “Sǔglashenie,” in Kesiakov, Prinos kǔm diplomaticheskata istoria na Bǔlgaria, 19 April 1909, 29–31. 3. “Rica-yı Mahsus,” Tuna 421 (12 November 1908), 1; TsDA, f. 370k, op. 1, a. e. 27, Ministry of Interior to District Governors, 10 December 1908, 92; “Edno drǔzko oplakvane do tsaria ot redaktora na turskia v. Balkan,” Vecherna poshta 2652 (23 January 1909), 1; P. N. Daskalov, “Edin prestǔpen turski vestnik v Bǔlgaria,” Vecherna poshta 2654 (25 January 1909), 1. 4. “‘Hurr’ Miyiz?,” Tuna 421 (12 November 1908), 4. 5. For a sense of the opposition to the Kemalist reforms in Bulgaria, as well as the various interests involved, see Ebru Boyar and Kate Fleet, “A Dangerous Axis: The



Notes to Conclusion 301

‘Bulgarian Müftü,’ the Turkish Opposition and the Ankara Government, 1928–36,” Middle East Studies 44 (2008), 775–89. 6. On the buildup of Bulgarian assimilationist campaigns, see Mary Neuburger, The Orient Within, 55–84; and Stoyanov, Turskoto naselenie v Bǔlgaria, 94–159. 7. For discussion of more recent developments, see Kristen Ghodsee, Muslim Lives; and Ina Merdjanova, Rediscovering the Umma: Muslims in the Balkans between Nationalism and Transnationalism (New York, 2013).

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Index

Abdülaziz I, 20, 165 Abdülhamid II: assassination attempt on, 213; and Bulgarian Muslim politics, 192; as caliph, 55, 121; critics of, 23, 102, 115, 125, 127–28, 131, 152, 221; Kesimzade and, 121, 203; enthronement of, 20; supporters of, 3, 151, 155, 213, 220; and theater, 163, 165; Young Turk revolution and, 210 Agopyan theater company, 162 Ahali [journal], 111, 128, 130, 213, 215, 221, 222, 230, 231 Ahmed Ağa, 44 Ahmed Fethi, 169 Ahmed Rıza, 125 Ahmedbegov/Ahmedbeğoğlu, Halil and İbrahim, 117, 159–61 Ahmed Zeki, 121, 126–27, 177, 185, 197, 198 Albanians, 15, 221, 231 Alevis, 9, 41–42. See also Kızılbaş Alexander II, Tsar, 21 Alexander Battenberg, Bulgarian prince, 33, 34, 39, 70, 104, 178 Ali Fehmi, 78, 84, 107–13, 116, 119,

120, 126, 129, 149–50, 154, 173, 191, 201–2, 219–20, 224, 237; “Berlin Muahedenamesi,” 278n12; The Muslims of Bulgaria (Bulgaristan İslamları), 110, 141–44 Ali Ferruh, 55, 186, 192, 201 Ali Haydar (Taner), 120, 151, 237 Ali Suavi, 31, 159, 213 Andrassy note (1875), 30 Armenians, 13, 37, 73, 101, 108, 112, 117, 128, 162, 231 Arnaudov, İsmail, 118 Austro-Hungary, 6, 80–81, 234 Azeri Turks, 223 Babai, 16 Balkan [journal], 78, 107, 130, 131, 162, 198, 232, 237 Balkans: conversions to Islam in, 15; European and Russian sentiments toward, 20; nationalisms in, 18; during Ottoman–European rivalry, 17; population movements in, during Ottoman Empire, 13–15; uprisings in, 18

322 Index

Balkan Wars (1912–13), 4, 112 Banya Başı mosque, Sofia, 82, 84–85 Bedreddin, Sheikh, 16 Bedreka-i Selamet [journal], 108 Behzad. See Mehmed Cemil Bektashi, 9, 16, 42 benevolent societies, 158 Berlin Treaty (1878), 6, 29, 32, 49, 59–60, 65, 93, 166, 230, 234, 278n12 Bismarck, Otto von, 29 Black Mosque, Sofia, 82, 83–84 Bosnia, 5, 15, 222–23, 234 Botev, Hristo, 48 brigandage, 43 Bulgaria: administration of, 33, 34; agriculture in, 91, 97; Berlin Treaty and, 29–30; borders of, 96–97; challenges in, 43–48; citizenship in, 59–60; constitution of, 33, 178–79, 182; countryside of, 91–98; creation of, 7, 21; demographics of, 16, 37, 73–79; Eastern Rumelia annexed by, 32, 34, 230; economy of, 117; educational policy in, 53–54, 64; emigration from, 46–48, 212; as homeland for Muslims, 212; independence of, 234–36; linguistic distribution in, 40; Macedonia and, 34, 49, 129, 180, 229–30; map of, x; military service in, 69–71; minority rights in, 32, 49; nationalism in, 34, 48–51, 83, 158, 167, 214–16; Ottoman relations with, 34–37, 60–61, 110, 129–30, 234–36; politics in, 178–81; population movements in, 46; population of, 95; prehistory of, 12, 18–21; public health initiatives in, 98–99; and refugee crisis, 44–46; religion in, 61–63; religious distribution in, 38; revo-

lutionary groups in, 19–20; Russia and, 19–22, 27–29, 33, 80, 110, 191, 234; San Stefano Treaty and, 27–29; Serbia and, 34; state- and nationbuilding in, 35; Thrace and, 34, 49, 129, 180; Turks’ relations with, 1–2, 37, 48–49; vakıfs in, 68–69; Young Turks’ relations with, 129–31. See also Bulgarian Muslims; Bulgarians, ethnonational; cities Bulgarian language, 50, 105, 146, 147, 149, 154, 157, 181–83 Bulgarian Muslims: Berlin Treaty and, 32, 35, 49, 93; Bulgarian independence’s effect on, 234–36; Bulgarian nationalism and, 50–51; in cities, 73–80, 84, 86–91; citizenship of, 59–60; communal politics of, 194–202; communism’s treatment of, 237; community organization and institutions of, 59–64, 116–17, 141, 236; community sense of, 3, 103, 141, 158–59, 197, 214–15, 236 (see also identity of); crises and abuses experienced by, 101–2, 136–39, 224–32; critical of Abdülhamid II, 127–28; “death and exile” narrative about, 4; deficiency narrative about, 5; demographics of, 2–3, 27, 37–42, 73–79; emigration of, 46–48; erasure of culture of, 82–84, 237; ethnic differences among, 215; geographic distribution of, 37, 39; global identifications of, 218–24; homeland concept for, 211–16, 238; hostage populations strategy involving, 52–56; identity of, 213–15, 237 (see also community sense of); judicial matters of, 60; Kesimzade’s power



and status among, 121, 202–10; land ownership of/transfer from, 91–96, 118; leadership of, 59–61, 109, 116–17, 119, 121, 136–37, 143–44, 186–87, 194–95, 197–201; loyalties of, 70–71, 105, 124, 184–85, 188; military service of, 47, 51, 53, 69–71; occupations of, 97, 116–18, 137–38; political engagement of, 3, 180–210, 230–32, 238; political unity of, 191–94; preferential treatment of, 51, 53–54, 64, 146–47; public health initiatives affecting, 98–99; public opinion of, 196–98; religious affairs of, 60–63; repatriation of, 44–46, 94; rights of, 32, 49, 140, 190; Russia and, 181, 183, 191, 223–24; and Russo-Ottoman War, 22, 24–27; San Stefano Treaty and, 28; scholarship on, 4–5; status of, in Bulgaria, 2, 6, 46, 48–56; Tatars among, 216–18; and Turkey, 236–38; Turks predominant among, 2, 39. See also Muslims; reform movement Bulgarians, ethnonational: architectural/urban aesthetic of, 79–89; Berlin Treaty and, 30; church of, 53; cultural institutions of, 52–53; identification of, with Europeans, 50–51, 72–73, 80–82; land ownership of, 91–96; Muslims’ relations with, 24–25, 28, 43, 45–46, 51–56, 70–71, 82–84, 86–88, 110–11, 181–88, 235; nationalism among, 19, 48–56; occupations of, 271n69; Ottoman relations with, 19, 52–55; political strategies of, 181–88; Pomaks as, 15, 49, 57–59, 148; as predominant group in Bulgaria, 37; as refugees, 27, 44

Index 323

Bulgarian Secret Revolutionary Committee, 20 Byzantine Empire, 11–12, 12 caliphate, 55, 61, 121, 231 Cemaleddin al-Afghani, 132 cemeteries, 87 Cezayirli Hasan Pasha mausoleum, Shumen, 88 chitalishta (reading salons), 158 Christianity: and Balkan nationalism, 18; Bulgarian nationalism and, 50; conversion from, 16, 57; conversion to, 59, 256n117; Islam in relation to, 132, 219, 277n149; in Ottoman Empire, 13, 30–31; Sufism compared to, 16 çiftliks, 18, 92–93 Circassians, 7, 14, 39, 215 cities: demographics of, 73–79, 260n2; developments in European, 79; examples of prominent, 74–78; spatial organization of, 79–89; vakıfs in, 89–91 civilization, ideological concept of, 51–52, 54, 72–73, 221–22 coffeehouses, 143, 157, 158 Cold War, 238 Committee of Progress and Union (CPU), 125, 132, 193, 230–32 Committee of Union and Progress (CUP), 112, 124–26, 209. See also Young Turks communism, 237 conscription. See military service Conservative Party, 182 conversion, 15–16, 57, 59, 256n117 CPU. See Committee of Progress and Union

324 Index

Crete, 101–2, 213, 215, 229, 234 Cuma mosque, Plovdiv, 88 CUP. See Committee of Union and Progress Curie, Marie, 174 Danev, Stoyan, 192, 200 Dechev, Vasil, 58 Deli Orman, 14, 39, 41, 42, 44, 97, 185–87, 189, 203 Democratic Party, 191 Demir (Timur) Baba, 14 Dikkat [journal], 105 Dobrich, 22, 43, 78, 127, 157, 162, 169, 187, 216, 217, 218, 231, Dokuz Kubbeli mosque, Sofia, 82 Dondukov-Korsakov, Alexander (general and head of the Russian administration in Bulgaria), 45, 181, 224 Eastern Rumelia: administration of, 30, 33; as autonomous province, 6, 25, 30, 34, 36, 64, 78, 148–49; Berlin Treaty and, 29, 30; Bulgaria’s annexation of, 32, 34, 230; city planning in, 85–86; demographics of, 37; education in, 148–49; emigration from, 46–47; land ownership in, 92–94; military service in, 70; Muslim periodicals in, 105–6; Muslims in, 6, 25, 27, 200; Ottoman relations with, 64; Pomaks in, 58; vakıfs in, 67–68 Edhem Ruhi, 78, 190, 232, 237 Edirne (journal), 103 education: alternative venues for, 140, 150, 157–67; Bulgarian Muslims’ system of, 64, 144–57; Bulgarian system of, 146; criticisms of, 147, 149–52, 156, 174–75, 196–97; in Eastern

Rumelia, 148–49; funding for, 146–47; history of, 144–45; Islam’s valuing of, 140; modernity linked to, 139, 144–45, 155; Ottoman support for, 148–49, 151–52, 154–55; policies on, 53–54; politics linked to, 156; of Pomaks, 58, 148; reform linked to, 1–2, 97, 119, 136–42, 150–70, 195–97; reform program for, 141–42, 150–57; Tanzimat reforms and, 145, 149; theater as site for, 161–67; types of schools, 64, 145–46; of women, 171–75 Efkâr-ı Umumiye (journal), 130 elections, 180, 183 elementary schools. See mektebs Emniyet [journal], 108 Enver Pasha, 232 Esad Efendi, 208 Europe: Bulgarians’ identification with, 50–51, 72–73, 80–82; imperialism of, 221; and Macedonia, 229–30; Muslim culture compared to that of, 132, 221–22; Ottoman relations with, 102; urban planning in, 79 evening schools, 157 Evkaf Nezareti. See Ministry of Vakıfs Evrenos Bey, 14 Exarchate, 34, 53, 55, 61, 84, 147, 214 family: reform program for, 142–43; women’s role in, 172–73 Fatma Aliye, 171 Ferdinand Saxe Coburg Gotha, Bulgarian prince and tsar, 33, 36, 130, 189, 234 Franz Josef, 221 Gasprinski, İsmail, 113, 151, 171, 218, 223



Gayret [journal], 78, 104, 107, 108, 113–16, 189, 201, 220, 223, 224, 229 gazis, 11–12, 14 Geshov, Ivan, 130 Giray family, 14, 93 Gladstone, William, 20, 32; “The Bulgarian Horrors,” 7 Great Powers, 18–20, 28–30, 54, 101, 193, 221, 224, 230, 232, 234 Greece: Bulgaria and, 29; Crete and, 101–2, 215, 234; independence of, 7, 18; Muslims in, 6, 31; political minorities in, 184 Greek schools, in Bulgaria, 147 Guguna mosque, Russe, 91 Gurko, Yosif (general), 22, 24 Hacı Yahya Ömerov, 187, 189, 216 Hafız Abdullah Fehmi (Meçik), 77, 119–20, 152, 157, 171–72, 237 Hafız Bilal, 84 hajj (pilgrimage), 99 Hami Bey, 197 Hamiyet [journal], 108 Hanımlara Mahsus Gazete [journal], 171 Haussmann, Georges-Eugène, 79 Helveti, 16 Hilal [journal], 105–6 hocas (teachers), 133–34, 146, 156–57, 174, 196–97 homeland (vatan), 211–16, 238 horse breeding, 97 “hostage populations” strategy, 52–56 Hüseyin Raci Efendi, 25, 79, 128 ibtidais (experimental primary schools), 145–46, 150–52 Ignatiev, Nicholas (Russian diplomat), 27 ignorance. See education

Index 325

imperialism, 221 industrial schools, 154 Internal Macedonian Adrianople Revolutionary Organization (IMARO), 34, 231 İrşad [journal], 223 İskender Bey Mahmudov, 121, 126, 185, 197 Islam: reformist attitudes toward, 131–33; Christianity in relation to, 132, 219, 277n149; conversion from, 59, 256n117; conversion to, 15–16, 57; and education, 140; reform program for mosques, 142; unity of coreligionists under, 219–21; Young Turks’ attitudes toward, 125, 128–29, 131–32. See also Muslims; Shi’a Islam; Sufism; Sunni Islam İttifak [journal], 105 jadid movement, 5, 150, 151, 171, 217, 223 Jews and Judaism, 13, 117, 184 jihad, 23 Jireček, Konstantin, 57–58, 81, 82, 122 journalism. See the press Kalenderi, 16 Kara Mehmed, 118 Kesimzade Mehmed Rüştü, 119, 121, 123, 124, 169, 187, 202–10 kıraathanes, 150, 153, 157–61, 207–8, 236, 283n111 Kıymet [journal], 110 Kızılbaş, 9, 41–42. See also Alevi Konstantinov, Aleko, 180 languages, in Bulgaria, 40. See also Bulgarian language; Turkish language

326 Index

Levski, Vasil, 48 Liberal Party, 182 literacy, 151, 157, 182–83, 280n60 Lovech, 75 Macedonia: Bulgaria and, 34, 49, 129, 180, 229–30; early in Ottoman era, 12; education in, 147; local uprisings and Ottoman repression in, 34, 83, 102, 110, 225, 227, 229–33; Muslims in, 14; nationalism in, 214; Slavs in, 52–56 marriage, reform program for, 142–43 materialism, 125 Mechveret (journal), 127 medreses, 64, 145, 148 Medresetünnüvvab, 120 Mehmed II, “the Conqueror,” 12, 140 Mehmed Âkif (Ersoy), 116 Mehmed Cemil (Behzad), 132–34, 195–96 Mehmed Masum, 120, 126 Mehmed Sabri, 109, 110, 111 Mehmed Şemseddin, 152 Mehmed Şevki, 197 Mehmed Sıdkı, 201 Mehmed Teftiş, 121 mektebs (primary schools), 64, 145–46, 150–52 Mesut Giray, 93, 118, 187 Mevlevi, 16, 42 Midhat Pasha, 18, 20, 87, 159, 213 military service, 47, 51, 53, 69–71 millet system, 13, 50 Ministry of Education (Bulgaria), 146, 168 Ministry of Education (Ottoman Empire), 120, 149, 154 Ministry of Foreign and Religious Affairs (MFRA), 61–62

Ministry of Vakıfs (Evkaf Nezareti), 65 minority rights, 30–32, 49, 59, 140 Mizan [journal], 127 Mizancı Murad Bey, 108, 125, 155 Moamelecizade Emin, 121, 126, 185, 197 modernity: Bulgarian Muslims and, 5; education linked to, 139, 144–45, 155; Islam’s compatibility with, 140; scholarship on, 5; theater and, 161–64 Montenegro, 20, 22 morality: Muslim criticisms of Western, 222, 231; reform linked to, 144; theater linked to, 161–63, 165; women as guardians of, 172–73 mosques, reform program for, 142 Muallim Naci, 162, 215 muftis, 53, 60–63, 163, 169, 197–200 Muhammad Abduh, 132 Murad V, 20 Muslims: attitudes toward, 52, 225; in Balkan states, 6, 31; Bosnian, 222–23; Bulgarians’ relations with, 24–25, 28, 43, 45–46, 51–56, 70–71, 82–84, 86–88, 110–11, 181–88, 235; diversity among, 56, 215; global identifications of, 218–24; identity of, 213–24; insurgency fears concerning, 44; minority rights of, 31–32; in Ottoman Empire, 13–15; as refugees, 26–28, 32, 44; in Russia, 192; unorthodox/heterodox, 16, 41; vs. Western civilization, 221–22, 231. See also Bulgarian Muslims; Islam Muslim Teachers’ Association, 1, 76, 120, 140, 141, 150, 152, 167–70, 236 Muslim Teachers’ Congress, 77, 119, 150–52, 154–55, 167–70 Mustafa Sadık (also known as Dospatlı



Mustafa or Mustafa Dospatski), 122–24, 183, 205, 208–9 Muvazene [journal], 9, 77–79, 84, 104, 107–13, 115–16, 119, 124, 129–31, 136–37, 141, 152–53, 168, 191–92, 196, 198–99, 201–2, 204–5, 223, 224, 228–29 Nadas [journal], 105 Nakşbendi, 16, 42, 203 Namık Kemal, 7, 162–65, 212, 213; Akif Bey, 165–67; Celaleddin Harezmşah, 162; The Fatherland or Silistra (play), 163–67; Gülnihal, 163; Zavallı Çocuk (The Wretched Lad), 163 Narodna Party, 182, 184, 209 Nasuhi Bey, 108, 198 nationalism: Balkan, 18; Bulgarian, 34, 48–51, 83, 158, 167, 214–16; civic vs. ethnic conceptions of, 49–50; Macedonian, 214; Muslims and, 48–51, 83, 211–16, 230; Ottoman, 50; religious, 214, 231; theater linked to, 163, 166–67; Turkish, 7–8, 232, 236 National Liberal Party, 180–81, 183, 184–85, 191 Necib Bey Çilingirov, 118, 121, 169, 203, 204, 206–9 Necib Nadir, 106 new-method education, 145, 150–57, 174 New Mosque (Cami Cedid), Russe, 90 Nihad Pasha, 36 Old Mosque (Eski Cami), Haskovo, 88 Old Mosque, Russe, 91 Omurtag, 42 orientalism, 52, 81 Osman, founder of the Ottoman dynasty, 11–12, 162, 215–16

Index 327

Osman Nuri (Peremeci), 120, 197–200 Osman Pasha, 22–23 Osman Pazvantoğlu, 186 Osman Pazvantoğlu mosque, Vidin, 88 Osmanlı (journal), 127 Ottoman Commissioners, 36–37, 55– 56, 64, 66, 67, 74–75, 94, 110, 123–24, 159, 186, 188, 192, 197, 201, 233 Ottoman Empire: Berlin Treaty and, 29–30; Bulgarian relations with, 19, 34–37, 52–55, 60–61, 110, 129–30, 234–36; challenges of, 7, 17–21; decline of, 101–2, 234; and education of Bulgarian Muslims, 148–49, 151–52, 154–55; European relations with, 102; as homeland for Muslims, 212–13; identity of, 18; and Islamic unity, 219–20; kıraathanes in, 157; literacy in, 280n60; loyalty to, 3, 18, 96, 106, 114–15, 121; Muslim power figures’ role in administration of, 186; Muslims in, 13–15; nationalism in, 50; origins and growth of, 11–13; and Pomaks, 58–59; press’s role in, 103–4; religion in, 13, 15–16; revolution in, 209–10, 231–36; and Russo-Ottoman War, 4, 7, 21–27; San Stefano Treaty and, 27–29; urban planning in, 79–80. See also Tanzimat reforms; Young Turks Ottoman Freedom Society, 125, 231 Ottomanism, 18, 50, 231 Ottoman Scientific Society, 157 Pan Islam, 219–21 Paris Treaty (1856), 30 Patriarchists, 214 patriotism, 211–16 Petrov, Racho, 188

328 Index

phonetic method, 145, 151–52, 223 Pleven, 14, 22, 23, 26, 39, 41, 75, 95, 153, 157, 159 Plovdiv, 16, 24–26, 34, 37, 39, 42, 46, 53, 62–64, 67, 74, 77, 78, 81, 87–88, 96– 97, 99, 105, 106, 107, 109–110, 113–114, 117, 122, 127, 130, 141, 148–149, 157, 162, 169, 194, 200–201, 213, 226–228 politics: in Bulgaria, 178–81; Bulgarian Muslims’ engagement with, 3, 180–210, 230–32, 238; Bulgarians’ strategies in, 180–87; corruption and coercion in, 179–80, 185–86; education linked to, 156; and elections, 180, 183; Kesimzade and, 202–10; kıraathanes linked to, 159; participation in, 178, 179; parties in, 180–81, 184–85, 189, 193; partisanship in, 143, 179, 189, 191, 193; reformers and, 2, 3, 143–44, 194–202, 231; Tanzimat reforms and, 179 Pomaks: conversion of, 15, 58; identities, 3, 15, 49, 57, 122–23, 215; education of, 58, 148; geographic location of, 15, 39, 41; literacy rate of, 151; occupations of, 116 positivism, 125 the press, 103–16; centers of, 106; freedom of, 103; obstacles faced by, 103–4; in Ottoman Empire, 103–4; Young Turks’ participation in, 104, 106 primary schools. See ibtidais; mektebs; Qur’an schools Prosveta (Pomak women’s society), 58 public health, 97–99 quarantine, 99 Qur’an schools, 145. See also mektebs Radoslavists, 180–81, 184, 191, 209

reform movement: Ali Fehmi and, 107–13, 141–44; attitudes toward Islam in, 131–33; basic program of, 141–44; critics and criticisms of, 3, 121–24, 208; education’s role in, 1–2, 97, 119, 136–42, 150–70, 195–97; emigration criticized by, 212; goals of, 2; ideological/intellectual commitments of, 131–35; impact of, 3, 141; and jidad movement, 223; and Kemalist reforms, 236–37; Kesimzade vs., 203–10; origins of, 5, 100–102; participants in, 3, 118–21; patriotism extolled by, 211–16; political mobilization resulting from, 2, 3, 194–202, 231; press’s role in, 103–16; Rıza Pasha and, 113–16; vakıfs and, 175–77; women and, 171–75; Young Turks and, 3, 7–8, 119–21, 124–35, 159, 197, 200, 233. See also Tanzimat reforms refugees: Bulgarian, 27, 44; Muslim, 26–28, 32, 44–46; Roma, 39 Reşad Bey, 155 Rhodopi: conversions in, 15; economy of, 96; Pomaks in, 39, 41, 58, 148; resistance, 44 rice cultivation, 97, 117 Rıza Pasha İbrahim, 107, 108, 113–17, 121, 185, 187, 191–92, 201, 215, 220, 223 Rizov, Dimitǔr, 130 Rodopska iskra [Pomak education society], 58 Rodopski napredǔk [journal], 58 Roma, 9–10, 39, 73, 178, 193–94 Romania, 19, 179 Rum-Abdal, 16 Rumeli, 13 Rumeli [journal], 78, 224



rüşdiyes (middle schools), 64, 145–46, 150, 152–55, 170 Russe, 26, 36–37, 39, 42, 74, 75–76, 77, 79, 81, 86, 87, 88, 90–91, 106, 107, 117, 119, 120, 126–27, 131, 147, 151, 153, 157–159, 162, 169, 170–172, 175, 176–77, 185, 197–199, 212, 216–218, 223, 227, 235 Russia: Bulgaria and, 19–22, 27–29, 33, 80, 110, 181–83, 191, 234; Bulgarian Muslims and, 181, 183, 191, 223–24; constitutional revolution of (1905), 192, 217, 223; Muslims in, 192; and refugee crisis, 44–45; and Russo-Ottoman War, 4, 7, 21–27; and urban planning, 80 Russo-Ottoman War (1877–78), 4, 7, 21–27, 74–77, 83, 97 Sadık el-Müeyyed, 194 Safvet Pasha, 28 Said Pasha mosque, Russe, 91 San Stefano Treaty (1878), 27–29, 32, 167, 228 Şark [journal], 130, 168–69, 224 science: fascination with, 125, 134, 231; pedagogical methods for, 153. See also education Sébastiani, Horace, 277n149 Sebat [journal], 76, 107, 121, 126–27, 215–16, 277n149 Şefkat kıraathane and benevolent society, 159–61, 176 Selim I, 213 Şemseddin Latif, 187, 203 Serbest Bulgaristan [journal], 106 Serbia: Bulgaria and, 29, 34; constitution of, 179; creation of, 6, 7, 18; early in Ottoman era, 12; Muslims in, 6, 31; Ottoman war with, 20; and RussoOttoman War, 22

Index 329

Serbo-Bulgarian War, 71 Servet-i Fünun (journal), 119 Şeyhülislam, 60–64, 142, 163, 197, 234 sharia courts, 60, 256n126 Shi’a Islam, 16, 220 Shishkov, Stoyu, 58 Shumen, 22, 24, 37, 42–43, 63, 75, 77, 88, 111, 117–121, 123–124, 127, 129, 147,157, 159, 168, 169, 170, 184, 187, 202–210, 227, 231, 237 Silistra, 22, 43, 78, 120, 127, 147, 157, 162–167, 169, 187, 216, Sinan (architect), 84 Škorpil, Karel and Hermengild, 57 smuggling, 96–97, 226 social Darwinism, 125 socialists, 191 Sofia, 26, 29, 36, 39, 44, 62, 67, 74–76, 78, 81–85, 86, 88, 94, 122, 130, 149, 194, 209, 213, Stambolov, Stefan, 102, 106, 110, 187 Stambolovists, 180–81, 184–85, 191, 209 Stara Zagora, 14, 20, 22, 24, 25, 41, 44, 74, 79, 81, 85–86, 93, 88, 128, 157, 213, 228 Stoilov, Konstantin, 187, 188, 199 Sublime Porte, 127 Sufism, 3, 14, 16, 42 Süleyman Pasha, 22, 24–25 Sunni Islam, 13, 16, 220 Supreme Macedonian Committee, 34, 56, 123, 227 Şura-yı Ümmet [journal], 127 Sv. Sedmochislenitsi church, Sofia, 83–84 Tahir Lütfü, 120, 126, 170, 172, 218, 237 Talat Efendi, 127, 157, 169 Tanzimat reforms: as background to Bulgarian state, 7, 92; and education,

330 Index

145, 149; and European relations, 17–19, 31; and land ownership, 92; Ottomanism as goal of, 18, 50; overview of, 17–19; and politics, 179; press’s role in, 103; urban development during, 79, 81; and vakıfs, 65 Tarla (Field) [journal], 104–5 Tatars, 7, 14, 31, 39, 116, 150, 151, 171, 215–18, 222 teachers, 155–57. See also hocas; Muslim Teachers’ Association; Muslim Teachers’ Congress Temo, İbrahim, 126–27 Temporary Regulations for the Religious Government of Muslims (1895), 61–63 Temporary Regulations for the Spiritual Government of Christians, Muslims and Jews (1880), 61 Tercüman [journal], (published in Crimea), 113, 223, 224 textbooks, 151–52, 154–55 theater, 161–67 Thrace: Bulgaria and, 34, 49, 129, 180; uprisings and Ottoman repression in, 110, 225, 227; Muslims in, 14, 32 timar system, 15, 17 Tırnovalı Osman Nuri, 109, 281n75 tobacco, 96, 97, 117–18, 226 Tombul mosque, Shumen, 88 Tophane Act (1886), 64 Treaty of Küçük Kaynarca (1774), 31 Tuna/Dunav [journal], 76, 103, 107, 120–21, 130, 168, 218, 224, 231, 235, 237 Türk (journal), 193, 232 Turkey, 186–87, 236–38 Turkish language, 9, 39, 59, 60, 105, 154, 157, 162, 182, 183, 218 Turks: Bulgarian Muslims’ identifica-

tion as, 215; literacy rate of, 151; Muslims viewed as interchangeable with, 56, 215; in Ottoman Empire, 13; as predominant Muslim group, 2, 39; Tatars’ relations with, 216–18; theories on ancestry of, 57. See also Young Turks Türk Sözü [journal], 112 Tǔrnovo, 12, 29, 75, 178, 181, 234 Uhuvvet (Brotherhood) [journal], 76, 107, 120–21, 128, 130, 149, 168, 171–72, 174, 177, 211, 218, 224, 231, 237 ulema, 62, 113, 118, 132–34, 140 urban planning. See cities vaccination, 98 vakıfs: administration of, 36, 62–65, 176, 201–2, 206–7, 234; Berlin Treaty and, 65; in Bulgaria, 68–69; disappearance of, 66–67; in Eastern Rumelia, 67–68; embezzlement from, 196–98, 201–2, 204; Muslim community’s dependence on, 69, 175; problems and conflicts concerning, 61, 65–69, 176; public vs. private nature of, 65–66; purposes of, 65; recipients of income from, 67, 68, 69, 89; reform of, 142, 175–77; resolution of problem of, 32, 65, 68, 234; San Stefano Treaty and, 28, 32; Şefkat’s founding as, 160–61; taxes on, 89; tekkes and, 42; urban development and, 89–91 Varna, 13–14, 22, 27, 37, 39, 43, 75–77, 86, 88, 106, 110, 117, 127, 157, 163, 164, 169, 170, 196–197, 201, 204, 231 Varna Postası (Varna Post) [journal], 106 vatan. See homeland



Versailles Treaty (1919), 30 Vidin, 12, 37, 53, 75, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 117, 119, 127, 157, 159, 160, 161, 169, 171, 175, 176, 186, 231 Vienna, 80 voting rights, 178 women: education of, 171–75; family role of, 172–73; morality and emotion associated with, 172–73; negative views of, 173–74; and reform movement, 171–75; schools run by, 174–75; in theatrical productions, 162–63 Young Ottomans, 164 Young Turks: Ali Fehmi and, 108, 109, 111; attitudes of, toward Islam, 125, 128–29, 131–32; and Bulgarian

Index 331

politics, 193; and Bulgarian reform movement, 3, 7–8, 119–21, 124–35, 159, 197, 200, 233; Bulgaria’s relations with, 129–31; critics and criticisms of, 128–29; in exile, 124–25; ideological/intellectual commitments of, 125, 131–35, 230–31; and Islamic unity, 219–20; journalistic activities of, 104, 106; Kemal’s plays championed by, 165; Kesimzade vs., 204, 206–7; and Macedonian revolution, 231–33; organization created by, 124; revolution instigated by, 209–10, 231–36. See also Committee of Union and Progress yürüks, 13–14 Yusuf Ali, 104–5 zimmis, 13