The Young Turk Revolution and the Ottoman Empire: The Aftermath of 1908 9781350989429, 9781786730213

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Noe´mi Le´vy-Aksu is an assistant professor at Bog˘azic¸i University (Istanbul), Department of History. She holds a PhD from the E´cole des Hautes E´tudes en Sciences Sociales (2010) and her dissertation on public order in Istanbul in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was published as a book in 2013 (Ordre et de´sordres dans la capitale ottomane, 1879 – 1909). Her current research focuses on law, justice and constitution in the late Ottoman Empire. She has published several articles and book chapters on police, public order and justice in the Ottoman Empire. Franc¸ois Georgeon is a historian of the Ottoman Empire and Turkey in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and Emeritus Director of Research at the CNRS (National Centre for Scientific Research) in Paris. He is the author of numerous articles and works, in particular Abdu¨lhamid II (Paris, 2003) and Sous le signe des re´formes. Etat et socie´te´ de l’Empire ottoman a` la Turquie ke´maliste (1789– 1939) (Istanbul, 2012). He is also co-editor with Nicolas Vatin and Gilles Veinstein of the Dictionnaire de l’Empire ottoman (Paris, 2015).

‘The Young Turk Revolution is being celebrated as a saga which paved the way for the nation-state crowned with the establishment of the Turkish Republic. Therefore since 2008 academia has been focusing its interest on the events which occurred mainly in the wake of the tormented year of 1908. The Young Turk Revolution and the Ottoman Empire: The Aftermath of 1908, edited by Noe´mi Le´vy-Aksu and Franc
ois Georgeon, builds up a vivid and interesting picture of the days in the aftermath of the revolution, shedding further fresh light on the political and social dynamics shaping the post-revolutionary configuration. The emphasis being on the transition from revolutionary euphoria to increasing tensions at the local and central levels, this valuable compendium is a welcome addition to the publications occasioned by the centenary of the revolution.’ Zafer Toprak, Professor at Koc
University, former Director of the Atatu¨rk Institute for Modern Turkey at Bog˘azic
i University

THE YOUNG TURK REVOLUTION AND THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE The Aftermath of 1908

NOE´MI

Edited by LE´VY-AKSU AND FRANC
OIS GEORGEON

To the memory of Vangelis Kechriotis

I.B. TAURIS Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, I.B. TAURIS and the I.B. Tauris logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2017 Paperback edition published 2020 Copyright Editorial Selection and Introduction © Noémi Lévy-Aksu and François Georgeon, 2017 Copyright Individual Chapters © Nathalie Clayer, Fatmagül Demirel, François Georgeon, Erdal Kaynar, Vangelis Kechriotis, Aylin Koçunyan, Noémi Lévy-Aksu, Ileana Moroni, Saadet Özen, Meltem Toksöz, Özgür Türesay and Erik-Jan Zürcher, 2017 Noémi Lévy-Aksu and François Georgeon have asserted their rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editors of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on p. viii constitute an extension of this copyright page. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: HB: 978-1-7845-3600-8 PB: 978-0-7556-0123-3 ePDF: 978-1-7867-3021-3 eBook: 978-1-7867-2021-4 Series: Library of Ottoman Studies, volume 59 Typeset by OKS Prepress Services, Chennai, India To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

CONTENTS

List of Illustrations Acknowledgements List of Contributors Introduction Noe´mi Le´vy-Aksu and Franc
ois Georgeon

vii viii ix 1

Part I New Fates: Revolutionary Heroes and Frustrated Hopes 1. The Heroes of Hu¨rriyet: The Images in Struggle Saadet O¨zen

15

2. The Logic of Enlightenment and the Realities of Revolution: Young Turks after the Young Turk Revolution Erdal Kaynar

40

3. Political Victims of the Old Regime under the Young Turk Regime (1908–11) O¨zgu¨r Tu¨resay

67

4. The Implementation of the General Pardon after the Restoration of the Constitution and the Reactions in the Prisons Fatmagu¨l Demirel

96

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Part II Still the Revolution? Freedom and Power after 1908 5. The Time of Freedom, the Time of Struggle for Power: The Young Turk Revolution in the Albanian Provinces Nathalie Clayer 6. Social Unrest on the Aftermath of the 1908 Revolution: The Strike of the Aydin Railway in Izmir and its Repercussions Vangelis Kechriotis 7. Religion, Politics and Society in the Wake of the Young Turk Revolution: The ‘Ramadan of Freedom’ in Istanbul Franc
ois Georgeon

113

153

175

8. 31 Mart: A Fundamentalist Uprising in Istanbul in April 1909? Erik-Jan Zu¨rcher

196

9. Freedom versus Security: Regulating and Managing Public Gatherings after the Young Turk Revolution Noe´mi Le´vy-Aksu

212

Part III Constitutional Expectations and Political Horizons 10. Historicizing the 1908 Revolution: The Case of Jamanak Aylin Koc
unyan 11. Continuity and Change in the 1909 Constitutional Revision: An Ottoman Imperial Nation Claims its Sovereignty Ileana Moroni

237

265

12. ‘Are They Not Our Workers?’ Socialist Hilmi and his Publication I˙s¸tirak: An Appraisal of Ottoman Socialism Meltem Tokso¨z

286

Index

318

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Figure 1.1 Long live my sultan! Liberty, equality, fraternity.

21

Figure 1.2 The investiture ceremony in Canea, Crete, 1897.

22

Figure 1.3 Liberty, justice, equality. Enver Bey (right) and Niyazi Bey (left). Heroes of the Ottoman army, liberators of the homeland.

24

Figure 1.4 Photo with Selahaddin Bey (third from the right), a less-known hero of Hu¨rriyet.

25

Figure 1.5 Postcard with Niyazi Bey and his famous deer.

27

Figure 1.6 Images of Hu¨rriyet and of its heroes reaching Istanbul appeared in newspapers.

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Figure 1.7 School boys in a studio with Niyazi Bey’s portrait behind them.

29

Figure 1.8 Postcard with Chercis Topoli (third from the left), Atıf Bey (fourth from the left) and Adem Bey (fifth from the left).

31

Figure 12.1 I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste Ichtirak, first issue of the weekly newspaper, 26 February 1910.

301

Figure 12.2 I˙s¸tirak, first issue of the bi-weekly newspaper, 27 July 1912.

302

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The publication of this book would not have been possible without the financial support of the editors’ respective institutions: the CETOBAC (Centre d’e´tudes turques, ottomanes, balkananiques et centrasiatiques, UMR 8032) and the Faculty of Arts and Sciences at Bog˘azic
i University. We are most grateful to Nathalie Clayer, director of the CETOBAC; Taylan Akdog˘an, dean of the Faculty of Arts and Sciences; and C¸ig˘dem Kafesc
iog˘lu, chair of the Department of History at Bog˘azic
i University for supporting the project and making possible this funding. This volume is dedicated to the memory of Vangelis Kechriotis, our dear friend and colleague, whom we lost in August 2015. He was an assistant professor in the Department of History at Bog˘azic
i University. As a specialist of the Young Turk period, he had been committed to this project since its beginning and he was looking forward to the publication of the present volume. He is deeply missed.

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Nathalie Clayer is Professor at the E´cole des Hautes E´tudes en Sciences Sociales and a senior research fellow at the CNRS (National Centre for Scientific Research) in Paris. Her main research interests are religion, nationalism and state-building processes in the Ottoman and postOttoman space. Her publications include Aux origines du nationalisme albanais. La naissance d’une nation majoritairement musulmane en Europe (2007); Conflicting Loyalties in the Balkans (I.B.Tauris, 2011), co-edited with Hannes Grandits and Robert Pichler; and Penser, agir et vivre dans l’Empire ottoman et en Turquie (2013), co-edited with Erdal Kaynar. Fatmagu¨l Demirel obtained a doctorate from Istanbul University and is Professor at Yıldız Technical University, Istanbul where she teaches late Ottoman history. She is the author of II. Abdu¨lhamid Do¨neminde Sansu¨r (2007), Dolmabahc
e ve Yıldız Sarayında Son Ziyaretler Son Ziyafetler (2008) and Adliye Nezareti: Kurulus¸u ve Faaliyetleri (2008). Franc
ois Georgeon is a historian of the Ottoman Empire and Turkey in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and Emeritus Director of Research at the CNRS (National Centre for Scientific Research) in Paris. He is the author of numerous articles and works, in particular Abdu¨lhamid II (Paris, 2003) and Sous le signe des re´formes. Etat et socie´te´ de l’Empire ottoman a` la Turquie ke´maliste (1789 – 1939) (Istanbul, 2012). He is also co-editor with Nicolas Vatin and Gilles Veinstein of the Dictionnaire de l’Empire ottoman (Paris, 2015).

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Erdal Kaynar is a historian of the nineteenth century specializing in late Ottoman history. He has studied history and sociology in Berlin and Paris and holds a PhD from the E´cole des Hautes E´tudes en Sciences Sociales. He is currently Polonsky Fellow at the Van Leer Jerusalem Institute. His work is mainly based on the political and intellectual history of the late Ottoman Empire and stresses the human component of Ottoman modernization. Vangelis Kechriotis (1969–2015) was an assistant professor at Bog˘azic
i University, Department of History. He completed his PhD at Leiden University in 2005. His research focused on late Ottoman political and cultural history, the Greek-Orthodox community and port-cities. He is the author of several articles and co-editor of Economy and Society on both shores of the Aegean (2010), Discourses of Collective Identity in Central and Southeast Europe (1770–1945): Texts and Commentaries, vol. 3: Modernism, I. The creation of the nation state, II. Representations of national culture (2010) and ‘The Late Ottoman Port Cities and Their Inhabitants: Subjectivity, Urbanity, and Conflicting Orders’ (Mediterranean Historical Review, Vol. 24/2, December 2009). Aylin Koc
unyan completed her doctoral studies at the European University Institute, Florence in the Department of History and Civilization in 2013. She is currently preparing for publication her dissertation entitled ‘Negotiating the Ottoman Constitution, 1839 – 1876’. Koc
unyan is currently a lecturer in various universities in Istanbul and teaches seminars on legal and global history. She is also on the editorial board of the Armenian daily, Jamanak, published in Istanbul since 1908 without interruption. Noe´mi Le´vy-Aksu is an assistant professor at Bog˘azic
i University (Istanbul), Department of History. She holds a PhD from the E´cole des Hautes E´tudes en Sciences Sociales (2010) and her dissertation on public order in Istanbul in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (c.) was published as a book in 2013 (Ordre et de´sordres dans la capitale ottomane, 1879 – 1909). Her current research focuses on law, justice and constitution in the late Ottoman Empire. She has published several articles and book chapters on police, public order and justice in the Ottoman Empire.

LIST

OF

CONTRIBUTORS

xi

Ileana Moroni received her PhD in History from the E´cole des Hautes E´tudes en Sciences Sociales in 2013. Her publications focus on late Ottoman, modern Turkish and modern Cypriot history. She also has an active interest in Turkish politics and in the new media. Her research has been funded by the State Scholarships Foundation of Greece, the Onassis Foundation, and the Swiss Federal Commission for Scholarships, while she has also participated in a research project funded by the University of Cyprus. ¨ zen is a PhD candidate at the University of Bog˘azic
i, Istanbul. Saadet O She received her BA at Istanbul University, Department of Archaeology and Art History, and her MA at the University of Bog˘azic
i, Department of History with her study on the Manaki Brothers’ still and moving images during the Young Turk Revolution. Her main areas of research are the political use of visual material (photography, advertisement material, postcards etc.), the consumption and perception of industrial food in the late Ottoman era, and the history of tourism. She has published two books: Notre Dame de Sion: 150 Yılın Tanıg˘ı (2006) on the history of the French school Notre Dame de Sion, and C¸ukulata: A Turkish History of Chocolate (2014). She has also translated several novels from French into Turkish. Meltem Tokso¨z is an associate professor of history at Bog˘azic
i University, Istanbul. She is author of Nomads, Migrants and Cotton in the Eastern Mediterranean: The Making of the Adana-Mersin Region in the Ottoman Empire, 1850–1908 (2010), and co-editor of Cities of the Mediterranean: From the Ottoman Times to the Present (2011), whose Turkish translation came out in 2015 (Osmanlılardan Gu¨nu¨mu¨ze Dog˘u Akdeniz Kentleri, I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r Yayınları). She has published on the Eastern Mediterranean cotton agriculture and trade, the regional history of Cilicia and Turkish and Ottoman historiography. Her research interests include historiography, intellectual history, economic history and the modernisation of state and society in late Ottoman history. ¨ zgu¨r Tu¨resay is an associate professor at the E´cole Pratique des Hautes O ´Etudes in Paris. He received his PhD from the Institut National des Langues et Civilisations Orientales (Paris) in 2008 with a thesis on Ebu¨zziya Tevfik (1849–1913), a renowned Ottoman intellectual of the second half of the nineteenth century. He has published several articles on

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late Ottoman intellectual and political history in scholarly journals such as Turcica, European Journal of Turkish Studies, E´tudes Balkaniques, Cahiers Pierre Belon, Anthropology of the Middle East, Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, Tarih ve Toplum Yeni Yaklas¸ımlar, Mu¨teferrika, Kebikec
, and Toplumsal Tarih. He is currently working on the history of spiritism in the Ottoman Empire between the 1860s and the 1920s. Erik-Jan Zu¨rcher is a professor of Turkish studies at Leiden University. His primary research interest is in the period of transition from the Ottoman Empire to the Republic of Turkey and in the Young Turk movement. He is the author of numerous books on the late Ottoman Empire and Republican Turkey, including The Unionist Factor: The Role of the Committee of Union and Progress in the Turkish National Movement (1905–1926) (1984), Turkey: A Modern History (I.B.Tauris, 1993) and The Young Turk Legacy and Nation Building: From the Ottoman Empire to Atatu¨rk’s Turkey (I.B.Tauris, 2010), and has edited several volumes on the political and social history of the region.

INTRODUCTION Noe´mi Le´vy-Aksu and Franc
ois Georgeon

This edited volume focusing on the aftermath of the 1908 Young Turk Revolution is the result of a collective project that aimed to shed new light on the political and social dynamics shaping the post-revolutionary configuration and the transition from revolutionary euphoria to increasing tensions at the local and central levels. It started as an extension to the multiple scientific events and publications occasioned by the centenary of the revolution in 2008. As it has been the case for other revolutions, this anniversary fostered academic and non-academic interest in the Young Turk Revolution, reviving debates and opening new paths of research. One cannot acknowledge too much the contribution brought by these works to this new historiography and this book can be considered as a late product of this commemorative moment.1 At the same time, our collective project was oriented around a more specific question: once the commemoration was over, we wanted to question the aftermath of the revolution and explore the dynamics that transformed the political and social spheres during the first year of the new regime. This topic was already part of the research agenda of some authors of this book, while others took the opportunity of opening new research tracks around this question. All shared the opinion that the Young Turk Revolution was, more than an event or a succession of events, a process whose inflections and side-effects needed to be evaluated from a multi-dimensional perspective, combining different geographic and chronological scales. Through the case studies presented

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in this book, the authors hope to offer their modest contribution to this vast research field.

The 1908 Revolution before and after 2008: A Short Literature Review A thorough literature review of the 1908 Revolution would be beyond the scope of this work. Numerous studies have been devoted to the political background and events preceding and following the revolution. While 1908 had long been obscured by the official emphasis on 1923 and the so-called Kemalist Revolution, resulting in a lack of scholarly works on the topic, the gradual opening of the academic sphere in Turkey and the new interest in late Ottoman history among Turkish and foreign scholars have paved the way for new approaches to the Young Turk Revolution since the 1980s.2 After the pioneer contributions of Tarik Zafer Tunaya on political parties and Feroz Ahmad’s work on the Committee of Union and Progress (CUP), Zafer Toprak played an important role in this evolution with his studies on the political economy and social dynamics of the Second Constitutional Period, shedding new light on little-known aspects of state and society relationship.3 The revolution started to become a topic of historiographic debates when several studies attempted to address its conditions of possibility and political meanings. S¸u¨kru¨ Haniog˘lu’s seminal works on the Young Turk movement or Aykut Kansu’s provocative political approach to the revolution have been among the first samples of this trend.4 While the former explored the intellectual and political background of the revolution from the perspective of its main protagonists, the Young Turks, the latter put the 1908 Revolution at the core of a revisionist reading of Turkish modern history, arguing for its democratic potential while negating the revolutionary character of the foundation of the Republic in 1923. Meanwhile, Erik-Jan Zu¨rcher contributed to shed new light on what he called ‘the Unionist factor’, with a special emphasis on the social and geographic origins of the Young Turks.5 The Young Turk period was also at the core of studies investigating the genesis of Turkish nationalism as an ideology and a political tool.6 Despite strong divergences of interpretation, most of these approaches to the Young Turk Revolution and its aftermath considered the period as a transition from old to new, a political

INTRODUCTION

3

laboratory whose consequences were to shape the history of modern Turkey. Meanwhile, the period little benefited from the dynamism of late Ottoman historiography and its innovative approaches to political, social and urban transformations during the late nineteenth/early twentieth century, a situation contrasting with the multiplication of pioneer works on the reign of Abdu¨lhamid II.7 In this respect, the commemorative wave of 2008 has done much to transform the 1908 Revolution into an object of total history and fully reconnect it to the last trends of late Ottoman historiography. Multiplying the perspectives, researchers involved in the 2008 events explored the political, social and cultural impact of the revolution, highlighting new spaces, actors and objects. In many of these works, the focus has shifted from the revolution or the Young Turks to microstudies of the social configuration in the aftermath of the revolution. Topics such as communal life, gender relations, labour organization or new means of expression have enabled scholars to take into account much better than before social and cultural diversity in various parts of the Empire. These new works also drew attention to the many sources still understudied, such as archival material, parliamentary records, newspapers or self-narratives in various languages. Whether they focus on the revolutionary moment or on the early Second Constitutional Period, the publications resulting from the 1908 commemoration emphasize diversity as a heuristic tool to understand the revolution: rather than looking for a coherent narrative to account for the revolutionary events and their aftermath, they attempt to create a polyphonic approach to the period. This fragmented character of the result is an unavoidable consequence of this kind of collective projects. At the same time, it can be understood as a conscious or implicit way to leave aside broader theoretical questions that had been raised by some older works: how revolutionary was the Young Turk Revolution? What revolution, whose revolution was it? While the approaches to the Young Turk Revolution became less embedded in Republican politics and more rooted in the Ottoman imperial context, the question of its political meaning lost some of its acuity. Two recent books have brilliantly demonstrated that the question still deserved to be raised. Nader Sohrabi’s recent work Revolution and Constitutionalism in the Ottoman Empire and Iran (2013) offers stimulating and theoretically informed exploration of the political

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dynamics characterizing these two cases.8 By labelling the two cases as ‘constitutional revolutions’, Sohrabi not only asserts the revolutionary character of 1908 but also clearly locates it into the political sphere of the time. This argument leads him to leave aside the role of the social tensions as a motor of the revolution. Identifying the revolution and its authoritarian turn with the political project of the Young Turks, he mainly concentrates on the developments within the Parliament and the state apparatus to argue that the Unionists used constitutionalism as a means and an end for establishing and maintaining their stranglehold on power. By far the most sophisticated study available on the political developments of the early Second Constitutional Period, the study also demonstrates the need to rethink the Young Turk Revolution in the broader wave of revolutions of the early twentieth century. While several of its contributions attempt to locate the revolution in its historical context and refer to the political options made by the Young Turks during the period, the present volume is characterized by its broader and more plural approach to the political sphere, combining different scales of observation to investigate the impact of the Young Turk Revolution and the social dynamics that shaped its orientation. This framework of analysis shares much with Der Matossian’s Shattered Dreams of Revolution (2015), which explores the post-revolutionary disillusion from the perspective of the Armenian, Arab and Jewish communities.9 By investigating the impact of the revolution on communal life and local politics, Der Matossian points to the need of decentralizing our perspective on 1908 and its aftermath. He also shows the inextricable link between the political developments in Istanbul and the local dynamics without falling in the trap of determinism, emphasizing both the distinct characteristics of each configuration studied and its integration in the broader Ottoman public sphere. Der Matossian’s work has been much inspiring for our collective project, which aimed to approach the aftermath of 1908 through the experiences of different kinds of publics, assuming that the political and social meanings of the revolution were concealed in these differentiated receptions. In our edited volume, however, the community scale will be only one of the loci selected to analyse these transformations. By focusing on various social categories, well-known individuals or forgotten actors, our multi-focal approach to social dynamics, local governance and

INTRODUCTION

5

political decisions aims to highlight some debates and tensions that oriented the path of the revolution during the early Young Turk era.

After the Revolution, yet still the Revolution: Questioning Revolutionary Temporality As a collection of case studies, this volume aims to add some original voices to the polyphonic approach developed by previous publications on the Second Constitutional Period. The political, social and cultural effervescence that characterized the first years of the revolution also led to a revolution on paper. The wide range of primary sources available on the period offer an extremely rich material to the historian, which, for a large part of it, still remains to be studied. Relying on Ottoman state archives, minutes of the Parliament, local newspapers, contemporary memoirs, diplomatic documents and visual sources, the contributions in the volume hope to draw attention to this original material and highlight some less-known aspects of the revolutionary process. At the same time, this collective work offers some threads to raise the question of revolutionary temporality in the case of the Young Turk Revolution. It tries to identify and discuss some milestones in the process during which revolutionary euphoria turned into social tensions and political stiffening. Mainly focusing on the first year following the reestablishment of the Constitution in July 1908, the contributions are questioning how the new political configuration was shaped at the local and imperial levels, promoting new heroes and rulers while other individuals and groups were gradually marginalized, and sometimes even criminalized. The process described here is all but linear or deterministic. Trying to go beyond the opposition between old and new and the classic confrontation between the Jacobins of the CUP and the liberals, the contributions emphasize the fluidity of the new political and social configurations. Respectively focusing on the fabric of the revolutionary heroes, the marginalization of bureaucrats exiled during the old regime, and the control established by the CUP on the Albanian ¨ zen, O ¨ zgu¨r Tu¨resay and Nathalie Clayer demonstrate provinces, Saadet O that these cases cannot be understood without scrutinizing the political initiatives and social realities which underlied them. Political affiliations, social and communal networks as well as economic interests created concurrent or conflictual aspirations which manifested

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themselves under old or new forms, such as demonstrations, protests, strikes or acts of violence.10 Fatmagu¨l Demirel’s survey of the situation of the Ottoman prisons, Vangelis Kechriotis’ study of the Aydın railway strike and Franc
ois Georgeon’s analysis of the social tensions during the Ramadan are exploring various facets of the revolutionary expectations and fears in the summer and fall 1908. In all these cases, freedom and constitution appear as polysemic terms used, depending on the circumstances, to legitimize claims or to raise the spectre of anarchy. Without denying the ideological options pre-existing the revolution, the confrontation with social realities in these first months is crucial to shape the political options developed by the new political elite, as in the case of Ahmet Rıza studied by Erdal Kaynar. Beyond the ruling sphere, the rapid expansion of printing press, associations and new uses of the urban space led to the emergence of a much livelier public sphere than had existed before, a more conflictual one as well.11 Besides and beyond the constitutional turn, these social dynamics were the main revolutionary process started by the July uprising, which paved the way for the increasing tensions and violence during spring and summer 1909. In his analysis of the 31 Mart Vakası, Erik-Jan Zu¨rcher locates the mutiny of April 1909 in this process of growing antagonisms. At the same time, he points to the importance of the event as a milestone that durably modified the balance of power. The 31 Mart Vakası and its suppression by the Action Army were undeniably a turning point in the revolutionary aftermath. Together with the Adana massacres of April 1909, they shattered what remained of the dreams of freedom and fraternity and accelerated the concentration of power in the hands of the Unionists. While the legal and political horizon of the regime remained constitutionalism, the debates at the Parliament and in the press revealed the deep divergences as to the meaning of constitutionalism and the modalities to preserve it. Respectively analysing the law on public gatherings and the constitutional revision adopted in the summer 1909, Noe´mi Le´vy-Aksu and Ileana Moroni identify law-making as one of the main loci where ideological divisions, political interests and social realities were articulated at a discursive level and resulted with a redefinition of individual freedom and national sovereignty. Even though the freedom of the press started to be curbed by legal and extra-legal means in spring 1909, newspapers were another sphere where the political meaning of the revolution continued to be

INTRODUCTION

7

heatedly debated. Offering an insight into Jamanak, an Armenian newspaper, and I˙s¸tirak, the socialist publication of Hu¨seyin Hilmi, Aylin Koc
unyan and Meltem Tokso¨z draw attention to the variety of political horizons created by the revolution. Both at the central and local levels, the rise of the CUP oriented the path of the revolution. Yet, the Unionists could not monopolize the legacy of the revolution, nor silence divergent interpretations of its political meaning. Despite pressure, violence and shattered dreams, the horizon of expectation of the Ottoman public sphere(s) was rooted in the new temporality introduced by the 1908 Revolution. From different standpoints, the contributions in this book highlight moments and inflections that shaped this new configuration in this postrevolutionary, yet still revolutionary temporality. In this respect, the relatively narrow chronological framework adopted by this book is definitely not an implicit answer to the much debated question: when does a revolution end? The constitutional revision achieved in August 1909 did constitute an important stage in the definition of the political and legal balances in the new regime. However, this process went on during the following years. In January 1913, the coup which enabled the Unionists to take a durable stranglehold on power brought back to the forefront a revolutionary rhetoric, with special emphasis on the internal and external threats to the regime. Without underestimating the impact of war on these developments, connecting them to the discourses and policies during the first year following the revolution is crucial to evaluate the continuities and changes in the approaches to authority, violence and nationalism. Even after the Young Turk leaders left the country in 1918, the continuities in the bureaucratic and military staff make it relevant to discuss the transition to the republican period as part of this revolutionary aftermath. *** Although there are multiple connections between the different contributions, the book can be divided into three main parts. It starts with the exploration of famous and less-known actors of the revolution: the Macedonian Army officers celebrated as heroes and liberators ¨ zen); Young Turk through the visual documentation of the time (O ideologues returned from exile and their confrontation with political

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realities, through the case of Ahmed Rıza, the leader of the Young Turk movement in Paris (Kaynar); bureaucrats exiled by the old regime, striving to find their place in the new political order (Tu¨resay); political prisoners suddenly recovering their freedom through the general pardon (Demirel). In a second part, the book sheds light on some major stages of the confrontation between social aspirations and the Unionists’ stranglehold on power: the strategies of the Committee of Union and Progress to impose their authority in the Albanian provinces (Clayer); social movements challenging the economic and social order during the summer of 1908, as in the case of the Aydın railway strike (Kechriotis); the first signs of discontent among conservative and religious actors who, during the ‘Ramadan freedom’, protested against the rampant secularization (Georgeon); the great challenge of the counter-revolutionary mutiny of April 1909 in Istanbul, and its suppression by the Action Army (Zu¨rcher); the attempts to restore order through the codification and management of public gatherings (Le´vy-Aksu). Finally, in the last part, the volume turns to the Ottoman Constitution restored in July 1908, questioning the diverse interpretations of constitutionalism in the aftermath of the revolution through three cases: the constitutional expectations of the Armenian newspaper Jamanak (Koc
unyan); the 1909 constitutional revision and its impact on the definition of national sovereignty (Moroni); and the development of socialism in the Ottoman Empire as an alternative political option that emerged out of the revolution (Tokso¨z). *** Although this volume focuses on a specific timeline and geography – mostly the first year following the revolution in the Ottoman Empire – the developments discussed in this book raise the broader question of the legacy of the Young Turk Revolution. In terms of geography, as already mentioned, the scope of the Young Turk Revolution went far beyond the ‘well-protected domains’ (memalik-i mahrusa), an expression used to refer to the Ottoman Empire in this period.12 The 1908 Revolution followed the Russian and Iranian revolutions of 1905 – 06, and gave a new colour to political dissent in Muslim countries such as Algeria, Tunisia, Egypt or Afghanistan,

INTRODUCTION

9

where the ‘Young’ movements had emerged in the early twentieth century, from Algiers to Kabul. The revolutionary wave continued to spread in the following years, reaching Mexico in 1910 and China in 1911. While strongly rooted in the political and social configuration of the late Ottoman Empire, the Young Turk Revolution was also part of a global movement towards constitutionalism, hence the importance of evaluating these ‘global waves, local actors’ in a comparative framework.13 This comparative framework is not only relevant to analyse the political and social conditions of the revolution, but also to explore the memory of the Young Turk Revolution in the following decades. July 1908 remained as an exceptional moment in the memories of the ‘1908 generation’, whether they had been actively involved in the revolution or they had just witnessed its consequences. The notions of ‘freedom’ and ‘justice’, taken from the revolutionary motto, played a central role in the memory of 1908 in the post-Ottoman world, as illustrated by the expression ‘revolution of freedom’ in use in various languages. Yet, in the Middle East and in the Balkans, this positive evaluation of 1908 has often been combined with a harsh critique of the Unionists, considered as betrayers of the revolutionary ideals. Any discussion of the revolutionary legacy should also be a critical approach to these selective ways to remember or forget the revolution, as an event or a process. More recently, the wave of uprisings which started to spread in North Africa and the Middle East in early 2011 sparked a new interest in the revolutionary paradigms and patterns of political transition. Attempts to frame the so-called ‘Arab Spring’ in a broader historical context have elaborated on the 1908 Revolution as one of the heuristic models to discuss the political and social meanings of these uprisings. 14 Questioning the role of social mobilization, the involvement of the military institution or the use of violence in this comparative perspective is another way to ponder on the conditions of possibility to unlock conservative and dictatorial regimes on the one hand, and the difficulties in managing the revolutionary aftermath on the other hand. In this respect, the threads followed in this volume to discuss the Young Turk Revolution and its aftermath can contribute to our understanding of more recent and yet-to-come uprisings and revolutions.

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Notes 1. Among the several books resulting from this commemoration, see Mehmet O. Alkan (ed.), Yadigaˆr-ı Mes¸rutiyet. Tarık Zafer Tunaya Anısına (Istanbul: Bilgi U¨niversitesi Yayınları, 2010); Sina Aks¸in (ed.), 100. Yılında Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi (Istanbul: Tu¨rkiye I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r Yayınları, 2010); Ferdan Ergut, II. Mes¸rutiyet’i Yeniden Du¨s¸u¨nmek (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfi, 2010); Franc
ois Georgeon (ed.), ‘L’ivresse de la liberte´’. La re´volution de 1908 dans l’Empire ottoman (Leuven and Paris: Peeters, 2012); Uygur Kocabas¸og˘lu (ed.), Hu¨rriyet’i beklerken I˙kinci ¨ niversitesi Yayınları, 2010); Zekerya Kurs¸un Mes¸rutiyet Basını (Istanbul: Bilgi U et al. (eds), 100. Yılında II. Mes¸rutiyet Gelenek ve Deg˘is¸im Ekseninde Tu¨rk ¨ niModernles¸mesi Uluslararası Sempozyumu: Bildiriler (Istanbul: Marmara U versitesi Yayınları, 2009); Tamer Erdog˘an (ed.), II. Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lk Yılı, 23 Temmuz 1908 –23 Temmuz 1909 (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2008); Sacit Kutlu, Didaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, Kartpostallarla I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet (1908 – 1913) ¨ niversitesi Yayınları, 2008). Osman Ko¨ker (ed.), Yadigaˆr-ı (Istanbul: Bilgi U Hu¨rriyet, Orlando Calumeno Koleksiyonu’ndan Mes¸rutiyet Kartpostalları ve Madalyaları (Istanbul: Birzamanlar Yayıncılık, 2008). 2. Sina Aks¸in, Jo¨n Tu¨rkler ve I˙ttihat ve Terakki (Istanbul: Remzi, 1987). 3. Tarik Zafer Tunaya, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasal Partiler (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2007); Feroz Ahmad, The Young Turks: The Committee of Union Progress in Turkish Politics (1908– 1914) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969); Zafer Toprak, Tu¨rkiye’de Milli I˙ktisat (1908 – 1918) (Ankara: Yurt Yayınları, 1982). Besides economy, Toprak published extensively on political thought, state policy and women during the Second Constitutional Period and the early Republic. 4. S¸u¨kru¨ Haniog˘lu, The Young Turks in Opposition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995); Preparation for a Revolution: The Young Turks 1902– 1908 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001); Aykut Kansu, The Revolution of 1908 in Turkey (Leiden: Brill, 1997). 5. The Unionist Factor: The Role of the Committee of Union and Progress in the Turkish National Movement (1905 – 1926) (Leiden: Brill, 1984); The Young Turk Legacy and Nation Building (London: I.B.Tauris, 2010). 6. Masami Arai, Turkish Nationalism in the Turkish Era (Leiden: Brill, 1992). ErikJan Zu¨rcher (2000), Young Turks, Ottoman Muslims and Turkish Nationalists: Identity Politics 1908– 1938, in K.H. Karpat (ed.), Ottoman Past and Today’s Turkey (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 150 –79. 7. Selim Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains, Ideology and the Legitimation of Power in the Ottoman Empire, 1876 –1909 (London and New York: I.B.Tauris, 1998); ¨ zbek, Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u’nda Sosyal Devlet: Siyaset, I˙ktidar ve Nadir O Mes¸ruiyet (1876 – 1914) (Istanbul: Iletis¸im Yayınları, 2002); Franc
ois Georgeon, Abdu¨lhamid II, Le sultan calife (1876 – 1909) (Paris: Fayard, 2003). The last two authors devoted much space to the analysis of the transformations and continuities following the Young Turk Revolution, fully integrating the early Second Constitutional Period in their evaluation of Abu¨lhamid II’s reign.

INTRODUCTION

11

8. Nader Sohrabi, Revolution and Constitutionalism in the Ottoman Empire and Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). 9. Bedross Der Matossian, Shattered Dreams of Revolution: From Liberty to Violence in the Late Ottoman Empire (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2014). 10. The boycott movement started in September 1908 against Austrian goods was also part of these new forms of social mobilizations. See Dog˘an C¸etinkaya, The Young Turks and the Boycott Movement: Nationalism, Protest and the Working Classes in the Formation of Modern Turkey (London: I.B.Tauris, 2010). 11. For a discussion of the concept of public sphere after the 1908 Revolution, see Bedross Der Matossian, ‘The Development of Public Spheres among Armenians, Arabs, and Jews after the Young Turk Revolution of 1908’, in Franc
ois Georgeon (ed.), L’Ivresse de la liberte´: la re´volution de 1908 dans l’Empire ottoman (Leuven: Peeters, 2012). 12. Selim Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains: Ideology and Legitimation of Power in the Ottoman Empire, 1876 – 1909. 13. 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 (2002), pp. 45 – 79. 14. Merhan Kamrava (ed.), Beyond the Arab Spring: The Evolving Ruling Bargain in the Middle East (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014).

References Ahmad, Feroz, The Young Turks: The Committee of Union Progress in Turkish Politics (1908– 1914) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969). Alkan, Mehmet O. (ed.), Yadigaˆr-ı Mes¸rutiyet. Tarık Zafer Tunaya Anısına (Istanbul: ¨ niversitesi Yayınları, 2010). Bilgi U Aks¸in, Sina (ed.), 100.Yılında Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi (Istanbul: Tu¨rkiye I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r Yayınları, 2010). Arai, Masami, Turkish Nationalism in the Turkish Era (Leiden: Brill, 1992). C¸etinkaya, Dog˘an, The Young Turks and the Boycott Movement: Nationalism, Protest and the Working Classes in the Formation of Modern Turkey (London: I.B.Tauris, 2010). Deringil, Selim, The Well-Protected Domains: Ideology and the Legitimation of Power in the Ottoman Empire, 1876 – 1909 (London and New York: I.B.Tauris, 1998). Erdog˘an, Tamer (ed.), II. Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lk Yılı, 23 Temmuz 1908– 23 Temmuz 1909 (I˙stanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2008). Ergut, Ferdan, II. Mes¸rutiyet’i Yeniden Du¨s¸u¨nmek (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfi, 2010). Georgeon, Franc
ois (ed.), ‘L’ivresse de la liberte´’. La re´volution de 1908 dans l’Empire ottoman (Leuven and Paris: Peeters, 2012). ——— Abdu¨lhamid II, Le sultan calife (1876 – 1909) (Paris: Fayard, 2003). Haniog˘lu, S¸u¨kru¨, Preparation for a Revolution: The Young Turks 1902– 1908 (Oxford, 2001). ——— The Young Turks in Opposition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995). Kamrava, Merhan (ed.), Beyond the Arab Spring: The Evolving Ruling Bargain in the Middle East (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014).

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Kansu, Aykut, The Revolution of 1908 in Turkey (Leiden: Brill, 1997). Kocabas¸og˘lu, Uygur (ed.), Hu¨rriyet’i beklerken I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet Basını (Istanbul: Bilgi ¨ niversitesi Yayınları, 2010). U Ko¨ker, Osman (ed.), Yadigaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, Orlando Calumeno Koleksiyonu’ndan Mes¸rutiyet Kartpostalları ve Madalyaları (I˙stanbul: Birzamanlar Yayıncılık, 2008). Kurs¸un, Zekerya, et al. (ed.), 100.Yılında II. Mes¸rutiyet Gelenek ve Deg˘is¸im Ekseninde Tu¨rk Modernles¸mesi Uluslararası Sempozyumu: Bildiriler (Istanbul: Marmara ¨ niversitesi Yayınları, 2009). U Kutlu, Sacit, Didaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, Kartpostallarla I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet (1908 – 1913) (I˙stanbul: Bilgi U¨niversitesi Yayınları, 2008). Matossian, Bedross (ed.), Shattered Dreams of Revolution: From Liberty to Violence in the Late Ottoman Empire (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2014). ——— ‘The Development of Public Spheres among Armenians, Arabs, and Jews after the Young Turk Revolution of 1908’, in Franc
ois Georgeon (ed.), L’Ivresse de la liberte´: la re´volution de 1908 dans l’Empire ottoman (Leuven: Peeters, 2012). ¨ zbek, Nadir, Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u’nda Sosyal Devlet: Siyaset, I˙ktidar ve Mes¸ruiyet O (1876– 1914) (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2002). Sohrabi, Nader, Revolution and Constitutionalism in the Ottoman Empire and Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). ——— ‘Global waves, local actors: What the Young Turks knew about other revolutions and why it mattered’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 44/1 (2002), pp. 45– 79. Toprak, Zafer, Tu¨rkiye’de Milli I˙ktisat (1908 – 1918) (Ankara: Yurt Yayınları, 1982). Tunaya, Tarik Zafer, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasal Partiler (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2007). Zu¨rcher, Erik-J., The Unionist Factor: The Role of the Committee of Union and Progress in the Turkish National Movement (1905 – 1926) (Leiden: Brill, 1984). ——— ‘Young Turks, Ottoman Muslims and Turkish Nationalists: Identity Politics 1908–1938’, in K.H. Karpat (ed.), Ottoman Past and Today’s Turkey (Leiden: Brill, 2000). ——— The Young Turk Legacy and Nation Building (London: I.B.Tauris, 2010).

PART I NEW FATES:REVOLUTIONARY HEROES AND FRUSTRATED HOPES

CHAPTER 1

˙ : THE HEROES OF HÜRRIYET THE IMAGES IN STRUGGLE Saadet O¨zen

Hu¨rriyet, literally ‘the freedom’, was one motto of the Young Turk Revolution of 1908, and will be used hereafter as a generic denomination of the revolutionary era, from the restoration of the Constitution in 1908 to the destitution of Sultan Abdu¨lhamid II in 1909. Briefly revising, the ‘Young Turk Revolution’ of 1908 led by the Committee of Union and Progress (from now on CUP) against Sultan Abdu¨lhamid II (r.1876– 1909) reached its peak on 23 July 1908, when young officers in Manastır (nowadays Bitola) announced the restoration of the Ottoman Constitution suspended in 1877 by the very Sultan, Abdu¨lhamid II. The following day Istanbul newspapers made public this restoration, however, as an imperial decree by the sultan himself. The sultan recalled the Parliament, but after nine months into the new parliamentary term, an armed insurrection broke out in the capital. The CUP reacted decisively, organizing an ‘Action Army’ composed of regular forces reinforced by volunteer units. On 24 April, the Action Army occupied the capital city. On 27 April the Parliament deposed Sultan Abdu¨lhamid, who was succeeded by his younger brother Res¸ad, who ascended the throne as Mehmed V Res¸ad.1 The visuals on Hu¨rriyet, the main focus of this study, still shape our vision to a certain extent in the retrospective construction of the past. A glimpse on the pictorial depictions of the Constitutional Era would primarily hint at a common sensation: unanimous celebration of the

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freedom by people without apparent distinction of communal/political affiliations. At first sight they seem to be able to satisfy ‘those who want to see the revolutionary enthusiasm2 ‘as says Aykut Kansu in his evaluation of Manaki Brothers’ Hu¨rriyet album. Or, as asserted by Roni Margulies ‘. . . despite my special interest in the period, I only had a vague feeling, but did not really know, about the extent of popular enthusiasm for the “Proclamation of Freedom” in 1908, as documented in this album’.3 However, a close-up to this veil of undiversified joy would reveal nuances: there are postcards with the watchword ‘Long Live the Sultan!’, others praise the mottos ‘freedom, brotherhood, union’ and in some cases also the ‘justice’, some visual media exposes the sultanic portrait with the Ottoman coat of arms, the silhouette of Yıldız Palace, others the authors of the uprising against the sultan – pre-eminently Enver Bey and Niyazi Bey of Resen, and occasionally they are together with the sultan. No common agreement on the date of the restoration of the Constitution either: 23 and 24 July 1908 (10 –11 July 1324 in the Ottoman-Julian calendar) alternatively enhance the images for temporal precision. The overall visual panorama calls for attention to the potential alternative premises in the making of images, and the messages they convey. Therefore in this study, I will attempt a reconstruction of the visual expressions bourgeoning following the uprising with a particular attention to the policy makers and their iconographic selfrepresentation during and after the Young Turk Revolution in 1908: simply put, did the sultan and the CUP-affiliated authors of the uprising visually re-define this political turning point, and, if yes, why and how? And to what extent did the visual material contribute to the making of the leaders?4

Sources for a Visual Study of Hu¨rriyet In my case, the ‘visual’ would be confined to the inquiry of the photographic production of Hu¨rriyet as an intentional visual narrative, a tool for the representation and the construction of the political turn, the revolutionary personas and their practices. As will be detailed below, the photographic records of Hu¨rriyet have circulated in a number of ways: on paper stock, through printed matter, or in the form of postcard imagery. The reason for the exclusion of all other visual forms in this study – be

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they cartoons, paintings, or cinema – is multifold. First, the obvious need for limits: in the definition of Mitchell, ‘visual studies is the study of visual culture . . . politics, aesthetics and epistemology of seeing and being seen’,5 and the infinite number of domains – not only imagery, but also architecture, performance studies etc. – in which those studies necessarily intersect urges for perpetual case-based evaluation of visual practices with all the networks they encompass. The image in its conventional sense is also far from being monolithic, and each kind (cartoon, photography, drawing, chromolithography etc.) requires attention to its specific mode of production, its audience, and the way it is used to deliver messages to the viewer. Furthermore the visual culture of Hu¨rriyet is not totally unexplored. Although few in number, studies on the cartoons in particular denote the potential of images as historical documents that could hint at the mindset following the political turn, as in Palmira Brummett’s Image and Imperialism in the Ottoman Revolutionary Press, 1908– 1911.6 The second reason for this choice is the important corpus of available photographic material related to Hu¨rriyet – both archival and unedited or published – and the paradoxical scarcity of analytical work upon ¨ zen’s observation on the role and use of postcards and them. Mustafa O photographs in the visual making of this ‘Constitutional Revolution’7 has been an informative reminder, but not echoed in the current climate of debates. All the same, a number of illustrated publications provide rich visual documents: Didaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, Kartpostallarla I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet (1908– 13) by Sacit Kutlu,8 Yadigaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, Orlando Calumeno Koleksiyonu’ndan Mes¸rutiyet Kartpostalları ve Madalyaları, edited by Osman Ko¨ker,9 I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lanının 100u¨ncu¨ Yılı, edited by ¨ stuncay,10 and II. Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lk Yılı,11 to mention the most Bahattin O salient examples with the wide range of visuals they propose mostly coming from private collections. Yadigaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, for instance, brought to light the Orlando Calumeno collection of postcards and medals, impressive and promising with the number of postcards and the continuity of the story they propose: 98 pictures in total from the early days of Hu¨rriyet until the anti-revolution of 1909 and Sultan Mehmed V Res¸at’s accession to the throne. In addition to this repository, an album of 68 photographs composed in the 1910s is both informative with its content and points out to further material: Manastır’da I˙laˆn-ı Hu¨rriyet by Manaki Brothers

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(Yanaki Manaki, 1878– 1954, and Milton Manaki, 1882– 1964).12 Apparently in the 1990s one original edition of this album has been circulated among collectors. Reprinted in 1997, it was initially written by Manaki Brothers (Milton and Yanaki Manaki), the highly respected photographers and cameramen in the Balkans who witnessed the revolutionary days in Bitola.13 Not only did they take the photographs, but they enhanced them with captions that seemingly associate each one with a specific date and context, therefore offering a peculiar illustrated narrative of the revolutionary timeline between 1908 and 1909. Yet the visual production of Manaki Brothers during the Hu¨rriyet is not confined to this album. The Cinematheque of Macedonia, founded in 1974 in Skopje, and the State Archives of the Republic of Macedonia, Department of Bitola, respectively preserve film footage (2,477.2 metres of moving images) and pictures (17,583 photographs) by the same Brothers. The stock incorporates both moving and still images captioned for Hu¨rriyet, although hard to evaluate in number and scope.14 The Archives of Macedonia not only provide unedited visual data, but also clarify the origins of some iconic depictions of Hu¨rriyet – also published within the postcard collections of Orlando Calumeno and Sacit Kutlu15 – hitherto anonymous and considered as valuable and inspiring memorabilia, nevertheless not necessarily critically questioned beyond the veil of self-evidence. Therefore as both witnesses and recorders of the revolutionary period, Manaki Brothers’ work would be the outstanding source of material, but they need to be re-evaluated in comparison with other images from the publications of the period or those made available nowadays by private collections, with particular attention to alternative accounts they could compose and represent.

The Palace: A New Visual Strategy for Hu¨rriyet? According to what has been reiterated in both popular and scholarly writing, despite his willingness to impress the global public opinion with photography, Sultan Abdu¨lhamid II would have avoided the camera – or any other means of pictorial depiction – for himself. The distanced attitude of the sultan towards the camera has been associated with a general policy for the public display of all kinds of imperial portrait. In this sense, the Hamidian regime would be in contrast to the previous sultans of the nineteenth century, that is, Abdu¨lmecid and

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Abdulaziz, who publicly displayed both their body and images and ritualized them. Abdu¨lhamid would forbid the display of his portraits, in other words his ‘likeness’, in public spaces.16 The revolution of 1908 would have forced the sultan to revise this visual strategy, and only at this date he would have been visible again. Consequently, the sultanic authority in public space would be framed through the uses of invented symbols, like coat of arms, the image of the silhouette of his palace or the Friday ceremony.17 That would be his policy, to create ‘vibrations of power’ without being seen for unclear reason, for security, or orthodox application of Muslim rules over the depiction of humans, as it was asserted.18 But in the aftermath of the Young Turk Revolution in 1908 he would embrace a new policy: he would become physically visible.19 This pre-1908 rejection, or perhaps ‘hate’, of the camera on the scale of ‘iconophobia’20 had been mainly detected through few archival documents, and reminiscences of court photographers.21 As a matter of fact in 1908, after the restoration of the Constitution in July, it is true that the viewers had many occasions to see the sultan’s images on different media. For instance, on September 1908, probably 17 September, the movie-goers in France were acquainted with three actual scenes from Istanbul shot by Pathe´ Films: L’incendie du Quartier de Stamboul, La Turquie renaissante, and Le Salamalick public a` la mosque´e hamidie´.22 Le Salamalick public a` la mosque´e hamidie´, in other words the filmic representation of a Friday ceremony in the Hamidiye Mosque will hold our attention. Although the film has been released in September, a witness suggests the exact day of the ceremony: S¸adiye Sultan, Sultan Abdu¨lhamid’s daughter, had seen ‘a man, apparently a foreigner taking pictures with a weird device’. She was particularly interested, and she opened the window of her coach to address an officer in charge. A young man who presented himself as Selim Sırrı satisfied her curiosity: ‘He will take films, Sultanefendi . . . we will be able to show our children this fabulous day.’23 It was the first Selaˆmlık of the Hu¨rriyet, in other words, 31 July, in 1908. Sultan Abdu¨lhamid seems to have been particularly cooperative with cameramen in those days. In March 1909, the local newspaper Stamboul reported the reviews of those who watched the re-opening of the Ottoman Parliament in a movie theater:24 taken by the famous

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photographer-cameraman Weinberg25 although the footage is unavailable today. In fact, the sultan would also agree to pose both for the reporters for illustrated press and for painters. Illustration noted on 7 August 1908: ‘Second photography in eight days of the man who had never been photographied before’, Sultan Abdu¨lhamid, coming back from the Selamlık. Fausto Zonaro, the court painter between ‘1896– 1904’, reported in 1924 that before 1908 ‘nobody was allowed to paint Abdu¨lhamid’s portrait. Nobody was exception to this rule . . . I reiterated my desire many times, but I was gently refused.’26 But after the Hu¨rriyet he would have this opportunity. The sultanic image was now also on postcards (Figure 1.1). However, documents from Ottoman Archives have been revealed as promising sources for a rethinking on the imperial self-representation policies before and after the Hu¨rriyet. Unedited documents denote the presence of imperial image in public space before 1908, particularly in state-based institutions. To mention only a few, there are evidences for the approved presence of the sultanic portrait in a military barracks in Beirouth in 1899,27 and in Christian schools in Skopje.28 All the same, based on those documents, it would not be pertinent to claim that the Palace enthusiastically encouraged or regularized the circulation of the imperial portrait before the Hu¨rriyet and all the memories of court photographers had been totally false. And although in some spaces and in some conditions the portrait was in circulation, the illustrated Ottoman press did not reproduce the imperial portrait except for a few random examples (Figure 1.2). All ceremonies – investiture, Friday ceremonies, and festivities for the imperial anniversary – were verbally, eloquently expressed without any illustration. However, the imperial portrait was not totally non-existent either. Up to 1908, Sultan Abdu¨lhamid’s likeness would not be absent in public spaces, but apparently its circulation would have been tolerated only in controlled areas. After the Hu¨rriyet this basic component of the imperial visual strategy shifted to the intense diffusion of his pictorial depiction through various media: films, printed press, but also postcards as well. In other words the sultan worked out of his safe circle reinforced by the censorship mechanism, and dared what the state officers discussed as a threat in some documents before 1908: he allowed the circulation of the august Sultan Caliph’s effigy in public, from hand to hand.29 In 1908, the sultanic portrait did not suddenly appear in public space, but his

. THE HEROES OF HÜRRIYET

Figure 1.1 collection.

21

Long live my sultan! Liberty, equality, fraternity. Author’s

human presence was now on barely controlled newspapers or postcards at the risk of easily being subject to inconvenient uses: perhaps because on the opposite side the visual space has been gradually invaded by alternative forces, namely the new heroes of Hu¨rriyet. Censorship was neither applicable nor functional for several reasons, such as the old

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Figure 1.2 The investiture ceremony in Canea, Crete, 1897. The imperial image is on the left, above. Resimli Gazete 45, 11 Cemaziyelevvel 1315 (8 October 1897).

question of foreign post offices practically outside state regulations,30 and the new air of freedom which was expressed in a press boom – at least 300 new periodicals added to pre-Hu¨rriyet press within a year,31 which could explain why the sultan risked the circulation of his virtual but human persona. On the other hand the new rhythm and frequency of the sultan’s public appearance did not totally alter the representation of the imperial power in photography: the imperial insignia, Yıldız Palace as the abode of Abdu¨lhamid’s policies, were still at stake, but were reinforced with the addition of the sultan’s portrait. In other words, in the aftermath of the rebellion Sultan Abdu¨lhamid II stepped into the circle of visual media with old paraphernalia that reminded of his inherent and continuous political power, his well-being, and that he was still in charge. Although the demands of the rebels had been practically fulfilled, the uprising did not result in a complete alteration of

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sovereignty. The visual media could certify it both to Ottoman and international audience.

The Rebels From the side of CUP, at the outset the authors of the uprising were literally anonymous figures. On the postcards, photographs or newspapers related to Hu¨rriyet available today, the term ‘heroes of Hu¨rriyet’ implies especially Enver Bey (later Enver Pasa) and Niyazi Bey of Resen, young rebel officers who initiated the whole process by engaging an insurrection (Figure 1.3). They are followed by ‘lesser’ heroes such as Eyu¨p Sabri Bey, Selahattin Bey, Adem Bey, Cherchis Topoli, etc. whose images had been apparently circulated through media tools (Figure 1.4). Almost all these heroes were ‘self-made’ actors, and as expressed by Edhem Eldem: ‘One of the most obvious signs of the emergence of “self-made” actors is their almost “pastless” appearance on the stage of history, as if “fallen from the sky . . .” often “born” suddenly as “heroes” with their military successes.’32 Children of modest or middle class families, they were in need of new tools for the legitimization of their claims of the leadership in the new political era versus the representatives and structure of the Old Regime. The visual tools of the early twentieth century were adequately structured to contribute to the public recognition of these heroes. In this frame, although disregarded by the mostly Istanbul-centric historiography of Ottoman photography33 the aforementioned Manaki Brothers seem to have been key figures in the documentation of the uprising, and also in the construction of the heroic person. Their biographers have often qualified them as the photographers-cameramen of sovereigns (photographer to the Romanian court, to the Ottoman Sultan Mehmed Res¸ad, and Karageorgevic, the King of Serbia);34 nevertheless apparently these ennobling titles do not comprehend in full their activities in the early 1900s. Manaki Brothers were experienced photographers who began their photographic activities in the Ottoman period, in Ioaninna, in 1898. Their multi-focal photographic collection preserved in the Macedonian Archives today, seems to be the product of intersected interests and tropisms: in the commercial photographs of weddings, local celebrations, or funerals a certain ethnographic and documentative gaze seems to be also at stake. The Brothers moved to Manastır (now Bitola) in 1905. Their presence in

Figure 1.3 Liberty, justice, equality. Enver Bey (right) and Niyazi Bey (left). Heroes of the Ottoman army, liberators of the homeland. The ‘justice’ is a motto used mostly by the rebels in addition to three common mottos (liberty, equality, fraternity, inspired by the French Revolution) or rarely replacing one of them. Servet-i Fu¨nun, 4 August 1324 – 17 August 1908.

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Figure 1.4 Photo with Selahaddin Bey (third from the right), a lessknown hero of Hu¨rriyet. The same picture appears in a newspaper (Servet-i Fu¨nun), enhances Niyazi Bey’s memoirs (Hatırat-ı Niyazi, p. 70), and appears in the Hu¨rriyet album prepared by the Manakis who apparently shot it. From Servet-i Fu¨nun, 13 October 1324 – 26 October 1908.

Manastır in 1908 was a ‘happy coincidence’35 only, or maybe they had been affiliated for some ethnical and/or personal reasons to the cause of CUP. However neither their biography nor the Macedonian Archives are without clues about their probable pro-CUP attitude. Their interest in politics apparently did not start in 1908. As the younger brother Milton recalled in the 1950s, in 1903 they had been into the woods to record the Macedonian Illinden uprising against Ottoman rule, and the town of Krushevo devastated by the Hamidian Army. For Milton, the Young Turks of 1908 were also ‘Illindeners’, Illinden being a natural generic name for him describing all the rebellions against Sultan Abdu¨lhamid II.36 Given their Vlach origins,37 and the well-known nationalistic activism of the older brother Yanaki,38 their relation with the Vlach members of CUP (particulary Philip Miche and Nicholas Batzaria) and the strong cooperation between the CUP and this community should be noted.39 These uncertain connections do not allow further speculation, but the steady relations that they established with the Ottoman Palace after 1908,

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the photographic commissions they had received under Sultan Res¸ad who replaced Abdu¨lhamid in 1909, their filming this very sultan during his trip to Manastır and Thessaloniki in 1911, reinforce the probability.40 What is sure is that they had been able to document extensively the ongoing revolutionary process within a pro-CUP rhetoric. In other words, their camera was selective: for instance, they did not turn it to the prostate celebrations organized in Manastır with the watchword ‘Long Live the Sultan!’ This visual engineering does not necessarily imply a complete falsification, but does suggest some careful exclusions in order to enhance the main story and make it persuasive. Their images seem to be an epic account of Hu¨rriyet emphasizing the success of the rebels and their identification with the people, with crowds in the streets or on the squares taken from a high angle filling the whole frame in order to produce an impression of grandeur. The pictorial depiction of the heroes contributes to this narrative: both in the open air and in the studio, their position, their outfits, their weapons and false mountain settings tell and remind the story of an armed rebellion. The collection of Bitola Archives presents several examples of this photographic perspective: in a picture with the caption ‘Albanians from Korca in Manastır, after Hu¨rriyet,’ eight Albanians proudly posed in the Manakis’ studio as warriors with binoculars and rifles. The tableau as a whole is the illustration of life in the mountains: in the second row, the one in the middle carries his rifle on his shoulder, the second on the left holds his binoculars, and in the first row, the first on the left holds his rifle ready to use. However, the most important achievement of the Brothers that still illustrates the Hu¨rriyet is the photographs of the eminent hero Niyazi Bey of Resen. The camera of the Manakis reconstructed Niyazi Bey as ‘homme du people’ with his big, photogenic and catchy mustache, covered with dust, as if he had just come from the mountains commanding rebels.41 His lack of manners neither obstructed his success nor his victory over the powerful sultan. In a very iconic photograph – also used by postcard publishers42 – the transformation of a visual setting into a mnemonic and symbolic construction is explicit: Niyazi and his famous deer put forth as the materialization of the abstract ‘freedom’: a powerful soldier with his rifle in hand, with bandits and soldiers surrounding him as the embodiment of his power (Figure 1.5). Regarding the deer, Niyazi Bey states in his memoirs that the deer joined the struggle in a village near Manastır and was immediately adopted by his band as a gift from

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Figure 1.5 Postcard with Niyazi Bey and his famous deer. The photo was taken by Manaki Brothers (Archives of Bitol, 2.588.7.46/53). Author’s collection.

Allah, as a kind of spiritual guide orienting them to their target. He would state ‘even animals voluntarily served the cause of our Committee. It followed its instincts and without any coercion it guided us to you.’43 The deer, with its quasi-mystic aura, was tailor-made for the persona of Niyazi Bey, embracing the popular appearances and values. However, the Manakis were not the only photographers of Hu¨rriyet heroes, and Niyazi Bey was not alone at the top of the ‘heroic’ hierarchy that he shared with Enver Bey. On pictorial production, from the early days of Hu¨rriyet, they had been the ‘heroes of the Homeland’, ‘the heroes who hoisted the flag of the freedom’, the embodiment of this notional, abstract process. They composed together a perfect pair of heroes complementing each other: the homme du peuple, and Enver Bey who emanated a more nuanced image: he is a soldier, but urbane in appearance. His rebel character has been emphasized by photographs, for instance by Phebus in Istanbul who set up in studio a papier maˆche´ mountain decoration, but he managed to pose with a book in his hand in this rebel setting.

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Figure 1.6 Images of Hu¨rriyet and of its heroes reaching Istanbul appeared in newspapers. Servet-i Fu¨nun, 13 Tes¸rin-i evvel 1326 / 26 October 1908.

At the latest in October 1908 some photos signed by the Manakis reached Istanbul through the newspaper Servet-i Fu¨nun (Figure 1.6), and most probably before this date through postcards. School children in Istanbul were now playing to Enver and Niyazi with their masks on their face.44 (Figure 1.7) However, apparently the ongoing hierarchic repositioning of the rebels has sometimes violated the rights of some among them; at least this is what I˙brahim Temo, the founder number one of the Committee, felt when he claimed that Atıf Bey, an important actor of the process, had not been appreciated adequately. Thus, he decided to pay a publisher in Vienna to print 10,000 postcards with the picture of this forgotten hero,45 which also underlies the contribution of visuals to the making of revolutionary personas.

Revolutionary Time: 10 July versus 11 July The uprising in Manastır on 23 July 1908, and the official declaration of the restoration of the Constitution on 24 July 1908, had been followed by celebrations organized both by the CUP and the Palace.

Figure 1.7 School boys in a studio with Niyazi Bey’s portrait behind them. Author’s collection.

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However, apparently what happened in Manastır remained unknown elsewhere at the time, and required the time and effort of the authors to spread and realize in full. In Istanbul, the journalist Hu¨seyin Cahit, an opponent to the Hamidian regime, had been shocked when he read in the newspapers the restoration of the Constitution, and in the first Friday Ceremony of the Hu¨rriyet he had to welcome the new era with the cry ‘Long Live the Sultan!’46 Many could barely believe the unexpected political turn. I˙smet Bey (I˙no¨nu¨), an officer of the Ottoman Army in Edirne at this date, reports that at first a lot of uncertain information flew from Thessaloniki; however, it took several days before they realized that an uprising had occurred in Manastır, and then in Thessaloniki.47 Both for CUP and the Palace, it seems to be of crucial importance that the restoration of the Constitution be certified in their name. The newspaper Neyyir-i Hakikat published by CUP in Manastır was very clear in its claims. On 30 July 1908, the newspaper reported succinctly and cautiously the official celebrations organized in town by the state officials, underlining the allegedly authentic actors of the celebrated political turn: The post of the grand vizier had to approve the absolute freedom that the people had already declared by the power of his hands, and following this declaration the people, in order to show how serious and violent is the union of the people, rushing and surging in grounds, gathered in front of the governor’s office and performed a manifestation of joy and proud.48 In this rhetoric the Hu¨rriyet was the result of the people’s struggle, not a benevolence of the Palace, and by the same token the newspaper identified the CUP with the people. The visual space provides the traces of a parallel effort for the appropriation of Hu¨rriyet. The aforementioned album by the Manakis49 presents an imaged narrative of Hu¨rriyet ‘1908– 1909’. But a closer look to the captions reveals uncertainties in the chronological record. Compared to eyewitnesses’ accounts, particularly of Niyazi Bey of Resen who published his memories in 1910,50 some photographs have been falsely dated, such as the Bulgarian, Greek and Vlach rebel bands’ arrival to the town: they should have reached the town sequentially in a week’s time; nevertheless in the album all the processions have been dated to 10 July 1324 (23 July 1908). The same goes for some postcards:

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Figure 1.8 Postcard with Chercis Topoli (third from the left), Atıf Bey (fourth from the left) and Adem Bey (fifth from the left). Text at top-right reads: The Hu¨rriyet hero of Manastır [Atıf Bey] with the Tosca committee. 10 July 1324. Author’s collection.

one example is where eminent rebels such as Atıf Bey, Cherchis Topoli and Adem Bey, seen side by side – a sign of cooperation between different communal constituents of the struggle – reads 10 Temmuz 1324, yevm Pers¸embe (10 July 1324, Thursday), yet according to written sources they were not yet in town on 10 July (Figure 1.8). As proven by the collection in the Bitola Archives, the picture was taken by the Manakis.51 Meanwhile, publishers like Max Fruchtermann52 who was in the capital, the abode of the sultan’s authority, apparently opted for another date: 11 July 1324 or 24 July 1908. Fruchtermann’s collection presents postcards with the photographs taken by the Manaki Brothers53 or with floral designs, but all dated 24 July 1908. The image of the sultan – whether he was alone or flanked by Enver Bey and Niyazi Bey in some cases – has been accompanied by this very date 24 July, the day the restoration had been officially announced in the capital. In this frame, the 10 July 1324 (23 July 1908) appears as a symbolic date that all pro-CUP heroic actions should be channelized to oppose the 11 July (24 July) promoted by the Palace. There are two territorial-ideological perceptions of Hu¨rriyet: two potential lieu de me´moire, two symbolic

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origins for the history to be reconstructed. As a matter of fact, in July 1909, following the dethronement of Abdu¨lhamid II, the Ottoman Parliament voted for the proclamation of a national holiday. Against one proposal for 11 July, and several for 27 January (supposedly the independence day of the Ottoman state in the thirteenth century), 10 July (23 July) has been opted for,54 and until the early years of the Republic this day would have been celebrated across the Empire.55

Conclusion ¨ zen reminds us: As Mustafa O it is important to mention here that because of the lack of source material, it is not possible to prove any possible direct connection between the postcard publishers and film producers and certain influential persons, groups or institutions whose ideas, actions and intentions were represented and propagated in these media. In other words, there is no proof that these productions were part of an organized (propaganda) campaign.56 All the same, first, we are not completely deprived of such evidences, particularly in the case of the Manakis, and secondly the photography has its own language articulated through shots, light, setting, presentation, and captions; in other words it is the product of a natural visual engineering. The available visual sources on Hu¨rriyet assert at least two competitive narratives at stake: the pro-Palace rhetoric with the sultanic portrait as a new representational policy, and that of rebels promoting anonymous figures as revolutionary heroes. All along, visuals contribute to the construction of Hu¨rriyet in accordance with respective politico-cultural perspective of the competing forces. In this sense the visual material, beyond its illustrative value, reveals a specific informative historical document with both its content and its construction. In the case of Hu¨rriyet the consistency and frequency of certain visual themes, and their impact on contemporay and future viewers, urge us to examine this visual lexicon as a tool for the transmission of messages, but also for the construction of new, multilayered social spaces, whether or not the Manakis or publishers like Max Fruchtermann were intentional in their choices.

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Notes 1. I˙smail Hakkı Uzuncars¸ılı, ‘1908 Yılında I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyetin Ne Suretle I˙lan Edildig˘ine Dair Vesikalar’, Hu¨rriyet Kahramanı Resneli Niyazi Hatıratı, 1908 Yılında I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyetin Ne Suretle I˙lan Edildig˘ine Dair Vesikalar (Istanbul: O¨rgu¨n Yayınevi, 2003), pp. 7 – 111. 2. Aykut Kansu, ‘1908 Devrimi U¨zerine Birkac So¨z’, in Osman Ko¨ker (ed.), Yadigaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, Orlando Calumeno Koleksiyonu’ndan Mes¸rutiyet Kartpostalları ve Madalyaları (Istanbul: Birzamanlar Yayıncılık, 2008), pp. 10 – 37. 3. Roni Margulies (ed.), Manastır’da I˙laˆn-ı Hu¨rriyet 1908 –1909 (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 1997), p. 7. 4. The basic assumptions of this study come from my Master’s thesis that I submitted to Bog˘azici University in 2010: ‘Rethinking the Young Turk Revolution: Manaki Brothers’ still and moving images’. The focus was on films by Manaki Brothers captioned as those of Hu¨rriyet, and preserved today in Skopje, in the Cinematheque of Macedonia. The still images were secondary, but they helped to better evaluate the films. From 2010 to 2013, in classes with ¨ ztu¨rkmen, Assoc. Prof. Ahmet Ersoy, Assoc. Prof. Yavuz Selim Prof. Arzu O Karakıs¸la and Assoc. Prof. Meltem Tokso¨z and I revised my conclusions. The study herein is a result of this re-evaluation, and includes passages from previously written papers in class. 5. W.J.T. Mitchell, ‘Showing Seeing: A Critique of Visual Culture’, in Nicholas Mirzoeff (ed.), The Visual Culture Reader (London and New York: Routledge, 1998), p. 87. 6. Palmira Brummett, Image and Imperialism in the Ottoman Revolutionary Press, 1908– 1911 (New York: SUNY Press 2000). On cartoons see also Gu¨nhan Bo¨rekci, ‘The Ottoman and the French Revolution: Popular images of ‘libertyequality-fraternity’ in the late Ottoman iconography, 1908– 1912’, unpublished master’s thesis, University of Bog˘azici, 1999. 7. Mustafa O¨zen, ‘Visual representation and propaganda: Early films and postcards in the Ottoman Empire, 1895– 1914’, Early Popular Visual Culture, 6/2 (2009), pp. 145– 57. He also points out to films related to Hu¨rriyet. 8. Sacit Kutlu, Didaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, Kartpostallarla I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet (1908 – 1913) (I˙stanbul, 2008; 1st edn in 2004). 9. Osman Ko¨ker (ed.), Yadigaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet. 10. Bahattin O¨ztuncay, I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lanının 100u¨ncu¨ Yılı [100th Anniversary of the Restoration of the Constitution] (Istanbul: Sadberk Hanım Mu¨zesi, 2008). 11. Tamer Erdog˘an (ed.), II. Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lk Yılı, 23 Temmuz 1908– 23 Temmuz 1909 (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2008). 12. Roni Margulies (ed.), Manastır’da I˙laˆn-ı Hu¨rriyet. 13. Manaki Brothers have been highly contested figures in debates on the Balkan cinema history, and their biographies are mostly underlined by the nationalistic or cultural claims of the writers. See Christos K. Christodoulou, The Manakis Brothers: The Greek Pioneers of the Balkanic Cinema (Thessaloniki: Organization

34

14.

15.

16. 17. 18. 19. 20.

21.

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for the Cultural Capital of Europe, 1997); Giorgios Exarchos, Adelfoi Manakia (Thessaloniki: Gavrilidis, 1991); Tvorestvoto na mrkata Manaki, L’oeuvre des fre`res Manaki (Skopje: Matica makedonoska, 1996). For few studies focused on their work, see Igor Stardelov, Manaki (Skopje: Kinoteka Na Makedonija, 2003); Marian Tutui, Orient Express or the Balkan Cinema (Bucharest: Noi Media Print, 2011). The numbers have been provided by the State Archives of the Republic of Macedonia, Department of Bitola (for still images), and the Cinematheque of Macedonia in Skopje. The corpus of Hu¨rriyet in these collections is yet to be defined, because the titles and the dates in a closer look seem to present inconsistencies. I had the opportunity to perform research in both institutions, in 2006 and 2008. In the Cinematheque of Macedonia, Mimi Gjorgoska-Ilievska, the director, Vesna Masloravik, senior film researcher and the International Relations Director, and Igor Stardelov, Head of Film Archives kindly provided me with the Hurriyet footage and all available material about the life and work of Manaki Brothers. In the State Archives of the Republic of Macedonia, the Department of Bitola, the archivist Maria Despotoska, just like Vesna, never tired of my countless questions. I am profoundly indebted to them all. For example Osman Ko¨ker, Yaˆdigaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, p. 41; see Archives of Bitola, 2.588.7.46/53, p. 43; Archives of Bitola, 2.580.7.24/27; Sacit Kutlu, Didaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, p. 117; Archives of Bitola, 2.580.7.24/27; p. 145; Archives of Bitola, 2.588.7.46/53. Selim Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains (London: I.B.Tauris, 1998), p. 22. Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains, pp. 16 – 43. On official ceremonies see also Hakan Karateke, Padis¸ahım C¸ok Yas¸a! Osmanlı Devletinin Son Yu¨zyılında Merasimler (Istanbul: Kitap Yayınevi, 2010). Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains, p. 22: ‘apparently in an iconoclastic show of Islamic orthodoxy, replaced the image of the ruler with uniformly embroidered banners bearing the legend “Long Live the Sultan!”’. Francois Georgeon, Abdu¨lhamid II, le sultan calife (Paris: Fayard, 2003), p. 404. As expressed by Edhem Eldem, ‘Pouvoir, modernite´ et visibilite´: l’e´volution de l’iconographie sultanienne a` l’e´poque moderne’, in Omar Carlier and Raphaelle Nollez-Goldbach (eds), Le Corps du leader. Construction et repre´sentation dans les pays du Sud (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2008), pp. 171– 202. To be exact, of two court photographers: Abdullah Fre`res and Bogos Tarkulyan. Archival documents clearly denote that in 1880 Abdullah Fre`res should have been punished for having taken the sultan’s photo without his consent, and all imperial portraits they had published and diffused should have been confiscated. BOA, Y.PRK.BS¸K., 33/4. Engin O¨zendes, Abdullah Fre`res, Osmanlı Sarayının Fotog˘rafcıları (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2006) pp. 83– 6. The same Kevork Abdullah, in his autobiography kept in San Lazzaro Monastery in Venice, asserts a different and earlier reason for this banishment. In 1878, at the end of the Turco-Russian war, they had as customers Russian officers, and he volunteered for taking an individual portrait of Grand Duke Nicola.

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22.

23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28.

29. 30.

31.

35

Furthermore, he welcomed the Russian officers to his house in Pera. The sympathy of the court photographer for the representatives of the enemy would cost him his title, and the studio Abdullah Fre`res would suffer pecuniary difficulties until the sultan re-honoured the elder brother, Vicen Abdullah, with his benevolence in 1899. Bahattin O¨ztuncay, Dersaadet’in Fotog˘rafcıları, vol. 1 ¨ zendes, in her Abdullah (Istanbul: Aygaz Yayınları, 2004), pp. 220 – 5. Engin O Fre`res, Osmanlı Sarayının Fotog˘rafcıları (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2006), pp. 83– 6, apparently, in an effort to combine the anecdote with archival documents, asserted the episode of Grand Duke as the main reason and interpreted the confiscation of sultanic portraits in 1880 as a late consequence: ‘Abdullah Fre`res had no right to keep the portraits of Abdu¨lhamid II previously taken. In 26 December 1880 with an imperial decree those portraits had been considered as new. As the content of the imperial decree clearly denote, their studio had been broken in, and the original plates had been destroyed.’ However, the document gives no hint about such an attack on the studio. See BOA, Y.PRK.BS¸K., 33/4. These reels have been considered lost for a long time. But a couple of years ago the Russian archives delivered a copy of two of them; however, La Turquie renaissante is still unavailable. L’Incendie, although being a very interesting social document, has been excluded as it is irrelevant to the Hu¨rriyet. Online access to the Russian catalogue: http://russianarchives.com/catalogues/rgakfd_e/index.html (accessed on March 2014). For the online catalogue of Pathe´ see: http://www.fondationjeromeseydoux-pathe.com/site/index.html (accessed on December 2013). I˙brahim Yıldıran, ‘Selim Sırrı Tarcan ve Tu¨rk Sinemasının Erken Do¨nem Tartıs¸malarına Katkı’, Kebikec 27 (2009), pp. 221– 30. Mustafa O¨zen, p. 150. Burcak Evren, Tu¨rkiye’ye Sinemayı Getiren Adam Sigmund Weinberg (Istanbul: Milliyet Yayınları, 1995). Interview with Fausto Zonaro in Il Caffaro, 1924, in Osman O¨ndes¸ – Erol Makzume, Osmanlı Saray Ressamı Fausto Zonaro (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2003), p. 80. BOA, Y. PRK.ASK. 154/108. In 1894, in a Bulgarian school, in Skopje: BOA, BEO 483/36211. The document provides the place where the imperial portrait ‘was displayed every year’. For the presence of the sultanic portrait in 1903, in a Greek school in Prilep, near Manastır, nowadays Bitola: BOA, Y.PRK.UM.64/92. BOA, MF.MKT.381/31. ‘tasvir-i mukaddes-i cenab-ı mu¨lukaˆnenin s¸unun bunun yedinde tedavu¨l ettirilmesi s¸eair-i celile-i islamiye mugayir bulundug˘una mebni . . .’. For a brief evaluation of foreign post offices based on archival documents: Ays¸egu¨l Okan, ‘The Ottoman postal and telegraph services in the last quarter of the nineteenth century’, unpublished master’s thesis, Bog˘azici University, 2003, pp. 32 –8. There is no common agreement on the number of periodicals, but 300 is the least expressed by researchers. For different perspectives see: Uygur

36

32. 33.

34. 35. 36. 37.

38.

39.

40. 41.

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Kocabas¸og˘lu, Hu¨rriyet’i Beklerken, I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet Basını (Istanbul: Bilgi U¨niversitesi Yayınları, 2010), pp. 7 – 8. ¨ ztuncay, I˙kinci Edhem Eldem, ‘Enver, Before He Became Enver.’ In Bahattin O Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lanının 100u¨ncu¨ Yılı, p. 92. Yet, they have been discovered by film studies. Manaki Brother has been introduced to the Turkish audience by the film director Metin Erksan: ‘I˙lk Tu¨rk Filmi 1905’te’, Tempo (1991). See also: Ilindenka Petrus¸eva, ‘I˙lk Tu¨rk Filmini C¸eken Sinemacılar’, Tombak (1994), pp. 28 –9; S¸eyben O¨zgu¨r, ‘Tu¨rkiye’de I˙lk Kez Manaki Kardes¸lerin C¸ektig˘i Filmler ve Fotog˘raflar’, Sinematu¨rk Aylık (Istanbul, 1994); Ilindenka Petrus¸eva, ‘Yanaki ve Milton Manaki Kardes¸lerin 1911’de C¸ektig˘i Filmler’, Tombak (1995), pp. 64, 65; Burcak Evren, ‘I˙lk Tu¨rk Filmini C¸eken Yanaki ve Milton Manaki Kardes¸ler’, Pazar Postası, 8 July 1995; ¨ zen ‘Balkanların I˙lk Sinemacıları mı? Manaki Biraderler’, Toplumsal Saadet O Tarih 219 (2012), pp. 60 – 7; ‘Manakilerin Objektifinden Hu¨rriyet’. Toplumsal Tarih 220 (2012), pp. 50– 7. Tvorestvoto na mrkata Manaki, L’oeuvre des fre`res Manaki (Skopje, 1996), p. 30. ¨ zerine Birkac So¨z’, p. 17. Aykut Kansu, ‘1908 Devrimi U Blagoja Drnkov, ‘Our first film reporter: The life and work of Milton D. Manakis’, trans. Vesna Maslovarik, Filmska Revija, 1 (Zagreb, 1951); republished in Kinotecen Mesecnik, 6 (1977). Archives of Bitola, 2.580.4.78. On a document in Ottoman script handled to the Archives by Milton Manaki, their grandfather has been qualified as ‘teba-i saltanat-ı seniyeden Ulah taifesinden Yanuli’, that is ‘subject of the (Ottoman) Empire from Vlach people’. Yanaki Manaki opened his first photo-studio in Ioannina in 1898 where he was also teaching calligraphy in a Romanian school, and the same year his brother joined him to be introduced to the art of photography. The chapter of the problematic opening of the first Romanian Consulate in Ioannina in 1904 would mark the end of the Ioannina chapter in their lives. In 1905, two Romanian inspectors coming to Ioannina organized a political protest in which Yanaki Manaki was involved. Yanaki, according to the newspapers of the time, was banned from Ioannina and reached Athens (?), without any further information about his stay in this city. This is how and why the Manakis went to Manastır and set up their new ‘Studio for Art and Photography’ there. In this town, particularly Yanaki’s pro-Vlach activities continued in the same spirit. On the Brothers’ Vlach allegiances, see Christodoulou, pp. 56, 57; Tutui, p. 120. See Kemal Karpat, ‘The memoirs of N. Batzaria: The Young Turks and nationalism’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 6/3 (1975), pp. 276– 99. Meclis-i Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi, 1 (4 December 1908 – 9 February 1909), p. 449 in Mehmet Hacisalihog˘lu, Jo¨ntu¨rkler ve Makedonya Sorunu, trans. by I˙hsan Catay (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2008), p. 145. Bitola Archives, 2.580.6.25 / 25; 2.580.6.27 / 27. In 1911, the Manakis filmed Niyazi Bey during a reenactment of the first day parade of Hu¨rriyet, on the occasion of Sultan Resad’s visit to Manastır.

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42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50.

51. 52. 53. 54. 55.

56.

37

Niyazi Bey and his fellow companion Eyu¨p Sabri Bey reconstructed their personas with their old clothes, horses and the gun carriage. This film is in the Macedonian Archives, Department of Skopje, under the title ‘Sultan Resad’s Visit to Bitola’. Osman Ko¨ker (ed.), Yaˆdigaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, p. 40. Resneli Niyazi, Kolag˘ası Resneli Ahmed Niyazi, Hatırat-ı Niyazi yahud Tarihce-i I˙nkılaˆb-ı Kebir-i Osmaniden Bir Sahife (Istanbul: Sabah Matbaası, 1326/1910), p. 359. From an account in Byzantia, a newspaper published in Istanbul in French. Nd. I˙brahim Temo’nun I˙ttihad ve Terakki Anıları (Arba, 1987), p. 216. Hu¨seyin Cahit Yalcın, Siyasal Anılar (Istanbul: I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r Yayınları, 1976), pp. 10– 12. I˙smet I˙no¨nu¨, the future companion of Atatu¨rk in the National Struggle of ‘1919 – 1922’, and President of the Republic of Turkey. See: I˙smet I˙no¨nu¨, Hatıralar, vol. 1 (Ankara: Bilgi Yayınevi, 1985), p. 43. ‘I˙cra-i nu¨mayis-i su¨rur’, Neyyir-i Hakikat, 30 August 1908. Roni Margulies (ed.), Manastır’da I˙laˆn-ı Hu¨rriyet. Based on eyewitnesses accounts with slight differences in between: Kolag˘ası Resneli Ahmed Niyazi, Hatırat-ı Niyazi. Niyazi Bey enriched his memories with photographs taken by the Manaki Brothers. Mehmed Habib Bey’s unpublished memoirs have been another source for the Revolution days in Manastır. I am indebted to Assoc. Prof. Yavuz Selim Karakıs¸la who provided me these memoirs along with photographs and postcards belonging to same Mehmed Habib Bey. See also: Ays¸e S¸en and Ali Birinci (ed.), Abdu¨lmecid Fehmi, Manastır’ın Unutulmaz Gu¨nleri (Ankara: Kitabevi, 1993). Archives of Bitola, 2.580.7.24/27. On Max Fruchtermann (1852– 1918) and a catalogue of his prints including those published on the occasion of Hu¨rriyet: Mert Sandalcı, Max Fruchtermann Kartpostalları (Istanbul: Kocbank, 2000). See: Mert Sandalcı, Max Fruchtermann Kartpostalları, vol. 1, p. vii. About the debate on a national festival date see: Meclis-i Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi, 13 Kanun-i Saˆnıˆ 1324 (26 January 1909), ict. 18, v. 1, pp. 319– 23. Melis Su¨los¸, ‘Bir Cumhuriyete I˙ki Bayram. Cumhuriyet Do¨neminde 1908 Hu¨rriyet Bayramı Kutlamaları’, Toplumsal Tarih 151 (July 2006), pp. 72– 5. Filiz C¸olak, ‘Osmanlı Devleti’nde 10 Temmuz I˙yd-i Millıˆ’si U¨zerine’, Tu¨rkI˙slaˆm Medeniyeti Akademik Aras¸tırmalar Dergisi 6 (Konya, 2008), pp. 197– 213. Mustafa O¨zen, p. 145.

References Bo¨rekci, Gu¨nhan, ‘The Ottoman and the French Revolution: Popular images of “Liberty-Equality-Fraternity” in the late Ottoman iconography, 1908– 1912’, unpublished master’s thesis, University of Bog˘azici, 1999.

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Brummett, Palmira, Image and Imperialism in the Ottoman Revolutionary Press, 1908 – 1911 (New York: SUNY Press, 2000). Christodoulou, Christos K., The Manakis Brothers: The Greek Pioneers of the Balkanic Cinema (Thessaloniki: Organization for the Cultural Capital of Europe, 1997). C¸olak, Filiz, ‘Osmanlı Devleti’nde 10 Temmuz I˙yd-i Millıˆ’si U¨zerine’, Tu¨rk-I˙slaˆm Medeniyeti Akademik Aras¸tırmalar Dergisi 6 (2008), pp. 197– 213. Deringil, Selim, The Well-Protected Domains (London: I.B.Tauris, 1998). Drnkov, Blagoja, ‘Our first film reporter: The life and work of Milton D. Manakis’, trans. Vesna Maslovarik, Filmska Revija 1 (1951); republished in Kinotecen Mesecnik 6 (1977). Eldem, Edhem, ‘Pouvoir, modernite´ et visibilite´: l’e´volution de l’iconographie sultanienne a` l’e´poque moderne,’ in Omar Carlier and Raphaelle NollezGoldbach (eds), Le Corps du leader. Construction et repre´sentation dans les pays du Sud (Paris, 2008), pp. 171– 202. Erdog˘an, Tamer (ed.), II. Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lk Yılı, 23 Temmuz 1908 – 23 Temmuz 1909 (I˙stanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2008). Evren, Burcak, ‘I˙lk Tu¨rk Filmini C¸eken Yanaki ve Milton Manaki Kardes¸ler’, Pazar Postası, 8 July 1995. ——— Tu¨rkiye’ye Sinemayı Getiren Adam Sigmund Weinberg (I˙stanbul: Milliyet Yayınları, 1995). Exarchos, Giorgios, Adelfoi Manakia (Thessaloniki: Gavrilidis, 1991). Georgeon, Francois, Abdu¨lhamid II, le sultan calife (Paris: Fayard, 2003). Hacısalihog˘lu, Mehmet, Jo¨ntu¨rkler ve Makedonya Sorunu, trans. by I˙hsan Catay (I˙stanbul, 2008). I˙brahim, Temo, I˙brahim Temo’nun I˙ttihad ve Terakki Anıları (I˙stanbul, 1987). I˙no¨nu¨, I˙smet, Hatıralar, vol. 1 (Ankara, 1985). Kansu, Aykut, ‘1908 Devrimi Birkac So¨z’, in Osman Ko¨ker (ed.), Yadigaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, Orlando Calumeno Koleksiyonu’ndan Mes¸rutiyet Kartpostalları ve Madalyaları (I˙stanbul: Birzamanlar Yayıncılık, 2008), pp. 10 – 37. Karateke, Hakan, Padis¸ahım C¸ok Yas¸a! Osmanlı Devletinin Son Yu¨zyılında Merasimler (I˙stanbul: Kitap Yayınevi, 2010). Karpat, Kemal, ‘The memoirs of N. Batzaria: The Young Turks and nationalism’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 6/3 (1975), pp. 276 – 99. Kocabas¸og˘lu, Uygur, Hu¨rriyet’i Beklerken, I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet Basını (I˙stanbul: Bilgi ¨ niversitesi Yayınları, 2010). U Kutlu, Sacit, Didaˆr-ı Hu¨rriyet, Kartpostallarla I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet (1908 – 1913) (I˙stanbul: Bilgi U¨niversitesi Yayınları, 2008; 1st edn 2004). Margulies, Roni (ed.), Manastır’da Manastır’da I˙laˆn-ı Hu¨rriyet 1908– 1909 (I˙stanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 1997). Mitchell, W.J.T., ‘Showing Seeing: A Critique of Visual Culture,’ in Nicholas Mirzoeff (ed.), The Visual Culture Reader (London and New York: Routledge, 1998), pp. 86 – 102. Okan, Ays¸egu¨l, ‘The Ottoman postal and telegraph services in the last quarter of the nineteenth century’, unpublished master’s thesis, Bog˘azici University, 2003. ¨ ndes¸, Osman and Makzume, Erol, Osmanlı Saray Ressamı Fausto Zonaro (I˙stanbul: O Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2003). ¨ zen, Mustafa, ‘Visual representation and propaganda: Early films and postcards in O the Ottoman Empire, 1895– 1914,’ Early Popular Visual Culture 6/2 (2009), pp. 145– 57.

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¨ zen, Saadet, ‘Balkanların I˙lk Sinemacıları mı? Manaki Biraderler’, Toplumsal Tarih O 219 (2012), pp. 60–7. ——— ‘Manakilerin Objektifinden Hu¨rriyet’, Toplumsal Tarih 220 (2012), pp. 50–7. ¨ zendes, Engin, Abdullah Fre`res, Osmanlı Sarayının Fotog˘rafcıları (Istanbul: Yapı O Kredi Yayınları, 2006). ¨ ztuncay, Bahattin, Dersaadet’in Fotog˘rafcıları, vol. 1 (Istanbul: Koc Ku¨ltu¨r, Sanat ve O Tanıtım, 2004). ——— I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lanının 100u¨ncu¨ Yılı (I˙stanbul: Sadberk Hanım Mu¨zesi, 2008). Petrus¸eva, Ilindenka, ‘I˙lk Tu¨rk Filmini C¸eken Sinemacılar’, Tombak 28 – 9 (1994). ——— ‘Yanaki ve Milton Manaki Kardes¸lerin 1911’de C¸ektig˘i Filmler’, Tombak 64–5 (1995). Resneli Niyazi, Hatırat-ı Niyazi yahud Tarihce-i I˙nkılaˆb-ı Kebir-i Osmaniden Bir Sahife (I˙stanbul: Sabah Matbaası, 1326 [1910]). Sandalcı, Mert, Max Fruchtermann Kartpostalları (I˙stanbul: Kocbank, 2000). Stardelov, Igor, Manaki (Skopje: Kinoteka na Makedonija, 2003). Su¨los¸, Melis, ‘Bir Cumhuriyete I˙ki Bayram. Cumhuriyet Do¨neminde 1908 Hu¨rriyet Bayramı Kutlamaları’, Toplumsal Tarih 151 (2006), pp. 72– 5. S¸en, Ays¸e and Birinci, Ali (eds), Fehmi, Manastır’ın Unutulmaz Gu¨nleri (Ankara: Akademi Kitabevi, 1993). ¨ zgu¨r, ‘Tu¨rkiye’de I˙lk Kez Manaki Kardes¸lerin C¸ektig˘i Filmler ve S¸eyben, O Fotog˘raflar’, Sinematu¨rk, December 1994. Tutui, Marian, Orient Express or the Balkan Cinema (Bucharest: Noi Media Print, 2011). Tvorestvoto na mrkata Manaki, L’oeuvre des fre`res Manaki (Skopje: Prosveta Kumanovo, 1996). Uzuncars¸ılı, I˙smail Hakkı, ‘1908 Yılında I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyetin Ne Suretle I˙lan Edildig˘ine Dair Vesikalar,’ in Hu¨rriyet Kahramanı Resneli Niyazi Hatıratı, 1908 Yılında I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyetin Ne Suretle I˙lan Edildig˘ine Dair Vesikalar. (I˙stanbul: ¨ rgu¨n Yayınları, 2003), pp. 7 – 111. O Yalcın, Hu¨seyin C., Siyasal Anılar (Istanbul: I˙s¸ Bankası, 1976). Yıldıran, I˙brahim, ‘Selim Sırrı Tarcan ve Tu¨rk Sinemasının Erken Do¨nem Tartıs¸malarına Katkı’, Kebikec 27 (2009), pp. 221 – 30.

CHAPTER 2 THE LOGIC OF ENLIGHTENMENT AND THE REALITIES OF REVOLUTION: YOUNG TURKS AFTER THE YOUNG TURK REVOLUTION Erdal Kaynar

What causes revolutions? Who are their agents? How do revolutionary ideals evolve after the revolution? Since the French Revolution of 1789, these questions preoccupy politicians and activists, as well as social scientists. The idea of revolution is a central question of politics and has given way to some of the most engaging theories of modern political thought – be it to understand the political upheaval, to trigger it, or to avoid its eruption. Founders of modern conservatism like Edmund Burke and Joseph de Maistre described 1789 as the beginning of the reign of chaos and the end of history. Revolutions appeared to them as events that should not be and could therefore only produce disorder. This conservative view can easily be dismissed as being incapable of explaining historical change. However, this would be to deny the lasting impact of such an interpretation on the way revolutions are conceived or become unthinkable. Indeed, this conservative view bears parallels to historiographical debates on the revolution, even among progressive-minded social historians. Fernand Braudel famously stated that events horrify social scientists.1

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As disruptive moments, revolutions keep their surprising nature also in retrospective and challenge wisdom about the course of history, imagined as a series of largely static continuities stretching on the longue dure´e. Given this disruptive, even ‘horrifying’, nature of the revolution, it is not surprising that observers should try to re-establish and invent continuities in order to give some sense to a moment of chaos and introduce logics into an event, which seems devoid of it.2 In fact, this is not very different for politics after the revolutionary event, nor even for the agents of revolutions. As can be seen in recent events in the countries of the Arab Spring, conflicting attempts to interpret the revolution, and eventually come to terms with it, mark post-revolutionary politics. Laying claim on a revolution serves to legitimize politics pursued by those aspiring for power. And almost certainly, these politics seem contradictory to the initial ideals of a revolution. This is something which studies on the Young Turk movement, the 1908 Revolution, and the Second Constitutional Period have frequently underlined: operating from the shadows, the Committee of Union and Progress (CUP) as the foremost Young Turk organization established over the years a one-party rule and subsequently acted against opposition forces, curtailing freedoms for most of the parts of the Second Constitutional Period. The CUP’s authoritarian politics and its very existence as a shadow organization seem at odds with the liberal appeal of 1908 and with the Enlightenment ideals of the Young Turk movement. However, it has not been analysed how these authoritarian politics developed in dialectical relation to political events and how it was an act of explaining and claiming the revolution. During the last decades, the attempt to question master narratives that establish a homogenizing explanation concerning historical evolutions on the longue dure´e resulted in a new interest for the biographical approach. Liberated from the narrative of Great Men making history, studies have concentrated on the lives of historical persons in order to cast new light on choices, made at complex moments. Consequently, elements like personal experiences, doubts and expectations emerged as essential factors having an impact on decisions made by actors in intricate situations. This approach has led to new perspectives on central and often disputed subjects of revolutionary history, like the entry in war or the drift towards Terror in the French Revolution.3 The recent popularity of the biographical method in

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Ottoman studies is part of this more general trend that stresses the theme of contingency over the dictum of historical necessity. In this chapter, I will concentrate on the case of the Young Turk leader Ahmed Rıza to follow how former Young Turks tried to adapt their lives and their ideal of Enlightenment to the revolutionary realities through interpreting the 1908 Revolution. I will analyze the way the CUP constructed its authoritarian rule in the post-revolutionary Ottoman society as a political response to political situations in order to come to terms with the ‘horrifying’ nature of the revolution. I will finally argue that it is not enough to comprehend the discrepancy between ideals and acts in terms of a simple contradiction, and that a closer look on the way this contradiction developed allows a better understanding of Young Turk political thought.

Ideas and Revolutions: Young Turks as Intellectuals How did the Young Turk Revolution of 1908 in the Ottoman Empire occur? Contemporaries of 1908 had two seemingly opposing interpretations to explain the events that toppled the regime of the Sultan Abdu¨lhamid II, restored the Constitution of 1876, and put the Ottoman Empire at least nominally under the principle of people’s sovereignty. One interpretation was especially popular among European diplomats. They identified the military as the actor of the revolution. In the militarist spirit of the pre-World War I period, Europeans were eager to attribute the revolution in the Ottoman Empire to the disciplined and Westernized force of the military, able to conduct the overthrow of the Hamidian regime in an orderly manner, as opposed to the Muslim population in general, too struck by apathy to act against a despotic regime, and too zealous to behave peacefully. At the same time, this view corresponded to the perception diplomats of different European countries had of the Young Turk movement prior to the 1908 Revolution. As German diplomats wrote, the executors of the overthrow in Macedonia had few in common with those Young Turks: whose heads are imbued by Western European notions without having a profound understanding of those, perhaps one would have to say that they are more affected illness-like by those, and who dream of a ‘reform’ of their fatherland through the

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introduction of so-called parliamentary institutions according to some European scheme.4 However, this view was not incompatible with another, quite contradictory-seeming conception that came up during the days of revolution. Despite the distinction made by some between the Young Turk dreamers in Parisian exile and the executors of the toppling of the Hamidian regime in Macedonia, observers quickly considered the revolution to be the triumph of the liberal ideals of the Young Turk movement. The movement, and foremost its leader Ahmed Rıza, had published for years underground papers in a relentless effort to enlighten the Ottomans about the despotic nature of the Hamidian regime. This was meant to draw the attention of the Ottoman population to the necessity for change in the Empire, dictated through natural laws. According to the Young Turks, a change in the system represented the sole means to adapt to progress and the universal ideal of civilization. In summer 1908, the general opinion considered the Young Turks’ liberalism and their publication efforts had borne their fruit. Ahmed Rıza was declared the ‘father of liberals’ (ebu-l ahrar), a name that Ahmed Midhat had initially given to the young Sultan Abdu¨lhamid II upon his declaration of constitutionalism in 1876, and which now honoured the man who had represented in his single person the opposition to Abdu¨lhamid.5 A direct link seemed to stretch between the movement’s political thought professed in their writings and the actual overthrow of the Hamidian regime. In other words, there seemed to be continuity between political ideas, their communication and revolutionary facts. This explanation is far from being specific to the Young Turk Revolution. On the contrary, a look on the historiography of different revolutions worldwide shows that the idea of the continuity between ideas, their diffusion and political change is an established assumption to conceive revolutions. Already the French Revolution appeared in a similar light. Immediately after the events of July 1789, scholars of different horizons like Antoine-Francois Delandine, Thomas Paine or Edmund Burke established a link between the Enlightenment and the revolution. The ‘philosophes’ of the eighteenth century had cast the light of reason and emancipation into the desolation and corruption of the Ancien Re´gime. The Enlightenment hence had prepared the breeding ground for the events of 1789 and the birth of modernity.6

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Political developments and ruptures, and the process of emancipation in general, appear often as the effect of ideas and their diffusion through a group of enlightened people – ‘intellectuals’ in its broader sense. In its essence, this view goes back to the project of Enlightenment itself as it was formulated from the eighteenth century onwards.7 This ‘logic of Enlightenment’ supposed that political immaturity is essentially a problem of ignorance and that the simple diffusion of ideas through enlightened men would trigger an automatic process of emancipation.8 Under this liberal view, the social and historical dimensions of revolutionary dynamics can hardly be taken into consideration. The process of political upheaval is reduced to a question of the spreading of knowledge and is thus fundamentally depoliticized. The celebration of the revolution therefore goes hand in hand with its actual obliteration.9 In fact, this conception corresponded to the image the Young Turks had of themselves as the representatives of the universal and natural process of progress and Enlightenment. Just as protagonists of the French revolutionary era, like Saint-Just, Danton or Robespierre, the Young Turks considered themselves the direct heirs of the Enlightenment project, which they had to translate to the conditions of the Ottoman Empire. European observers shared the same view. For the more optimistic minds in Europe, in contrast to the essentialist perceptions of the Empire as being doomed in its very nature, the Young Turks appeared as partners of liberal Europe. According to the same view, the events of 1908 in the Ottoman Empire were the reflection of European developments toward political emancipation. They confirmed the universal value of Western political principles as well as the idealistic conception of the power of the movement of ideas. For Europeans, the Young Turks in exile and in particular Ahmed Rıza as the most Westernized face of the movement appeared to be the central element of the chain having lead to the 1908 Revolution.10 Historical change appeared to be the result of the movement of ideas, and the Young Turk intellectuals as its natural agents. The logic of Enlightenment also defined the Young Turk definition of progress as a societal project. While they had a profoundly negative perception of human nature, they shared the belief in the virtually unlimited powers of education expressed in the dictum ‘L’e´ducation peut tout’ by the Enlightenment philosopher Helve´tius. If the Ottoman people were in general an ignorant mass, they had nevertheless the

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potential to change. The Young Turks thus believed that it would be perfectly possible to teach them the idea of Enlightenment and the principles of progress. By this they aimed to combat obscurantism and transform the Ottoman Empire into a civilized country. Ahmed Rıza was one of the major exponents of this logic of Enlightenment. With his journals Mes¸veret and Mechveret (initially the French supplement to the former) he had set standards for the Young Turk press. He had also participated directly in the press culture of the French Republic of the 1890s with highly mediatized cases that took their place in French political debates at the eve of the Dreyfus Affair. More importantly, he had given a theoretical shape to Young Turk thinking about progress, education and the reform of the Empire. According to him, education was a process aimed to enlighten the Ottomans about the virtues and duties of progress and the fatherland and to trigger their potential for progress. Young Turk publishing took its natural place in this long process. These conceptions were further strengthened by the impact of positivism. In Parisian exile, Rıza had embraced the thought of Auguste Comte as a political doctrine and developed his projects for the Ottoman Empire as adaptations of positivism to the Muslim world. Acknowledging an elementary positivistic value to Islam, he considered that it would be possible for Ottomans to realize progress more quickly and with fewer problems than Europeans. Ottomans were predisposed to progress and ultimately positivism, but they needed to be educated to recognize their potential. But mostly positivism confirmed elements, which were important to Ahmed Rıza and the Young Turks in general, like the importance of science, the conception of human history as a continual evolution and the role of an enlightened elite in it. For them, this logic of Enlightenment was a way to inscribe their activities and themselves into history. But what happened to the logic of Enlightenment after the revolution? What form did it take when the Young Turks passed from the margins of power to its centre? Indeed, there seems to be a stark contrast between their liberal thought on the one hand, and the authoritarian nature they showed after the revolution. Scholarship has thus depicted the Young Turks as an essentially authoritarian group, in contrast to the immediate impression they left on observers in 1908.11 Consequently their commitment to a liberal agenda appears as

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essentially shallow, or even as a propaganda tool to fool Western observers. However, instead of simply underlining the contradictions between the liberal and authoritarian face of the Young Turks, it is more interesting to see how politics evolved in the months following the revolution and how it related to the logic of Enlightenment. While the history of the Young Turk movement before 1908 and the political evolutions of the post-revolutionary period have been studied, virtually no research exists on the question of how Young Turks adapted to the changes in the Empire. At first sight, this lack appears to be insignificant. But it is in fact symptomatic of the idealistic understanding of the process of revolution. Indeed, very similar interpretations have marked the historiography of virtually all revolutions. Given the development of authoritarian politics in the aftermath of a revolution, the identification of a set of maleficent ideas responsible for this repressive shift became a handy way to understand the event. Often these interpretations bear parallels to conspiracy theories and take up criticisms professed by opponents to revolutions, as for instance Alexis de Tocqueville’s conservative take on the French Revolution, which in the 1980s became a major inspiration for studies on the revolutionary era and the development of the politics of terror. This kind of analysis establishes a direct link between the thought of the Young Turks and the political events in the Ottoman Empire. Under this perspective, it becomes difficult to work out how political ideas and ideals developed in dialectics with the revolutionary process. Events of the Second Constitutional Period appear as reflections of an abstract Young Turk thought already fully established before 1908. In other words, an essentially moral judgement supplants the need to understand the historical situation in its contradictory nature and to assess the political ideology of the Young Turks accordingly. Ahmed Rıza was far from being a typical Young Turk. Nevertheless, he was one of the main ideologues of the movement, and hence a foremost representative of their political thought. He also became a prominent figure of the CUP under the Second Constitutional Period, and was indeed one of the major targets of forces opposed to the Unionists. Moreover, he was perfectly representative of a common feature that marked the Young Turks as a generation, namely the desire to comprehend the forces of a world in transition, and become an actor in

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it in order to respond to the perceived need of saving the Ottoman Empire: the perception of a constant menace that loomed on the survival of the Empire in the epoch of imperialism and created a notion of urgency, according to which action had to be taken immediately. This notion of the urgent need for action to save the Empire fundamentally brought together people of very different backgrounds under the umbrella of the CUP. A political discourse on the ‘fatherland’ and on ‘virtue’ left no choice other than to act. This perceived imperative to act pushed Young Turks to engage in politics before and after 1908 – even if their actual role in the revolution was limited. The way Ahmed Rıza managed his post-revolutionary life therefore gives hints to understanding how the title of ‘father of liberty’ became outdated a couple of months after his return to the Empire, and, on a more general level, how the discrepancy between ideals and acts in the revolutionary phase could develop.

Choices in the Post-Revolutionary Empire Immediately after the restoration of the Constitution, French diplomats wrote that the rebellions in the Empire might have surprised Young Turks in Paris more than Abdu¨lhamid himself.12 This is quite true for Ahmed Rıza. From 1905 onwards, the Young Turks had engaged in a process of reorganization, which had brought to power new groups inside the movement and had pushed aside its former big names. This process changed the nature of the movement. Apart from his ideological influences, Ahmed Rıza’s importance no longer went much beyond his reputation as the iconic Young Turk having courageously opposed Abdu¨lhamid. Not a single document shows that he was aware of what was going on in Macedonia in June – July 1908. As late as beginning of July, two days after Niyazi had taken arms and had gone to the mountains with his battalion, Ahmed Rıza was quarrelling with a positivist friend about some trivial points that had not been taken up in a report on a reunion of the positivist organization in Paris in which he was a member.13 Given the fact that he was not prepared to see the object of his existence disappear, it is not astonishing that he had no clear idea of what his role could be under the new regime. Looking at the first weeks of his new existence, it seems that Ahmed Rıza wanted to continue his life as a

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publisher of journals. In the final issue of his long-term Parisian paper Mechveret in August 1908, he expressed his decision to take up publication in Istanbul. Even upon his arrival in the Ottoman Empire at the end of September he repeated his resolution.14 However, he was a cofounder and respected member of the CUP, the organization, which had executed the overthrow of the Hamidian regime, and was starting to fill the political void left by the destitution of the ancient regime. Could Ahmed Rıza, who had actually given the Committee its name, have stayed out of this process? Contrary to what one might believe looking at his life, Rıza did not see his role as being in politics per se. In his political writings of the 1890s, he had developed the idea of an elite of ‘learned men’ (ulama) who would float above society and oversee its orderly evolution thanks to their wisdom and knowledge of the laws of nature and society, but who would be distinct from the political corps. Learned men were the ‘pilots’ who navigated ‘the boat of the state’.15 He adapted this idea from the positivist concept of savants, which was the Comteian interpretation of the philosophers’ most ancient dream: making politics without getting one’s hands dirty. More importantly, it is no coincidence that he developed these notions at a time when the ‘intellectuals’ imposed themselves as a new social and political category in European societies. Theoretically, Ahmed Rıza would have been able to fulfil more truthfully his mission as an ‘intellectual’ after 1908 under the constitutional regime than as a member of a clandestine opposition force in exile. The freedom of opinion and liberal press laws would better allow his enlightened ideas to play in a society open to debates. However, Ahmed Rıza made a crucial choice to which he would stick up to the eve of World War I. He decided to construct his post-revolutionary life in link to the CUP. Inevitably this tied his career to the CUP’s aim to control Ottoman politics. At first, this did not seem to be contradictory to his conceptions of the role of savants to influence politics, without engaging in the process of decision making directly. According to him, the CUP’s role should be to observe the course of events in postrevolutionary politics. From Paris, where he stayed up to September, he wrote letters to his Unionist comrades in this sense.16 But this position was inevitably in a tension with another perception. Rıza considered it to be a priority to protect the revolutionary regime from its enemies as well as from itself. For Young Turks, it was evident

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that the Hamidian regime and its conservative partners inside society would not let off their primitive opposition to progress. Moreover, according to Young Turk evolutionism, the revolution could not represent a lasting political ideal. If 1908 was an effect of efforts of Enlightenment pursued by Young Turks, the revolution did not mean that the ignorant masses had become fully aware of their predisposition for progress. Logically, to gain success the revolutionary project had to cease being revolutionary. Hence, in an article published a couple of days after the overthrow, Ahmed Rıza spoke of the revolution in the past tense: La re´volution e´tait pour nous [. . .] un moyen provisoire et non un principe. Nous l’avions dirige´e contre l’absolutisme et l’oppression et non contre les institutions religieuses et sociales de notre pays; nous l’avions employe´e pour obliger le gouvernement a` mettre en vigueur les lois existantes de l’Empire [. . .] et non pour favoriser les inte´reˆts et les ambitions politiques de tel ou tel groupement [. . .] Pour maintenir [la] Constitution, nous n’avons plus besoin de re´volution, il nous faut au contraire le calme, la tranquillite´, et par-dessus tout une grande mode´ration dans nos exigences. Un sentiment de justice et de modestie doit servir de frein aux passions politiques.17 Influenced by French political ideology of the Third Republic, the Young Turks had embraced the conservative interpretation of the French Revolution, which extrapolated radicalism from the revolutionary event and stressed continuity over rupture. Accordingly, the French Revolution had shown to them how much a control on the revolutionary process was necessary to prevent a repetition of events like terror, wars and social unrest. Moreover, an outburst of violence in the Empire could provoke foreign intervention in Ottoman political affairs. On the other hand, recent examples of the constitutional revolutions in Russia and in Iran demonstrated to the Unionists that democratic achievements could ¨ mmet had be revoked at any moment. The Young Turk paper S¸uˆra-yı U analysed already in 1906 that the success of the constitutional revolution in Russia would depend on the existence of a political organization, capable of supervising the post-revolutionary political developments and ensuring the final triumph of constitutionalism.18 Stemming from this

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experience, they concluded that the new constitutional regime in the Ottoman Empire would be doomed without an organization guarding the experiment of democracy. The logic of Enlightenment still dictated that the Ottomans just needed to be lectured about the virtues of progress and their predisposition to it. But progressive ideas were not enough. A political structure was necessary to ensure their spreading. Hence, according to Young Turk ideology, the success of the Ottoman reform would depend as much on political organization as on the power of arguments.19 In summer 1908, the CUP appeared to be the only political force capable of taking this role. It had overseen the revolutionary process and watched over the peaceful evolution of events since the outbreak of the revolt in Macedonia. The CUP promised to counterbalance the ignorance of the masses and the inherent internal and external threads that endangered the constitutional regime. These appear as the principal reasons why Rıza decided to work as a member of the post-revolutionary CUP. To him, working for the primary force of the revolution appeared as the condition to secure the realization of reforms, and continue the project of Enlightenment. It cannot be overstressed how much this decision meant a radical change in Rıza’s life. His decision to work inside the CUP meant that he moved from the margins to the centre of political power. Before the revolution, Rıza’s ideas of a societal elite could be described as theoretical positions. But in the period following the overthrow of the ancient regime and the CUP’s rise, they became a political stance, with concrete entanglements. Rıza’s ideas were no longer a way of perceiving the realities of the Ottoman Empire, but were meant to be tools to act on those. Ahmed Rıza’s decision to work at the centre of political power directly influenced his choice of office. In fact, he seems to have turned down an offer as Minister of Education.20 This is quite astonishing given the fact that he had firmly insisted on the importance of education and had started his political career by penning projects to reform public schools. Furthermore, it would also have given him the possibility to continue his logic of Enlightenment in official functions. It seemed to be a natural choice. In December 1908, the foreign press even announced his appointment to the Ministry of Education.21 But this function appeared too far from the process of political decision taking. Instead, he accepted his election as president of the Chamber of Deputies. In fact, his

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reputation as the ‘father of liberals’ reached its apogee the day Parliament convened. Crowds cheered his arrival at the Chamber of Deputies and he was elected the Chamber’s president with the unanimous voice of the present representatives.22 But in his inaugural speech two days later, he made clear how he considered managing his new position. Despite the offices commitment to neutrality, he declared that the CUP had and would always continue to work for the best prospect of the Ottoman Empire.23 The opening of Parliament served as a catalyser for the formation of different political currents, which quickly challenged the CUP’s constant interference in state politics. Debates in the chambers were lively, and the press showed an extraordinary energy in criticizing the Unionists. Soon deputies and journalists opposed to the CUP constituted themselves as ‘liberals’ (ahrar). It may come as a surprise that the liberals picked the ‘father of liberals’ as a primary target. But as anticipated in his inaugural speech, Rıza exercised his functions as president of the Chamber in a very biased way. Different deputies and journalists started criticizing him a couple of weeks after sessions began. Instead of presiding the Chamber, Rıza was conducting it, wrote the Islamist newspaper Volkan.24 Even when the deputy Rıza Nur penned, in March 1909, a famous critique of the CUP, Ahmed Rıza showed himself quite unimpressed.25 To counter the accusations, he presented the Committee as the only guardian of the Constitution and declared without the slightest hesitation challengers of the CUP as traitors to the fatherland.26 Even the foreign press criticized his lack of impartiality and dubbed him as incompetent.27 When the journalist Hasan Fehmi, known for his hostility to the CUP, was murdered at the beginning of April, many liberals held Ahmed Rıza responsible for the act. Rumours circulated saying that the assassins had hidden in his house.28 The only person criticized by the liberals on an equal level was Hu¨seyin Cahid, chief journalist of the Unionist paper Tanin. However, compared to this post-Young Turk aged 34, a newcomer in politics after July 1908, Ahmed Rıza as a veteran of the CUP and former hero of liberty was far more exposed to criticism. How did Ahmed Rıza react to these frontal attacks? In fact, he was very much used to criticism. During his life as a Young Turk, he was known for not showing the smallest signs of concession towards people with positions diverging from his. His intransigent behaviour had

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constantly outraged others and had polarized the movement. The difference in 1909 was that his behaviour and the reaction it caused were no longer about some quarrels of a small political group in exile but matters of national politics. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that he was reconsidering his attitude. But before he could take any decisions, the course of events accelerated. The criticism coming from the liberals was something the Unionists and their representative Ahmed Rıza could bear. In fact, the liberals did not differ much from the Unionist in their ideological outlook, and the CUP could have found a way to accommodate their positions. A more substantial menace with farreaching consequence came from Islamist mobilization and popular unrest in the form of the 31 Mart event.

The Street against the Young Turks: Islamist Mobilization and the 31 Mart Incident In their opposition to the CUP and his representative Ahmed Rıza, liberals had a rather improbable ally. Parallel to the development of parliamentary opposition, the constitutional regime witnessed the emergence of a new political Islam. The press as the new medium of politics served as a major vector for this new political formation. The Islamist press often joined liberals in their critique of Unionist politics. Both also described more generally Unionist interference in parliamentary politics as unconstitutional and as a serious obstacle to parliamentary rule. But their reasoning differed radically from the liberals: the Islamist press held the CUP responsible for a general degradation of Ottoman society since the revolution, marked by the loss of values, Westernization, an excess of new liberties in particular as regards women’s rights, immorality – in other words, an estrangement towards Islam which had made society corrupt. It presented the return to divine law as the condition for the Empire’s regeneration.29 Given this agenda, it comes as no surprise that the Islamist movement would target Ahmed Rıza as the major representative of the CUP. The first issues of Volkan led by Dervis¸ Vahdetıˆ still hailed Rıza as a hero of liberty. The paper even congratulated him for his election to the Chamber in December 1908.30 But the tone changed radically as the opposition to the CUP grew and Ahmed Rıza appeared to be at the heart of the Committee’s grip on power. Yet he was a target well beyond his

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simple affiliation with the CUP. Ahmed Rıza’s positivist convictions and his identity as one of the most Westernized Young Turks had already caused uproar among the Young Turks in the 1890s. Young Turks like Mizancı Mehmed Murad or S¸erafeddin Mag˘mumi had accused Ahmed Rıza of atheism and had portrayed him as a man alienated from the Ottoman people. In 1908, Mizancı Murad rose from oblivion to re-edit his journal Mizan and to become an opponent of the CUP, and once again an adversary of Ahmed Rıza. Murad published his memoirs Mu¨caˆhede-i Milliye end of 1908 while Mag˘mumi re-edited his polemic book Hakikaˆt-ı Haˆl from 1898. It seems very much that it was such works coming from former Young Turks, which renewed the accusations of atheism (dinsizlik) and introduced them into the political debate of the post-revolutionary period. The liberal press was conscious of the provocative potential of the accusation of atheism. Criticizing Ahmed Rıza became a means to target the CUP. Mizan constantly tackled him for his positivism, alleging his atheism, while Serbestıˆ accused the Unionists of being nonbelievers.31 Conspiracy theories raged, just as after the French Revolution. Albert Fua, a former contributor to Rıza’s journal Mechveret, spread the rumour according to which Ahmed Rıza had been officially charged by the Parisian positivists to convert the Ottoman Empire to positivism.32 These accusations and allegations opened the doors for the Islamist press and contributed to the idea of a conspiracy perpetuated by the Unionists against the Muslim society, personified in the person of Ahmed Rıza. Another aspect of the hostility towards Rıza was his progressive stance concerning women. Islamist opposition was directed in particular against his project to open a high school for girls, the first public institution designed for the higher education of girls. This plan was firmly associated with him and his sister Selma. Rıza started working for the project in the very first days of Parliament. He asked Abdu¨lhamid to donate an imperial palace in Kandilli as the school building. The sultan acceded to this request, knowing, as was argued, that such a school was sure to stir hostility.33 At the announcement of the project the women’s press reacted enthusiastically, celebrating it as an important improvement of the women’s condition. Volkan, on the other hand, wrote that without worrying once about the bad conditions of the medrese, the president of the Chamber was seeking to open a high school for girls.

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What for? To teach girls dancing, the piano, and worse: political ideas.34 The paper targeted in particular Rıza’s sister Selma, who had spoken about the project as early as summer 1908 in press interviews.35 According to the journal, she wanted to push Ottoman women to unveil, and had ordered a thousand hats from Paris. She was the rightful sister to Ahmed Rıza who, struck by ‘Europeanist fanaticism’, had declared wanting to put on a hat instead of the Ottoman fez and walk across the Galata bridge from Pera to Istanbul.36 Elements resurfaced that Young Turks had used in the 1890s to denounce Ahmed Rıza. Ten years before, they had represented internal quarrels to a movement in exile. In the post-revolutionary period, they became a play with fire. The political atmosphere of the first days of April was so charged that many anticipated some kind of an outburst.37 Hence, words did not need a sophisticated media-network to spread quickly about a mutiny that broke out in the morning of 13 April 1909 (31 March according to the Julian calendar). The news reached other barracks, a group of officials, ulama, and students of qu’ranic schools. Soon the mutiny passed a critical threshold to become an insurrection. Masses gathered in front of the parliamentary building at Sultanahmet. The heterogeneous character of the insurrection showed itself when the s¸eyhu¨lislam put together a list of demands the rebels professed. Calls for a return to the Sharia convoyed demands to reintegrate officers, who had been evicted recently from the Army in course of its rationalization. Also, the protesters expressed harsh critique of the CUP and called for his representative Ahmed Rıza to resign from office. In his memoirs, Rıza writes that he received news of the insurrection while taking the train in Makriko¨y/Bakırko¨y to Istanbul. Turning down warnings, he considered it to be his duty as president to go to the Chamber. Once in Istanbul, acknowledging the seriousness of the situation, he joined the meeting of ministers at the Sublime Porte. Here he gave way to one of the major demands of the insurgents and decided to resign.38 Ahmed Rıza seems to have considered it to be possible to calm the situation by meeting the insurgents’ demands. However, the situation on the streets had gone out of hand. Different groups destroyed the offices of Unionist papers. More importantly, calls started to circulate to kill the two foremost representatives of the CUP, Hu¨seyin Cahid and Ahmed Rıza. On Sultanahmet Square the situation escalated. The crowd took the Syrian deputy Emir Arslan for Hu¨seyin Cahid and killed him.

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A bit later, soldiers shot the Minister of Naˆzım Pas¸a. They had taken him for Ahmed Rıza.39 ‘Ahmed Rıza’s life is in extreme danger’, wrote The Times of London.40 In the afternoon, soldiers started gathering at the Sublime Porte to get hold of Rıza. He had to hide in an office and could escape only at night. His sister’s position was not any better. Insurgents devastated the local women’s club she had established in Istanbul. Among their demands, there was also the call to abandon the project to establish a high school for girls. In the afternoon, they rounded up the family’s house in Makriko¨y and threatened to kill Selma. She too had to wait for night to escape.41 Ahmed Rıza joined his colleagues in Ayastefanos, where the CUP had convened deputies and senators to constitute a general assembly. The Assembly nullified his resignation from office and he became co-president of the Assembly with Said Pas¸a, president of the Senate. Together, they awaited the arrival of the Third Army under the command of Mahmud S¸evket Pas¸a. The Army realized a menace, which the CUP had professed in July 1908 against Abdu¨lhamid: to march on Istanbul. Once the Third Army launched its assault in the morning of 25 April 1909, the collapse of the insurrection was a matter of hours. Before the end of the day, Mahmud S¸evket Pas¸a telegraphed the president Ahmed Rıza that the city was taken and disarmed. The rebellion’s suppression generated a general euphoria the city had not known since summer. The march on Istanbul was equated to the conquest of Constantinople in 1453, and for many it meant a fresh start into a new era of liberty. Indeed, several measures taken in the aftermath underlined this new start – Most importantly, the deposition of Abdu¨lhamid II who became the first sultan deposed by the will of the nation. Amendments made to the Constitution in the following months created a new basis for the constitutionalist regime, in which the sultan’s prerogatives were seriously limited. Many intellectuals considered the aftermath of 1909 as the beginning of the real revolutionary era.42 Yet for Ahmed Rıza and his Unionist comrades, this was inconceivable. To them, the 31 Mart event appeared as the realization of all the fears they had had concerning the constitutional regime and the prospect of progress in the Ottoman Empire. Ahmed Rıza never did have a real faith in the Ottomans’ capacity to realize by themselves the necessary reform of society. Nevertheless, in his pre-revolutionary articles and books he

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had written that the Ottomans were essentially predisposed to progress and the inauguration of a just order would trigger an automatic evolution. Progress would just need to be assisted. Given the rather peaceful character of events in 1908 and the enthusiasm he provoked upon his return, he was rather confident in the prospect of this mission. It was this belief that received a serious blow in April 1909. To Rıza, the events of April 1909 demonstrated that the Ottomans were not ready to follow the new political regime. As has already been pointed out, the 31 Mart incident left a lasting impact on Ottoman and Turkish political culture.43 To measure the extent of the trauma following the event, it is sufficient to look at the memoirs of people having witnessed the period 1908– 1909, including those of Ahmed Rıza. The pages dedicated to the insurrection are more numerous than those dedicated to the revolution. Also, there are more witness accounts and reports of April 1909 than of July 1908. To an entire generation, the counter-revolution was more important than the revolution itself; 31 March became a leitmotiv in Turkish political discourse for the next decades to refer to reactionary forces inside society opposed to change. Politicians could easily mobilize this motif as soon as there were signs of new insurrections to occur. But the significance of 31 Mart did not lie only in the fact that it highlighted the existence of an opposition to reform coming from religious and reactionary people. This is actually something the modernist elite could have anticipated. Ahmed Rıza’s memoirs make this clear: what was worse for him was not the opposition of reactionary circles to his person and the Constitution, but the general apathy of the rest of the people. The people did not rise up to defend the Constitution and rather tried to get on terms with the insurrection. In his memoirs, he described his disillusionment upon his return to Istanbul after the events. Masses had gathered along the road to the Parliament and euphorically acclaimed Ahmed Rıza, president of the Chamber and first representative of the Constitution, shouting: ‘Long live Ahmed Rıza!’ But to Rıza, these cries sounded distant, cold and false: ‘A week before, people were trying to kill me, and nobody came to my help.’44 According to his account, the insurgents had done more harm to the Empire than the ‘Muscovite’. The CUP had sincerely wished to reform the Empire and slowly worked to achieve this aim. The conquest of

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liberty was the Committee’s major success, but the people proved to be reluctant to fight for their rights. The CUP had given liberty to the nation, but the nation had used this liberty to shout off in the streets. In a letter to a friend in Paris, he wrote: Il e´tait de l’inte´reˆt du peuple d’utiliser la liberte´ pour sa propre ame´lioration sociale et e´conomique. Il s’en est servi pour calomnier et discre´diter ceux qui la lui avaient procure´e apre`s tant de souffrance et d’abne´gation. Et malgre´ tout cela, j’aime ce peuple et veux lui consacrer ma vie.45

Lessons and Non-Lessons from the Uprising What can be said about the effects of 31 Mart looking at these accounts? First, there were personal changes. Ahmed Rıza decided to move, abandoning the house in Makriko¨y, which no longer seemed safe, in favour of his family’s residence on the hills of the Bosphorus. High walls and armed Albanian guards, ready to shoot intruders, were supposed to protect the former Young Turk from potential threats coming from the centre of Istanbul.46 But the crucial implications were of a different nature. First, we should note that he got more cautious concerning his positivist identity. Public appearances as a positivist became rare. It was no longer possible for him to give speeches like the one in November 1908 in Paris, where he had declared that the progressive politics in Turkey were firmly based in Comte’s doctrine. Rumours even said he started doing the Islamic prayer to appease public opinion in Istanbul.47 However, he did not give up positivism. Comte’s philosophy continued to mark the way he perceived the world. He continued to be a member of the international organization of positivists, and was even promoted its vice-president. To positivists who criticized him for not promoting their doctrine more openly, he countered: Tout en ‘poursuivant un ide´al lointain’, nous ne devons pas oublier que nous nous trouvons au milieu de gens qui ne pensent pas comme nous, que nous devons gagner lentement par une douce persuasion, et non en leur imposant les principes qui de prime abord les choquent dans leurs sentiments intimes, re´sultants d’une longue tradition, et meˆme dans leur croyance since`re.48

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Visibly, the discovery that his activities could provoke the ire of the population did not push Ahmed Rıza to reconsider his positivist conviction, nor his aim to teach Muslims about their positivist predispositions. Looking at his words, one wonders where the importance of the events of April 1909 may have lain. His decision to be more cautious in his positivist agenda appears moderate at least given the fact that his very life was threatened. However, Ahmed Rıza’s case was representative for the politics of the CUP after 31 Mart. Indeed, the ideological outlook of the CUP hardly changed in its aftermath. To the CUP the uprising was a confirmation and not a reason for change. It showed that there was a popular opposition to the reform of the Empire and that reactionary forces were eager to exploit these sentiments to impose their own power. Even the disruptive moment of the Adana massacres, which broke dramatically with the image of unity and fraternity, was rationalized as a confirmation. In a situation of chaos, people were ready to fall back into the old habits of the Hamidian regime and kill each other.49 Given the inflexibility of their ideology, the Unionist believed even more that the CUP represented a necessary organization to secure order and prepare progress. The CUP did not renounce its auto-proclaimed national mission as the saviour of the Empire. In fact, the events of April had proved right its existence and position inside Ottoman politics. Since July 1908, the Committee had argued that the constitutional regime was not secure, and that a constant attentiveness to threats from reactionary groups was in order. In April 1909 this came true. Moreover, the CUP proved capable of reacting. It mobilized the Army, restored order, rescued the Constitution, and deposed Abdu¨lhamid. It had presented and proven itself as the guardian of the revolution. There could hardly be a better legitimacy and a better confirmation for the CUP’s politics. And the Committee was ready to abuse its status, notably by prolonging continuously the martial law declared by the General Assembly during the uprising. This is why Ahmed Rıza, despite the existential danger to which he was exposed, was still willing to lead a political career. He decided to stay in office as the president of the Chamber. Due to the limitations of his elitist ideology, he missed an opportunity to change his career and continued to be affiliated to the CUP. In the following years, he could take far more moderate habits. But the notion of danger and the felt urgency to act would secure his alignment to the CUP when situations

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got tricky. He upheld his position for a last office from October 1911 to January 1912, when Parliament was dissolved due to Unionist plotting. Having provoked too much the ire of public opinion and the deputies, he did not even run for elections and was appointed to the Senate. His reputation seriously damaged, he disappeared nearly completely from public life for three years. It was during this time he started meditating about the CUP’s deeds and expressed his first doubts as for the Committee’s ability to fulfil its historic role to oversee the reform process in the Ottoman Empire. Then, in 1915, he reappeared in Ottoman politics – as the major opponent of the CUP.

Epilogue When Ahmed Rıza established himself in the Ottoman Senate as a ‘onehead opposition party’,50 he took up a critical and liberal vein he had not put forward for years. He courageously opposed the Unionist wargovernment on virtually every matter. He contested its occultism and corruption, questioned the military strategy, made calls for peace, and attacked the deportation of Armenians. He resumed his logic of Enlightenment of the pre-revolutionary period as a project of opposition under the constitutional regime. In a letter to his former comrades he declared: ‘For the glory and the honour of the nation, it is today necessary to voice an opinion against the existing rule. I wish to fulfil this duty once again with the same sincere feeling from the times when I held up the banner of constitutionalism.’51 At the end of the war, he had regained his reputation as a liberal. Nevertheless, this new old Ahmed Rıza was not the product of an ideological reinvention. His critical discourse and liberal opposition should not make us believe that he abandoned the authoritarian orientation of his thought. In fact, he continued to consider that an organization would be necessary to frame and push the reform of the Empire. But he concluded that, given the disaster of the Ottoman Empire, the CUP had failed to fulfil this mission. When Unionists accused him of having betrayed the CUP’s mission, he countered that it was they who had done so.52 Ahmed Rıza did not question himself; more importantly, he did not question his political ideology. A look at memoirs written by Young Turks show that Rıza was by no means an exception. The notion of historical necessity represents the

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overarching narrative. Accordingly, the actual evolutions of the postrevolutionary event appear secondary, just as the revolution itself appears as the reflection of the more abstract truth of Enlightenment, which did not need much attention as an event. Hence, accounts attributed the failure of Young Turk politics to different reasons: overly ambitious Unionists, who put forward their personal interests instead of acting in a virtuous manner for the interests of the fatherland; external and internal foes, who sought to destroy the Empire at all costs; and also the masses, who were not ready to embrace the true nature of the revolution. However, despite the catastrophes of the Second Constitutional Period, no former Unionist questioned the political agenda of the Young Turks. This brings us back to the logic of Enlightenment. What the example of Ahmed Rıza shows is that it is not useful to draw a strict line between entities and positions that appear contradictory at first sight: the intellectuals and the military, liberalism and authoritarianism, parliamentary rule and secret organization, ideals and acts. Instead of accusing the CUP of having betrayed the liberal ideals of the revolution by installing an authoritarian regime and note a contradiction between its liberal appeal and its politics, we should acknowledge that this authoritarianism was a political response to a political situation. In fact, the CUP remained committed to bourgeois democracy and to parliamentarism. But it formulated its authoritarianism out of an elitist stance in reaction to the tumultuous events and the unleashed energies of the post-revolutionary society in an effort to control the potentially radical nature of transformation in order to uphold basic social and political hierarchies. Authoritarianism developed within a group, which saw itself as the best representative of the Ottoman nation and of the course it had to take. It was meant to claim the revolution, rationalize it in an idea of natural continuity, and come to terms with its contradictory nature. Indeed, it is not enough to make distinctions between liberal and authoritarian factions locked in a struggle of power, or to analyse the rise of the military as the reason for the authoritarian drift of the constitutional regime. We should take seriously the documents of the time to acknowledge that the logic of Enlightenment was not independent of the idea of an authoritarian regime, but rather depended on it. The issue of the Young Turks in power might be less their

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liberalism or authoritarianism than their perception of the people as a mass to be tutored according to the enlightened ideas of the enlightened elite. The authoritarian frame presents itself as a possible and even necessary frame to ensure the logic of Enlightenment. In that, the problem might be less the betrayal of the logic of Enlightenment, as the logic of Enlightenment itself.

Notes 1. Fernand Braudel, ‘Histoire et sciences sociales: La longue dure´e’, Ecrits sur l’histoire (Paris: Flammarion, 1969), p. 69. 2. See the critiques by Jacques Rancie`re, Les noms de l’histoire. Essai de poe´tique du savoir (Paris: Gallimard, 1992), pp. 77 –91. 3. See for instance Marisa Linton, Choosing Terror: Virtue, Friendship, and Authenticity in the French Revolution (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013); Timothy Tackett, The Deputies of the French National Assembly and the Emergence of a Revolutionary Culture (1789 –1790) (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997). 4. Johannes Lepsius, Albrecht Mendelsohn-Bartholdy and Friedrich Thimme (eds), Die Große Politik der Europa¨ischen Kabinette 1871 – 1914. Sammlung der Diplomatischen Akten des Auswa¨rtigen Amtes (Berlin: Deutsche Verlagsgesellschaft fu¨r Politk und Geschichte, 1922– 7), 25/II, no. 8875: Kinderlen to Schoen, The´rapia, 10 July 1908. 5. Abdu¨lhamit Kırmızı, ‘Authoritarianism and Constitutionalism Combined: Ahmed Midhat Efendi between the Sultan and the Kanun-ı Esasi’, in C. Herzog and M. Sharif (eds), The First Ottoman Experiment in Democracy (Wu¨rzburg: Ergon, 2010), p. 186. 6. For a recent re-enactment of the interpretation that Enlightenment ideas were the cause of the French Revolution see Jonathan Israel’s stunning book Revolutionary Ideas: An Intellectual History of the French Revolution from ‘The Rights of Man’ to Robespierre (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014). 7. For a good example of this interpretation, contemporary to the Young Turk movement, see Marius Roustan, Les Philosophes et la socie´te´ francaise au XVIIIe sie`cle (Paris: Delaplane, 1906). 8. Zygmunt Bauman, Legislators and Interpreters: On Modernity, Post-Modernity and Intellectuals (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1987), pp. 23 – 5. 9. For a short essay on this see Erdal Kaynar, ‘Von der Revolution und der Aufkla¨rung. Versuche der Ordnung der Unordnung’, IFK Now 1 (2014), pp. 7–9. 10. ‘Les hommes de la Re´volution’, Illustration 22 August 1908; Ahmed Emin [Yalman], ‘Ahmed Rıza Bey’, Millet 23 August 1908; Aˆkil Koyuncu, ‘Ahmed Rıza Bey’, Bag˘ce 5, 31 August 1908. 11. This revisionist interpretation was first put forward by S¸erif Mardin (Jo¨n Tu¨rklerin Siyasıˆ Fikirleri 1895– 1908 (Ankara: Tu¨rkiye I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r

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12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

19.

20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

26. 27. 28.

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Yayınları, 1964) and underlies the seminal work on the Young Turks by S¸u¨kru¨ Haniog˘lu. Archives du Ministe`re des Affaires E´trange`res, Nouvelle Se´rie Turquie 179, 125e– 125i: Memorandum on the Ottoman Empire, Paris, 25 July 1908 (125h). Archives Nationales (AN), 17AS/10: Ahmed Rıza to E´mile Corra, Paris, 5 July 1908. Mechveret no. 208, 1 August 1908; ‘Ahmed Rıza Bey’, I˙kdam 27 September 1908. Vatanın Haˆline ve Ma’aˆrif-i Umuˆmiyenin Islahına Dair Sultan Abdu¨lhaˆmid Han-ı Saˆnıˆ Hazretlerine Takdim Kılınan Altı Laˆyihadan Birinci Laˆyiha (London, 1312/1895), p. 21. B. Demirbas¸ (ed.), Meclis-i Mebusan Reisi Ahmed Rıza Bey’in Anıları (Istanbul: Arba, 1988), p. 25. ‘Soyons calmes et prudents’, Mechveret no. 202, 1 August 1908. ‘Tes¸kilat ve Nes¸riyatın Lu¨zum ve Faidası’, S¸uˆra-yı U¨mmet no. 95, 23 June 1906. See in detail Nader Sohrabi, ‘Global Waves, Local Actors: What the Young Turks Knew about Revolutions and Why it Mattered’, Comparative Studies in Society and History 44/1 (2002), pp. 45 – 79. Erdal Kaynar, ‘The Almighty Power of the Written Word: Political Conceptions of the Press at the Turn of the Twentieth Century’, in N. Clayer and E. Kaynar (eds), Penser, agir et vivre dans l’Empire ottoman et en Turquie (Louvain: Peeters, 2013), pp. 166– 8. ‘The Fusion of the Committees’, Times 10 September 1908; ‘Ahmed Rıza Bey’, I˙kdam 27 September 1908. ‘Turkish Parliament’, Times 23 December 1908; ‘Turquie’, Le Temps 23 December 1908; ‘Ahmed-Rıza Ministre’, Le Petit Parisien 23 December 1908; ‘Le nouveau re´gime turc’, L’Humanite´ 23 December 1908. ‘Meclis-i Mebusan Bayramı’, Volkan, no. 8, 18 December 1908; Francis McCullagh, The Fall of Abdu¨lhamid (London: Methuen, 1910), pp. 1, 9. Meclisi Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi (MMZC), Session 26 December 1908, pp. 51 – 2. Vahdetıˆ, ‘Mebusan Aˆzalarinin Tenbellig˘i’, Volkan no. 29, 29 January 1909. Rıza Nur, ‘Go¨ru¨yorum ki I˙s¸ Fenaˆ Gidiyor’, I˙kdam 12 March 1909. For an analysis see Nader Sohrabi, Revolution and Constitutionalism in the Ottoman Empire and Iran (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 165– 7. Opponents of the CUP continued to use the same arguments in the following years. See Mehmet T. Hastas¸, Ahmet Samim. II. Mes¸rutiyet’te Muhalif Bir Gazeteci (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2012), pp. 106 – 18. ‘Ziyafet Mu¨naˆsebetiyle’, Tanin 14 March 1909; ‘Fırka-i Ahrar ve I˙ttihad ve Terakki’, I˙kdam 17 March 1909; McCullagh, Fall of Abdu¨lhamid, pp. 64 – 5. ‘Turkey, Position of the Ministry’, Times 16 March 1909. American College for Girls Records, Subseries II.2, Box 23, F.7: Roxana Vivian to Mary Mills Patrick, Constantinople, 16 April 1909; Hasan Amca, Dog˘mayan Hu¨rriyet. Bir Devrin I˙cyu¨zu¨ 1908– 1918 (Istanbul: Arba, 1989), pp. 73 – 81.

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29. Esther Debus, Sebilu¨rres¸aˆd. Eine vergleichende Untersuchung zur islamischen Opposition der vor- und nachkemalistischen A¨ra (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1991). 30. ‘Aziz Kardes¸im!’ Volkan no. 6, 16 December 1908. 31. McCullagh, Fall of Abdu¨lhamid, p. 58. In 1912, Mevlaˆnzaˆde Rıfat, editor of Serbestıˆ, would later concede that the accusation of atheism was an important motif of mobilization. See his 31 Mart. Bir I˙htilaˆlın Hikaˆyesi, ed. Berıˆre U¨lgenci (Istanbul: Pınar, 1996), pp. 90, 130. 32. Albert Fua, Le Comite´ Union et Progre`s contre la Constitution (Paris, s.d. [1909]), pp. 45– 6, 59. 33. Ahmed Rıza Bey’in Anıları, p. 31. Dr Cemil Topuzlu, I˙stibdaˆd, Mes¸rutiyet, Cumhuriyet Devirlerinde 80 Yıllık Haˆtıraˆlarım (Istanbul: Gu¨ven, 1951), pp. 86 – 7. 34. A.T.S., ‘Bir Sadaˆ-yı Muhik yaˆhud Ulemaˆ ve Talebe-i Uluˆm’, Volkan no. 53, 22 February 1909. 35. Nicole A.N.M. van Os, ‘Kandilli Sultaˆnıˆ-i I˙naˆs: Bir Devlet Adamın Tes¸ebbu¨s-i S¸aˆhsisi Nasıl Sonuclandı?’ Tarih ve Toplum, 28/163 (1997), p. 26. 36. Lutfi, ‘Haˆl-i Hazır Mu¨nasebitiyle, Celaˆdet-i Askeriyye’, Volkan no. 109, 19 April 1909. See also Volkan no. 98, 8 April 1909; Marcelle Tinayre, Notes d’une voyageuse en Turquie (Paris, 1909), p. 19. 37. Ahmet I˙zzet Pas¸a, Feryadım eds. S.I˙. Furgac/Y. Kanar (Istanbul: Nehir Yayınları, 1993), vol. 1, pp. 62– 3; Celaˆl Bayar, Ben de Yazdım (Istanbul: Baha Matbaası, 1965), vol. 1, pp. 217– 18; Sina Aks¸in, 31 Mart Olayı (Ankara: A.U¨. Siyasal Bilgiler Faku¨ltesi, 1970), pp. 28 – 30. 38. Bas¸bakanlık Osmanlı Ars¸ivi (BOA), DH.MKT 2794/59, 14 April 1909. The letter was read two days later at the Chamber. MMZC, Session 16 April 1909, p. 23. See also the different accounts in Ahmed Rıza Bey’in Anıları, pp. 36– 7; I˙ttihad ve Terakki Cemiyeti’nin Kurucusu ve 1/1 no’lu I˙brahim Temo’nun I˙ttihad ve Terakki Anıları [1939] ed. B. Demirbas¸ (Istanbul: Arba, 1987), p. 196; Son Vak’a nu¨vis Abdurrahman S¸eref Efendi Tarihi. II. Mes¸rutiyet Olayları (1908 – 1909) ed. M.A. U¨nal/B. Kodaman (Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu, 1996), p. 153. 39. Ali Fuat Tu¨rkgeldi, Go¨ru¨p is¸ittiklerim, 1354/1935 (Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu, 1949) pp. 29 – 30; Bayar, Ben de Yazdım, vol. 1, pp. 279 – 80; Yunus Nadi, I˙htilaˆl ve I˙nkilab-ı Osmanıˆ, 31 Mart-14 Nisan 1325. Haˆdisat, I˙htisasat, Hakaˆyik (Istanbul: Haˆdisat, 1325/1909), p. 42. 40. ‘Military Revolt in Turkey’, Times 14 April 1909. 41. Mevlaˆnzaˆde Rıfat, 31 Mart, pp. 81– 3; [S¸erif Pas¸a,] ‘Est-ce la lutte finale’, Me`cheroutiette 3/18 (1911); Su¨leyman Kaˆni I˙rtem, 31 Mart I˙syanı ve Hareket Ordusu. Abdu¨lhamid’in Selaˆnik Su¨rgu¨nu¨ ed. Osman S. Kocahanog˘lu (Istanbul: Temel, 2003), p. 115. 42. Hastas¸: Ahmet Samim, pp. 27– 37. 43. Erik-Jan Zu¨rcher: ‘The Ides of April. A Fundamentalist Uprising in Istanbul in 1909?’ in The Young Turk Legacy and Nation Building: From the Ottoman Empire to Atatu¨rk’s Turkey (London/New York: I.B.Tauris, 2010), pp. 73– 83. 44. Ahmed Rıza Bey’in Anıları, pp. 38 –9.

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45. AN, 17AS/10: Ahmed Rıza to E´mile Corra, Constantinople, 17 August 1912. 46. I˙brahim Hakkı Konyalı, Aˆbideleri ve Kitaˆbeleriyle U¨sku¨dar Tarihi (Istanbul: Yes¸ilay Cemiyeti, 1976), vol. 2, p. 209. 47. Albert Fua, Le Comite´ Union et Progre`s contre la Constitution, p. 59. See Yusuf Hikmet Bayur, Tu¨rk I˙nkılaˆbı Tarihi, vol. 3.4 (Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu, 1983), p. 445. 48. AN, 17AS/10: Ahmed Rıza to E´mile Corra, Constantinople, 21 April 1910; also letters to Corra, Constantinople, 30 August 1909 and 14 April 1910. 49. See the debate that enraged at the Chamber of Deputies. MMZC, Session 1 May 1909, pp. 109– 32. 50. Tarık Zafer Tunaya, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasal Partiler III (Istanbul: Hu¨rriyet Vakfı, 1983), pp. 504– 8. See also Ahmed Emin, Turkey in the World War (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1930), pp. 103– 4. 51. Cited by Bayur, Tu¨rk I˙nkılaˆbı Tarihi, vol. 3/1, p. 432. 52. Ahmed Rıza Bey’in Anıları, p. 45.

References Archives and Official Publications

American College for Girls Records. Archives du Ministe`re des Affaires E´trange`res. Archives Nationales (AN). Bas¸bakanlık Osmanlı Ars¸ivi (BOA). Lepsius, Johannes et al. (eds), Die Große Politik der Europa¨ischen Kabinette 1871– 1914. Sammlung der Diplomatischen Akten des Auswa¨rtigen Amtes (Berlin: Deutsche Verlagsgesellschaft fu¨r Politik und Geschichte, 1922– 7). Meclisi Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi (MMZC).

I˙kdam. L’Humanite´. Le Petit Parisien. Le Temps. Mechveret. S¸uˆra-yı U¨mmet. Tanin. Times. Volkan.

Periodicals

Books and Articles

Aks¸in, Sina. 31 Mart Olayı (Ankara: A.U¨. Siyasal Bilgiler Faku¨ltesi, 1970). Amca, Hasan, Dog˘mayan Hu¨rriyet. Bir Devrin I˙cyu¨zu¨ 1908– 1918 (Istanbul: Hu¨rriyet Vakfı, 1989). Bauman, Zygmunt, Legislators and Interpreters: On Modernity, Post-Modernity and Intellectuals (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1987). Bayar, Celaˆl, Ben de Yazdım, vol. 1 (Istanbul: Baha Matbaası, 1965).

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Bayur, Yusuf Hikmet Tu¨rk I˙nkılaˆbı, vol. 3 (Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu, 1983). Braudel, Fernand, ‘Histoire et sciences sociales: La longue dure´e’, Ecrits sur l’histoire (Paris: Flammarion, 1969). Debus, Esther, Sebilu¨rres¸aˆd: Eine vergleichende Untersuchung zur islamischen Opposition der vor- und nachkemalistischen A¨ra (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1991). Demirbas¸, B. (ed.), I˙ttihad ve Terakki Cemiyeti’nin Kurucusu ve 1/1 no’lu I˙brahim Temo’nun I˙ttihad ve Terakki Anıları [1939] (Istanbul: Arba, 1987). ——— Meclis-i Mebusan Reisi Ahmed Rıza Bey’in Anıları (Istanbul: Arba, 1988). Fua, Albert, Le Comite´ Union et Progre`s contre la Constitution (Paris: E. Nourry, 1909). Hastas¸, Mehmet T., Ahmet Samim. II. Mes¸rutiyet’te Muhalif Bir Gazeteci (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2012). I˙rtem, Su¨leyman Kaˆni, 31 Mart I˙syanı ve Hareket Ordusu. Abdu¨lhamid’in Selaˆnik Su¨rgu¨nu¨, ed. Osman S. Kocahanog˘lu (Istanbul: Temel, 2003). Israel, Jonathan, Revolutionary Ideas: An Intellectual History of the French Revolution from ‘The Rights of Man’ to Robespierre (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014). I˙zzet, Ahmet (Pas¸a), Feryadım, vol. 1, ed. S.I˙. Furgac and Y. Kanar (Istanbul: Nehir Yayınları, 1993). Kaynar, Erdal, ‘The Almighty Power of the Written Word: Political Conceptions of the Press at the Turn of the Twentieth Century’, in N. Clayer and E. Kaynar (eds), Penser, agir et vivre dans l’Empire ottoman et en Turquie (Leuven: Peeters, 2013). ——— ‘Von der Revolution und der Aufkla¨rung. Versuche der Ordnung der Unordnung’, IFK Now 1 (2014), pp. 7 – 9. Kırmızı, Abdu¨lhamit, ‘Authoritarianism and Constitutionalism Combined: Ahmed Midhat Efendi between the Sultan and the Kanun-ı Esasi’, in C. Herzog and M. Sharif (eds), The First Ottoman Experiment in Democracy (Wu¨rzburg: Ergon, 2010). ¨ sku¨dar Tarihi, vol. 2 (Istanbul: Konyalı, I˙brahim Hakkı, Aˆbideleri ve Kitaˆbeleriyle U Yes¸ilay Cemiyeti, 1976). Koyuncu, Aˆkil, ‘Ahmed Rıza Bey’, Bag˘ce 5, 31 August 1908. ‘Les hommes de la Re´volution’, Illustration 22 August 1908. Linton, Marisa, Choosing Terror: Virtue, Friendship, and Authenticity in the French Revolution (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). Mardin, S¸erif, Jo¨n Tu¨rklerin Siyasıˆ Fikirleri 1895 – 1908 (Ankara: Tu¨rkiye I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r Yayınları, 1964). McCullagh, Francis, The Fall of Abdu¨lhamid (London: Methuen, 1910). Nadi, Yunus, I˙htilaˆl ve I˙nkilab-ı Osmanıˆ, 31 Mart-14 Nisan 1325.Haˆdisat, I˙htisasat, Hakaˆyik (Istanbul: Cihan Matbaası, 1325/1909). Nur, Rıza, ‘Go¨ru¨yorum ki I˙s¸ Fenaˆ Gidiyor’, I˙kdam, 12 March 1909. Rancie`re, Jacques, Les noms de l’histoire. Essai de poe´tique du savoir (Paris: Gallimard, 1992). Rıfat, Mevlaˆnzaˆde, 31 Mart. Bir I˙htilaˆlın Hikaˆyesi, ed. Berıˆre U¨lgenci (Istanbul: Pınar, 1996). Rıza, Ahmed, Vatanın Haˆline ve Ma’aˆrif-i Umuˆmiyenin Islahına Dair Sultan Abdu¨lhaˆmid Han-ı Saˆnıˆ Hazretlerine Takdim Kılınan Altı Laˆyihadan Birinci Laˆyiha (London, 1312/1895). Roustan, Marius, Les Philosophes et la socie´te´ francaise au XVIIIe sie`cle (Paris: P. Delaplane, 1906). [S¸erif Pas¸a], ‘Est-ce la lutte finale’, Me`cheroutiette 3/18 (1911).

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Sohrabi, Nader, ‘Global Waves, Local Actors: What the Young Turks Knew about Revolutions and Why it Mattered’, Comparative Studies in Society and History 44/1 (2002), pp. 45– 79. ——— Revolution and Constitutionalism in the Ottoman Empire and Iran (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011). Tackett, Timothy, The Deputies of the French National Assembly and the Emergence of a Revolutionary Culture (1789 – 1790) (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997). Tinayre, Marcelle, Notes d’une voyageuse en Turquie (Paris: Calmann-Le´vy, 1909). Topuzlu, Cemil, I˙stibdaˆd, Mes¸rutiyet, Cumhuriyet Devirlerinde 80 Yıllık Haˆtıraˆlarım (Istanbul: Gu¨ven, 1951). Tunaya, Tarık Zafer, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasal Partiler III (Istanbul: Hu¨rriyet Vakfı, 1983). Tu¨rkgeldi, Ali Fuat, Go¨ru¨p is¸ittiklerim, 1354/1935 (Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu, 1949). ¨ nal, M.A. and Kodaman, B. (eds), Son Vak’a nu¨vis Abdurrahman S¸eref Efendi Tarihi. U II. Mes¸rutiyet Olayları (1908 – 1909) (Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu, 1996). Van Os, Nicole A.N.M., ‘Kandilli Sultaˆnıˆ-i I˙naˆs: Bir Devlet Adamın Tes¸ebbu¨s-i S¸aˆhsisi Nasıl Sonuclandı?’ Tarih ve Toplum 28/163 (1997). [Yalman], Ahmed Emin, Turkey in the World War (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1930). ——— ‘Ahmed Rıza Bey’, Millet, 23 August 1908. Zu¨rcher, Erik-Jan, ‘The Ides of April: A Fundamentalist Uprising in Istanbul in 1909?’ in The Young Turk Legacy and Nation Building: From the Ottoman Empire to Atatu¨rk’s Turkey (London and New York: I.B.Tauris, 2010).

CHAPTER 3 POLITICAL VICTIMS OF THE OLD REGIME UNDER THE YOUNG TURK REGIME (1908—11) O¨zgu¨r Tu¨resay1

Although the historiography of the Second Constitutional Period (1908– 18) has been considerably enriched in recent years, there are still some fields, topics and periods which have been understudied. That is the case for example of the period of World War I or of the crucial interval between the restoration of the constitutional regime in late July 1908 and the opening of the Parliament in mid-December of the same year. This short period, during which the early stages of transition from the old regime to the new one took place, has suffered until now from practically a complete lack of scholarly interest, with the noticeable exceptions of the issue of the parliamentary elections process and the great strike wave of the summer and autumn 1908.2 After having a look at an almost exhaustive list of recent contributions to the historiography of the Second Constitutional Period made within the context of the scientific celebrations of the centenary of the Young Turk Revolution in 2008,3 one might observe that a large number of these studies were devoted to issues more or less already treated. Thus, many articles or contributions were about the echoes and the varying receptions of the said revolution in the provinces of the Empire and abroad; social

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movements as feminism, labour movement and even occasional ones such as consumers movement; international relations issues; echoes in the literary field; competing nationalisms and ideas of nation; reform in the educational and juridical field; parliamentary debates; the Committee of Union and Progress (hereafter CUP); attitudes of non-Muslim communities toward the new regime. One may also remark that biographic approaches were among the favourite ones and the period after the 31 March Incident in 1909, that is, after the attempt of counterrevolution, constituted by far the most studied period. Hence, although a few case studies have been carried out until now especially on some aspects of mass politics during this particular period,4 the meanders of the implementation of a new political regime in the Ottoman Empire in 1908 –1909 has not been treated yet within a comprehensive research. By concentrating on the issue of the return of a large number of exiles in the aftermath of the general amnesty issued in late July 1908,5 the aim of this paper is to contribute to the historiography of this decisive yet obviously understudied period of the Ottoman political history. Basically, two major methodological approaches can be adopted for this kind of historical research, namely a micro-historical approach or a macro-historical one. First, one can study a singular individual path or some cases in depth. Having espoused a micro-historical approach, the question of the return of exiles can be treated in a biographical or prosopographical inquiry. But in order to launch and carry out a micro-historical research, one needs above all a comprehensive account of that period. To put it differently, a micro-historical approach could be fruitful only within the historical framework. Thus, I will follow the second methodological option and adopt a macro-historical approach. There are very few studies related, on some aspects, to this issue which has to be assessed within two different but interconnected contexts, namely the general amnesty and the purges and reshufflings carried out in the bureaucracy by the CUP. If I say that fortunately there are two serious studies dealing with the latter topic,6 one may understand the state of affairs of historical knowledge in this field. As for the very subject of this chapter, there are two recent articles and one master thesis on the organization of a group of individuals which I will call here ‘disappointed former exiles’ denominated meaningfully

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Fedaˆkaˆraˆn-ı millet cemiyeti (Devotees of the Nation,7 literally ‘Society of self-sacrificing servants of the nation’) and their newspaper Hukuˆk-ı umuˆmiye (Public rights).8 The short article of Sina Aks¸in on the same organization which was published in 1974 should be also mentioned here as well as Tarık Zafer Tunaya’s brief account in his seminal work on political parties in Turkey.9 To date, the only general overview of the Young Turk period which touched this specific question seriously is Nader Sohrabi’s recent book on revolution and constitutionalism in the Ottoman Empire and in Iran.10 Given this lack of scholarly research on the subject, a study on the return of exiles in 1908 and on the ramifications of the said process until 1911 can appear, at first glance, as a particularly difficult field of research. Nevertheless, despite the limitations described above, the abundance of the archival material and, to some extent, the contribution of the contemporary press made it a peculiarly promising research field. An additional source could be the pamphlets published by some of these disappointed former exiles, in spite of their inherent propagandistic nature, but they are very rare. Furthermore, these kinds of personal narratives are chronologically irrelevant to our study since they are circumscribed to the exile days.11 To be added to this list is a short pamphlet, very critical against the Devotees of the Nation, written probably by someone close to the CUP.12 The ultimate source could be the contemporary memoirs, especially those of frustrated former exiles who took part in the opposition to the CUP from 1909 on. Unfortunately, these memoirs give an account too concise of the return process and the first months of the new regime.13 Yet, despite these sources, it would be impossible here to deal with this topic in details. I will rather try to ascertain several dimensions of the social and political questions that arose by the return of the exiles and explore the solutions proposed then by different political actors as well as the final solution to the question carried out in mid-1911. In doing this, I will also elaborate an extensive chronology of this question. In other words, rather than by offering conclusions, I intend here to make preliminary remarks and to raise new paths for research. To do this, I will first make some remarks about the terminology used at the epoch to designate the protagonists. I will then categorize the multiple demands and claims of the former exiles and analyse the solutions proposed to them in the first months of the new regime. I will

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then deal with the transformation of this basically administrative and social question into a principally political one. And finally, I will examine the last two phases of the question, namely the discursive takeover of the question by the CUP as much as the governmental decisions about the fate of the former exiles and the legal solution process launched in the aftermath of the counter-revolution of April 1909.

Terminological Issues: From Exiles to Victims An inquiry into the terminology used in those days to designate the exiles is an appropriate starting point for understanding the multidimensional nature of the question. There are several terms in use,14 both in numerous archival documents and the contemporary press. One can remark first a group of neutral terms signifying simply a person banished as teb‘id edilen or nefy edilen (a person banished or expelled) and ikamete memur edilen (a person who is forced to residence in a specific place in his own country). The more common term in use, menfıˆ, signifies a person who is either banished by the authorities or went in voluntary exile. This latter sense is expressed generally also by the term firaˆrıˆ (fugitive). In some cases, especially within the context of the amnesty, an exile is designated by archival documents as a part of those called mu¨crıˆmıˆn-i siyaˆsiye, literally the ‘political criminals’, that is, convicted or held responsible for a political reason. Then there is the ideological term, which, at the outset, was used by exiles to designate themselves: mag˘duˆrıˆn-i siyaˆsiye, literally the ‘political victims’, that is, those who suffered for political reasons under the Ancien Re´gime. This term started being publicly used at the turn of 1909 to designate the question itself, namely mesele-i mag˘duˆrıˆn-i siyaˆsiye. The state apparatus officially accepted it in April – May 1909 when orders were sent from the Prime Minister’s office to other ministries and bureaucratic offices urging them to prepare lists containing the names of exiles who were hired there.15 Interestingly enough, the term mag˘duˆrıˆn-i hakikiye-i siyaˆsiye soon appeared, that is, the real political victims in order to separate the political victims of the old regime, genuine ones, from the common criminals who were pretending to be convicted for political reasons.16 One can also wonder whether a kind of overbid for the moral value of victimization for different political reasons emerged after the 31 March 1909 Incident

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within the context of purges launched for the reorganization of the bureaucracy.

A Multidimensional Administrative and Social Problem The question was actually a multifaceted one. In a chapter (‘The Staff Policies and the Purges’) of his recent book on the Young Turk Revolution of 1908, Nader Sohrabi resumed well the complexity of the issue: A charged and uncomfortable issue for the financially strapped state was its obligations toward banished and exiled, a dark legacy of the old regime. In the aftermath of amnesty, the return of this variegated group, who came in large numbers with high hopes for rewards after years of suffering, complicated matters. This group included banished officials with assigned stipends that were quite different from those who were left to their own. These were still different from escaped officials abroad, or former students, or yet others who were neither officials nor students but had taken flight to foreign destinations to escape the looming prospects of jail or exile. Upon return, these demanded better positions, but as the realization crept in that such a prospect was truly dim, they began demanding their old positions, or short of that, a job of the same rank, a retirement salary, back pay for years of lost service, or a regular stipend or a lump sum in exchange for their sacrifice.17 A survey of the abundant Ottoman archival material on the subject permits to classify at least nine different kinds of concern, some with several subdivisions, in those documents. So one can discern there: 1. Problems related to the process of the release of detainees after the amnesty. (a) Demands of release. (b) Investigation on reasons of condemnation. 2. Matters about the employment of returned exiles in the public sector. (a) Demands of employment. (b) Investigations about the status of demanders. (c) Decisions about placement.

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3. Salary issues concerning returned exiles. (a) Assignment of salary to the returned exiles. (b) Adjustment of salary. (c) Payment of accumulated salaries. (d) Continuing to pay or not the salaries and per diems assigned during the exile. 4. Compensation issues concerning persons who died in exile. (a) Allowing salary to their families. (b) Employment of their sons in the public sector. 5. Compensation of the damages on surviving exiles. (a) Material indemnity. (b) Restitution of goods confiscated by the state or stolen by third persons during the exile. (c) Moral compensation. 6. Accusations against squealers who caused the decision of banishment and demands of investigation. 7. Demands from the government for defraying the return expenses. 8. Demands from the government for financial aid to the returned exiles. 9. Demands for restitution or conferring of the ranks. While some of the above-mentioned issues were resolved more or less promptly, the others may be enumerated as more permanent questions. There are some issues which persist through two, three or even four years, that is, from July 1908 to the end of 1912. For instance, neither the demands of employment nor the investigations about the status of claimants are limited to the first months of the new regime.18 As for the issues of urgent nature necessitating a relatively quick solution, one can list the restitution of the ranks19 or the innumerable demands from the government for covering the return expenses or providing financial aid to the returned exiles.

An Administrative Problem Inherited from the Old Regime The archival material shows that during the first months of the return of exiles, five types of demands from the government are omnipresent: travel expenses of the return from exile; employment; financial aid; payment of salaries and per diems assigned during the exile; and compensation for damages.

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Travel Expenses During the first months of the new regime, the greatest number of entries in this list of demands concerns travel expenses. It seems that all demands of defraying the travel expenses of return are satisfied. One can easily neglect at first glance the financial and the practical implications of the return of the exiles from far away. To realize that, one must think about the infrastructural conditions of that period and the wide geography of the Hamidian banishment practice. At that epoch, returning from Yozgat,20 Diyarbakır,21 Tripoli,22 or Fezzan,23 to the capital of the Empire was actually neither an easy trip nor a pleasant one. And, above all, these kinds of very long trip have expenses that an ordinary exile could not cover easily. The more illustrious ones among the exiles probably had financial resources to defray the expenses of the return journey. The ordinary ones could simply not afford that. Furthermore, an exile does not mean simply one person banished by authorities. There are also other individual fates intimately connected to that of the exile. In most cases, the banishment is for an undetermined length. Given these circumstances, most of exiles had the possibility of bringing their family to their place of exile. Thus, after the amnesty, the problem is more complicated for those who were in exile with their family. For instance, at the beginning of 1909, a certain Bog˘os who was in exile in Mardin with his family returned to Istanbul and asked for the travel expenses of his family from there. The Ministry of the Interior ordered the administration of Diyarbakır to pay the sum asked.24 Things could be even more complicated. There are some exiles who returned from their place of exile to Istanbul to ask the necessary sum for the travel expenses from the capital to their home town. That was the case, for example, of Salih who, exiled with his family to Diyarbakır, returned to Istanbul and asked financial aid to cover the travel expenses from there to his home town Kastoria (Kesriye in Ottoman Turkish), in north-western Macedonia.25 From Diyarbakır to Kastoria is really a considerable journey. There are others who asked the sum necessary to return from their place of exile directly to their home town without passing from the imperial capital, as for instance Hacı Mehmed Efendi, exiled in Mamuretu¨laziz and who wished to go to Su¨leymaniye in the Kurdistan of Iraq,26 or Marko, exiled in Tokat and who wanted to return to his home town in Montenegro.27 At least in one case, the Ministry of

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the Interior also covered the expenses for the return of the family of an exile who had died in exile in Rhodes to the home town al-Hudaydah (Hudeyde in Ottoman Turkish) in Yemen.28 The sum of the allowance asked is not always precise, but it is clear from many documents that the amount in question is generally around 2,000 piastres (kurus¸), which corresponds more or less to monthly salary of a modest public servant. Hundreds of documents not only inform us about these demands but also give a hint about the geographical dimensions of the Hamidian use of banishment as a tool of government. So the most cited places of banishment are Kastamonu, Diyarbakır, Tripoli, Rhodes and Konya but it appears that there were also many exiles in areas such as Sivas, Adana, Kayseri, Erzurum, Bolvadin, Acre, Ankara, Bitlis, Tokat, Damascus, Bursa, Salonika and Yemen. Regarding the demands expressed in the petitions, one would argue that except Salonika, the European part of the Empire, namely Rumelia, is almost the only region which had not the privilege of receiving exiles from the rest of imperial domains. To put it differently, Rumelia is, with the noticeable exception of a few cases from Salonika, conspicuous by its under-representation in this long list of regions from which a large number of former exiles returned to the imperial capital in order to formulate all kinds of demand from the Ottoman state. One can wonder thus why a good many of these exiles in Rumelia, who had already access to the Unionist well-developed network in the region, abstained from following the formal procedures of petitioning: a conundrum for historians which can only be answered intuitively.

Demands for Employment Demands for employment are the other most common entry seen in the documents. It seems that almost everybody who returned from exile asked to be appointed to a certain post in the bureaucracy and that kind of demand was, to a large extent, satisfied very quickly, sometimes in only a few days, sometimes in months. There are also some demands which were rejected for different reasons. There exists a volume of correspondence between ministries, local administrative bodies and diverse levels of central bureaucracy about the reasons for banishment. One can understand after the investigations that some of the claimants were even not banished at all and the banishment of some others was not

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for political reasons. From this archival material, it appears also that a considerable number of former exiles were recruited into the police,29 an institution which was in the very process of reorganization, whilst others, who could not be employed by any governmental department, were placed in the municipality of Istanbul.30 The demands of employment can be classified in five sub-categories. It would be useful to present a brief account of these categories in order to show the complexity of this particular aspect of the question. Each case necessitates indeed an idiosyncratic approach from the authorities to be regulated. It means that at its early stage the question of the return of exiles has exclusively an administrative nature. It could not yet become a political question. First sub-category concerns government officials who were banished from Istanbul by being appointed elsewhere. These persons asked to return to their previous career. The orders given from the authorities contain always the same turn of phrase ‘he should be placed to his former ministry and office or to an equivalent post’ (eski nezaˆretine, daˆiresine ya da muaˆdil bir kadroya yerles¸tirilmesi). This kind of appointment could be made with astonishing speed. For instance, in September 1908, between the demand for employment of an exile who returned to Istanbul from his exile in Kastamonu, a school director called Ali Ali, and his appointment in the same post as before the banishment, there are only two days.31 The second sub-category involves persons who were expelled from Istanbul to somewhere and who did not wish to live in the imperial capital any more but rather wanted to be appointed to their home town. The satisfaction of this kind of demand could take a little bit longer than the previous ones. For instance, a certain Hasan Ziya who was banished to Tripoli as an engineer in the municipality returned to Istanbul and asked to be appointed to a bureaucratic post in his home town Tokat. The Ministry of the Interior launched an investigation about the person concerned.32 Nine weeks later, he was appointed there, to a post in the Ministry of Public Works.33 The exiles who did not want to return to Istanbul or to their home town and preferred to be appointed to their place of exile constitute the third sub-category. For example, according to his own wish, C¸es¸meli Hasan Zu¨hdu¨ Pas¸azade S¸u¨kru¨ Efendi was appointed to a post in Bursa, in his place of exile.34 Nevertheless, this kind of demand was not always

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satisfied. For instance, S¸u¨kru¨ Fırak was not as lucky as the last exile cited above. S¸u¨kru¨ Fırak who was a government official in Aydın was expelled from there to I˙zmir where he was not employed. In other words, he was an exile without a governmental post. After the revolution, he asked thus to be appointed in I˙zmir. The Ministry of the Interior which could not find an appropriate post for him in I˙zmir urged S¸u¨kru¨ Fırak to return to his home town Beirut.35 The forth sub-category includes only one case. There is a document about the appointment of the son of an exile in Yemen to a post in the Ministry of War.36 This act recalls indeed the quasi-ancestral Ottoman bureaucratic practice called peder-maˆnde, literally ‘paternal heritage’. According to this practice, when an Ottoman civil servant dies, his post and a portion of his salary were immediately assigned to his oldest son, and if his oldest son had already been appointed to a bureaucratic post, to his youngest son. The fifth, and the last, sub-category embraces maybe the most interesting cases: the situation of those who were banished while they were studying in the imperial schools37 or who left their school on their own to avoid banishment was a complicated one after the revolution. These persons were originally destined to be government officials but, being obliged to abandon their studies or having voluntarily quit them, they did not have any diploma in 1908. In other words, whether they are victims of the old regime in some sense, they are not always legally qualified to be appointed to some kind of bureaucratic position. Thus, there are some documents about the demands of employment of these non-graduate former students.38 Sometimes, especially if the former student ‘had followed and completed his studies in Europe’ (maˆluˆmaˆt-ı fenniyesini Avrupa’da ikmaˆl ettig˘inden), like Mehmed Sabri Bey who would be appointed in Salonika,39 the demand could be satisfied. For others, the dreams of compensation in the form of an official employment simply blew away. For instance, I˙zmirli Muzaffer Efendi who was expelled while he was studying in the Imperial Military School asked to be appointed as a superintendent in the police, but his demand was rejected.40

Financial Issues Besides demands for defraying the costs of return and demands for employment, the authorities had to deal also with other financial issues.

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First of all, there was the question of continuing to pay or not the salaries and per diems assigned during the exile. Many documents concern this problem. It does seem that this kind of payment assigned by the Hamidian regime was stopped immediately after the general amnesty issued in late July 1908. Nevertheless, it was soon decided that these salaries should be paid by the authorities in the place of exile to amnestied exiles until their departure from there.41 With typical bureaucratic prudence, provincial government officials also asked Istanbul whether they would continue to pay the ‘residence salaries’ (ikamet maas¸ı) to these who were now amnestied.42 The relatively quick answer to this question was negative.43 Many exiles understandably claimed these sums when they returned to their home town or to Istanbul and their demands were indeed satisfied.44 This kind of claim is expressed in a large number of documents in the following months, that is, during October, November and December 1908 and even in the first months of 1909.45 These salaries and per diems continued to be paid until the claimant was appointed to a post. Among other financial issues the authorities had to deal with during the first months of the new regime was the payment of accumulated salaries, a perpetual problem of the Hamidian regime, and allow the salary to the families of those who had died in the exile. These kinds of demands were very few compared with the others mentioned above. There is another category of demand which was generally satisfied, namely for cash aid. The sum accorded is generally 500 piastres, rather a small amount. This sum was paid from the Fund of Imperial Gifts (Atiye-i seniye tertıˆbi).46 Before concluding this long list of demands from exiles, I must also mention demands for compensation for damages caused by the banishment. Some returned exiles claimed that the monetary worth of their confiscated books and furniture should be paid,47 others asked for their cash taken by force.48 Mu¨stecaˆbıˆzaˆde I˙smet Bey (1868– 1917),49 a well-known writer and poet, received his books confiscated with the banishment, and asked simply the payment of the cost of his missing books.50 Another exile wanted his house which was squatted in during his banishment, to be emptied.51 Accusations against squealers who caused the decision for banishment and demands of investigation about them can be also classified under this rubric,52 as other kinds of demand of moral and material compensation.53

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From an Administrative and Social Question to a Primarily Political One (August 1908 – January 1909) The return of exiles is a process which started out in the very first days of the new regime and rapidly became one of the political and social questions occupying the Ottoman political agenda until the 31 March Incident in 1909. To understand the political dimension of this basically administrative and social question, one needs first a detailed chronology of the early phase of the return process. Up to this point in this chapter, I have explored archival material which has not necessarily been public. Yet, to be politicized, the question of the victims of the old regime needs first to be publicized. Hence, to begin, I must look through the way in which the return of exiles was publicized in the very first days of the new regime. Thanks to a recent publication which is an almanac of the first year of the new regime (23 July 1908 – 23 July 1909), it is easy to give a re´sume´ of the most important events of the said period.54 This almanac is a compilation of salient news from the contemporary press. It appears that the return of exiles started in early August. Illustrious exiles’ arrivals to the imperial capital were transformed into a public event, to a kind of celebration of the parliamentary regime. In some sense, in the return of a famous victim of the old regime, it was the new era which was embodied and hailed. On 2 August, a well-known publisher of the Hamidian epoch, Ebu¨zziya Tevfik, who arrived back to Istanbul after eight years and four months spent in exile in Konya, was welcomed in the Haydarpas¸a train station by thousands of people. The following day, it was Ferik Nazım Pas¸a’s turn to be acclaimed, this time at the port of Galata. This kind of celebration would be organized in late August and early September for other public figures’ arrivals, symbolizing the coming of the new era of ‘Liberty’: Mu¨s¸ir Fuad Pas¸a (12 August); Recep Pas¸a (15 August); Manyasizade Refik Bey and Sami Pas¸azade Sezai Bey (23 August); Ali Rıza Pas¸a, Ali Ekrem Bey, the former Armenian Patriarch I˙zmirliyan (26 August) and, last but not least, Prens Sabahaddin Bey (2 September). Needless to say, apart from these illustrious victims of the old regime who had the privilege of being transformed into heroes of the new era, there were also thousands of anonymous victims whose return was unnoticed. Nevertheless, two incidents occurred in

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the first half of August concerning the fate of these anonymous victims of the old regime. On 11 August a charitable association was founded by a group of ladies from Go¨ztepe to collect financial aid for these political criminals who could not yet return to Istanbul owing to lack of money. In a similar vein, some cultural events such as concerts and shows were organized to raise funds to be donated to, amongst others, the victims of the old regime: Namık Kemal’s famous play Fatherland in Hidayet Bag˘ı on 8 September; another play in Kus¸dili (Kadıko¨y) organized by the CUP on 13 September; a concert and a play in Tepebas¸ı Varyete Tiyatrosu on the same day; and a concert in Bebek Bahcesi on 18 September. Some circles were apparently very concerned with the situation of the victims of the old regime. One of the reasons behind this mobilization of the ‘civil society’ of Istanbul for the victims of the old regime was probably a second incident on 12 August. That day, in a meeting organized in the Sultanahmet Square, a group of already disappointed former exiles founded their political organization Fedaˆkaˆraˆn-ı millet cemiyeti. The disappointment of these persons was directed against the state apparatus in general but also particularly to the CUP. The leaders of the CUP who came from Salonica to Istanbul on 3 August had been welcomed by an enthusiastic crowd in the Sirkeci train station. They began to implement their organization in the capital and one of their first acts was to open a bureau for the returned exiles in their headquarters in Cag˘alog˘lu to list the demands of these unfortunate exiles.55 It seems that the CUP was giving then 500 piastres to every exile who asked.56 The foundation of this organization under the very suggestive name of ‘Devotees of the Nation’ had a clearly disturbing effect on the CUP. The name of the society was itself purposeful. The members of Fedaˆkaˆraˆn-ı millet cemiyeti were not simply victims of the old regime like CUP members: they were also the victims of the new regime because of the disinterested nature of their involvement into the struggle against the Hamidian regime. Addressing the prestige of the CUP which was called from the beginnings of the new regime as the ‘sacred committee’ (cemiyet-i mukaddese)57 this rhetoric was actually very dangerous for their ongoing process of the capture of political power. That is probably why a group of Unionist militants attacked the centre of Fedaˆkaˆraˆn-ı millet cemiyeti in Su¨leymaniye in mid-September.58 The Fedaˆkaˆraˆn-ı millet

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cemiyeti moved its headquarters elsewhere and continued its struggle through its newspaper Hukuk-ı umuˆmiye59 by emphasizing the role of the exiles and fugitives in the process of the restoration of the Constitution. To put it differently, the narrative diffused by the newspaper of the said association was undermining the prestige of the CUP which was cultivated as the only force behind the proclamation of the Constitution on 23 July.60 The tension would culminate with a police raid on the association’s headquarters on 13 January 1909. The first phase of the question of the return of the exiles achieved thus with the transformation of this practically administrative question to a purely political one, to the question of political victims. One day before the raid on the headquarters, the situation of the returned exiles had been brought into discussion in the Chamber of Deputies.61 Until that date, the topic had stayed in the sphere of government activities. By mid-January 1909, after more than five months of existence, the new regime’s governments could not yet find an equitable solution to the question.

New Regime versus Disappointed Former Exiles (January 1909 – April 1909) It was certainly quite difficult to satisfy all the demands. Furthermore, it was not self-evident which section of the Ottoman state apparatus had to deal with this question, particularly if one takes into consideration the idiosyncratic nature of each case. It is clear that a kind of political decision was needed but the political power vacuum did not permit it to act rapidly. But the question was now before the Chamber, opened on 17 December 1908. During the handling of the question in the Chamber for the first time, the deputies discussed mainly whether this urgent issue should be dealt by the executive power or the legislative power. Some deputies insisted on adopting a purely theoretical perspective which would privilege a strict separation of powers, hence they refused to debate the issue which was, they argued, relevant to the executive power’s prerogatives. These deputies accused the others who wanted to avoid theoretical discussions on separation of powers in order to find an immediate solution to this urgent issue of ‘being too sentimental’. According to this view expressed by Kozmidi Efendi, Deputy of

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Istanbul, ‘there had to be some distance between the duties the nation has granted and charged us with and our feelings’. Another one, Hu¨seyin Cahid, an eminent CUP member and Deputy in the Chamber, was even more categorical in his stand: ‘The cabinet wants to save itself from this precarious situation by leaving this upon the shoulders of the parliament. Let’s not fall into this trap easily’.62 As we will see below in more detail, he would play an important role in the ‘resolution’ of the political victims question. On 27 January 1909, the Chamber drafted a law concerning the fate of returned exiles to a special parliamentary commission on ‘political victims’ (Meclis-i mebuˆsaˆn mag˘duˆrıˆn-i siyaˆsiye encu¨meni).63 But the urgency of the question could not permit the solution to wait for the legislative process. Therefore on the same day the government made its first important decision on the question: those who were banished or fugitives for political reasons should be appointed to their previous post, the other claimants should be employed in various state services.64 One week later, in early February, the government made a more detailed decision and listed the different solutions offered to diverse cases. According to this second decision, nothing for those who had never been civil servants could be done. The ministries would try nonetheless to hire the original officials to their posts. The former students who had left their studies or who had been exiled before the end of their curriculum would not get any favour from the government except for those who ‘would act suitably’. Those ones could be hired as policemen.65 This sharp decision which brought home several important points about the eventual solution to the question understandably caused a great reaction from disappointed former exiles who organized a meeting in the famous Fevziye Kıraathanesi in order to formulate their claims, which can be summarized as follows: payment of accumulated (actually never assigned) salaries from the 23 July 1908 for all exiles who had not received any payments yet; for former students without diplomas right to complete their studies; compensation for damages; aid to the families of exiles who had died in exile; and ‘positive discrimination’ for employment in the civil service.66 The government’s reaction to this meeting was expressed by a decision of the Ministry of the Interior which repeated the clauses of the government’s second decision on the issue made at early February. To shape public opinion, the disappointed former exiles therefore organized a second meeting on 19 February 1909.67

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The press were becoming more and more involved in this struggle. The press organ of the political victims’ association Hukuk-ı umuˆmiye continued to express the voice of disappointed former exiles. The newspaper Volkan, one of the most voracious critics of the CUP, had already published in its third issue an article entitled ‘The causes of the revolution’ under the pen of its enigmatic chief columnist Dervis¸ Vahdetıˆ, where the question of disappointed former exiles was dealt with.68 Dervis¸ Vahdetıˆ is one of the unknown celebrities of the Young Turk period. Born in Cyprus in the late nineteenth century in a very poor family, he followed first a rather classical curriculum studying in a madrasa but managed also to learn English and worked for a while in the English administration of the island. Influenced by the Young Turk publications that he read there, he moved to Istanbul where he was arrested. After having being tortured, he spent more than three years in exile in Diyarbakır. Like many others, he returned to Istanbul, via Cyprus, after the restoration of the Constitution in July 1908 and was disappointed because of the rejection of his request for an appointment to a bureaucratic post; he decided thus to publish a newspaper. Volkan distinguished itself from the hundreds of periodicals of the imperial capital with its harsh criticism of the CUP and especially by the adroit use of a very provocative language with copious Islamic references.69 The newspaper Volkan reopened the question of disappointed former exiles just after the above-mentioned governmental decisions in early February. On 4 February, the newspaper accused the government of protecting the squealers who preserved their posts, whereas the former exiles without employment were not hired, and urged them to push the exiles one by one into the sea in order to resolve the problem.70 Two days later, besides one open letter written by a certain Abdu¨rrezzak S¸erefu¨ddin in the name of ‘political victims’ addressed to the Minister of the Interior, the newspaper published the supporting commentaries of its editorial body.71 The following day, in a short note the miserable conditions in which the former exiles lived were described.72 Nearly one month later, on 6 March, a long article claimed that the CUP was pushing its deputies in the Chamber to prepare a law for sending the disappointed former exiles back to their home towns.73 It should also be noted here that in the same article, Dervis¸ Vahdetıˆ’s newspaper distinguished the former exiles and the political victims’ cause from the

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Fedaˆkaˆraˆn -i millet cemiyeti, which had been harshly criticized by Volkan since the 15 January. In other words, Volkan distanced itself from the Devotees of the Nation just after the police raid on the headquarters of the said organization.74 The question of political victims of the old regime had nevertheless a discursive value that could not be left to disappointed former exiles for political use.75 To put it differently, the CUP could not allow some opposing newspapers to claim to be the only mouthpieces of political victims. Therefore Hu¨seyin Cahid intervened in the public debate in late January with an article published in his very influential newspaper Tanin (Echoes). Hu¨seyin Cahid (1875 – 1957) is one of the most important figures of Ottoman political journalism. During the Young Turk period he would play a crucial role in formulating the orthodox voice of this extremely heterogeneous political organization which was the CUP. Being maybe one of the most Westernized intellectuals among the Unionists, distinguished by his perceptive mind, he was a far-sighted journalist. And above all, Hu¨seyin Cahid was a master in the art of journalistic prose. His entering the debate after nearly six months since the beginning of the political victims question would alter things in favour of the CUP. To do this, he had to use very careful language so as not to provoke any reaction from the disappointed former exiles. He had to display a new articulation of the question in order to successfully reformulate the issue from another perspective. In other words, he had to bring the question from an antagonistic frame of reference to a conciliatory one. The discursive takeover process of the issue by the CUP went together with the repression of the organization of the disappointed former exiles on political ground by the authorities. The police raid on Fedaˆkaˆraˆn-ı millet cemiyeti’s headquarters on 13 January has already been noted above. In the beginning of March, the founder and president of the association was appointed to Kirkuk as a sub-governor and in late March, the association had to cease its activities. The association would officially close after the repression of the counter-revolution in late April 1909. To be able to rearticulate a public problem, one had to define first the terms of the debate.76 Hence, it is not surprising that Hu¨seyin Cahid had not at first taken up the generalized term used up till then to designate the disappointed former exiles, the term that they themselves

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preferred to use, that is, ‘political victims’. He used the term ‘sufferers from despotism’ (mazluˆmıˆn-i istibdaˆd).77 The aim of this terminological change was to confine the victimization argument to the old regime, namely to ‘despotism’. Having acquitted the new regime from all responsibility related to the actual situation of former exiles, he went on by expressing compassion for their miserable situation. Through compassionate and empathetic arguments, he could pursue then the question on a purely ethical level by stating that even if the coming of the new regime did not owe anything to individual suffering of each exile, the sum of these injustices might have played a certain role in the fall of the old regime. After a lot of rhetorical turns, he concluded that the government could make ‘positive discrimination’ for the former exiles in the employment policy in the civil service under the limits of the given possibilities. Hu¨seyin Cahid’s second article appeared in mid March while the authorities were eradicating the association of former exiles.78 The article was basically intended to clarify intra-institutional aspects of the political decision making process in order to absolve the Chamber from responsibility in the unresolved question of former exiles and to put the blame on the governments which had not been able to propose in eight months of parliamentary regime a suitable solution to this mainly administrative problem. He argued that these persons were like wounded soldiers; they were literally wounded in the war for liberty. He urged the government to prepare a list of the former exiles in order to improve the management of this social question. This demand would be quickly satisfied, as I will show below. But before that, it is worth presenting briefly the third article of Hu¨seyin Cahid. He put forward there the idea of settling these unfortunate exiles in areas such as Konya plain or Adana by giving them arable lands in order to transform them into agricultural labourers with their own land. He suggested that this would avoid filling the civil service with thousands of them, especially at an epoch of bureaucratic reorganization.79 In this section, I dealt first with the governmental decisions about the disappointed former exiles. Then I focused on the reactions from the exiles and showed how the CUP managed the discursive takeover of the question by the interventions of one of its eminent members, the influential journalist Hu¨seyin Cahid. The counter-revolution episode in

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April 1909 altered things definitely in favour of the CUP. This brings us to the last phase of the issue, namely to the legal solution proposed by the Chamber.

The Legal Solution to a Politically Resolved Question (April 1909 – June 1911) On 5 April, the government sent orders to the ministries and to other official institutions urging them to prepare and send registers of the former exiles who had been hired there.80 Six weeks later, after the episode of the counter-revolution, the new government repeated the orders of its predecessor.81 On 15 August 1909, following the first debate held in late January, the question of political victims had been brought into discussion in the Chamber of Deputies. During this debate, criticism expressed by the Deputy for Gu¨mu¨s¸hane, I˙brahim Lu¨tfi Pas¸a, indicates that there was not unanimity on the question among Deputies. He argued that some of those people who were claiming that they had been victims for political reasons were in fact fugitives or banished for murder, theft or bribery. Beside these harsh criticisms, the debates show that the Deputies were more concerned with formal institutional and procedural aspects of the preparation of a law on the question of political victims rather than the very substance of the question itself.82 On 3 September, the Ministry of Finance sent a register of former exiles to whom a salary was assigned after their return.83 Unfortunately, I can find neither this register nor any list of this kind in the Ottoman Archives. The fact that the draft of the law concerning the political victims, prepared by the special commission mentioned above and submitted to the Chamber of Deputies in early December 190984 and accepted in the Chamber on 17 May 1911, more than one and half years later, demonstrates in my opinion that the political victims question ceased to be a political issue with the episode of counter-revolution: after the closing of the Devotees of the Nation and the banishment of some prominent figures among these exiles, the cause of the former exiles was not any more a primary concern for political actors. According to this law which came into effect upon its publication in the Ottoman official journal Takvıˆm-i vekayi on 13 June 1911, the demands of disappointed former exiles formulated during their meeting in Fevziye Kıraathanesi on 8 February 1909 were partially accepted but

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with a delay of nearly one and half years. That is, accumulated salaries would be paid not from the 23 July 1908 as the disappointed former exiles had asked then but from the beginning of that year.85 The former exiles and also fugitives who had been civil servants would eventually be employed in the bureaucracy. Concerning those who had never been civil servants, the law mentioned the possibility of employment if they met the recruiting conditions of the civil service. As for the retirement rights issue, the law stated that the former civil servants would obtain their rights for the entire period of exile or imprisonment, whereas for the fugitives this lapse of time would include the first two and a half years of the fugitive period. Furthermore, whether former civil servants or not, these political victims would not pay any charge concerning retirement for the periods of exile.

Conclusion The mass return of exiles in the last quarter of 1908 had serious implications on Ottoman political life until the crash of the counterrevolution attempt in April 1909. This multidimensional administrative problem was certainly a ‘dark legacy’ of the Hamidian regime. Yet the obvious political power vacuum was also a consequence of the political power struggle which took place between the old regime’s pashas, the Palace and the CUP,86 which characterized the first months of the parliamentary regime at least until the opening of the Ottoman Parliament in mid December 1908. This seems to be responsible for the rapid transformation of this primarily administrative problem into a social one, and then to merely a political one. Furthermore, with the opening of Parliament, another kind of power struggle appeared, this time between the Cabinet and the Chamber of Deputies, which complicated the resolution of the question of political victims. Within just two weeks after the restoration of the constitutional regime in the Ottoman Empire, the exiles’ integration into the new regime had become an urgent issue for the parliamentary regime. Directed first to the government, the anger of former disappointed exiles who were calling themselves henceforth political victims soon began to target the CUP which took over the new regime and was referring to itself as the ‘soul of the state’.87 Thus, from mid August 1908 to mid January 1909, the government and the CUP attacked the organization of

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the disappointed former exiles called Devotees of the Nation in order to transform part of them from political victims into agitators of counterrevolution. Having succeeded in their purpose, that is, having marginalized the group of former exiles and the leading figures among them, these political actors left the legal solution of this problem which had been already politically resolved to the Chamber. In other words, if the question of political victims was one of the grounds which lay beneath the so-called 31 March Incident, the ‘cause’ of the former exiles could not survive the counter-revolution. This case study can also provide some avenues of inquiry for further research on the Young Turk era. The debates in the Chamber of Deputies inspire certain reflections prompting us to be cautious about the heterogeneous nature of the state apparatus. Thus, we must not forget that at least some political questions of that period are intelligible only within a context of inter-institutional conflict.88 In the case studied here, it seems that the question of political victims was before all a struggle between the executive and the legislative powers. To put it differently, one can say that the political victims of the old regime became the victims of an inter-institutional conflict between the legislative and the executive bodies during the first years of the new regime. They also suffered from an infra-institutional confrontation between various ministries (mainly of Finance, of the Interior and of Instruction), the Council of State, the Directorate of Police or other kinds of administrative bodies such as the Istanbul municipality and prefecture. These infra-institutional confrontations were by no means intensified by the revolutionary context which brought about a political power vacuum. The process of administrative reorganization is another factor increasing this conflictual context. One can add to this list the side-effects of imminent conflicts of interest between the central administration and the provincial one. Last but not least, the different temporalities of institutional decision making mechanisms seem also to have had some effects on the transformation of the question and on its resolution in the relatively long-term. The issue can be also elucidated within the explanatory framework developed by studies of legal or political sociology on the construction of social problems. In the case studied here, the three stages of the construction of the return of exiles as a social problem are somewhat simultaneous and entangled, which complicate the analysis.89 The first

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one, the process of naming these exiles publicly as ‘political victims’ occurred during the first half of 1909. This process implies a critical transformation of what was initially perceived as an injustice due to the old regime into a grievance against the new regime. Hence the second stage, blaming the government and very soon the CUP for the nonresolution of the question, took place between mid-August 1908 and late April 1909, the date of the repression of the counter-revolution. The third stage, claiming, that is to voice its grievance to an institution (in this case, Ottoman state, the government, the Chamber and the CUP) believed to be responsible and to ask them for some compensation, existed from the very beginning, that is, from August 1908, and lasted even until the legal solution of the problem since we have documents from late 1912.90 The last remark concerns the entanglement of the Chamber of Deputies with the CUP, an imbroglio embodied here by Hu¨seyin Cahid, Deputy, influential journalist and eminent CUP member at the same time. In order to understand any public debate of that period, one has to keep in mind this entanglement between politics and the shaping of public opinion. This study suggests that this is probably why the CUP was the main target of a very miscellaneous group of opposition, which comprised also the Devotees of the Nation. The question remains whether this organization represented really the political victims of the old regime or rather used them merely for specific political purposes.

Notes 1. E´cole Pratique des Hautes E´tudes, IVe section, Paris. I would like to thank Ahmet Kuyas¸ and E´lise Massicard for their valuable comments on my paper. 2. A noticeable exception is Francois Georgeon, ‘Sur quelques incidents survenus au lendemain de la re´volution jeune-turque’, in Francois Georgeon, Sous le signe des re´formes. E´tat et socie´te´ de l’Empire ottoman a` la Turquie ke´maliste (1789 – 1939) (Istanbul, 2009), pp. 113 – 28. 3. Serhat Aslaner, ‘100 Yıl Sonra II. Mes¸rutiyet’, Dıˆvaˆn. Disiplinlerarası C¸alıs¸malar Dergisi 13/25 (2008/2), pp. 175– 214. 4. Y. Dog˘an C¸etinkaya, 1908 Osmanlı Boykotu, Bir Toplumsal Hareketin Analizi (Istanbul, 2004). 5. According to one contemporary account published in the Revue du monde musulman in November 1908, this number is estimated to be ‘some 80.000’, see Victor R. Swenson, ‘The Young Turk Revolution: A study of the first phase of the Second Turkish Constitutional regime from June 1908 to May 1909’,

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6.

7. 8.

9.

10. 11.

12. 13.

14.

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unpublished PhD thesis, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Maryland, 1968, p. 135n52, p. 154n10. Although an evaluation published in Revue du monde musulman has to be taken seriously, having considered the archival material used below, it seems that it was a much overestimated number. Abdu¨lhamit Kırmızı, ‘Mes¸rutiyette I˙stibdat Kadroları: 1908 I˙htilalinin Bu¨rokraside Tasfiye ve I˙kame Kabiliyeti’, in Sina Aks¸in (ed.), Yu¨zu¨ncu¨ Yılında Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi (Istanbul, 2010), pp. 322– 35 and Nader Sohrabi, ‘Illiberal Constitutionalism: The Committee of Union and Progress as a Clandestine Network and the Purges’, in Francois Georgeon (ed.), ‘L’ivresse de la liberte´’. La re´volution de 1908 dans l’Empire ottoman (Paris and Louvain, 2012), pp. 109– 20. For the first topic, there is only one study, not really reliable: Taner Aslan, ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet Do¨nemi Genel Af Uygulamaları’, Gazi Akademik Bakıs¸ 3/5 (2009), pp. 41 – 60. The translation is Aykut Kansu’s: Politics in Post-Revolutionary Turkey (Leiden, 2000). Hasan Taner Kerimog˘lu, ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet Do¨neminde Genel Haklar Savunusu Yapan Bir Gazete’, Hukuk-ı Umumiye’, C¸ag˘das¸ Tu¨rkiye Tarihi Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi 8/18– 19 (2009), pp. 21 – 38; ‘Mes¸rutiyet U¨zerinde I˙ttihat ve Terakki Cemiyeti’ne Kars¸ı Hak Arama Mu¨cadelesi. Fedakaˆran-ı Millet Cemiyeti’, Toplumsal Tarih 137 (May 2005), pp. 40 – 5; ‘Fedakaran-ı Millet Cemiyeti’, unpublished master thesis, Dokuz Eylu¨l U¨niversitesi Atatu¨rk I˙lkeleri ve I˙nkılap Tarihi Enstitu¨su¨, 2003. Sina Aks¸in, ‘Fedakaˆran-ı Millet Cemiyeti’, Ankara U¨niversitesi Siyasal Bilgiler Faku¨ltesi Dergisi 29/1– 2 (1974), pp. 125– 36; Tarık Zafer Tunaya, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasal Partiler. Cilt I: I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet Do¨nemi, 1908 – 1918 (Istanbul, 2nd edn 1984), pp. 131– 41. Nader Sohrabi, Revolution and Constitutionalism in the Ottoman Empire and Iran (New York, 2011), pp. 220– 1. See Yusuf Niyazi, Menfaˆ ko¨s¸elerinde ([Istanbul], Artin Asaduryan Matbaası, [Ruˆmıˆ] 1326 (1910), 39 pages) and Nureddin Tevfik, Menfaˆdan avdet. Bir arkadas¸ımın defter-i hayaˆtından (Istanbul, Matbaa-i Ahmed Kaˆmil, [Ruˆmıˆ] 1324 (1908), 15 pages). Mustafa S¸ahin, ‘Cemiyet mi, Es¸kıya C¸etesi mi?’, Tarih ve Toplum 107 (1992), pp. 57– 9. For instance, even the memoirs of a former exile who would become one of the leading figure of the opposition to the CUP deals with the return process and the first days after the return in a few pages. See Mevlaˆnzaˆde Rıfat’ın Anıları, ed. Metin Martı (Istanbul, 1992 [1328/1912]), pp. 9 – 10. After his return to Istanbul, a salary was assigned to Mevlaˆnzaˆde; see Murat Issı, ‘Hu¨rriyet Aˆs¸ıg˘ı Bir Osmanlı-Ku¨rt Aydını Mevlanzaˆde Rıf’at Bey’, Toplumsal Tarih 196 (April 2010), p. 73. For the diversified terminology (nefy, tag˘rıˆb, iclaˆ, ikamete memur) used in the seventeenth century to describe different levels of the Ottoman banishment practices, see M. C¸ag˘atay Ulucay, ‘Su¨rgu¨nler. Yeni ve Yakın C¸ag˘larda Manisa’ya

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15. 16.

17. 18.

19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29.

30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37.

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ve Manisa’dan Su¨ru¨lenler’, Belleten, 15/60 (1951), p. 508. For an overview on the Ottoman banishment practices in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, see Osman Ko¨ksal, ‘Osmanlı Hukukunda Bir Ceza Olarak Su¨rgu¨n ve I˙ki ¨ niversitesi Osmanlı Sultanının Su¨rgu¨nle I˙lgili Hatt-ı Hu¨maˆyuˆnları’, Ankara U Osmanlı Tarihi Aras¸tırma ve Uygulama Merkezi Dergisi 19 (2006), pp. 283– 341. BEO 3529/264616, 14/Ra/1327 (5 April 1909); BEO 3551/266302, 28/ R/1327 (19 May 1909). Meclis-i Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi, Devre 1, Cilt 6, I˙ctima Senesi 1, Yu¨zotuzdo¨rdu¨ncu¨ I˙nikad, Celse 1, 2 Ag˘ustos 1325 (15 August 1909), pp. 433– 6. See also a document from the Ministry of the Interior: DH.MUI˙. 43/-1/6, 13/Za/1327 (24 November 1909). Nader Sohrabi, Revolution and Constitutionalism, p. 220. DH.EUM.VRK. 9/91, 19/N/1330 (1 September 1912) for a demand of employment which was refused and DH.EUM.THR. 83/16, 5/Za/1330 (16 October 1912) for an investigation about the reasons of the banishment of I˙smail Efendi who was demanding a salary because of being a political victim of the old regime. The last document related to a restitution of a rank is dated to the mid August of 1909: DH.MKT. 2898/37, 25/B/1327 (12 August 1909). DH. MKT. 1286/56, 29/B/1326 (26 August 1908). DH. MKT. 2652/40, 14/L/1326 (10 October 1908). DH. MKT. 2668/30, 29/L/1326 (25 October 1908). DH. MKT. 1288/45, 5/S¸/1326 (2 September 1908). DH. MKT. 2706/88, 20/Z/1326 (13 January 1909). DH. MKT. 2727/17, 10/M/1327 (1 February 1909). DH. MKT. 2664/72, 26/L/1326 (22 October 1908). DH. MKT. 2666/62, 28/L/1326 (24 October 1908). DH. MKT. 1294/37, 14/S¸/1326 (11 September 1908). DH. MKT. 2747/48, 1/S/1327 (22 February 1909). On the reorganization of the Ottoman police in the Young Turk period and the recruitment policy adopted then, see Noe´mi Levy, ‘La reprise en main des institutions: l’exemple de la police ottomane’, in Francois Georgeon (ed.), ‘L’ivresse de la liberte´’, pp. 121–35. DH. MKT. 2733/66, 16/M/1327 (7 February 1909) and DH. MKT. 2746/58, 1/S/1327 (22 February 1909). BEO 3402/255104. 26/S¸/1326 (23 September 1908) and MF. MKT. 1076/73, 28/S¸/1326 (25 September 1908). DH. MKT. 2692/51. 2/Z/1326 (26 December 1908). DH. MKT. 2754/38, 8/S/1327 (1 March 1909). MV. 126/19, 2/Ra/1327 (24 March 1909). DH. MKT. 2767/87, 22/S/1327 (15 March 1909). BEO 3500/262447, 6/S/1327 (27 February 1909). The documents mentioned cases from the Imperial Civil Service School (Mektebi Mu¨lkiye-i S¸ahaˆne), the Imperial Civil Medical School (Mekteb-i Tıbbıye-i Mu¨lkiye-i S¸ahaˆne) and the Imperial Military School (Mekteb-i Fu¨nuˆn-ı Harbiye).

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38. BEO 3416/256188, 23/N/1326 (19 October 1908); DH. MKT. 2703/6, 16/ Z/1326 (9 January 1909). 39. BEO 3501/262502, 7/S/1327 (28 February 1909) and DH. MKT. 2755/95, 10/ S/1327 (3 March 1909). 40. DH. MKT. 2733/66, 16/M/1327 (7 February 1909). 41. DH. MKT. 1276/51, 21/B/1326 (19 August 1908). 42. DH. MKT. 1288/35, 5/S¸/1326 (2 September 1908). 43. DH. MKT. 2619/25, 4/N/1326 (30 September 1908). 44. DH. MKT. 2616/71, 1/N/1326 (27 September 1908). In early October, the Ministry of the Interior decided that these sums which were paid from the ‘invitees fund’ (misaˆfirıˆn tertıˆbi or tahsıˆsaˆtı) should be paid from then on from the ‘needy fund’ (muhtaˆcıˆn tahsıˆsaˆtı). See DH. MKT. 2620/41, 5/N/1326 (1 October 1908). 45. It is needless to cite all documentation, let me give here only the reference of the last document concerning this issue: DH. MKT 2761/16, 15/S /1327 (8 March 1909). 46. See for two late examples: BEO 3574/268004, 25/Ca/1327 (14 June 1909) and BEO 3596/269689, 25/C/1327 (14 July 1909). 47. I˙. HUS. 171/1326/Za-08, 5/Za/1326 (29 November 1908). 48. I˙. HUS. 173/1327/M-15, 5/M/1327 (27 January 1909). 49. M. Fatih Andı, ‘Mu¨stecaˆbıˆzaˆde I˙smet Bey (1868– 1917)’, Tu¨rkiye Diyanet Vakfı I˙slaˆm Ansiklopedisi, vol. 32 (Istanbul, 2006), pp. 131 – 2. 50. DH. MKT. 2760/6, 14/S/1327 (7 March 1909). 51. BEO 3460/259468, 30/Za/1326 (24 December 1908). 52. DH. MKT. 2633/3, 21 N/1326 (17 October 1908). 53. I˙. HUS. 170/1326/N-075, 18/N/1326 (14 October 1908) and BEO 3500/262479, 7/S/1327 (28 February 1909). 54. II. Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lk Yılı. 23 Temmuz 1908– 23 Temmuz 1909 (Istanbul, 2008). 55. Ahmet Cevat Emre, I˙ki Neslin Tarihi (Istanbul, 1960), p. 32 cited in Hasan Taner Kerimog˘lu, Fedakaran-ı Millet Cemiyeti, p. 32. 56. Hu¨seyin Cahid, ‘Menfiler’, Tanin 220, 12 March 1909, p. 1. 57. S¸u¨kru¨ Haniog˘lu, Preparation for a Revolution: The Young Turks, 1902– 1908 (New York, 2001), p. 279. 58. Hasan Taner Kerimog˘lu, Fedakaran-ı Millet Cemiyeti, pp. 74 – 5. 59. It should be noted that the first issue appeared on 16 August, i.e. just after the attack of CUP militants. 60. This newspaper’s discourse on the Young Turk Revolution’s origins is analysed in Hasan Taner Kerimog˘lu’s master thesis mentioned above. 61. Hasan Taner Kerimog˘lu, Fedakaran-ı Millet Cemiyeti, pp. 48– 9. 62. Meclis-i Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi, Devre 1, Cilt 1, I˙ctima Senesi 1, Onuncu I˙nikad, Celse 2, 30 Kanunıevvel 1324 (12 January 1909), pp. 147– 50. 63. Ibid., Ondokuzuncu I˙nikad, Celse 1, 14 Kanunusaˆni 1324 (27 January 1909), pp. 350– 1. 64. MV. 124/27, 5/M/1327 (27 January 1909).

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65. Hasan Taner Kerimog˘lu, Fedakaran-ı Millet Cemiyeti, p. 49. 66. The declaration read during this meeting is reproduced in Volkan 40, 9 February 1909 reprinted in M. Ertug˘rul Du¨zdag˘ (ed.), Volkan Gazetesi 11 Aralık 1908– 20 Nisan 1909. Tam ve aynen metin nes¸ri (Istanbul, 1992), p. 190. This book is the reprint of the entire collection of the newspaper transliterated in latin characters. 67. Hasan Taner Kerimog˘lu, Fedakaran-ı Millet Cemiyeti, pp. 50 – 1. 68. Dervis¸ Vahdetıˆ, ‘Esbaˆb-ı inkılaˆb’, Volkan 3, 13 December 1908 in M. Ertug˘rul Du¨zdag˘ (ed.), Volkan Gazetesi, pp. 11 –12. 69. On his biography, see Zekeriya Kurs¸un and Kemal Kahraman, ‘Dervis¸ Vahdetıˆ (1870 – 1909)’, Tu¨rkiye Diyanet Vakfı I˙slaˆm Ansiklopedisi, vol. 9 (Istanbul, 1994), pp. 198–200 and also Osman Selim Kocahasanog˘lu, Dervis¸ Vahdeti ve C¸avus¸ların I˙syanı. 31 Mart Vak’ası ve I˙slaˆmcılık (Istanbul, 2001), pp. 5 –67. For his disappointment, see ibid., p. 39. 70. Volkan 35, 4 February 1909 in M. Ertug˘rul Du¨zdag˘ (ed.), Volkan Gazetesi, pp. 164– 5. 71. Volkan 37, 6 February 1909 in M. Ertug˘rul Du¨zdag˘ (ed.), Volkan Gazetesi, pp. 172– 3. 72. Volkan 38, 7 February 1909 in M. Ertug˘rul Du¨zdag˘ (ed.), Volkan Gazetesi, p. 180. 73. ‘Amıˆk tefekku¨r’, Volkan 65, 6 March 1909 in M. Ertug˘rul Du¨zdag˘ (ed.), Volkan Gazetesi, pp. 311– 13. 74. ‘I˙kinci temayu¨l altında mu¨raˆkabe-i caˆnib’, Volkan 21, 15 January 1909 in M. Ertug˘rul Du¨zdag˘ (ed.), Volkan Gazetesi, pp. 94– 5 and also ‘Melhameler Mitranlar’, Volkan 23, 17 January 1909 in M. Ertug˘rul Du¨zdag˘ (ed.), Volkan Gazetesi, pp. 101– 3. 75. On the centrality of the discursive battle about the origins of and actors behind the Young Turk revolution in the first year of the Constitutional Era, see perceptive analysis of Anastasia-Ileana Moroni, ‘Une nation impe´riale. Construire une communaute´ politique ottomane moderne au lendemain de la re´volution de 1908’, unpublished PhD thesis, EHESS, Paris, 2013. 76. See the seminal article by William L.F. Felstiner, Richard L. Abel and Austin Sarat: ‘The Emergence and Transformation of Disputes: Naming, Blaming, Claiming . . . ’, Law and Society Review 15/3– 4 (1980– 1981), pp. 631– 54. 77. Hu¨seyin Cahid, ‘Mazluˆmıˆn-i istibdaˆd’, Tanin 176, 27 January 1909, p. 1. 78. Hu¨seyin Cahid, ‘Menfıˆler’. 79. Hu¨seyin Cahid, ‘Mag˘duˆrıˆn-i siyaˆsiyenin mutaˆlebi’, Tanin 247, 8 April 1909, p. 1. 80. BEO 3529/264616, 14/Ra/1327 (5 April 1909). 81. BEO 3551/266302, 28/R/1327 (19 May 1909). 82. Meclis-i Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi, Devre 1, Cilt 6, I˙ctima Senesi 1, Yu¨zotuzdo¨rdu¨ncu¨ I˙nikad, Celse 1, 2 Ag˘ustos 1325 Pazar (15 August 1909), pp. 433– 6. 83. BEO 3625/272092, 17/S¸/1327 (3 September 1909).

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84. Meclis-i Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi, Devre 1, Cilt 1, I˙ctima Senesi 2, Onikinci I˙nikad, 25 Tes¸rinisani 1325 (8 December 1909), pp. 227 – 8. 85. ‘Mag˘duˆrıˆn-i siyaˆsiyenin suˆret-i ikdaˆrı hakkında kanuˆn’ in Du¨stuˆr, 2 Series, vol. 3 (Dersaadet, 1330/1912), pp. 422 –3. 86. For insightful commentaries on this power struggle, see Nadir Sohrabi, Revolution and Constitutionalism, pp. 135 – 64. 87. S¸u¨kru¨ Haniog˘lu, Preparation for a Revolution, p. 279. 88. One can be inspired for such an approach to the problem studied here from Bertrand Joly, ‘L’affaire Dreyfus comme conflit entre administrations’, in Marc Olivier Baruch and Vincent Duclert, Serviteurs de l’E´tat (Paris, 2000), pp. 223– 39, especially pp. 234– 9. 89. For some theoretical insights, see Felstiner, Abel and Sarat, ‘The Emergence and Transformation’. 90. DH.EUM.VRK. 9/91, 19/N/1330 (1 September 1912) and DH.EUM.THR. 83/16, 5/Za/1330 (16 October 1912).

References Archives

Bab-ı Ali Evrak Odası BEO. Bas¸bakanlık Osmanlı Ars¸ivi (Ottoman Archives Prime Ministry Office). Dahiliye Nezareti Emniyet-i Umumiye Mu¨du¨riyeti Evrak Odası Kalemi DH.EUM. VRK. Dahiliye Nezareti Emniyet-i Umumiye Mu¨du¨riyeti Tahrirat Kalemi DH.EUM. THR. Dahiliye Nezareti Mektubi Kalemi DH.MKT. Dahiliye Nezareti Muhaberat-ı Umumiye I˙daresi DH. MUI˙ I˙radeler Hususi I˙. HUS. Maarif Nezareti Mektubi Kalemi MF. MKT. Meclis-i Vu¨kela Mazbataları MV.

Official Publications

Du¨stur, 2nd Series, vol. 3 (Dersaadet, Matbaa-i Osmaˆniye, [H.] 1330 [1912]). Meclis-i Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi.

Eyewitness Accounts, Contemporary Accounts, Memoirs and Published Collections ‘Amıˆk tefekku¨r’, Volkan 65, 6 March 1909. Cahid, Hu¨seyin, ‘Menfiler’, Tanin 220, 12 March 1909. ——— ‘Mazluˆmıˆn-i istibdaˆd’, Tanin 176, 27 January 1909. ——— ‘Mag˘duˆrıˆn-i siyaˆsiyenin mutaˆlebi’, Tanin 247, 8 April 1909. Du¨zdag˘, M. Ertug˘rul (ed.), Volkan Gazetesi 11 Aralık 1908 – 20 Nisan 1909.Tam ve aynen metin nes¸ri (Istanbul, 1992). Emre, Ahmet Cevat. I˙ki Neslin Tarihi (Istanbul, 1960). ‘I˙kinci temayu¨l altında mu¨raˆkabe-i caˆnib’, Volkan 21, 15 January 1909.

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II. Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lk Yılı. 23 Temmuz 1908 – 23 Temmuz 1909 (Istanbul, 2008). ‘Melhameler Mitranlar’, Volkan 23, 17 January 1909. Mevlaˆnzaˆde Rıfat’ın Anıları, ed. Metin Martı (Istanbul, 1992 [1328/1912]). Niyazi, Yusuf, Menfaˆ ko¨s¸elerinde (Istanbul, [Ruˆmıˆ], 1326/1910). Tevfik, Nureddin, Menfaˆdan avdet. Bir arkadas¸ımın defter-i hayaˆtından (Istanbul, Ahmed Kaˆmil [Ruˆmıˆ], 1324/1908). Vahdetıˆ, Dervis¸, ‘Esbaˆb-ı inkılaˆb’, Volkan 3, 13 December 1908. Volkan 35, 4 February 1909. Volkan 37, 6 February 1909. Volkan 38, 7 February 1909.

Secondary Literature

¨ niversitesi Siyasal Bilgiler Aks¸in, Sina, ‘Fedakaˆran-ı Millet Cemiyeti’, Ankara U Faku¨ltesi Dergisi 29/1– 2 (1974), pp. 125– 36. Andı, M. Fatih, ‘Mu¨stecaˆbıˆzaˆde I˙smet Bey (1868 – 1917)’, in Tu¨rkiye Diyanet Vakfı I˙slaˆm Ansiklopedisi, vol. 32 (Istanbul, 2006), pp. 131– 2. Aslan, Taner, ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet Do¨nemi Genel Af Uygulamaları’, Gazi Akademik Bakıs¸ 3/5 (2009), pp. 41– 60. Aslaner, Serhat, ‘100 Yıl Yıl Sonra II. Mes¸rutiyet’, Dıˆvaˆn. Disiplinlerarası C¸alıs¸malar Dergisi 13/25 (2008/2), pp. 175 – 214. C¸etinkaya, Y. Dog˘an, 1908 Osmanlı Boykotu, Bir Toplumsal Hareketin Analizi (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2004). Felstiner, William L.F., Abel, Richard L. and Sarat, Austin, ‘The emergence and transformation of disputes: Naming, blaming, claiming . . .’, Law and Society Review 15/3– 4 (1980– 1), pp. 631– 54. Georgeon, Francois, ‘Sur quelques incidents survenus au lendemain de la re´volution jeune-turque’, in Francois Georgeon, Sous le signe des re´formes. E´tat et socie´te´ de l’Empire ottoman a` la Turquie ke´maliste (1789–1939) (Istanbul: Isis, 2009), pp. 113–28. ——— (ed.), ‘L’ivresse de la liberte´’. La re´volution de 1908 dans l’Empire ottoman (Paris and Leuven: Peeters, 2012). Haniog˘lu, S¸u¨kru¨, Preparation for a Revolution: The Young Turks, 1902– 1908 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001). Issı, Murat, ‘Hu¨rriyet Aˆs¸ıg˘ı Bir Osmanlı-Ku¨rt Aydını Mevlanzaˆde Rıf’at Bey’, Toplumsal Tarih 196 (2010), pp. 72– 80. Joly, Bertrand, ‘L’affaire Dreyfus comme conflit entre administrations’, in Marc Olivier Baruch and Vincent Duclert (eds), Serviteurs de l’E´tat (Paris: La De´couverte, 2000), pp. 223–39. Kansu, Aykut, Politics in Post-Revolutionary Turkey (Leiden: Brill, 2000). Kerimog˘lu, Hasan Taner, ‘Fedakaran-ı Millet Cemiyeti’, unpublished master thesis, Dokuz Eylu¨l U¨niversitesi Atatu¨rk I˙lkeleri ve I˙nkılap Tarihi Enstitu¨su¨, 2003. ——— ‘Mes¸rutiyet U¨zerinde I˙ttihat ve Terakki Cemiyeti’ne Kars¸ı Hak Arama Mu¨cadelesi. Fedakaˆran-ı Millet Cemiyeti’, Toplumsal Tarih 137 (2005), pp. 40–5. ——— ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet Do¨neminde Genel Haklar Savunusu Yapan Bir Gazete: Hukuk-ı Umumiye’, C¸ag˘das¸ Tu¨rkiye Tarihi Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi 8/18– 19 (2009), pp. 21– 38. Kırmızı, Abdu¨lhamit, ‘Mes¸rutiyette I˙stibdat Kadroları: 1908 I˙htilalinin Bu¨rokraside Tasfiye ve I˙kame Kabiliyeti’, in Sina Aks¸in (ed.), Yu¨zu¨ncu¨ Yılında Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi (Istanbul: Tu¨rkiye I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r Yayınları, 2010), pp. 322 –35.

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Kocahasanog˘lu, Osman Selim, Dervis¸ Vahdeti ve C¸avus¸ların I˙syanı. 31 Mart Vak’ası ve I˙slaˆmcılık (Istanbul: Temel Yayınları, 2001). Ko¨ksal, Osman, ‘Osmanlı Hukukunda Bir Ceza Olarak Su¨rgu¨n ve I˙ki Osmanlı ¨ niversitesi Osmanlı Sultanının Su¨rgu¨nle I˙lgili Hatt-ı Hu¨maˆyuˆnları’, Ankara U Tarihi Aras¸tırma ve Uygulama Merkezi Dergisi 19 (2006), pp. 283 –341. Kurs¸un, Zekeriya and Kahraman, Kemal, ‘Dervis¸ Vahdetıˆ (1870 –1909)’, in Tu¨rkiye Diyanet Vakfı I˙slaˆm Ansiklopedisi, vol. 9 (Istanbul: Hu¨rriyet Vakfı Yayınları, 2nd edition, 1994), pp. 198– 200. Le´vy, Noe´mi, ‘La reprise en main des institutions: l’exemple de la police ottomane’, in Francois Georgeon (ed.), ‘L’ivresse de la liberte´’ (Paris and Leuven: Peeters, 2012), pp. 121– 35. Moroni, Anastasia-Ileana, ‘Une nation impe´riale. Construire une communaute´ politique ottomane moderne au lendemain de la re´volution de 1908’, unpublished PhD thesis, Paris, EHESS, 2013. Sohrabi, Nader, Revolution and Constitutionalism in the Ottoman Empire and Iran (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011). ———‘Illiberal Constitutionalism: The Committee of Union and Progress as a Clandestine Network and the Purges’, in Francois Georgeon (ed.), ‘L’ivresse de la liberte´’ (Paris and Leuven: Brill, 2012), pp. 109– 20. Swenson, Victor R., ‘The Young Turk Revolution: A study of the first phase of the Second Turkish Constitutional regime from June 1908 to May 1909’, unpublished PhD thesis, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, 1968. S¸ahin, Mustafa, ‘Cemiyet mi, Es¸kıya C¸etesi mi?’, Tarih ve Toplum 107 (1992), pp. 57– 9. Tunaya, Tarık Zafer, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasal Partiler. Cilt I: I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet Do¨nemi. Ulucay, M. C¸ag˘atay, ‘Su¨rgu¨nler. Yeni ve Yakın C¸ag˘larda Manisa’ya ve Manisa’dan Su¨ru¨lenler’, Belleten 15/60 (1951), pp. 507– 91.

CHAPTER 4 THE IMPLEMENTATION OF THE GENERAL PARDON AFTER THE RESTORATION OF THE CONSTITUTION AND THE REACTIONS IN THE PRISONS Fatmagu¨l Demirel1

Introduction Much has been written about the way the people in the streets celebrated their freedom after the proclamation of the Second Constitution. The celebrations were followed up by the newspapers of the time, and attention was drawn to the differences among those called the heroes of the Constitutional Period. In the papers published in the Rumelian provinces these were the members of the Committee of Union and Progresss while in the Istanbul newspapers, naturally, it was Abdu¨lhamid II who was the hero. In proclaimimg the new Constitution it was mentioned as though it was a gracious gift from the sultan. The I˙kdam newspaper kept Abdu¨lhamid in the headlines for days. According to I˙kdam ‘Thirty three years ago our generous sultan favoured us with the gift of freedom. If we had known or been able to understand its value we would have kept it.’ Again according to I˙kdam the thousands of people gathered in front of Yıldız Palace wished to see him in order to give him their thanks. When the sultan appeared at the window, the people all shouted at the top of

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their voices: ‘Oh, our Sultan, for thirty three years, traitors have prevented you from showing us your face but, thanks to God, we now see you. Long live Our sultan!’2 The Istanbul press made frequent mention of their gratitude to the sultan for having once more put into practice the new constitution called the Kanun-ı Esasi. Although it caused a great crisis and confusion as well as much bloodshed, this great change in the law, called in Ottoman ‘padis¸ahın marifeti’ and advertised as an example to the statesmen of the world, was seen as being due to the ability of the sultan.3 In spite of the sultan being shown by the Istanbul press as the champion of liberty, during the first days of the Constitutional Period, demonstrations in the Rumelian provinces, in particular in the towns of Salonica and Monastir, showed the names they considered foremost to be members of the Committee of Union and Progress.4 The Committee of Union and Progress was not happy that the sultan was seen as the hero of the Constitution. They thus distributed handbills in Istanbul on 27 July to explain that the Constitution was not the work of the sultan but of the Committee of Union and Progress. The next day the famous declaration5 of the Committee of Union and Progress dated 28 July, 1908, beginning with the words, ‘let everyone busy themselves heart and soul,’ which brought the public to the foreground, was published in the Istanbul newspapers.6 In the first weeks of the Constitution the name of the Committee was to be found only between the lines in the Istanbul newspapers. A short while later, on 1 August, the Committee began to publish itself in the Tanin newspaper which became its mouth piece in Istanbul. Naturally in Tanin, the Committe of Union and Progress and its work had pride of place. In the celebratory articles for the Constitution published in the newspapers of the time we can observe interesting interpretations and polemics. In brief, we know a lot about the views and perceptions of those outside but we know little about the points of view and perceptions of prisoners on the freedom brought by the Constitution. This work will take up the expectations of the Constitution on the part of those inside, ‘those wronged by the authority of the State’.

Pardon for Political Prisoners after the Proclamation of the Second Constitution The winds of liberty swept through the prisons, too, after the proclamation of the Second Constitution. The people who took to

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the streets rejoicing in their liberty did not forget those in prison in voicing their expectations of the new regime. They were loud and vociferous in asking for all those convicted or detained to be released.7 While the people were making this request, a telegram sent to the Palace by the Committee of Union and Progress demanded pardon for all political prisoners, runaways or exiles, at home or abroad, regardless of gender or creed.8 The Committee declared in this telegram sent on 25 July, 1908, that if its demands were not met within 24 hours all groups of people as well as the Army would be forced to take action.9 Newspapers and publications supported the public desire for prisoners to be released. I˙kdam, which had regarded the Constitution as a gracious gift of the sultan, gave its views of the pardon in these words: Kanun-ı Esasi has had the effect of bringing the dead back to life. Everyone was reborn through joy. The families of the wretched prisoners writhe with impatience. While some of the population go mad with joy, and give thanks to their beloved sultan, others of the Sultan’s children in exile or in prison should not mourn. This general amnesty is to be a soothing medicine to salve the people’s wounds. Reconciliation! What great consolation and generosity are expressed in that pure, sacred and noble word. Today we need you more than ever. We need to be reconciled with our government. Let parents be reconciled with their children, wives with their husbands, so that disfunctional families may be regenerated. Let us be reconciled and the darkness of the past be wiped out in the glorious light of freedom. Let us think of the future.10 The telegram sent to the Palace by the Committee of Union and Progress had asked for all political prisoners to be freed, but in spite of all public expectations no amnesty had yet been decided on in Istanbul. Prisoners in the Rumelian provinces were becoming restless. News that in the central province of Monastir all prisoners had been released was published in the Monastir newspaper Neyyir-i-Hakikat on 25 July, 1908.11 Finally on 27 July, 1908 a general amnesty for all political prisoners was publicly declared.12 I˙kdam newspaper wrote that this amnesty created great joy in Istanbul and, especially in localities where Armenian citizens lived, celebrations went on until morning.13

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Tanin newspaper, the mouthpiece for the Unionists, looked at this amnesty from a different angle. They declared that this pardon had been misunderstood and explained their views thus: What is to be pardoned: the punishment. What is the punishment for: a crime What crime: is it a murderous crime to love one’s country and one’s nation, to be passionate for freedom, justice and friendship and to desire honour and freedom of conscience? For years these have been the reason for the most grievous punishments and torture. These are not crimes to be punished for and then have the punishment repealed. They are ones who have been oppressed. Thus Tanin interpreted the amnesty as being the government’s way of begging pardon from the people.14

Reaction in the Prisons to News of the General Amnesty for Political Prisoners In spite of telegrams having been sent to the Rumelian provinces to announce the amnesty for political prisoners, this was not made known in provinces such as Anatolia, the Hejaz, Libya and Yemen. However, a large number of those exiled or condemned for political crimes were situated in those regions. Consequently, the protest made by thousands of people gathered in front of Babıaˆli in Istanbul ensured that telegrams were sent to these provinces informing them of the pardon for those condemned for political crimes.15 At the end of July a spate of telegrams were sent from the Palace and Babıaˆli. Various questions concerning the prisons came from every province. The Inspector of the Rumelian provinces, Hu¨seyin Hilmi Pas¸a, reported that it had been impossible to maintain public order and the prisoners there had been set free. The Inspector declared that the situation which had arisen required legitimization and those sentenced for petty crimes who had completed two-thirds of their punishmnent should be released. On 28 July, 1908, a pardon was issued setting free such prisoners in the Rumelian provinces.16 Well, how were these successive pardons viewed by the public and those in prison? With the amnesty decision for the political criminals, the prisoners felt joy and sadness at the same time. When those

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expecting a general amnesty with the new regime learned that it was just for the political criminals, they showed disappointment by taking collective action and sending telegrams to the Palace.17 In many prisons, those sentenced for petty crimes wished to be included in the amnesty and prevented the political prisoners from being released. One should mention first how the amnesty was received in the Public Prison and what the reaction of the prisoners was, and then what the situation was in prisons throughout the country. In spite of the declaration of an amnesty, it can be seen that, whether in Istanbul or in the country as a whole, there was uncertainty in the prisons and differences in the implementation of this decree. In Ottoman prisons, no distinction was made between prisoners and whatever crime a person had committed, all shared the confusion of a common space. Consequently, the release of political prisoners was only accomplished with difficulty and, in fact, in some prisons internal uprisings prevented their release and in some armed conflict broke out. During the release of political prisoners from the common prisons in Istanbul, Baba Tahir (owner of Malumat newspaper), who was inside for forgery, with others holding guns gathered around these prisoners and rioted saying, ‘Either you release us or we won’t let these people go.’18 This rebellious group with Baba Tahir as its head gained control of the prison and also took visitors to the prison as hostages. While this was going on inside the prison, a group of protesters gathered in Sultanahmet Square to announce in public that they did not want petty criminals to be released.19 As a result, in Istanbul the release of political prisoners could not take place immediately. During the rebellion, one of the prisoners named Giridli Hu¨snu¨ efendi made a speech asking for the people’s support, saying: Citizens and People, Three days ago liberty was proclaimed. For three days there has been public rejoicing. The emergency of liberty caused tears of joy and pleasure to pour from everyone’s eyes. You on the outside are celebrating while we on the inside are suffering the torment of imprisonment. Is there no equality or shouldn’t it be seen as a duty to think of setting us free? In the name of patriotism, in the name of freedom, in the name of honour, you must listen to our plea. Long live the Sultan, long live our nation!20

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During the rebellion, the convicts in the Public Prison in Istanbul sent a telegram to Sadrazam Said Pas¸a asking him to pardon them. It ran like this: The father of us all, our mercy-loving Sultan granted liberty through his gracious pleasure to all his subjects accused of political crimes. We, too, are their brothers and the sons of the same father. We also, unjustly sentenced to hard labour for many years, weeping night and day in our prison cell, did not neglect to pray for our sultan and we, his ignorant slaves, plead with tears for our sultan in his mercy to pardon us.21 The police commander at the Istanbul Common Prison did not have the courage to withstand those living there and informed the authorities at Babıali of the situation. The government was, in any case, already shocked and unable to deal with the excited people demonstrating in the streets.22 The sultan did not wish a single drop of blood to be spilt in dealing with the rioters at the Common Prison and gave orders for the release of those prisoners who had completed two-thirds of their sentence and those convicted of petty crimes who had little time left to do.23 But as this did not appease the prisoners the sultan wished to consult the Cabinet.24 The members debated the situation in the prison and considered how to deal with the rebellion there. Some of these asserted that the rebellion should be put down with smokeless gunpowder and military strength.25 Fearful of using force against the rebellion, in these anxious days when there were freedom riots in the streets, the decision was made to release all of the prisoners from the Istanbul Common Prison.26 Subsequently on 30 July 1908, preparations began for the release of all these prisoners:27 962 men and 27 women were released from the Istanbul Common Prison. At the time this was being carried out, the imams, priests and rabbis promised to busy themselves finding work and support for the prisoners and officials from the Kanun-ı Esasi Office to do their duty by them. Then the prisoners were set free. However, those held in detention also wished to profit from this amnesty. The Chief of Police, Hamdi Pas¸a came to the detention centre and said he would convey their wishes to the Grand Vizier. But as they did not trust his words, the detainees broke down all the railings and doors of the detention centre and ran away. The Chief of Police, Hamdi

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Pas¸a, was removed from his post as he had not been able to handle the release of the prisoners satisfactorily.28 Istanbul was in a state of complete confusion. On the one hand celebrations for the Constitution were still going on; on the other, about a thousand released prisoners were roaming around everywhere. Although the I˙kdam newspaper had represented the proclaimed amnesty as the work of Abdu¨lhamid II and the Constitution as his gift to the people, it brought attention to the fact that letting loose common prisoners into the streets raised questions about security.29 The appearance of this situation in Istanbul made the Committee members uneasy. They had wanted only political prisoners and exiles to be pardoned. In their opinion the letting loose of common criminals aimed at creating riots and belittling the Constitution.30 Meanwhile the situation in Izmir was no different. The release of political prisoners could not be carried out since the officials could not enter the cells. A telegram from the province of Aydın arrived to say that if petty criminals who had carried out two-thirds of their sentence were released then the political prisoners could also be released. On 30 Temmuz, 1908, by decree of the sultan a pardon was promulgated for those petty criminals at the Izmir Common Prison who had completed two-thirds of their sentence.31 The authorities were therefore forced to comply with this decree in order to be able to release the political prisoners. However, in the eyes of the Committee of Union and Progress this situation at the Izmir Prison was a reminder of the Bastille. Although the prison was supposed to hold 500 prisoners, at the time of the proclamation of the Constitution there were about 2,000 inmates. The number of prisoners who had died of illness there were more than enough to fill a whole cemetery. The Izmir newspapers reported that the prison building was to be demolished and a public garden was to be made in its place and a monument to liberty put in the centre.32 On looking at the Empire as a whole an inequality can be seen in the amnesty. First the political prisoners were pardoned and then, in the Rumelian provinces, petty criminals who had completed two-thirds of their sentence were set free. In Istanbul all prisoners were released. When the order to release the political prisoners reached the country areas telegrams started to arrive at the Office of the Chief Justice. Delay in implementing the release was experienced. There were questions as to who were to be released as political prisoners. Could those in prison for

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petty crimes benefit from this amnesty?33 From the province of Diyarbakir, for example, a telegram arrived asking about those who had joined forces with the Bulgarian rebels to destroy the telephone lines and who had received weapons from them, and were said to have been convicted through forged documents. Were these people to be released or not? In addition, what was to happen to those accused of political crimes whose trial had not been completed?34 Different questions came from each province. Uncertainty about how the prisoner release was to be processed went on for a considerable time. Some previous pardons had taken place on the sultan’s accession to the throne, on birthday celebrations and religious festivals and nights. Amnesty on these special occasions had included prisoners who had completed two-thirds of their sentences. However, those guilty of rape, assassination or political crimes had been unable to benefit from these pardons.35 The implementation of the amnesty had been carried out with ceremony. The prisoners to be released were brought to the place of government and after listening to an advisory speech gained their freedom after praying for the sultan’s health and repeating three times the words, ‘Long live the Sultan.’36 How was the amnesty on the occasion of the Constitution to be carried out? Clearly neither the government nor the prisons was ready for such a pardon.

Conditional Pardon for those Convicted of Petty Crime When the news that all the prisoners in Istanbul had been released reached the other prisons in the country it created absolute chaos. In many prisons petty criminals rebelled saying they should be pardoned, too. In Kastamonu, for example, the prisoners first rioted and after breaking the cell doors and then the main door of the prison rushed outside. A cordon of gendarmes was made around the prison and shots fired over the heads of the prisoners to make them go back inside. Three or four of the prisoners returning in fear of their lives were killed and ten seriously wounded. After the prisoners had been forced inside the religious authority (mu¨ftu¨) entered and gave a warning speech.37 In Rhodes prison, on hearing that 70 Bulgarians were to be set free, 280 petty criminals rioted saying that if they were not set free they would kill the Bulgarians.38 In Konya Central Prison more than 1,000 prisoners broke down the doors attempting to escape from prison and

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ten people were wounded and two died in the ensuing struggle. Similar incidents happened in many other prisons. The prisons were with difficulty brought under control by the local military forces and public order restored. The government considered that the release of petty criminals would lead to a general uprising and it might be necessary to increase the military presence in the prisons. But when news of the release of petty criminals as well as political prisoners in the Rumelian provinces and also in Istanbul reached the other provinces tension in the local prisons heightened.39 Riots, escapes and armed clashes showed their effect in the local provincial prisons.40 The Ministry of the Interior wrote to the Grand Vizier saying that, if order could not be restored in the prisons and the people quieted, emergency measures would be necessary. The solution, it seemed, was to release petty criminals who had served two-thirds of their time. This was to be discussed by the Cabinet (Meclisi Vu¨kela).41 Finally, on 13 August 1908, a pardon was pronounced for all those petty criminals who had served two-thirds of their sentence.42 After this pronouncement, the prisons became almost empty but those left behind were hoping for a pardon. For once, the concept of an amnesty had entered the prisons. Even after those pardoned had been released, unrest continued in the prisons. This time the prisoners who had not benefited from the second amnesty of 13 August 1908 began to agitate for a pardon. In fact, that this second amnesty had not been implemented everywhere could be understood by the complaints coming from the provincial prisons. Some of the prisoners, although included in the amnesty, had not been set free.43 In September news of riots breaking out at many of the prisons reached Istanbul. In Sivas prison 600 convicts broke down the cell doors and tried to escape. In the subsequent clashes nine prisoners died and one person was injured. The convicts were with difficulty pushed back into their cells by the gendarmes.44 Three hundred prisoners in C¸orum prison rioted and tried to escape and, after an armed struggle lasting two hours, seven convicts lay dead. Military intervention prevented the convicts from escaping.45 On 13 August 1908 a telegram was sent to the Palace and Babıaˆli by those convicts who were excluded from the amnesty. This telegram is an important piece of evidence of both the morale of the convicts and of the conditions within prison. In Kastamonu prison, for instance, a telegram from the excluded convicts containing the words, ‘one hour of justice is

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worth seventy years of worship’, is a good summary of what kind of justice the convicts expected of the system. The convicts considered they were victims of despotism and, if it was not possible for them to be pardoned, they wanted at least the right to a re-trial. The telegram, written in quite an emotional tone, contains the words ‘we cannot stop our eyes from weeping, we moan in our prison cells; are we not also children of this country who desire to fight hand to hand with the enemy standing shoulder to shoulder against them?’ which show the desperate state of the morale of those inside.46 In the province of Manastır a telegram sent on 25 March, 1909 from the governor’s office to the authorities there reported that a great meeting of the local townspeople had been held. At the meeting it was declared the families of those in prison were in a pitiful state and requested that the prisoners be freed.47

Conclusion The first year of the Second Constitution passed with rioting in the prisons and escapes on their request for a pardon. The political authorities had difficulty in maintaining control over the prisons. Moreover the decree of 13 August 1908 to free all petty prisoners who had completed two-thirds of their sentence brought great discomfort to the general public. Demonstrations against the pardon began in Istanbul and the country as a whole. An attempt by the prisoners in Afyon Karahisar to escape and the subsequent conflict brought a reaction from the townspeople. They gathered in the town square and demanded that those who began the conflict should be hanged as an example.48 After releasing the petty criminals, the incidents of fraud, thievery, robbery and so on reached at the highest point both in Istanbul and in the provinces.49 After the proclamation of a Constitution the increase in the population of Istanbul and unemployment of those prisoners and exiles who returned there caused serious problems for the authorities. In his history, the last annalist Abdurrahman S¸eref Efendi, reports that 15,000 vagabonds were to be found in Istanbul.50 Consequently one of the first subjects to be debated after the opening of Parliament was the problem of general unrest throughout the country. The reason given for this was the prisoners who had been freed or escaped after the proclamation of the Constitution.51 The debate between the members of Parliament on this question included some radical suggestions as solutions. For example,

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the Ankara MP Hacı Mustafa Efendi demanded that several people from each province should be hanged as a warning.52 After protracted debate the first action taken against the uprising was the promulgation of the law ‘Serseriler ve Mazanne-i Su’ Es¸haˆs’ on 10 May 1909.53 No recourse was found to the uprisings and escapes of the prisoners in the first year of the Constitution. On account of prisoners escaping the prisons were almost emptied. In fact, a document sent from the central government to the Rumelian provinces requests that, since on account of this there were few prisoners remaining, the prison budgets should be allocated with this in mind.54 A new pardon for runaways and those prisoners still waiting for a pardon was put before Parliament on 18 August 1909. At this assembly it was explained that it would be too difficult to round up and bring back the 15,000 petty prisoners who had escaped and therefore it was incumbent on the Minister for Justice to accede to this law.55 At the end of the Assembly, the pardon was legalized and promulgated on 22 August 1909, as follows: ‘10 Temmuz 1324 (23 Temmuz 1908) tarihinden evvel irtikaˆb edilmis¸ olan ceraim-i aˆdiye mahkuˆmin ve maznunin haklarında kanun.’56 The law stated that those criminals, exiles or runaways, those convicted of murder and other serious crimes before this law was passed and before the proclamation of the Constitution were not to be prosecuted under the existing laws. If those included under the terms of this amnesty committed a crime within the following six years they would be prosecuted for the former crime as well and punishment would be given accordingly.57 At the end of the first year of the Constitution prisoners who were victims of despotism were set free. It was as if the prisons were to be emptied in order to make room for those convicted under the new regime. Within a short time the prisons began to be as full as they had been previously.58

Notes 1. Prof. Dr Yıldız Technical University, [email protected]. 2. I˙kdam Newspaper, no. 5091, 28 Temmuz 1908. For more details on the proclamation of the Second Constitutional era and its afterwards, please see I˙smail Hakkı Uzunc
ars¸ılı, ‘1908 Yılında II. Mes¸rutiyet’in Ne Suretle I˙lan Edildig˘ine Dair Vesikalar’ Belleten 78 (1956), pp. 103– 73. 3. Oya Dag˘lar, ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lanının I˙stanbul Basınındaki Yansımaları’, I˙.U¨. Politicial Science Faculty Journal, 38 (March 2008), p. 144. To follow the daily

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4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12.

13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

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progress of the Mes¸rutiyet celebrations, see II. Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lk Yılı (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2008). Kenan Olgun, 1908– 1912 Osmanlı Meclis-i Mebusan’ın Faaliyetleri ve Demokrasi Tarihimizdeki Yeri (Ankara: Atatu¨rk Research Centre, 2008), p. 44. Kaˆzım Karabekir, I˙ttihat ve Terakki Cemiyeti (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2009), p. 207. I˙kdam Newspaper, no. 5091, 28 July 1908, Sabah, no. 6767, 28 July 1908. Tahsin Pas¸a’nın Yıldız Hatıraları (Istanbul: Bog˘azic
i Press, 1990), p. 382. Prime Ministry Ottoman Archives (Bas¸bakanlık Osmanlı Ars¸ivi, hereafter BOA) Y.PRK.AZJ., no. 54/36. BOA.YA.HUS, no. 523/173. I˙kdam Newspaper, no. 5090, 27 July 1908. Neyyir-i Hakikat Newspaper, no. 10, 25 July 1908. Sabah Newspaper, no. 6767, 28 July 1908. Du¨stur, II. Tertip, vol. 1 (Dersaadet, 1329), pp. 5 – 6. The article by Taner Aslan, titled ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet Do¨nemi Genel Af Uygulamaları’ Akademik Bakıs¸ 5 (2009), interprets the amnesty given to political prisoners as a general pardon for all prisoners. In documents in the Ottoman Archives the amnesty for political prisoners is described as ‘siyasi mu¨crimin hakkında afv-ı umumi’ which pardoned first of all political prisoners and then two-thirds of all those condemned for petty crimes. In his article Taner Aslan makes no distinction between these and perceives the pardon for political prisoners to include all those in prison. An examination of the documents used shows that many of them contradict each other and, in fact, in writing his article, summaries of documents have been used rather than the documents themselves. For example, he uses reference to document BOA, Y.PRKA, no. 15/13 to show that the Sultan accepted the decision as a pardon for political prisoners. However, on examining the document it turned out to be a telegram sent by Ali Haydar Mithat to Sadrazam Said Pas¸a. I˙kdam Newspaper, no. 5093, 30 July 1908. Tanin Newspaper, no. 1, 1 August 1908. Su¨leyman Tevfik, II. Mes¸rutiyet’ten Cumhuriyet’e Elli Yıllık Hatıralarım, ed. Tahsin Yıldırım S¸aban O¨zdemir (Istanbul Du¨n Bugu¨n Publications, 2011), pp. 241– 2. Du¨stur, II. Tertip, vol. I (Dersaadet, 1329), p. 7. BOA, Y.PRK.AZJ., no. 54/43. Ali Fuat Tu¨rkgeldi. Go¨ru¨p I˙s¸ittiklerim (Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu Yayınları, 1949), p. 4. Sabah Newspaper, no. 6769, 30 July 1908, I˙kdam Newspaper, no. 5095, 1 August, 1908. I˙kdam Newspaper, no. 5091, 28 July 1908. BOA, ZB no. 47/18. Ali Fuat Tu¨rkgeldi, ibid., p. 5. BOA, I˙rade Hususi, no. 168/77. BOA, I˙rade Hususi, no. 168/78.

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25. Mehmed Memduh, Tanzimattan Mes¸rutiyete, prepared by Ahmet Nezih Galitekin (Istanbul: Nehir Yayınları, 1995), pp. 130 – 1. 26. Ali Fuat Tu¨rkgeldi, ibid., p. 5. 27. Sabah Newspaper, no. 6770, 31 July 1908. 28. I˙kdam Newspaper, no. 5094, 31 July 1908. 29. Ibid. 30. I˙lay I˙leri, ‘Batı Go¨zu¨yle Mes¸rutiyet Kutlamaları ve Genel Af’, OTAM 17 (2005), pp. 7– 8. 31. BOA, I˙.AZN., no. 80/1, BOA., BEO., no. 3369/252602. 32. I˙ttihat ve Terakki Newspaper, no. 6, 18 August 1908. 33. BOA, DH.MKT, no. 1272/82. 34. BOA, DH.MKT, no. 1274/68. 35. Fatmagu¨l Demirel, ‘Osmanlı Padis¸ahlarının Dog˘um Gu¨nu¨ Kutlamalarına Bir O¨rnek’, I˙lmi Aras¸tırmalar 11(2001), p. 70. See further: Fatmagu¨l Demirel, ‘Osmanlı Adliye Tes¸kilatında Yas¸anan Sorunların Hapishanelere Yansıması (1876 – 1909)’ in Noe´mi Le´vy and Alexandre Toumarkine (eds), Osmanlı’da Asayis¸ Suc
ve Ceza (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2007) pp. 190– 9. 36. Kastamonu Vilayet Newspaper, no. 784, Kastamonu Vilayet Newspaper, no. 1636. 37. Ziyaeddin Demirciog˘lu, Kastamonu’da Mes¸rutiyet Nasıl I˙lan Olundu (Kastamonu: Dog˘ruso¨z Matbaası, 1961), pp. 16 – 17. 38. Du¨stur, II. Tertip, vol. 1 (Dersaadet, 1329), pp. 40 – 1. 39. BOA, DH.MKT, no. 1274/30. 40. BOA, DH.MKT, no. 2613/121. 41. BOA, I˙. AZN, no. 80/4. 42. BOA, I˙. AZN, no. 80/5, Du¨stur, II. Tertip vol. 1, p. 44, Tanin Newspaper, no. 14, 15 August, 1908. 43. BOA, DH.MKT, no. 2774/33, BOA, DH.MKT, no. 1300/78, BOA., DH. MKT, no. 1285/39. 44. BOA, DH.MKT, no. 1272/2. 45. BOA, DH.MKT, no. 1299/52. 46. BOA, DHMKT, no. 2714/61. See further: Fatmagu¨l Demirel, ‘Kastamonu Hapishanesi’ U¨sku¨dar’a Kadar Kastamonu (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2008), pp. 299– 305. 47. BOA, DHMKT, no. 1302/1. 48. Kudret Emirog˘lu, Anadolu’da Devrim Gu¨nleri (Ankara: I˙mge Kitabevi, 1999), p. 149. 49. Faruk Ilıkan, ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet’de Serseri ve Mazanne-i Suˆ’ Es¸haˆs Hakkında Nizamname’ Tarih ve Toplum 108 (1992), p. 49. 50. Son Vak’anu¨vis Abdurrahman S¸eref Efendi Tarihi, ed. Bayram Kodaman and ¨ nal (Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu Yayınları, 1996), p. 17. Mehmet Ali U 51. Kenan Olgun, ibid., p. 249. 52. Faruk Ilıkan, ibid., p. 49. 53. Du¨stur, II. Tertip, vol. 1 (Dersaadet, 1329), pp. 169– 73. For details of the Serseriler Kanunu, see Kenan Olgun, ibid., pp. 247– 64. Faruk Ilıkan, ibid.,

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54. 55. 56. 57. 58.

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pp. 49–56; Nadir O¨zbek, ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet I˙stanbul’unda Dilenciler ve Serseriler’ Toplumsal Tarih 164 (1999), pp. 34– 43. BOA, TFR.I.UM, no. 28/2708. Meclis-i Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi, Yu¨z otuz yedinci I˙nikad, 5 August 1325, vol. 6, pp. 530–39. Du¨stur, II. Tertip vol. 1 (Dersaadet, 1329), p. 650. Ibid., pp. 650 – 1. BOA, DH.MB.HPS.M, no. 2/73.

References Aslan, Taner, ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet Do¨nemi Genel Af Uygulamaları’, Akademik Bakıs¸ 5 (2009). ¨. Dag˘lar, Oya, ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lanının I˙stanbul Basınındaki Yansımaları’, I˙.U Politicial Science Faculty Journal 38 (2008). Demirciog˘lu, Ziyaeddin, Kastamonu’da Mes¸rutiyet Nasıl I˙lan Olundu (Kastamonu: Dog˘ruso¨z Matbaası, 1961). Demirel, Fatmagu¨l, ‘Osmanlı Adliye Tes¸kilatında Yas¸anan Sorunların Hapishanelere Yansıması (1876 – 1909)’, in Noe´mi Le´vy and Alexandre Toumarkine (eds), Osmanlı’da Asayis¸ Suc
ve Ceza (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2007), pp. 190– 9. ——— ‘Osmanlı Osmanlı Padisahlarının Dog˘um Gu¨nu¨ Kutlamalarına Bir O¨rnek’, I˙lmi Aras¸tırmalar 11 (2001). Emirog˘lu, Kudret, Anadolu’da Devrim Gu¨nleri (Ankara: I˙mge Kitabevi, 1999). I˙leri, I˙lay, ‘Batı Go¨zu¨yle Mes¸rutiyet Kutlamaları ve Genel Af’, OTAM 17 (2005). Ilıkan, Faruk, ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet’de Serseri ve Mazanne-i Suˆ’ Es¸haˆs Hakkında Nizamname’, Tarih ve Toplum 108 (1992). Karabekir, Kaˆzım, I˙ttihat ve Terakki Cemiyeti (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2009). Memduh, Mehmed, Tanzimattan Mes¸rutiyete, ed. Ahmet Nezih Galitekin (Istanbul: Nehir Yayınları, 1995). Olgun, Kenan, 1908– 1912 Osmanlı Meclis-i Mebusan’ın Faaliyetleri ve Demokrasi Tarihimizdeki Yeri (Ankara: Atatu¨rk Aras¸tırma Merkezi, 2008). ¨ zbek, Nadir, ‘II. Mes¸rutiyet I˙stanbul’unda Dilenciler ve Serseriler’ Toplumsal Tarih O 164 (1999), pp. 34–43. Tevfik, Su¨leyman, II. Mes¸rutiyet’ten Cumhuriyet’e Elli Yıllık Hatıralarım, ed. Tahsin Yıldırım S¸aban O¨zdemir (Istanbul: Du¨n Bugu¨n Yayınları, 2011). Tu¨rkgeldi, Ali Fuat, Go¨ru¨p I˙s¸ittiklerim (Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu, 1949). Uzunc
ars¸ılı, I˙smail Hakkı, ‘1908 Yılında II. Mes¸rutiyet’in Ne Suretle I˙lan Edildig˘ine Dair Vesikalar’, Belleten 78 (1956), pp. 103– 73.

PART II STILL THE REVOLUTION? FREEDOM AND POWER AFTER 1908

CHAPTER 5 THE TIME OF FREEDOM, THE TIME OF STRUGGLE FOR POWER:THE YOUNG TURK REVOLUTION IN THE ALBANIAN PROVINCES Nathalie Clayer

We know quite well how the Young Turk movement developed within and out of the Empire: a non-linear and non-homogeneous movement leading to the restoration of the Constitution in July 1908, after it had been proclaimed both by its members in Macedonia, and the sultan in Istanbul.1 In-depth studies about the subsequent balance of powers between the Committee of Union and Progress and its opponents on the political scene also exist. However, it seems that there are fewer analyses regarding the way Young Turks attempted to seize power at a local level, modeled on the already-dated one by Elie Kedourie on Arabic-speaking provinces.2 It is the process I propose to study in this contribution, with the case of what some actors of the time called Albania or ‘the Albanian provinces,’ namely, a region with variable eastern borders, comprising the vilayet of Yanya, the vilayet of I˙s¸kodra, all or part of the vilayet of Kosova, and also, the western part of the vilayet of Manastır. These are regions where the Albanian issue was raised, and was sometimes inextricably linked to the Macedonian issue, one of the main factors of the Young Turk Revolution.

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In 1908, the situation of the European provinces was very different from that of the Arabic-speaking provinces. Indeed, regarding the latter, Elie Kedourie highlighted the calm, or even lethargy, prevailing on the eve of the revolution.3 In the Balkans, on the contrary, an extremely unstable situation had been going on for about ten years. There was the Greco-Turkish War of 1897, then the escalation of bloody bands fights in Macedonia and an increasing intervention of the Great Powers. During the first years of the twentieth century, this difficult context was a development matrix for both Young Turkism and Albanianism.4 Though there too, the preparation for the revolution remained secret. In reports sent to Vienna, Austro-Hungarian Consuls stated the first signs of the movement as of 5 June for that of Manastır/Bitola, as of 10 ¨ sku¨b/Skopje, 15 June for that of Salonica, 6 July for June for that of U that of Prizren, 13 July for that of Mitrovica, while their colleagues from Shkodra, Durre¨s, Vlora and Ioannina, on the western side, did not report anything related to that matter until the Constitution was proclaimed.5 And at the end of July 1908, except for the Manastır area where people had already partly rallied behind the Young Turk insurgents, the local masses were just as surprised as people in Istanbul or in Arabic-speaking provinces. The first reactions varied, depending on the segments of population, and they ranged from astonishment to joy, indifference and circumspection. But what happened next, after these first moments, in these regions where there was no real large urban area, except for Manastır, which had 50,000 inhabitants then?6 How did, during the following year, the members of the Committee of Union and Progress manage to interfere in the local power play between the notables, the Ottoman authorities, the foreign representatives and, in some cases, members from an emerging ‘middle-class’? Who were the local members of the Committee of Union and Progress? To answer these questions, I used the reports of Austro-Hungarian Consuls, who were primary observers of the events. Despite their subjectivity – they were not only observers, but also actors on the local scene; they knew their district, population and languages intimately, just like the British Consuls working in Arabic-speaking provinces.7 The interests of their country bound them to give very detailed analyses of the events. Their reports highlighted in particular the various processes used by the Young Turks in the wake of the proclamation of

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the Constitution, processes that enabled them to control or even seize power at a local level, namely the control, marginalization and purge of civil authorities; information control and propaganda; but also the use of threats and force; mobilization by oath; the creation of mixed committees and commissions; and lastly, the search for support from certain population groups. Beyond this, the analysis of the reports will give us clues about the moving character of the local branches of the CUP (more or less secret) and their composition (more or less military), local committees being themselves a place were the balance of power was at stake.

The Control, Marginalization and Purge of Civil Authorities The Marginalization of Local Civil Authorities According to the Austro-Hungarian consular reports, one of the first tasks the representatives of the Committee for Union and Progress had to achieve in order to implement the Young Turk Revolution on a local scale was to control the civil authorities, and even marginalize them. In the name of struggle against the former regime, against inequalities and corruption, the objective was first to eliminate that of governors who did not proclaim the Constitution in time, then control and marginalize the others. Several reports mention an order enjoining local committees to dismiss the vali and mutessarif who hampered the proclamation of the ¨ sku¨p/Skopje and in Prizren, Constitution. As a consequence, in U governors were forced to leave by the officers leading the revolt.8 In Ioannina and Vlora, they were able to stay because they complied. In Durre¨s/Drac
and in Shkodra, they also managed to stay, even if they only informed to the meclis-i idare, without any official proclamation, the latter taking place only a few days afterwards. Apparently, regarding these cases, local committees decided to be cautious, in a context they deemed to be relatively hostile.9 Whatever the situation, when governors had not been temporarily replaced by military men, as in Prizren, the reports of Austro-Hungarian consular officers showed the prompt, even sometimes immediate, marginalization of local authorities for the benefit of ‘revolutionary committees,’ which seemed to work like ‘a sort of parallel government’.10 The committees represented a new power indeed, since

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the population often addressed both civil authorities and the Committee, and that, both at a local and an imperial level.11 According to the Prizren Austro-Hungarian Consul about French travellers, even foreigners tended to address the Committee rather than the local Ottoman authorities.12 For their part, local committees made a point of addressing directly the population and notables.13 However, for local committees it was not a matter of superseding the administration officially, but to control it. Let us take, as a piece of evidence, the pamphlet that the Committee of Shkodra spread around the city as of August. Its content was roughly as follows: many people make pleas to the Ottoman Committee of Union and Progress concerning civil or other issues; the Committee is indeed composed of zealous individuals, ready to sacrifice their lives in order to maintain the Constitution, but it cannot interfere in administrative matters; petitions have to be presented to the government and if the latter is unjust only, one may resort to the Committee.14 As months went by, once again reports of Austro-Hungarian Consuls and vice-Consuls became more about local governors’ doings. This evolution had probably something to do with the CUP’s need to go back underground, or at least partly, as we will see later. For representatives from the Dual Monarchy kept insisting on the fact that the military officers never stopped forming a parallel government15 in the face of an administration they tried to purge.

The Purge of Civil Servants After the Constitution was proclaimed, the Young Turks did dismiss some disturbing civil servants, more or less rapidly, depending on the local balance of power. These purges, taking place in the form of suspensions and transfers, first affected the highest levels of the hierarchy, since four vali and many mutessarif and kaymakam were replaced over the six months following the revolution.16 They would also concern lower levels. Something which, from the centre, could appear to be simple employee transfers between provinces of the Empire, was seen as a purge of unwanted elements by locals. Very early on, the Consul working at Manastır noted that civil servants who were considered as traitors or enemies were dismissed, like the mutessarif of Debar and the kaymakam of Elassona.17 At the beginning of the month of October, his colleague noted that all the mutessarif from the northern

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sancaks of the vilayet of Kosovo had been replaced, except for the one of Ipek/Pe´c, who was to be transferred a few weeks later.18 More to the south, the tricky position of the mutessarif of Ergiri/Gjirokaste¨r, in the vilayet of Yanya, was rapidly given to the Provincial Administrative Secretary, the mektubcu Nazım Bey, who was no other than the head of the Committee of Yanya.19 Mechanisms were nonetheless complex since there were a lot of criteria and persons responsible for these purges/changes. At first it was a matter of ‘cleansing’ the civil administration of people who were deemed too close to the ‘former regime’ or ‘corrupt’, then gradually the purges aimed to remove opponents of the CUP, who had not necessarily been in the pocket of the Hamidian system. This trend grew after the counterrevolution of April 1909: from then on, opposition or absence of membership to the CUP could result in a transfer or a suspension, while a membership to the Committee could prevent this and even be a reason to be promoted.20 Beyond the issue of marginalization of local authorities and the growing Young Turk influence in the administration, the assignment of administrative positions was actually where the balance of power between the CUP and its political opponents was exercised,21 and more generally where relations between the CUP and different actors were negotiated – they could be its own members (on-base or not), opponents or the local population. For political, economic or personal motives, they could all interfere in removing or, on the contrary, keeping civil servants. Let us take two examples. If, in October, the vali of Shkodra was transferred to Anatolia, it was because he did not manage to gain the trust of the local Young Turks, but also because he was on bad terms with the military governor, Ali Pasha, who was running for his position. His successor only stayed for two months because Ali Pasha did everything he could to stand in the way of his work by setting a few Muslim inhabitants against him. Most importantly, several (non-local) Young Turk newspapers launched a campaign against the one they believed to be a right-hand man of Kamil Pasha.22 As for the vali of Yanya, he stayed during several months after the revolution, because his circle, which seemed apparently to be in favour of Young Turks, actually shared his fundamentally conservative views, including the principal generals in service in the city. The Central Committee of Salonica, worrying about the situation, finally ended up transferring employees

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and appointing officers, whose sympathies for Young Turks were acknowledged, to the highest positions of the garrison. In this new context, the local Committee, taken by newly arrived officers, imposed its law to the vali who was soon compelled to resign.23 With regard to the subordinate civil servants, purges also took place at the instigation of local committees, in particular in the name of the struggle against corruption.24 As in other provinces,25 local actors also asked local and central committees for the departure of certain administrators, for reasons often linked to the balance of power of the local scene. These complex pressures related to local and regional politics could even drive the Ottoman authorities to transfer figureheads of the CUP. Nazım Bey, the soul of the Committee of Union and Progress of Ioannina, was appointed mutessarif of Gjirokaste¨r and then removed from his position in 1909 while he was facing an increasingly aggressive opposition.26 Likewise, the mutessarif of Durre¨s, appointed in June 1909, was to be transferred at the end of the year, upon request of the people, who were dissatisfied with him complying too much with the officers.27

The Control and Diffusion of Information The Control of the Telegraph, the Use of the Press and Rumours Information control was fundamental for Young Turks to seize power in the Albanian provinces, just as in Arabic-speaking provinces.28 One of the first actions to be taken by the members of secret local committees was the control of the telegraph.29 It was a way to marginalize political and administrative local authorities since it was then possible to forbid civil servants of the telegraph to let the Porte and the local government engage in a coded correspondence. It was also a means to limit the development of a rival network of power.30 The telegraph was indeed one of the fastest means to spread the information, but it was not the only one. The press was one too. We have seen earlier the part it played in the dismissal of the vali of Shkodra, for example. But it took some time for it to reach certain provinces, which were not all connected to the main centres of the Empire with railroads. In this context, stories and rumours played a great part, impacting on the attitude of the population. For the Committee it was therefore important either to stop these rumours or keep them going.

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Let us take the example of the city of Berat right after the Committee assumed power. A great part of the population was worried because they did not know the extent to which the Committee was established elsewhere. The newspapers, which had just arrived from Constantinople, did not read anything yet about the events. On the contrary, rumour had it that the government of Ioannina was opposed to the local Committee; apparently, the sultan spent 60 millions of Turkish lira to dissolve the movement; some said that there were even fights between supporters and opponents. It is only when the sultan pledged allegiance to the Constitution and that an irade formalized the amnesty of political prisoners that the situation cooled down.31 When the first serious crisis broke out in the new regime in spring 1909, the issue of control and diffusion of information became very clear, in particular regarding Vlora, where the Muslim population was rebelling against the Committee. In this town, the first rumours of the events reported by the Austrian Vice-Consul concerned two contradictory telegrams: one from the Grand Vizier to the kaymakam, which was about a change of Cabinet and a demonstration of joy from the garrison, the new government’s will to maintain the Constitution and a call for calm; the other one from the Officers’ Club of Salonica to the local officers’ club, announcing the fall of the Cabinet, the resignation of the President of the Chamber, the assassination of two Deputies and several Ministers, the replacement of the Minister of the Navy and of many deputies, the mercy granted to reactionaries and that troops from the Second and Third Army were to be sent to the capital. According to the diplomat, the local population did not know whom to believe, especially since the Deputies had not answered the dispatches they had been sent. Besides, rumours about a massacre of Albanians were going round. The mayor and some notables even asked the representative of the Dual Monarchy for further information.32 A few days later, some local Muslims decided to act: to be precise, they took hold of the telegraph office, preventing officers from sending coded telegrams to the other Young Turk committees, and they contacted several Albanian clubs themselves to ask them to defend the Constitution in case it was threatened, without supporting the Young Turk power either. Stories saying that most directives given by the city had been approved, and that there was to be a general uprising to defend the Constitution once Vlora gave the signal, could be heard.33 In fact,

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they were only rumours. The attempt of Ismail Bey to rally Albanian provinces against the CUP through the network of Albanian clubs, via his supporters from Vlora,34 was a failure.35 After the Third Army won and the Young Turks regained control over the capital, the latter also took over Vlora by sending troops. Yet, one of the points the special commission in charge of inquiring on the events fell on was precisely the fact that local Muslims prevented officers from having a coded correspondence.36 For their part, according to the Austro-Hungarian Vice-Consul, in order to reassert their power, officers maintained fear among the local population by spreading some rumours (concerning the Great Powers’ support to Ismail Kemal Bey or the fact that Mahmud S¸evket Pasha was in charge of repressing the Albanian opposition and that local notables were to be killed, just like deputies Ismail Kemal Bey and Mu¨fid Bey).37

Young Turk Propaganda and its Methods Along with the control of telegraphic correspondence and the use of rumours, local committees, as soon as the Constitution was restored, started to implement a propaganda system that was to be run by one of their members.38 This propaganda took various forms: festivities, demonstrations, speeches, leaflets and bills, and sometimes even acts. In Ioannina for example, right after the Committee was formed in the night from 23 to 24 July, its members wrote a circular letter to consulates. The day after, 21 cannon shots were fired; then, the head of the Committee delivered a speech to the population for the occasion. Bills had been posted everywhere in the city and a parade had been organized with troops, music and flags. Throughout the day, the head of the Committee and other managers delivered a few more speeches. And at night, buildings and houses were lit up, while rockets were being fired from the citadel.39 The following year, more celebrations took place: when the Parliament opened, when the new sultan ascended to the throne, and for the anniversary of the restoration of the Constitution. Festivities were always more or less as described above, in every provincial town. It is obvious that their aim was to arouse popular support which could not be spontaneous at the beginning given the surprise generated by the proclamation of the Constitution, except in Bitola where the revolution actually took place.

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In the beginning, these festivities did arouse support among certain segments of the local population. In Shkodra, the Consul noticed that the inhabitants were reserved at first, but then that they would be attracted by shots and music, and that Muslims and Christians would mingle – something particularly remarkable.40 He even talks about ‘exhilaration’ (Taumel in German), as his colleagues did. Yet, this fraternization between (certain) Christians and (certain) Muslims, which was to be noticed in some other places, this popular support the CUP managed to generate, seemed to wane gradually; and in 1909, the consular representatives noted how organized these celebrations were, but also that the population took relatively little part in them.41 Apart from these celebrations, the CUP started to organize ‘meetings’ as well in order to defend a cause or protest against an event.42 After the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, Crete became a cause to defend in order to rally the population, or rather, the Muslims living in these regions. The Consul of Vlora described one of these events, organized locally by the officers’ club at the beginning of July 1909, upon request of the Central Committee. Young Turks wanted the event to look spontaneous and did not force the population. They just silently spread the invitation to go to this patriotic event. As a result, fewer than two hundred people showed up, among whom were Haci Muhammed, a highly antichristian ulama, a few officers and soldiers, craftsmen and storekeepers, some curious onlookers, and above all, peasants on their way back from the market.43 This half-failure came from the fact that the Committee could not rally the notables of the city or from the area. This is why they had to turn to the ulamas, and especially to the peasants.

The Themes of Propaganda What about the themes advocated in the speeches, leaflets and other oral and written announcements delivered by the local Young Turk committees? Franc
ois Georgeon showed that in the wake of the Young Turk Revolution, Young Turks used the four-word slogan ‘Freedom, Equality, Justice, Fraternity’, thus inserting justice, a notion rooted in Islamic image, in the French revolutionary triptych, because they had to justify their action and rally the masses.44 Consular reports refer to these words45 but, on the field, they took a particular meaning and were attached to other concepts: first, that of unity and of well-being, and also that of territorial integrity and end of foreign interference.

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Once the Constitution was proclaimed, freedom was at first a word used to denote the event itself. In Albanian, the Turkish word Hu¨rriyet would be used in reference to the Young Turk Revolution. In these Ottoman provinces, it meant amnesty of prisoners and the return of exiles,46 and in that respect kept the idea of opposition against Hamidian despotism that Young Turks gave it before.47 It also meant being able to use the Albanian language in ‘the public space’, another sign of this newly acquired freedom.48 But the issue of interpretation of the concept of freedom was soon to be raised. Its definition became a power issue. According to the Unionists’ discourse, the Committee brought freedom. And from then on, its role was to protect it. So it was not legitimate to dissociate freedom and preservation of the homeland from the Committee’s programme and legitimacy. Let us take the example of the reaction of the local Committee when Dervish Hima, an Albanianist and Young Turk sent into exile during the Hamidian era, received a warm welcome, then explained in a speech, during the dinner organized in his honour, that Albanians were Ottomans but not Turks. A bill posted across the city by the Committee after he was arrested read: ‘The Constitution acknowledges full freedom to every man. Misusing it is a treason against our homeland, and every person serving the ideas of Dervish Hima may become an object of contempt for the Ottoman nation.’49 Besides, the local committees ended up associating the notion of freedom not only with the idea of rights, but also with that of duties.50 As for the notions of equality and above all that of fraternity, they were very often associated with the notion of unity. This unity, which is the unity of all religions and all people, was necessary to general mobilization, which was itself a condition for progress and for the wellbeing of the Ottoman nation and homeland.51 In the regions where the presence of Christians was strong, local committees applied the concept of equality in a concrete way as soon as the Constitution was proclaimed (actually mainly during the moments following the proclamation), by meeting requests issued by Christians. They granted authorizations to build churches or to ring the bells in order to show their difference from the Hamidian regime.52 This new attitude toward the Christian populations was intentionally adopted not only to rally them in favour of the new regime, but also as a propaganda addressed to the Great Powers so that they had fewer motives for intervention.53 Besides, in the

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northern regions of the vilayet of Kosovo, to emphasize this equality, local committees would impose sanctions including the death penalty to punish Muslim attacks against Christians; it made a strong impression at first. But the concept of equality applied as such rapidly opposed the conception of ‘freedom’ that the Muslims living in this border zone had; at the time of Abdu¨lhamid they benefited from an exceptional status and had already been affected by reform attempts inspired by the Great Powers for that purpose. According to the Consul of Prizren, as of August, the Muslims discussed the slogans ‘freedom’ and ‘equality’. Considering that they benefited from all sorts of freedoms before, they saw the ‘Young Turk freedom’ as one of the ‘bad innovation’ coming from Europe. As for equality with the Serbs and other Christians, it no longer seemed acceptable. Moreover, in Gjakova, some Muslims did not refrain from dismissing non-Muslim gendarmes who had been appointed before the revolution.54 The implementation of equality was therefore also related to the notion of justice and its application. In Shkodra, the local Committee announced to the population its intention to take care of the prosperity of the nation, to prepare the success of the government and to put it on the path of righteousness by eliminating all the procedures which were not compatible with justice and equity.55 In the vilayet of Ioannina, the Consul reported that the local committees even acted as legal authorities, pronouncing judgements which were applied immediately afterward. Apparently, it was especially the case in the kaza of Pe¨rmet, Leskovik, Filat, and in the sancak administrative centre, Gjirokaste¨r. Besides, justice thus meted out was very ostentatious since local committees liked to use a local sentence called prangor, which consisted of putting the guilty person on a donkey and having them cross the town while they were booed and abused by the population.56 Evidently, the aim was to set examples to maintain order, hence the measures regarding more generally vendettas settling and struggle against banditry.57 While justice was a way to protest against past despotism, it was also – especially when it came to respecting equality between Christians and Muslims – a way to prevent any European interference and any danger of aggression or territorial loss. Did not S¸erif Mardin highlight that the non-dismemberment of the Empire was a desire which went much beyond that of freedom for Young Turks before 1908?58 They wished to preserve the integrity of the Empire and, especially, to preserve the

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European vilayet; an argument which was to concern many Muslims, more than that of equality with Christians. In fact, these themes were often mentioned in the speeches and writings of the local members of the CUP.59 The message was that (Muslims) rallying to the new regime was the only solution to protect these provinces. This line was of course strengthened after the independence of Bulgaria, the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina and the union of Crete with Greece. However, it did not exclude the mobilization of the local population as ‘Albanian’ against these threats of dismemberment.

The Use and Control of Albanianism In the regions where the Albanian issue had been raised for several years, the freedom given and advocated by the CUP partly meant, as we have seen before, the freedom to use the Albanian language, which had been restricted during the last years of the Hamidian era. It also meant, more generally, the acknowledgement of a certain ‘albanity’. In actual fact, the CUP used Albanianism during the months following the restoration of the Constitution at least, while keeping it under control. The Albanian language, which had been forbidden a few years before as an official oral language and in any writing (except for Catholics),60 was rehabilitated by local committees right after the Constitution was proclaimed. In various localities, local committees tolerated speeches in Albanian or had them written, and even made announcements in that language themselves.61 Albanian clubs were allowed to open up. Publishing and distributing periodicals and books were permitted too. Depending on the local context, Albanian schools or classes were created, while the language was taught in the already existing schools. In Manastır, a first congress to decide the standardization of the alphabets used was allowed to take place in November 1908. I will not go back over these developments, which are actually more disparate and difficult than usually presented.62 But it should be highlighted that in certain places they were officially supported by local committees. In Vlora, for example, two weeks after the Constitution was restored, an Albanian school officially opened up in the presence of the kaymakam, all of the civil servants, some officers and hojas.63 For in the vilayet of Ioannina, Albanianism could disturb the Greek territorial claims.64 In Mitrovica, where the context was very different, the kaymakam, one of the most active members of the local Committee,

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formed an Albanian club in order to promote Albanian literature, without much success.65 Besides, beyond the issue of the use of language and cultural affirmation, the CUP, just as before the revolution, rallied ‘the Albanians’ as Albanians without hesitation, and thus played a part in building up a sense of albanity.66 To that end, it took up the political line of Abdu¨lhamid, in which (Muslim) Albanians were seen as the main pillar of the Ottoman presence in Europe.67 Therefore, the CUP often used Albanian clubs founded here and there, in particular those having a large influence – those of Istanbul, Salonica and Manastır – and whose members had various (and variable) relations with the Committee. Concretely, this use took the form of recommendation or request transmissions by telegram, via the Albanianist network under construction. The similar action, which echoed the most in consular reports, occurred at the end of October 1908, so shortly after the independence of Bulgaria and the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina were declared, toward the end of the month of Ramadan; a telegram was passed on by about 50 Albanian notables from Istanbul and it was addressed to ‘their brothers/compatriots in Albania’, and sent in particular to the ‘Albanians’ of Shkodra, Puka and Mirdita, Prizren and other northern sancak of the vilayet of Kosovo, but also to their brothers from Durre¨s, Vlora and Preveza. The signatories informed them that the Albanian Club of Istanbul had addressed a call to the Great Powers saying that Albanians and the whole country of Albania would not allow any division of the Ottoman Empire, and asked them to be ready as well, without distinction or religion, to defend the homeland against the aspirations of Serbia, Montenegro and Greece.68 There were many other examples of mobilization taking place via Albanian clubs. Thus, a few weeks later, the Albanian Club of Manastır asked the Albanian Club of Vlora why the city had not given an opinion about the boycott of Austro-Hungarian products yet. On the contrary, in January 1909, the Albanian clubs of Istanbul and Skopje intervened to stop Albanians in protest against the annexation of Crete from gathering in Ferizovic´, fearing that this demonstration could become an anti-CUP one.69 Likewise, during the counter-revolution, Albanian clubs were used as communication channels to rally certain Albanian provinces in favour of the CUP.

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Even so, Albanian clubs were not subordinated to the CUP in any way. Relations were various and variable: Albanianists were often members of the Committee, sincerely or not; some others were not members and some were opponents. During this first phase, Albanian clubs benefited from a certain room for initiative and manoeuvre, and this was shown by a delegation set up by the Albanian Club in Istanbul shortly after the elections which took place at the end of 1908, and sent to Shkodra in order to rally the Albanians in favour of the Constitution. Besides, the CUP would not have appreciated not being informed of it. However, in Manastır, an officer was to help the delegates whose objective was to encourage the opening of Albanian clubs and the reading of Albanian printed materials in Latin characters.70 In fact, while the CUP let Albanianism grow in the name of freedom and used it when appropriate, it soon had to make huge efforts to channel its development. Thus, the local committees took an active part in this policy, which can be detected from the autumn of 1908. The objective was to promote unofficially the Arabic alphabet for the Albanian language, and thus to channel Albanianism in order to give it an exclusively Muslim and Ottoman identity.71 From 23 September 1908, the Austrian Consul of Vlora reported that the Central Committee of Salonica encouraged the use of ‘Turkish’ characters for the Albanian language. The same one, three months later, was sceptical about the possibility of re-opening an Albanian school in the city after an article was published in the I˙kdam declaring that the Albanians who would not use the ‘Turko-Arabic’ characters would be considered as traitors to the homeland.72 Especially in March 1909, some of his colleagues reported the diffusion of alphabet books in Arabic characters, in the vilayets of Yanya, Kosovo and I˙s¸kodra.73 Some leaders of local and central committees also tried to control the Albanian clubs. In Bitola, they strove to use internal discords for that purpose. It seems that in January 1909, the Central Committee of Salonica ordered, without success, the fusion of the Albanian Club of Vlora with the local Committee. It foreshadowed the open confrontation between the ‘Young Turk network’ and the ‘Albanianist74 network’ which was to break out between spring 1909 and spring 1910, before the dismantling of the Albanianist network. Because, the more an opposition formed against the CUP, the more the latter tried to annihilate it. Any form of uncontrolled Albanianism had to be paid dearly, especially if it could pave the way for

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an opposition against the Committee, as the arrest of Dervish Hima mentioned earlier showed. Even so, during this first phase, even after the counter-revolution, which was an opportunity for the CUP to arrest Albanian nationalists in the region, the Committee opted for control rather than confrontation. Hence the concessions made in favour of Albanianists during the summer of 1909, with, among other things, the organization of the ‘Albanian Ottoman Congress of Union and the Constitution’ in Debar/Debre.75

The Use of Threats and Force Along with persuasion through propaganda – tinged with Albanianism or not – local and central committees did not refrain from using threats, or even force. Within the first days following the proclamation of the Constitution, the members of provincial committees made death threats to ‘recalcitrant’ administrators or those likely to become so, and to any opponent as well.76 In Berat, not only civil servants opposing to the Constitution were threatened but also telegraph employees preventing Committee telegram receipt or delivery and, more generally, any person openly or secretly opposing the Committee.77 In Shkodra, two days before the celebration of the proclamation of the Constitution, the officers ordered letters containing death threats to the foremost ‘anticonstitutionalist’ Muslims to be sent out: they were not allowed to counter-demonstrate. And, on the same day, the Committee positioned the artillery on three different spots of the city to fire celebration cannons, but also to intervene in case of problem. At the beginning of September, the local Committee wanted to show that it still did not tolerate any opposition. To that end, it distributed a text to the inhabitants, in which it warned that if the ‘ignoramuses’ speaking against the ‘beneficial Committee’ were discovered, the Committee would treat them as enemies and traitors to the homeland. Death penalty was also used to maintain public order and safety.78 In Elbasan, two executions took place for this purpose, as in other places, especially to punish Muslim attacks on Christians, as we have seen earlier. But in most cases, the local committees tried not to carry out these threats. In Vlora, a Muslim who expressed his opposition to the Constitution was sentenced to six months in prison. In Berat, the metropolitan who refused to pledge allegiance was threatened by

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weapons. Then, some people wanted to expose him to mockery by making him cross the city sitting on the back of a donkey. In the end, two members of the Committee brought him to his home, under house arrest. The secret Young Turk committees, however, did not refrain, in some cases, from killing unwanted persons, like this hoja who preached vigorously against Young Turks in Bitola, at the beginning of April 1909.79 Despite their wish not to use force – officially, at least – the CUP sent troops in certain circumstances, and it had repercussions. In November 1908 they used force indeed in the northern part of the vilayet of Kosovo, without consensus on this matter among the members. Some considered that such an action was dangerous and could cause an uncontrollable reaction.80 Anyway, after the elections, since some local Albanian leaders seemed to be more and more resistant to the new regime, but also because a rivalry took place between Necip Draga – an Albanian notable from Mitrovica, leading member of the local Committee – and Albanian leader Isa Boletin,81 troops were sent against these local leaders: the arrival of soldiers was enough to disperse the few hundred men who had been called to gather by Rustem Kabash in Ferizovic´, while the 5th Mountain Artillery Battalion failed to catch Isa Boletin, who managed to escape from the region of Mitrovica.82 The following spring, Cavid Pasha was in charge of a new expedition against Isa Boletin in the region of Ipek/Peje¨. He succeeded in restoring the government authority without using much force and without shedding much blood. But fortified houses (kule) were destroyed by the Army, who also helped with tax collection and with the census in view of the conscription.83 The counter-revolution generated military measures and waves of arrests on a much larger scale. In Vlora, the Young Turks wanted to break the resistance of some Muslim opponents with the use of force. Wherefore, they called additional troops, some patrols were organized, and, in order to maintain fear among the population, soldiers were allowed to be abusive with complete impunity.84 In the north of the vilayet of Kosovo, the CUP went even further. Cavid Pasha first tried to intimidate by organizing military manoeuvres in Kosovo Polje. Then, he marched on Ipek and Gjakova, where the deposition of Abdu¨lhamid provoked growing discontent.85 It seems that Mahmud S¸evket Pasha enjoined him to give up the idea of an expedition in the mountains (Malsija) and to limit himself to restoring order in the city, to the census

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and disarmament, in order to avoid unnecessary provocations in the region. In parallel, arrests took place in Novipazar, and led observers to believe that the CUP deeply wanted to get rid of the partisans of the former regime.86 It is not sure whether Mahmud S¸evket Pasha and the CUP avoided these unnecessary provocations, since, at their instigation, arrests became widespread in the north of the vilayet of Kosovo, and also in the regions of Bitola and Vlora. But these arrests became no longer perceived as measures against ‘reactionaries’, but against ‘Albanians’. In fact, in Ohrid, ‘Albanian patriots’, as they were called then, paid the price of repression. In Mitrovica and Bitola, measures were far from being supported by the civil members of local committees. They saw in it a catalyst for an even greater opposition against Young Turks, according to the Austro-Hungarian representatives on the field.87

The Mobilization by Oath In order to enter the local political scene, the Committee of Union and Progress also took various mobilization actions. As an extension of the mobilization carried out secretly in the months before the revolution,88 the local committees were in charge of administering an oath to the population and their representatives. However, the methods used differed from one region to another, depending on the political and social configurations. In the vilayet of Shkodra, the festivities organized to celebrate the proclamation of the Constitution were an opportunity to administer the oath to the representatives of the different population groups: those of the cities and those of the nearby countryside and mountains. For the latter case, the ceremony was sometimes organized after long negotiations and without full success.89 In parallel, the CUP encouraged local actors to make besa (pacts) among themselves, in compliance with the local customary law, in order to stop vendettas and other conflicts during a definite period of time.90 The oath of allegiance to the Constitution and these besa were two different things, although the term besa might have also been applied to the first, as was the case for the text signed in Ferizovic´ by Albanian leaders who had been manipulated by Young Turks emissaries before the restoration of the Constitution.

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In the vilayet of Yanya, the CUP apparently implemented a very different and individual procedure. The local Committee of Berat, reinforced by officers from Korc
e¨ and Ioannina, administered the oath individually to every civil servant, to Muslim and Christian notables who had to swear on the Qur’an or the Bible. A sub-committee composed of Muslim and Christian notables, with two of the main local notables at its head, was in charge of ensuring that the population did appear before the commission. This committee officiated in separate premises for Christians and Muslims to be apart. Then, two commissions left; one to the mainly Muslim regions of Tomorica, Skrapari and Malakastra, and the other to the mainly Christian regions of the two Muzeqije. An Orthodox priest joined the second one which settled in Lushnja and Fier, where the population was summoned to take the oath, while a pacification campaign was launched in order to resolve all conflicts. Meanwhile, the commission, composed of one officer and one civilian, members of the Committee of Ioannina, went to Vlora. It immediately administered the oath to the Constitution to civil servants, beginning with the kaymakam, as well as all the officers of the garrison. The Consul reported that during the ceremony, the commission encouraged those taking the oath to give 2 per cent of their income to the patriotic cause. On the day after, the two representatives went back to Ioannina after giving the local Committee the responsibility to administer the oath to the civil population. For the rural population, notables of nearby cities were sent to villages.91 Lastly, in Ioannina, the formalities implemented by the Young Turks were similar, except that they took place at night.92 Be they collective or individual,93 these oaths aimed to pledge allegiance to the Constitution. But the oath could contain other ideas. Therefore, in Berat, the formula to be pronounced said that whatever happened, Muslims and Christians had to remain united. The population also swore ‘on the programme of the Ottoman Committee of Union and Progress’. Besides, the representative of the Dual Monarchy reckoned that the oath aimed to ensure the solidarity and co-responsibility of the local population to the Committee.94 In the eyes of the Austro-Hungarian Consuls, who first defended the local Christians and actively supported Albanianism, this mobilization, which could weaken their influence, often seemed fragile and artificial, either because there was a misunderstanding about the terms

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of the pact,95 or because the oath was not sincere, especially since according to some people it was taken, sometimes indirectly, under duress.96 In August, Consul Kraus, who observed the events in Vlora and Berat, came to the conclusion that such an oath could not truly bind the persons who took it, and that when the grip of the CUP would loosen, national and political claims would be back.97 With his colleagues he insisted on the fact that Christians did not believe in equality with Muslims.98 Actually, it seemed that Christians were the most reluctant to pledge allegiance, such as the metropolitan of Berat who did it because he was forced to by the local Committee, and like the ‘Christians who felt Greek’ of Ioannina, who felt strong enough and refused to take the oath since the formalities were secret and did not correspond to their religious beliefs. As for Muslims, however, the Consul reported only one rumour according to which an Albanianist notable of Berat refused to take the oath because he was already bound by oath to an Albanian club.99 Still, the regional configurations could lead to completely different situations. In the north of the vilayet of Kosovo, Christians were not a problem to the CUP, as opposed to Muslims. The Committee could not truly rally people with a collective oath. In these regions, there was no question of an oath, except in Prizren, for civil servants and nonMuslim people.100 The Muslim population referred to the besa of the meeting of Ferizovic´ during which, right before the Constitution was proclaimed, Young Turk emissaries talked the Albanian leaders into asking the sultan for the restoration of the constitutional regime.101 According to the Consul of Mitrovica, a few weeks later, as the situation was not in their favour, the local Committees of Mitrovica, Novi Pazar, Vucˇitrn and Prisˇtina intended to organize a new meeting gathering every Albanian leader of the vilayet around the grave of Sultan Murad, in order to convince the Muslims of these regions of the benefits of the Constitution and make them form a new alliance (ittifaknaˆme).102 In actual fact, they did not do it because they feared that it could turn against them, especially since the notables of Gjakova and Ipek declared they were against the new order a few days later.103 In the end, the CUP only put up with this pact made in Ferizovic´, not without misunderstandings, given that a hoja explained to the Albanian leaders that the restoration of the Constitution meant the application of Sharia law.

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The Organization of Mixed Committees or Commissions Elie Kedourie showed that, in Arabic-speaking provinces, the CUP also seized power thanks to the marginalization of notables.104 It is difficult to draw the same conclusion regarding ‘Albanian provinces’. In Manastır, Young Turks ensured that a new mufti in their favour was elected.105 But this case remains anecdotal. In these regions, Young Turks tried, on the contrary, to rally the population to their favour by integrating notables in local committees which had been created right after the proclamation of the Constitution.106 According to the Consul general of Shkodra, the formation of such committees or commissions (he uses the word Ausschuss in German) met with the request of the Central Committee. And indeed, Consuls reported their formation in every centre of vilayet, sancak and kaza. What were their official – and unofficial – functions? In Prizren, while the claimed purpose was to control local authorities until the Parliament opened, the Consul noticed that the local civil servants were the most zealous Young Turks, and that the Committee did not really need to work on that matter. Besides, the representative of the Dual Monarchy thought that it was more a matter of propaganda aiming to rally the local Albanian element to the new cause. In the following reports, he stated that the said committee was dealing with the preparations for the elections and that three of its members were entrusted with its budget – a Muslim, a Catholic and an Orthodox.107 To take another example, in Shkodra, the Committee asked the archbishop to influence the clergy and the Catholics living in the mountains to approve of the Constitution; it announced a general shutdown and settling of vendettas, and declared that firing celebration shots was forbidden; it organized ceremonies for the proclamation of the Constitution in small towns, and celebrations for the return of exiles; lastly, it was in charge of gaining acceptance regarding the census of male inhabitants.108 The Consuls did not say much about the specific tasks assigned to these committees or commissions. However, one could agree with the Consul of Prizren and think that their primary purpose was a purpose of propaganda and mobilization of the population through notables.109 It is indeed what is suggested by their formation itself, since part of their members were local notables representing different denominational groups. Yet, as they were co-opted for their local influence, the notables

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could have very different opinions concerning the Young Turk programme. So this mobilization tool proved to be very imperfect and was soon cancelled for the benefit of officers clubs and secret committees. In October 1908, the Consul of Ioannina noticed that, everywhere in the region, Young Turk committees comprised the most important local notables, who, even if they had only been landowners exploiting their Christian farmers up to this point, became the defenders of equality. Two months later, the same Consul even claimed that most members of the region committees were in fact ‘reactionaries’ and that Young Turkism was therefore resting on a very fragile base. In the provincial capital, however, the CUP main authorities ordered Young Turk officers who had been newly appointed by the Central Committee to take over the local Committee, as we have seen previously. Then they had a conflict with the members of the local Committee, forcing the latter to be less hostile toward Christians and launching the boycott campaign against AustroHungarian products, which had not yet been launched in the region.110 In Prizren, it is only in September that a violent conflict broke out between the notables on one side, and the civil servants and officers belonging to the CUP on the other side. In this case, the consular representative did not sense that the Young Turk nature of the local Committee strengthened, but on the contrary, that the power of the CUP weakened for the benefit of the personal policies of Muslim notables.111 In Shkodra, the ‘divorce’ also occurred, but without violence: the officers seemed to have a certain control over the first debates taking place within the implemented commission, since all the decisions came from them; but from the month of November, meetings stopped. The notables no longer showed any interest in the matter, while the officers could no longer tolerate the ‘reactionary visions’ of some Muslim notables.112 The examples of the Committees of Durre¨s, Vlora and Tirana show that these local committees could also have a relatively poor connection with the CUP, or could be taken over by local actors. In the small port of Durre¨s, a local mufti and an officer coming from Shkodra were the first ones to get things moving in favour of the revolution, and it was not before 3 August that a section of the CUP was formed, under the presidency of the mufti. Since they did not really know how to act, during their first meeting, the members of the Committee decided to ask for some instructions to the Central Committee of Salonica. The first decisions to be made were also influenced by officers of the garrison, but

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in the autumn, in favour of the boycott of Austro-Hungarian products, the Committee fell into the hands of a local figure: a grocer, head of the muhacir, Slavic Muslim refugees who had taken refuge in the city for several decades. At the end of the year however, the Committee of Shkodra tried to regain control by issuing an order to choose new members, seven in total: two officers and five representatives of the population, including two Christians. The idea was also to replace the grocer Haci Su¨leyman by the lawyer Hafiz Ali, who was also a muhacir, but was more accepted in the population. Actually, Haci Su¨leyman kept working a little; then the whole committee ended all activities when the boycott campaign ended.113 In Vlora, less than a month after the revolution, the local Committee broke up, after three members left – an army medical officer, another doctor and the veterinarian of the municipality. In that case, there was no frontal opposition between the local notables on one side and the military on the other, but a division between civil servants and the military resulting from the pressure of the local context. In fact, according to the Consul, some local actors used the change of regime and the new power of the Committee to try and switch the balance of power in their favour. Thus, pressure was put on the Committee for it to get rid of certain civil servants. Previously, the Committee, which had few members, had already been compelled to seek the support of people from the local circle, for example when it created an ad hoc commission to open an Albanian school, comprising people it was not related to. On the contrary, some local members of the Committee joined a few days later a ‘league for the promotion of Albanian schools’, with its own programme and having meetings day and night; a league whose goals were therefore not only cultural, according to the Consul.114 In places where other clubs opened – Albanian, Greek or other – Young Turk clubs represented only one of the many hubs reshaping the local political scenes, through complex games of allegiance, linked to socio-economic interests. In Ioannina, the Greek club, which did not tolerate multiple affiliations, managed to attract almost every Christian Orthodox notables, except for around ten of them who were more interested in joining the Young Turk Committee. Some other Christian notables, Vlachs, preferred to join the Albanian Club, whose members were mainly Muslim, and members of the Young Turk Committee for most.115

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Lastly, an extreme case should be noted, the case of Tirana where the beneficial committee (cemiyet-i hayrire) which seized power was created by the local beys, apparently without the assistance of any officers. Presided over by Refik Bey, it comprised all the beys of the place, representatives from the Muslim clergy, civil servants and representatives from the Christian population. The Consul defined the movement as having an ‘important national nature’ and the Committee of Durre¨s even judged the programme of the Committee of Tirana as being anti-governmental.116 Being uncontrolled or hardly controllable by the CUP,117 mixed committees finally disappeared and only reappeared in some localities when the crisis triggered by the counter-revolution broke out. They made way for officers’ clubs and secret Young Turk committees, which in some cases, seemed to work since the restoration of the Constitution. Moreover, it should be noted that the consular reports bear certain ambiguities. It is not always easy to know what they meant by ‘Young Turk committee’: (secret or not) officers committees, larger Young Turk committees or commissions which included local notables. Anyway, in the nature of the Young Turk organization at a local level became more and more secret and military over the months. In order to respond to the reproaches addressed to the Committee because it intruded into the government affairs, the military apparently received the order not to officially interfere in public affairs. In Shkodra, the officers committee did go underground, while a military club was used as its public cover.118 The same thing happened in Berat and Vlora where the Consuls started to mention the doings of the ‘officers clubs’ more and more often.119 For officers would always appear as the local representatives of Young Turk policies. When the counter-revolution broke out, the officers club of Durre¨s was at the heart of every demonstration organized at a local level.120 In the eyes of the Austro-Hungarian Consul, the anniversary of the Constitution, as organized in Shkodra by the military authorities and the officers body, was strongly military and was an opportunity to glorify the Army.121

The Search for Support from Local Notables and the Muslim Population The main supporters of the Committee of Union and Progress, who were the military and civil servants, had, considering their position, a great

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many resources in order to handle local power. They were nevertheless in competition with the notables.122 In order to have a stronger grip on the situation, they had to go further than the creation of mixed committees and form an alliance with them. Likewise, it was in the interest of certain notables to become allied with the Committee, political conviction not being really determining. The local committees thus represented a new element in the game of local factions, in which they did not necessarily hold the dominant position. Let us take the example of Prizren. Sherif efendi was the most powerful notable and his influence extended beyond the city. Being a key actor, he became the president of the mixed commission. At the beginning of September, he even took the liberty of expelling some civil servants himself, including a member of the Committee. The Committee decided then to have his house surrounded. But the operation failed and Sherif efendi attacked the building of the local government with his partisans in arms. The building was defended by officers assisted by another notable of the city, Destan efendi, a personal enemy of Sherif efendi. The latter won the confrontation and even was to be elected (or rather coopted) deputy during the elections at the end of the year. In Prizren, it was therefore very difficult for the CUP to compete with the faction of the main notable, who had an armed force.123 In Tirana, by contrast, Young Turks formed an alliance with the most powerful notable, who was nevertheless an associate of the former regime. Esad Pasha Toptani, the commandant of the gendarmerie of the vilayet of Shkodra, who went abroad when he knew the revolution was on its way and feared for himself, then came back in the region in midAugust in order to pledge allegiance to the Constitution. The local members of the CUP were not much in his favour: the Committee of Durre¨s had just decided to reinstate all the gendarmes he used for his private service to their position. Esad Pasha wanted to keep his position as a commandant of the gendarmerie and tried, to that end, to make a good impression on the Committee of Shkodra. But his lucky star shone again, apparently thanks to the Central Committee of Salonica; after his trip in the Macedonian metropolis in mid-September, with other notables of the vilayet, he announced his candidacy for the elections. He won by far, thus dismissing Fadil Pasha Toptani, whom the Consul saw as the most serious candidate at first, but who did not conceal his

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opposition to the CUP. For the Central Committee, it was therefore better to negotiate with a character like Esad Pasha than to let an uncontrolled figure, ready to use Albanianism against the Committee, take centre stage.124 During the months following the revolution, the elections were a privileged place to observe the relations between notables and committees. It seems that, during this first poll, at least in the regions where the Committee did not have much support, the first goal of the leaders of Salonica was to prevent opposing notables to be elected, especially opponents whose influence went beyond the local level such as Fadil Pasha Toptani. It did not matter if the elected representatives were notorious supporters of the former regime or were considered as ‘reactionaries’, such as Shakir Bey and Murteza efendi in Shkodra or Esad Pasha in Tirana, as long as they had pledged allegiance to the new regime.125 The elections in the sancak of Berat illustrates better how local and imperial stakes interwove and then involved the Central Committees of Salonica and Istanbul. In Vlora, the candidates were Ismail Kemal Bey and Su¨reyya Bey. The first was a former vali, anglophile and disciple of Midhat Pasha, who fled the Empire in 1900 and joined the Young Turk opposition in Europe. He lived very little in Vlora, but managed to maintain a network of partisans, especially by getting some of them positions in Istanbul. As for the second one, he was the brother of the former Grand Vizier of Abdu¨lhamid, Ferid Pasha, and was the General Director of Indirect Taxes before the revolution. He lived in Vlora until 1901, where he possessed large estates and reigned supreme, using his strong relations with Istanbul. Ismail Kemal, who went back to his native region for the occasion, benefited from the support of those who suffered from the former regime and from the grip of Su¨reyya Bey. He also had support from the Orthodox metropolitan and his flock, considering his close ties with the Greek authorities. Some others thought he was going to be elected and therefore, rallied in his favour, fearing the consequences. The Central Committee and in particular the officers were a priori in his favour. They feared a little for their own power when they witnessed the triumphant welcome he was given, but they kept supporting him because of his prestige as opponent of the former regime. Su¨reyya Bey and his partisans stood against him, as well as the Austro-Hungarian Consul, because he

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was a hellenophile and stood against the Dual Monarchy. As for the party of Su¨reyya Bey, it was less powerful, especially since the Committees of Vlora, Berat, Salonica and the Albanian Club of Istanbul were against him, because of his relations with the former regime. Still, according to the Consul, the popularity of Ismail Kemal dropped during the campaign, when his hellenophilia was discovered as well as the little support he showed to Albanianism. His relations with the Greek authorities (he stayed a little in Athens before going to Vlora) were apparently the reason why the Albanian Club of Salonica denigrated Ismail Kemal and why the Central Committee tried to prevent him from being elected. But it failed because it was too late, and Ismail Kemal Bey, whose opinions started differing from the CUP, found a forum for his political ambitions in the Parliament.126 For his part, in order to ensure his election, Ismail Kemal Bey came to a compromise with Aziz Pasha Vrioni, the most important notable of Berat, an unflinching supporter of the Hamidian regime, who thus won the second poll of the region.127 Power plays prevailed over ideological issues there as well. In some regions, the elections aimed more to weaken the influence of non-Muslims than to stand in the way of people opposing the CUP – both being sometimes related in the minds of the members of the CUP. While the elections were being prepared, the CUP and the authorities probably did not always act impartially toward nonMuslims.128 The Consuls, with their subjective positions, reported the manoeuvres which took place, while also highlighting problems due to the attitudes of the Christians themselves (apathy, divisions, will to avoid taxes, abstention). In the sancak of Shkodra, and in the south of the vilayet of Ioannina, manipulations were used on the census, in establishing electoral rolls which excluded the population groups that did not pay a certain type of taxes (especially peasants working in the
iftlik) c or also in dividing constituencies for the election of second-rate voters.129 This policy was not systematic. In Macedonia for example, the CUP rather sought balances, compromises between ‘nationalities’, at the expense of some of them.130 Being non-systematic, this policy of seeking support from Muslims still became an option which was more and more favoured by the members of the CUP after the official loss of Bulgaria and Bosnia and Herzegovina, and the declaration of the union between Crete and Greece. The preparation for the elections in some provinces, and the launch of

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propaganda among Muslims in favour of Arabic characters to write the Albanian language, were not the only indicators. There was also the secret meeting organized in Tepelene¨, in the north of the vilayet of Yanya, in February 1909, at the instigation of the Central Committee of Istanbul supported by the Committee of Ioannina. The goal was then to rally the Muslims living in these regions to possibly defend the homeland from Greek bands.131 After the counter-revolution, the Consul of Skopje noted this new emerging trend in Young Turk politics, which he defined as the use of Muslim ‘religious fanaticism’: concretely, in local mosques, the population had to pledge allegiance to Sharia, to the Constitution and to the Committee (Cemiyet), before three members of the Committee.132 In July 1909, in Tirana, officers rallied the Muslim peasants from the Tirana area in the name of Islam against the beys and Albanian clubs they had opened.133

Conclusions The reports of Austro-Hungarian Consuls working in the western side of the Ottoman possessions in the Balkans prove that the CUP wished to extend and strengthen an organized network of provincial committees deriving from the clandestine mobilization which led to the revolution. They also give evidence of the actions that were carried out for this purpose. It was a matter of entering the local power plays by controlling the administrators, controlling the information and mobilizing certain segments of the local population. It was also a matter of neutralizing the attempts of the Great Powers to interfere and the territorial claims of Balkan states. Very quickly, it also became a question of countering the assertion of other competing political networks. Nevertheless, the process was more complex than it seemed, first because it was not so easy to define what were local committees, or the type of relations between individuals and the CUP. We have seen that, actually, there were various local organizations linked to the CUP, whose frontiers and relations were quite vague: secret committees, non-secret committees, mixed commissions, and military or civilian clubs. On the other hand, was it compulsory to take an oath in order to become a member? Did the collective or individual oath always imply a membership to the CUP? It is not certain. And how can we take into account the nature of these different memberships: spontaneous,

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self-interested or more or less forced? Should we see different circles or groups, depending on membership and commitment? Circles and groups which by the way, were not stable; people would come and go, and they entailed internal balances of power, dissensions, even ruptures. If we examine the socio-professional groups related to the CUP, we can also see this instability and heterogeneity. The hard core of local committees seemed to be composed of officers. In these provinces, during 1909, a certain ‘militarization’ of local committees even occurred. Even so, the officers’ body was not totally homogenous and was subjected to purges as well, as we have seen that with the example of Ioannina. The main reason was the famous opposition between the mektebli officers, who had studied in military schools, and the alaylı officers, who had risen from the ranks, whom Abdu¨lhamid relied on and who were less receptive to Young Turk ideas. Yet, shortly before the counter-revolution, the military club of Skopje, in cooperation with the clubs of Salonica, Serres, Ioannina and Manastır, sent a memorandum to the Ministry of War in order to ask for the immediate eviction of the alaylı, because of their incompetence. The Young Turk movement still appeared to be related to a vocational process, though there is no doubt a political dimension was behind this initiative. During the same period, in Debar, a region with a very strong sense of identity, the alaylı were the ones who evicted the mektebli officers and rebelled against the Young Turks in order to be able to utter cheers in honour of the sultan. The failure of counter-revolution enabled the CUP to get rid of part of these officers or sub-officers who were considered to be ‘reactionaries’.134 The second core of the CUP comprised civil servants. When the Constitution was proclaimed, almost every Consul working in the region reported the more or less massive membership of employees from the civil administration.135 However, some of their colleagues, and especially senior civil servants, rapidly became the victims of purges organized by the CUP. The relations between the administration and the CUP were all the more complex, as we have seen, since appointments in the public service were a place for negotiation of the relations between the members of the CUP, their opponents and the local population. Besides, the ‘militarization’ of the CUP local body and the type of actions resulting from it (in particular the use of force), could trigger rifts between the military and the civil servants.136

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Moreover, the educated young people – officers, civil servants, etc. – who suffered from hierarchical relations or local balances of power before the revolution, were often the ones who were interested in joining the CUP or in getting closer. Therefore, young people seemed to welcome the changes in Prizren with much joy. Necip Draga from Mitrovica, a former student of the School of Administration of Istanbul (Mu¨lkiye), and some other educated notables, supported the movement since the very beginning for ideological, economic and social reasons. Among them were many Albanianists, a fact that was not inconsistent right after the revolution. On a more general scale, notables or interest groups benefited from the change of regime and joined the circles of the CUP. The muhacir of Shkodra and of Durre¨s belonged to this category, which only had a secondary position in these local balances of power. For their part, various notables joined the committees according to their interests and relatively unstable compromises. The complexity of the insertion of the CUP network lies precisely in the fact that the situational aspects were determining. Both local configurations and the events influencing them modified the ways to enter the local political games and their success. Let us take two examples. In the very particular situation of the north of the vilayet of Kosovo, namely, in the border sancak of Novipazar, Ipek, Prishtina and Prizren, the committees comprising military men, civil servants and a few local beys, such as Necip Bey Draga, only partially entered the local scene, which was dominated by leaders of armed factions. At the beginning, young people who had no part to play in the local power plays apparently followed them. We do not know, however, if this fervour lasted. Apart from the strong garrison of Mitrovica, the committees managed to obtain a bit of support from here and there, thanks to the beys, but they had few partisans. They also found local support thanks to conflicts between competing factions (Destan efendi against Sherif efendi in Prizren; Ahmed, son of Murteza Pasha from Gjakova against Jashar Pasha from Ipek). Most of the local Muslim leaders and their partisans, who had nevertheless signed the besa of Ferizovic´, could hardly accept this new power opposing the sultan and promoting equality with the Christians, shaking the foundations of their influential position in the region. Certain local leaders however, came to compromises with the Young Turks, such as Zejnel Bey from Ipek, Zejnullah Bey from Vucˇitrn and the mufti of Prishtina, Haji Mustafa

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efendi. But the use of force against Isa Boletin and his partial failure, then the first attempts to introduce the conscription did not help asserting the CUP legitimacy in the region. The positive rumours of the counter-revolution persuaded the CUP to assert its power, more by getting rid of its most ardent opponents than seeking local representatives.137 Therefore, the CUP did not succeed in mobilizing the Muslims, who soon became mostly part of the opposition. Moreover, the use of force chosen by the military to maintain order over these regions which were used to an exceptional status, triggered the first dissensions within the committees, and it carried more consequences than the hostility of local leaders. In the small town of Vlora, located to the south of a zone of large
iftlik, c the Committee was composed of civil servants and military men, who split up rapidly because of the pressure from the local milieu to purge the administration. The Unionists used Albanianism, as in the rest of the vilayet of Yanya, but also, faced with the threat of Greek bands, ended up favouring the mobilization of Muslims. The reunion organized for that purpose in Tepelene¨, located inland, contained, however, an imperial dimension, since apparently it was related to the power struggle between the CUP and Kamil Pasha. After the Parliament opened, the local Committee ended up in great difficulty because Muslims were divided into two factions, both opponents, especially because they had a supra-local dimension. One was composed of the partisans of Su¨reyya Bey and his brother Ferid Pasha, supporters of the former regime, and the other one was led by Ismail Kemal Bey, which took side with the liberal opposition and used the counter-revolution in order to reach the centre of the political game in Istanbul. During the events of ‘31 March’ (13 April 1909), local Muslims took over the telegraph, as we have seen earlier, while two officers were attacked. In the spring, the repression mostly came down on the partisans of Ismail Kemal, especially since Ferid Pasha was appointed Minister of the Interior. During and after the crisis, every military man who was on the spot did not have the same attitude though.138 These two examples illustrate on one hand the complex balance between the will to impose and the compromise policy and on the other hand the interaction between imperial and local dynamics. They also help understand the evolutions resulting from the significant events of the year 1908– 1909. The territorial loss of autumn 1908 was a cause for

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the idea of equality and fraternity with the non-Muslims to be abandoned, and created a strong mobilization of Muslims (even Albanian Muslims) through the local committees, when local balance made it possible. They strengthened the propaganda of Young Turks against Austria-Hungary and the Balkan states. Therefore, beyond the boycott of Austrian products, the members of the CUP tried to make the Austro-Hungarian policy toward Albanians look suspicious.139 The opening of the Parliament which created a new political space, and the counter-revolution of spring 1909 generated measures aiming more and more to stifle the political opponents of the CUP and to weaken the competing networks of power (Albanianists, Liberals, Democrats, etc.). However, rhetorically speaking, struggle for power took place in the name of the defence of ‘freedom’, against ‘reactionaries’, while in actual fact, it gradually became directed against other opponents of the former regime, sometimes even reaching the inside of the local committees.

Notes 1. See among others, the works of S¸u¨kru¨ Haniog˘lu, The Young Turks in Opposition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), and Preparation for a Revolution: The Young Turks, 1902– 1908 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). 2. Elie Kedourie, ‘The Impact of the Young Turk Revolution on the ArabicSpeaking Provinces of the Ottoman Empire’, in Elie Kedourie, Arabic Political Memoirs and the Other Studies (London: Cass, 1974), pp. 124 –61. 3. Ibid., pp. 125– 8. Not including Yemen of course. 4. By Albanianism I mean the construction or use of the idea of an Albanian nation. 5. Haus-, Hof- uns Staatsarchiv (HHStA, Vienna), PA XXXVIII/395, Posfai, Monastir, 5 June 1908, no. 36; PA XXXVIII/439, Lukes, Uskub, no. 98, 10 June; PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, telegram no. 28, 6 July 1908; PA XXXVIII/386, von Zambaur, Mitrovica, telegram no. 49, 13 July 1908; PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, 24 July 1908, telegram no. 2; PA XXXVIII/444, Honda, upon request of Consul Kraus, Valona, 28 July 1908, no. 25; PA XXXVIII/423, Lejhanec, Skutari, no. 67, 29 July 1908; PA XXXVIII/380, Halla, Durazzo, no. 26, 29 July 1908. 6. See B. Lory and A. Popovic, ‘Au carrefour des Balkans, Bitola. 1816 – 1918’, in P. Dumont and F. Georgeon (eds), Villes ottomanes a` la fin de l’Empire (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1992), pp. 75– 93. 7. Kedourie, ‘The impact’, pp. 128– 9. On Austro-Hungarian Consuls, see Nathalie Clayer, Aux origines du nationalisme albanais (Paris: Karthala, 2007), p. 366 ff.

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8. PA XXXVIII/439, Lukes, Uskub, telegram, 23 July 1908; PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, telegram, 25 July, no. 22, telegram no. 23, 26 July; report no. 122, 26 July 1908. 9. PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, 25 July 1908, no. 32; PA XXXVIII/444, Honda, upon request of Consul Kraus, Valona, 28 July 1908, no. 25; PA XXXVIII/380, Halla, Durazzo, 1 August 1908, no. 27; PA XXXVIII/423, Lejhanec, Skutari, no. 67, 29 July 1908. 10. PA XXXVIII/444, Honda, upon request of Consul Kraus, Valona, 28 July 1908, no. 25; PA XXXVIII/380, Halla, Durazzo, 1 August 1908, no. 27; PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Berat, 29 July 1908, no. 26. 11. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, 22 August, no. 73 and 7 December 1908, no. 125. 12. PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, 10 September 1908, no. 151. 13. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, 24 September 1908, no. 129. 14. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, 26 August, no. 74; Kral, 3 September, no. 79. 15. PA XXXVIII/424, Kral, Skutari, 16 April 1909, no. 60. 16. On this subject, see the contribution of Nader Sohrabi in this volume, p. 000. 17. PA XXXVIII/395, Posfai, Monastir, 26 July 1908, no. 49. 18. PA XXXVIII/386, Von Zambaur, Mitrovica, no. 85, 7 October 1908; PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, no. 181, Prizren, 29 October 1908. 19. PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, no. 43, 20 October 1908. 20. PA XXXVIII/440, Adamkiewicz, Uesku¨b, 25 June 1909, no. 106. On this matter, the Consul of Skopje mentioned the specific cases of the Presidents of the Court of Appeal and of the District Court, who were dismissed upon request of the Central Committee of Salonica. 21. As of autumn 1909 especially, the Austro-Hungarian representatives thought they perceived a purge of elements who were considered as Albanian nationalists; a purge was decided by the local officers clubs. Such was the case when the mutessarif of Prizren and other civil servants in Durre¨s were dismissed. (PA XXXVIII/404, Prizren, Prochaska, 17 September 1909; PA XXXVIII/381, Halla, Durazzo, 13 November 1909, no. 75). Actually such a purge took place particularly in 1910, after the expedition of Turgut Pasha (see Clayer, Aux origines, p. 633). 22. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, telegram 1 October 1908, telegram 12 October, no. 53; 13 October 1908; 8 December 1908, no. 139, telegram 30 December and report no. 161, 31 December 1908. 23. PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, 29 December 1908, no. 70, 1 February 1909, no. 8, Ranzi, no. 16, 28 February 1909, no. 25, 10 April, Bilinski, no. 59, 19 November 1909 and 9 December 1909. 24. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona/Berat, 21 August 1908, no. 33; PA XXXVIII/380, Halla, Durazzo-Tirana, no. 38, 9 September 1908. 25. See Kudret Emirog˘lu, Anadolu’da Devrim Gu¨nleri (Ankara: I˙mge Kitabevi, 1999), p. 43 ff.

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26. PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, no. 16, 28 February 1909. 27. This request had been supported by the intervention of the deputy Esad Pasha Toptani (PA XXXVIII/381, Halla, Durazzo, no. 82, 16 December 1909). 28. Kedourie, ‘The impact’, p. 133. See also Niyazi Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey (London: Hurst and Co., 1998), p. 328. 29. PA XXXVIII/444, Honda, Valona, 28 July 1908, no. 25. 30. PA XXXVIII/423, Lejhanec, Skutari, 3 August 1908, no. 68; PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona/Berat, no. 27, 31 July and no. 28, 2 August 1908. 31. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona/Berat, no. 27, 31 July and no. 28, 2 August 1908 and 6 August 1908, no. 30. 32. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, telegram no. 9, 5 April 1909. 33. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, telegram, no. 11, 20 April 1909 and report no. 32, 22 April 1909, where it is mentioned that, a few days later, the Muslims of Berat, Gjirokaste¨r and Elbasan, declared they were not supportive. 34. Sina Aks¸in, S¸eriatc
ı bir Ayaklanma. 31 Mart Olayı (Ankara: I˙mge Kitabevi, 1994), pp. 87– 8. 35. In Durre¨s and in Shkodra, the contradictory dispatches sent by different actors after the Istanbul events threw the local population in the same confusion regarding the attitude to adopt. The Young Turk committees managed, however, to control the situation in their favour – at least not out of their favour – in particular thanks to the control of information (PA XXXVIII/381, Halla, Durazzo, no. 36, 16 April 1909 and no. 38, 24 April 1909; PA XXXVIII/424, Kral, Skutari, no. 62, 20 April 1909 and no. 67, 2 May 1909. 36. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, no. 40, 14 May 1909 and no. 51, 10 June 1909. 37. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, no. 42, 17 May 1909. 38. PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, 3 August 1908, no. 126. 39. PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, 25 July 1908, no. 32. 40. PA XXXVIII/423, Lejhanec, Skutari, 3 August 1908, no. 68. 41. In Prizren, for example, for the celebration of the opening of the Parliament (PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, no. 207, 18 December 1908); in Vlora for the ascension to the throne of Mehmed V Resad (PA XXXVIII/444, no. 36, 4 May 1909); in Mitrovica for the celebration of the Constitution organized by the kaymakam (PA XXXVIII/387, von Rudnay, no. 60, 24 July 1909); and in U¨sku¨p and Valona for the same anniversary of the Constitution (PA XXXVIII/440, Adamkiewicz, Uskub, no. 120, 25 July 1909; PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, 27 July, no. 65). 42. Consul Lukes highlighted this new trend for branches of the Committee to organize meetings in the kaza, against the enemies of Islam, homeland and the people (PA XXXVIII/439, Lukes, Uskub, no. 176, 3 November 1908). 43. PA XXXVIII/444, Honda, Valona, 9 July 1909, no. 62. 44. Franc
ois Georgeon, ‘La justice en plus: les Jeunes Turcs et la Re´volution franc
aise’, in F. Georgeon, Des Ottomans aux Turcs. Naissance d’une nation (Istanbul: Isis, 1995), pp. 159 – 68.

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45. In Berat, the members of the CUP of Ioannina hurried to hoist a flag bearing the words ‘homeland, freedom, equality, fraternity, justice, Constitution’ (PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, 6 August 1908, no. 30). 46. Festivities were sometimes organized by the local committees to celebrate the return of exiles. (See for example PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, 26 August 1908, no. 74). 47. Georgeon, ‘La justice’, p. 167. 48. See the speech of a teacher of Shkodra during the celebration of the proclamation of the Constitution (PA XXXVIII/423, Lejhanec, 3 August 1908, no. 68). 49. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, no. 77, 9/1/1908. 50. PA XXXVIII/424, Kral, Skutari, no. 129, 9/24/1909. 51. See for example PA XXXVIII/423, Lejhanec, Skutari, no. 70, 10 August 1908; PA XXXVIII/424, Kral, Skutari, no. 101, 24 July 1909, no. 129, 24 September 1909, or also PA XXXVIII/444, Honda, Valona, 28 July 1908, no. 25. 52. PA XXXVIII/380, Halla, Durazzo-Tirana, no. 38, 9 September 1908; PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona/Berat, no. 35, 28 August 1908; PA XXXVIII/395, Monastir, Posfai, 26 July 1908, no. 49. 53. PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, 10 September 1908, no. 151. 54. PA XXXVIII/386, Von Zambaur, Mitrovica, telegram, no. 57 (recte 54), 27 July 1908; PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, 3 August 1908, no. 126, 6 August 1908, no. 128, 9 August 1908, no. 129, teleg. no. 27, 11 August 1908 and report no. 137, 15 August 1908. 55. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, 3 September 1908, no. 79. 56. PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, 10 October 1908, no. 39. 57. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, 26 August 1908, no. 74, Lejhanec, Skutari, 11 August 1908, no. 71, Kral, Skutari, 10 October 1908, no. 95; PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, 10 Ocotober 1908, no. 39; PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, no. 50, 3 October 1908; PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, 11 September, no. 155. 58. S¸erif Mardin, Jo¨n Tu¨rklerin siyasıˆ fikirleri. 1895 – 1908 (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 1994), p. 301. 59. PA XXXVIII/395, Posfai, Monastir, 26 July 1908, no. 49; PA XXXVIII/444, Honda, upon request of Consul Kraus, Valona, 28 July 1908, no. 25; PA XXXVIII/423, Lejhanec, Skutari no. 70, 10 August 1908 (who passed on a leaflet which had already been spread before the Revolution; about this one see Haniog˘lu, Preparation, p. 255). 60. It had been forbidden since the very end of the 19th century, after the crisis of 1896– 7 (Clayer, Aux origines, pp. 391– 3). 61. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, 26 August 1908, no. 74; PA XXXVIII/444, Honda, Valona, 28 July 1908, no. 25; Kraus, Valona, 6 August 1908, no. 30; PA XXXVIII/387, von Rudnay, Mitrovica, no. 60, 24 July 1909. 62. On this matter, see Clayer, Aux origines, p. 611 ff.

THE TIME OF FREEDOM, THE TIME OF STRUGGLE 63. 64. 65. 66.

67. 68.

69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80.

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PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona/Berat, no. 31, 10 August 1908. Clayer, Aux origines, p. 669. Ibid., p. 687. Thus, the pamphlet mentioned in footnote 59, addressed to the Albanian Muslim notables, and in particular to the cadis and muftis, aimed to rally Albanians who were surrounded by internal and external enemies (in particular Austria-Hungary and Italy) in favour of the Constitution and Parliament. The argument was that these institutions would lead to the end of injustice regarding taxes, justice and administration, and that they would help avoiding the autonomy of Macedonia and the possible resulting detachment of Albania from the Empire (PA XXXVIII/423, Lejhanec, Skutari, no. 70, 10 August 1908). Clayer, Aux origines, p. 259 ff. Addressed to the mufti of Durre¨s and Shkodra, to the most important notable of Prizren, to the mayor of Vlora, the telegram, read and explained to the population, generated various reactions. (PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, 4 November 1908, no. 120; PA XXXVIII/423, Prochaska, Prizren, 6 November 1908, no. 188; PA XXXVIII/380, Halla, Durazzo, 31 October 1908, no. 58; PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Vlora, 30 October 1908, no. 60; PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, no. 59, 30 November 1908). See also Banu I˙s¸let So¨nmez, II. Mes¸rutiyette Arnavut Muhalefeti (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2007), p. 103 (for the sancaks of the north of the vilayet of Kosovo). PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, no. 80, 3 December 1908; PA XXXVIII/387, Zambaur, Mitrovica, no. 5, 24 January 1909. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, no. 166, 31 December 1908. According to Skendi (The Albanian national Awakening, 1967, pp. 354– 5), these delegations even aimed to create secret Albanian committees, which is difficult to prove. Clayer, Aux origines, p. 622. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, no. 46, 23 September 1908 and no. 3, 18 January 1909. Clayer, Aux origines, p. 623. We should note that in Shkodra, the alphabet book has probably been sent by the Albanian Club of Istanbul. Clayer, Aux origines, p. 621; PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, no. 1, 7 January 1909. Clayer, Aux origines, pp. 623– 5. The tense international situation, in particular regarding the Cretan issue, probably has something to do with it. PA XXXVIII/444, Honda, Valona, 28 July 1908, no. 25. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Berat, 29 July 1908, no. 26. In the region of Berat, conflicts were settled by the Committee, which used the threat of death penalty for offenders (PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, 6 August 1908, no. 30). PA XXXVIII/396, Posfai, Monastir, no. 16, 8 April 1909. See George Gawrych, The Crescent and the Eagle: Ottoman Rule, Islam and the Albanians, 1874 –1913 (London: I.B.Tauris, 2006), pp. 161 – 3.

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81. Necip Draga had to go to Salonica in order to convince the Central Committee to take measures against Isa Boletin (Gawrych, The Crescent, pp. 161– 2). 82. PA XXXVIII/386, Zambaur, Mitrovica, no. 105, 25 November 1908. 83. PA XXXVIII/387, Zambaur, Mitrovica, no. 28, 10 April 1909. 84. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, no. 33, 28 April 1909 and no. 42, 17 May 1909. 85. People even refused to pronounce the name of the new sultan in mosques. 86. PA XXXVIII/387, Zambaur, Mitrovica, 29 April 1909, telegram no. 23, 11 May 1909 and report no. 41, 16 May 1909. 87. PA XXXVIII/396, Posfai, Monastir, no. 34, 25 May 1909 and no. 35, 7 June 1909. 88. See Resneli Ahmed Niyazi, Hatırat-i Niyazi (Istanbul, 1326) and Haniog˘lu, Preparation, p. 257. 89. PA XXXVIII/423, Lejhanec, Skutari, 11 August 1908, no. 71; Kral, Skutari, 10 October 1908, no. 95. In Durre¨s, during the ceremony organized on 29 July, once the manifesto of Niyazi was read by an officer, the mufti explained in a few words the meaning of this manifesto and that of the Constitution. Finally, he pronounced an oath which was repeated by the inhabitants who gathered in front of the municipality for the occasion (PA XXXVIII/380, Halla, Durazzo, 1 August 1908, no. 27). In addition to the collective oaths pronounced on the spot, in mid-September, a deputation comprising Muslim and Christian notables from the vilayet was sent to Salonica to greet the Central Committee (PA XXXVIII/423, Fillunger, Skutari, 14 September 1908, no. 83; PA XVIII/380, Halla, Tirana/Durazzo, 14 September 1908, no. 43). 90. About the Albanian customary law and how it was used by Ottoman authorities, see Maurus Reinkowski, ‘‘Let bygones be bygones’. ‘An Ottoman order to forget’, Wiener Zeitschrift fu¨r die Kunde des Morgenlandes, 93 (2003), pp. 191–209. 91. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona/Berat, 31 July, 2 August 1908 and 6 August 1908, no. 30 and 10 August 1908. 92. PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, 27 September 1908, no. 36. 93. Individual oaths are also compulsory for released prisoners (PAXXXVIII/380, Halla, Tirana/Durazzo, no. 29, 17 August 1908; PA XXXVIII/444, Valona, 2 August 1908). 94. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona/Berat, 31 July, 2 August 1908 and 6 August 1908. Here, the information provided by the Austrian Consul does not correspond to the information apparently provided by Russian diplomats. According to Irina Senkevicˇ (Osvoboditelnoe dvizenie albanskogo naroda v 1905– 1912 (Moscow: Nauka, 1959), p. 104), which has been also taken up by P. Bartl (Die albanischen Muslime zur Zeit der nationalen Unabha¨ngigskeitsbewegung (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1968), p. 160) and Reinkowski (‘Let bygones’, p. 196), it seems that the population pledged allegiance to the Constitution, Albania and the Albanian language, which is uncertain, even if, we have seen it earlier, Young Turks did use Albanianism.

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95. Kral (PA XXXVIII/423, Skutari, 10 October 1908, no. 95) gives the example of the mountain clans of Shkodra. 96. In Berat, Consul Kraus was called to witness the fact that the oath was taken under duress (PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, 6 August 1908, no. 30). 97. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, no. 34, 27 August 1908. 98. See Kral, PA XXXVIII/423, Skutari, 10 October 1908, no. 95. 99. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona/Berat 31 July 1908, 2 August 1908 and 6 August 1908, no. 30; PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, 27 September 1908, no. 36. 100. PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, telegram no. 23, 26 July 1908 and report no. 132, 11 August 1908. 101. About the meeting of Ferizovic´, see Su¨leyman Ku¨lc
e, Firzovik Toplantısı ve Mes¸rutiyet (Izmir, 1944); Haniog˘lu, Preparation, pp. 271– 3 and N. Clayer, Aux origines, pp. 607 –8. 102. PA XXXVIII/386, Von Zambaur, Mitrovica, no. 59, 30 July 1908. 103. PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, no. 137, 15 August 1908. 104. Kedourie, ‘The impact’, p. 135 ff. 105. He was an Albanianist who, after the Revolution, chose the Arabic alphabet to write the Albanian language, and was one of the kingpins of the Unionist policy in this field (see Clayer, Aux origines, index). 106. These entities had different names depending on the situation: for example, ‘Constitution Management Commission’ (Kanun-i Esasi heyet-i idaresi) in Prizren, ‘Freedom Committee’ in Mitrovica. 107. PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, no. 132, 11 August 1908, no. 138, 16 August 1908 and no. 147, 4 September 1908. 108. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, 26 August 1908, no. 74. 109. The Consul of Shkodra (see the report mentioned in previous note) also thought that it gave the authorities a weapon against Albanian nationalism, which had not been truly and openly expressed in the region. 110. PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, 10 October 1908, no. 39 and 29 December 1908, no. 70. 111. PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, telegram no. 29, 4 September 1908 and 4 September 1908, no. 147. About this conflict, see infra. 112. PA XXXVIII/424, Kral, no. 60, 16 April 1909. 113. PA XXXVIII/380, Halla, Tirana/Durazzo, 8 August 1908; PA XXXVIII/381, Halla, 1 January 1909, no. 1 and no. 17, 2 February 1909. A new commission was to be implemented when the counter-revolution broke out (PA XXXVIII/381, Halla, Durazzo, no. 36, 16 April 1909). 114. PA XVIII/444, Kraus, Valona/Berat, 21 August 1908, no. 33 and 27 August 1908, no. 34. 115. PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, 27 September 1908, no. 36. 116. PA XXXVIII/380, Durazzo, no. 26, 29 July 1908 and Tirana/Durazzo, 8 August 1908.

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117. Besides, one of the means of control implemented in certain regions was the turnover of notables within the commissions (PA XXXVIII/380, Halla, Tirana/Durazzo, 8 August 1908). 118. PA XXXVIII/424, Kral, Skutari, no. 60, 16 April 1909 and no. 121, 6 September 1909. 119. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, 8 October 1909, no. 93. 120. PA XXXVIII/381, Halla, Durazzo, no. 42, 12 May 1909. 121. PA XXXVIII/424, Kral, Skutari, 24 July 1909, no. 101. 122. Some civil servants were locals, but generally they did not belong to great families of notables, whose members were appointed far from their native region. 123. PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, 29 July 1908, no. 124, 11 August 1908, no. 132, 4 September 1908, no. 147 and 28 October 1908, no. 179. 124. PA XXXVIII/380, Halla, Tirana/Durazzo, no. 29, 17 August 1908, 7 October 1908, no. 49 and 13 October 1908, no. 50; PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, 1 September 1908, no. 78. 125. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, 7 December 1908, no. 125; PA XXXVIII/380, Halla, Tirana/Durazzo, 7 October, no. 49 and 5 November 1908, no. 59. 126. At this time, the Austro-Hungarian reports did not mention that Ismail Kemal became a member of the Ahrar Party. More generally, the party was not mentioned until the Parliament was open; it is therefore anachronistic to put partisan political labels on the candidates during the election period. 127. PA XXXVIII/44, Kraus, Valona, no. 41, 16 September 1908, no. 42, 17 September 1908, no. 44, 20 September 1908, no. 47, 26 September 1908, no. 48, 30 September 1908, no. 58, 26 October 1908 and no. 76, 24 November 1908. See also Skendi, The Albanian National Awakening, p. 360 and Storey Sommerville (ed.), The Memoirs of Ismail Kemal Bey (London: Constable and Co., 1920), p. 319. 128. Even if there were no more quotas for the different denominational groups (see Hasan Kayalı, ‘Elections and the electoral process in the Ottoman Empire, 1876– 1919’, IJMES 3/27 (1995), pp. 265 –86). 129. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, 7 December 1908, no. 125; PA XXXVIII/383, Ranzi, Janina, 4 October 1908, no. 38, 25 October 1908, no. 45, 23 November 1908, no. 54, 16 December 1908, no. 64, 19 December 1908, no. 66 and 23 December 1908, no. 67. 130. PA XXXVIII/395, Posfai, Monastir, 5 December 1908, no. 76. See also Mehmet Hacisalihog˘lu, Die Jungtu¨rken und die Mazedonische Frage (1890 – 1918) (Munich: De Oldenbourg Gruyter, 2003), p. 248 ss. In the vilayet of Yanya, these sort of considerations also rose between the Albanians and the Greeks. 131. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, no. 10, 2 February 1909, telegram no. 4, 10 February 1909, report 11 February 1909, no. 14 and 23 February1909, no. 18. 132. PA XXXVIII/440, Adamkiewicz, Uesku¨b, no. 98, 30 May 1909.

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133. Clayer, Aux origines, pp. 676 – 7. 134. PA XXXVIII/424, Kral, no. 60, 16 April 1909; PA XXXVIII/440, Lukes, Skopje, no. 64, 1 April 1909; PA XXVIII/396, Posfai, Monastir, no. 18, 10 April 1909; PA XXXVIII/387, Zambaur, no. 44, 30 May 1909; PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, no. 40, 14 May 1909. 135. It was the case in Manastır, Ioannina, Mitrovica, Prizren, Berat and Vlora. 136. See supra. For example, at the end of April 1909, in Prizren, among the officers and civil servants belonging to the CUP, some rumours saying that the party leadership had make mistakes could be heard (PA XXXVIII/404, Prochaska, Prizren 22 April 1909). In June, dissensions in U¨sku¨b were reported (PA XXXVIII/440, Adamkiewicz, Uesku¨b, 25 June 1909, no. 106). 137. PA XXXVIII/403, Prochaska, Prizren, 3 August 1908, no. 126; no. 137, 15 August 1908; PA XXXVIII/404, Prochaska, Prizren, 16 May 1909; PA XXXVIII/386, Von Zambaur, Mitrovica, no. 65, 10 August 1908, no. 105, 25 November 1908, no. 107, 27 November 1908; PA XXXVIII/387, Zambaur, Mitrovica, no. 5, 24 January 1909, no. 28, 10 April 1909, no. 31, 17 April 1909, no. 33, 23 April 1909, no. 39, 13 May 1909, no. 42, 23 May 1909, no. 44, 30 May 1909. 138. PA XXXVIII/444, Kraus, Valona, no. 22, 4 March 1909, no. 29, 9 April 1909, no. 32, 22 April 1909, no. 47, 26 May and no. 59, 25 June 1909. 139. PA XXXVIII/423, Kral, Skutari, no. 146, 15 December 1908. When the CUP entered the scene, new power balances emerged in the games of influence of the Great Powers (especially Austria-Hungary and Italy) and the Balkan states in the region. I did not study these changes here.

References Archive Fonds

Haus-, Hof- uns Staatsarchiv (HHStA, Vienna), PA ¼ Politisches Archiv.

Secondary Literature

Aks¸in, Sina, S¸eriatc
ı bir Ayaklanma. 31 Mart Olayı (Ankara: I˙mge Kitabevi, 1994). Bartl, P., Die albanischen Muslime zur Zeit der nationalen Unabha¨ngigskeitsbewegung (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1968). Berkes, Niyazi, The Development of Secularism in Turkey (London: Hurst and Co., 1998). Clayer, Nathalie, Aux origines du nationalisme albanais (Paris: Karthala, 2007). Gawrych, George, The Crescent and the Eagle: Ottoman Rule, Islam and the Albanians, 1874– 1913 (London: I.B.Tauris, 2006). Georgeon, Franc
ois, ‘La justice en plus: les Jeunes Turcs et la Re´volution franc
aise’, in F. Georgeon, Des Ottomans aux Turcs. Naissance d’une nation (Istanbul: Isis, 1995). Emirog˘lu, Kudret, Anadolu’da Devrim Gu¨nleri (Ankara: I˙mge Kitabevi, 1999). Hacisalihog˘lu, Mehmet, Die Jungtu¨rken und die Mazedonische Frage (1890 – 1918) (Munich: De Oldenbourg Gruyter, 2003).

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Haniog˘lu, S¸u¨kru¨, Preparation for a Revolution: The Young Turks, 1902– 1908 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). ——— The Young Turks in Opposition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995). Kayalı, Hasan, ‘Elections and the electoral process in the Ottoman Empire, 1876– 1919’, IJMES, 3/27 (1995), pp. 265– 86. Kedourie, Elie, ‘The Impact of the Young Turk Revolution on the Arabic-Speaking Provinces of the Ottoman Empire’, in Elie Kedourie, Arabic Political Memoirs and the Other Studies (London: Cass, 1974). Ku¨lc
e, Su¨leyman, Firzovik Toplantısı ve Mes¸rutiyet (Izmir, 1944). Lory, B. and Popovic, A., ‘Au carrefour des Balkans, Bitola, 1816 – 1918’, in P. Dumont and F. Georgeon (eds), Villes ottomanes a` la fin de l’Empire (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1992). Mardin, S¸erif, Jo¨n Tu¨rklerin siyasıˆ fikirleri. 1895– 1908 (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 1994). Reinkowski, Maurus, ‘“Let bygones be bygones”: An Ottoman order to forget’, Wiener Zeitschrift fu¨r die Kunde des Morgenlandes 93 (2003), pp. 191 – 209. Resneli Niyazi (Ahmed), Hatırat-i Niyazi (Istanbul, 1326). Senkevicˇ, Irina, Osvoboditelnoe dvizenie albanskogo naroda v 1905– 1912 (Moscow: Nauka, 1959). Skendi, Stavro, The Albanian National Awakening (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967). Sommerville, Story (ed.), The Memoirs of Ismail Kemal Bey (London: Constable and Co., 1920). So¨nmez, Banu I˙s¸let, II. Mes¸rutiyette Arnavut Muhalefeti (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2007).

CHAPTER 6 SOCIAL UNREST ON THE AFTERMATH OF THE 1908 REVOLUTION:THE STRIKE OF THE AYDIN RAILWAY IN IZMIR AND ITS REPERCUSSIONS1 Vangelis Kechriotis

The unleashing of popular discontent, suppressed for years by the Hamidian regime, paved the way for social unrest. Many groups of workers in the urban centres all over the Empire, even if they were not organized in trade unions, used the opportunity to protest, demanding better work conditions and salaries. In this sense, even if the strikes which were launched in 1908 had not, as it has been suggested, a clear ideological orientation,2 and despite their eventual suppression by the authorities, they constituted a valuable experience for those who participated, an experience which would contribute to the bolstering of the new political culture of mass participation which had already emerged elsewhere too during the same period. The old legitimacies had collapsed and until new ones were set up the public sphere remained open to diverse claims. This chapter will discuss the responses by various groups of workers, most prominently railway workers, which led to strikes in Izmir, as well as other major urban centres of the Empire.

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Everyone Goes on Strike As the French Consul in Izmir would describe: after having started with noisy demonstrations, with the great waving of flags, after having listened to numerous orators and hailed in frenzy every occasional vindicator who emerged instantly and declared himself ready to raise his voice in order to stigmatize the oppressors and lead the oppressed to the triumph of their justified claims, the strikers demonstrated at a certain moment a deliberation to forcibly prevent from work those workers who disagreed.3 However, what is more important are not the particular claims, reasonable or not, but the notion of the claim itself. The workers, a population without any access to power, a large part of them nonMuslims with no say in their community administration, realized that they could now make their voice heard through collective action, since as individuals they had no chance. New enemies appeared in this process, new allies, too. Both for Muslims and non-Muslims, however, despite the bitterness for the authoritarian behaviour on the part of what they considered a very promising new regime, the real gain was this sense of collectivity which would infiltrate social activity and political strategies henceforth. Already, on 7 August, we are informed that the stevedores and the porters working for the shipping agents at the port had walked out on strike demanding higher wages. The period when these strikes broke out was the peak season for the commercial life of the city, since the yearly harvest from the hinterland would be gathered in the port in order to be loaded on the ships and exported. The ‘dispute’ which emerged owing to the strikes led the authorities to decide to have the quay patrolled and even take any step necessary in order to ‘prevent and punish intimidation’. Burnham, who, as Consul of Britain which had serious economic interests, had every reason to worry about what he describes as ‘abnormal state of things’, sought for the help of the local CUP leadership and was pleased to know that they considered the city ‘under quasi military rule’, since strikes of tramway, ferry boat employees and waiters loomed on the horizon.4

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In mid August, the settlement of the strike of stevedores and porters would bring a certain relief and keep the hope for social justice that the new regime had inspired still alive. It is even claimed that the negotiations between the CUP and the shipping agents revealed that ‘in many respects these men had just cause for complaint’. Even if their claims were considered exaggerated, eventually a compromise was achieved. The British Consul does not conceal his satisfaction for the fact that in settling the dispute, the firm of C. Whittall, member of a wellknown Smyrniot British family, was considered to have played a leading role ‘by their generous way of treating their own employees and set a good example to the other firms of Smyrna’.5 However, the strike of the carpet dyers and weavers employed at the factory of the Oriental Carpets Syndicate proved a much harder issue to settle. The British Consul, in obvious dismay, informs us that the factory was situated in Mortakia, ‘one of the worst quarters of Smyrna’ and, therefore, he had requested an armed guard. Unfortunately, riots were not prevented and one soldier was killed, therefore the guard was compelled to ‘be confined to the premises’. Since an arrangement did not seem possible, the Syndicate intended ‘to introduce workmen from the islands’.6 What the Consul disregards, however, in his account, is the ethnic character of the conflict. An obvious difference between the two disputes was that whereas the porters were predominantly Muslims, which would play a crucial role in the escalation of the boycott later on, the workers at Mortakia as well as the population there were predominantly Greek Othodox. This is the first instance of a series of confrontations between the Ottoman authorities and the British interests on the one hand and Greek labour force on the other, which would culminate with the strike of the Izmir-Aydin railway, where many Greeks used to work as drivers or stationmasters. Since the company which had undertaken the construction and controlled the railway was British, the local consular authorities, more particularly the Vice-Consul Heathcoat-Smith, in close cooperation with the general manager of the company Barnfield was actively involved in the dispute and reported meticulously.

The Beginning of the Railway Strike When Barnfield returned to Izmir from England on 28 August, agitation had already begun. The workers, in a circular they had printed

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in Greek, demanded better conditions of service and higher wages. In that, they had also been encouraged by the success of the strike on the Izmir-Cassaba [Kasaba] railway which was owned by a French company. The strikers there had achieved considerable concessions. The ViceConsul leaves no doubt that ‘speaking generally the ringleaders of the strike and indeed the principal workmen are either Italian or Greek subjects’.7 Barnfield’s response, however, was to dismiss eight members of the personnel who were considered the ‘prime movers’. Barnfield was himself one of the reasons for the widespread discontent. After the conclusion of the strike, the socialist newspaper O Ergatis, which, as we shall see, played a central role in organizing the workers, presented a series of articles where the conditions at the Aydin Railway Company were described. The workers in every department depended on the authority of a superintendent. At the time of Porser, the previous manager, the superintendents were Smyrniots, Greeks or Levantins. When Barnfield arrived, he replaced them with English ones. As a result, the workers, while working for 11 hours for 25 kurus¸ a day, were harassed by the superintendents who allegedly despised them because they were locals.8 These superintendents had their hafie´ [hafiye ] whom they were using against the workers. It had happened in many cases that workers were dismissed by a superintendent without any reason. These workers were trying to contact Barnfield but all their letters were detained by the hafie´ and never reached the manager. In one of the articles, it is also suggested that there was also discrimination in payment, since a Greek designer, for instance, received 4 liras a month because he was Greek Orthodox.9 This behaviour proliferated discontent and a strike was announced for 31 August. The negotiations launched involved not only the company and the workers but also the local CUP leadership. Indicative of the new atmosphere is the fact that the government authorities were practically non-existent and were actually accused of their ‘passive policy’. In the meantime, Muammer Bey, member of the local CUP assigned to take care of the settlement of the strikes, visited the general manager in order to offer his services. Dr Naˆzım, the famous Young Turk leader, who spent several months in Izmir during this period and who became personally interested in the issue, had initially criticized Barnfield for being too harsh. Later on, however, according to the Vice-Consul, he became convinced that the strikers demonstrated an ‘irreconcilable attitude’ and promised to get

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drivers from the Izmir-Cassaba railway, a promise which was never fulfilled. Moreover, when Barnfield suggested the return to work of those dismissed in order to alleviate the tension, the local CUP answered that the company did not have such an obligation. On the contrary, the ViceConsul claims, they offered to arrest any man impeding the service. However, as it would soon become clear, this promise would not be kept either, at least until the full escalation of violence. It seems that the CUP leadership would try to play its own game by reassuring consular authorities for its determination, being in reality unwilling to use largescale violence.10 Eventually, on 1 September, an agreement was reached between the company and the workers. However, the next day the workers made it clear that they would not respect it.11 This time, Nikolaos Tsourouktsoglou, the famous lawyer and publisher of the newspapers La Reforme and Imerissia, appeared as the delegate to carry on the second round of negotiations. Thus, on 2 September a second agreement was reached. The workers denounced this one as well and only after they were threatened by the CUP representatives did they agree to return to work, which led Heathcoat-Smith to comment: ‘the impression was that, had a large force been sent from the first and used if necessary, the men would have come to terms much sooner’.12 The Vice-Consul would soon realize, though, that, with the involvement of the local press and especially the new socialist newspaper O Ergatis in the strike, the controversy had reached a new stage.

The New Round of the Strike On 7 September, Barnfield was informed by Mecdet Bey, the acting Director of Political Affairs at the Vilayet, but also one of the publishers of O Ergatis, that the workers were going on strike for a third time.13 Soon, the morale of the strikers was high and ‘the men all showing a disposition to be insolent and work according to their own fancy’. The issue at stake was not any more the hours per day. It was the hierarchy of the company that was now challenged. A couple of days later, the strikers delivered an ultimatum according to which the company was asked to either satisfy their demands for an 8.5-hour-day or dismiss all their chiefs. The escalation of demands and insolence called for more radical deliberations and therefore the Director and Secretary of the

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Administrative Council from London decided to travel to Izmir to settle things. In the meantime and despite Barnfield’s preliminary consent to the 8.5-hour work per day, violent incidents in the central Punta railway station (present-day Alsancak Gar) continued. On 12 September, Tsourouktsoglou showed up with a ‘long list of fresh demands on the men’s behalf’. Barnfield found himself in despair. On the one hand, the CUP did not provide the promised help whilst, on the other, the government was unable to adopt any ‘stern measures’, since only 200 troops were said to be at its disposal. Therefore the general manager addressed the British Consul Burnham and asked him to take over the responsibility of running the railway in case the negotiations failed again.14 Barnfield argued that the ‘presence of a man-of-war, it would be the sole means of bringing the Government to recognize the imperative urgency of adequately defending the Company’.15 The British would flirt with the idea, but they were not the only ones. The French Consul Blanc describes the fear that the strikes of the stevedores and the porters had spread among the merchants and the shipping agents, who addressed him with the request to take measures. Blanc was reluctant to do anything and he commented: it was a delicate issue to make all the capitalists whose interests were threatened come in to terms with the reality of things, and declare to them without reservations that if they had been used to see the workers who were trying to present their modest claims being treated as politically subversive and see every effort to workers’ emancipation being suppressed in a brutal way, they should today adapt to the shift which had been suddenly effectuated in the political situation of the country. The workers did nothing, in this occasion, but use their right of liberty that their Constitution acknowledged them. This approach is significantly different from the one of the British consular authorities which regretted the fact that there were not enough Ottoman troops at their disposal. The French Consul, although not more favourable to the constitutional movement than his British colleague, seems to have understood much better the social circumstances which led to this political change when he clearly stated that those who had

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profited from the exploitation of the workers should realize that the privileges they enjoyed were over. To the claims put forth by the merchants and also by the German Consul that those who were willing to work should be protected, he responded that when in an exchange he had had with Dr Naˆzım, he described to him the terror reigning in the foreign colonies and mentioned his intention to call for the intervention of warships, the latter declared that he would take any necessary measure, severe as it might be, in order to protect law and order in Izmir. Moreover, Dr Naˆzım seemed to be relieved to realize that what the Consuls asked from CUP was nothing more than safeguarding the right to work. Therefore, he declared that the CUP recognized the right for every worker to go on strike but it would ruthlessly punish the violation of the right to work. The point, however, which reveals the symbolic importance that French diplomats cast on their country concerns Blanc’s response to those who accused him of not protecting French citizens according to the Capitulations: it would be absurd to claim that King Francois I and the Sultan Suleyman had, while signing the first treaty, intended to guarantee the foreign merchants who lived in Turkey in the 20th c., from dangers that they might run due to workers’ strikes and I could not imagine an agent of the French Republic raising his voice and boast to a Turkish Pasha that if he did not shoot on the spot all the strikers who disturbed the peace of the French merchants, he would turn against the miserable city of Izmir the canons of warships bearing the names ‘REPUBLIQUE’, ‘JUSTICE’, ‘LIBERTE´’.16 That very evening a third and final agreement was reached at a meeting where both the British Consul and the Vice-Consul were present.17 However, the Vice-Consul really doubted whether this was going to be the final agreement as neither the government nor the CUP were willing to use force to implement it. He was especially accusing the CUP members whose ‘almost passionate desire to avoid bloodshed and act constitutionally, though undoubtedly praiseworthy in intention, has rather blinded them to the practical side of the questions they are called upon to solve’.18 At any event, on 13 September, the Consul considered the strike settled and left Izmir.19 The Vice-Consul would now take over during the final stage.

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The Culmination of Tension The third strike of the Aydın railway started on 13 September. The publishers of the newspaper O Ergatis (The worker) would now actively participate. That same day, the newspaper launched a special issue where it is claimed that the main incentive for the strike had been the frustration of the workers owing to Barnfield’s attitude. The director was claimed to have signed an agreement which he had violated. The two high-ranking officials of the company, Inspector Smith and Secretary Tomas Cook, had already arrived from London. However, Barnfield had managed to prevent them from meeting the workers ‘so that they do not learn the truth’. That Saturday morning, the workers, disenchanted by the attitude of the company, invaded its premises and declared a strike in all train stations. Three people played a crucial role in this stage. The lawyer Tsourouktsoglou who is described as the president of the newly founded workers association,20 Mehmet Mecdet, publisher of O Ergatis who was the vice-president and Dimitrios Kotzamanis, who was the director of the newspaper. O Ergatis describes the frustration among those who had gathered at the Punta station waiting to get on the train and return to their places. The belief, however, was widespread that the strike was not going to last for long, since ‘Smith and Cook are very practical and wise people as English should be and they will try to reach a compromise’.21 Two days later, though, the situation had deteriorated. Thus, the Chamber of Commerce addressed the government, taking advantage of article 44 in the contract with the company, which gave the right to the government, in case movement on the railway was interrupted, to intervene and claim the losses that each one of its subjects had suffered.22 It is interesting that the O Ergatis does not attack the Chamber of Commerce, which after all was a group of capitalists. Quite to the contrary, it was almost praising it for trying to maintain balance and order in the city. This testifies to the fact that the attitudes of the workers’ leaders were not imbued by a class awareness, whereas they were ready to strike alliances in order to promote their demands.23 In the same vein, the strikers negotiated with the government and agreed to allow a train to leave in order to carry fig-producers and ulemas who had come on a trip to Izmir. However, Barnfield did not accept the arrangement, an attitude that irritated everyone. The committee of the strike informed Enver Bey, the CUP leader who had, in the meantime,

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arrived in Izmir24 and also wired the Grand Vizier. Despite Barnfield’s refusal, the workers and the local authorities decided to let two trains go, one for Denizli, one for Odemish.25 Two telegrams sent to the Grand Vizier were published side by side with an announcement by Tomas Cook, the secretary of the company. In his announcement, the latter points out that owing to the general strike, the contract between the workers and the company had been cancelled and therefore, the company was ready to hire again even people who had worked there before. However, as we are informed, they did not manage to hire more than 20 people whom the company had fired in the past. In a sharp contrast to the company’s announcement, the strikers’ telegram to the Grand Vizier, on the one hand, aims at the vilification of the company which, after all, was British, while on the other it demonstrates interesting elements of this particular political culture I have mentioned already: Since your highness guarantees the protection of all our interests, with all our heart we wished to abide by your high will and start working. However, the Company today informed us that any work stops and it accepted none of us as its worker. If the government supports the Company, then we will have to seek for work somewhere else. For its misbehavior, the Company bears full responsibility, since it does not recognize to the government its excusive authority to attribute justice.26 It becomes clear that despite the radical character of the strike inscribed in a new culture of mass participation, the loyalty ties between the workers and the government cannot be easily severed, owing to the paternalist patterns of social relations. Moreover, as it has been suggested,27 this loyalty does not only rely on social/political but also national grounds. The company, in its turn, acts independently and does its best to prove that it does not share any of the aforementioned ties.28 Few days later, at a meeting in a school, in the quarter of Aghios Yiannis outside Izmir, the workers invited Kotzamanis to make a speech. There, the director of O Ergatis encouraged them to stand firm to their initial demands. Later on, during the negotiation with the directors of the company, Kotzamanis once again intervened urging the workers to evacuate the railway, if they wished to go on strike. Following his advice, the workers were dispersed. On the next day, they gathered at the

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Church of Aghia Aikaterini and then they visited Enver Bey, at the Kramer Hotel, in order to present their claims.29 It was obvious that the workers had started challenging their own representatives and were getting more aggressive. In the meantime, however, hundreds of people at the Punta train station had been waiting and Mecdet Bey and Kotzamanis were involved in negotiations with the workers, this time in order to convince them to let a train move once again.30 The strikers were eventually convinced but they changed their minds again when it became known that the company intended to prepare a train for departure. Kotzamanis rushed to inform the three Consuls and the British Vice-Consul who were present that the workers ‘preferred to die than let it pass’. He then addressed the workers, arguing that they either had to return to work having lost their honour or fight for their right and not let a train leave. The workers responded enthusiastically and sat down on the rails. Eventually, the director of O Ergatis with workers’ representatives went to inform Enver Bey about the latest developments. When they returned to the railway station, however, the Director of Police reassured them that the strikers would be allowed to drive the train. In the meantime, a huge crowd had gathered in the station, since the workers had also brought their wives and children along. The good news led them to an outbreak of enthusiasm for what was considered a victory but also for the contribution of O Ergatis ‘the protector of the workers’.31 Despite the agreement, though, when the telegraphers were asked to hand over the telegraph station, two individuals, a Greek, Charilaos Balabanis, who is described as a traitor (hafie´) and a Briton, Mr Woren, did not let the strikers in. It is interesting that Mr Woren is said to have sympathized with their cause. He described himself as a Smyrniot, born and brought up there and therefore different from the other English. Eventually, the strikers were allowed to drive the train which was full of furious passengers who continuously threatened them and who now travelled for free. It is worth mentioning at this point that those who would use the telegraph, the leaders of the strikers, the drivers of the train and the station supervisors in Aydin were all Greeks. The newspaper underlines the atmosphere of solidarity among the personnel of the company. In every station it stopped, the train was welcomed with enthusiasm and cheering. Moreover, the station supervisors and the other personnel, who were also disenchanted with the company, offered money to support the strikers.

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This solidarity can very well relate on social grounds. However, since the overwhelming majority of the personnel were Greeks, the ethnic element should not be disregarded either. In any case, the fact that the Greek-speaking public opinion was informed about the events through the newspaper O Ergatis renders these accounts crucial for the perception of the events by the Smyrniot society. Eventually, the train completed its journey through Aydın to Denizli. On the way back, they saw a train full of soldiers moving against them, headed by the British Vice-Consul. The British diplomat was aggressive and even tried to attack someone who had climbed on the telegraph pole. Then, Kotzamanis addressed one of the Ottoman officers who had accompanied them with the following words: ‘Do we live under British or Ottoman one? What is this manner? Either the British Vice-Consul will go, or we are not going to obey. We all obey to the rules but when the army is headed by the English Consul we are not going anywhere.’32 Loyalty to the Ottoman authorities is accompanied this time by an antiimperialist overtone, but also spite against Tomas Cook’s son and a couple of other youngsters, who not only behaved arrogantly but were also described as ‘silly’, for having, during the incident, held their revolvers against the strikers. Kotzamanis concludes that ‘as it is wellknown, the Levantins and the palikaria (brave young Greeks) did not wish to behave like these vagabonds’.33 On 20 September, following an invitation addressed by the strikers of the Aydin railway, an assembly was held at the courtyard of the Church of Aghia Fotini, where several groups of workers were represented.34 Tsourouktsoglou addressed the crowd and informed them about the developments in the strike. Following that, the assembly decided to issue an announcement asking for ‘the protection by the Ottoman government and the hero of freedom Enver Bey for the suppressed rights of the workers’. Tsourouktsoglou and Kotzamanis also addressed the crowd and described the importance of that day which ‘brought together all the workers of Izmir who, from now on, are going to achieve their freedom and get rid of the despotism of the mighty’. Eventually, the crowd in high spirits marched to the Konak, although they could not find Enver Bey at the Kramer Hotel to deliver their resolution. At the same time, the Aydin railway strike is said to have been brought to a victorious end, an outcome of great importance since it was, according to the newspaper, ‘the first strike of such a serious character’.35

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The End of the Strike In fact, this was not the end of the strike. The negotiations once again collapsed upon Barnfield’s insistence for the dismissal of 40 workers who were considered as the prime instigators. The company had realized, the Consul claims, that the only way to avoid similar strikes should be ‘to act firmly and put the question of discipline before any other consideration’. The managing body of the company, in their negotiations with the vali, pointed out that the strike would be terminated only if the government should act firmly and punish the violent among the agitators ‘in as much as terrorism was its one and only source’. The period between 28 September and 6 October is described as a ‘tedious repetition of proposals of arbitration’ which were all prepared by the company with the involvement of Enver, but they were all rejected by the workers. Two incidents which took place during that week and in which an Italian subject was killed and two were wounded demonstrated the firm attitude of the company. The Consul concludes that ‘the moral effect of this determined act was very salutary’ and he deplores both the incapacity of the vali to deal with the emergency but also the ‘defiance of authority’ which prevailed in the city. The company considered tiring out the strikers as the only solution. The strike had been terminated in all places but Izmir. Even Enver Bey had also withdrawn his support, since he considered the strikers ‘unreasonable’. Fuad Bey, the grandson of the Grand Vizier, Kaˆmil Pasha, in his capacity as Director of Political Affairs, had started negotiations with the strikers. On 6 October, the strikers tried to launch a new general strike but they were worn out and eventually accepted the conditions of the company. Payments and hours of work would remain as described in the last agreement.36 Despite the unfortunate conclusion of the strike, the broader initiative among workers it had triggered bore fruit. The task was the creation of a ‘Workers Trade Union’ (Pan1rgatikh´ Έnvsh). This activity soon alerted the Smyrniot business elite groups. In a letter signed by the directors of commercial companies and merchants to the Vali of Aydin Vilayet, it was pointed out that in a period when strikes and popular uprisings which ‘are threatening the peace and order, the progress and prosperity of the country’, there was a need for a person with determination and ability to deal with the emergency. Therefore ¨ sku¨p, member of the they asked for the appointment of Vasfi Bey from U

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CUP, who had served in Izmir for some time in the past and had gained the admiration of the locals. It seems that Vasfi Bey himself was already informed of the initiative, as he had insisted he should have ‘a free hand to form his own staff of assistants, so that the officers under him should no longer be corrupt, illiterate or inefficient’.37 In an article he published in O Ergatis, the Secretary General of the shoemakers’ association referred to the resolution voted in the Aghia Fotini assembly and claimed that the idea of the trade union existed in the hearts of all workers. However, there was need for a leader who would encourage and coordinate them and he was to be found in the person of Kotzamanis.38 A few days later, we come across a similar article by Kotzamanis himself, where he argues for the need of the workers to be united ‘in order to be respected and be included among the proper people’.39 After he attacked the class of capitalists but also the Church, professors and the governments who allied with the capitalists and blinded the people, he concluded by saying that if the workers united ‘we will both release ourselves from slavery and we will be useful to our motherland. And our motherland will love us as a mother and not as a step-mother as it is the case now’.40 We have already described occasions where both O Ergatis and the strikers’ activity as depicted there challenged not only the Ottoman authorities but also the business elites of the city, both of them ostensibly being aware of the people’s interests and taking care of them. Here, however, after a period of fierce conflict and negotiation, while the government, the capitalists and even the Church were decried as the agents of slavery, the motherland was said to represent the only hope for redemption. This resonates with the ideal of an ‘Ottoman motherland’ – as promoted by the Young Turks’ ideology – that would protect all its subjects who, in their turn, would have equal duties. Undoubtedly, the active participation of high-ranking CUP officials in the negotiations during the Aydın railway strike increased the credibility of the Unionist discourse on Ottomanism and inspired the workers, even if they were non-Muslims. Moroni has argued that the editors of O Ergatis, who were not workers themselves, did not differ radically from other members of the Greek Orthodox bourgeoisie, and promoted a corporatist rather than a socialist pattern of social relations: On the one hand, they seem more willing to accommodate workers’ demands; on the other hand, while they, too, want to

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avoid a rupture between workers and the bourgeoisie (or for that matter, the state), they envisage the formers’ incorporation into society at large in different terms: the alliance between different segments of society, which they propose, is based no longer exclusively on the traditional values and structures; the aims of this alliance are new as well.41 This approach takes for granted that there was both a Greek Orthodox bourgeoisie with a well-defined ideology and also a clear socialist ideology according to which we can measure the deviations of any relevant project. Thus, it runs the danger of retrospectively applying later configurations to a historical period with different characteristics. On the other hand, the argument on their corporatist, and even populist, new aims and alliances is absolutely valid, which discourse supports. In any case, the fact remains that the Unionist discourse inspired a harsh social criticism which would have its repercussions within the Greek Orthodox community and which would have been unthinkable a few months earlier.42 It seems, though, that the initiative for the foundation of a trade union did not find enthusiastic support. This might have also been due to the eventual suppression of all strikes that must have triggered disappointment. In an article in O Ergatis, the representative of the association of shoemakers complained that the Greeks did not bother to participate since they were characterized by laziness and divisiveness. In the meeting which was held in the Girls School of Aghia Aikaterini where the trade union was supposed to be discussed, very few showed up. Then, the author criticized the practice adopted by the leaders of the guilds. The accusation regards the People’s Centre (Laı¨ko´n K1´ntron). This centre had been established a year earlier with the task of offering lectures and courses for the illiterate population, a kind of Open University. The author accused the leaders of the guilds of cooperating with mighty figures who offered them protection as long as the latter contributed in their projects to publish a newspaper and ‘enlighten the people’. It seems that this protest found friendly ears, since soon afterwards we come across in O Ergatis, signed by membersrepresentatives of 13 different guilds, a petition for the establishment of a club which would become the ‘centre’ for the education and the social activities of the workers:

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a simple workers’ center, a sitting room which will be our club and our school and our reading room. In our center, all workers from every guild will gather, avoiding any other place and activity that distorts us materially and morally. There, we’ll get used to the rational conversation enjoying our beverage, instead of going to the taverns [. . .] there we’ll unite, we’ll fraternize, we’ll realize the great importance of solidarity and of helping each other [. . .] most importantly, however, in the center, we will be enlightened by regular instruction on social matters [. . .] with these courses we will realize why we suffer and how we can change our conditions.43 Let us recall, here, that similar courses for the Muslim population were organized by the CUP clubs in the city. In the Smyrniot newspaper Ittihad, we frequently come across the full texts of lectures that were delivered there. The purpose of this activity was precisely the ‘enlightenment’ of the people. What is interesting in this case is that this ‘enlightenment’ appeared to have radical social implications. In other words, one the one hand, it aimed at protecting the workers from social corruption (taverns, prostitution, etc.) while on the other it wished to counterbalance similar activity initiated by the community authorities which intended to educate the lower strata of the population, inspiring, at the same time, loyalty to the social norms and thus incorporating them to the community institutions. The repercussions that such a criticism could have on the Smyrniot Greek community became even more evident during the agitation revolving around the strike of the marble carvers. In an article in O Ergatis, the author claims that after the owners of marble workshops had used any other swindle in order to convince them to return to work, certain Greek citizens among them reported to the Ottoman authorities that the board of the workers union and its president, Greek citizens as well, did not let the workers return to their shops. They even threatened to kill them if they did not obey. On the board there were, however, two Ottoman subjects, who were obviously excluded from this accusation. After this initiative did not bear any fruit either, they started bribing the workers with higher salaries in order to confess that they had been indeed threatened by the board of the union. And the article concludes:

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this we leave to the people to judge and make their own decision. The time when they could, by sparing a mecid [mecidiye???] to the police, arrange their business and destroy the people belongs to the past. It is the Constitution now, wise guys and your kingdom has come to an end.44 There were cases in the past when Ottoman Greeks had addressed the Ottoman authorities with requests to intervene in the community affairs against Hellenic subjects and had been depicted as traitors. In this case, the individuals involved in a similar incident are all Greek subjects. The accusation for national treason, however, has been transformed now to a denunciation of a whole set of political practices pertinent to the past. The new era of the Ottoman polity was expected to sweep away such behaviour. Ironically, it was O Ergatis that disappeared with the military law proclaimed after the counter-revolution of 31 March 1909. Its director Dimitris Kotzamanis did not disappear. Interestingly, and very much revealing the confusion prevailing at that time among socialist circles, he appears to have cooperated with the pan-Hellenic organization, the secret association which was coordinated by the Hellenic Ministry of Foreign Affairs.45 If one considers the wholehearted support he had initially offered to the Young Turk policies, this shift is puzzling and cannot just be explained through his disenchantment with the new regime. In a letter to the Ministry, we read: Our struggle goes on. (We pursue) anything to be done without sparing any danger or even death. Unfortunately, however, we need people, people whose only symbol or idea will be the fatherland, and there exist very few of them. Here, there is a preacher who, high from the rostrum, does not speak of Christ and God but of the City (Constantinople) and Macedonia. This person was slandered in the Konak a few days ago. By whom? By Greeks!! They are well known to the consulate. So, it is necessary first to get rid of them. I am sure that you will not forget us. And since we are talking of traitors a few days ago Hristovasilis arrived here. His relations with the real patriots do not seem very good since every day he is among the abovementioned traitors, who slandered the preacher, and he is always getting together with the officers,

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buying them dinner and the like. Is he really on a mission or he is taking advantage of the circumstances [. . .] here our enemies are too provocative. We, however, we’ll be waiting the signal until the last moment and our patience will be worn out only if the fatherland considers necessary the sacrifice of our life. As an answer to his letter, Kotzamanis received instructions to be patient and careful on issues delicate for the Turks. We should not forget, though, that O Ergatis, as it was the case with all Greek-speaking socialist newspapers which appeared at the same period in the Empire, did not manage to efficiently address the nationality issue.

Concluding Remarks The first months after the Young Turk Revolution were marked by manifestations of social discontent that frequently took the form of massive strikes. As the case of the railway strike of Aydın demonstrates, despite interim achievements, these ventures eventually failed to significantly improve labour conditions. They paved the ground, however, for the rise of social and national awareness among its participants. The British company was clearly targeted by the workers as both a foreign and a capitalist agent, whereas the government was addressed as the legitimate authority that should defend their rights against any abuse. The attempt of the latter to both retain order and meet the strikers’ demands proved a difficult task to fulfil. Eventually, order was deemed more precious. This choice, together with the determination to support a local industrial activity where, however, the Muslim population was privileged, together with the boycotts against the Greek commerce that started a few months later, would alienate many among those workers who were Christians. That was not the only reason, however, behind the failure to organize a viable worker’s movement. The traditional fragmentation between the diverse guilds and the suspicion between different ethnic groups, even between Ottoman Greeks and Hellenic Greeks occasionally, defeated any attempt to set up a central decision mechanism. The local press played a particularly important role both in reporting on the strike as well as formulating the demands of the strikers. Eventually, leading journalists were even assigned to negotiate on the

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latter’s behalf with the company. Nevertheless, the crackdown on the freedom of the press in April 1909, with the new law on censorship, as a result of the 31 March counter-revolution, both brought to an end any agitation among the labour force and also radicalized some journalists who saw no hope in defending the integrity of the Empire and the legitimacy of its authority.

Notes 1. Unrevised last draft. 2. Yavuz Selim Karakıs¸la, ‘The Emergence of the Ottoman Industrial Working Class, 1839– 1923’, in Donald Quataert and Erik-Jan Zu¨rcher (eds), Workers and the Working Class in the Ottoman Empire and the Turkish Republic, 1839– 1950, (London: I.B.Tauris, 1995), pp. 19 – 34. 3. A.M.A.E. (Nantes), No. 166, Situation a` Smyrne, Paul Blanc (Smyrne) to Constans (Constantinople), 24 Aouˆt 1908. 4. PRO 195/2299 Burnham (Smyrna) to Lowther (Constantinople), No. 86, 11 August 1908. 5. At this stage of the unrest, the CUP demonstrates a generosity in dealing with public demands. We are informed that after a comparison between the rate of wages and the cost of living in Istanbul and Salonica, the rate of wages paid in Izmir was proved to be higher. Yet, concessions were made. An increase in the wages of about 20 per cent to each class of worker was made, double pay for night work and reduced hours of labour were introduced, and an agreement was reached that the porters would receive their wages not from the head porters, who were obviously deducting part of it, but directly from the Shipping Firm. PRO 195/2299 Burnham (Smyrna) to Lowther (Constantinople), No. 89, 18 August 1908. 6. PRO No. 89, 18 August 1908, ibid. 7. PRO 195/2299 Heathcoat-Smith (Smyrna) to Lowther (Constantinople), No. 97, 14 September 1908. 8. O Ergatis, No. 19, 6 December 1908, ‘Ta όrgia toy sidhrodrόmoy Aϊdinίoy’ [The orgies of the Aydin Railway]. 9. O Ergatis, No. 20, 13 December 1908, ‘Ta όrgia toy sidhrodrόmoy Aϊdinίoy’ [The orgies of the Aydin Railway]. Whether this was the case or not, it is not surprising that the conflict with the company during the strike would soon acquire an ethnic character. 10. PRO, No. 97, 14 September 1908, ibid. 11. According to the Vice-Consul, only four engines were functioning and the transportation of goods was not possible. Moreover, the strikers had begun ‘to draw knives and behave threateningly’, ibid. 12. PRO, No. 97, 14 September 1908, ibid. The agreement would eventually collapse upon lack of understanding regarding the hours of work per day.

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13.

14.

15. 16. 17.

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The company insisted on 10, whereas the workers on 8.5 hours per day. Interestingly, the CUP intervened in order, this time, to convince the company to accept the demand, but Barnfield was unwilling to negotiate. Mehmet Mecdet Bey was one of the prominent figures of the local CUP and he had been imprisoned for his activity. His fame must have reached Paris, since in an article in L’Humanite´ he was described as one of the most devout socialists in the Ottoman Empire, see Paul Dumont, ‘Sources ine´dites pour l’ histoire du mouvement ouvrier et des courants socialistes dans l’ Empire Ottoman au de´but du XXe sie`cle’, in Paul Dumont, Du Socialisme Ottoman a` l’ Internationalisme Anatolien, (Istanbul: Isis, 1997), pp. 21 – 39. As it has been pointed out by Moroni, in her book on the Smyrniot socialist newspaper, despite the fact the O Ergatis, gradually seemed to get disillusioned with the policies of the Young Turks, Mehmet Mecdet Bey appears as its owner until the very end, Anastasia-Ileana Moroni, O Ergatis, 1908 – 1909: Ottomanism, National Economy and Modernization in the Ottoman Empire (Istanbul: Libra, 2010). It might be the case, however, that he had been disappointed with certain policies, himself as well. Following his involvement in the strike, he is described by the British Vice-Consul as ‘a rabid socialist’. The British diplomat is amazed at the fact that a government official could publish a socialist newspaper and he adds: ‘In its last edition, he congratulated the men on their victory over the company and stigmatized those who were willing to work during the strike as traitors. He seems an honest man, but he is a visionary- and an extremely dangerous one’. PRO, No. 97, 14 September 1908, ibid. The General Manager had already addressed the British Consul with the following note: ‘. . . After twice coming to terms, men instigated by a few turbulent characters are again about to strike. The question would be settled if authorities would make some assets but they neglect to do so. Concessions already granted by the Company are deficiently generous and will cost them about 20.000 pounds. It is imperative that strike should end at once as every description of produce is waiting transport up country, especially figs.’ PRO 195/2299, No. 162, Burnham (Smyrna) to Lowther (Constantinople), 6 September 1908. PRO, No. 97, 14 September 1908, ibid. A.M.A.E, No. 166, Situation a` Smyrne, 24 Aouˆt 1908, ibid. The concessions provided by the company were a 15 per cent increase on salaries up to 500 piastres monthly and a 10 per cent for those above this sum. The ten hours working day would be maintained, except for three months in the winter, when it would be 9.5 hours, instead of the 10.5 hours day all year long which was the case until then. Moreover, none of the permanent staff would be dismissed, even if they were redundant while day labourers would be employed by the month, after they had served for five years. Eventually, pension funds and insurance against accident would be left to the Administration Council for consideration.

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18. PRO, 195/2299, No. 97, 14 September 1908, ibid. 19. PRO, 195/2299, No. 165, Burnham (Smyrna) to Lowther (Constantinople), 13 September 1908. 20. In the first issue of O Ergatis, Tsourouktsoglou signs an invitation to all the workers of Izmir to participate in a gathering on the 29 August, in the Church of Aghia Fotini, in order to declare their loyalty to the workers’ association. The other three individuals who signed the invitation were G.N. Vergis, I. Tsitsoglou and Sevos Zervos for whom we have no information. The Greek journalist and activist was a very dear figure not only among the workers but also among his colleagues. In a city where the wars between journals were part of the community everyday life, we did not trace any attack against him. It is worth mentioning, however, that during this whole period, newspaper Amalthia which not only supported the Greek interests but also endorsed Ottomanism did not make any reference to the strike. 21. O Ergatis, ‘Nέa Ap1rgίa tvn ypallήlvn toy sidhrodrόmoy Aϊdinίoy’ (New strike of the workers in the Aydin railway) No. 7, 18 September 1908. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid. 24. When the delegation made up by the Commander-in-Chief Selahatin Bey, Major Enver Bey and other significant figures was expected in Izmir, the local CUP branch urged the population to prepare the welcome ceremonies, Hizmet, 6 Tes¸rinievvel 1908 quoted in C¸ag˘lan Engin, ‘I˙ttihat ve Terakki’nin kurulus¸u ve I˙zmir o¨rgu¨tlenmesi [The establishment of the Committee of Union and Progress and the setting up of a branch in Izmir]’, unpublished MA dissertation, Ege U¨niversitesi, 1994, 86. When the delegation arrived eventually, it was welcomed with enthusiasm. In order to express their gratitude, the Smyrniots decided to offer to Niyazi Bey and Enver Bey two very expensive swords as presents and also buy two boats and name them after the two heroes of the Revolution. For these expenses, a campaign for the collection of money was initiated. Ziya Somar, Bir S¸ehrin ve bir Adamın: Tevfik Nevzad (Izmir: Ahenk Matbaası, 1948), p. 148. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid. 27. Moroni has convincingly demonstrated that the articles of O Ergatis promoted Ottoman patriotism. We constantly come across evocations to ‘fatherland’, ‘nation’, ‘our country’, ‘our land’ in reference to the Ottoman Empire: Moroni, O Ergatis 1908– 1909. 28. O Ergatis, ‘New strike of the workers in the Aydin railway’. 29. O Ergatis, ‘H Ap1rgίa tvn ypallήlvn toy sidhrodrόmoy Aϊdinίoy’ [The strike of the workers in the Aydin railway] No. 8, Sunday 2 September, 1908. 30. At the same time, long negotiations took place in the Konak among Kotzamanis and the representatives of the workers, on the one hand, and the vali, the mayor and the director of the police, on the other. The workers spent

SOCIAL UNREST

31. 32. 33. 34.

35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42.

43. 44. 45.

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the night near the rail lines in the hope that Barnfield might give them permission in the morning. In the morning, a group of deveci (camel owners) appeared with a Turkish flag and started shouting slogans against Barnfield in Turkish and Greek, since they realized it was because of him that they could not return to their places. They also threatened to attack his place but they were appeased by the strikers, O Ergatis, ‘The strike of the workers in the Aydin railway’. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. The councils of many workers associations (1rgatikέ6 1nώs1i6) which was the term now used in order to describe the guilds (synt1xnί16, esnafs), took part in the Assembly. Among them, the shoemakers, tailors, marble carvers, hairdressers, the Hellenic association of shop assistants, the personnel of the Casaba railway, workers from the factories of Posis, Isigonis, Rankin, Dima. O Ergatis, No. 9, H Lύsi6 th6 Ap1rgίa6-H nίkh tvn ap1rgώn [The end of the strike – The victory of the strikers], 25 September 1908. PRO 195/2299, No. 106, 7 October 1908, Burnham (Smyrna) to Lowther (Constantinople). PRO 195/2299, No. 106, 7 October 1908, Burnham (Smyrna) to Lowther (Constantinople). PRO 195/2299, No. 99 Burnham (Smyrna) to Lowther (Constantinople), 24 September 1908. O Ergatis, Na 1nvuoύm1 (Let us be united), No. 9, 25 September 1908. Ibid., No. 11, 5 October 1908, ‘u’ arxίsoyn1 na ma6 logariάzoyn1 kai ma6 kai ua ma6 bάnoyn1 sth tάjh tvn anurώpvn’. Ibid., ‘kai to 1aytό ma6 ua apallάjoym1 ap’ th sklabiά kai sthn Patrίda ua wanoύm1 xrήsimoi. Kai h Patrίda ua ma6 agapήsh tόt1 kai ma6 san Mάnna kai όxi san mhtriά όpv6 tώra ma6 έx1i’. Moroni, O Ergatis 1908– 1909, p. 49. O Ergatis, ‘Dia ton pan1rgatikόn Sύllogon’ [Regarding the workers association], No. 14, 26 October 1908. If we consider the fact that in Amalthia, none of the activities discussed in O Ergatis appear, while on the contrary, all the activities of the People’s Centre are described in detail, we can speculate that the author implies Sokratis Solomonidis, the mighty figure of the Community administration who had taken upon himself to reorganize the guilds and thus control them. O Ergatis, Gia toy6 1rgάt16 [For the workers], No. 21, 20 December 1908. O Ergatis, Mia άtimh kai prodotikή prάji, ‘A dishonest and treacherous action’, No. 12, 13 October 1908. Arx1ίo Ypoyrg1ίoy Ejvt1rikώn, AYE (Archive of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs), Pan1llήnio6 orgάnvsi6 [Panhellenic Organisation], 28 May 1909.

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References Primary Sources

Archives du Ministe`re des Affaires e´trange`res (Nantes), Consulat de Smyrne, 1908. Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Greece: Panhellenic Organization, 28 May 1909. Public Record Office (PRO), 195/2299, 1908. O Ergatis (1908).

Secondary Sources

Dumont, Paul, ‘Sources ine´dites pour l’ histoire du mouvement ouvrier et des courants socialistes dans l’ Empire Ottoman au de´but du XXe sie`cle’, in P. Dumont, Du Socialisme Ottoman a` l’Internationalisme Anatolien (Istanbul: Isis, 1997), pp. 21 – 39. Engin, C¸ag˘lan, ‘I˙ttihat ve Terakki’nin kurulus¸u ve I˙zmir o¨rgu¨tlenmesi’, unpublished MA dissertation, Ege U¨niversitesi, 1994. Karakıs¸la, Yavuz Selim, ‘The Emergence of the Ottoman Industrial Working Class, 1839– 1923’, in Quataert, Donald and Zu¨rcher, Erik-Jan (eds), Workers and the Working Class in the Ottoman Empire and the Turkish Republic, 1839– 1950, (London: I.B.Tauris, 1995), pp. 19– 34. Moroni, Anastasia-Ileana, O Ergatis, 1908– 1909: Ottomanism, National Economy and Modernization in the Ottoman Empire (Istanbul: Libra, 2010). Somar, Ziya, Bir S¸ehrin ve bir Adamın Tarihi: Tevfik Nevzad (Izmir: Ahenk Matbaası, 1948).

CHAPTER 7

`

RELIGION, POLITICS AND SOCIETY IN THE WAKE OF THE YOUNG TURK REVOLUTION: THE RAMADAN OF FREEDOM' IN ISTANBUL Francois Georgeon

In a previous work about Ramadan from the Ottoman Empire to the Republic of Turkey,1 I tried to show that during the nineteenth century secularization and modernization reforms, instead of weakening the importance of the month of fasting in the religious, economic, social and cultural life of Istanbul, had on the contrary contributed to its unprecedented expansion throughout the Ottoman Empire; that from this point of view, the reign of Abdu¨lhamid II (1876 – 1909) corresponded with a sort of Golden Age of Ramadan; that the Islamic holy month was at the ‘centre’ of the life of the Ottoman capital then, both on a geographical level (the Direklerarası district near the S¸ehzade mosque) and on a temporal level (the notion of lived time for Muslims); I had stated as a conclusion that this situation had deeply changed over a few decades since, right before World War II, Ramadan had become almost invisible in the city, almost reduced to its domestic practice and religious dimension. The most recurrent question was to know when and why such a change occurred. And the outcome of a prompt analysis was that,

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contrary to what one may think, this change did not date back to when the Kemalist power followed its policy of secularism, but had already started to appear during the Young Turk era.2 Therefore, it seemed appropriate to ponder the role played by the Young Turk Revolution of 1908 in this process. This is what I propose to do in the following pages. In 1908, the month of fasting started on 27 September and ended on 26 October, and was followed by the holiday of ‘Small Eid’, called s¸eker bayramı (Sweet Festival) by the Turkish people or simply bayram. It thus took place two months after the Young Turk Revolution of 24 July, which ended the autocratic regime of Abdu¨lhamid II and restored the Constitution of 1876. The two months following 24 July were eventful: the atmosphere of the holiday and joyful events celebrating the advent of freedom, fraternization between communities, political reforms, the exiles’ return, which were soon to be followed by a series of social challenges (wave of strikes starting in August), political challenges (implementation of a new regime) and diplomatic challenges (tensions with Bulgaria throughout the month of September). During Ramadan itself, a major diplomatic crisis broke out, caused by the Bulgarian proclamation of independence, the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina by Austria and of Crete by Greece. Then followed the boycott of Austria and all the great events it triggered, and at last, the preparation of the Ottoman Parliament elections. In this particular context, a certain number of questions may be asked. How did the Ramadan of 1908 go in the Ottoman capital? To what extent was it in the continuity of the previous ones? Did new elements arise in its course? Was the Young Turk Revolution a turning point in the history of this major Islamic rite? And was it a turning point in the relations between politics, society and religion? And, on a larger scale, how can a study on Ramadan contribute to the great historiographical issue which is to know whether the Young Turk Revolution meant a rupture or a continuation in the history of the fall of the Ottoman Empire?

An Ordinary Ramadan At first, according to the sources we have, the Ramadan of 1908 showed a striking continuity with those of the previous years.3 The religious ritual did not change; as usual, from dawn to dusk, the day was punctuated by the prayer times, the iftar (fast breaking), the teravih

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prayer, which is peculiar to Ramadan, the crowd grew denser in mosques, people would visit convents, turbes, cemeteries and the tombs of the Saints, the meditation of the Night of Destiny, the 26th day of the month (Kadir Gecesi). Also, the Islamic ‘clergy’ were more present in the city; the sultan himself would take part in religious customs, such as the ‘lectures in the imperial presence’ (huzur dersleri) given at the Palace by great ulamas, or by going to Topkapı, the former palace, in order to visit the Sacred Relics (hırka-ı saadet). Generally, the atmosphere of the city was more religiously tinged than usual. Mosques would be floodlit, and between the taller minarets, religious inscriptions (mahya) such as ‘Welcome to the Holy Month of Ramadan’ (Hos¸ geldin mu¨barek Ramazan), would be drawn in the night sky. It was also the case for the social rites related to Ramadan: iftar meals gathering the extended family, neighbours or friends, visits to parents and close relatives, gifts at the end of the month, traditional entertainment such as strolling, sitting in cafes and tea houses, Karago¨z shows, ‘middle shows’ (orta oyunu) – a sort of Commedia dell’arte, with puppets, wrestling, music and more recent entertainment such as theatre and cinema, which joined this entertainment peculiar to the month of fasting. The time rhythm was similar, chanted with calls to prayer and the cannon announcing the end of the daily fast. Political rituals were also involved: the iftar meals given by the sultan in the Palace, by the Grand Vizier, the ministers and dignitaries in their residences, the sultan visiting the relics of the Prophet on the 15th of the month, and, for the bayram, the ceremony of religious observance (muayede) at the Dolmabahce Palace. As for Ramadan nights in Istanbul, an article from the humoristic magazine called Kalem gives an accurate description.4 The typical night would begin with a visit of the exhibition in the yard of the Beyazıd mosque, where merchants would sell spices, vegetables in brine, prayer beads, tobaccos; then people would rush home, loaded with sesame breads or brioches, in order to arrive in time for the fast breaking meal; poor people and even some employees would gather in front of pashas’ doors so that they could enjoy a graciously given iftar too; then, among olives, soup, pilaf and stewed fruits, the spectacle ‘of hands going back and forth like horses on a merry-go-round’ would begin, along with that of the bones, meats and carcasses piling up on ‘copper trays, which soon looked like battlefields’; then a crowd would gather in Direklerarası with

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pupils, theological students, dandies; women would start yelling at male assaults; once the teravih prayer was over, crowds would form in front of theatres and shows; and at last came the moment of the drummer (davulcu), announcing with his big drum that it was time to go home; customers would vacate the square and scatter in the soon dark and silent Istanbul streets. At dawn, ‘there [was] no one left in the streets except for dogs barking’. Finally, this same article describes, still with a satirical tone, the Night of Destiny (Kadir gecesi) celebrating the revelation of the Qur’an; on this night, it was customary to go to Ayasofya in order to expiate for the sins of the past year. A huge crowd would fill the cafes around the square and yard of the mosque, where ‘every blind, ill, poor and wretched person in town’ and ‘mother beggars holding future beggars in their arms’ would gather, all of them waiting for alms; the square was filled with smoke from kebab and food stands; at the mosque’s door, men would take off their shoes, ‘standing on one leg like gooses, hopping, before falling over each other.’ It was almost impossible to force one’s way across this mass where everyone ‘under the immense golden and azure dome disappearing in the smokes, would pray for the remission of their sins’.5

A Very Political Month Despite this first impression of continuity, a mere glance at the Ottoman daily press during the first decade of the twentieth century reveals a striking change in 1908. Before this date, the month of fasting was the occasion for what we would call today, much more ‘media coverage’. While they were closely controlled by the censorship of Sultan Abdu¨lhamid’s authoritarian regime, newspapers would give a lot of importance to the holy month and the whole thing was sprinkled with endless fawning over the sultan. On the first day, there were main headlines on the matter in the newspapers, often all over the front page, and a special editorial. On the 15th of the month, the visit of the sultan to the relics of the Prophet in the former Topkapı palace was very widely covered; therefore, in 1907, the I˙kdam newspaper dedicated a whole page to the ceremony. The Night of Destiny and bayram were also major topics. Apart from these particular days, the press was full of information and details about Ramadan: calendar of the month, descriptions, talks,

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funny short stories and dialogues, additional boat schedules, and also advertisements for products used only on this special occasion. Newspapers listed the prominent citizens and dignitaries who were invited for the imperial iftar given at the Yıldız Palace; thus, in 1907, the I˙kdam published a list which took no fewer than 84 lines!6 This media weight for the month of fasting has to be related to the regime of Abdu¨lhamid, who took advantage of this major occasion to justify his power as a Caliph. Yet, when Ramadan started on 27 September 1908, the Ottoman press was much quieter. Let us take the case of the I˙kdam: on the 1st of the month, the newspaper did announce the coming of the holy month, but in 12 lines and on two columns; on this day, the editorial was dedicated to the relations between the Ottoman government and the Principality of Bulgaria, and the front page also read titles about the forthcoming Parliament elections; on the 2nd, Austrian politics held the first place, with the deliberations of the Council of Ministers and a series of articles about the Balkans political events; on the 3rd, Cavid Bey published an article about commercial teaching, and again topics revolved around Bulgaria and the elections. On the 4th, the editorial dealt with social education and the elections issue. After the 6th, the newspaper was almost entirely dedicated to the new economic and diplomatic situation, the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina and the independence of Bulgaria, the following boycott of Austria, the preparation of the elections. Some news items with political repercussions also made the front page, such as a ‘reactionary’ type of incident in Fatih on 6 October, and a crime committed against a GreekTurkish couple in Bes¸iktas¸ on the 13th of the same month. The ritual visit to the relics in the middle of the month and the bayram were barely mentioned in the newspaper this time. As regards this change, the explanation which comes to mind is the weight of the internal and external political context – in particular the major diplomatic crisis of 5 and 6 October, and the preparation of the general elections. Indeed, there seemed to be a political ‘saturation’ which did not leave much space to the ‘regular’, social, cultural and religious events; in this light, Ramadan, with its deeply ingrained and unsurprising rituals and customs, would have given way to political events. Under the reign of Abdu¨lhamid, newspapers and magazines carefully specified in their subtitles that they talked about everything

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but politics (siyasetten ma’ada hers¸eyden bahs eder); we could state that after 1908, they only talked about politics! Apart from being a religious ritual, Ramadan has always entailed a political dimension.7 At the time of Abdu¨lhamid, it gave the chance to the sultan to show and justify his power as an Islamic Caliph; he was most often secluded in his palace and the holy month was an opportunity to go out of Yıldız, especially on the 15th of the month, when he would go to Topkapı to meditate at the Sacred Relics of the Prophet. In his reign, it was the most important moment of the month, along with the first day of the bayram, when he would go the Dolmabahce Palace where the ceremony of religious observance (muayede) traditionally took place. Apart from these outings, the ‘lectures in the imperial presence’ were another opportunity to assert the religious dimension of the Sultan Caliph’s power as well as the synthesis between the state and Islam (din u¨ devlet). In 1908, two months after the revolution, the main political challenges of Ramadan were no longer its major moments or the closing feast – the Palace kept using their symbolic dimension but in a more quiet way;8 another dimension was at stake then: communication. We can state that, indeed, Ramadan was the month of communication par excellence. The latter was possible through the religious network, where, in mosques, the public was both more numerous and receptive to sermons (va’az) than usual. Besides, it should be recalled that the literacy rate was very low; regardless of the importance of the press, it only concerned a small minority while it was very different for sermons in mosques, especially during Ramadan.9 For ulamas and members of the Islamic ‘clergy’, Ramadan was the best time for mobilization, to get political or religious messages across to the faithful, to indoctrinate the public, and the moment when their role of ‘opinion shapers’ became of real importance. It was not only true in major mosques, but also in smaller local or village oratories; students of theology (softa), who were trained in the big cities’ madrassas, would use the month of Ramadan to practise their preaching skills in villages (cerre gitmek). Therefore, it was mainly during this month that the ‘clergy’ had the means to ‘shape the public opinion’.10 It is thus not surprising that the Young Turks, in order to strengthen a still fragile power, felt concerned by this dimension of Ramadan. Right from the beginning of the month, they tried to mobilize preachers (vaiz)

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in mosques for political propaganda. On 2 Ramadan [28 September], an article by the CUP organization, the I˙ttihad ve Terakki, tackled the Ramadan sermons issue: the author states that under the former regime, mosques were watched by spies; a preacher could be sent into exile ‘like a criminal’ (bir cani gibi) for a wrong word, and people were afraid of going to the mosque; but he announces joyfully that at the present time, ulamas and preachers could deliver their sermons freely.11 However, the day after, a circular letter published in the official gazette called Takvim-i vekayi (the Events Calendar), asked the students of theology who were about to go to small towns and villages not to waste time with vain and hollow advice in their preaching, but to speak in favour of the Constitution by showing that the latter matched perfectly the precepts of Islam.12 If the CUP strove to win the religious spheres over to the constitutional regime’s cause, it was also as a response to the accusations of godlessness or even atheism which were constantly made against it. The Young Turks were blamed for ‘spending more time in Pera cafes than in mosques’;13 they were held responsible for the sudden moral debasement, suspected of wanting to subject madrassa students to examinations, meaning that those who failed would no longer benefit from the traditional exemption from military service. The hostility of certain religious spheres to the CUP showed several times during the month of Ramadan: thus, on 6 October, in an atmosphere disturbed by the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina by Austria, a certain Ko¨r Ali, a preacher from the mosque of Halıcılar, delivered a very provocative sermon at the mosque of Fatih in which he harshly criticized the new regime and absence of morals; with about a hundred companions, he went to the Yıldız Palace and addressed the sultan in these words: ‘there is no flock without a shepherd’ (cobansız su¨ru¨ olmaz).14 Other similar but less important events took place; on 6 October, in the Yeni Cami ¨ sku¨dar, an imam from the mosque organized what the mosque, in U Stamboul called ‘a monomial’15 where demonstrators invaded cafes where Karago¨z shows were staged, tore their stage curtains on the pretext that their shows were immoral; on the 9th, also at the mosque of Fatih, someone interrupted the preacher by screaming: ‘Do we really have a padis¸ah?’, and threatened the audience with a knife before being controlled by the crowd.16 In short, during the Ramadan of 1908, the partisans and opponents of the Young Turks tried to use the communication network in order to get

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their ideas across and attempted to ‘mobilize’ the public opinion in favour of their cause. From this moment, preaching in mosques became a true political challenge. In 1909, in an article from the Beyan u¨l-Hakk, Mustafa Sabri, one of the great ulamas of this time, suggested that madrassa students (talebe-i ulum) should be careful to explain the constitutional regime accurately.17 Another article from the Beyan u¨l-Hakk recommended that committees should be formed under the direction of muftis in order to deal with the mediocrity of sermons and write templates. Thus, very quickly, under the impulsion of the Committee of Union and Progress, books were written, such as the Mevaiz-i Diniye (religious preaching) published by the S¸ehzadebas¸ı CUP club.18 In 1910, Rachid Ridha, the great reformer of Islam and editor of the el-Manar in Cairo, came to the Ottoman capital for Ramadan and was puzzled by the content of the preaching he heard in mosques: there was in Istanbul something that existed nowhere else, he noticed, neither in Egypt, nor in Syria; ‘political preaching’.19

An Economic Insight Ramadan always had a particular place in the economic life of Muslim countries; it is indeed a month of alms, charity and donation. Ottomans gave extreme importance to this aspect of social life: in the Ottoman language, there is an extensive vocabulary for all sorts of donations and gifts: apart from traditional Islamic alms (sadakat, zekat and fitre – the latter being specific to the bayram), there are several terms such as ikramiye, hediye, atiye, and expressions peculiar to the month of fasting like ramazaniye, iydiye or iftariye. Another custom called dis¸ kirası (literally, ‘teeth rent’) refers to a gift that rich dignitaries or pashas would give to the poor after giving them a fastbreaking meal in their private house. Ramadan was also the month of consumption. This paradox has often been highlighted: the month of fasting was also the month when Muslims spent the most, not only on food products to prepare iftar meals, but also on leisure and entertainment; not to mention the money spent for the bayram, when it was customary to renew one’s wardrobe, buy new clothes for the children, and give presents to parents or friends. Moreover, on these two points, Ramadan economy is similar to the Ramadan political dimension: indeed, the sultan, ministers and

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dignitaries were duty bound to give to those working at their service or in their offices. Besides, the sultan had to make sure that his subjects could spend the month of fasting with dignity, namely, that they could afford the expenses specific to this month; his credibility and legitimacy were at stake. This is why, under the reign of Abdu¨lhamid, at a time of great financial difficulties for the Empire, while the state could not pay its employees on a regular basis, the sultan was careful to pay all salaries and arrears at the end of the month of s¸aban, a few days before the beginning of the month of fasting, and he would see to it that this gesture was considered as a sign of imperial generosity. However, in 1908, Ramadan economy underwent two major changes. First of all, it concerned redistribution: during the first days of the month, the Istanbul newspapers announced the abolition of a custom for ministers, senior officers from the imperial chancery and dignitaries, which consisted in giving presents (atiye) to their personnel; the motive they gave was that it generated enormous expenses (bircok mebalig˘in israf ve istihlaˆki). The I˙kdam newspaper added another interesting motive to this reason, and it shows well the revolution ideological atmosphere: ‘Since state employees and people living in provinces cannot benefit from these gifts, and that it creates an inequality (mu¨savatsızlıg˘ı), we decided to abolish it.’!20 In 1908, the custom of dis¸ kirası disappeared too, and the same year, statesmen and prominent citizens stopped supporting imams for the collective prayer of the holy month, in their private residence (konak).21 All these economic changes are to be related to the atmosphere hanging over Istanbul since the revolution and especially the inflation which had been persisting for several years and heavily impacting on the purchasing power of the Istanbul middle class.22 There is another aspect concerning food, provisions and miscellaneous expenses which were higher than usual for people, especially during the bayram. After the revolution and apart from the increase in prices, the Istanbul economic situation worsened because of the great summer strikes, and the boycott of Austrian products.23 During the boycott demonstrations – which started on 6 October, or 10 Ramadan – some of the watchwords that could be heard were: ‘Buy Ottoman fez’, instead of buying the usual ones which came from Austria-Hungary, and more generally: ‘Buy Turkish products.’ The same watchword was repeated about the bayram products: in anticipation of the forthcoming festival, the editorial of the Sabah dated 14 Ramadan [10 October] asked

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Ottoman people not to buy Austrian products; the best thing to do, it reads, is to purchase in national stores in order to boost the national economy (sanayi-i dahiliyemizi tes¸vike calisalım) or to avoid buying new clothes.24 In the same line of ideas, in a long article entitled ‘Sermon for women’, Fatma Aliye, the famous novelist and writer, insists that her female fellows should buy gifts made in the Empire (yerli malı): A large part of the national wealth is dedicated to fashion items, money flows in abundance for this type of products [. . .] This year, couldn’t we give clothes made with fabrics from Damascus, Hama, Alep or Hereke as Ramadan gifts? [. . .] It would be great if, for this bayram, all the family, husband, wife and children, could wear local fabrics.25

Ramadan Threatened by Freedom Was the Young Turk Revolution a lifestyle revolution as well? It is true that, according to some accounts, behaviours started to loosen and religious practice started to weaken, in particular in Istanbul. But such a situation was not completely new: during the Abdu¨lhamid era, repeated calls to order regarding Muslim women’s clothing, alcohol or gambling (kumar) for Muslims, confirm that this phenomenon existed way before 1908. With the revolution, transgressive behaviour became more frequent and more public. We can justly say that a certain social ‘emotional release’ occurred in big cities in reaction against the moral and religious order which Abdu¨lhamid tried to impose, in particular in Istanbul, the headquarters of the Caliphate; this phenomenon gained visibility during the Ramadan of 1908 in two different fields; emancipation of women and transgression of the fast. Right after the revolution of July, women would go out more in public places with lighter clothes, they would take part in demonstrations, speak in meetings, create women’s associations, publish women’s newspapers and magazines. Apparently, these behaviours and activities were more pronounced during Ramadan. We know that, generally, Muslim women were more present in public spaces during the holy month: they could go out of their houses to go pray to the mosque, and even take part in the traditional entertainment of Ramadan nights. Most of the time, they would walk around in a group, with their

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children and a chaperon, who was often a man from the family. But it was more a matter of permissiveness than freedom: they were granted the right to go out more often. During the Ramadan of 1908, a double phenomenon occurred: a new conception of freedom which arose with the revolution, along with the traditional permissiveness. The superposition of these two phenomena – permissiveness plus freedom – resulted in a new, rather libertarian, atmosphere. Muslim women had probably never been as present or as visible in the city than throughout this month: they would go to the mosque, visit cemeteries, would walk around more often in their neighbourhood, take part in Ramadan entertainment, stroll, go to the theatre or the cinema; they would take part in demonstrations for the boycott of Austria-Hungary, and all of this, most of the time, without wearing the veil and dressed in European fashion clothes. This situation soon triggered reactions. One of the signs of what we can call, in relative terms, the ‘liberation’ of Muslim women in Istanbul, were the attacks they suffered in the streets: it is true that they started right from September 1908, but it is clear, according to the information disclosed by the press, that they became more and more frequent as of the end of September, namely as of the beginning of Ramadan.26 These attacks would involve insults, harassments, physical attacks with people tearing off their clothes or ripping them with pocket knives, fights with their male fellows, appeals to observe the Sharia, etc. According to the Tanin, notices encouraging people to target women who were too stylish were covering the streets of Istanbul.27 These incidents took place in neighbourhoods such as Beyazıt, Gedikpas¸a, S¸ehzadebas¸ı, around Hagia Sophia, or U¨sku¨dar on the Asian side, which were mainly Muslim and rather conservative areas. But in the end, this violence against women also affected more Westernized sectors of the city like Pera. Rumours about attacks spread to the point that the CUP official organization, the I˙ttihad ve Terakki, deemed it necessary to publish, at the end of the month of Ramadan, an article attempting to downgrade the incidents. Another example is that of the transgression of the fast. It is hard to gather information on this issue because it is proper to distinguish observance – or inobservance – in private spaces (and on this point, the historian is very powerless) and public spaces. It is also a complex problem in a plural city like Istanbul, where some neighbourhoods were

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non-Muslim and could serve as a refuge for Muslims to eat, drink or smoke during the day, without having to worry much. We do not have direct accounts describing a rise of transgression of the fast during the Ramadan of 1908, but a certain amount of converging signs related to the years 1908 and 1909. It was, first of all, the growing concern of the religious spheres which kept on warning and denouncing such behaviour. Thus, in June 1910 – that is two successive months of fasting later – the Sırat-i Mu¨stakim magazine – a body of Islamic reformers supporting the revolution – published an anonymous article entitled ‘Our students in Europe.’28 The author expresses his regrets about Ottoman students letting down their religion once in Europe. But he also laments the fact that even in Istanbul, the Islamic ethics (adab) were not respected: women’s seclusion (tesettu¨r) was declining, some of them would walk in the streets with inappropriate clothing, students would drink alcohol publicly (is¸ret-i aleniye). He adds that if the offenders were called to order, they would talk about ‘an offence against their personal freedom’ (hu¨rriyet-i s¸ahsiyelerine tecavu¨z). And the author gives an example: during Ramadan, in Istanbul, the headquarters of the Caliphate, one could see people breaking the fast during the day, even in official offices; if the police prevented the person in charge of coffee (kahveci) from delivering his beverage, the employees would interfere in the name of freedom; and the result would be endless discussions and fights. Mary Mills Patrick, an American missionary, author of an autobiography called Under Five Sultans, gives a similar report; she wrote during the Ramadan of 1909: ‘Under the former regime, they [Turkish people] would eat secretly, but now they eat without hiding.’29 At the very beginning of the year 1910, fearing that the fast would not be respected, the Grand Mufti asked the Safety Office (Emniyet mu¨du¨riyeti) to remind that this transgression was liable to heavy penalties.30 Rıza Nur, who had been imprisoned for several months at Bekir Ag˘a Bo¨lu¨g˘u¨ during the summer of 1910, was scandalized to see in prison such a large number of young people who had been caught while eating or drinking during Ramadan.31 Later, Cenab S¸ehabeddin, a conservative writer, confirmed with his account the role of the Young Turk Revolution: in a series of article published in the Alemdar newspaper in 1920, he accuses the revolution of being the cause of the decline in religious practice: ‘For twelve years [that is to say since the

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Young Turk Revolution], Ramadan has been above all the time of sin and shame. In the name of freedom, the open and public arrogant negligence of the fast has been made an act of civilization.’32

Continuity and Changes Did the changes that we highlighted during the Ramadan of 1908 last? How did the month of fasting evolve after this date? Here are a few remarks on the subject. The use of Ramadan for political purposes grew stronger with the opposition between religious and conservative spheres, and ‘progressive’ spheres, be they Young Turks or Kemalists. Therefore, during the first year of Republican Turkey, the month of fasting was the climax of protest against Kemalist secularism.33 For his part, Mustafa Kemal, after imposing the control of the state over the ‘clergy’, took advantage of the faithful mobilizing during Ramadan to implement in 1932 the first elements of a ‘national religion’, by ordering the muezzins to call to prayer in Turkish, and no longer in Arabic. The political dimension of the month of fasting appeared also in the evolution of the glowing inscriptions (mahya) between the minarets of the Istanbul mosques; they were first of a religious nature, they became more secular during the Young Turk era and were used by the Kemalist propaganda: during the 1930s, mahya such as ‘Buy Turkish’ (Tu¨rk malı al) could be read.34 There is no better example of Ramadan instrumentalization during the Republican era. One of the most striking changes which occurred after 1908 concerned the economic dimension of Ramadan. As of 1908, the celebrations of the month of fasting and of the bayram became less elaborate. The purchasing power of bureaucrats, senior officials and state employees, who composed most of Ramadan customers – those who would spend time in markets, in mosque stands, candy shops and who would liven up neighbourhoods such as Direklerarası – was seriously affected by the rise in prices which speeded up with the revolution of 1908;35 downsizing in the public service had an impact on them too (tensikat) – it is said that lay-offs involved 3,000 persons after July 1908. From 1911, the almost permanent state of war made the situation even worse: during the Balkan Wars (1912–13), and even more during World War I, Istanbul suffered from supply, shortage and scarcity

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problems, and inflation was severe. Compared to a handful of nouveaux riches, monopolizers and speculators who made their fortune in the black market, those earning a fixed salary found themselves in financial difficulty and destitution; poverty in middle classes was increasing. The effects of these economic and social factors on Ramadan were significant: from year to year, traditional redistribution had been reduced36 and consumption had decreased, commercial activity was slower, the iftar meals, which stood out because of the abundance and variety of dishes, became closer to ordinary meals; at night, entertainment became scarce and the bayram lost some of its splendour. The ten years following the Young Turk Revolution brought so many changes that Ramadan became, according to the word used by a contemporary, ‘unrecognizable’.37 One of the consequences of this evolution was a wave of nostalgic papers about the Ramadans of yesteryear. Contrary to what we may believe, this nostalgia did not date back to the Republican era. The first signs appeared during the Great War and this phenomenon grew stronger during the armistice period.38 There were press articles and brochures which formulated, one way or another, the same question: what happened to the Ramadans of yesteryear? Where did they fly to?39 When they were children, the authors had experienced Ramadan under the reign of Abdu¨lhamid: they did not miss the former regime, but the current difficulties (war, armistice) led them to melancholy, where childhood nostalgia was mixed with that of Ramadan, which was at the heart of social life then. The importance of the month of fasting for children should be reminded; since they were not required to fast, children only experienced the festive aspect of Ramadan, which was a moment of freedom, when they could stay up late with adults, be more spoiled than usual, receive presents, etc. On a sociocultural level, the evolution of Ramadan is not less remarkable. Firstly, it should be noted that the problem of individualism opposed to a community rite like Ramadan was posed for the first time in 1908. The Young Turk Revolution proclaimed freedom, and some people certainly understood it as personal freedom. From this point of view, as mentioned above, the reaction to police interventions against those who did not observe the fast this year was very significant: they considered that this intervention was an ‘offence against their personal freedom’ (hu¨rriyet-i s¸ahsiyelerine tecavu¨z).40 It is clear that here, through

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the example of Ramadan, we reach the heart of the problems related to ‘community and the individual’ or in other words, ‘religion and modernity’. During the Kemalist era, some intellectuals expressed the same criticism, but this time it was not directed against police interventions – which stopped – but against the rite of the drummer (davulcu), which was considered as disturbing because it woke up everybody at dawn for the meal preceding the sunrise (sahur). According to all the sources I have consulted, it is certain that the transgression of the fast kept growing after 1908. These sources come from religious institutions and spheres, such as the headquarters of the cheik u¨l-Islam, or religious magazines like the Sırat-i Mu¨stakim and its successor, the Sebil u¨l-Resad, or also the Beyan u¨l-Hakk. They contain numerous complaints about how more and more people broke the fast in public. Religious and conservative spheres pressured the government, therefore in 1911, breaking the fast was considered an offence against public decency according to the Ottoman Criminal Code, and it was liable to a fine or imprisonment.41 The number of transgressors increased during World War I and the armistice period.42 During the Kemalist era, when this transgression offence had been abolished, eating or drinking during the day became a sort of snobbism, a way to express one’s modernity. Secondly, the study of Ramadan after the Young Turk Revolution reveals another long-term phenomenon: the fact that the ‘Ramadan Culture’ – all of the activities associated with the month of fasting, entertainment, shows, etc. – tended to be considered as a popular culture. It is true that, before 1908, there were already early signs such as complaints about the disturbance and noise generated by Ramadan.43 But right from the Young Turk Revolution, in addition to these complaints, the Westernized elite of Istanbul showed a certain disdain for a culture which was now considered as lacking refinement, for vulgar and foul shows, ‘just good enough for masses’.44 This attitude was already perceptible in the above-mentioned article, from the Kalem – a humoristic magazine addressed to the elite – which described Ramadan in Istanbul in a rather satirical tone. Now, let us look at another report published this time in 1909 in the Ramazan (Ramadan) newspaper, especially on the occasion of the month of fasting. The author of the article laments the fact that Avenue Direklerarası ‘lost all civilized aspect’ (binasib-i umran), that this sight

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was no more than ‘a messy crowd, an inharmonious swarm which in no way matched the progress of civilization and ideas of the contemporary era’.45 He also criticizes the idleness brought by the month of Ramadan and blames the laxity of the municipality of Istanbul regarding cafes and tearooms which invaded the pavements and roads to the point that driving became impossible. He concluded by expressing his regrets that nothing had changed since the Young Turk political revolution and by calling for a ‘real revolution in society’ (hakikıˆ bir inkılaˆb-i ictimaiye). It was a way of saying that Ramadan did not correspond to the idea of ‘civilization’ the Istanbul elite was aspiring to. This shows clearly how condescendingly, or even scornfully, the Ottoman elite started to look upon popular culture, and this attitude kept asserting itself during the Republican era.46 As for the question of women and their presence in the public space during Ramadan, the trend which had been noted in 1908 continued, even though criticism from religious and conservative spheres persisted. However on this point, the ‘Ramadan’ factor had less of an impact than other more general circumstances, in particular the almost incessant wars fought by the Ottomans and Turks as of 1911 (Tripolitanian War), the Balkan Wars (1912– 13), the Great War (1914– 18), and lastly, the Independent War (1920–2), when women took the place of men at work and increased their visibility in the public space.

Conclusion The interest of a study about the month of Ramadan, ‘the greatest collective religious event in the land of Islam’ is that this intense moment has a magnifying effect on society. It reveals an ‘enlarged’ vision of the tensions in society and helps spotting what, apart from the repetition of rites, evolves, changes and transforms. The Ramadan of 1908 was no exception to the rule; even better, it gave an accurate account of all the political, economic and social challenges occurred right after the Young Turk Revolution. In regard to the month of fasting itself, it is clear that 1908 marked the beginning of a process which kept spreading for about 15 or 20 years, which took a rite which was the heart of the social and cultural life of the Ottoman capital, a rite which could be called a ‘total social fact’, and turned it into a marginal, offset, almost invisible practice in the city,

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reduced to the domestic space and, in the end, to its mere religious dimension. As for the Young Turk Revolution itself and its impact on the Ottoman society, the analysis of Ramadan confirms that it boosted the formation of a public space characterized by a larger visibility of secular practices and individualistic behaviours.

Notes 1. ‘Le Ramadan a` Istanbul de l’Empire a` la Re´publique’, in F. Georgeon and P. Dumont (eds), Vivre dans l’Empire ottoman, sociabilite´s et relations intercommunautaires (XVIIIe– XXe sie`cles) (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1997), pp. 31 – 113; reproduced in Sous le signe des re´formes. E´tat et socie´te´ dans l’empire ottoman et dans la Turquie ke´maliste (1789 – 1939) (Istanbul: Isis, 2009), pp. 273 – 358. 2. About Ramadan during the Republican era, see the excellent research of Sevgi Adak: ‘Formation of authoritarian secularism in Turkey: Ramadans in the early Republican Era (1923–1938), unpublished MA thesis, Istanbul, Sabancı University, 2004; by the same author, ‘Kemalist laiklig˘in olus¸umu su¨recinde Ramazanlar (1923–1938)’, Tarih ve Toplum Yeni Yaklas¸ımlar 11 (2010), pp. 47–88. 3. There is a description of Ramadan in the late Ottoman Empire in Mahfel, no. 11, pp. 178–97, and 12, pp. 213–20, Ramazan-S¸evval 1339 [May–June 1921]. 4. Kalem, no. 5, 1 October 1908, pp. 4 – 5. We will see later the reasons of this rather satirical tone. 5. It should be noted that the aorist tense, a Turkish verb form, is used throughout this text and ‘expresses a customary action’ (Jean Deny). It is therefore the tense of rite par excellence. 6. I˙kdam, 2 Ramadan 1325 [9 October 1907]. 7. Fariba Adelkhah and Francois Georgeon (eds), Ramadan et politique (Paris: CNRS Editions, 2000). 8. Hu¨seyin Cahit noted in the Tanin, that the extraordinary safety measures which were taken before, when ‘the members forming the Nation were seen as enemies’ . . . efrad-i millet bir du¨s¸man gibi telakki edilerek . . . were no longer required for the visit to the relics of the Prophet, Tanin, 16 Ramazan 1326 [12 October 1908]. 9. I˙smail Kara, I˙slamcıların Siyasıˆ Go¨ru¨s¸leri (Istanbul: I˙z yayınları, 1994), pp. 87 – 94. 10. E.G. Mears (ed.), Modern Turkey (New York, 1924), p. 451. 11. I˙ttihad ve Terakki 23/2 Ramazan [27 September 1908]. 12. Takvim-i Vekayi 2/3 Ramazan 1326 [29 September 1908]. 13. Service historique de la De´fense, 7N 1636, no. 337, Istanbul, 16 April 1909 (I would like to thank Loubna Lamrhari for this reference). 14. I analysed this event in ‘1908 Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi Sonrasında I˙stanbul’da Ortaya C¸ıkan Birkac Vaka u¨zerine’, in N. Le´vy and A. Toumarkine (eds), Osmanlı’da Asayis¸, Suc ve Ceza (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2007), pp. 146– 62.

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15. Stamboul, 9 October 1908. 16. Sabah, 14 Ramazan 1326 [10 October 1908]. 17. ‘Talebe-i uluma’, Beyan u¨l-Hakk, no. 33, 29 Haziran 1325 [July 1909], pp. 764– 8. 18. Mevaiz-i Diniye (Istanbul, 1328–9), Matbaa-ı Amire (published by the Committee of Union and Progress Club of S¸ehzadebas¸ı). 19. See the Turkish translation of one of his articles, published in his Cairo magazine, el-Manar, ‘Res¸it Rıza Go¨zu¨yle 1910 I˙stanbul Ramazanı ve Dini Hayat’, in I˙stanbul Aras¸tırmaları, no. 4, Winter 1998, pp. 191– 7. 20. I˙kdam, 3 Ramazan 1326 [28 September 1908]. 21. Mahfel, cited art., note 3. 22. P. Dumont and F. Georgeon, ‘Un bourgeois d’Istanbul au de´but du XXe sie`cle’, Turcica 17 (1985), pp. 127– 82. Stamboul, ‘La vie che`re a` Istanbul’, 23 September 1908. 23. About the boycott, see Dogan C¸etinkaya, 1908 Osmanlı Boykotu (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2004). 24. Sabah, ‘Bayram Geliyor, Bulgar ve Avusturya Malı Almıyalım’, 14 Ramazan 1326 [10 October 1908]. About national economy, see the classical book by Zafer Toprak, Tu¨rkiye’de Millıˆ I˙ktisat (1908 – 1918) (Ankara, Yurt Yayınları 1982). 25. ‘Bir Meviza-ı Nisvaniye’, Tercu¨man-i Hakikat, 23 Ramadan 1326 [19 October 1908]. Hereke is the name of a textile manufacture established near Istanbul at the time of Sultan Abdu¨lmecid (1839 – 61). 26. Falie´rou, ‘La re´volution jeune-turque: une re´volution de la condition fe´minine?’, in F. Georgeon (ed.), ‘L’ivresse de la liberte´’. La re´volution de 1908 dans l’Empire ottoman (Leuven: Peeters 2012), pp. 221–37; Sina Aks¸in, Essays in Ottoman-Turkish Political History (Istanbul: Isis, 2000), pp. 110–11; the Tanin dated 17 Ramazan [13 October 1908] pointed out that attacks against women were multiplying. 27. Tanin, 22 Ramadan 1306 [18 October 1908]. 28. Sırat-i Mu¨stakim, ‘Avrupa’da Talebemiz. I˙stanbul’da Tesettu¨r – I˙s¸ret-i Aleniye’, 94, 10 Haziran 1326 [23 June 1910], pp. 282 –3. 29. Letter of Mary Mills Patrick to Caroline Borden, 15 October 1909 (American College for Girls Records [Istanbul-Turkey], Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University, New York (Series I: Records of the Trustess, Subseries I.3: General Correspondance, Bix 4, Folder 11. Thanks to Erdal Kaynar for this reference. 30. Sırat-i Mu¨stakim 105, 4 Ramazan 1328 [8 September 1910]. 31. Rıza Nur, Cemiyet-i Hafiye (Istanbul: I˙s¸aret Yayınları, 1995), pp. 173 – 4, p. 204 (1st edn Istanbul, 1330 [1914]). The author notes that the people who have been imprisoned for transgression only belong to lower classes. 32. Cenab S¸ahabeddin, I˙stanbul’da Bir Ramazan, ed. Abdullah Ucman (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 1994), p. 25 (2nd edn Istanbul, 2006, pp. 4 – 5). 33. Cemil Kocak, Tek-Parti Do¨neminde Muhalif Sesler (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2011), p. 41 and following.

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34. About mahya, see Go¨klere Yazı Yazma Sanatı Mahya (Istanbul: I˙stanbul, 2010 A.K.B. Yayınları, 2010), in particular the contribution of I˙smail Kara. 35. Right from 1909, the Sabah pointed out a clear decrease in entertainment in Direklerarası (Sabah, 5 Ramazan 1326 [3 October 1909]). 36. P. Dumont and F. Georgeon, cited art., note 22, pp. 168 – 9. 37. Refik Halid [Karay], ‘C¸ocuklug˘umun Ramazanları’, Yeni Mecmua, no. 48, June 1918. 38. One of the first examples given in the feature published in the I˙slam Mecmuası magazine in 1917: I˙slam Mecmuası, no. 54, 24 Ramazan 1335 [14 July 1917]. In one of the articles of this special issue, I˙spartalı Hakkı, nostalgically talks about the Ramadans he experienced as a child, in his small town of I˙sparta (‘Bizim Ramazanlar’, pp. 1074– 82). 39. As examples, here are the accounts of famous writers: Refik Halit [Karay], cited in the previous note; the series of articles of Cenab S¸ehabeddin, published in Alemdar, May– June 1920, cited in note 32; Celaˆl Sahir et al., I˙ftardan Sonra, ¨ naydın], Ayrılıklar (1334 – 1336), Istanbul, 1924. Istanbul, sd.; Ru¨s¸en Es¸ref [U A major part of the work of d’Ahmed Rasim should also be cited, in particular the texts put together by Res¸ad Ekrem Kocu: Ahmed Rasim, Ramazan Sohbetleri (Istanbul: Elips, 1974). 40. Cited in note 28. 41. Takvim-i Vekayi, no. 946, 28 Eylu¨l 1327 [11 October 1911]. 42. Tahir u¨l-Mevlevi, ‘Ramazan-i S¸erif ve Oruc’, Mahfel 2/23, Ramazan 1340 [May 1922], p. 191: during the Great War, he wrote, on the pretext of mobilizing, people would dare eating and smoking in the middle of the day during Ramadan in Istanbul. 43. Let us not forget that in the French language the word ramdam, which came from Algerian Arabic around 1890, denotes a loud, disturbing noise. 44. It is thus easier to understand why the above-mentioned description of Ramadan in Kalem was published in a humoristic magazine: the author of the article looks ironically and condescendingly upon rituals he no longer believes in. It should be noted that, while Ottoman elites strayed from Ramadan customs, Westerners saw them as something picturesque. See the comparison between two editions of the Guide Joanne; in 1898, Ramadan in Direklerarası was not mentioned, whereas the 1912 edition highly recommends ‘this very picturesque walk’ to travellers (Guide Joanne, De Paris a` Constantinople (Paris, 1912), p. 247). 45. Ramazan, no. 8, September 1909; it is a daily newspaper especially published during the Ramadan of 1909. During the same month, the Sabah, after pointing out that Direklerarası was very ‘dull’ (so¨nu¨k), that entertainment was insipid (tatsız), added: ‘What brought us here before was probably the desire we had to live this month differently than the eleven other months of the year’ (Sabah, 5 Ramazan 1327 [20 September 1909]). 46. S¸erif Mardin, ‘Super Westernization in Urban Life in the Ottoman Empire in the Late Quarter of the Nineteenth Century’, in P. Benedict, E. Tu¨mertekin and

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F. Mansur (eds), Turkey, Geographic and Social Perspectives (Leiden: Brill, 1974), pp. 403– 45. The harsh caricatures of Salih Erimez, entitled Tarihten C¸izgiler and published at the end of the 1930s and then under the form of albums, have been written in this spirit (Salih [Erimez], Tarihten C¸izgiler, 4 vols, sd (Istanbul). A certain number of his satirical drawings depict Ramadan before the Republican era: the author makes fun of the time when it was impossible to smoke during the month of fasting without being arrested by the police, when adults would laugh like kids in front of childish and unrefined shows, such as Karago¨z or ‘middle shows’ (Orta oyunu), when men were aroused by fat and vulgar dancers dancing the cifte telli, etc. In short, the rites and entertainment of Ramadan were part of this ‘medieval’ dimension, which the author denounces in the culture of the former regime. For Ramadans during the Republican era, see the above-mentioned work of Sevgi Adak, note 2.

References Periodicals and Published Primary Sources

Alemdar. Beyan u¨l-Hakk. I˙kdam. I˙slam Mecmuası. I˙ttihad ve Terakki. Kalem. Mahfel. Ramazan. Sabah. Sırat-ı Mu¨stakim. Stamboul. Takvim-i Vekayi. Tanin. Tercu¨man-ı Hakikat.

Books and Articles

Adak, Sevgi, ‘Formation of authoritarian secularism in Turkey: Ramadans in the early Republican era (1923 – 1938)’, unpublished MA thesis, Istanbul, Sabancı University, 2004. ——— ‘Kemalist laiklig˘in olus¸umu su¨recinde Ramazanlar (1923– 1938)’, Tarih ve Toplum Yeni Yaklas¸ımlar 11 (2010), pp. 47– 88. Adelkhah, Fariba and Georgeon, Francois (eds), Ramadan et politique (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2000). Aks¸in, Sina, Essays in Ottoman-Turkish Political History (Istanbul: Isis, 2000). C¸etinkaya, Dog˘an, 1908 Osmanlı Boykotu (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2004). Dumont, Paul and Georgeon, Francois, ‘Un bourgeois d’Istanbul au de´but du XXe sie`cle’, Turcica 17 (1985), pp. 127– 82. Es¸ref, Ru¨s¸en [U¨naydın], Ayrılıklar (1334– 1336) (Istanbul, 1924).

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Falie´rou, Anastassia, ‘La re´volution jeune-turque: une re´volution de la condition fe´minine?’, in F. Georgeon (ed.), ‘L’ivresse de la liberte´’. La re´volution de 1908 dans l’Empire ottoman (Leuven: Peeters, 2012). Georgeon, Francois, ‘Le Ramadan a` Istanbul de l’Empire a` la Re´publique’, in F. Georgeon and P. Dumont (eds), Vivre dans l’Empire ottoman, sociabilite´s et relations inter-communautaires (XVIIIe – XXe sie`cles) (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1997). ——— ‘1908 Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi Sonrasında I˙stanbul’da Ortaya C¸ıkan Birkac Vaka u¨zerine’, in N. Le´vy and A. Toumarkine (eds), Osmanlı’da Asayis¸, Suc ve Ceza (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2007). Hakkı [I˙spartalı], ‘Bizim Ramazanlar’, pp. 1074 – 82. Halid, Refik [Karay]. ‘C¸ocuklug˘umun Ramazanları’, Yeni Mecmua 48 (June 1918). Kara, I˙smail, I˙slamcıların Siyasıˆ Go¨ru¨s¸leri (Istanbul: Dergah Yayınları, 1994). ——— Go¨klere Yazı Yazma Sanatı Mahya (Istanbul: I˙stanbul 2010 A.K.B. yayınları, 2010). Kocak, Cemil, Tek-Parti Do¨neminde Muhalif Sesler (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2011). Mardin, S¸erif, ‘Super Westernization in Urban Life in the Ottoman Empire in the Late Quarter of the Nineteenth Century’, in P. Benedict, E. Tu¨mertekin and F. Mansur (eds), Turkey, Geographic and Social Perspectives (Leiden: Brill, 1974). Mears, E.G. (ed.), Modern Turkey (New York, 1924). Mevaız-ı Diniye (Istanbul, 1328–1329), Matbaa-ı Amire. Nur, Rıza, Cemiyet-i Hafiye (Istanbul: I˙s¸aret Yayınları, 1995). Rasim, Ahmed, Ramazan Sohbetleri (Istanbul: Elips, 1974). Ridha, Rachid, ‘1908 Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi Sonrasında I˙stanbul’da Ortaya C¸ıkan Birkac Vaka u¨zerine’, in N. Le´vy and A. Toumarkine (eds), Osmanlı’da Asayis¸, Suc ve Ceza (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2007). S¸ahabeddin, Cenab, I˙stanbul’da Bir Ramazan, ed. Abdullah Ucman (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 1994; 2nd edn 2006). Sahir, Celaˆl et al. I˙ftardan Sonra, Istanbul, sd. Salih [Erimez], Tarihten C¸izgiler, Istanbul, 4 vols, sd. u¨l-Mevlevi Tahir. ‘Ramazan-i S¸erif ve Oruc’, Mahfel 2/23 (Ramazan 1340 [May 1922]), p. 191.

CHAPTER 8 31 MART:A FUNDAMENTALIST UPRISING IN ISTANBUL IN APRIL 1909? 1 Erik-Jan Zu¨rcher

The development of secularism has been a dominant theme in the history of the Ottoman Empire and the Turkish Republic from the early nineteenth century onwards.2 Before the mid 1920s, when the Republican government under the leadership of Mustafa Kemal (later: Atatu¨rk) (1881– 1938) expressly sought to end the political, social and cultural influence of Islamic institutions and to achieve a total dominance of the secular state over those institutions, this secularization was not a primary aim of the policy makers, but a side-effect of the policies formulated, which were aimed at strengthening the Ottoman state through the adoption of European methods. The policies, which prevailed during most of the nineteenth and early twentieth century, especially during the period of the Tanzimat, or ‘reforms’ (1839 – 78), 3 were motivated primarily by two factors: first, the realization by a number of leading statesmen and bureaucrats that the only way for the Ottoman Empire to survive the onslaught of the European nation states was imitation of these states’ apparently successful ways; and secondly, the desire on the part of these statesmen to gain the support of the European powers and especially Britain against external enemies (mainly the Russian Empire) and internal ones (first of all Muhammad Ali Pasha, the

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governor of Egypt) through the adoption of measures which would inspire confidence in Europe. One important element of the nineteenth century Ottoman reforms, which followed the famous edict of Gu¨lhane of 1839, was formed by the creation of a modern conscripted army and navy, equipped with European hardware and the creation of a bureaucracy along Western, primarily French, lines.4 Together these served to increase the hold of the central government over the provinces of the Empire to a degree, which was quite unprecedented in the history of the Middle East.5 Even if this in itself did not necessarily constitute a secularizing influence, the establishment of schools and academies for the training of the new civil servants and soldiers did. The founding of these schools formed the thin edge of a wedge, which gradually eroded the position of the ulama in education and eventually, but only in 1924, led to the complete emancipation of the educational system from the control of the ulama. The second important development of this period was the opening up of the Ottoman economy to the West, or in other words its incorporation into the capitalist world system, which followed the Ottoman– British commercial treaty of 1838.6 This, too, had a secularizing influence, because the legislation and the courts introduced to enable the foreigners to trade under conditions which were acceptable to them, were of a Western type and functioned outside the Sharia, which, at least theoretically, had been the basis of the Ottoman legal system in the past. In the third place, the Ottoman reformists felt compelled to comply with Western demands on the very sensitive issue of the relation between Muslims and non-Muslims in the Empire, introducing the concept of equal Ottoman citizenship for all. The introduction of this concept, which of course had no place in the Sharia, was a form of radical secularization, even if it did not strike root in the mentality of the great majority of the Muslim, or indeed Christian, population. In the second half of the century, especially after the I˙slahat Fermani edict of 1856 (which was seen as being issued under foreign pressure), these developments, and the privileged position which the Christian minorities of the Empire managed to gain under the aegis of the European powers, led to growing resentment towards the policies of the Tanzimat on the part of the Muslim population.7 This resentment found expression in conspiracies, popular uprisings and antichristian riots such as that in Syria in 1860, but it also played a role in the criticism of the

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emerging Muslim intelligentsia, the second-generation reformers who were active in the 1860s and 1870s, the so-called ‘Young Ottomans.’ The aim of the latter was to limit the power of the new bureaucrats through the introduction of a constitutional, parliamentary monarchy, which in their eyes was fundamentally consistent with Islam.8 The Young Ottoman programme was realized with the introduction of the Ottoman Constitution in 1876,9 but the new Sultan, Abdu¨lhamid II, who had taken part in the discussions of the Young Ottomans himself, soon reverted to autocratic rule, suspending Constitution and Parliament. Abdu¨lhamid, while continuing the modernizations of the Tanzimat in many ways, emphasized the Islamic character of his reign and of the Empire, to counterbalance the influence of Western liberal ideas.10 During his reign, the agitation for a return to constitutional and parliamentarian rule continued, however, and even gained a far broader basis through the expansion of modern, Western-type education in the Empire.11 The constitutional movement started to expand rapidly in the 1890s, but in 1896 the Hamidian police succeeded in crushing the underground movement and for the next ten years the reformists were active mostly as exiles: in Cairo, Geneva and first and foremost Paris. There the movement eventually crystallized into two distinct factions: the nationalist and centralist one around Ahmet Rıza (the Committee of Union and Progress – I˙ttihad ve Terakki Cemiyeti) and the liberal and decentralist one around Prince Sabahattin (The League for Private Initiative and Decentralization – Tes¸ebbus-u¨ S¸ahsi ve Adem-i Merkeziyet Cemiyeti).12 From 1906 onwards, the constitutional movement underwent a new period of growth within the Empire, especially within the Ottoman armies in European Turkey. Basically, this was an autonomous growth, but the movement merged with the faction of Ahmet Rıza and adopted its name, ‘Committee of Union and Progress’ (CUP), in 1907.13 In July 1908 this organization by threat of armed intervention succeeded in forcing the sultan to restore the Constitution and reconvene Parliament. After this revolution, the CUP did not take over power itself. In the Ottoman context of 1908 junior officers and civil servants were simply not acceptable as members of government. Neither did the Unionists see in themselves the ability to govern. Instead they left government in the hands of a senior statesman of the old regime with a

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relatively liberal reputation, Kıbrıslı Kaˆmil Pasha (1832– 1912), and set themselves up as a sort of watchdog committee.14 Thanks to their superior organization, the parliamentary elections of the autumn of 1908 resulted in a complete Unionist victory but here, too, the Unionist influence remained indirect rather than direct, because in many parts of the Empire they had to rely on local notables who allowed their names to be put forward as candidates on the Unionist list, rather than on members of the CUP itself.15 After the astounding success of the revolution, the CUP was the most powerful force in the country, but increasingly through 1908 and the early months of 1909 it had to contend with two types of opposition. One was that of the followers of Prince Sabahattin, united since September in the Ahrar Fırkası (Liberal Party),16 who had done badly in the elections and felt increasingly frustrated. Kaˆmil Pasha, who, like the Liberals, resented the pressure of the CUP, allied himself with this group and relations between him and the CUP became increasingly strained. On 14 February, the CUP succeeded in having the Grand Vizier voted out of office in Parliament and having him replaced with Hu¨seyn Hilmi Pasha (1855–1921), the former Inspector-General of Macedonia, who was close to the Committee.17 Hereafter a bitter press campaign was started by the Opposition, which was answered by the Unionist organs in kind. On 6 April, Hasan Fehmi, the editor of one of the fiercest antiUnionist papers, Serbesti (Freedom), was killed on the Galata bridge, probably by a Unionist agent. His funeral the next day turned into a mass demonstration against the Committee.18 The second type of opposition which faced the CUP was that by conservative religious circles, notably the lower ulama and sheykhs of the tarikats. During the month of Ramadan, which coincided with October 1908, there were a number of incidents and at least two serious and violent demonstrations, during which the closure of bars and theatres, the prohibition of photography and restrictions on the freedom of movement of women were demanded.19 On 3 April, the religious extremists, who were already active as a group around the newspaper Volkan of the Nakhsbandi Sheykh Derwish Vahdeti, organized themselves as the I˙ttihad-i Muhammedi (Muhammadan Union), whose president was considered to be the Prophet himself.20 This group organized large-scale propaganda against the policies and mentality of the Young Turks.

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The Counter-Revolution In spite of all this political infighting and the rising tensions of the past months, it came as a complete surprise to Unionists and foreign observers alike, when, on the night of 12/13 April 1909 an armed insurrection broke out in the capital in the name of the restoration of Islam and Sharia. Within 24 hours the insurgents took over the capital without meeting significant opposition from government, CUP or the Army. In the capital, the Committee seemed vanquished, but its position in the provinces, most of all in Macedonia, remained intact and within a fortnight troops loyal to the CUP suppressed the counterrevolution and re-established the Committee in power. In spite of the ease with which the insurrection was suppressed, however, the 31 Mart Vakası, or 31st of March Incident, as it is known in Turkish history because of its date in the old Rumi calendar, made a deep impression on the reformists. The fact that a revolt in the name of Islam had been able to shake the foundations of their regime so easily and quickly came as a rude shock to them. The Kemalists, who succeeded the Unionists after World War I and went on to found the secular Republic of Turkey, had nearly all of them been members of the CUP. Therefore, the memory, or trauma, of the 1909 revolt was theirs, too. To the supporters of secularism in Turkey the 31st of March Incident served as a constant reminder of the danger of Islamic fundamentalism. Even today, whenever the secular system of government of Turkey seems threatened, references to the incident are frequently made. After a short description of the events of April 1909, and a survey of their possible causes and instigators, I shall address the question whether the qualification ‘fundamentalist’ is adequate or even helpful in this context. At the same time, I shall try to determine the place of the events of 1909 in the development of the relations between Islam and the state in modern Turkey. Quite an extensive secondary literature, both scholarly and popular, exists on the subject, based on memoirs,21 newspaper reports and foreign archives. The Turkish archives as yet do not seem to have been used for the study of this subject to any extent.22 For this occasion I have looked into the Dutch legation reports, kept in the State Archives in The Hague (ARA23). The coverage given in these records to the insurrection and its prelude and aftermath is quite

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extensive (reports being sent daily during the crisis) and, given the limitations of intelligence-gathering by a small embassy, the quality is quite remarkable. Even if it offers no startling revelations, it does give a detailed picture of what happened, and a good ‘feel’ for the period. The crisis of April 1909 lasted for 11 days only. During the night of the 12/13 April the battalions of Macedonian troops at Tas¸kıs¸la barracks which had been brought in only a week before by the CUP to replace the (supposedly less reliable) Arab and Albanian troops,24 mutinied, after having taken their officers prisoner. Together with a large number of softas, students from the religious schools, they marched to the At Meydanı where the Parliament building stood. During the morning, more and more troops and ulama joined them. The government was in disarray, did not dare to send in the loyal troops, but instead sent the Chief of Police to listen to the demands of the mob. The spokesmen of the insurgent troops formulated six demands: dismissal of the Grand Vizier and the Ministers of War and of the Navy, replacement of a number of Unionist officers, replacement of the Unionist President of the Chamber of Deputies (Ahmet Rıza), banishing of a number of Unionist deputies from Istanbul, restoration of the Sharia and an amnesty for the rebellious troops.25 Confronted with these demands, the Grand Vizier went to the Palace in the afternoon and tendered his resignation, which was accepted by the sultan. The next morning, it was announced that the colourless diplomat Tevfik Pasha (Okday) (1845– 1936) had been appointed Grand Vizier. The War Minister in the new Cabinet, Marshal Ethem Pasha, visited the soldiers at the At Meydanı, praised them and promised them that all their demands would be met.26 The troops and the Softas celebrated their victory extensively. At the same time, a pogrom against known Unionists developed, resulting in the deaths of at least 20 people, mostly officers, but also two Deputies, who were mistaken for Hu¨seyin Cahit (Yalc
ın), the editor of the Unionist organ Tanin (Echo), and Ahmet Rıza. The offices of the Tanin were also sacked.27 The Unionists went underground or fled the capital. As a result, the Chamber of Deputies, in which the CUP held the majority, did not have a quorum. Nevertheless, the deputies who did attend, at the instigation of the Liberal (and Albanian) deputy I˙smail Kemal Bey (Vlora) accepted the demands of the soldiers and at the same time issued a proclamation saying that Sharia and constitution would be maintained.28

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From the first day on, the leaders of the Ahrar tried without success to get a grip on events and to prevent the insurrection from moving into a reactionary, anti-constitutionalist and pro-Abdu¨lhamid direction. It should be noted, too, that the higher-ranking ulama (those who in the ambassador’s report are called ‘ulama’, as opposed to the ‘Hojas’ who supported the revolt), who were united in the Cemiyet-i I˙lmiye-i I˙slamiye (‘Society of the Islamic Scholarly Profession’) never supported the insurrection and from the 16th onwards openly denounced it.29 The CUP had been driven out of Istanbul, but had kept its position in the provinces, notably in Macedonia, and it started to take countermeasures right away. It organized public demonstrations in the provincial towns, and showered the Parliament and Palace with telegrams.30 In Macedonia especially it easily won the propaganda battle, convincing the population that the Constitution was in danger. From the 15th it started the organization of a military campaign against the rebels. The ‘Action Army’ (Hareket Ordusu), as it was termed, consisted of regular units of the Third and Second Armies, reinforced with volunteer units, which consisted mostly of Albanians, led by Niyazi Bey, one of the heroes of the revolution of 1908.31 The Army was under the command of Mahmut S¸evket Pas¸a, the commanding officer of the Third Army and Inspector of the Armies of Rumeli, whose headquarters were in Salonika. The advance guard of the Action Army was formed by the 11th Reserve (Redif) Division from Salonica. Mustafa Kemal Bey, the later Atatu¨rk, served as chief-of-staff of this division. When Mahmut S¸evket Pas¸a himself joined the Army before Istanbul, he brought with him his own staff, which had been strengthened with leading Unionist officers like Fethi, Enver and Hafız Hakkı, who by this time had returned in great haste from their postings at Ottoman embassies in Europe. By train, these troops were moved first to C¸atalca and Hademko¨y and then to Ayastefanos (nowadays Yes¸ilko¨y) on the outskirts of Istanbul.32 The Chamber of Deputies sent a delegation to the Army headquarters to try to prevent it from taking the city by force, but it met with no positive response, after which the members of the delegation decided to stay in Ayastefanos and issued a call to their colleagues to join them. From the 22nd onwards both chambers of Parliament sat together in the building of the Yachting Club in Ayastefanos as a ‘National Assembly’ (meclis-i umumi-i milli).33

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In the early morning of 24 April, the Action Army began the occupation of the city. It did not encounter much resistance – only at the Taksim and Tas¸kıs¸la barracks did the resistance amount to anything. There, the fighting was actually quite fierce for a while, as is shown in the many photographs that were taken at the time. At four o’clock in the afternoon the last rebels had surrendered.34 In the aftermath of the suppression of the revolt, and under martial law, two courts martial were instituted, which convicted and executed a large number of the rebels, including Derwish Vahdeti. A number of Ahrar leaders were arrested, but set free again under British pressure. On the 27th, the two chambers of Parliament, still sitting together, deposed Sultan Abdu¨lhamid, who was succeeded by his younger brother Res¸at.35 He took the throne as Sultan Mehmed V, a symbolic act meant to cast him as the second conqueror of the city, after Mehmed II in 1453. Now, after this brief overview of the events, let us try to summarize the causes of the revolt, the demands of the insurgents and the reaction of the Unionists, in order to establish the character of the insurgency and its place in modern Turkish history.

A Fundamentalist Uprising? Several different causes for the events of April 1909 can be discerned. Different groups had become disenchanted with the constitutional regime for different reasons. The overthrow of the old regime in itself had hurt those who had earned a living or enjoyed status as members of the Hamidian apparatus, including the thousands of government spies active in Istanbul, who had supplied the sultan with their jurnals (reports). The rationalizing policies of the new government, which aimed at ending the overstaffing of the government departments which had been the result of the favouritism of the old regime, had already made thousands of civil servants of all ranks jobless. In a city like Istanbul, where government was the main industry, this had far-reaching consequences. In the Army, the main source of trouble was the friction between the mektepli officers, who had been trained in the military schools and academy, and the alaylı officers, who had risen through the ranks. The latter had been favoured by the old regime, being paid regularly and

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stationed in the First Army in and around Istanbul, while the former had been mistrusted (rightly so, because it was these modern educated officers who brought about the Constitutional Revolution of 1908). Now the mektepli officers had taken over. Many of the alaylı officers had been dismissed or demoted and, even worse, the whole system of promotion from the ranks was discontinued. The troops themselves, too, had reason for discontent. They had been used to the very slack discipline and relaxed atmosphere of the old army and were now confronted with young officers who wanted to impose Prussian training methods, among other things abolishing the pauses for ablutions and prayers during the exercises.36 All of these measures had not been legislated as yet. The legislation of the first few months after the revolution mostly served to establish the constitutional regime (with the reconvening of Parliament, abolishing of the spy system, amnesties for political prisoners and exiles, etc.) as well as to bring order to the finances of the state. The only major new law was the restrictive Strike Law of 25 September 1908. Major legislation affecting the Army and military service only came in July 1909, but that these changes were imminent was already very clear by early 1909. While no explicitly secularist legislation had been enacted in the eight months since the Constitutional Revolution, the lower ulama clearly felt threatened by the change in atmosphere, which the Constitutional Revolution had brought about. One particular measure, which aroused feeling among this group was that by which students at the religious schools who did not pass their exams in time were no longer exempted from military service.37 The discord within the Young Turk ranks, with the Ahrar opposing what they saw as the irresponsible policies and the monopoly of power of the Unionists also helped to create the atmosphere in which the revolt could take place. The debate between the two factions grew more and more fierce in the first months of 1909. This verbal extremism, which could easily spill over into real violence (as in the Hasan Fehmi affair) helped to create a climate in which political opposition came to be regarded as treason. The Dutch legation several times noted that in this way the Young Turks would leave the field open to the conservatives.38 The exaggerated and immoderate political debate, with its personal attacks, was characteristic both of the Young Turk era and of the Kemalist period (and even, one might add, of Turkish politics of recent years).

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Finally, one contributing factor to the crisis was the fact that the Unionists were out of touch with important parts of public opinion, and thus were completely taken by surprise by the discontent which existed even among their own Macedonian troops. The Young Turks in all guises (Unionists, Liberals and Kemalists) were always very much an enlightened elite, who saw it as their task to educate the masses. Their positivist, liberal and nationalist vision was not supported by what, in a European context, would be considered its natural base, an emerging indigenous bourgeoisie, but forced on a conservative and deeply religious population from above. In addition, the bourgeoisie that did exist in the Ottoman Empire was predominantly Christian and did not subscribe to the nationalist and centralist vision of the CUP. They tended to be more comfortable with the decentralist programme of the Ahrar. Thus a number of factors can be pointed to as having contributed to a climate in which the insurrection could take place. But who was or who were the actual instigators? This has been the subject of a lot of speculation, both at the time of the revolt and later.39 In all its statements, the CUP characterized the insurrection as an instance of ‘reaction’ (irtica). It laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of Sultan Abdu¨lhamid and the religious Opposition of the I˙ttihad-i Muhammadi of Derwish Vahdeti. At the time, the hand of the sultan was also seen in the fact, reported on by the Dutch legation, that the insurgents had ample funds and that the soldiers had apparently been paid in gold.40 Nevertheless, it is clear that all through the 11 days of the revolt, the sultan acted with extreme caution. While he did not openly disavow the soldiers, he never openly supported their demands or tried to lead their movement. When the Action Army entered the city, he apparently greeted it with relief and ordered the Palace troops not to offer resistance. All through the revolt he gave the impression of being frightened and demoralized.41 In his memoirs, he later denied having had anything to do with the revolt.42 Conservative opinion in Turkey has sometimes accused the Unionists of stage-managing the whole revolt in order to be able to establish a dictatorship, adducing the fact that the revolt started in the Macedonian battalions as proof.43 This, however, seems fanciful, in view of the patent unpreparedness of leading Unionists, who had to flee or go underground,

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some of them just escaping being lynched. No trace of evidence for this thesis has ever been found. The demands, formulated by the insurgents and the evidence given before the courts martial and in the memoirs of opposition leaders point to the political opposition, the Ahrar as the prime movers.44 The selective way in which the insurgents attacked Unionist individuals and offices also supports this view. At the same time, it is clear that the religious opposition around Sheykh Vahdeti and the I˙ttihad-i Muhammedi played a very important part in organizing the uprising and in rousing the troops.45 Most probably the liberal opposition was the original instigator of the revolt. Overestimating its own strength, it thought it could use the religious groups for that purpose, but soon after the start of the revolt, it became clear that it was in no position to exert control. The willingness of one group of basically secularist reformers to conclude an opportunistic alliance with Islamic groups in its struggle for power with another group of reformers, in the mistaken belief that less sophisticated religious groups can be easily manipulated, is again a recurring phenomenon in the politics of modern Turkey, and indeed of the Middle East. There were persistent rumours in 1909, reflected in the literature on the episode, that Great Britain was behind the uprising. The gold distributed amongst the troops made many people suspicious, and attention was drawn to the close links between the leaders of the Ahrar and the British embassy. No hard evidence of British involvement has ever come to light, but it is clear that the sympathies of the British embassy, and particularly of the influential dragoman Gerald Fitzmaurice, lay very strongly with the counter-revolutionists. In close cooperation with I˙smail Kemal Bey the embassy did its utmost to support the new regime in its efforts to persuade the population and particularly the Army that all was well in the capital and that the Constitution was not under threat. When the Action Army was starting to march on the capital, the ambassador even asked London to dispatch warships to Lemnos.46 Now I come to the question of the fundamentalist Islamic character of the revolt. There is no denying that the call for reinstatement of the Sharia played a large role in the insurrection, which was seen by Unionists and foreign observers such as the Dutch envoy alike as a reactionary Islamic movement. On the other hand, there are good

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grounds to consider this label inadequate. Firstly, as I mentioned earlier, there is some evidence that the Liberals, who were no more Islamic or fundamentalist than the Unionists, instigated the revolt. Secondly, there is no relation whatsoever between the call for the Sharia and the other demands put forward. Thirdly, the insurgents never formulated specific demands for the way the Sharia should be implemented. Neither did they demand the dissolution of Parliament and/or the prorogation of the Constitution. The function of the call for the Sharia seems to have been limited to that of legitimizing the uprising and providing it with a rallying cry. Maybe we should understand it simply as a code for “returning to things as they were.” The CUP, in its counter-propaganda, immediately identified the insurrection as irtica (political reaction), which endangered Constitution and Parliament. This may have been in part a psychological reaction. Both their own positivist ideology and their history of struggle against Sultan Abdu¨lhamid’s regime had conditioned them to see religious conservatism as the main threat to the realization of their ideals. The 31st of March Incident seems to have been a genuinely traumatic experience for the Unionists. It cannot be denied, however, that labelling the insurrection as reactionary and Islamic also had practical political advantages: it enabled the Committee to isolate their opponents by posing as the defenders of the Constitution, thereby attracting the support of those Young Turks who shared their secularist outlook but had become disenchanted with the Committee’s policies after the revolution. In this way they could eliminate the liberal opposition by identifying them with the reaction. It also gave them a chance to dethrone Abdu¨lhamid, something which they had not been able to do in 1908 and which was seen by them (and also by neutral observers) as essential to the consolidation of their position.47 In both respects, the use of the call for the Sharia as battle cry by the opposition and the labelling of the revolt as irtica by the Unionists, an interesting comparison is afforded by the insurrection of Sheykh Sait (a Nahskbandi sheykh, just like Derwish Vahdeti) in Eastern Turkey in February 1925.48 This revolt was at least partly Kurdish-nationalist in character and it was motivated by discontent with the social and economic situation in the Kurdish provinces as well as by the Kemalists’ reneging on promises of Kurdish autonomy. Nevertheless, the leaders

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used the call for the Sharia as a rallying cry. The rebellion was immediately labelled as irtica by the then Turkish government (which consisted of former Unionists) and subsequently suppressed with the utmost severity. The Prime Minister, Fethi (Okyar), explicitly compared the situation to that of April 1909 in a speech in the National Assembly.49 It was on this occasion that, through an amendment to the High Treason Law, the political use of religion was outlawed in Turkey for the first time (it has remained so ever since). The High Treason Law was subsequently used to suppress the liberal opposition within the National Assembly, the Progressive Republican Party, the left-wing opposition outside the Assembly and the opposition press, even though none of these could be linked to the Kurdish rebellion. After the suppression of both the Islamic, the socialist and the liberal opposition in 1925, the Kemalist regime intensified its drive to crush institutionalized Islam. Unfortunately, this policy also strengthened the tendency, already evident in 1909, for Islam to become the vehicle for opposition to the policies of an authoritarian state, and so, in turn, to make the supporters of the secular state allergic to expressions of Islamic feeling. This seems to be the vicious circle in which the debate on the relation between Islam and state has been caught in Turkey for much of the twentieth century.

Notes 1. This chapter is a slightly updated version of: ‘The Ides of April. A Fundamentalist uprising in Istanbul in 1909?’ in C. van Dijk and A.H. de Groot (ed.), State and Islam (Leiden: Research School CNWS, 1996), pp. 64–76. 2. Niyazi Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey (Montreal: McGill University Press, 1964). 3. Roderic H. Davison, Reform in the Ottoman Empire 1856 –1876 (New York: Gordian, 1973); Bernard Lewis, The Emergence of Modern Turkey (London: Oxford University Press, 1961). 4. Carter Vaughn Findley, Bureaucratic Reform in the Ottoman Empire: The Sublime Porte, 1789– 1922 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980). 5. Malcolm E. Yapp, The Making of the Modern Middle East 1792 – 1923 (London and New York: Longman, 1987), pp. 36– 45. 6. S¸evket Pamuk, The Ottoman Empire and European Capitalism, 1820 – 1913: Trade, Investment and Production (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); C¸ag˘lar Keyder, State and Class in Turkey: A Study in Capitalist Development (London and New York: Verso, 1987), pp. 27– 48; Res¸at Kasaba, The Ottoman

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7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12.

13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

22.

23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29.

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Empire and the World Economy: The Nineteenth Century (Binghamton: SUNY, 1988). Davison, pp. 100– 2; Yapp, pp. 112– 14. S¸erif Mardin, The Genesis of Young Ottoman Thought: A Study in the Modernization of Turkish Political Ideas (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967). Robert Devereux, The First Ottoman Constitutional Period: A Study of the Midhat Constitution and Parliament (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1963), pp. 21 – 94; Davison, pp. 358– 408. Lewis, pp. 174– 82; Shaw, 1977, pp. 172– 272. Shaw, 1977, pp. 112– 13. M. S¸u¨kru¨ Haniog˘lu, Bir Siyasal O¨rgut Olarak ’Osmanlı I˙ttihad ve Terakki Cemiyeti’ ve ’Jo¨n Tu¨rklu¨k’. Cilt 1: (1889– 1902) (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 1985); Ernest Edmondson Ramsaur, The Young Turks: Prelude to the Revolution of 1908 (2nd printing, New York: Russel and Russel, 1970 [1st edn Princeton, 1957]). Erik-Jan Zu¨rcher, The Unionist Factor: The Role of the Committee of Union and Progress in the Turkish National Movement (Leiden: Brill, 1984), pp. 19 – 44. Feroz Ahmad, The Young Turks: The Committee of Union and Progress in Turkish Politics 1908– 1914 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1969), pp. 15 – 21. Sina Aks¸in, Jo¨n Tu¨rkler ve I˙ttihat ve Terakki (Istanbul: Remzi, 1987), pp. 107 – 8. Tarik Zafer Tunaya, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasi Partiler 1859– 1952 (Istanbul: n.p., 1952), pp. 239– 47. Aks¸in, pp. 110– 16. Ibid., pp. 122 – 3. Gu¨l C¸ag˘alı Gu¨ven, ‘80 Yılında 31 Mart’, Cumhuriyet, 1989, p. 1. Tunaya, pp. 261– 75. The most important scholarly literature is by Yusuf Hikmet Bayur Tu¨rk I˙nkılaˆbı Tarihi. Cilt I-Kısım 2 (3rd printing, Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu, 1969 [1st edn 1940]), 182– 217 and Aks¸in, 121– 40. For more popular literature based on memoirs see I˙smail Hami Danis¸mend Sadr-i-a’zam Tevfik Pas¸a’nın Dosyasındaki Resmi ve Hususi Vesikalara Go¨re: 31 Mart Vak’ası (3rd printing, Istanbul: I˙stanbul Kitabevi, 1986); Yalc
ın (1934 – 6); Halide Edib Adıvar, Memoirs of Halide Edib (London and New York: Century, 1926). A new and far more liberal archival regime was established in Turkey in 1989. Theoretically all the materials pertinent to the events of 1909 should now be open to researchers. It remains to be seen, however, to what extent the restrictive clauses which have been built into the new regulations and which can be operated by the authorities if they see fit, will constitute an impediment. In 2002 the ARA was rechristened ‘Nationaal Archief.’ ARA, 471/162 (1 4 1909), ARA, 506/175 (6 4 1909). ARA 543/191 (14 4 1909). ARA 546/192 (15 4 1909). Adivar, p. 279; Aks¸in, p. 127. ARA 550/194 (16 4 1909). ARA, 553/196 (17 4 1909).

210 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42.

43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49.

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Danis¸mend, pp. 40 – 97. ARA, 553/196 (17 4 1909). ARA, 578/200 (20 4 1909). Aks¸in, p. 133. ARA, 601/206 (25 4 1909). ARA, 624/214 (27 4 1909, ARA 636/219(29 4 1909). Gu¨ven, p. 1; Aks¸in, p. 121. Gu¨ven, p. 2. ARA 490/172 (5 4 1909). Gu¨ven, 1989: p. 1. ARA 553/196 (17 4 1909). Aks¸in, p. 127; Bayur, pp. 183, 186– 7; Danis¸mend, pp. 21, 23. ‘The authenticity of these memoirs, supposedly written by the former sultan at the Beylerbeyi palace in 1917 – 18, and published in book form by I˙smet Bozdag˘, is very controversial. Ali Birinci and Hakan Erdem, among others, consider them a falsification.’ Gu¨ven, p. 1. Aks¸in, pp. 128– 30; Bayur, pp. 184– 5. ARA, 540/190 (13 4 1909). Cf. G.R. Berridge, Gerald Fitzmaurice (1965 – 1939): Chief Dragoman of the British Embassy in Turkey (Leiden and Boston: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers, 2007), pp. 133– 40. ARA, 562/199 (19 4 1909). Robert Olson, The Emergence of Kurdish Nationalism and the Sheikh Said Rebellion, 1880– 1925 (Austin: University of Texas, 1987) pp. 91 – 127. ZD, pp. 306 – 11.

References Archives and Primary Sources

ARA Algemeen Rijksarchief’s Gravenhage, Tweede Afdeling, Kabinetsarchief van het Ministerie van Buitenlandse Zaken betrefffende politieke rapportage door Nederlandse diplomatieke vertegenwoordigers in het buitenland 1871 – 1940. ZD Zabit Djeridesi.

Secondary Sources

Adıvar, Halide Edib, Memoirs of Halide Edib (London and New York: Century, 1926). Ahmad, Feroz, The Young Turks: The Committee of Union and Progress in Turkish Politics 1908– 1914 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1969). Aks¸in, Sina, Jo¨n Tu¨rkler ve I˙ttihat ve Terakki (Istanbul: Remzi, 1987). Bayur, Yusuf Hikmet, Tu¨rk I˙nkılaˆbı Tarihi. Cilt I-Kısım: 2 (3rd printing, Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu, 1969 [1st edn, 1940]). Berkes, Niyazi, The Development of Secularism in Turkey (Montreal: McGill University Press, 1964).

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Berridge, Geoffrey, Gerald Fitzmaurice (1965 – 1939): Chief Dragoman of the British Embassy in Turkey (Leiden and Boston: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers, 2007). Danis¸mend, I˙smail Hami, Sadr-i-a’zam Tevfik Pas¸a’nın Dosyasındaki Resmi ve Hususi Vesikalara Go¨re: 31 Mart Vak’ası (3rd printing, Istanbul: I˙stanbul Kitabevi, 1986). Davison, Roderic H., Reform in the Ottoman Empire 1856–1876 (New York: Gordian, 1973). Devereux, Robert, The First Ottoman Constitutional Period: A Study of the Midhat Constitution and Parliament (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1963). Findley, Carter Vaughn, Bureaucratic Reform in the Ottoman Empire: The Sublime Porte, 1789– 1922 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980). Gu¨ven, Gu¨l C¸ag˘alı, ‘80 Yılında 31 Mart’, Cumhuriyet 13.4.1989, 1; 14.4.1989, 2; 15.4.1989, 3. Haniog˘lu, M. S¸u¨kru¨, Bir Siyasal O¨rgut Olarak ’Osmanlı I˙ttihad ve Terakki Cemiyeti’ ve’ Jo¨n Tu¨rklu¨k’. Cilt 1: (1889 –1902) (Istanbul: I˙letisim, 1985). Kasaba, Res¸at, The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy: The Nineteenth Century (Binghamton: SUNY, 1988). Keyder, C¸ag˘lar, State and Class in Turkey: A Study in Capitalist Development (London and New York: Verso, 1987). Lewis, Bernard, The Emergence of Modern Turkey (London: Oxford University Press, 1961). Mardin S¸erif, The Genesis of Young Ottoman Thought: A Study in the Modernization of Turkish Political Ideas (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967). Olson, Robert, The Emergence of Kurdish Nationalism and the Sheikh Said Rebellion, 1880– 1925 (Austin: University of Texas, 1987). Pamuk, S¸evket, The Ottoman Empire and European Capitalism, 1820 – 1913: Trade, Investment and Production (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). Ramsaur, Ernest Edmondson, The Young Turks: Prelude to the Revolution of 1908 (2nd printing, New York: Russel and Russel, 1970 [1st edn, Princeton, 1957]). Shaw, Stanford and Ezel Kural Shaw, History of the Ottoman Empire and Modern Turkey. Vol. 2 Reform, Revolution and Republic, the Rise of Modern Turkey 1808– 1975 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977). Tunaya, Tarik Zafer, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasi Partiler 1859– 1952 (Istanbul: n.p., 1952). Yalc
ın, Hu¨seyin Cahit, Siyasal Anılar (Istanbul: I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r Yayınları, 1976) [ed. and translation into modern Turkish Rauf Mutluay]. Yapp, Malcolm E., The Making of the Modern Middle East 1792 – 1923 (London and New York: Longman, 1987). Zu¨rcher, Erik-Jan, The Unionist Factor: The Role of the Committee of Union and Progress in the Turkish National Movement (Leiden: Brill, 1984).

CHAPTER 9 FREEDOM VERSUS SECURITY: REGULATING AND MANAGING PUBLIC GATHERINGS AFTER THE YOUNG TURK REVOLUTION Noe´mi Le´vy-Aksu

The restoration of the 1876 Constitution was the major event which signified the success of the military rebellion in Macedonia and turned it into a revolution in the eyes of the protagonists and observers of the time. The re-enactment of the short-lived Constitution by the Sultan Abdu¨lhamid II was considered as the end of an authoritarian reign and gave the way to massive celebrations throughout the Empire. The opening of the Parliament following the legislative elections in November–December1908 confirmed the Ottoman constitutional turn and opened a new area from a legal and political point of view.1 Notions like freedom (Hu¨rriyet), constitution (Kanun-ı esası) or justice (Adalet) were at the core of the political debates in the following months, both in the newspapers and at the Parliament. At the same time, however, the turn of rejoicing crowds into vindicating ones, the political tensions and the international pressure brought to the forefront another lexical repertoire: maintaining public order (asayis¸), suppressing troubles (ig˘tis¸as¸) and struggling against brigands (es¸kiya) and gangs (cete) became a priority for the new regime.

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Although the confrontation of political ideals with reality and the authoritarian turn of the Young Turk regime have been much debated and constitute one of the prevailing narratives to describe the tragic events of the last decade of the Empire, the first stages of those developments are often neglected. The political developments are relatively well known thanks to a few works of reference, such as S¸u¨kru¨ Haniog˘lu and Aykut Kansu’s ones.2 The centenary of the Young Turk revolution in 2008 has led to the publication of a number of edited volumes, which contributed to highlight various aspects of the revolution, focusing on the political, social and cultural dynamics of its immediate aftermath.3 A few monographs have also focused on specific aspects of the post-revolutionary political and social life, relying on the state archives, parliamentary minutes and newspapers of the time.4 However, many aspects of this early Young Turk period remain still little known and shadowed by the general assumptions on this period and its retrospective interpretation through the posterior developments. Despite the availability and accessibility of the relevant primary sources, the parliamentary activity of the Assembly and its legal production are aspects that still need to be further studied under the angle of their legal, political and social significance.5 With his masterwork exploring the meaning of the Young Turk and Iran revolutions, Nader Sohrabi has provided us with the most accurate account of the political life during the early Second Constitutional Period, while building a stimulating theoretical framework around the notion of constitutionalism, as a global political trend that was appropriated and adapted to regional exigencies.6 His narrative concentrates on how the CUP managed to take over power through legal and extra-legal means and to become a ‘government within the government’ in the aftermath of the revolution. This focus provides the reader with a fascinating analysis of this struggle for power but partly overshadows the Ottoman Parliament as a space of political and legal activity, and a touchstone of constitutionalism. Although some emblematic laws of the first legislatures have been discussed in a convincing way, such as the regulation of strikes or law on beggars and vagrants, others have remained relatively neglected, like the one on public gatherings or the Act against gangs (cete).7 Not only the contents of each of these laws, but also the process that led to their adoption, give important clues on the political and ideological debates and tensions during this early Young Turk period. While Ottoman legal

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history has witnessed tremendous developments for a few years, the Second Constitutional Period is still awaiting a synthetic and critical history of its legal production. In this chapter, I focus on the making of the law on public gatherings as one expression of the debate on freedom and public order in 1908 – 1909. Relying mainly on the parliamentary records of those years, I aim to analyse how the articulation between liberty and security became central to the political debates in the very first months of the first legislature and emerged as one of the main dividing lines of the political field. The approaches to those notions were strongly determined by the ideological background of the political actors and their views on foreign examples and historical processes. However, the parliamentary minutes also illustrate how the various challenges to security and political order in the capital and the provinces of the Empire shaped and modified deputies’ positions and governmental policy. This case highlights the increasing influence of the CUP on political life and state policy, especially after the failed counterrevolution in April 1909. Nevertheless, it also points out that all legal or political responses to specific troubles went together with strong debates on the conciliation between personal rights and state interests, which sometimes managed to influence the final arbitrations. Beyond the ideological divisions and the importance of the CUP factor, the parliamentary records are precious to understand how shared political notions and historical references could lead to opposite positions when faced with concrete issues and emergency situations. My analysis is informed by my reading of the primary and secondary sources on the above-mentioned laws and debates on strikes, beggars and gangs, as well as by my previous studies of the management of public order in this period.8 However, the present chapter will focus mostly on the law on public gatherings (ictima kanunu) adopted by the Parliament in June 1909 in order to understand what was at stake in these debates. How the fundamental right of gatherings could be conciliated with public security was the main issue of the parliamentary debates during the elaboration of that law, which also questioned the political model that should be adopted by the new constitutional regime. The first part of this paper will analyse the arguments developed by the different sides during the process of elaboration of the law on public gatherings. Then, I will question the impact of this law on the police perception of

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public gatherings, relying mainly on the police textbooks published at that time.

The Law on Public Gatherings: A Liberal View on Security Issues The right to hold meetings (hakk-ı ictima) was one of the first issues that revealed the difficulties in conciliating the liberal principles proclaimed by the revolution and the governmental concern with public order and security.9 The issue of public gatherings was highly sensitive for two main reasons. First, under the authoritarian regime of Abdu¨lhamid II, every kind of meeting – political, religious, professional or friendly – was considered as potentially suspect and either forbidden or closely kept under surveillance by the police. Therefore the impossibility of holding meetings had become one of the symbols of the intrusive state intervention into social and private life to which the new regime was expected to put an end. That necessary rupture with the old regime was summarized very clearly by the deputy of Tekfudag˘ı Agop Babikyan: Indeed, after the Constitution proclaimed in 93 [1876], under the despotism that reigned, the meetings were put under an extreme pressure. For that reason, people went under many hard times, difficulties.10 The second reason which brought the question of meetings to the forefront during the first months following the restoration of the Constitution was that huge meetings were both the most spectacular aspect of the 1908 Revolution, the sign of its success and the first challenge faced by the new regime. The enthusiastic crowds which filled the streets in the Ottoman capital and the provinces after the constitutional proclamation on 24 July soon turned into vindictive ones, launching a movement of demonstrations and strikes which continued unremitting until 1909. During the summer 1908, the announcements of the Committee of Union and Progress entreating the Ottoman people to stop all demonstrations of joy and return to their jobs and occupations without further delay had no effect. Therefore, from autumn 1908 onwards the new power attempted to elaborate a legal response to those social mobilizations. The temporary Strike Law (Tatil-i Es¸gaˆl Kanuˆn-ı Muvakkatı), which the Ottoman

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government passed on 10 October 1908, was the first attempt to have the situation under control.11 After the opening of the Assembly, the right to hold meetings and its limits became a priority for the power and the deputies, working on measures that would conciliate individual freedom and preservation of public order. The parliamentary debate on public gatherings became heated on 18 February 1909 when some deputies protested against the publication of an official declaration (teblig˘i-i resmi) published in the newspapers regarding the right to meet. Through that declaration, the government proclaimed its rights to forbid a meeting when needed and the obligation for every meeting to be declared to the police 24 hours before. Those two points were qualified by the deputies who started the debate as ‘two blows struck against the spirit of the Constitution’ (ruh-u Mes¸rutiyete vurulmus iki darbe).12 The debate that followed focused on the notion of freedom, its meaning and possible limitation in the new constitutional regime, highlighting some ideological and political tensions that were going to characterize the parliamentary arena during that first legislature. The definition of freedom, the executive powers and the reference to foreign models were the three main aspects of the lively discussion that spread on several days. Throughout that debate, the notion of freedom appeared as the object of different interpretations from theoretical and legal points of view. The supporters of the government’s measures, mostly coming from the CUP, defined freedom in a classical way, through its limits. Hu¨seyin Cahit, a deputy of Istanbul, offered the most synthetic definition of that position at the very beginning of the debate, with a sentence reminding us of Enlightenment thinkers and the fourth article of the French Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen, stating that ‘Liberty consists in the freedom to do everything which injures no one else’: We all know that liberty is not to do what you want. For human beings, there is a limit to freedom too. My freedom ends where another man’s freedom begins.13 In the same spirit, I˙smail Bey, deputy of Gu¨mu¨lcine proposed a slightly different definition of the limitation of liberty; rather than restricting a man’s freedom to another one’s, he preferred to weigh it against the collective freedom:

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Actually, freedom cannot be used in an individual manner. It should be used so as not to injure collective freedom (hu¨rriyet-i umumiye). Thus, you can hold meetings, provided that you may not break public order.14 Though the reference to ‘hu¨rriyet-i umumiye’ was not elucidated by I˙smail Bey, the way he related that general statement to the issue of meetings highlights the political implications of that definition. In the second sentence quoted above, meetings were assimilated to individual freedom, whereas hu¨rriyet-i umumiye was defined as public order, a semantic shift which made sense in the political context. It illustrates the centrality of the notion of liberty in those first months following the revolution: not only the supporters of a liberal policy, but also their opponents defined and justified their positions through the concept of freedom. At the same time, the assimilation of collective freedom to public order and tranquillity showed that the concept was used by the Unionists to legitimate state policy regarding social control and limitations to individual rights in the constitutional regime. Those arguments were opposed by supporters of a much more liberal interpretation of the notion of freedom and its political applications. The authors of the above-mentioned interpellation, together with other deputies, stood against any restriction of freedom by the power. They defined freedom of meetings as a natural right, which pre-existed the constitutional regime and transcended any political authority. Therefore, they argued, there could be no legitimate governmental intervention to regulate or limit it. Kosmidi Efendi’s words summarized well that liberal argument: Indeed, the right to hold meetings belongs to natural right, just as the right to live or the right to breath. As a matter of fact, man is a social animal. He does not need to ask authorization, if the government think that they may control the right to hold meetings through authorizations, they are wrong.15 Just as the supporters of the restrictions on freedom quoted above, the liberal wing of the Assembly based their arguments on well-known notions of Enlightenment, which had inspired the major political texts of the late eighteenth century, such as the American Declaration of

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Independence or the French Declaration of Rights. However, their emphasis on the idea of natural right allowed them to deny any legitimacy to governmental attempts that would injure that right. As a pre-condition of the freedom of expression and the basis of social life, the right to hold meetings was associated by those deputies to the idea of progress and well-being of the people. In Varteks Efendi’s words, ‘with freedom, goodness develops’.16 To that extent, the restrictions to that freedom put at risk the very political and social project of the constitutional regime. Although those ideological arguments took a large place in the deputies’ interventions, the debate on public gatherings was also deeply anchored in the political conjuncture. The protagonists of the two camps put forth their propositions to face the challenges raised by meetings to public order. The supporters of the government argued that the control of the meetings belonged to the attributions of the executive power, since meetings out of control could threaten the stability of the regime and the protection of the people. Several deputies even argued that the parliamentary debate on that issue was useless and illegitimate and called for a respect of the government’s prerogatives: In order to create this public order, we must trust totally the government. We must leave the government free in its action.17 That position suited the centralizing ideology of the Unionists but its justification was rooted in the specific political context of the aftermath of the revolution. In a more or less explicit way, the deputies referred to spontaneous or organized gatherings of crowds which disturbed public order during the last months of 1908, such as the lynching of a GreekMuslim couple in Bes¸iktas¸ and the demonstration organized against the new regime by Ko¨r Ali.18 According to those deputies, if the executive power was not entitled to the right to prevent those kinds of events, the country was likely to fall into anarchy. However, the previous examples and the recurrence of such words as fesad (complot) in those deputies’ words showed that rather than anarchy, they were fearing an organized political contestation of the regime by the conservative Muslim wing and supporters of the old regime, the kind of opposition that would be stigmatized after the 31 Mart Vakası as reaction (irtica or reaksiyon). One should note that they felt quite reluctant to elaborate on that threat:

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the reference to an invisible enemy was needed to legitimize the government’s limitations to the right to hold meetings, but overemphasizing the danger would undermine their statements that the situation was under control in the Empire. The ambiguities of this position were well seized and questioned by the opponents to the governmental policy, who repeatedly asked for some further information about these supposed complots and enemy of the regime. Though most of them acknowledged the existence of political threats against the regime, they emphasized that the evil-intentioned meetings should not shadow the innocent ones and shape the state’s attitude towards that issue. More concretely, they argued that the meetings that were challenging security and public order should be solved au cas par cas on a local basis by the police forces. This presentation of police activity as a possible alternative to legislation was not without contradiction, at a time when police forces had not yet been reformed and their incapacity to maintain public order throughout the Empire was denounced in the newspapers and at the Assembly by the same deputies.19 This ambiguity reveals how difficult it was for the liberal opponents to develop a viable alternative to the Unionist centralizing policy, when the administrative and legal reforms that should grant the fundamental rights in the new regime had not yet been realized. The use of foreign references was a way for the two sides to palliate the limits of their arguments based on the present Ottoman situation, by rooting their propositions in a European context which gave them some legitimacy. Unsurprisingly, the two examples which were discussed by the deputies were the French and English ones, the two major references that united and divided the actors of the Young Turk Revolution. In the Ottoman Empire as elsewhere, the French example was favoured by the supporters of a centralizing policy, whereas the English case was put forth by the liberal opposition. The parliamentary debates on various issues provide many examples of this polarization, but they also nuance it, revealing a more or less accurate knowledge of the two cases and a concern with the feasibility and opportunity to transfer foreign legal and political frameworks to the Ottoman case. During the debate on public gatherings, the need to get authorization from the police 24 hours before crystallized the tensions and led the two sides to mobilize the French and English references. The supporters of

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that measure stressed the existence of a similar disposition in France, a model for the revolution which could not be accused of despotism. They disqualified the English reference on the ground that English liberalism was the result of a century-long historical process and could only apply to a pacified society, a concept which obviously did not fit the Ottoman realities of the time. Cliche´s on British gentlemen as opposed to the unachieved civilization process of the Ottoman society were part of the argumentation, contrasting ‘their level of culture’ (‘onların seviye-i irfanı’) with the Ottoman present situation: ‘We are not yet like this.’20 The opponents to the 24-hours clause discussed the French reference at several levels. Some of them questioned the legitimacy of such a reference, opposing it to the English case, more suitable to the Ottoman case: We take France as an example. Why do we choose France? Why don’t we take England as an example? Nowadays, England is one of the fairest countries in the world. In England, everything is free. Please, consider that point. In France, while those meetings are under a tight control, incidents occur during those meetings. But in England, while everything is free, nothing bad occurs.21 In that example, France and England appear as two abstractions used to symbolize an ideological breach, factual accuracy being far less important than the connotations in the political field. However, throughout the debate, several deputies developed a more sophisticated analysis of the two cases, illustrating a process of appropriation of foreign references. The discussion on terminology and legal articles put out the constructive influence of those foreign cases on the concrete elaboration of law and internal policy. According to the government side, the choice of the French model for the regulation of meetings had not been decided a priori but resulted from a comparative analysis of the French and English legal frameworks.22 The Great Vizier Hu¨seyin Hilmi Pas¸a was said to have ordered studies of those legislations and decided for the French case, considered to be ‘more adequate to the specific character of [the Ottoman] nation’. Although they do not give any clue about the personal involvement of the Great Vizier in the process, documents in the Ottoman Archives confirm the existence of comparison between police organizations, done through correspondence with the respective

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countries or missions sent to various European countries such as France and England but also Italy, Germany or Austria during the summer 1908.23 They attest to the interest of the new regime in foreign experiences, although it remains difficult to know to what extent those comparisons influenced the final decision. The real contents of the French legislation were also discussed, through a debate on legal terminology and dispositions. Some deputies pointed out some legal technical discrepancies between the French case supposed to have inspired the law and the governmental instructions. First, the right to hold meetings was explicitly stipulated in the French Constitution whereas it was absent from the Ottoman Constitution inherited from 1876. This essential difference biased the very grounds of the debate, since from a legal point of view nothing prevented the Ottoman executive power from suppressing the right to hold meetings through an arbitrary decision. While the Unionists protested to government’s goodwill, the two sides agreed on the fact that only the inclusion of the right to hold meetings foreseen with the reform (tadil) of the Constitution would remove any ambiguity. The second discrepancy with the French case was a more technical one. Supporters of and opponents of the law agreed on the fact that the French obligation to declare a meeting to the police authorities 24 hours before was a mere formality, a declaration (beyan) which did not involve the possibility for the authority to forbid the meeting on security grounds, as opposed to an official process of prior authorization (ruhsatname). That process could therefore not be understood as a limitation to the right to hold meetings. Although the supporters of the government argued that the same spirit animated the Ottoman authorities, their opponents pointed the ambiguities of the government’s declaration, especially in the following sentence: ‘The ones who will not apply for that official document will be forbidden to hold meetings.’24 Whereas some deputies refused all kinds of prior declaration regarding a natural right, other accepted its principle on security grounds but feared that the government might also use the declaration process to forbid some political meetings. They affirmed that there was not such an opportunity in the French system and pointed out the risk of arbitrary decisions. In short, the problem was not only the inadequacy of the French case from a political point of view, but the errors made in its interpretation. Whether those errors resulted from a

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lack of juridical knowledge or a deliberate willingness to sidestep the debate was not explicitly stated by the liberal deputies, but their repeated questions on governmental intentions indicated that many of them favoured the second argument. The results of those debates were a law of compromise, which acknowledged the necessity for a legal definition of lawful gatherings but restricted to the minimum the limitations to the freedom of meetings. The organizers of demonstrations did not need to get prior permission but they should submit a written statement to the police before the demonstrations. Demonstrations in open areas were permitted until dusk and meetings inside buildings could occur without time limitation. Although it was adopted in June 1909, after the 31 Mart Vakası that law retained a highly liberal character which does not really fit the classical periodization stressing an authoritarian turn after that event. The fact that the main debates on the law occurred before the 31 Mart Vakası was probably influenced by the liberal character of the law, since from a technical point of view the deputies stressed the impossibility of modifying the already accepted articles in the last parliamentary debate before the adoption of the law, while some deputies were arguing for the necessity of a more strict law owing to the changing political conditions. Besides those technical reasons linked to the legislative procedure, this liberal character can be interpreted as a sign that the parliamentary body remained, after the 31 Mart Vakası, an open political arena which could challenge the security options advocated by some Unionists in the name of individual and collective freedom. From that point of view, the comparison with the new law on public gatherings which was adopted in 1912 is highly significant.25 Just after the 1912 elections, called the sopalı secimler (elections with sticks), where the CUP were able to get a clear majority, the Assembly started to deliberate on the amendment of the Law on Public Gatherings. The new regulation was much more repressive, making permission compulsory for public meetings in open areas and giving the right to the government to forbid gatherings for the peace and order of the country. In addition, a new law on Assembling (Tecemmuat Kanunu) was prepared in 1912, the difference between I˙ctimat and Tecemmuat being that the former were conceived as organized public gatherings, whereas the latter were spontaneous assembling in the streets, which should be the object of a tight surveillance. Those legal changes were one of the expressions of the

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more restrictive interpretation of individual freedom by the Unionist regime and the gradual extension of the sphere of security to all aspects of social life. The law-making process was only one aspect of the control of public gatherings during this period. If both political concerns and social realities were influencial in the legal definition of public gatherings, one should also question what kind of impact this legal text had, in return, on the actual management of public gatherings. While the analysis of the governmental approaches to the multiple forms of social mobilization that occurred during the first years of the Constitution would go beyond the scope of this chapter, the second part of this study is an attempt to reflect on the reception and interpretation of this text by one of the main institutions in charge of its application: the police forces.

From the Parliament to the Police: Law and Order Reframed The Second Constitutional Period offers a wide range of sources to analyse the police perceptions and behaviours. Beside the police archives belonging to the Zaptiye Nezareti until July 1909 and to the Emniyet-i Umumiye Mu¨du¨riyeti afterwards, the textbooks published for the police schools and the professional journals Polis and Polis Mecmuası issued by the Ministery of the Interior give an insight into the main issues related to public order and policing in the aftermath of the Young Turk Revolution. I will focus here on the period between the adoption of the 1909 law on public gatherings and the 1912 repressive turn. As I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, the first months of the revolution were times of numerous social mobilizations and gatherings, which the political authorities were unable to control. The recurrent calls to itidal [moderation] of the Committee of Union and Progress could not put an end to the strikes and demonstrations which were burgeoning throughout the Empire. Moreover, the government and Committee had an ambiguous attitude towards those demonstrations. While they tried to suppress the mobilizations which paralyzed the economic activities of the Empire, they encouraged the demonstrations that went together with the boycott of Austrian goods in September 1908.26 The crowds were perceived as a factor for disorder and a potential social threat for the new regime, but they were also a source of legitimacy that a representative regime would rather have on

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its side than against it. Beside those political concerns, the erratic management of public gatherings during the first months after the revolution reflected the disorganization of the police forces, unable to cope with such massive demonstrations. Several factors conbined to hinder the police efficiency. First, the purges and dismissals which occurred just after the revolution deprived the institution of its most infamous but experienced high-ranked policemen and secret agents, while the detestable image of the police and the low wages offered to the recruits discouraged the recruitment of respectable members. Moreover, even the experienced policemen who had kept their position after the revolution lacked resources to respond to those kinds of challenges to public order. Massive demonstrations under the regime of Abdu¨lhamid II mostly occurred in the forms of state organized processions, and the rare demonstrations including political or social movements had given way to undiscerning suppression and bloody massacres, like in the 1890 and 1895 Armenian demonstrations in the capital. In brief, the Ottoman police were still inexperienced in the management of crowds, an issue that had become central in Western European policing during the previous decade.27 The reorganization of the police forces under the General Directorate of Security in the summer of 1909 was the starting point of an important state effort to create police forces able to fulfil in a satisfactory way their missions pertaining to law enforcement and social control.28 Unsurprisingly, the management of crowds and public gatherings came as one of the priorities in police publications following the creation of the Directorate of Security. Both the police archives and the textbooks written for the police schools pointed to the major difficulty in managing those kinds of social mobilizations: while those public gatherings were considered as a threat to order which had to be controlled in a tight way, the police intervention should be done according to the spirit of the Constitution and the new legislation on those issues. Thus, the tension between law and order, omnipresent in the parliamentary debates, appeared as a painful issue for the police too. That tension is best revealed by the police textbooks, which attempted to give a basic juridical formation to new policemen and to standardize the police methods on the field. All the textbooks that I have been able to find devoted at least a chapter or some paragraphs to the issue of public gatherings. For instance, in I˙brahim Feridun’s Polis Efendilere Mahsus

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Terbiye ve Malumat-i Meslekiye published in 1910 the two longest chapters of the book respectively deal with the measures to take for processions (Alaylarda I˙ttihaz Edilecek Tedabir) and the measures to take for public gatherings and demonstrations (I˙ctimalarda, Nu¨mayis¸lerde I˙ttihaz Edilecek Tedabir). The latter is the most relevant to study the police interpretation of the new legislation on public gatherings. It starts with a reference to the law on public gatherings (ictima kanunu mucibince) and the obligation for the organizers of the gatherings to give a prior notification of the event to the police. That much-debated legal clause made the police be the first responsible for the management of those meetings, even before their occurrence. Inspired by the French model, this prerogative was also one of the elements which strengthened the role of the police and empowered them, instead of the local administrative or judicial bodies, with the authority to decide on certain issues. This perspective should be considered together with the relevant articles in the law on beggars and suspicious individuals adopted in July 1909, which authorized the police forces to expel and physically punish these categories without waiting for a justice decision.29 In both cases, Parliament had decided to give primacy to the police forces over the administrative or judicial authorities. Interestingly enough, it was the only legal article quoted in that chapter and it opened the way to a repressive interpretation of the law, which afterwards gave reason to the fears of the liberal deputies. Indeed, the prior notification was seen by the police as an opportunity to send in advance patrols and civil police to the place chosen for the demonstration.30 The rest of the chapter focused on diverse techniques which should be used to encircle the crowds, penetrate into the demonstrations and, whenever it was necessary, arrest the troublemakers. The illustrations provided in that chapter were even more explicit than the text. From a total of eight pictures, only two featured pacific demonstrations under the surveillance of the police, while the rest of them represented violent suppression of demonstrations by police forces. The German example was privileged here, with a series on the ‘bloody demonstration’ of the Customs workers which occurred in 1910 in Berlin. Those pictures represented one-to-one fights between the German policemen and the workers, as well as the confusion which occurred when the police ran into the demonstration to suppress it. The influence of the military methods on the German police and their lack of social integration have been well documented for that period.31

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The reference to that specific foreign model can therefore be considered as indicative of some tendencies within the police institution at that time. I˙brahim Feridun had himself been trained in the military school and spent all of his career in the Army before he was appointed in 1909 as a teacher at Istanbul Police School. Similar profiles formed the majority of the police hierarchy, included the head of the General Directorate of Security, Galib Pas¸a, pointing to an increasing militarization of the police forces during the first years of the Second Constitutional Period. That military component seems to have been much more influential than the new legal framework in the perception and management of public gatherings by the police forces. Within that repressive framework, some elements nevertheless indicated that public gatherings were considered by the police as opportunities to develop new techniques of policing and management of people. Another chapter of I˙brahim Feridun’s book, devoted to the Paris Prefect of Police, Le´pine, is emblematic of that search for new methods. Le´pine distinguished himself when he was at the head of the Parisian police by developing new approaches to public order issues and especially control of demonstration.32 His methods were based on systematic patrolling and penetration into the crowd, and he himself showed up in many demonstrations, haranguing the crowds from inside. One of the most famous pictures of Le´pine, featuring him in the middle of a hostile crowd, is reproduced in Feridun’s chapter, which celebrates his courage and the efficiency of his personal interventions in the most agitated demonstrations: In the most extraordinary, dangerous demonstrations, riots and calamities, Mister Le´pine always shows up. And how! With just a stick in his hand! [. . .] He stands against the protestors with dignity and respect like a father warning and advising and, very often, when they are confronted to Mr Le´pine’s careful and determined organization and movements, all these enraged people, all these extremely violent behaviours, ready to destruction, become placated. The character of Mr Le´pine has a great power on the people.33 The reference to Le´pine was instrumental in two important dimensions present in that ‘new’ police management of crowds. The first one

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featured a kind of social psychology which reminds us of Gustave Lebon’s famous book, the Psychology of the Crowds. Published in French in 1895 and translated for the first time into Ottoman Turkish in 1907, that book had an important impact on French political and intellectual elites and seemed to have been also appreciated by the Ottoman ruling circles and within the police institution. According to that conception, within a crowd the most disordered passions could develop and give way to violences and subversive actions. While in Lebon’s book the leaders of the crowd are described as the ones who make the best utilization of those passionate feelings, the police interpretation of that psychological analysis stressed the importance for police forces to become a part of those crowds in order to be able to influence their feelings. Through the example of the prefect Le´pine, haranguing the mob like a father and pacifying the demonstrators through his charisma and eloquence, the police were called to use the very tools of the leaders of the demonstration in order to influence the masses and reverse their emotions. That psychological management was first and foremost a tactic to implement a control of the crowds which the human and material means of the police had difficulty in achieving through traditional repressive methods. However, at the same time, it acknowledged the unavoidable character of public gatherings in a constitutional regime and the necessity to develop responses which would take into account the political and social agency of the masses. The insistence of all the police textbooks on the respect due to the people and the law according to the principles of the Constitution stressed the legal and political understanding in which police interventions should take place, prohibiting the use of arbitrary violence and promoting impartiality and justice.34 I would argue that taking into account the rights of the people was only one side of the new concern of the police forces with social issues, the other side being the development of new techniques of control and infiltration, for which the management of public gatherings constituted a fecund laboratory. Civil police, profiling and psychological means of persuasion were some of the tools which could be experienced in the management of public gatherings and would find broader applications in the context of war. The other dimension Le´pine’s example referred to was the political dimension of the public gatherings and the definition of risk by the Ottoman police. A distinct chapter of I˙brahim Feridun’s already quoted

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textbook was devoted to ‘Socialists, Strikes and Anarchists’. Unsurprisingly, the focus was not on the theoretical contents of socialism and anarchism but rather on their forms of action and their necessary control by the police. Strikes, demonstrations and obstructions of work were the major dangers pointed by that chapter, which made a direct reference to the 6th article of the 1909 Strike Law, allowing strikes but forbidding obstruction of work and demonstrations by the strikers. The police were invited to control tightly any kind of social mobilizations and to ensure the freedom of circulation and work. In that case too, it was in the name of freedom and the right of the majority that public order had to be maintained and social protests suppressed. The chapter was illustrated by a picture of a small gathering of French strikers entering the house of a non-striker, breaking his furniture and terrifying his family. Material destitution associated with subversive political ideologies and collective actions were presented as a potentially explosive mixture, which required the greatest attention on the part of the police forces since it endangered economic, political and social order at the expense of the rights of the propertied class and apolitical workers. Law, freedom and security were articulated there as complementary notions to legitimize the suppression of social mobilizations.

Conclusion To what extent were those discourses on public gatherings and social movements influential in the management of the numerous social mobilizations which occurred during the first years of the Constitution? An extensive survey of the question would be impossible, owing to the frequency of the mobilizations in the aftermath of the revolution. A few case studies on the immediate aftermath of the revolution highlight for us the multiple interactions between the political authorities, the police forces, the notables and the actors of public gatherings and the wide range of solutions found for those mobilizations, from compromise to suppression. Vangelis Kechriotis on the Aydın railway strike or Dog˘an C¸etinkaya on the social mobilizations after 1908 have illustrated the broad repertoire of action and negotiation, which could be found during those kinds of demonstrations.35 Despite the early Unionist call to order in August 1908, public gatherings could not be completely suppressed during the first months after the revolution. The lack of organization of

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police forces, together with the reluctance of the political authorities to alienate themselves from the support of the masses can account for this failure in resorbing the social effervescence of the time, together with the growing political and social tensions linked to the local and international developments. Much discussed by the newspapers of the time, the incapacity of the political authorities and the police forces to take control of spontaneous or organized gatherings was a hard challenge for the new power. Was the law of 1909 a turning point in the management of such public gatherings? As we saw before, the deputies adopted a relatively liberal law, which did not enable the power to prevent the organization of demonstrations and public gatherings. Within this legal framework, the management of these kinds of events remained, therefore, to be achieved on site, a characteristic which gave the first role to the police forces. In this respect, I would argue that the 1909 law on public gatherings was less influential than the reorganization of the police forces during the summer 1909 in the achievement of a more efficient control of public gatherings from that period onwards. Moreover, the liberal framework of the law on public gatherings should be further nuanced. The proclamation of the martial law (o¨rfi idare) in the capital after the 31 Mart Vakası and its extension to many localities in the name of security and political stability suspended the constitutional rights and established heavy restrictions on individual freedoms, while explicitly forbidding all kinds of public gatherings. That wide application of a state of exception gave a specific power to the military forces and curbed the social and political mobilizations, even though it failed to suppress all forms of protest. The contemporary adoption of a liberal law on public gatherings and generalization of state of exception may appear as a contradiction. Whether that contradiction reflected the tensions which divided the political field at the time, or the extensive use of idare-i o¨rfiye made it possible and politically beneficial for the power to support a liberal legal framework for public gatherings, needs to be further investigated.

Notes 1. On the electoral process which led to the election of the Parliament in 1908, see Hasan Kayali, ‘Elections and the electoral process in the Ottoman Empire, 1876– 1919’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 27 (1995), pp. 265 – 86.

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2. S¸u¨kru¨ Hanıog˘lu, Preparation for a Revolution: The Young Turks 1902– 1908 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Aykut Kansu, The Revolution of 1908 in Turkey (Leiden: Brill, 1997). 3. See for example Sina Aks¸in (ed.), Yu¨zu¨ncu¨ Yılında Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi (Istanbul: Tu¨rkiye I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r Yayınları, 2010); Ferdan Ergut (ed.), II. Mes¸rutiyeti yeniden du¨s¸u¨nmek (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2010). 4. Y. Dog˘an C¸etinkaya, 1908 Osmanlı Boykotu, Bir Toplumsal Hareketin Analizi (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2004). 5. Ileana Moroni’s recent PhD dissertation, offering a comprehensive analysis of the first parliamentary year, constitutes one of the first works addressing this primary source in a synthetic and critical way. See Anastasia-Ileana Moroni, ‘Une nation impe´riale. Construire une communaute´ politique Ottomane moderne au lendemain de la Re´volution de 1908’, unpublished PhD thesis, Paris, EHESS, 2013. 6. Nader Sohrabi, Revolution and Constitutionalism in the Ottoman Empire and Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). 7. Nadir O¨zbek, ‘“Beggars” and “Vagrants” in state policy and public discourse during the late Ottoman Empire: 1876 – 1914’, Middle Eastern Studies 45/5 (2009), pp. 783– 801; Ferdan Ergut, ‘Policing the poor in the late Ottoman Empire’, Middle Eastern Studies 38/2 (2002), pp. 149– 64. 8. Noe´mi Le´vy-Aksu, Ordre et de´sordres dans l’Istanbul ottomane (1879 –1909) (Paris: Karthala, 2013). 9. The Law on Public Gatherings is one of the cases addressed by Ferdan Ergut in his study of the Unionist redefinition of public order. However, his focus is more on the authoritarian turn of 1912 than on the debates in 1908–9. See Ferdan Ergut, Modern Devlet ve Polis (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2004), pp. 274–88. 10. MMZC, 1908–9, I˙.37, p. 139: ‘C¸u¨nku¨ 93 senesinde yapılan Kanunu Esasiden sonra hu¨kmeden Devri I˙stibdatta ictimaat fevkalade tazyik edildi. Ahaliyi, bundan dolayı pek cok zaruretlere, sefaletlere giriftar edildi.’ All the Parliamentary records of the Second Constitutional Period are accessible online through the website of the Turkish National Assembly: http://www.tbmm.gov. tr/develop/owa/tutanak_dergisi_pdfler_mmb.meclis_donemleri?v_meclisdonem ¼0. I used this Turkish transcription for my quotations. English translations are mine. 11. S¸ehmus¸ Gu¨zel, Tu¨rkiye’de I˙s¸ci Hareketleri; 1908– 1984 (Istanbul: Kaynak, 1996). 12. MMZC, 1908– 9, I˙.37, p. 134. A proclamation (takrir) was issued by five deputies: Rifat from Halep, Kozmidi from Istanbul, I˙smail Kemal from Berat, Mahir Sait from Ankara and I˙smail Hakkı from Amasya. A similar protestation was voiced by Yorgi Bos¸o, deputy of Serfice. 13. MMZC, 1908 – 9, I˙.37, p. 134: ‘Hu¨rriyet, istedig˘ini yapmak demek olmadıg˘ını hepimiz biliriz. Cemiyat-ı Bes¸eriye icinde hu¨rriyetin de bir hududu vardır. Dig˘erinin hu¨rriyeti bas¸ladıg˘ı yerde benim hu¨rriyetim hitam bulur.’ 14. MMZC 1908– 9, I˙.37, p. 136: ‘Yani hu¨rriyet, s¸ahsi olarak istimal edilmiyor. Hu¨rriyet-i umumiyeye taaruz etmemek s¸artıyla. Kezalık ictimaat akdolunabilir, aˆsayisi umumiyi sektedar etmemek s¸artıyla.’

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15. MMZC, 1908– 9, i 37, p. 145: ‘C¸u¨nku¨ hakkı ictima, hakkı hayat, hakkı hayvanı naˆtık-ı ictimaidir. I˙htiyacı yok ki zaten Hu¨ku¨mat hakkı ictimaa malik olmak icin ruhsat lazım zannediyorsa hata ediyor.’ 16. MMZC, I. 37, p. 135: ‘C¸u¨nku¨ hu¨rriyetten iyilik ileri geliyor.’ 17. MMZC, I. 37, p. 137. Ismail Bey, deputy of Gu¨mu¨lcine: ‘Bu asayis¸i vu¨cude getirmek icin hu¨ku¨mete tamamen emn-u¨ itimat etmeliyiz. Hu¨ku¨meti icraatında serbest birakmalıyız.’ 18. MMZC, I. 37, p. 134. These examples were given by Hu¨seyin Cahit. On these events, see Francois Georgeon, ‘1908 Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi sonrasında I˙stanbul’da ortaya cıkan birkac vaka u¨zerine’, in Noe´mi Le´vy and Alexandre Toumarkine (eds), Osmanlı’da Asayis¸, Suc ve Ceza (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2007), pp. 154– 8. 19. The reform of the police forces was only achieved in July 1909, with the creation of the Emniyet-i Umumiye Mu¨du¨riyeti. Until that date, the deterioration of public order and disfunctioning of police forces were a recurrent topic for the public debate. In that context, Varteks Efendi’s affirmation ‘Our police in an excellent situation’ (Zabitamiz mu¨kemmel haldedir) sounds quite awkward. MMZC, I. 1, p. 135. 20. MMZC I. 37, Arıf I˙smet Bey: ‘Fakat biz daha o¨yle deg˘iliz’. 21. MMZC, I˙. 37, p. 135, Varteks Efendi: ‘Biz Fransa’yı kendimize misal alıyoruz. Nicin Fransa’yı alıyoruz? Nicin Inglitere’yi kendimize misal almıyoruz? I˙nglitere’dir bugu¨n du¨nyada en aˆdil hu¨ku¨metlerden birisi addolunanı. I˙nglitere’de her bir s¸ey serbesttir. Bakınız rica ederim. Fransa’da bu ictimaları bo¨yle sıkıca bag˘ladıg˘ı sırada Fransızlar, o mitinglerde, ictimalarda vukuat zuhur eder, fakat I˙ngiltere’de her bir s¸ey serbest oldug˘u vakitte hicbir s¸ey vukua gelmiyor.’ 22. MMZC, I˙. 37, p. 137. Arif I˙smet Bey: ‘Fransa ictima kanunnamesi bizim ahvali hususiye-i milliyemize muvafiktir.’ 23. BOA, DH.EUM.VRK, 24/46, s.d.; BOA. DH.EUM.THR, 7/35, 25 Eylu¨l 1325 [8 October 1909]. I discussed this interest in foreign patterns of policing in my book Ordre et de´sordres dans l’Istanbul ottomane (1879 – 1909) (Paris: Karthala, 2013), pp. 191 –213. 24. MMZC, 1908– 9, I. 37, p. 139: ‘Bu varakai resmiyeyi istihsal etmeyenleri biz ictimadanmen ederiz.’ 25. The changes introduced by the 1912 law are discussed by Ferdan Ergut, Modern Devlet ve Polis. 26. C¸etinkaya, 1908 Osmanlı Boykotu. 27. For the transformations in the management of crowds in early 20th century France, see Jean-Marc Berlie`re, Le pre´fet Le´pine. Vers la naissance de la police moderne (Paris: Denoe¨l, 1993). 28. Halim Alyot, Tu¨rkiye’de Zabıta (Ankara: Kanaat Basımevi, 1947), pp. 487 – 97. 29. Ergut, ‘Policing the poor’. 30. ‘[Polis merkezi] ictimaın zaman akdinden bir mu¨ddet evvel ictima mahallinin etrafındaki sokakların bas¸larına kuvvetli notkalar tayin eder ayrıca bu¨yu¨k

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32. 33.

34.

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caddeler u¨zerinde dolas¸mak u¨zere devriyeler de cıkarır . . . Bazı kere bir kısım kuvvette karakollarda yahut mu¨nasip mahallerde ihtiyaten gizlice bulundurularak bilahare birden bire meydana cıkarılır.’ Herbert Reinke, ‘Armed as if for a War: The State, The Military and the Professionalization of the Prussian Police in Imperial Germany’, in Clive Emsley and Barbara Weinberger (eds), Policing Western Europe (Westport: Praeger, 1991), pp. 55 – 73. Berlie`re, Le pre´fet Le´pine et la naissance de la police moderne. Feridun, p. 192: ‘Paris’te zuhur eden en mu¨this¸, en hatar-nak nu¨mayis¸lerinde, isyanlarda, vukuat-ı mu¨limmede Mo¨syo¨ Lepin mutlaka hadisede ispat-ı vu¨cut ediyor. Hem nasıl yalnız elindeki bastonuyla! . . . Onlara, vuku bulan vesayesi bir babanın ihtaratı gibi hilm ve riayetle dikleniyor ve alel-ekser Mo¨syo¨ Lepin’in mu¨debbirane ve azimkaˆrane tertibat ve hareketi kars¸ısında bu¨tu¨n asabi insanlar, etrafı tahrip edecek dereceye varan en s¸edid galeyanlar, sukune mu¨ncer oluyor! Mo¨syo¨ Lepin’nin s¸ahsının halk u¨zerinde pek bu¨yu¨k bir teseri vardır.’ See for example the chapter devoted to the principles of the Constitution (Mes¸rutiyet’in Erkanı) in Hasan Niyazi, Polis Dersleri (1913). This chapter comments on the terms constitution, freedom, equality and fraternity and quotes the specific articles of the Constitution forbidding torture and arbitrary violence. See Vangelis Kechriotis’ paper and Dog˘an C¸etinkaya, ‘1908 Devrimi ve Toplumsal Seferberlik’, in Ferdan Ergut (ed.), II. Mes¸rutiyeti yeniden du¨s¸u¨nmek (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2010), pp. 13– 27.

References Archives and Published Primary Sources

Bas¸bakanlık Osmanlı Ars¸ivi, Dahiliye Nezareti, 1909. Feridun, I˙brahim. Polis Efendilere Mahsuˆs Terbiye ve Maˆluˆmat-ı Meslekiye (Matbaa-I Hayriye, 1326 [1910]); for transcription, see I˙brahim Feridun, Polis Efendilere Mahsus Terbiye ve Malumat-ı Meslekiye, ed. Muhittin Karakaya and Veysel K. Bilgic (Ankara: Polis Akademisi Yayınları, 2010). Meclis-i Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi (MMZC), 1908– 9. Niyazi, Hasan. Polis Dersleri (Dersaadet, 1329 [1913]).

Books and Articles

Aks¸in, Sina (ed.), Yu¨zu¨ncu¨ Yılında Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi (Istanbul: Tu¨rkiye I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r Yayınları, 2010). Alyot, Halim, Tu¨rkiye’de Zabıta (Ankara: Kanaat Basımevi, 1947). Berlie`re, Jean-Marc, Le pre´fet Le´pine. Vers la naissance de la police moderne (Paris: Denoe¨l, 1993). C¸etinkaya, Y. Dog˘an, 1908 Osmanlı Boykotu, Bir Toplumsal Hareketin Analizi (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2004). ——— ‘1908 Devrimi ve Toplumsal Seferberlik’, in Ferdan Ergut (ed.), II. Mes¸rutiyeti yeniden du¨s¸u¨nmek (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2010).

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Ergut, Ferdan (ed.), II. Mes¸rutiyeti yeniden du¨s¸u¨nmek (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2010). ——— Modern Devlet ve Polis (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2004). ——— ‘Policing the poor in the late Ottoman Empire’, Middle Eastern Studies 38/2, (2002), pp. 149– 64. Georgeon, Francois, ‘1908 Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi sonrasında Istanbul’da ortaya cıkan birkac vaka u¨zerine’, in Noe´mi Le´vy and Alexandre Toumarkine (eds), Osmanlı’da Asayis¸, Suc ve Ceza, (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2007). Gu¨zel, S¸ehmus¸, Tu¨rkiye’de I˙s¸ci Hareketleri; 1908– 1984 (Istanbul: Kaynak, 1996). Haniog˘lu, S¸u¨kru¨, Preparation for a Revolution: The Young Turks 1902– 1908 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Kansu, Aykut, The Revolution of 1908 in Turkey (Leiden: Brill, 1997). Kayali, Hasan, ‘Elections and the electoral process in the Ottoman Empire, 1876 – 1919’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 27 (1995), pp. 265 – 86. Le´vy-Aksu, Noe´mi, Ordre et de´sordres dans l’Istanbul ottomane (1879 – 1909) (Paris: Karthala, 2013). Moroni, Anastasia-Ileana, ‘Une nation impe´riale. Construire une communaute´ politique Ottomane moderne au lendemain de la Re´volution de 1908’ unpublished PhD thesis, Paris, EHESS, 2013. ¨ zbek, Nadir, ‘“Beggars” and “Vagrants” in state policy and public discourse during O the late Ottoman Empire: 1876– 1914’, Middle Eastern Studies 45/5 (2009), pp. 783– 801. Reinke, Herbert, ‘“Armed as if for a War”: The State, the Military and the Professionalization of the Prussian Police in Imperial Germany’, in Clive Emsley and Barbara Weinberger (eds), Policing Western Europe (Westport: Praeger, 1991), pp. 55– 73. Sohrabi, Nader, Revolution and Constitutionalism in the Ottoman Empire and Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013).

PART III CONSTITUTIONAL EXPECTATIONS AND POLITICAL HORIZONS

CHAPTER 10 HISTORICIZING THE 1908 REVOLUTION:THE CASE OF JAMANAK Aylin Koc
unyan

The first Ottoman Constitution was proclaimed on 23 December 1876 in the midst of various internal and external tensions. Its proclamation was just the beginning of a new series of political crises. Article 113 of the Ottoman Constitution granted the sultan the right to banish on the grounds of credible police information those who endanger the security of the state. Midhat Pasha was forced to resign in accordance with article 113 on 7 February 1877 and was exiled to Europe. ‘The promulgation of the Constitution by Midhat was considered a threat to the sovereign rights of the sultan. The rumour that he was thinking of founding a republican regime was another reason for his banishment’, the French Diplomat, Count Charles de Mou¨y, noted in his political correspondence.1 Some archival documents from the Yıldız Palace Collection also alluded to the struggle of power that occurred between Midhat Pasha and the sultan. Midhat Pasha was accused of dominating the internal politics of the Empire by seizing the power to shape foreign policy of the country and of acting over the sultan like the president of a republic.2 After Midhat’s banishment, the Ottoman Parliament opened on 19 March 1877 with 130 deputies (80 Muslims and 50 non-Muslims) and accomplished its tasks until February 1878. On the recommendation of the Grand Vizier, Ahmet Vefik Pasha, Abdu¨lhamid II did not

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dissolve the General Assembly but only suspended it. Deputies were resent to their electoral district and the members of the Senate continued to receive their allowance until their death. The text of the 1876 Ottoman Constitution was entirely published in the first pages of the Ottoman yearbooks between the years 1878– 1908.3 After 32 years of Hamidian absolutism, the Second Constitutional Period began after the 1908 Young Turk Revolution. The revolution, which arose in the Balkans, quickly spread throughout the Empire, urging Abdu¨lhamid II to restore the Ottoman Constitution of 1876. Thus the Constitution was re-promulgated without revision on 24 July 1908.4 After general elections, the Ottoman Parliament reopened on 17 December 1908. A commission was established to discuss the amendments of the former Constitution and the revisions were established on 21 August 1909.5 This chapter focuses on the perception and reception of the promulgation of the second Ottoman Constitution by Ottoman Armenians from the perspective of a daily newspaper, Jamanak, founded on 28 October 1908, some months after the revolution, on the avenue of the Sublime Porte as a popular, national, political and literary daily newspaper. The co-founder of the newspaper, Misak Koc
unyan (1863 – 1913), or Kasim with his penname,6 was born in Aleppo in 1863 before definitively moving to the Ottoman capital in 1886. He wrote in several newspapers (Manzume-i Efkar, Arevelyan Mamul, Arevelk, Masis, Puzantion, etc.) and finally joined his brother Sarkis in October 1908 for the foundation of Jamanak. Both brothers waited for a favourable political development, namely the promulgation of the Second Constitutional Regime in the Ottoman Empire to undertake the activity of journalism. Sarkis was the owner of an advertising agency in the Ottoman capital and was efficient enough in developing the networks of the newspaper. In addition to his editorials, Misak was also a literary figure and had already published his short stories Gyanki Desaranner [Life landscapes] in Tiflis in 1897, illustrating in a satirical style a large spectrum of social problems of the nineteenth-century Ottoman Armenian community, from the deficiencies of public instruction and the disorganized state of philanthropy to the complex experience of westernization and the impasses of Armenian identity, from gender relations to familial issues.7 Misak Koc
unyan was not slow to gather Armenian intellectuals (Zabel Yesayan, Krikor Zohrab, Aram Andonyan, Ars¸ag C¸obanyan,

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Yervant Odyan, etc.) around the paper. In fact, the newspaper was a product of the aftermath of the revolution. Misak Koc
unyan mentioned the difficulties in founding a newspaper under Abdu¨lhamid’s rule in his first issue.8 Misak Koc
unyan also published a serial novel, Gragin Mec
en [From the midst of fire] recounting the political history of the last 32 years under Abdu¨lhamid’s absolutist rule starting from the first issue of Jamanak until March 1909. This chapter takes Jamanak’s day-to-day account from October 1908 until the reopening of the Ottoman Parliament as a point of departure in order to describe the state of mind with which Ottoman Armenians welcomed the proclamation of the second Ottoman Constitution and the post-revolutionary period. This daily account offers a retrospective to the First Constitutional Era through which Jamanak’s publicists analyze the developments of the new regime. This retrospective also enables us to grasp continuities and ruptures between the two constitutional periods. Moreover, Misak Koc
unyan was a member of the Armenian General Assembly, instituted by the Armenian National Constitution, a community statute law ratified by the Sublime Porte in 1863 for the administration of the community sphere.9 Extracts from the meetings of the General Assembly found their reflection in the newspaper. These extracts shed light on how the Armenian community perceived the constitutionalist agenda of the larger Ottoman society as a part of their particular/communal agenda of reformation and democratization. This entanglement also explains why the Armenian community and other non-Muslims in general endeavoured to dominate the public debate on the Ottoman Constitution. A constitutional framework was the only way to consolidate the functioning of the community sphere on the basis of democracy. The democratization project of Armenian modernists was double-sided: they aimed not only at communal democratization but also targeted an equal status before the larger Ottoman society through the liberalization of the whole Empire.

The General Elections: A Moment of Inter-Communal and Intra-Communal Rivalry After the revolution, the Unionists announced that the elections would take place and that the Ottoman Parliament would convene shortly after.10 The elections would be carried out in two stages. All taxpayers

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over 25 years of age, except for those serving in the Army or suffering from disabilities, would be eligible as first-degree electors. The latter would elect a second-degree elector, who, in turn would vote for a deputy. ‘Each administrative district comprised two hundred and fifty to seven hundred and fifty first degree electors represented by one elector of the second degree where one deputy would be returned by one hundred to three hundred second degree electors, two members by three hundred to six hundred, and so on.’11 The alliances and struggles with which the elections found their reflection in Jamanak’s columns show the extent to which the electoral process had been a moment of inter-communal and intra-communal rivalry. One may feel that the rivalry was especially sharp between Greeks and Armenians like in the First Constitutional Era in which newspapers of both sides attacked one another.12 Jamanak referred to the Committee of the Union and Progress’ policy to work in close cooperation with the various ethnic groups of the Ottoman Empire in the electoral process of the Parliament. It seemed that the CUP also launched a call to the patriarchates to incite them to join this common policy.13 Jamanak also mentioned alliances between Armenians and Greeks or between Armenians and Jews in some places ¨ sku¨dar were ready to give 200 votes for vote. For instance, the Jews of U to the second-degree electors for which Armenians opted.14 Jamanak quoted some newspapers according to which the Greek Patriarch, who considered that the Greek population was a minority in Cesaria, recommended them to cooperate with Armenians in the election process. According to the newspaper, this instruction was given in every province in which the Greek population did not constitute the majority. However, Jamanak also referred to the statement of Frosu, a Greek newspaper, according to which these kinds of news were published in order to provoke the indignation of Turks.15 In some other places, the newspaper noted, internal disputes or individual interests within the same community gave rise to disappointments in terms of representation. This was the case of Harput where Armenians could not come to a common agreement over various candidates. The votes would be thus shared among different candidates and Armenians would be unable to have their own deputy.16 Jamanak referred to the foundation of an Armenian constitutional body, which regularly gathered within the Armenian General Assembly in order to shape the electoral process on behalf of the Armenian

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community under the presidency of Stepan Efendi Karayan, who was a lawyer in Galata.17 According to the account of the newspaper, the body elected a commission that would enter in negotiation with the Turkish and Greek electoral bodies. However, Greeks seemed to retreat from the negotiations.18 Aykut Kansu mentions the cooperation of Greeks with the Liberal Union, which conducted a struggle against Unionist candidates. This was probably the reason for which Ottoman Greeks ceased their alliance with the CUP in the course of the elections. Prominent members of the Liberal Union visited the Greek Patriarch and came to an agreement with the Greek community with regards to their political programme.19 The Armenian constitutional body continued its cooperation with the CUP. As a result of this cooperation, they finally signed a protocol according to which Armenians had the guarantee that they would elect two deputies from Istanbul and would have second-degree electors in accordance with their number within the Ottoman population. After the signing of this protocol, Armenians also tried to negotiate the issue with Greeks but this trial was unsuccessful. The CUP even asked Armenians not to vote for Greeks, something that put the community into a difficult situation.20 The Armenian constitutional body nominated Krikor Zohrab and Bedros Hallac
yan Efendis as candidates and communicated their names to the CUP.21 The said body was composed of the representatives of the Armenian General Assembly, of those of Armenian parties and of the members of Armenian Catholic and Protestant communities. To the initiatives of those who tried to influence the second-degree electors in order to encourage them to vote for other candidates, the body responded that their objective was nothing else than preventing the dissemination of votes of second-degree electors over multiple Armenian candidates. Such a dissemination of votes would leave the Armenian community in the minority and make the election of Armenian candidates impossible. Jamanak also reflected the efforts of the Armenian constitutional body in reinforcing its position during the electoral process. We follow through the newspaper that Krikor Zohrab drafted a statement that would be published in the Istanbul press and according to which anybody who was not elected by the body could not present himself as the candidate of the Armenian community. The body’s argument was that all second-degree Armenian electors owed their rights of election to their arrangements and struggle conducted with the Committee of Union and Progress.22

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Jamanak reacted to the issue of Tanin dated 10 December 1908. After having published the names of the candidates suggested by the collective decision of the CUP and the Armenian constitutional body, Jamanak reported, Tanin suggested that one should only pay attention to the five candidates of the CUP (Ahmet Rıza Bey, Manyasizade Refik Bey, Nasuhizade Hoca Mustafa Efendi, Hu¨seyin Cahit Bey and Zu¨htu¨zade Ahmet Nesimi Bey).23 Did Tanin speak on behalf of the CUP? This was what Jamanak questioned in its issue of 11 December pointing out that this statement of the said newspaper left in ambiguity the value of the CUP’s promises and put into question the sincerity of the Union and Progress. After all, the objective of such statements was to only provide the success of the five Turkish candidates. Jamanak also questioned why Armenians should vote for Tanin’s editor Hu¨seyin Cahit Bey if the said newspaper had such a nationalist tone and sabotaged cooperative programmes between the CUP and the Armenian constitutional body. ‘Our Greek compatriots were right in not believing in the promises made during the electoral process and in shaping on their own the fate of their candidates’, Jamanak noted.24 Tanin was not the only Turkish newspaper that was opposed to the candidacy of the two Armenian names. Hukuk-ı Umumiye also questioned the candidacy of Zohrab Efendi on the grounds that he was a former employee of the Russian embassy and that nothing proved his resignation from this function.25 The Unionists objected to the candidacy of Krikor Zohrab Efendi, who maintained close relations with the Liberal Union.26 Based on individual complaints addressed to the Committee of Union and Progress from Istanbul and the provinces and the disagreement that arose over the candidacy of Zohrab Efendi, Salim Bey from the Union and Progress visited the Armenian Patriarch. Salim Bey stated that these complaints would endanger the potentiality of having two deputies from Istanbul for the Armenian community. However, the Armenian constitutional body decided to insist on the majority of votes in the former list of candidates it communicated to the CUP. The body also decided to remind the CUP of its responsibility to lead the election of the two Armenian candidates to success according to the protocols they signed. The Armenian constitutional body would also mobilize the Turkish press, on behalf of solidarity and brotherhood, and encourage the newspapers to write articles convincing Turks to vote for these two Armenian candidates.27

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As far as the electoral process evolved towards the end, discontent increased among the communities and within the various segments of the same community. Jamanak described the big manifestation organized by Ottoman Greeks residing in the neighbourhood of Galata and Pera in order to protest against the injustice they were subject to. Ottoman Greeks, both clergymen and laymen, made speeches in the churches of Aya Triyada of Pera and Aya Nicola of Galata under the influence of which people started to close their shops. The protesters required the cancellation of the elections on the grounds that they were organized in disorder and in a fraudulent atmosphere and that their candidates were refused because of their young age. They also demanded the prolongation of the voting process, the employment of representatives of the Greek community of Pera in several places of election and the timely arrival of the voting documents.28 The Greek Patriarch also applied to the Ministry of the Interior in order to inform him of the illegal character of the elections in the provinces at the expense of Greeks.29 Jamanak also cited the Greek newspaper Neologos, which stated that Turks and Armenians came to an understanding in the electoral process and excluded Greeks from this process. Moreover, Ottoman Greeks were not satisfied for having two candidates from Istanbul and required the election of three deputies.30 However, Ottoman Greeks were not the only discontented ethnic group. Jamanak pointed at the anti-democratic character of the electoral process and reacted against the silence of progressist Turkish intellectuals over the process. In a democratic country, Jamanak stated, each national group should possess the right to have representatives proportionally to their number within the general population. The two-degree mode of election and the tax prevented craftsmen or farmers from defending their own candidate and from guaranteeing their success. Those who would benefit from this electoral system were the landlords and notables, who possessed all necessary means to influence the process at the expense of the class of workers. Jamanak noted that the equality of rights of different communities of the Ottoman Empire necessitated the fundamental change of the electoral system.31 As stated before, the electoral law of 1908 stipulated that the elections would be conducted in two stages and that only taxpayers over 25 years of age were eligible firstdegree electors.32 Moreover, the electoral law stipulated the election of one deputy to every 50,000 males and did not indicate any formal quota

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for various ethnic groups.33 The non-existence of a quota should have created an atmosphere of rivalry between various ethnic groups, who tried to maximize the election of their own favourite candidate and led them to collaborate with one another for vote trading. Jamanak also described the final process of election of Istanbul deputies that took place under the presidency of Abdurrahman Efendi, a member of the CUP, in the new post office building erected in the square of Eski Zaptiye. Abdurrahman Efendi encouraged the electors to concentrate their votes over the candidates presented by the CUP: Ahmet Rıza Bey, Manyasizade Refik Bey, Hoca Nasuhizade Mustafa Asım Bey, Hu¨seyin Cahit Bey, Ahmet Nesimi Bey, Krikor Zohrab, Bedros Hallac
yan, Vital Feraci Efendi, Konstantin Konstantinidis Efendi and Pandelaki Kosmidi Efendi. While Abdurrahman Efendi praised Hu¨seyin Cahit Bey, Kevork Efendi Torkomyan started to talk about Cahit Bey’s fanaticism and the divergence he caused between Muslims and non-Muslims through his writings. He questioned whether Hu¨seyin Cahit Bey would follow the same policy at the Parliament or work for the development of solidarity among the different ethnic groups of the Ottoman society. Then Abdurrahman Bey, probably upon the advice of an Armenian, who opposed the candidacy of Krikor Zohrab and Bedros Hallac
yan, criticized the process by which they were elected as candidates. The Armenian General Assembly, he said, which elected these two people, was composed of 120 members. During their election, the clergy was excluded from the electoral process on the grounds that they did not have the right to intervene in political affairs. As much as the lay members of the Assembly were concerned, the most part of the laity were absent during the day of their election within the Assembly. He emphasized that such an electoral process was illegal. Then Torkomyan Efendi pointed out that the Armenian constitutional body had worked for the election of these two candidates. In order to give a more national and public colour to the election process, the body then submitted the results of the election to the approval of the Armenian General Assembly, which elected the same candidates. But as Torkomyan Efendi was not a member of the General Assembly, he avoided expressing his idea about the legal character of the election process.34 We follow from Jamanak’s news on elections that Gabriyel Efendi Noradunkyan and Vrams¸abuh Efendi Manukyan were the other candidates of the Armenian community and that they resigned from

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their candidacy for the success of Zohrab and Hallac
yan.35 When electors proceeded to the voting of Istanbul deputies, Abdurrahman Efendi, Jamanak reported, tried to influence them stating that they should vote for Hagop Efendi Boyaciyan instead of voting for Zohrab.36 After the election of the deputies of Istanbul, Serbesti criticized the Union and Progress for the course it took over the electoral process and stated that the Committee indirectly exercized pressure over the freedom of thought and action of electors. Serbesti also criticized the Armenian constitutional body, which launched a call to Ottoman newspapers for the success of the two Armenian candidates reminding them that the CUP promised to guarantee their election.37 After the elections, the Ottoman press attacked one another to express their opposition to the elected deputies for Istanbul.38 The Armenian constitutional body was also influential in the preparation of the list of Armenian candidates for the Senate.39 Among other candidates submitted by the Armenian constitutional body, the title of senator was only conferred to Gabriyel Noradunkyan Efendi. The names of Ohannes Sakız Pasha, Azaryan Efendi and Abraham Pasha, who were nominated senators, did not figure in the list submitted by the Armenian constitutional body. Greeks were represented with three names (Dimitraki Mavrokordato, Mavroyeni Bey and Yorgiadis Efendi) within the Senate.40 It seems that Greeks obtained a relatively fair share of representation, while Armenians were somehow under-represented.41 Armenians could have 12 seats within the Ottoman Parliament while Greeks largely surpassed them with 26 seats.42 After the election, Jamanak shared the convictions of a French deputy whose name remained unknown to the reader about the electoral process. Jamanak’s special correspondent interestingly communicated from Paris that the said deputy was less enthusiastic about the CUP compared to their previous meetings. The deputy expressed his disappointments about the abuses that were committed during the elections: Greeks tried to struggle against these abuses. Although many considered that their protests were exaggerated, they succeeded in raising their voice and in obtaining the rate of representation they had expected within the Ottoman Parliament. Armenians preferred not to protest for the sake of solidarity and the security

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of the country but they failed to have a proportional representation. Although Armenians had struggled the most for the liberal cause, they were subject to injustice the most in the electoral process.43 One may wonder whether the expression of the convictions of the deputy was a way of expressing for Jamanak the Armenian disappointment vis-a`vis the results of the elections.

Doubts and Expectations Jamanak’s columns express in a way the doubts of the Ottoman Armenian intelligentsia on the democratic character of the Second Constitutional Period. In the very first issue of the newspaper, Zabel Yesayan, under her title of ‘The Sceptics’, expressed these doubts. She pointed out that the Armenian press broke their silence after 11 July and started to talk about everything, or rather about solidarity, brotherhood and struggle for citizenship, rights and duties. Until 11 July, anybody who would express his views on rights was considered the most dangerous person. Prudence, obedience and dissimulation, those were the virtues of the past, the virtues of oppressed people. Although the atmosphere of freedom was now very promising, she stated, rumours and suspicions were still dominating the psychology of people to lead them to pessimism: We found our freedom in a state of unconsciousness and we considered it as a grant, as a granted happiness and not as our legitimate right. In this state of unconsciousness, if oppression restarts, we will be ready to obey the oppressors. As far as everyone is not convinced that the only atmosphere of living is freedom, the sceptics have all the reasons to keep their pessimism and to think that real freedom is not still proclaimed.44 Several writers shared Zabel Yesayan’s views and scepticism in the sense that the atmosphere of freedom brought some kind of exhilaration and gave the impression that the self-defence of people against the oppressive forces of the country terminated. In that respect, Suren Bartevyan called the readers’ attention to the dichotomy between the atmosphere of

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freedom and the lack of peace in Ottoman provinces.45 Other writers denounced Tanin’s and Hukuk-ı Umumiye’s nationalist discourse or discriminatory language against non-Muslims46 and the inconsistencies of some of the Ottoman Turkish intelligentsia.47 Jamanak’s writers expressed their surprise for hearing from publishers and publicists that they were all ‘compatriots and brothers’ on the one side, and that Armenians were ‘unreliable’ on the other.48 They put emphasis on the close relationship between the Constitution and the equality of all citizens before the law but without disregarding the national rights of various ethnic groups. One may wonder what writers understood by ‘national rights’ or the ‘question of nationalities’ to which they referred. The authors cited the right of representation of each national group in the Ottoman Parliament proportionally to their number within the Ottoman population, the preservation of their national culture and the right to national schooling and education as ‘national rights’.49 Rupen Zartaryan reacted against some Ottoman publicists and prominent intellectuals, who still cultivated the idea of Turkish domination when thinking of national sovereignty. Zartaryan considered this idea as a ‘dangerous state of mind’ and a threat for the current constitutional government. He questioned the moral, economic and philosophical foundations, which legitimize the grant of the right of domination to one national group in a civilizational and constitutional framework. He pointed out that such an idea of national sovereignty can only be a source of oppression for the Ottoman country. He invited Ottoman intellectuals to construct a more comprehensive idea of national sovereignty considering the equality of nationalities and the proportional rights of all the inhabitants of the country. This was, in his view, the only condition for a real and constant constitutional framework in the Ottoman Empire. ‘In a constitutional government’, he said, ‘there is no one sovereign nation. All the citizens are equal before the law.’50 In another issue, Rupen Zartaryan appeased his pessimism and turned his hopes to young Ottoman students and their intellectual initiatives abroad. He announced the foundation of an Ottoman educational association in Switzerland by Ottoman university students of various millets. Zartaryan expressed his happiness on the occasion of the first meeting of the association in which Armenian, Turkish, Bulgarian, Macedonian, Jewish and Greek students participated. Zartaryan saw the association as an opportunity for Ottoman students to cultivate the spirit

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of solidarity and exchange and to provide mutual understanding in a period in which they were surrounded by the lack of understanding among various millets. He hoped that the association would be a moral space to create similarity of ideas and feeling among students belonging to the same country but to various creeds. Zartaryan stated that university education was the moral force of a country and that those who pursued their studies abroad would be the channels of transmission of the European way of thinking and of the humanitarian principles and would spread these values among the different social segments in their return to the home country. The disappointing point was for him that there were currently no spiritual communication, similarity or rapprochement of feelings, efforts, political and philosophical convictions among the prominent intelligentsia of various creeds or among the new generation of Ottomans. The Ottoman intelligentsia was not aware of the duties that fell on its shoulders. He stated that political oppositions were very sharp because of differences of world views and that this intellectual atmosphere also made the political circumstances heavy.51 Rupen Zartaryan was also very critical of the idea of central government. He compared the central government to a slow wheel turning unsuccessfully as it was driven into the sand. He criticized the fact that the new constitutional government would administer such a vast and multi-ethnic Empire from the capital and remedy to the multiple difficulties of administrative, political and economic nature. ‘How would Istanbul, namely this small number of bureaucrats, achieve an avant-garde responsibility in dealing with the problems of a multiple population from the capital and in understanding their situation, demands, pains and feelings?’, he questioned. This small number had already difficulties in running the everyday governmental apparatus and would still pretend to resolve the problems of a distant Empire. According to Zartaryan, the system of centralized government had always an absolutist dimension. It weakens the force of the population, the public will, the spirit of free judgement, the idea of rights and individualism within the population and consolidates the power of oppressors. In order to grasp the real situation of the country and the provinces, the centre needed instead a commission of inspectors that would investigate the opportunism of provincial oppressors and the economic crisis faced by cultivators and labourers. This commission of

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inspectors should examine the situation of the larger population, which is devoid of the means of communication. Zartaryan stated that the form of centralized government fitted the Ottoman Empire the least. The system opened a gap between the government and the society in terms of trust and mutual understanding and people were tired of expecting everything from the centre. The system of petitions, complaints, telegraphs and correspondence were old methods and the new constitutional machine could not turn with these old wheels.52 Zartaryan’s views are very similar to those expressed by Aristarki Bey, Ottoman ambassador to Berlin in 1874, in his memorial dated 15 June 1876, which he presented to the French and British ambassadors to the Porte on 14 September 1876 before the Conference of Constantinople.53 In his view, the current administrative system was based on the principle of centralization. Imported from France, where a set of habits resulted from the community of language and education, the principle of centralization, Aristarki Bey stated, functioned there perfectly. The same principle naturally produced different results in a heterogeneous geography such as the Ottoman Empire. Aristarki Bey proposed a radical reorganization of public services. Istanbul became the point from which the administrative staff was directed to the different parts of the Empire. But the point was also to take into consideration local and regional interests when nominating state officials. Governmental conditions were the most varied in the Ottoman Empire because of the diversity of ethnic groups and religious beliefs. In Aristarki’s view, the principle of centralization was the cause of conflicts in the Empire between the population and state functionaries. An alternative system would be that of the law of the vilayets with its communal basis in terms of assemblies, which were to be proportionally composed of the number of the different groups of the population. This proposal was a practical solution for the administration of the provinces. Jamanak’s columns enable us to follow what the different segments of the Ottoman Armenian society expects from a parliamentary government. The newspaper mentioned an interview with Bishop Izmirliyan before being elected the Armenian Patriarch of Istanbul. Izmirliyan stated that the harmony between the different ethnic groups that compose the Ottoman Empire could be assured if the Constitution guaranteed unconditional equality. However, Izmirliyan, like many other intellectuals, emphasized that this principle of equality should be

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conciliated with the national privileges granted to different ethnic communities. These privileges, he stated, were fundamental for the survival of each community. Izmirliyan also suggested the principle of decentralization as the best administrative formula adopted by many developed countries. The bishop also touched upon the oppression of Kurdish tribes over the provincial Armenian population and expressed his hope for the neutralization of the elements of the old regime for the cessation of these oppressive behaviours. ‘Armenians and Kurds are the most important elements of Anatolia and we have all the interest for an Armeno-Kurdish rapprochement’, he stated. An interesting element of his interview was the expression of his trust for the Ottoman Army. He maintained that the reactionary branches of the old regime were disseminated among all the segments of the Ottoman society but that they felt certain that the Army was in favour of freedom. Consequently all kinds of opposition could be neutralized in the future.54 It is also interesting to note that in the speech he made to the Armenian people in the mother Cathedral of the Armenian Patriarchate of Istanbul on the occasion of his election as the Patriarch of Istanbul, Izmirliyan ended his speech by launching the slogans ‘long live the Ottoman Army’, ‘long live the solidarity of the peoples’. Another important element was certainly the entanglement or the existential interdependency of the two constitutions: one, the community constitution recognized to Ottoman Armenians since 1863, and the other, the Ottoman Constitution itself covering the whole Ottoman country.55 This entanglement was more apparent in the patriarchal oath of Izmirliyan based on the following elements: loyalty to God, to the constitutional government (normally the Armenian National Constitution of 1863 stipulates the loyalty of the Armenian Patriarch to the Ottoman government but Jamanak stated that Izmirliyan added on his own his loyalty to the ‘constitutional government’), the Armenian nation and the application of the Armenian National Constitution. Izmirliyan perhaps clarifies better the issue in his speech: ‘we have to work for the constitutional organization of the country. Loyalty to the Ottoman constitutional government is loyalty to ourselves because we are an element of this constitutional government.’56 In fact, Armenians consider themselves as an element of the constitutional government for having a constitutionally organized community. Again, in the First Constitutional Era, Ottoman Armenians referred to their possession of a community regulation of ‘constitutional

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nature’ to ‘have a say’ in the public debate shaping the Ottoman Constitution of 1876.57 The programme that the Armenian deputies of the Ottoman Parliament would follow also found their reflection in Jamanak’s columns. The programme especially focused on the protection of the rights of the agricultural class. It aimed to provide the return of arable lands and estates seized by immigrants, Kurdish tribes or by other ways in the last 30 years to their possessors on the grounds that the Constitution was supposed to protect by rule the right of ownership. The programme would also target the free grant of arable lands to needy cultivators by the state.58 Similarly Krikor Zohrab shared the political programme that he would follow before his election to the Ottoman Parliament through the speech he made in the Armenian Church of Trinity in Pera. In addition to the protection of the rights of the rural class, he put emphasis on a harmonious and sincere collaboration with all the social segments of the Ottoman society and especially with Ottoman Turks. His programme also focused on the abolition of the Hamidiye regiments, the amelioration of the conditions of Armenian provinces and the protection of the rights of nationalities by which he understood the proportional representation of national groups within the Parliament and public functions. For him, the protection of the current government meant the protection of Ottoman Armenians.59 Provincial voices also expressed the expectations of the Armenian rural population from the Ottoman Parliament in Jamanak. The enlargement of political freedom did not seem to directly appeal to the provincial Armenians as they were subject to more vital problems such as taxation and famine. Agricultural credit and right of land ownership were the most urgent questions for the Armenian agricultural class together with the fundamental change of the system of taxation and the alleviation of taxes.60 Jamanak’s issues also show that constitutional revision was on the agenda of the Ottoman society. According to article 7 of the 1876 Ottoman Constitution, which enumerates the prerogatives of the sultan, the latter convokes or prorogues the General Assembly and dissolves the Chamber of Deputies on condition of proceeding to the re-election of the deputies. However, no time frame was fixed for this re-election process. Jamanak called attention to the declaration of the Ottoman Association of Freedom which pointed at the danger of governmental order, which

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can dissolve the Ottoman Parliament without setting a time frame for the re-election process. The declaration was an open call to future deputies to make the necessary constitutional change and to incorporate a provision stipulating a deadline of three months within which the Parliament should convene again. The statement of the Association also touched upon the composition of the Ottoman Parliament, which houses the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate. According to article 60 of the Ottoman Constitution, the President and the members of the Senate were nominated directly by the sultan for life. More importantly, the Senate assumed important responsibilities such as the examination of the drafts of laws and budgets in order to check the clauses contrary to the sovereign rights of the sultan, to the liberty, to the Constitution, to the territorial integrity of the Empire, to the safety of the country or to good morals. The Association’s declaration called attention to the fact that a Senate entirely nominated by the sultan could be an instrument of oppression in the hands of the government. The declaration again launched a call to future deputies to limit the responsibilities of the Senate through constitutional change. The declaration also suggested that the two-thirds of the members of the Senate should be nominated by representatives elected by the people and that one-third only should be nominated by the sultan among the people suggested by the ministers. 61 We follow from Jamanak’s further issues that constitutional change about the composition of the Senate was also something required by some members of the Armenian community. Jamanak described the historical evolution of the Senate and stated that in some European countries, liberals considered the institution as an anti-popular and anti-liberal establishment and that they opted for its abolition. The newspaper also cited Krikor Zohrab, who considered the Senate as a historiographical error. It was true that the Senate preserved its position in liberal countries such as the United States, Britain, France and Germany. The newspaper questioned the appropriate models of election and composition of the Senate in order to make of the establishment a body that leads the governmental apparatus towards progress and popular well-being. As much as the composition of the Senate was concerned, Midhat’s Constitution was shaped on the model of the Italian Constitution in which the body was nominated by the King. However, in other liberal countries such as France and the United States, the

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newspaper stated, the Senate was an elective body. But their electoral mode was different from that of the Chamber of Deputies. In Britain and Spain, membership to the Senate was hereditary for life for a certain number of senators while some members were elected for a limited period of time. One may understand from the formulation of the newspaper that the latter suggested a senate both nominative and elective. Moreover, according to the Ottoman Constitution, the title of senator could be conferred upon individuals who formerly accomplished the office of minister, governor general, commander of the army, ambassador, patriarch, grand rabbi, etc. The newspaper saw in this stipulation the inconvenience of transforming the establishment into an amalgamation of old people devoid of their former energy and who became an economic burden on the national treasury without producing the equivalent of the salary they would receive. ‘The senate should not be a hospital or a rest home for the aged’, the newspaper stated.62 Constitutional change was also mentioned in more general terms in Jamanak. For the newspaper, the Ottoman Constitution of 1876 was a compilation of laws swaying between constitution and absolutism. Before all, article 113 was the main source of the absolutism to which the Ottoman society was subject in the last 32 years. Jamanak also put emphasis on the necessity to change the articles 7 and 44, which contained ‘dangerous stipulations’. The danger resided in the fact that the sultan had the right to dissolve the Parliament or to anticipate, shorten or prolong the parliamentary sessions through these stipulations.63 Ottoman Armenians paid attention to their incorporation into the Ottoman bureaucracy. This was a way to secure communal representation in politics and to raise a voice over the ongoing debates on Ottoman reforms. After the promulgation of the 1876 Ottoman Constitution, the knowledge of Ottoman Turkish was compulsory to have access to public functions. In the aftermath of the 1908 Revolution, several Armenian columnists called the attention of readers to the insufficiency of the knowledge of Turkish among Ottoman Armenians and to the fact that this lack of linguistic proficiency would endanger their integration into state functions accessible to Ottoman nonMuslims thanks to the constitutional principle of equality. They put emphasis on the necessity of special programmes in Armenian schools in order to increase awareness and develop linguistic abilities. They incited the Armenian Educational Council of the Armenian Patriarchate to

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constitute a commission composed of specialists of Turkish in order to develop a consistent policy.64 In addition to the knowledge of Ottoman Turkish, it was also compulsory to have attended one of the state schools in order to enter public functions. Columnists shared some statistical results with their readership in order to demonstrate the failure of Armenian students in the entrance exams to Ottoman state colleges including military schools and the weakness of Armenian schools in competing with their Greek and Jewish counterparts, which were more successful in preparing their students in terms of linguistic proficiency.65 Jamanak also reported some cases of discrimination, which raised barriers against the admission of Armenian students to Ottoman military schools. It also seemed that the newspaper received a warning from the Ministry of War for its article entitled ‘Armenian soldiers’ in which it reacted to the non-admission of Armenian students to military schools. The Ministry’s declaration pretexted the restructuration of the medical military school after the re-establishment of the second constitutional monarchy like many other public institutions. This restructuration process was the main reason for which the school would not accept either Muslim or non-Muslim students in the next two years. Jamanak reacted to this declaration on the grounds that the principles of the Constitution should be normally applicable just after its promulgation.66 The newspaper also reacted to the hesitations of the Ottoman government in the admission process of Armenians to the Ottoman Army as well as to other military institutions on the grounds of the equality of rights and duties and Ottoman brotherhood.67

The Ottoman Constitution and the Armenian General Assembly As Misak Koc
unyan was a member of the Armenian General Assembly, Jamanak reflected the main issues of the Assembly somehow overshadowed by the general elections. Three main and urgent problems were on the agenda of the Armenian General Assembly: famine and oppressions in Anatolia and the question of immigration. Several articles in the newspaper called the attention of readers to the oppressions, massacres, pillages and robberies targeting Armenians in the provinces and questioned the contradiction between the proclamation of the Constitution and the existence of injustice among the

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provincial population. For some columnists, this injustice was the result of an absolutist regime with which the country had been administered for many years. Such a regime could not be transformed into a constitutional and liberal government overnight. Only a small number of state officials knew what a constitution meant and what kind of government could promote the Ottoman society. The non-punishment of irresponsible governors was also behind the continuation of injustice in the provincial areas. Moreover, many provincial governors greeted the Constitution with mockery and even considered it something temporary. For them, the current government was something unstable and temporary and would be unable to face the minor resistance. Thus, the former oppressive regime would succeed to it. Columnists maintained that this disbelief in the constitutional government was the main reason of the indifference with which governors observed the cases of oppression in the provinces without acting against the practice of injustice and the reactionaries and anti-constitutionalists. Kamil Pasha, the Grand Vizier, should be convinced that the population would not trust the constitutional edifice until all the state officials working under his offices were not hearty and zealous constitutionalists and the government did not recognize the anti-constitutionalists as agitators and did not punish them.68 In some provinces, Kurdish tribes attacking villages to kidnap animals were reported among the reasons of provincial agitations.69 One may follow from Jamanak’s issues that the General Assembly, which used to gather in the building of the Galata Church, discussed in its sessions the question of provincial oppression. Upon the statement of the Armenian locum tenens that takrirs were sent to the Sublime Porte without obtaining any result, Krikor Zohrab pointed out that to send takrirs to the Porte was an old tradition. Instead, more efficient ways should be used. He suggested sending a delegation of inspectors to the provinces in order to investigate the situation. Many deputies shared Zohrab’s views.70 Jamanak reported that the Armenian General Assembly finally presented a memorandum to the Ministry of the Interior through the intermediary of a delegation.71 The memorandum put emphasis on the non-intervention of Hamidiye regiments in military and civil affairs within Ottoman provinces. As a result of the decision of the Armenian General Assembly, the Armenian delegation also suggested sending a commission of inspectors to Anatolia for the

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investigation of the provincial situation. The content of the memorandum also became a motive of discussion between Jamanak and the newspaper Tercu¨man-ı Hakikat on the question of the Hamidiye regiments. Tercu¨man-ı Hakikat recognized the oppressions committed by the regiments stating that the whole population living in their neighbourhood was subject to these oppressive acts without any religious discrimination. However, the newspaper expressed the view that the main problem was the subjection of the Hamidiye troops to strict rules under constitutional government to prevent them from becoming a source of oppressions rather than their abolition. If they were forced to respect severe rules, they could be transformed into a useful military force.72 Jamanak strongly reacted to these views of Tercu¨man-ı Hakikat and questioned how this newspaper was still able to defend the continuation of the Hamidiye regiments while recognizing their oppressions over the local population. Jamanak also stated that the organization of Hamidiye regiments was contrary to constitutional principles and was an infringement of the principle of equality. If the Ottoman Constitution united all Ottomans under the same flag, it should also unite them under one army. There was no need to constitute a separate army only covering one ethnic group of the Ottoman Empire excluding the others. If the Hamidiye regiments represented a military force, it should join the Ottoman Army.73 Jamanak reported that the Armenian Patriarch of Istanbul discussed the situation of the Armenian rural population in Anatolia subject to the oppressions of Kurdish tribes and of the Hamidiye regiments with the S¸eyhu¨lislam and the Ministry of War and repeated the request of the community to send a commission of inspectors.74 Upon the request of the central Armenian administration, a commission of inspectors was sent to eastern provinces in order to report the current situation and oppressive practices. Jamanak reacted to the fact that this commission of inspectors were composed of the members of the Ottoman bureaucracy. Instead the commission should have incorporated independent inspectors such as traders, lawyers or other professionals, who would be able to report more objectively the acts of injustice. This body should have at least contained two members elected by the Armenian General Assembly with the majority of votes. In addition, two people should have been elected by the provincial assemblies of each province in order to communicate the real needs of the provinces to the body of inspectors.

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Otherwise the body would not have the opportunity to communicate with the population itself and would only be in touch with the notables of the provinces, who were the real sources of oppressions.75 The problem of famine in Anatolia (especially in Zeytun, Divrig˘i, Malatya, Van, Kayseri, Diyarbakır, Halep, etc.) was the second urgent issue that the Armenian General Assembly treated. Famine from which the Armenian provincial population suffered was reported as the result of the non-accomplishment of an agricultural reform, already mentioned in the paragraphs above and due to the increase in the prices of the wheat. In fact the lands of Anatolia were productive enough to feed all the populations. However, there were still uncultivated lands. Moreover, the cultivators did not have enough seeds at their disposal. The lack of the security of life and of the right of ownership was also the deficiencies of the old regime that discouraged the cultivators. The old regime did not give the cultivators the opportunity to enlarge the limits of the lands they cultivated.76 The third important issue which the Armenian General Assembly dealt with was the question of immigrants who rushed into Istanbul as a result of famine, the loss of their arable lands or the lack of security in the provinces. There were about 1,000 immigrants who took refuge in Istanbul. The Armenian Patriarchate of Istanbul instituted a commission for the investigation of the issue. The commission reported that some of the immigrants really suffered from sickness and poverty while others abused the financial assistance of the patriarchate in order to receive money from the community treasury.77

Concluding Remarks The involvement of the Armenian parties in community affairs was certainly something new and marked the Second Constitutional Era. Jamanak had never been a party newspaper and kept a certain distance vis-a`-vis the Armenian parties while mostly announcing the activities of the Tashnaktsoutioun (Armenian Revolutionary Federation, ARF) and the Hunchakian party.78 The general impression one gets from these announcements is that the Tashnaktsoutioun was efficient in acquiring the sympathy of the Armenian intelligentsia. Zohrab himself did not neglect to recognize the special place of the Tashnaktsoutioun in the history of liberalization of the Ottoman Empire and the proclamation of the constitutional monarchy when making a speech in order to announce

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his political programme to the Armenian community.79 The Tashnaktsoutioun also seemed to be the force behind the promotion of Armeno-Kurdish solidarity and brotherhood.80 The second element characterizing the second Constitutional Era was the politicization of women. Finally in constitutional Ottoman Empire, Armenian women made their existence felt and went beyond a presence only in communal charity affairs. Zabel Yesayan was certainly the most preeminent figure of this politicization process. We also notice between the lines the emergence and politicization of other social groups such as students especially those studying abroad. It is interesting to hear the voice of the Armenian students of the ENA (Ecole nationale d’administration in Paris) and those of Berlin in the telegraphs they sent on the occasion of the opening of the Ottoman Parliament.81 It was probably the result of the politicization of more social groups that the word ‘meeting’ entered the everyday political jargon of Ottoman Armenians. We encounter quite frequently the word ‘meeting’ in Jamanak’s columns. A different element that the second constitutional monarchy brought to the military class was the trust of the Ottoman society in their constitutionalist line. The military class was considered the guarantee of the continuity of the constitutional regime in the Ottoman Empire. From 1872 to 1876, the General Assembly of the Armenian Patriarchate dealt with provincial oppressions in Anatolia,82 the issue of unfair taxation,83 forced conversion to Islam and forced labour, the transgression of the rights of ownership of the Armenian population either by policies of population resettlement84 or because of the nonregistration of church or schools’ belongings as communal property.85 Although commissions were nominated by the government and the latter decided on the dismissal of guilty provincial officials, late-comers were neither moved from the land they unjustly occupied nor were the decisions regarding the dismissal of state functionaries brought into practice. In some cases, takrirs even remained without response.86 One may feel the tiredness of the Armenian community from Jamanak’s columns due to the continuity of similar problems in the Second Constitutional Era. Thus, Jamanak reacts to the way in which the Armenian delegation which wanted to attract attention to the situation of the provinces was received by the Grand Vizier who responded ‘bakılacak’ (we will see). The newspaper stated:

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This one word ‘bakılacak’ that we hear from the mouth of a bureaucrat of the constitutional government is very evocative and reflects the policy of a five-hundred-year empire. In its period of longevity and autocracy, this only word ‘bakılacak’ accomplished on its own so many social and political roles. This world ‘bakılacak’, which is repeated in the new period of freedom and rights, shows that the governing bureaucracy still has this traditionalist and backward psychology and the elements of the old regime. Even if the regime changes, traditions do not change. The coming of the period of freedom after absolutism had no moral impact over these people who retain in their hands the fate of the country. They will see but when?87 The fact that there were no concrete timing and no concrete results for the resolution of persisting problems thus incited Armenians to question more the sincerity of the discourse of brotherhood in the second Constitutional Era. The 1876 Ottoman Constitution does not establish popular sovereignty like some of its European counterparts. Sovereignty was identified with sultanic authority: ‘The Ottoman sovereignty which is united in the person of the sovereign of the supreme Kalifat of Islam belongs to the eldest of the princes of the dynasty of Osman conformably to the rules established ab antiquo’ (article 3).88 However, after 1908, the idea of national sovereignty was pronounced on every occasion in Jamanak’s columns together with the concept of citizenship which replaced Ottoman subjection.89 The second question was the preservation of religious privileges. According to article 11 of the 1876 Ottoman Constitution, Islam was the state religion. While maintaining this principle, the state would protect the free exercise of other religions professed in the Ottoman Empire and the religious privileges granted to various communities. It is interesting to note that these religious privileges were considered ‘national privileges’ in the second Constitutional Era. This somehow reflects the secularization and the evolution of nonMuslims from religious communities to national communities.

Notes 1. MAEF, PA – AP 122, Correspondance politique du Comte de Mou¨y, 1876– 8, no. 37. Second interim, 27 January 1877 – 19 February 1878. First part, 27 January – 30 July 1877. Here 7 February 1877.

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2. BOA, YEE 16/13, H 6 Rebiu¨levvel 1327, ‘Mithat Pas¸a’ya ve Mavi Kitaba dair makaleler’ [Articles related to Midhat Pasha and the Blue Book]. It seems that somebody interpreted the statements of British statesmen included in the Blue Book as comments on internal Ottoman politics but the author of this file is unknown. The ideas of this section are extracted from the statements of the author entitled ‘Midhat Pas¸a ile Kanun-ı Esasi’ [Midhat Pasha and the Ottoman Constitution]. 3. Tarık Zafer Tunaya, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasal Gelis¸meler, 1876– 1938: Kanun-ı Esasi ve ¨ niversitesi Mes¸rutiyet Do¨nemi, 1876– 1918, vol. 1 (Istanbul: I˙stanbul Bilgi U Yayınları, 2003), pp. 15– 16. 4. Aykut Kansu, The Revolution of 1908 in Turkey (Leiden: Brill 1997), pp. 73 – 101. 5. Burhan Gu¨rdog˘an, ‘I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet Devrinde Anayasa Deg˘is¸iklikleri’ [Constitutional Amendments in the Second Constitutional Period], Ankara U¨niversitesi Hukuk Faku¨ltesi Dergisi, 16/1–4 (1959), p. 91. Cited in Filiz Karaca, Osmanlı Anayasası: Kanun-ı Esasi (Istanbul: Dog˘u Ku¨tu¨phanesi, 2009), pp. 25–6. 6. Kasim derives from the reverse reading of his name Misak. 7. The book was republished on the occasion of the centenary anniversary of the foundation of the Armenian daily newspaper Jamanak. Misak Koc
unyan, Gyanki Desaranner (Istanbul: Jamanak Yayınları, 2009). 8. Jamanak, 28 October 1908. 9. For more information about the historical context in which the Armenian National Constitution emerged, see also Aylin Koc
unyan, ‘Long Live Sultan Abdulaziz, Long Live the Nation, Long Live the Constitution!’, in Kelly Grotke and Markus Prutsch (eds), Constitutionalism, Legitimacy and Power: NineteenthCentury Experiences (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), pp. 189– 210. 10. ‘Convocation of Parliament’, The Levant Herald and Eastern Express, 24 July 1908, p. 1. Cited in Kansu, Revolution of 1908, p. 194. 11. Articles 8, 11, 21, 22 and 23 of ‘I˙ntihab-ı Meb’usan Kanun-u Muvakkati’, in Tarhan Erdem, Anayasalar ve Sec
im Kanunları, 1876 – 1982 (Istanbul: Milliyet Yayınları, 1982), pp. 139– 42. Cited in Kansu, p. 194. 12. For the first constitutional period, see especially Masis, 24 March 1877 in which it wrote that it was more preferable to return to Islamic superiority which impartially treated all communities. 13. Jamanak, 28 October 1908. 14. Jamanak, 11 November 1908. 15. Jamanak, 28 October 1908. 16. Jamanak, 7 November 1908. Also see for other provinces Jamanak, 8 December 1908. 17. See Kevork Pamukciyan, Biyografileriyle Ermeniler (Istanbul: Aras Yayınları, 2003), p. 266. 18. Jamanak, 19 November 1908. 19. ‘News Items’, The Levant Herald and Eastern Express, 12 November 1908, p. l. Cited in Kansu, pp. 207 –8.

HISTORICIZING THE 1908 REVOLUTION 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

54.

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Jamanak, 19 November 1908. Jamanak, 5 December 1908. Jamanak, 8 December 1908. The names were announced in Jamanak, 10 December 1908. Jamanak, 11 December 1908. Jamanak, 17 November 1908. ‘Turkish Politics: The Constantinople Elections’, The Times, 11 December 1908, p. 7. Cited in Kansu, pp. 210–11. Jamanak, 9 December 1908. Jamanak, 23 and 24 November 1908. Jamanak, 27 November 1908. Jamanak, 24 November 1908. Jamanak, 26 November 1908. Kansu, p. 194. Victor Roudometof, Nationalism, Globalisation, and Orthodoxy: The Social Origins of Ethnic Conflict in the Balkans (Westport: Greenwood Press, 2001), p. 91. Jamanak, 12 December 1908. Jamanak, 14 December 1908. Jamanak, 12 December 1908. Jamanak, 14 December 1908. Jamanak, 16 December 1908. Ibid. Ibid. See also Kansu, pp. 303 –7. Kansu, pp. 204– 5. Ibid., pp. 245 – 301. Jamanak, 21 December 1908. Jamanak, 28 October 1908. See Suren Bartevyan, Jamanak, 31 October 1908. R. Zartaryan, ‘The Spirit of Domination’, Jamanak, 14 November 1908; 11 November 1908; 9 December 1908, etc. Jamanak, 8 December 1908. Ibid. Jamanak, 11 November 1908. R. Zartaryan, ‘The Spirit of Domination’, Jamanak, 14 November 1908. Jamanak, 3 December 1908. Jamanak, 19 November 1908. Yanko Aristarchi, De Bagdad a` Berlin: l’Itine´raire de Yanko Aristarchi Bey, Diplomate ottoman (Correspondance officielle et prive´e: Berlin, 1854– 1892), vol. 2 (Istanbul: Isis, 2008), pp. 247 –50. See also, MAEF, CP (Correspondance politique), September– November 1876, vol. 406. From Bourgoing to Decazes. 19 September 1876. Cited in Aylin Koc
unyan, ‘Negotiating the Ottoman Constitution, 1856– 1876’, unpublished PhD thesis, European University Institute, Florence, 2013, pp. 150 –2. Jamanak, 5 November 1908.

262 YOUNG TURK REVOLUTION AND 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83.

84.

85.

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Jamanak, 30 November 1908. Jamanak, 14 November 1908. Koc
unyan, ‘Long Live the Constitution!’, pp. 209 –10. Jamanak, 18 November 1908; 17 December 1908. Jamanak, 12 November 1908. Jamanak, 17 December 1908. Jamanak, 4 November 1908. Jamanak, 19 December 1908. Jamanak, 21 December 1908. Jamanak, 11 December 1908. Jamanak, 16 November 1908. Jamanak, 17 November 1908; 25 November 1908. Jamanak, 17 November 1908. Jamanak, 30 October 1908; 2 November 1908; 11 November 1908. Jamanak, 4 November 1908. Jamanak, 29 October 1908. Jamanak, 6 November 1908. Jamanak, 7 November 1908. Ibid. Jamanak, 2 December 1908. Jamanak, 7 December 1908. Jamanak, 30 October 1908; 11 November 1908; 21 November 1908; 2 December 1908; 8 December 1908. Jamanak, 5 December 1908; 7 December 1908; 8 December 1908. See multiple examples regarding the announcements of party activities. Jamanak, 9 November 1908; 12 November 1908; 14 November 1908; 18 November 1908. Jamanak, 12 November 1908. Jamanak, 14 November 1908; 18 November 1908. Jamanak, 23 December 1908. See Deghegakirk Kavaragan Harsdaharutyants [Reports on Provincial Oppressions] (Istanbul, 1876). Deghegakirk Kavaragan, pp. 1 – 3. According to the report, the military tax of those who died or migrated was collected from people who stayed. Taxes of real estate and profit taxes were unjustly collected from non-Muslims compared to Muslims. The poor were exploited by taxfarmers and some of the Ottoman functionaries were secretly collaborating with unfair taxfarmers. Deghegakirk Kavaragan, Account of the takrir dated H 6 S¸aban 1289, pp. 14 – 15. In some cases, Circassians were settled by provincial state functionaries in the farms cultivated by Armenians without considering that the land belonged to those who cultivated it according to Ottoman legislation. Deghegakirk Kavaragan, pp. 26 –33, 35. According to the report, when any member of the Armenian clergy was dead, the Porte permitted the local government to sell, for instance, the farm in which the clergyman was living

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although the latter was national property. During the official recording of real estate by state officials, many properties of the Armenian Church and schools were not recorded as communal properties. Deghegakirk Kavaragan, p. 15. Jamanak, 1 December 1908. ‘The Ottoman Constitution, Promulgated the 7th Zilbridje, 1293 (11/23 December, 1876)’, The American Journal of International Law, 2/4, Supplement: Official Documents (1908), p. 367. See for instance Zohrab’s speech, Jamanak, 12 November 1908.

References Official Documents

France, MAEF (Ministe`re des Affaires e´trange`res franc
ais), PA– AP (Papiers d’agents prive´s) 122, Correspondance politique du Comte de Mou¨y, 1876 –8. France, MAEF, CP (Correspondance politique), September – November 1876, vol. 406. Turkey, BOA (Bas¸bakanlık Osmanlı Ars¸ivleri), YEE (Yıldız Esas Evrakı).

Newspapers and Periodicals

Jamanak. The Levant Herald and Eastern Express. Masis. The Times.

Other Sources

Anon., Deghegakirk Kavaragan (Istanbul: Dbakrutyun Aramyan, 1876). Aristarchi, Yanko, De Bagdad a` Berlin: l’Itine´raire de Yanko Aristarchi Bey, Diplomate ottoman (Correspondance officielle et prive´e: Berlin, 1854–1892), 2 vols (Istanbul: Isis, 2008). Erdem, Tarhan, Anayasalar ve Sec
im Kanunları, 1876– 1982 (Istanbul: Milliyet Yayınları, 1982). Gu¨rdog˘an, Burhan, ‘I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet Devrinde Anayasa Deg˘is¸iklikleri’, Ankara ¨ niversitesi Hukuk Faku¨ltesi Dergisi, 16/1 – 4 (1959), pp. 91 – 105. U Kansu, Aykut, The Revolution of 1908 in Turkey (Leiden: Brill, 1997). Karaca, Filiz, Osmanlı Anayasası: Kanun-ı Esasi (Istanbul: Dog˘u Ku¨tu¨phanesi, 2009). Koc
unyan, Aylin, ‘Negotiating the Ottoman Constitution, 1856 – 1876’, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, European University Institute, Florence 2013. ———, ‘Long Live Sultan Abdulaziz, Long Live the Nation, Long Live the Constitution!’, in Kelly Grotke and Markus Prutsch (eds), Constitutionalism, Legitimacy and Power: Nineteenth-Century Experiences (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), pp. 189– 210. Koc
unyan, Misak, Gyanki Desaranner (Istanbul: Jamanak Yayınları, 2009). ‘The Ottoman Constitution, Promulgated the 7th Zilbridje, 1293 (11/23 December, 1876),’ The American Journal of International Law, 2/4, Supplement: Official Documents (1908), pp. 367– 87.

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Pamukciyan, Kevork, Biyografileriyle Ermeniler (Istanbul: Aras Yayınları, 2003). Roudometof, Victor, Nationalism, Globalisation, and Orthodoxy: The Social Origins of Ethnic Conflict in the Balkans (Westport: Greenwood Press, 2001). Tunaya, Tarık Zafer, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasal Gelis¸meler, 1876– 1938: Kanun-ı Esasi ve ¨ niversitesi Mes¸rutiyet Do¨nemi, 1876–1918, vol. 1 (Istanbul: I˙stanbul Bilgi U Yayınları, 2003).

CHAPTER 11 CONTINUITY AND CHANGE IN THE 1909 CONSTITUTIONAL REVISION:AN OTTOMAN IMPERIAL NATION CLAIMS ITS SOVEREIGNTY

Ileana Moroni

The first Ottoman Constitution, granted by Sultan Abdu¨lhamid II in 1876, marks a crucial step in the rationalization and legalization of the Ottoman political system. The significance of the 1908 Revolution and of the first revision of the Constitution, in 1909, is that a Constitution that had been granted by a monarch is taken up and then modified by a Parliament, in the name of the nation. By the middle of the nineteenth century, certain segments of Ottoman society had expressed their desire to have a say in public affairs, and had voiced the demand for a Constitution.1 However, the 1876 ‘Fundamental Law’ (Kanun-ı Esasıˆ) was not prepared by a constitutive assembly but by high-ranking officials, and had all the characteristics of a text granted by the monarch – hence its characterization as a ‘Firman-Constitution’ (Firman Anayasa).2 Indeed, according to this text, sovereignty remained in the exclusive domain of the sultan.3 However, the mere fact that sovereignty – although still vested in the sultan – was now confirmed by, and exercised according to,

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a legal text constituted a major step in the desacralization of power in the Ottoman Empire.4 The 1908 Young Turk Revolution signifies the moment when certain segments of Ottoman society take up on their own account the rhetoric of Hamidian official nationalism.5 This way, whereas Abdu¨lhamid only intended to use official nationalism in order to promote the active loyalty of his subjects, without granting them a say in public affairs, the rhetoric thus created was brought to its logical conclusion and became the vehicle for revolutionizing the Ottoman political system: in the end, the 1908 revolutionaries not only acceded to power, but created a new legitimizing ideology; they managed to transfer legitimacy from the sultan to the nation (an abstraction whose definition they conveniently kept in their hands), thus legitimizing – and securing the reproduction of – their power.6 The constitutional revision should be read in the context of this process: a ‘Firman-Constitution’ is taken up by the new elites that emerge from the 1908 Revolution, and used by them in order to affirm their power. Eventually, they proceed to modify the Constitution so as to legally transfer sovereignty and to legitimate their claim to power in the name of the nation. However, this process is not as linear and uncomplicated as it seems at first glance: I argue that the 1909 constitutional revision, while sanctioning a major break with the ‘Firman-Constitution’ and significantly altering the Ottoman political system, also shows some significant traits of continuity with imperial political traditions. I will only briefly outline the concrete modifications brought to the Ottoman Constitution in 1909;7 my intention is to place the constitutional revision in context and to evaluate its meaning and its importance within the broader framework of the Second Constitutional Period.

The Revision of the Constitution in the Context of the Constitutional Regime Inaugurated in 1908 The Constitution is at the heart of political debates in the Ottoman Empire all through the Young Turk Era or Second Constitutional Period (1908– 18). The main demand of the Young Turk Revolution, which inaugurated this period in July 1908, was the restoration of the 1876 Constitution – which had been suspended (although never officially revoked) by Abdu¨lhamid in 1878. Soon after the revolution, it became

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obvious that all political players were seeing the constitutional regime inaugurated in July 1908 as something completely novel, even though it was based on a Constitution prepared over 30 years earlier; the interpretation, implementation and eventual modification of the Constitution were thus going to be in the centre of political debates and negotiations in the period inaugurated with the 1908 Revolution. The sultan himself, on 1 August 1908, just a few days after the restoration of the Constitution, issued a declaration that has been evaluated as his ‘constitutional programme’.8 In the ‘Imperial Hatt relevant to the proclamation of the Constitution read at the Sublime Porte’,9 the sultan accepted the prevalence of the Constitution, pledging not to depart from its clauses ever again, and proposed guarantees that would further strengthen the Constitution. Apparently, even Abdu¨lhamid – the person who granted the Constitution in 1876 and suspended it a mere two years later – thought that the 1876 Constitution had to be somehow modified. Of course, at the same time, the sultan was anxious to safeguard his prerogatives: this same text declared that the ministers of War and of the Marine should be appointed by the sultan – a point with which the main actor of the revolution, the Committee of Union and Progress (CUP), did not agree, something which would later lead to a major rift between Palace and Parliament. Parliament, from its first sessions,10 stressed the importance of the Constitution, and of the guarantees that it offered, for consolidating the newly established constitutional regime. At the same time, however, it made it quite clear that it would not confine itself to the limited role conferred to it by the 1876 Constitution; rather, it would use to the utmost the possibilities offered by this legal text so as to expand its own prerogatives and actually transform the regime. From the very first session of Parliament, deputies started using the term ‘National Assembly’ (Millet Meclisi), instead of the more humble ‘Council of Deputies’ (Meclis-i Mebusan) – which was, though, the official name of the Parliament. In their response to the throne speech (discussed on 28 December 1908),11 which can be seen as their ‘constitutional programme’, deputies refer to the ‘rights of the nation’ (hukuk-u millet), which should be taken into consideration by the government when dealing with foreign policy issues, while they also observe that laws should have the acceptance of the Ottoman nation. They declare that they intend to ‘protect the rights

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of a people of thirty million souls’, and mention en passant that the Parliament is the ‘symbol of the nation’s sovereignty’ (hakimiyet-i milliyenin timsali). Very importantly, they salute the sultan’s expressed determination ‘concerning the administration of our country according to the Constitution’, and reciprocate, on behalf of the nation; this reciprocation makes of the Constitution a bilateral agreement between monarch and nation, and no longer a ‘Firman-Constitution’. In addition, the response to the throne speech states that ‘according to the spirit of the Constitution, [the government] should be responsible in front of the National Assembly and possess [its] confidence’. Clearly then, in a departure from the letter of the 1876 Constitution, the Parliament has the intention of asserting sovereignty in the name of the nation. In their response to the throne speech, as well as in subsequent sessions, whenever an issue regarding the functioning of the regime emerged, deputies referred to the ‘spirit’ of the Constitution and not to its letter – that is, they tended to interpret the Constitution according to what they thought the constitutional regime should be like.12 This was the case, most characteristically, when they unanimously declared that they had the right to censor the government. Ultimately, this gave way to a major event in the history of the Second Constitutional Period: the ousting of the Kaˆmil Pasha government on 13 February 1909.13 Its obvious significance is that it is the first ousting of a government appointed by the sultan through a vote of no confidence. More importantly, it also shows the central role of the Parliament in the post-1908 political order. Most readings of the Second Constitutional Period stress the extra-parliamentary methods used by the CUP in order to consolidate its power. However, the role of the Parliament should not be downplayed: the Parliament is the legal platform that the new elites use as their springboard in order to gain access to power and, even more importantly, legitimacy. In a similar fashion, the 1876 Constitution was used as a stepping stone and its 1909 revision should be seen as the culmination of a process: it is the moment when modifications accepted in practice during the previous months were legalized, thus changing the status and prerogatives of the Parliament and the shape of the constitutional regime itself. It is no coincidence that the revision procedure was accelerated right after the ‘31st March incident’ (13 April, according to the Gregorian calendar). The disturbances that took place in Istanbul in

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April 1909 (with important repercussions in other cities as well, most notably in Adana that saw a great part of its Armenian population massacred) were seen as a direct threat to the constitutional regime.14 But at the end of the disturbances (when riots were suppressed by the Army and deputies reached a compromise, putting an end to political conflicts at least temporarily), deputies managed to use this incident as a second founding event of the constitutional regime: having acquired the halo of a national elite (thanks to their role in the dethroning of a sultan and the enthroning of his successor), they declared this moment to be a new start and, actually, the real start of the constitutional regime.15

The Constitutional Revision: Procedure, Influences, Concrete Results, Issues at Stake As already noted, the Parliament made it clear from the beginning of its works that it desired to see the constitutional regime evolve; thus, the procedure for the revision of the Constitution had been initiated early on, before the 31st March incident. In January 1909, the Parliament, benefiting from a relevant clause in the 1876 Constitution, initiated the revision procedure by asking Vitalis Feraci Efendi, deputy for Istanbul, to draft a preliminary report. This short report was soon presented in Parliament and accepted as a basis for the constitutional revision.16 Subsequently, the task of preparing the revision was taken over by a parliamentary committee.17 The parliamentary committee presented a detailed report in Parliament soon after the end of the 31st March incident, on 3 May 1909.18 This report should be studied when evaluating the 1909 revision: it is an important document that reveals a lot on the aims and the rationale of the constitutional revision. It outlines the principles on which the revision should be based, and proposes concrete changes to be brought to specific articles of the Constitution. Some of its arguments were taken up by deputies during the discussions on the revision, and it should be noted that, because of the importance of the matter under discussion, the parliamentary committee that prepared this document was exceptionally composed of 30 members. Most of the Committee’s members were Muslims, and an important number of them were men of religion (ulama) or had been trained as ulama, even though they went on to pursue different careers; but we also find, among the Committee’s

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members, jurists and graduates of the School of Political Science (Mu¨lkiye). Many of the Committee’s members, including some of its religious members, had opposed the Hamidian regime and/or had lived outside the Empire. This is to say that, even when their arguments are based on religion, theirs is probably not the most standard/conservative interpretation of Islamic precepts. Indeed, there are very clear indications that the language and spirit of the Committee’s report was influenced by the Islamic reform movements of the nineteenth century that had given a lot of thought to issues of political organization. At the same time, European influences are also visible, both in the Committee’s report and in relevant parliamentary discussions, where deputies very often refer to European examples.19 The procedure for the constitutional revision functioned as follows: the Parliament discussed and decided on modifications to be brought to the Constitution article by article; then, it sent the modified constitutional text to the Senate who had the right to accept, reject or further modify the text. Subsequently, the revision was discussed once more in Parliament and re-sent to the Senate for its final adoption.20 The Parliament thoroughly discussed the 1909 revision. Relevant debates span tenths of long, and sometimes very heated, parliamentary sessions. Of course, whereas all deputies obviously grasped the importance of the matter, not all of them seem well-versed in the details of the operation, and sometimes failed to understand what was at stake in the discussion of this or that specific article. In any case, the results of the 1909 constitutional revision are far-reaching, leading scholars to speak of a ‘1909 Constitution’ as if it were a new Constitution, even though it was not prepared by a constitutive assembly.21 The final text was adopted after the above-mentioned deliberations in Parliament and after some objections from the Senate. With the 1909 revision, the legislative power sees its powers increased at the expense of the executive power, in a number of ways that directly or indirectly point to a transfer of sovereignty from the sultan to the nation, the latter expressing its will through Parliament. Article 3 of the Constitution sanctions something that Parliament had already imposed on Sultan Mehmet V, enthroned after the ‘31st March incident’: upon his enthronement, the sultan has to take oath in front of the ‘General Assembly’ (Meclis-i Umumıˆ – a term already used by the 1876 Constitution for joint sessions of the Parliament and the Senate); by this

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oath, the sultan swears to respect the Holy Law (S¸eriat) and the Constitution, and to be loyal ‘to the fatherland [vatan ] and to the nation [millet ]’. Article 6 allows the Parliament to control the expenses of the imperial family. Article 7, which enumerates the sultan’s prerogatives, is modified, so as to state that in certain important matters the agreement of Parliament is necessary: these are matters that have to do with the conclusion of peace, treaties on commerce, the secession or annexation of territories, the fundamental rights of the Ottomans, as well as matters which would entail expenses for the state.22 Again according to article 7, in case there is a change of government while the Parliament is not in session, the responsibility for this change weights on the new government (meaning that the new government will eventually have to answer to Parliament). Certain other modifications, proposed by the Parliament that would explicitly make the government answerable to the Parliament were not accepted by the Senate. Thus, the Parliament was not to be immediately called to session in case of a change of government, and the sultan did not need to obtain the previous agreement of the Parliament in order to appoint the Grand Vizier and the highest religious authority, the S¸eyhu¨lislam; likewise, the Senate rejected the Parliament’s proposition that the greatest part of the senators should be elected and not appointed by the sultan. However, even without these stipulations, the balance of power was very clearly altered in favour of the Parliament. Articles 28 and 29 make it clear that the executive power is in the hands of the government and not in those of the sultan, who is without responsibility and sacred. This makes it possible for the executive power to be answerable to the legislative power. Indeed, according to articles 30 and 38, ministers are responsible before Parliament; a vote of no confidence provokes the resignation of a minister or of the entire government (in case the vote of no confidence is directed at the head of the executive power, that is, the Grand Vizier). According to article 36, when the Parliament is not in session, governmental decisions can be sanctioned by an imperial irade (decree); however, these decisions should be submitted to parliamentary approval as soon as the Parliament resumes its work. Article 53 gives to Parliament legislative initiative (that is, the Parliament can initiate the adoption of new legislation, something which was not impossible, but was difficult under the 1876 Constitution), while article 80 enlarges the Parliament’s role in the preparation of the state’s budget.

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Article 54 considerably limits the sultan’s ability to veto legislation; indeed, his veto becomes a ‘suspending’ veto rather than an ‘annulling’ veto. This should be read in combination with the modification of article 35, which outlines the course of action to be taken in case of a disagreement between the executive and the legislative powers. In its modified form, article 35 makes it harder for the sultan to dissolve the Parliament and gives the final word to ‘the nation’, according to the Committee’s report. In concrete terms this means that, if the Parliament continuously and absolutely rejects the government’s opinion on a given matter, the government should accept the Parliament’s decision or resign; in case of a resignation, if the new government insists on the previous government’s opinion, and if the Parliament still rejects it, the sultan can dissolve the Parliament (given that the matter in question might not have been on the agenda at the moment of the latter’s election), on the condition of calling new elections. But if the newly elected Parliament persists in the dissolved Parliament’s opinion, then the government is obliged to comply. All this is matched with certain modifications that give the Parliament greater autonomy and control over its own functioning. Article 77 makes it clear that the Parliament will henceforth elect its president on its own, with no interference on the part of the sultan (as was envisaged by the 1876 Constitution). Article 43 prolongs the Parliament’s session from four to six months, and states that the Parliament is convened on the date set by the Constitution with no need for a convocation by the sultan. Article 44 makes it possible for the session of the Parliament and of the Senate to be prolonged, either on the sultan’s initiative, or by a written demand signed by the absolute majority of the deputies. Another important feature of the 1909 revision is that it enlarges and further guarantees the rights and freedoms of the Ottomans. Articles 10 and 12 are modified so as to further guarantee individual freedom and to put an end to censorship. A new article, article 120, guarantees freedom of assembly. In article 113, the ill-famous stipulation thanks to which the sultan could exile individuals whom he judged to be dangerous for the state without a previous court decision, is suppressed. However, the rest of this article’s provisions are maintained: the government thus has the right to temporarily declare martial law (idare-i o¨rfiye) in a specified region if there is reason to believe that troubles might erupt. As we shall

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see in the next section, this stipulation (actually, its abuse) would have major implications for the enjoyment of rights and freedoms in the Ottoman constitutional regime. We should also note that the 1909 revision strengthens the Islamic character of the Ottoman state.23 Not only does the sultan swear to respect, along with the Constitution, the Holy Law (article 3), but one of his prerogatives, enumerated in article 7, is the ‘maintenance and observance of the prescription of religious and civil laws’. Finally, article 118 is modified so as to state that, when preparing new legislation, the ‘prescriptions of the religion’ should also be taken into account. If we are to briefly appraise the 1909 constitutional revision, also taking into account the Committee’s report and relevant parliamentary discussions, we should note the following. The revision, by making the government answerable to Parliament and by increasing the latter’s prerogatives, changes that are accompanied – as I will show in more detail below – by a rhetoric on the ‘nation’s rights’, clearly transfers sovereignty from the sultan to the nation. No deputy questions the fact that sovereignty belongs to the nation – and the sultan and the Senate seem not to be in a position to do so, even assuming that they wanted to. But while this transfer of sovereignty is not questioned in principle, parliamentary discussions reveal that the main stake of the constitutional revision is to define how the nation’s sovereignty shall be expressed. On this point, there are different opinions among deputies. This question is reflected in two interconnected issues that are hotly debated: the separation of powers and the balance of powers. In the end, the Parliament does not take a very clear stand on these issues – and neither does the revised constitutional text finally adopted. Indeed, the separation of powers envisioned in the 1909 Constitution is a ‘soft’ one.24 While it can be debated whether the 1909 revision establishes a parliamentary regime,25 it is also true that deputies do not see a very clear distinction among powers. They seem to be obsessed by the fear that there might be some kind of an antagonistic relationship – and even conflicts – between the legislative and the executive powers. The parliamentary committee’s report states that the three powers ‘are not totally separated from one another’, talks of an ‘orderly unity’ among them, alludes to the ‘unity of the soul’ and concludes that the three powers meet one another in the unity of the state.26 Deputies debate whether national sovereignty is only expressed through the nation’s

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elected representatives, that is, in Parliament, or by the sultan, too. Most deputies state that the sultan should have a say in the legislative power as well, and some go as far as to state that the monarch participates in all three powers.27 Taking this reasoning even farther, some deputies make the assertion that the government, too, represents the nation, either because the government, appointed by the sultan, is approved by the Parliament, or simply because, the sultan being himself invested with the sovereignty of the nation, in a way he transfers this sovereignty to the government that he appoints.28 Only two deputies categorically reject the idea that the sultan can interpret the nation’s will.29 On the other hand, only two Greek Orthodox deputies, Yorgaki Artas Efendi and Pavlo Karolidi Efendi, explicitly state that the sultan can act against the parliamentary majority’s opinion if he thinks that the nation has a different opinion.30 In general, it is non-Muslim deputies who fear that overpowering the Parliament might lead to an abuse of power.31 They stress the sultan’s ‘impartiality’,32 his national role,33 and his religious role as the leader of Islam – a point on which they are seconded by Muslim deputies of religious background.34 But even prominent Unionists, who, at this point, are clearly inclined to favour the Parliament in all that has to do with the balance of power, speak of the sultan as a ‘personification’ of all Ottomans35 and stress his symbolic importance: reverence for the sultan can make the masses accept the constitutional regime and respect state authority.36 Along with this important role of the sultan, acknowledged by all deputies, the strengthening of the state’s Islamic character, too, points to a continuity with the Empire’s political traditions and moderates the impression that the Ottoman regime evolves towards a parliamentary regime.

Evaluating the Revision: The Ottoman Imperial Nation Proclaims its Sovereignty It is clear that, in order to evaluate the 1909 constitutional revision, and to place it in its context, we ought to take into account some other factors too, and not just the concrete changes brought to the constitutional text. First of all, we should take into account the rationale of the revision, that is, the aims that the deputies themselves set when they embarked on the revision. We should also consider the political language and practice developed in Parliament from the beginning of its

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works; it is evident that changes brought to the Constitution are thought in light of political practice already developed and that terms used in the Constitution do not have obvious or neutral meanings, but the meanings conferred to them in the political language previously shaped. Moreover, we should consider some other important texts that reveal the intentions of Ottoman elites regarding the shaping of the regime. First, a text circulated by the S¸eyhu¨lislam, probably with the consent of the Parliament, in the summer of 1909; this text attempted to explain the basic precepts of the constitutional regime to the Empire’s Muslim population, and to show that the constitutional regime was in accordance with the principles of Islam.37 Second, again during the summer of 1909, while inserting in the Constitution references to individual rights, the Parliament also prepared laws that regulated the enjoyment of these freedoms. Finally, we should keep in mind that the martial law proclaimed in April 1909 and incessantly prolonged severely compromised the Ottomans’ capability to enjoy rights and freedoms, even if these were theoretically guaranteed by the Constitution. The rationale behind the 1909 revision, laid out in the parliamentary committee’s report, is, quite clearly, to transfer sovereignty from the sultan to the nation. What the text of the revised Constitution fails to express clearly in a phrase that would expressly bestow sovereignty on the nation, the report expresses explicitly. Indeed, it states: ‘We claim all our rights.’ In this aim, ‘the Parliament decided unanimously to modify the Constitution, and created a committee, in order to establish a new proof, de jure and de facto, that it is the founding force’ – meaning, of course, the founding force of the regime. It also clearly states that one of its main aims is to consolidate ‘the sovereignty of the nation’. According to the same report, the 1876 Constitution had been prepared by a group of dignitaries, and limited the rights of the nation; now, thanks to the Parliament’s initiative to revise it, the Constitution is no longer ‘an imperial chart offered to us, but a legal proof of guarantee that belongs truly and legitimately to the nation. It is no longer an imperial promise the fulfilling of which is doubtful, but a political proof [. . .]’.38 The committee’s report goes on to state: the Constitution is not given, it is taken [. . .] The courageous act is to know one’s rights, and to seize them when one sees them. Our rights are our own. Certainly no one can offer us what belongs to

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us [. . .] And the Constitution is nothing else than the recognition of these rights by the government, the document of their contract and guarantee.39 All this signifies that the constitutional revision is seen as a break with the past, as the birth of a nation that claims its rights, of an Ottoman political community. However, this conclusion has to be nuanced. If the Parliament envisages a radical transformation of the legitimation of power in the Empire, with the creation of an Ottoman nation, it is also true that the Ottoman state’s imperial and Islamic tradition, too, is acknowledged and serves as a basis for the new constitutional regime; indeed, the break with the past is not complete: the projected Ottoman nation is placed in the imperial continuity. Both the parliamentary committee’s report and the S¸eyhu¨lislam’s declaration, using an overtly religious language, present a theory on sovereignty according to Islam. A perception of nation and of national sovereignty clearly inspired by the Islamic reform movement is laid out by the report in an elaborate language, while the manifesto attempts to popularize it. According to this perception, sovereignty has its origins both in the nation’s will and in divine will: the Sultan Caliph, who is, at the same time, the product of the nation’s sovereignty and a personification of this sovereignty, has the ‘regency’ (niyabet) of the nation and is also a delegate of the Great Prophet, who is himself God’s delegate. 40 This theory invests national sovereignty with a certain sacredness. This sacredness is further exemplified by the fact that, in the Ottoman Empire, sovereignty was bestowed on the sultan through a coronation ceremony of Islamic origin, the biat. The fact that texts written and circulated in 1909 accept the biat as a manifestation of the nation’s sovereignty can only mean that, according to their authors, sovereignty existed well before 1908. Indeed, according to a reading of Ottoman history that can be traced in previous parliamentary discussions,41 in the Committee’s report and in the beyanname, a sovereign nation seems to have existed all through Ottoman history. This Ottoman nation exercised its sovereignty through the biat; of course, there were also periods of tyranny when the expression of sovereignty was problematic, but the Ottoman nation demanded its sovereignty in 1876 (this is the date of the first Ottoman Constitution),

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finally gained it thanks to the 1908 Revolution, and consolidated it in 1909, after the 31st March incident.42 Those who assured the continuity of the nation throughout these turbulences were the ‘pious savants’ who, according to the S¸eyhu¨lislam’s declaration, persevered in controlling public affairs and opposed tyranny.43 In the words of the parliamentary committee’s report, these are the ‘people of loosening and binding’,44 who are supposed, according to Islamic tradition, to assist the Caliph – on whom sovereignty is bestowed – by serving as a ‘regulating force’ (kuvvei muaddile). Given the report’s and the beyanname’s reading of Ottoman history, it is clear that these men are high-ranking officials and ulama, and it is them who prepared the 1876 Constitution. The parliamentary committee’s report – once more putting the stress on continuity instead of claiming to realize a break – accepts that these officials are ‘morally equivalent’ to the elected representatives of the nation; this is why, even while deploring the fact that the 1876 Constitution was not prepared by an elected assembly, it accepts this Constitution as basis and does not seek to replace it but only to modify it.45 In any case, the dignitaries, too, share in the sacredness of the biat: the biat reflects on them, and they are themselves vested with the nation’s sovereignty, given that they are appointed by the Sultan Caliph.46 These are the most important conclusions to which a careful reading of the parliamentary committee’s report and of the S¸eyhu¨lislam’s declaration leads us. Their consequences are far-reaching. First of all, as I have already pointed out, it is obvious that the expression of an Ottoman sovereign nation is not seen as a novelty: the transfer of legitimacy from the sultan to the nation, formalized thanks to the 1909 constitutional revision might be an important break, but the deputies that prepare the revision do not claim it as such; on the contrary, they try to put the stress on continuity with imperial traditions. Second, they do not claim such a break for themselves, either: more than as the elected representatives of a nation that claims its sovereignty for the first time, they see themselves as successors of the men of ‘loosening and binding’, as a national elite on which sovereignty is bestowed. And, finally, national sovereignty is seen as a sacred sovereignty. In the final analysis, we could say that, thanks to initiatives taken by Parliament during the first months of the constitutional regime, and thanks to the 1909 constitutional revision, sovereignty in the Ottoman

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Empire changes owner but does not radically change form. Political discourse and practice developed in Parliament already before the constitutional revision, as well as laws voted while the constitutional revision was being debated or immediately afterwards, corroborate this conclusion. Indeed, not all Ottomans were to equally participate in this Ottoman nation that the Parliament tried to define. In the Parliament’s perception, clearly visible in the political discourse that it develops from the beginning of its works, ‘nation’ and ‘people’ were two distinct entities, and the people were seen as ignorant and potentially dangerous for the constitutional regime and the nation. This perception was consolidated after the 31st March incident. This is why, while the revised Constitution vowed to enlarge and strengthen individual rights and freedoms, in practice, throughout the Second Constitutional Period, Ottomans never fully enjoyed these rights and freedoms. Simultaneously with the constitutional revision, the Parliament also prepared laws that would regulate rights and freedoms.47 Whether restrictions brought with these laws are important or not is debatable (one should keep in mind that in Europe too, at the beginning of the twentieth century, similar restrictions were not unheard of). However, these restrictions, together with the deputies’ arguments in relevant discussions, reveal a pattern. All deputies (including in fact wellknown liberals, such as Lu¨tfi Fikri, deputy for Dersim) were in favour of restrictions, arguing that conditions in the Ottoman Empire were not yet ripe for a more liberal legislation. Deputies clearly believe that the great mass of the Ottoman people are not in a position to understand issues at stake, and should therefore be kept at a distance from public dialogue, for the sake of general interests. It is thus forbidden for the Press ‘to publish laws before their official publication’; associations are to be held to close scrutiny by state authorities (for instance, state agents are to be allowed to enter the offices of associations at any time); public gatherings should be presided over by their organizers, who shall be accountable for any violation of the law that might occur, and are not allowed at all at the vicinity of the Palace and the Parliament. Some stricter regulations are only evoked, and do not pass into legislation; in any case, they are not needed in practice, since the martial law – continuously prolonged, in vast regions of the Empire – restricts rights and freedoms effectively and almost entirely.

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All this illustrates what the S¸eyhu¨lislam’s manifesto explicitly states, namely that the constitutional regime does not entail that individuals can directly interfere in government affairs.48 Limitations to the scope of rights and freedoms actually limit active citizenship, that is, active participation in the nation. Thus, much as was the case in Abdu¨lhamid’s official nationalism, in the constitutional nationalism shaped by Parliament as well, the great mass of the people have to abide by principles and laws proffered in the name of the nation, but do not have a say in their shaping. This is also illustrated in the way in which sovereignty and power are conceptualized and in the sultan’s important symbolic place in the Ottoman power structure, a place that the Parliament takes care to retain, even while strengthening the legislative power and asserting sovereignty in the name of the nation. The sultan, ‘personification’ of sovereignty, ‘detached’ in a way from society (heyeti ictimaiyeden mu¨tenezzih)49 is seen by deputies as a ‘symbol’ of the nation: he inspires obedience and respect to authority; the symbolism that he embodies is also probably seen as a guarantee for the Empire’s cohesion (one should remember here the insistence of non-Muslim deputies on the sultan’s ‘national role’), in the light of disagreements among different ethno-religious groups in Parliament and especially in the aftermath of the Adana massacres.

The Revolution’s Victorious Conclusion This is not to say that the 1908 Revolution and the 1909 constitutional revision do not signify an important turn in Ottoman history. The structure of power in the Ottoman Empire was never static, as recent studies have very clearly shown;50 however, prior to 1908, while different individuals and segments of Ottoman society struggled over power, they did not struggle over legitimacy: sovereignty remained vested in the house of Osman (and this, even though sultans were sometimes dethroned). Despite some attempts, during the nineteenth century, to question the sultan’s legitimacy and to claim a say in public affairs in the name of the nation,51 this only became possible after the turn of the century. The 1908 Revolution signifies the moment when national discourse is used in order to claim not only power but also legitimacy. And the 1909 constitutional revision sanctions this transfer of legitimacy that the revolution claimed.

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Many more constitutional revisions will follow during the Second Constitutional Period. This shows that those in power attempted to modify and use the fundamental law of the state in order to suit their changing goals, and that issues that have to do with the structure of the constitutional regime retained their centrality throughout this period. However, the 1909 constitutional revision is especially important, whether we look at it from a legal or from a historical point of view. Legally, it brought important changes: as already noted, scholars of constitutional law go as far as to talk of a distinct ‘1909 Constitution’. From a historical perspective, the 1909 constitutional revision closes the first, ‘revolutionary’ phase of the Second Constitutional Period, opened in July 1908: it sanctions modifications brought to the regime in practice; it redefines the regime and, with it, defines the projected Ottoman nation. In July 1908, the Young Turks claimed power and legitimacy in the name of the nation. This transfer of legitimacy was sanctioned and consolidated with the constitutional revision of 1909. Creating this new legitimation also required a definition of the Ottoman nation; this, too, was achieved through the revision, which defined the Ottoman nation in the lineage of Ottoman imperial traditions, that is, defined an Ottoman imperial nation. What the constitutional revision of 1909 signifies is, then, the victorious conclusion of the revolution: it is indeed victorious, but, nonetheless, it is a conclusion, an end. A new legitimating principle is created, and this is indeed a major break, a revolutionary change; but this legitimating principle, the nation, is defined in the lineage of Ottoman imperial traditions, something which moderates the break. Thus, in a way, the 1909 revision shows the limits of the 1908 Revolution’s radicalism.

Notes 1. S¸erif Mardin, The Genesis of Young Ottoman Thought (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2000; 1st edn 1962); Burak Onaran, De´troˆner le Sultan: Deux conjurations a` l’e´poque des re´formes ottomanes: Kuleli (1859) et Meslek (1867) (Leuven: Peeters, 2013). 2. Bu¨lent Tano¨r, Osmanlı-Tu¨rk Anayasal Gelis¸meleri (1789 – 1980) (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2006), p. 133. 3. This is not clearly stated in the 1876 Constitution but, as Tano¨r has shown, it is easily deducted from the Constitution’s clauses, that favour the Sultan, limit the

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7.

8. 9.

10.

11. 12. 13. 14.

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prerogatives of the Parliament and severely compromise the exercise of fundamental rights and freedoms: ibid., pp. 132– 49. Ibid., pp. 136– 8. The term ‘official nationalism’ for the official ideology of the Hamidian regime, and its comprehensive analysis, is of course due to Deringil: Selim Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains (London and New York: I.B.Tauris, 1999). Here, I summarize some of the main arguments of my PhD thesis: AnastasiaIleana Moroni, ‘Une Nation Impe´riale. Construire une Communaute´ Politique Ottomane Moderne au Lendemain de la Re´volution de 1908’, unpublished PhD thesis, Paris, EHESS, 2013. There exist two very good accounts of the 1909 constitutional revision from the point of view of constitutional law: Tano¨r, Osmanlı-Tu¨rk Anayasal Gelis¸meleri, pp. 132– 49; Cem Erog˘ul, ‘1908 Devrimi’ni I˙zleyen Anayasa Deg˘isiklikleri’, in Sina Aks¸in, Sarp Balcı and Barıs¸ U¨nlu¨ (eds), 100. Yılında Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi (Istanbul: Tu¨rkiye I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r Yayınları, 2010), pp. 75– 109. This characterization belongs to Tano¨r, Osmanlı-Tu¨rk Anayasal Gelis¸meleri, p. 181. This is the ‘Kanunu Esasinin meriyeti hakkında sadır olup Babı Aˆlide kıraat edilen Hattı Hu¨mayun’, dated, according to the Ottoman Rumıˆ calendar, 19 Temmuz 1324: S¸eref Go¨zu¨bu¨yu¨k and Suna Kili, Tu¨rk Anayasa Metinleri 1839– 1980 (Ankara: Ankara U¨niversitesi Siyasal Bilgiler Faku¨ltesi Yayınları, 1982), pp. 67 – 70. A French translation of this text can be found in: A. Biliotti and Ahmet Sedad, Le´gislation Ottomane. Depuis le Re´tablissement de la Constitution, 24 Djemazi-ul-Ahir 1326– 10 juillet 1324/1908, Tome Premier, du 24 Djemazi-ulAhir 1326– 10 juillet 1324/1908 au 1er Zilcade´ 1327– 1er novembre 1325/1909 (Paris: Jouve et Cie Imprimeurs-Editeurs, 1912), pp. 6 – 10. The Ottoman Parliament started its works on 17 December 1908 (4 Kaˆnunuevvel 1324). The Minutes of its sessions, originally published in the Ottoman official gazette, were transcribed in the Latin script and published in several volumes by the publishing house of the Turkish Parliament, starting in 1982. They can also be reached online: http://www.tbmm.gov.tr/kutuphane/ tutanak_sorgu.html. I will be referencing the Minutes as follows: MMZC [Meclisi Mebusan Zabıt Ceridesi, i.e. Minutes of the Council of Deputies], d. [devre, i.e. period], ict. senesi [ictima senesi, i.e. session year], inikat [session]. MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 6, pp. 65 – 6. There are numerous examples to illustrate this tendency. See indicatively, two characteristic sessions: MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 8; MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 11. For the relevant discussion, see: MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 27. This incident started on 13 April 1909 (31 March, according to the Ottoman calendar), as a military mutiny but soon gained larger proportions. For a very good account and evaluation of the April 1909 events see (despite its misleading title), Sina Aks¸in, S¸eriatcı bir Ayaklanma: 31 Mart Olayı (Ankara: I˙mge Kitabevi, 1994). I have argued that this incident was the expression of a

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15.

16. 17. 18. 19. 20.

21. 22.

23. 24. 25.

26. 27. 28.

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widespread discontent with the way in which the constitutional regime was being applied, and of political disagreements among different individuals and groups in the Parliament: Moroni, pp. 309 – 70. See the speech of Tevfik Bey (deputy for Kangırı), at the end of the 31 March incident, during a session of the Meclisi Umumıˆ (i.e. General Assembly – Parliament and Senate had joined sessions under this name-, MUZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 4 (26 April 1909), p. 39. See also: Aks¸in, pp. 222 – 3; Moroni, p. 352. It would seem that the choice to enthrone Abdu¨lhamid’s successor under the name Mehmet V (Mehmet being of course the name of the Sultan who conquered Istanbul in 1453), was a conscious one, and that the General Assembly saw the end of the 31 March incident as a second conquest of Istanbul. Vitalis Feraci Efendi’s preliminary report was presented in Parliament on 12 January 1909: MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 10. This committee was appointed on 4 February: MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 23. The report is annexed to the Minutes of that day’s session, its pages separately numbered from 3 to 33: MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 65 / Report, pp. 3 – 33. For more details on the Committee’s members and on ideological influences that can be traced in the report, see: Moroni, pp. 370 – 5. It should be noted that in 1909 there was a malfunctioning in this process: the Senate did not ratify all of the Parliament’s modifications, but failed to inform the Parliament of this. Thus, not all of the intended modifications were finally brought to the Constitution. This is noted by Biliotti and Sedad, pp. 361 – 3. Bu¨lent Tano¨r’ ‘Anayasal Gelis¸melere Toplu bir Bakıs¸’, in Tanzimat’tan Cumhuriyet’e Tu¨rkiye Ansiklopedisi, vol. 1 (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 1985), pp. 10– 26, here p. 24. As stated in the report of the parliamentary committee, the involvement of Parliament in matters that directly concern the prosperity or the misfortune of the nation is ‘one of the most essential and important manifestations of the legitimate sovereignty of the nation’: MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 65 / Report, p. 9. Erog˘ul, p. 80; Tano¨r, Osmanlı-Tu¨rk Anayasal Gelis¸meleri, p. 193. I˙smail Kara makes a similar comment: I˙slaˆmcıların Siyasıˆ Go¨ru¨s¸leri I: Hilafet ve Mes¸rutiyet, 2nd edition (Istanbul: Dergaˆh Yayınları, 2001), p. 187. Tano¨r, Osmanlı-Tu¨rk Anayasal Gelis¸meleri, p. 196. Deputies refrain from explicit references to the question whether the Ottoman regime is a parliamentary one. In the very rare references to this question that I have traced, the prominent Unionist Halil Bey, deputy for Mentes¸e, claims that it is a parliamentary regime, while Pavlo Karolidi Efendi, Greek-Orthodox deputy for I˙zmir, denies it: MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 92, pp. 364, 362. MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 65 / Report, p. 6. MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 67, p. 241; MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 68, p. 281; MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 92, pp. 341, 343, 345. MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 67, p. 238; MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 87, p. 167; MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 88, p. 198.

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29. These are Ohannes Varteks Efendi, Armenian deputy for Erzurum, and Rıza Pacha of Karahisarisahip: MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 89, p. 237; MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 92, p. 343. 30. MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 67, p. 237; MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 89, p. 237. 31. See the statements of Armenian deputy Zehrap Efendi and Greek-Orthodox deputy Yorgi Bos¸o Efendi: MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 67, p. 239; MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 88, pp. 196– 7. 32. MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 67, p. 239; MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 92, p. 344. 33. MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 87, p. 173; MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 92, p. 345. 34. MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 88, pp. 194 – 5; MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 92, p. 345. 35. Hu¨seyin Cahit Bey, prominent Unionist, deputy and chief editor of the CUP’s main press organ, the Tanin, states this in an article in Tanin: ‘Padis¸ah’ [Sultan], Tanin, 25 June 1909 (12 Haziran 1325). 36. Halil Bey, deputy for Mentes¸e, makes these statements during deliberations on the Press law: MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 75, p. 565. 37. This is a declaration (beyanname) issued by the office of the highest Islamic authority of the Empire, the S¸eyhu¨lislam, in the summer of 1909. It seems that the Parliament decided that this declaration would be published in Ottoman Turkish, Arabic and Persian, in all Ottoman provinces. Some information on this beyanname and a French translation (published in Le Figaro), are to be found in the Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of France: AMAE: NS Turquie: 6: 210 (Extrait du Figaro, 18 – 9 –1909). Some information, and certain excerpts in Ottoman Turkish, can also be found in Kara, op. cit., pp. 40 –2. In this section, I summarize the main points of a thorough analysis, based mainly on the parliamentary committee’s report and on the beyanname, which can be found in: Moroni, pp. 384 – 97. 38. MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 65 / Report, p. 9. 39. Ibid., p. 9. 40. Ibid., pp. 4–5; AMAE: NS Turquie: 6: 210; Kara, p. 41. For a thorough discussion of the theory on sovereignty presented in these two texts, see: Moroni, pp. 385–90. 41. See mainly the Parliament’s response to the throne speech: MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 6, pp. 65– 6. 42. The importance of 1876 and of 1908 in this reading of Ottoman history can be seen both in the Parliament’s response to the throne speech, and in the beyanname. Reference to the 31 March incident can be found in the beyanname, according to which ‘bandits’ tried to cause ‘disorder’ in the Empire. 43. AMAE: NS Turquie: 6: p. 210. 44. ‘Erbab-ı hall-u¨ akd’ in the parliamentary committee’s report. This is a very characteristic term of the classical Islamic political language.

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45. MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 65 / Report, pp. 7– 8. 46. As is evident from what we have said so far, this is implied in both the beyanname and the parliamentary committee’s report, and explicitly stated in a note inserted in the latter by the president of the Committee: ibid., pp. 30 – 1. 47. These are, mainly, the law on public gatherings (voted in May 1909), the Press law (July 1909), and the law regarding the forming of associations (August 1909); laws on strikes (July 1909) and on ‘tramps and suspects’ (April 1909) can also be considered in this category. Relevant – very interesting – discussions in Parliament span over a number of sessions. For a thorough analysis, see: Moroni, op. cit., pp. 401 – 31. 48. ‘[. . .] il ne serait pas exact de de´duire de ce que nous avons dit que le peuple tout entier a le droit absolu d’intervenir directement dans les affaires du gouvernement. Au contraire, [. . .] il est indispensable que tous accordent aux ordres du gouvernement une parfaite obe´issance et une comple`te soumission’: AMAE: NS Turquie: 6: p. 210. 49. MMZC, d. 1, ict. sen. 1, inikat 65 / Report, p. 4. 50. See mainly: Baki Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire. Political and Social Transformation in the Early Modern World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). 51. Onaran.

References Aks¸in, Sina, S¸eriatcı bir Ayaklanma: 31 Mart Olayı (Istanbul: I˙mge Kitabevi, 1994). Biliotti A. and Ahmet Sedad, Le´gislation Ottomane. Depuis le Re´tablissement de la Constitution, 24 Djemazi-ul-Ahir 1326– 10 juillet 1324/1908, Tome Premier, du 24 Djemazi-ul-Ahir 1326– 10 juillet 1324/1908 au 1er Zilcade´ 1327– 1er novembre 1325/1909 (Paris: Jouve et Cie Imprimeurs-Editeurs, 1912). Deringil, Selim, The Well-Protected Domains (London and New York: I.B.Tauris, 1999). Erog˘ul, Cem, ‘1908 Devrimi’ni I˙zleyen Anayasa Deg˘isiklikleri’ [Constitutional changes after the 1908 revolution], in Sina Aks¸in, Sarp Balcı and Barıs¸ U¨nlu¨ (eds), 100.Yılında Jo¨n Tu¨rk Devrimi (Istanbul: Tu¨rkiye I˙s¸ Bankası Ku¨ltu¨r Yayınları, 2010), pp. 75–109. Go¨zu¨bu¨yu¨k, S¸eref and Kili, Suna, Tu¨rk Anayasa Metinleri 1839 – 1980 (Ankara: Ankara U¨niversitesi Siyasal Bilgiler Faku¨ltesi Yayınları, 1982), pp. 67– 70. Kara, I˙smail, I˙slaˆmcıların Siyasıˆ Go¨ru¨s¸leri I: Hilafet ve Mes¸rutiyet, 2nd edn (Istanbul: Dergaˆh Yayınları, 2001). Mardin, S¸erif, The Genesis of Young Ottoman Thought (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2000; 1st edn 1962). Moroni, Anastasia-Ileana, ‘Une Nation Nation Impe´riale. Construire une Communaute´ Politique Ottomane Moderne au Lendemain de la Re´volution de 1908’, unpublished PhD thesis, Paris, EHESS, 2013.

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Onaran, Burak, De´troˆner De´troˆner le Sultan: Deux conjurations a` l’e´poque des re´formes ottomanes: Kuleli (1859) et Meslek (1867) (Leuven: Peeters, 2013). Tano¨r, Bu¨lent, Osmanlı-Tu¨rk Anayasal Gelis¸meleri (1789 – 1980) (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2006). ——— ‘Anayasal Gelis¸melere Toplu bir Bakıs¸’, in Tanzimat’tan Cumhuriyet’e Tu¨rkiye Ansiklopedisi, vol. 1 (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 1985), pp. 10 – 26. Tezcan, Baki, The Second Ottoman Empire. Political and Social Transformation in the Early Modern World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012).

CHAPTER 12 `

ARE THEY NOT OUR WORKERS?' SOCIALIST HILMI AND HIS PUBLICATION ̇IS TIRAK:AN APPRAISAL OF OTTOMAN SOCIALISM Meltem Tokso¨z

An important name in Ottoman socialism, Hu¨seyin Hilmi Bey of Izmir (Smyrna), established in 1910 the Ottoman Socialist Party (Osmanlı Sosyalist Fırkası), and published its organ the journal ‘Collective [I˙s¸tirak ]’.1 It is thus a well-known fact that Huseyin Hilmi became the leading intellectual among socialists in the days of the 1908 Revolution who came to be nicknamed ‘I˙s¸tirakci’ after the name of the journal.2 Not much is known about his early life but he was born in Izmir where, it is rumoured, he had also served as a civilian police until 1907. It was also a year before the 1908 Revolution that he began to publish Serbest I˙zmir. Another widely circulated piece of information on Hu¨seyin Hilmi is that he had spent some time in Romania prior to the revolution and his life of publishing where he had met Baha Tevfik from whom he first heard of socialism.3 His journal I˙s¸tirak first appeared in February 1910 in Istanbul as a weekly and was shut down in June 1911 by martial court (divan-ı harb-i o¨rfi) because of a special issue on Ahmet Samim, a most famous journalist and opponent of the CUP. When I˙s¸tirak met this fate a few times more, Hilmi published another journal named Sosyalist which

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was also shut down because of news on the ‘Bloody Sunday’ in Russia. This journal was followed by Medeniyet and then I˙s¸tirak again, this time as a newspaper. It would not be wrong to place Hu¨seyin Hilmi’s publications in the environment of the 1908 Revolution that had ushered a cornucopia of constitutional freedoms among which the establishment of many political parties and the publications of some 300 newspapers and journals. But when the Liberal Union and the Islamic Unity parties were wiped out with the counter-revolution of 1909, the CUP met with dire opposition from many a side which brought the divisions into the open. But none of this meant open political action due to the continued martial law. In November 1911 all the opposition groups joined in Hu¨rriyet ve I˙tilaf Fırkası (Party of Freedom and Understanding, known as Entente Libe´rale) while S¸erif Pas¸a, ambassador to Sweden, established the Islahat-ı Esasiye-ı Osmaniye Fırkası (Party on Fundamental Ottoman Reforms) in 1909 and Hu¨seyin Hilmi the Osmanlı Sosyalist Fırkası (Ottoman Socialist Party) in 1910. S¸erif Pas¸a’s party in Paris advocated revolutionary action to bring the regime down by radical change but Hilmi’s party based in Istanbul played a larger role in the Parliament by gaining the support of the Armenian and Bulgarian groups.4 The party, the journal and most notably Hilmi Bey himself have since then been criticized for not understanding socialism by nearly all concerned, past and present. His socialism has been largely viewed as a mere reaction to the Committee of Union and Progress (herafter CUP) and the ban on unionism and striking while the likes of Hilmi were dubbed nothing more than a small circle of leftists who became so not because they opposed constitutionalism but its CUP version. As such the idea of opposition seems to resonate in all of late Ottoman intellectual thought, overriding all nuances among the intelligentsia. Indeed, the overall understanding of any opposition to the Hamidian regime as collectively representing the Young Turks comes to mind when one looks at this later opposition to the CUP: almost hauntingly it is also studied collectively but in a one-dimensional line of thought that targets the CUP. As such opposition to the CUP itself becomes void of any differentiating trajectories, the socialists included. Moreover, as the print movement of such post-1908 Revolution is seen mostly for profiteering and print capitalism, the socialist press that was not even that socialist

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but liberal and progressive appears similarly opportunist.5 Accordingly, the socialists are more remembered for their alliances most notably with the Hu¨rriyet ve I˙tilaf Fırkası, but also generally with the parties of common oppositional stance, beginning with Osmanlı Ahrar Fırkası (Party of Ottoman Liberals), during the constitutional regime up to the counter-revolution of 1909, then with the Ottoman Democrat Party and in 1910 with the Ahali Fırkası.6 Based primarily on Tunaya, a well-known referred source on Ottoman socialism, Mu¨nir Su¨leyman C¸apanog˘lu, has also placed Hilmi who had followed Baha Tevfik in a dysfunctional socialism in the general opposition to the CUP mode.7 Another frequent accusation against Hilmi has to do with espionage both in Izmir and Istanbul, where the Hu¨rriyet ve I˙tilaf connection had found proof in his capacity as a British spy.8 Hu¨seyin Hilmi himself is most often mentioned for his red pullover and his limited knowledge of socialism itself. Along with such treatment of Ottoman socialism in general and I˙s¸tirakci Hilmi in particular, there is ample other research on Hilmi Bey.9 Much of this research also draws attention to the biography of Hilmi who was for the most part condemned for being at best a liberal, and remembered for connections to French socialism especially after World War I that were particularly lost to Turkish socialism as both the Ottoman and Turkish socialist parties turned to the Second International.10 Mete Tuncay on the other hand credits the party for being something more than a few newspapermen’s gathering. For printing papers and periodicals preceded the party and continued to be printed as other papers were closed one by one. Tuncay also thinks that the socialists were not only ‘print capitalists’ but they espoused socialism against the suppression and oppression of the CUP as part a larger effort; which of course still ended up like the rest of the opposition with the assassination of Mahmut S¸evket Pas¸a.11 Moreover, Hilmi and his circle ‘tried to engage in a compromise with regard to Islam’ in the words of Tuncay, but also ‘printed non-Muslim Ottoman citizens.’12 Tuncay is more convinced that Hilmi was a deeper socialist, for the later years between 1918 and 1922, when the Ottoman Socialist Party turned into the Turkish Socialist Party. It seems to me Hilmi Bey’s publication I˙s¸tirak, but not so much the Socialist Party, still awaits a full analysis on its own terms and thus to be saved both from a liberal outlook and/or a general outlook of all opposition to the CUP. Looking at Hilmi Bey beyond a person of

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publication, as Tuncay suggests, starts with an analysis of the journals and papers themselves. Hilmi Bey published the journal I˙s¸tirak at the beginning of 1910. With regard to the first I˙s¸tiraks, and this early Hilmi, I see two problems. The journal before its era as the party organ is not studied sufficiently. ‘Hilmi and his circle’ are conveniently lumped together although it is fairly recognized that there was a heterogeneous socialist intelligentsia at the time. The weekly I˙s¸tirak as journal socialiste in 1910 and the next I˙s¸tirak in 1912 as both journal and newspaper are portrayed somewhat differently in the sense that the newspaper in 1912 is considered more sophisticated and more socialistic.13 However, there seems to be far more publication and translation on socialism prior to this latest I˙s¸tirak, going back at least two years earlier to articles in I˙s¸tirak the journal in 1910. Mete Tuncay also delves into these differences between the journal and the newspaper and seems to still argue that Hilmi’s circle, as he calls them, were not truly socialist and further that they did not even understand socialism. Indeed an overview of all these publications owned and managed by Hilmi, but not a statistical calculation, does present a discussion on a very important issue for Turkish history-writing in general: the assumption that the Ottoman political scene did not induce any socialism which in turn stems from the idea that the Ottoman Empire did not possess a proletariat. According to Foti Benlisoy ve Dog˘an C¸etinkaya, who correctly place this criticism against Hilmi and the party back to the actual days of their campaigns, the idea that these were at best progressive and liberal intellectuals stems from the very same accusation made to them at the time.14 Hence it could not really give way to a proletarian ideology which was accepted as synonymous with socialism. So without such a class, the so-called Ottoman socialists, went the charge, could not be anything more than adventurous and disastrous. But indeed Hilmi published much about workers and unionism as well as being actively engaged in some such unions and strikes. Moreover, in another publication organ of the party, I˙drak [Comprehension], Hilmi contributed by translations of Marxist literature.15

Rereading Ottoman Socialism through I˙¸stirak The journal and newspapers deal with a variety of themes that can still be identified as a framework that covers socialism as thought and

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movement, as well as the way in which both of these applied to Ottoman/Turkish society. Theoretical issues encompass a wide range from a long dure´e history of socialism including the future of socialism, to socialism in the nineteenth century especially as German Social Democracy and French socialism to scientific socialism. Through such a reading the idea that the Ottomans did not possess a proletariat gives way to the discussion of socialism in rural society as more important for Ottoman society. This can be then viewed as complementary to the news and biographies of world socialists and their movements, as well as translations. News of workers in Europe come next and not only for equating socialism with the movement of a proletariat but as discussions of socialism at large. Reports on Ottoman workers movements also follow but without an analytical framework. Finally come opposition to the government both generally and particularly – for instance, the parliamentary debate on socialism itself when labour law was the issue and the criticism of Cavid Bey, the Minister of Finance.16 In this chapter, I will analyse the articles on history and the future of socialism as well as those on socialists that pave the way for the authors to discuss theoretical issues. Another identifying point in my analysis is the tone in which some articles that can be considered discussions of socialism in general are written: much of the discussion of socialism is like public lectures, depicting a self-proclaimed mission of the journal as teaching socialism to the assumed readerships. It is clear that Hilmi had envisioned or targeted several types of readership, from more educated to the uneducated. The ‘school teacher’ tone adapted for this latter readership is discernibly much less sophisticated from others on history and even historical sociology.

Teaching Socialism: Social Conversations Several issues of the Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, as the journal is subtitled on the opening page, include a heading under which many of the teachings of socialism follow: muhasebe-i ictimaiyye which can be translated as Social Talks or Conversations. Sometimes translations more often than not, these pieces represent the basic premises of socialism as understood by Hilmi and others of the journal. The fact that both the language and the topics covered under these headings have been

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interpreted as proof of the limited understanding of Hilmi in issues of socialism is indeed misleading.17 To my mind, these pieces under the sub-heading ‘What is socialism?’ target a general readership and aspire to draw people’s attention. A quick look at the headline of the opening page before the name of the journal in French is very telling: ‘When one eats and the other looks on, that is the day of judgment. Promoting Socialism.’18 These remarks respectively portray a very simple way of understanding socialism as basically sharing, and that the journal promotes such an idea, openly inviting readers to socialist ideas that can be easily comprehended by anyone interested. Indeed the article itself openly endorses training and education as the saviour of the working classes which in turn will be the basis of social progress, citing Lassalle the German jurist and socialist political activist.19 This endorsement of education is almost always explained by way of a historical discussion. In one way, then, history in general and history of socialism in particular serve not only to teaching awareness but also to endorsing education for all. This schooling tone is further evident in a series of articles headed under the title of ‘Socialist Conversations – What is Socialism?’ as ‘An Interview of an American Billionaire with a Socialist’ in which John and Socialist (abbreviated as Con and So) debate socialism as if in a debating club at a school; that is to say, binary opposite ideas are presented.20 Written by A. Mecid, the article that asks and answers whether socialism is a must can also be considered as part of such an educating mission in history: From the beginning of humanity, struggle for life has been a major question. Even ancient communities searched for tools to struggle against nature and each other which necessitated exchange of these things as well. In this evolution of exchange for livelihood, since Adam, the worker emerged with only his labor to give. And since then all that the worker has asked for is the real value for this exchange of his labor as part of the same evolution, of the same natural law of exchange. When the equality dictated in this law since the Messiah is restored everybody will earn as much as their labor. So what today seems possible in the dark minds of the so-called socialists, let us not despair, will tomorrow be a must.21

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Evidencing Socialism: Sources and History of Socialism In the very first issue, the long historical account of liberalism preceding the discussion of Lassalle takes the reader back to ancient history as evidence for the necessity of socialism. The account starts with how Ancient thinkers like Solomon and Socrates defended the necessity of the working class and its social movement as a precursor to human progress which can no longer be denied. Christianity is also given credit for always being on the side of the poor and miserable until at least the Church (especially Catholicism) became too powerful and thus distant from people. This history is then explained as having given way to the nineteenth-century liberalism that promoted training and education of the workers and ‘became law in England in 1866’.22 The date must be 1867 which is the date of the Second Reform Act extending constitutional rights to all workers recognized in the 1832 Reform Act as including those who did not own landed property. In England, 1867 was also the year of the Master and Servant Act which legalized strikes by legislating prosecution for strikers only for breach of contract. The act became subject to much debate especially as the trade unions remained dissatisfied.23 The rest of the article in the journal does prove knowledge of English laws concerning the working class whatever date or law was intended: Socialists that learnt from the example of liberals opening schools for workers in the 1830– 1840s set up apprenticeship and other educational institutions solely for workers in both England and Germany. Although some of these were only mild reformers, together with other radicals, that is to say, those espousing total transformation for society, they believe that ‘knowing is power’ and that consciousness development makes one more liberal.24 The author (unidentified with only DM as a paraph in the table of contents of the issue) goes on to explain liberalism and socialism in a comparative manner and decidedly ends up championing socialism over liberalism, having been exposed to Lassalle’s theoretical input. Accordingly liberalism is declared to mean total belief in natural laws which, in harmony with personal initiative, create a social order that will only continue through the advocacy and defence of individual liberties,

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including freedom of labour. For the author the German social movement that came out of Lassalle’s ideas began with such liberal premises that set up programmes for workers’ training and education. These constituted the beginnings of socialists who by way of political agencies went forward to argue for further rights for workers such as wage increases, and work time changes. From then on socialism turned against any and all contradictions in society whereby capitalists make more and more, and workers work in their service. The means to change this unjust social structure started with unions as exemplified in German socialism ‘at the height of their physical and nonphysical power these days.’25 A footnote in the article is most enlightening as to what the journal espouses as socialism: those who believe in equal pay for equal labour; and limited and regulated property rights identified as socialists, while those totally against property rights identified as communists and finally those who argue for absence of property for land and real estate identified as nationalists. The author finishes with the necessity of socialist organizations that will save workers from pauperism as a requirement of civilization. Just as the first issue of 1910, the first issue in 1912 also delves into identifying the first socialist as one from the Greek civilization: Plato who called for common ownership of all, even bodily organs, to which I˙s¸tirak vehemently opposes for that kind of socialism is found ‘wrong’ and ‘damaging’: Because such socialism sets a rule that totally disregards the individual and individual thought. Socialism today, au contraire, is not after such a simple partnership, it must not be. Much like all other sciences and social movements that developed gradually, so did socialism, and recently turned into a scientific form by scholars like Karl Marx.26 Another article on the history of socialism, entitled ‘Historical Pages: The Emergence of Social Democracy’ signed by Biranko Melcanopulos, is descriptive but sophisticated in explaining what social democracy is with a footnote that identifies the words as from Latin (social) and Greek (democracy), ‘Socialism is everything that affects social life, democracy is the opposite of plutocracy and aristocracy.’27 Reasons for the contemporary situation and the need for socialism are discussed as

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the problems set forth by industrialization besides the class conflict between the capitalists and labourers. Marx and Engels are then identified as the establishers of scientific socialism. Short biographies of the two tell us their contributions, as well as the First International. Then follow Lassalle and German social democracy along with Eisenach and the establishment of the German Social Democratic Labour Party. The German government and Bismarck also enter the discussion as major obstacles against socialism in Germany between 1878 and 1890 before social democrats won the elections. Next item is Austrian social democracy which according to the author came late (1891) owing to the obstruction before educational reforms that were employed rather late.28 A note at the end invites the reader to a careful study of the next article of the author in which he declares that every society can change and progress, claiming the same ability for Turks. Again Bebel and German social democracy are exemplified for Turks while Leon Tolstoy is cited for the argument that contemporary society is much more cruel than that of the time of Gengiz Khan. The article finishes with a call for patience and sacrifice for the ultimate age of happiness.29 Authors of the journal come from different backgrounds. A law school student, namely Emil Fake, pens a book review of sorts on another socialist manuscript under the sub-heading of ‘A leaf from the History of Socialism’.30 The article begins with a celebration of the constitutional regime which is seen as the ‘light that brought all kinds of human, social, and political ideas to our country’.31 One such idea is of course socialism about which the author proposes to write through a book, Socialisme en 1907 by Emile Faguet. For the author, Faguet32 defines socialism as the idea of total equality among humans. Accordingly anyone who tries to make all equal before law as well as help everyone join in national sovereignty under the same circumstances and to the same degree is identified as a socialist. But trying to revoke certain ‘natural inequalities between ideologies, spiritual beliefs, human attributes’ does not have anything to do with socialism. What socialists wish for first and foremost is to have equality forever among all the possessions of people, or to have everything belong to society at large without any personal possession. The rest of the book review tackles the argument of the historicity of socialism, which is essentially very much in line with what has been written on socialist history in I˙s¸tirak. Therefore, it would not be wrong to conclude that Faguet was a known

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socialist whom Ottoman counterparts had read. The author of this article finishes with a promise to continue this 300-paged work in the next issue and bids ‘au revoir’.33 But the next issue, number 20, is the last one in 1910 and is almost solely dedicated to the Ottoman Socialist Party and its programme.34 The next discussion of socialism tackled in the journal has to do with the future of socialism, or more specifically with the question whether ‘socialism will be established through peaceful ways or war’.35 The question is preceded by a line from Abdullah Cevdet invoking revolution: ‘May the runny fire of death flow as water of life’.36 Put bluntly as such, the question is opened up succinctly as to whether capitalists will willingly quit the means of production under their monopoly or will have to be made to do so by force. Then follows a historical account of the necessity of revolution: ‘History shows that society always passes from one form to another in the same manner. There has never been a social transformation without insurrections and rebellions. No dictator or privileged class ever willingly handed over their gains.’37 The fact that the 1908 Revolution was not achieved through such force is also explained away by expounding instead the rebellions of Resne, Ohrid, Drama and Serres (in the Balkans, from the west to the north-eastern corners). The 1908 Revolution is likened to the 1830 reforms in France which were followed by the 1848 Revolution. Marx is also cited for having uttered these words: ‘Violence brings out a new society from the old.’38 On the other hand wage labour was historically attained without bloodshed, especially after the French Revolution. Wage labour replaced indentured labour which was very much like slave labour (the unsigned article uses the word esir – slave – for all labour before wages) only because it proved beneficial to the slave owners. But for any passage from wage labour which has turned into another form of slavery there is no facilitative transformation, thus ‘can the next revolution come without noise, tumble and shudder?’ One of the reasons for the impossibility of revolution through peaceful means stems from what the Second International had been through as a persecuted organization similarly to workers’ unions. As a result there remains only one way to avoid much bloodshed: to have very strong organizations for both workers and peasants in order to break the resistance of capitalists. ‘We can utter with pride that our worker organizations expand daily . . . Thanks to that

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peasants that have so far been much suppressed can still achieve much in a short time. Unionism is the essence!’39 Then an almost to-do list is presented to the readers: printing workers, tram workers, rail workers, authors, peasants, all are invited to political action that begins with becoming members in the party, meaning the People’s Party that had just been established. Another article by the same title40 is actually a translation of George Tourne´re’s Socialism by Haydar Rıfat and explains the revolutionary nature of socialism as a historical necessity. This translation actually shows that Hilmi was committed to ‘print’ socialism beyond Baha Tevfik, as Socialism had been wrongly credited to Tevfik.41 The continuation of the translation is found in a much later issue with an article entitled ‘Why will socialism establish?’42 Again a historical account, this also starts with the phases of human progress: ‘savagery, slavery, servitude, wage labour, collectivism, communism, anarchism’.43 Accordingly, after first inventions came slavery where the powerful ruled over the powerless, without doing any work themselves – this is the first organization of humanity. Through slavery both agriculture and industry boomed and trade became the main tool of exchange between various farmers while many powerful ones became major landowners. This brought about the bondage of slaves to the land and slaves became commodities exchanged by tradesmen, creating a new class. All this dynamism in trade and artisanship propagated a heightening of living standards and people began to wish for more and better. In turn, all obstacles before free labour evaporated and entrepreneurship became the rule of the day, generating plenty of produce: ‘this is liberalism!’44 The account continues to the creation of the bourgeoisie as ‘a blazing revolution’ followed with middle classes that monopolized the plentiful but cheap. Workers, on the other hand, received nothing but a day’s wage. The real doom for the workers came with industrialization after the invention of the steam engine as manpower left its place to the machinery that could even be run by women and children. Either labourers lost work or made so little that it caused much pauperism for social scientists to ponder over a solution: ‘Finally the solution is here. Now all that is required is its application, common ownership of all work machinery, and the certain establishment of collectivism despite any odds.’45 The account also offers a reason for the hesitation toward

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collectivism, that it is a hesitation that appears toward every new treatment until it is proven to be of use. An investigation of historical, scientific, economic and moral causes that will undeniably show the necessity of the establishment of collectivism is then outlined. In this issue, historical and scientific causes are discussed: 1831, 1848 and even the 1871 revolutions foretold a last warning against capitalism (sermayedarlık) the most important role of which is to be played by the ‘working class’.46 ‘The celestial and grand invitation of the great Karl Marx has found everywhere the esteem and regard it deserves: “All the people of all countries, unite!”’47 Again, with this article, the teaching material of a historical account thus ends like a manifesto and calls for workers’ attention to socialism. A brief piece follows on scientific causes of socialism in which Lamarck’s treatise on soft evolution is introduced. What follows in the next issue is the discussion of the two laws of science, namely the law of resistance, referring to physics but explaining it in a sociopolitical manner as resistance to every novelty; and law of devolution from biology but again explained as the defence of status quo in sociopolitical terms. Both are deemed passe´ for it is time for a new social form which is collectivism.48 The next two items for the causes of socialism, economic and moral, complete the historical account that will undoubtedly arrive at collectivism as it were at the end of history. Economic reasons recount the aristocracy and the emergence of the bourgeoisie, which will end just as feudalism did as contemporary capitalists, ‘the dirty fog of humanity will be stormed away by the people.’49 Marx and his Das Capital frame the moral arguments: Marx showed ‘undeniably, clearly and in depth’ how capitalism means the thievery of the working class. ‘Capital, what we call wealth today is what is stolen from the worker.’50 The interest of the history of socialism, or rather the historical accounts of socialism with ‘future history’ references, continue the idea of presenting evidential material. In such an account entitled ‘When do Socialist ideas begin?’51 the estate law discussions in the Parliament that were rather heated and opposed to as the law, some claimed, stemmed from ‘unwanted’ socialist ideas, lay the ground. The parliamentary discussion serves as a late example of the historical inability of governments to apply socialism. This inability is shown to have continued historically as in modern times it has become further protected by governments and laws, which is nothing but contemporary perseverance

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of primitive ages. ‘Today there may not be cruel rulers but their predecessors are at work!’,52 very much like the Ottoman government at the time. All this is then shown as proof of the seeming novelty of socialism which is immediately reversed by an account of how socialism existed from the days of ancient Greek civilization: from then on the history of civilization shows us, it is declared, that humanity rested upon a corrupt system which necessitated the search for freedom from it, through a tendency toward socialism.53 That is ultimately why even empires like that of Rome collapsed, as it was not yet ripe for socialism. The same can be said for Christianity which began with socialist ideas but then got corrupted. As for Islam, ‘leaving aside any and all differences among believers, including sex, the admonition of brotherhood is not different from the call of socialism for equality’.54 This is portrayed as proof of socialism having roots in ‘the age of the emergence of humanist ideas’. Indeed, some note how the Ottoman Socialist Party sought an Islamic reference and in the first sentence of the party programme, zekat (Islamic prescription of alms) was described as 1/40th of the wealthy that belonged to the poor. This is followed by a Hilmi piece in I˙s¸tirak taking back the roots of socialism to Jesus to be only strengthened by Islam. In I˙drak, another journal owned and published by Hilmi, he claimed that being a socialist was a prerequisite to being a Muslim.55 I believe this Islamic reference is part and parcel of the way in which socialism is historically legitimized by I˙s¸tirak. Throughout the journal, historical legitimation is employed to explain the future necessity of socialism, not taking into account any difference between pre-modern and modern. Such an approach seems to go almost totally against the grain so to speak, as the history of capitalist development before socialism is disregarded. Perhaps it is this simple usage of history as legitimation without much of a theoretical analysis of why and how socialism is to occur in a Marxian way that renders Ottoman socialists void of true understanding of socialism in much of the critical literature as mentioned above. Here we need to remember once again that the journal was not a scholarly journal of debate but rather a tool for public education. This was also the time when there was a so-called revolutionary government in the Ottoman Empire, which had come to power after the sultanic despotic regime was toppled and constitution reinstituted. So what the socialists were up against was the

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overwhelmingly powerful rhetoric of the age that all that was necessary for a revolution was already done.

World Socialists, Socialism and Theory The journal amply demonstrates a noteworthy awareness of major thinkers of socialism, whose biographies even become subject matter and as such tools in explaining theoretical stances. These, differently from historical accounts of socialism mentioned above, serve to define major concepts such as the working class and to present issues of scientific socialism through a historical sociology analysis. The first such biography of sorts is on Jean Jacque Rousseau who receives attention as a socialist thinker, as the grand engineer and defender of socialism and democracy that constitute ‘today’s and tomorrow’s government’.56 His Social Contract but also pieces he had entered to the debate competitions of the Academie de Dijon are analysed as arguing for the reasons behind the basic inequality among humans and calling for a state where no one is upheld against another. Rousseau is said to have described social inequality as ‘the privilege to have power, loyalty and wealth to the detriment of others.’57 The first issue of the journal in 1910 includes a biography and a celebration of the famous socialist Blanqui who had died in 1881, having been part of the 1848 revolutions as well as the Paris commune of 1871.58 In the second next issue this reverence to Blanqui is continued where he is cited as an ardent believer in people’s revolution as the only possible way.59 When considered together with the discussion of Lassale, these pieces, though themselves not very informative, show knowledge and awareness of nineteenth-century European varieties of socialism. If we consider that representation of such variety is a choice, inasmuch as it is so, it is possible to think of an Ottoman socialism, at least in its infancy, open to differing theoretical underpinnings to debate a most applicable movement in the Empire. Another example comes from the biography of Proudhon who is announced as the most celebrated champion of humanity of the nineteenth century.60 Proudhon is remembered not only because he was well known but also because his biography imparted possibilities both to Hilmi himself and to Ottoman lower classes en route to socialism. The article relates a personal story that touches upon Hilmi and his endeavours and aims at reaching the

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public: coming from a poor peasant family who had been educated and then self-taught, Proudhon established a printing house that did not succeed. Later in Paris, he began to study economics and published on property and law as well as on human order, rail and naval transportation, economy and philosophy (of poverty). These books earned him a respectable place among the learned but he remained dissatisfied as to his reach to the people at large. Hence he turned to a newspaper, printing the Voice of the People which, despite frequent governmental pressures and closures, did have a major impact on the public.61 Lassalle is also directly cited in an article entitled ‘Sources of Socialism’ published in 1912. The author, M. Alaeddin, starts by describing socialism as ending cruelty and aiming at happiness, refused by aristocrats for inequality is natural and hence unavoidable. Lassalle answers ‘equality is a most natural right of humanity. Neither plants nor mines can outdo this law of equality. Happiness and the right to earn livelihood are for all humanity just as breathing and speaking are.’62 Having explained socialism, the author moves on to the growth of socialism. He takes care to state that this is a discussion pertaining to the contemporary age, as he believes that a longer and larger historical analysis of socialism requires an expertise beyond his means. Contemporary socialism has emerged out of the ideas of international law and democracy: The spread of the idea of nation state showed in all clarity that states should recognize one another and help establish reciprocity of law. This reciprocity means that all nations of the world merit respect. Additionally, legalization of the state and society requires respect for individual rights, for individuals make up the state and society.63 This also explains the birth of law for the individual as the essence of socialism. For socialism is not about destroying the construction of civilization up to date. This new theory headed by Marx constitutes what is labelled as scientific socialism. Under the heading ‘Life and Truth’, and sub-headed ‘What is Socialism?’ again, the first issue also included a translation by none other than Emin Lami of a French text entitled ‘Socialism and Peasants’.64

Figure 12.1 I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste Ichtirak, first issue of the weekly newspaper, 26 February 1910. Collection Meltem Tokso¨z.

Figure 12.2 I˙s¸tirak, first issue of the bi-weekly newspaper, 27 July 1912. Collection Meltem Tokso¨z.

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This is actually a report on the programme of the French Socialist Party, which in 1905 had merged out of the French Socialist Revolutionary Party and the Socialist Party of France and the Workers’ Socialist Party. The report consisted of deliberations over small landholding peasantry or big holdings, what capital denoted in an agrarian holding, and ultimately whether socialism meant no private ownership. The answer unequivocally is that land belongs to the tiller. Supporting the small holder is not the same as supporting private ownership, for land is the common establishment of the entirety of humanity which does not open it to a private estate; on the contrary it allows peasants ownership as they are the true labourers of this common establishment. Otherwise socialism must wage war against these peasants as well, equating them to capitalists! The remainder of the article in the next issue65 summarizes what the socialists want most as to organize production with the least possible cost. For the most part because it has not been proven that small peasant holdings are less productive than large estates but also because ‘peasants deserve through their labor and love for land more than any of us the right to ownership’, ‘socialists are duty bound to protect small peasant holdings’.66 I think this interest in the French debate on peasantry and socialism merits more attention, especially considering that the claim was and to a certain extent still is that there could be no Ottoman socialism since there was no Ottoman working class. So the absence of a proletariat did not mean disregard for the peasantry. The sections entitled ‘Eslafta Socialism’ that run through several issues (no. 5 and no. 6) start with a commendation of the peasantry as the matter of life and death of society.67 Each government is called for recognizing that and to establish agricultural banks for the benefit of peasants. Indeed, in an article entitled ‘On Profiteers’ the journal announces an application to the Interior Ministry for necessary changes in the penal code to redress the problem of high interest rates charged to the peasantry in Erzurum and how this causes debt, without any possible punitive action through the penal code.68 An extremely romanticized such indebted peasantry is depicted as follows: ‘When we think of the reason for the destruction of agriculture in the Ottoman Empire and the misery of the peasantry that was not only the despotic regime but these profiteers who had lived on interest for years, the resulting injustice and cruelty we will have goose bumps!’69 The call to the Minister of the Interior, ‘Talat Bey Efendi

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Hazretleri’, to take action is repeated for the welfare of the peasantry and agriculture so that they will not have to give ‘all that they have to the profiteer and thus cannot purchase the means of production without new laws that will prevent and punish profiteering’.70 In this article, it is interesting to note the usage of the term rencber (day labourer, farm hand) for agricultural labourer. So we understand in many other articles that what is meant is not just industrial workers but also rural ones. Indeed, the first issue of the bi-weekly newspaper by the same name, in the summer of 1912, declares the intent of I˙s¸tirak in very clear terms: We demand welfare for the workers and peasants [. . .] we demand that the government establish cooperative companies as well as small unions in Anatolia, so that the peasantry can borrow at low interest. We want neither a Grand Opera nor a bridge from Sarayburnu to Haydarpas¸a [sic across the Bosphorus], all we want is to help workers, rural laborers and peasants.71 A very interesting article on peasants comes from a mayor of a small town at the outskirts of the Taurus in Antalya (Elmalı) F. Niyazi who clearly states the peasantry as the most pauperized class; ‘a class of our rawhide sandalled fathers’ forgotten by both the Ottoman intelligentsia and government.72 Here in a very specific way, the Ottoman peasantry is identified as the ultimate provider for 600 years while the criticism is also very specific: the burden to contemplate the rights of this class falling on the intellectuals and the burden to intervene is on the government. The first order of business is training and schools, followed by roads, telecommunications, entirely manageable by such a country rich in resources. For, if not, one day those peasant ‘fathers’, for whom nothing has been done, ‘will break our heads with their sticks!’73 This article, like those on urban workers, also calls for revolution but purposely targeting first the government and then the intelligentsia to invite them to look into the problems of the peasants. In line with the general tone of the writings in the I˙s¸tirak, it is also romanticizing the suppressed classes while calling for revolution that are actually identified as specific goals of unionism in the case of workers, less taxation and just credit mechanisms for the peasants. I believe here the problems of the country are clearly brought forth and cannot be dismissed because of the

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romantic language. Both the romanticizing and insistence of education seem to be also on target by asking for esteem and education for the lower classes from the urban middle classes of the journal’s readership. When necessary a warning is also insinuated for all the targeted readership and class: an article entitled ‘Famine in Anatolia’ based on letters received by I˙s¸tirak of complaints from as far as Sivas, cries out the circumstances of the peasantry who had to sell their animals and still remained without seed for the next year’s harvest. These peasants apparently had also asked the help of their representative in the Parliament to apply for credit to the Agricultural Bank, but no avail.74 Here the representative Serdarzade Mustafa Efendi is openly accused for not caring for the peasantry who is in turn charged with using their votes unintelligently. The peasantry is told to wise up to be saved from misery while the rest, aristocratic bourgeois people as the article calls them, who do not heed this situation are called to feel for the hungry village peoples.75 Such calls attest to the large definition of the working class generally in the journal to include the peasantry, particularly because the main point is to discuss and historically so, how one class (the wealthy) ruled over another. The distinction of the bourgeoisie and/or proletariat is not seen necessary as capital is defined as a product of labour. In other words, the class conflict derives from the unequal relationship between capitalists and labourers which socialism as a theory serves to lift after a collective action. For without organization, labourers cannot do anything. When organization as an action beyond theory is mentioned, it is more or less about the proletariat (amele) and not this larger working class concept, which is taken as a point in the failure of Ottoman socialists for using concepts that are either not specific enough or that are not befitting to the Ottoman reality. But, for example, in another article entitled ‘What is Socialism and The Reasons for its Establishment’, the unions are given as the specific universal examples to go against especially corporations while class conflict is described in the abovementioned general understanding.76 This does not mean, however, when it comes to defining concepts, labour is taken in the same large sense: Alliance Israelite Director Bohor Israel Efendi pens a piece about free wage labour.77 He historically analyses its development since feudalism thus connects the concepts not just to the urban proletariat but also to agrarian labour.78 Concepts of

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labour and capital are explained in a simple manner but labour is declared as awaiting savour from capital that enslaves it. Both capital and labour are necessary for production of all that we need in agriculture and industry. But their income and importance are worlds apart.79 So much so that the profit the capitalist begets amounts to theft, which is an economic and mathematical equation that can be found in Karl Marx. In brief, the profit must be divided to benefit the worker more. For, Israel continues, ‘capital is immobile and inanimate while strong human labor adds to it creating a movement, an action which is the magical result of the impact of human strength on force’.80 But the problem with the contemporary age, the glorification of capital, obscures the contribution of labour to the capital; whereas money is nothing but an exchange value and thus inanimate. Money as such reminds Israel of the Middle Ages, particularly the age of the crusades, the result of glorifying the pope that caused much destruction. ‘Today those who do not still understand socialism (I˙s¸tirak) believe in the absolute sovereignty of money. This sovereignty is only an assumption. Tomorrow no one will believe in it . . . Readers will have to understand this truth!’81 ‘Our final struggle (First in French-C’est la lutte finale) . . . We are not inventing socialist society, the environment, natural events, general affairs, social situations define and describe the future history of humanity, what we call ‘collective’ (I˙s¸tirak). Let us work, with pride and joy so that we may save labor from slavery.’82 Israel wrote another piece after this, answering some of the reaction that he had received in this first piece. The title of the new piece ‘Ill I˙dea’ actually summarizes how he had been criticized. His response is just as strong: ‘This is how a youngster, who lives in this cunning press [contemporary media] age of ours that never reviews a work on social democracy and that is unaware of the philosophical tendencies of the European civilization in our horizons, thinks!’83 This is an open critique of the lively Ottoman press at the time and as such it is as important as the criticism of the government, especially considering the educational mission of the press then at least in the eyes of the socialists. Israel continues in this tone by way of delving into a most important problem for the socialist movement then: These able masters [of the press] claim that socialism is a profession specific to Europe and thus unfitting to life in the east. Accordingly, an imported idea is un-applicable because it is

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imported. And when it is not useful to the nation, all it results in is the establishment of an unnecessary and damaging party. This is socialism. Such generalizations are simple to utter. But are they the truth?84 Israel continues in a very clear and universal tone about how socialists primarily defend labour against the despotism of capital. All production everywhere involves both, the most important element being labour. Since labour is essentially a force that humanity applies to nature with available tools, capital is bounded relative to this force: Not thinking of the laborers and refusing to even consider labor laws cannot be simply based on the fact that today in the Ottomans agriculture manufacturing and trade are not very developed. When we classify our people, we can see that the majority lives through their labor. Those who construct our houses, who make our breads, who sew our shoes, who weave our cloths, who till our fields and vineyards, who thread the ladies’ silk garments, who work in the mines, are they not our workers? Is it worthless to think of them? Are our ideas totally foreign to them? No, defending this laborer class who constitute the most important wing of social life and its wrongfully seized law – if this seizure can be proven- is nothing but the greatest service to humanity.85 This is by far one of the most elaborate defences of Ottoman socialism in the I˙s¸tirak, directed at the remaining literati during the constitutional government. Israel hits the bull’s eye also in his analysis of how socialism is not just about one class but for the good of the whole nation, for it is not socialism itself that divides society along two class lines (workers and capitalists) but it is life itself. Socialism and socialists are about observing and comprehending this divide to lift it.86 According to Gu¨rsoy, Haydar Rıfat is the author of an article entitled The Mistakes of Socialists.87 Another article on such revolutionary socialism subtitled ‘work and effort, worker, thinker-destitution’ cites from Russian socialist Bevider Larodam, a believer in the ultimate victory of socialism and, calls for total equality between those who work and those who reap the benefits, signed by Bedik.88 This is followed by

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what the journal titles ‘School for Socialists’ by the same author that teaches some history, theory and principles. Saint-Simon exemplified as a great socialist from France who had published in 1821 The Industrial System together with Charles Fourier and his book What is Property? and Robert Owen and Marx with his Das Capital. Next German socialism is highlighted as the most successful and its principles listed first as the illness of contemporary society, the damage to society of capitalists who own all land and estates as well as other commercial, agricultural and industrial interests, the unavoidable disappearance of private property. Socialisms with these principles are then categorized as those social revolutionaries (ictimaiyyun) who demand abolition of all property, socialists (istirakiyyun) who demand abolition of property rights on that which is under the service of production and agricultural socialists (arazi sosyalistleri) on landed property and estates. The likes of Thomas Moore, Saint-Simon and Fourier who had been very important in the first expansion of socialism at the beginning of the nineteenth century are long past.89 The second and the third issues of the journal in 1912 indeed cover far more on socialism, socialists, and the future of socialism. In some ways they are also more sophisticated. An article that opens the second issue discussing the ‘idea of socialism’ gives a brief history of the development of capitalism in Europe, using terms such as feudalism, aristocracy and bourgeoisie.90 Again, however, no analytical distinction is offered between aristocracy and bourgeoisie, while both usurp urban and rural workers. After examples of socialists from Europe (Blanqui and his journal Reforme, and Robert Owen from Scotland), Marx is cited arguing for the necessity of unification among all socialists of the world irrespective of nation and religion. The proletariat, however, gets to be defined in another article entitled ‘Ways of Perfecting Socialism’ as those who work when they find it and multiply labour and capital. The bourgeoisie is then identified as the usurer class whose capital is based on the labour of the proletariat.91 Before this class conflict, there existed primitive society labelled ‘commune’ in which the concept of private property did not rise.92 In this article, Marx and Engels are glorified for turning socialism from an utopia to a science; their ideas are defined as scientific socialism which uses historical materialism as a methodology; their followers as Marxist or social democratic.93 Before Marx and Engels, the eighteenth-century names such as Robert Owen,

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Saint-Simon and Fourier, the author points out as ‘utopian’. This is singular compared to other historical accounts of socialism which gave the examples as socialists without discussing the distinction scientific socialism brought to the leftist literature. In addition, temporality of socialism also changes; it no longer has a life span from ancient times to the modern day but is created in the special circumstances of the nineteenth century. Accordingly, the two great classes, the bourgeoisie and the proletariat had extensively been involved in class conflict during the times of Marx and Engels. At the same time, the rivalry among capitalists resulted in the destruction of the least powerful but in the increase of power of those with small capitals. Marx and Engels said no to the persistence of this situation.94 As a result, socialism can and will bring total peace as there will be no more ‘vicious wars’ and all of humanity will be bound to one another fondly and sincerely. Free education and the abolition of military service are declared to be other benefits.

Contours of Ottoman Socialism: By Way of a Conclusion In the sixth issue in 1910, Jean Jaures’ congratulatory note to Hilmi along with the programme of the French Socialist Party and greetings to comrades from Turkey takes up a whole page decorated in the margins with flowers and a figure of a swan.95 This almost childish representation of Hilmi’s correspondence with the French socialist and his journal L’Humanite´ is not all of Hilmi’s understanding of socialism, neither is it the summary of the articles in the journal. Amidst this simplicity, the journal has decidedly defined socialism as basically class conflict between the bourgeoisie and proletariat, and as a theory the substance of which is class consciousness. Beyond seeing socialism as a political movement with these features, the authors have delved into explaining socialism as a historical process in which socialism and social democracy get mingled with scientific socialism a` la Marx and Engels that ends with the construction of equality for all. As we have seen, the critique in the literature – then and now – toward the I˙s¸tirak and Hilmi’s circle is both common and commonly known. So is the tendency to distinguish between the journal in 1910 and 1912, and accordingly treat the journal in 1912 as more intellectual that better covers theoretical issues and worries on

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socialism, for example by Mete Tuncay.96 Indeed the June 1912 first page opens with a picture of Marx, titled the founder of socialism in Germany, and a statement as to the purpose of the journal: ‘To create a Marxist library and teach socialism’.97 But there is also the bi-weekly newspaper in 1912 that continues about 20 issues. The newspaper also announces the coming translation of Das Capital. This follows a severe critique of the CUP right at the time of elections and calls them Jacobins. News and translations from European parties such as those of Italy, Spain and Portugal follow.98 The other issues of the newspaper continue reporting from abroad as far as the strikes in India.99 News and biographies of Hilmi himself and Ahmed Rıza are also found.100 There is one article in the newspaper that is not news but rather a discussion on the agricultural banks.101 The whole point of the article is the necessity to further develop agricultural banks that had so far been extremely valuable for the country but nevertheless had remained insufficient if not inhuman. What is called for is a rewriting of the law on the banks to bring it to a level that will be truly beneficial to the farmers and not to the brokers, in the example of Romanian banks that gives out loans for 50 years. In the journal there are other articles on the discussions in the Parliament which of course did not have any representation from the Socialist Party except a few parliamentarians who were somewhat socialist, those from Thessaloniki, and some Armenians, on progressive taxation which aimed at increasing rates for more income groups. Such a discussion ends up as a critique of the Tobacco Administration, the Re´gie, and hence the socialist attack on the concept of this tax is put aside.102 Included in this perspective is a calling on Finance Minister Cavit Bey to understand that this taxation is against the agricultural population, which is worth attention. For the socialist view on the need to abolish the Re´gie is not just about the national economy argument of the CUP, but more about how the peasantry suffers through it and that progressive taxation is not that different for the peasantry who are most burdened with taxation. Although the examples are from France, examples from Anatolia are also given. The argument also sounds very close to American socialism at the time. What is clear to me is that these urban intellectual perspectives did know socialism and tried to understand its agrarian context befitting Ottoman society but they did not know much about Ottoman rural society.

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In a similar vein, a related and in the Ottoman/Turkish experience of the left historically significant issue is nationalism. Authored by Rus¸en Zeki, an otherwise unheard of Ottoman socialist, who appears in the journal having won a writing competition, the article is a historical account of sorts in a rather simplistic manner, followed by a rather sophisticated argument about why socialism is necessary. For the world has reached such a miserable stage that humanity needs some new sources and basis to circumvent and renew. This new basis cannot be nationalism as nationalism will divide humanity but continue with everything else: ‘What I mean is that nationalism is catastrophic to humanity, because it will drag it in the same life for ages to come.’103 He then gives examples of success stories ironically from Western nations most importantly Germany and France. These glimpses on the problems of the peasantry, and the issue of nationalism as part of what socialism will solve, are clearly beyond the contours of what a liberal opposition to the CUP would and did mean in the 1910s. It is also clear that I˙s¸tirak presented socialism first and foremost as preceding and contradicting the idea of absolute private property as simply befits human nature, to Hilmi and other authors. This may be written in a rather simple language which still evokes what socialism means: ‘Socialism is a longing of the heart for all humanity and against anything that prompts arrogance, pride, domination and absolute reign.’104 But the usage of simple language does not mean absence of knowledge, or of a clear aim of spreading it. The journal may be said to have employed a style that oscillated between one as a teaching tool or another for targeting a more sophisticated readership which is simply testimony to the dynamics of the days in the aftermath of the 1908 Constitutional Revolution.105 Despite severe repressions, the journal did benefit from the freedom in the air so to speak by opposing the increasingly authoritarian CUP like many others. But also like many others this was both not very easy to do in the face of oppression and in the tumultuous period the Empire went through. What all the opposition to the CUP suffered from may be similar, but not all of them similarly in the days of contemplating the future of the Ottomans. Certainly socialism was in the air before the Ottoman Socialist Party in the understanding of Hilmi and his journal. Was it their fault that everything known to Ottomans – and indeed to much of

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the world – soon enough melted into thin air? Was that not the ultimate fate of the CUP as well? For soon after World War I began to change all dynamics of political thought and life in the Ottoman Empire at the core. The Republic followed a changed political life through which many a workers’ movement between 1918 and 1922 turned their faces to the Turkish Socialist Party who then under the leadership of Hilmi attempted to be part of the Comintern. However, not much later, his circle was ousted from the party, Hilmi himself killed (1922); and Turkish political life turned its face to Kemalist nationalism.

Notes 1. Mete Tuncay, Tu¨rkiye’de Sol Akımlar (Ankara, 1967), p. 25. 2. Mu¨nir Su¨leyman C¸apanog˘lu, Tu¨rkiye’de Sosyalist Hareketleri ve Sosyalist Hilmi (I˙stanbul, 1964), pp. 83 – 4. 3. It is also rumoured that he had amassed the money to travel to Romania through the sale of his only inheritance from his father, his house. Oya Baydar, ‘Hu¨seyin Hilmi’, in Tanıl Bora and Murat Gu¨ltekingil (eds) Political Thought in Modern Turkey [Modern Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasi Du¨s¸u¨nce], vol. 1 (I˙stanbul, 2009), pp. 300– 3. 4. Feroz Ahmed, The Young Turks: The Committee of Union and Progress in Turkish Politics, 1908– 1914 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969), p. 361. See also Eric-Jan Zu¨rcher, Turkey: A Modern History (London: I.B.Tauris, 2004), pp. 95 – 102 and S¸u¨kru¨ Haniog˘lu, ‘The Second Constitutional Period’, in Res¸at Kasaba (ed.), The Cambridge History of Turkey, vol. 4 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), pp. 62 – 111. 5. Zu¨rcher, p. 102. 6. So deemed by Tarık Zafer Tunaya, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasi Partiler, (I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet Do¨nemi 1908– 1918) Cilt 1 (Istanbul, 2007). As is well known, after the constitutional revolution of July 1908 many former supporters of the CUP from among liberals to conservatives from among non-Muslims to Kurds and finally from among socialists turned away from it. This is what Tunaya calls the common oppositional stance that included the socialists as well; p. 242. 7. Bezmi Nusret Kaygusuz and his Bir Roman Gibi (Izmir, 1955) seem to be the source for most including Tunaya and C¸apanog˘lu. 8. Oya Baydar, ‘Hilmi (I˙s¸tirakci)’, Du¨nden Bugu¨ne I˙stanbul Ansiklopedisi 4 (Istanbul, 1994). 9. Aclan Sayılgan, Solun 94 Yılı, 1871– 1965 (Ankara: Mars Matbaası, 1976) and his Tu¨rkiye’de sol hareketler 1871 – 1972 (Istanbul: Hareket Yayınları, 1972); I˙lhan Darendelioglu, 1979, Tu¨rkiye’de komu¨nist hareketleri (Istanbul: Bedir Yayınevi, 1979); Fethi Tevetog˘lu, Tu¨rkiye’de sosyalist ve komunist faaliyetler (Ankara: Ayyıldız Matbaası, 1976); Kerim Sadi or Cerrahog˘lu, Tu¨rkiye’de

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10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

24. 25.

313

sosyalizmin tarihine katkı (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 1994); George Haupt and Paul Dumont, Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u’nda Sosyalist Hareketler (Istanbul: Go¨zlem Yayınları, 1977). These latest revisions come from Hamit Erdem who claims that Hilmi must be remembered for being one of the very few socialists who did not come from a CUP background but from liberalism. See his Osmanlı Sosyalist Fırkası ve I˙s¸tirakci Hilmi (Istanbul: Sel Yayıncılık, 2012). The latest and most comprehensive work on Hilmi comes from Selcuk Gu¨rsoy, who also treats him as more of a liberal. See his Osmanlı Sosyalist Fırkası ve Yayınları (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2013). Tuncay, p. 34. Ibid. The two latest works by Hamit Erdem, Osmanlı and Selcuk Gu¨rsoy, are exceptions insofar as they have reprinted most of the issues of both the journal and the newspaper, but without an analysis of Ottoman socialism. Foti Benlisoy and Dog˘an C¸etinkaya, in Tanıl Bora and Murat Gu¨ltekingil (eds), Modern Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasi Du¨s¸u¨nce, vol. 8 (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2007), pp. 165– 83. ¨ ncu¨ Bir Sosyalist Dergi [A leading I˙rfan Karakoc, ‘Osmanlı Basınında O socialist journal in the Istanbul press]’, Mu¨teferrika 15 (1999), 97 – 111. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste Ichtirak, sene 1, no. 9, 23 April 1910, entitled ‘Socialism Debate in the Parliament’ and no. 10, 1 May 1910, entitled ‘Finance Minister Cavid Bey and Socialism, the Re´gie and the Progressive Tax’. Yusuf Tekin, ‘Tu¨rkiye’de I˙lk Sosyalist Hareket, I˙s¸tirak C¸evresinin Sosyalizm ¨ niversitesi SBF Dergisi, 57/4 Anlayıs¸ı U¨zerine bir Deg˘erlendirme,’ Ankara U (2002), pp. 171 – 84. And Cemal Gu¨zel, ‘Tu¨rkiye’de Maddecilik ve Maddecilik Kars¸ıtı Go¨ru¨s¸ler,’ Hacettepe Universitesi Edebiyat Faku¨ltesi Dergisi 19 (2002), pp. 63 – 81. ‘Biri yer biri bakar kıyamet ondan kopar’, meaning that it is tumultuous for humanity when welfare is not shared. Journal Socialiste Ichtirak, sene 1, no. 1, 26 February 1910. All translations from Ottoman are mine. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 1, 26 February 1910. Ibid., no. 7, 9 April 1910; no. 8, 16 April 1910; no. 9, 23 April 1910; no. 10, 1 May 1910; no. 11, 7 May 1910; no. 12, 14 May 1910; no. 13, 21 May 1910. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 8, 16 April 1910. Ibid., no. 1, 26 February 1910. In the event that 1866 was indeed the intended date, it may have referred to the sanitary act of the Victorian reforms that established urban health and sanitation procedures for all sites, including workers’ quarters. See Anthony Brundage, The English Poor Laws, 1700– 1930 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), pp. 90 – 107. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 1, 26 February 1910. Ibid.

314 YOUNG TURK REVOLUTION AND 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32.

33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60.

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I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 2, no. 1 – 20, 20 June 1912. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 1, 20 June 1912. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 2, 4 July 1912. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 3, 18 July 1912. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 19, 8 September 1910. Signed Yako S¸aon. Ibid., I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 19, 8 September 1910. Emile Faguet was educated at Poitiers and at the E´cole Normale in Paris and was elected to the French Academy in 1900. He contributed extensively to major French journals and published many monographs and volumes of essays. Interestingly, Faguet was a critic with an essentially traditionalist approach. Ibid., I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 19, 8 September 1910. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 20, 15 September 1910. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 3, 12 March 1910. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 3, 2 March 1910. The line is attributed to A.C. Ibid., I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 3, 2 March 1910. Ibid. Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 5, 26 March 1910. The translation is noted by Selcuk Gu¨rsoy, p. 264 and M. Alkan, ‘Baha Tevfik ve I˙s¸tirak’teki I˙mzasız Yazıları’, Tarih ve Toplum, no 83, 1990. p. 7. Mehmet O¨. Alkan, ‘Baha Tevfik ve I˙s¸tirak’teki I˙mzasız Yazıları,’ Tarih ve Toplum 83 (1990), p. 7. And his ‘Bir I˙ttihat ve Terakki Muhalifi Olarak Liberal-Sosyalist Hilmi,’ Tarih ve Toplum 81 (1990), pp. 47 – 51. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 15, 4 June 1910. Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 15, 4 June 1910. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 16, 11 June 1910. Ibid. Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 15, 4 June 1910. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Tekin. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 2, no. 1 – 20, 20 June 1912. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 2, 4 July 1912. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 1, 26 February 1910. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 3, 12 March 1910. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 2, 5 March 1910.

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61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76.

77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92.

315

Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 2, 4 July 1912. Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 1, 26 February 1910. The author is specified as Paul Adam but the rest of the article in the next issue the author is corrected as Emme BArteaux. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 2, 5 March 1910. Ibid. Ibid., no. 5, and no. 6, 2 April 1910. This particular one is from no. 6. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 7, 9 April 1910. Ibid. Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 20 – 1, 20 June 1912. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 13, 21 May 1910. Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 14, 28 May 1910. Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 2, no. 1 –20, 20 June 1912. This article is fully transcribed in Mete Tuncay who gives the author as Rıfat Su¨reyya as the signature at the end of the article is RS, Tu¨rkiye’de Sol Akımlar (1908 – 1925) – I Belgeler 2. ¨ . Alkan, ‘Ceride-i For a larger treatment of Bohor Israel, see Mehmet O Felsefiye Dergisi ve Bohor Israel,’ Tarih ve Toplum 77 (1990), pp. 50 – 6. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 11, 7 May 1910. From the continued article in the I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 13, 21 May 1910. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 13, 21 May 1910. From the continued article in the I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 13, 21 May 1910. At the end of this article Israel also uses a poem attributed to Tevfik Fikret. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 11, 7 May 1910. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 18, 1 September 1910. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 8, 16 April 1910. In Gu¨rsoy see p. 306. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste Ichtirak, sene 1, no. 5, 26 March 1910. Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 2, 4 July 1912. Signed Akif Hikmet. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 3, 18 July 1912. In the continuation of the article, there is a signature, S¸ahban, along with an explanation that it was published having won a competition for writing that the journal had organized. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 2, 4 July 1912.

316 YOUNG TURK REVOLUTION AND 93. 94. 95. 96. 97.

98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105.

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I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 3, 18 July 1912. Ibid. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste Icthirak, sene 1, no. 6, 2 April 1910. Tuncay, p. 35. And cited thus in Tekin, p. 176. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 1, 20 June 1912. But creating a Marxist library and teaching socialism does not last long and Hilmi is sent to exile in Sinop within a year. He is back in the scene by 1920 and is a leader of many strikes in Istanbul; a heyday for socialism. I˙s¸tirak, Birinci Sene, no. 1, 27 July 1912. I˙s¸tirak, Birinci Sene, no. 20, 9 October 1912. I˙s¸tirak, Birinci Sene, no. 7, 18 August 1912. I˙s¸tirak, Birinci Sene, no. 12, 14 September 1912. I˙s¸tirak, Journal Socialiste I˙chtirak, sene 1, no. 10, 30 April 1910. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 2, 4 July 1912. There is a later Rus¸en Zeki among the Turkish Communist Party members. I˙s¸tirak, sene 2, no. 2, 4 July 1912. For a multidimensional treatment of the Revolution see Francois Georgeon, Osmanlı Tu¨rk Modernles¸mesi, 1900 – 1930, trans. by Ali Berktay (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2006).

References Ahmed, Feroz, The Young Turks: The Committee of Union and Progress in Turkish Politics, 1908– 1914 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969). Alkan, Mehmet O¨., ‘Baha Tevfik ve I˙s¸tirak’teki I˙mzasız Yazıları,’ Tarih ve Toplum 83 (1990), p. 7. ——— ‘Ceride-i Felsefiye Dergisi ve Bohor Israel,’ Tarih ve Toplum 77 (1990), pp. 50– 6. ——— ‘Bir I˙ttihat ve Terakki Muhalifi Olarak Liberal-Sosyalist Hilmi,’ Tarih ve Toplum 81 (1990), pp. 47 – 51. Baydar, Oya, ‘Hu¨seyin Hilmi’, in Tanıl Bora and Murat Gu¨ltekingil (eds), Political Thought in Modern Turkey [Modern Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasi Du¨s¸u¨nce, vol. 1 (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2009). ——— ‘Hilmi (I˙s¸tirakci)’, Du¨nden Bugu¨ne Istanbul Ansiklopedisi 4 (Istanbul: Ku¨ltu¨r Bakanlıg˘ı/Tarih Vakfı, 1994). Benlisoy, Foti and C¸etinkaya, Dog˘an, in Tanıl Bora and Murat Gu¨ltekingil (eds), Modern Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasi Du¨s¸u¨nce, vol. 8 (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2007), pp. 165– 83. Brundage, Anthony, The English Poor Laws, 1700–1930 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002). C¸apanog˘lu, Mu¨nir Su¨leyman, Tu¨rkiye’de Sosyalist Hareketleri ve Sosyalist Hilmi (Istanbul: Pınar Yayınevi, 1964). Darendelioglu, I˙lhan, Tu¨rkiye’de komu¨nist hareketleri (Istanbul: Bedir Yayınevi, 1979). Erdem, Hamit, Osmanlı Sosyalist Fırkası ve I˙s¸tirakci Hilmi (Istanbul: Sel Yayıncılık, 2012).

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Georgeon, Francois, Osmanlı Tu¨rk Modernles¸mesi, 1900 –1930, trans. by Ali Berktay (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2006). Gu¨rsoy, Selcuk, Osmanlı Sosyalist Fırkası ve Yayınları (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2013). Gu¨zel, Cemal, ‘Tu¨rkiye’de Maddecilik ve Maddecilik Kars¸ıtı Go¨ru¨s¸ler,’ Hacettepe Universitesi Edebiyat Faku¨ltesi Dergisi 19 (2002), pp. 63 – 81. Haniog˘lu, S¸u¨kru¨, ‘The Second Constitutionl Period’, in Res¸at Kasaba (ed.), The Cambridge History of Turkey, vol. 4 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). Haupt, George and Dumont, Paul, Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u’nda Sosyalist Hareketler (Istanbul: Go¨zlem Yayınları, 1977). Karakoc, I˙rfan, ‘Osmanlı Basınında O¨ncu¨ Bir Sosyalist Dergi’, Mu¨teferrika 15 (1999), pp. 97– 111. Kaygusuz, Bezmi Nusret, Bir Roman Gibi (Izmir: Bu¨yu¨kayak Matbaası, 1955). Sadi, Kerim or Cerrahog˘lu, Tu¨rkiye’de sosyalizmin tarihine katkı (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 1994). Sayılgan, Aclan, Tu¨rkiye’de sol hareketler 1871– 1972 (Istanbul: Hareket Yayınları, 1972). ——— Solun 94 Yılı, 1871 – 1965 (Ankara: Mars Matbaası, 1976). Tekin, Yusuf, ‘Tu¨rkiye’de I˙lk Sosyalist Hareket, I˙s¸tirak C¸evresinin Sosyalizm Anlayıs¸ı U¨zerine bir Deg˘erlendirme,’ Ankara U¨niversitesi SBF Dergisi, 57/4 (2002), pp. 171– 84. Tevetog˘lu, Fethi, Tu¨rkiye’de sosyalist ve komunist faaliyetler (Ankara: Ayyıldız Matbaası, 1976). Tunaya, Tarık Zafer, Tu¨rkiye’de Siyasi Partiler (I˙kinci Mes¸rutiyet Do¨nemi 1908– 1918) Cilt 1 (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im Yayınları, 2007). Tuncay, Mete, Tu¨rkiye’de Sol Akımlar (Ankara: Sevinc Matbaası, 1967). Zu¨rcher, Eric, Turkey: A Modern History (London: I.B.Tauris, 2004).

INDEX

31 Mart (Vakası), 6, 52, 55 –8, 196– 7, 199 – 207, 218, 222, 229 Abdu¨lhamid II, 3, 15, 16– 22, 32, 42– 3, 55, 76 –7, 79, 96, 102, 175 – 6, 198, 203, 207, 212, 215, 224, 237 – 8, 265 absolutism, 238, 253, 259 Action Army, 6, 8, 15, 202– 3, 205– 6 administration, 73, 82, 87, 116 –17, 140 – 2, 154, 171n17, 173n42, 239, 249, 256, 258, 268, 310 aftermath, 1 – 4, 6 – 9, 19, 22, 46, 55, 58, 68, 70– 1, 153, 157, 200, 203, 213, 218, 223, 228, 239, 253, 279, 311 Agop Babikyan, 215 agricultural, 84, 251, 257, 303– 5, 308, 310 agriculture, 296, 303 – 4, 306 –7 Ahmad, Feroz, 2, 209n14 Ahmet Rıza, 6, 198, 201, 242, 244 Ahmet Vefik Pasha, 237 Ahrar Fırkası, 199, 288 alaylı, 140, 203 – 4 Albania, 5, 8, 113, 125, 147n66 Albanianism, 114, 124, 126–7, 130, 137 – 8, 142 –3, 148n94 Aleppo, 238

alms, 178, 182, 298 alphabet, 124, 126, 147n73, 149n105 amnesty, 68, 70 –1, 73, 77, 98 –104, 106–7, 119, 122, 201 anarchism, 228, 296 anarchy, 6, 218 Anatolia, 99, 117, 250, 254 – 8, 304 – 5, 310 Armenian, 4, 7– 8, 59, 78, 98, 224, 238–47, 249 –58, 260n7, 262n84–5, 269, 287, 310 Armenian Revolutionary Federation, 257 army, 6– 8, 14, 24, 25, 30, 54 –5, 58, 98, 119 –20, 128, 134 – 5, 163, 197, 200, 202–6, 226, 240, 250, 253–4, 256, 269 article, 113, 237, 253, 272 association, 79– 80, 82 –4, 160, 165 –6, 168, 172n20, 173n34, 247 –8, 251–2 Athens, 36n38, 138 Austria, 143, 147n66, 151n139, 176, 179, 181, 183, 185, 221 Aydın, 6, 8, 76, 102, 153, 160, 162 –3, 165, 169, 228 Baha Tevfik, 286, 388, 296 Balkan(s), 9, 18, 47n33, 114, 159, 143, 165n139, 179, 187, 190

INDEX bandits, 26 Barnfield, 155 –8, 160 – 1, 164, 171n12, 173n30 Berat, 119, 127, 130 –1, 135, 137–8 besa (pacts), 129, 131, 141 Bible, 130 Blanqui, 299, 308 Boyaciyan (Efendi), Hagop, 245 boycott, 11n10, 125, 133– 4, 143, 155, 176, 179, 183, 185, 223 Britain, 154, 296, 206, 252 – 3 brotherhood, 16, 242, 246, 254, 258 – 9, 298 Bulgaria, 124 – 5, 138, 176, 179 Caliph, 20, 179 – 80, 276 – 7 Catholic, 124, 132, 241 Cavid Pasha, 128 censorship, 20 –1, 170, 178, 272 centralization, 249 Cesaria, 240 Chamber of Deputies, 50– 1, 64n49, 80, 85– 8, 201 – 2, 251– 3 Christian(s), 20, 121 – 4, 130–1, 133 – 5, 197, 205 Citizen, 216 citizenship, 197, 246, 259, 279 civil servant, 76, 81, 86, 116 – 18, 124, 127, 130 – 6, 140 –2, 197, 203 club, 55, 119, 121, 125 –6, 131, 134–5, 138 – 40, 166 – 7, 182, 202, 291 collectivism, 296 –7 columnist, 82 Committee of Union and Progress (CUP), 2 communism, 296 community, 4, 25, 154, 166– 8, 172n20, 188 – 9, 238 –44, 249 – 50, 252, 256 –8, 276 Conference of Constantinople, 249 conscription, 128, 142 Constitution, 2–6, 15–16, 19, 28, 30, 42, 47, 49, 51, 55–6, 58, 80, 82, 96–8, 102–3, 105–6, 113–16, 119–20, 122, 124, 126–7, 129–32, 135–6,

319

139–40, 158, 168, 176, 181, 198, 201–2, 206–7, 212, 215–16, 221, 223–4, 227–8, 237–9, 247, 249–56, 259–63, 265–73, 275–8, 280, 298 constitutional body, 240 – 2, 244 –5 constitutional revision, 6 –8, 251, 266, 269 –70, 273 –4, 276 – 81 Consul, 116, 119 – 21, 123, 126, 130–40, 154 –9, 162 – 4 Council of State, 87 counter-revolution, 56, 70, 83– 5, 87–8, 125, 127 –8, 135, 139 – 40, 142–3, 168, 170, 200, 387 –8 Crete, 22, 121 – 2, 124 –5, 138, 176 crime, 99– 100, 103, 106, 179 Cyprus, 82 Danton, 44 decentralization, 198, 250 democratization, 239 demonstration, 6, 97, 119, 125, 135, 154, 184, 199, 218, 222– 7 deputy, 51, 54, 80 –1, 85, 88, 136, 201, 215 –16, 240, 243, 245 – 6, 269, 273, 278 Dervish Hima, 122, 127 despotism, 84, 105– 6, 122 – 3, 163, 215, 220, 307 Devotees of the Nation (Fedaˆkaˆraˆn – i millet cemiyeti), 68– 9, 79, 83, 85, 87–8 Directorate of Police, 87 Diyarbakır, 73– 4, 82, 103, 257 Dr Naˆzım, 156, 159 elections, 59, 67, 126, 128, 132, 136 –8, 176, 179, 199, 212, 222, 229, 238–41, 243 – 6, 254, 272, 294, 310 elector, 240 electoral law, 243 employment, 71– 2, 74– 6, 81 –2, 84, 86, 243

320 YOUNG TURK REVOLUTION AND England, 155, 220 –1, 292 English, 82, 156, 160, 162– 3, 219 – 20, 292 Enlightenment, 40– 6, 49– 50, 59–61, 167, 216 – 17 Enver, 16, 23– 4, 27– 8, 31, 160, 162 – 4, 172n24, 202 equality, 21, 24, 100, 121– 4, 131, 133, 141, 143, 146n45, 232n34, 243, 247, 249, 253 –4, 256, 291, 294, 298, 300, 307, 309 Esad Pasha Toptani, 136 ethnic, 155, 163, 169 –70, 240, 243 – 4, 247 –50, 256 Europe, 44, 76, 123, 125, 137, 186, 197, 202, 237, 278, 290, 306, 308 European, 42– 4, 48, 74, 114, 123– 4, 185, 196 – 8, 205, 219, 221, 224, 248, 252, 259, 270, 299, 306, 310 exile, 5, 7, 43 –5, 48, 52, 54, 68– 79, 81– 2, 84, 86, 98, 122, 181, 272, 316n97 Fadil Pasha Toptani, 136 –7 famine, 251, 254, 257, 305 fast, 175 – 9, 182 – 7 Fatih, 179, 181 Fatma Aliye, 184 feminism, 68 Feridun, I˙brahim, 224, 226, 227 Fevziye Kıraathanesi, 81, 85 Filat, 123 film, 18– 19, 32, 34n14, 50n33 France, 19, 220 – 1, 249, 252, 295, 303, 308, 310 – 11 fraternity, 6, 21, 24, 33n6, 58, 121–2, 143, 146n45, 232n34 freedom, 6, 8– 9, 15– 16, 22, 26– 7, 30, 48, 96– 101, 103, 111, 113– 43, 163, 170, 175 –6, 184– 8, 199, 212 – 29, 245 – 7, 250 –1, 259, 272, 278, 287, 293, 298, 311 French, 24, 40 –1, 43– 7, 49, 53, 116, 121, 154, 156, 158 –9, 207n43,

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197, 216, 218– 21, 225, 227 –8, 237, 245, 249, 288, 290–1, 295, 300, 303, 306, 309 Frosu, 240 fundamentalism, 200 Galata, 54, 78, 199, 241, 243, 255 Galib Pas¸a, 226 gangs, 212–14 gendarmerie, 136 general amnesty, 68, 77, 98– 100 general assembly, 55, 58, 238 –41, 244, 251, 254–5, 257 – 8, 270, 282n15 Germany, 221, 252, 292, 294, 310– 11 government, 59,72, 74– 7, 80– 2, 84–6, 88, 98 –9, 101, 103 –4, 106, 115 –16, 118 –19, 123, 128, 135 –6, 156, 158 – 61, 163 –5, 169, 179, 189, 196 –8, 200 –1, 203, 208, 213, 216–23, 247 – 52, 254 – 6, 258 –9, 267 – 8, 271 –4, 276, 279, 290, 294, 298– 9, 303–4, 306 – 7 Grand Vizier, 30, 101, 104, 119, 137, 161, 164, 177, 199, 201, 237, 255, 258, 271 Great Powers, 114, 120, 122 –4, 139, 151n139 Greece, 124, 139, 152, 190 Greek, 30, 124, 131, 134, 137 –9, 142, 155 –6, 162 – 9, 172n20, 240 – 3, 247, 254, 274, 293, 298 Halep see Aleppo Hallac
yan (Efendi), Bedros, 241, 244, 245 Hamidiye regiments, 251, 255, 256 Haniog˘lu, S¸u¨kru¨, 2, 213 Hareket Ordusu, 202 Harput, 240 Haydar Rıfat, 296, 307 Hellenic, 168 – 9, 173n34 Helve´tius, 58 historiography, 1, 3, 23, 43, 46, 67 –8 Hunchakian party, 257

INDEX Hu¨seyin Cahid, 51, 54, 81, 83 –4, 88 Hu¨seyin Hilmi, 7, 99, 220, 286 – 8 intellectuals, 75, 78 I˙kdam (newspaper), 96, 98, 102, 126, 178 – 9, 183 Isa Boletin, 128, 142, 148n81 I˙smail Bey (deputy of Gu¨mu¨lcine), 120, 216 – 17 I˙smail Kemal Bey (Vlora), 120, 137 –8, 201, 206 Israel Efendi, 305 Istanbul, 4, 8, 15, 19, 23, 27– 8, 30, 48, 54– 7, 73, 75, 77– 9, 81– 2, 87– 8, 96– 105, 113 – 14, 125 – 6, 137 – 42, 175, 177 –8, 182 – 7, 189 – 91, 200, 202 –4, 216, 226, 241 – 5, 248 –50, 268– 9, 300 – 1 I˙s¸tirak, 7, 286 – 90, 294, 298, 301 –2, 304 – 7, 309, 311 Italian, 156, 164, 252 Italy, 147n66, 221, 310 itidal, 223 Izmir, 102, 153 – 65, 170n5, 172n20, 286, 288 Jamanak, 8– 9, 237 –47, 249– 63 Jewish, 4, 247, 254 justice, 9, 16, 24, 49, 99, 102, 104 –6, 121, 123, 155, 159, 161, 212, 225, 227 Kamil Pasha, 117, 142, 255 Kansu, Aykut, 2, 16, 214, 241 Karago¨z, 177, 181, 194n46 kaymakam, 116, 119, 124, 130, 145n41 Kosovo, 117, 123, 125 – 6, 128–9, 131, 141, 147n68 Kotzamanis, 160–3, 165, 168–9, 172n30 Kozmidi Efendi, 80 Ko¨r Ali, 181, 218 Kurdish, 207 –8, 250 – 1, 255–6, 258

321

labour, 3, 68, 101, 155, 169 – 70, 258, 290, 293–6, 305 – 8 labour movement, 68 language, 3, 9, 32, 82– 3, 114, 122, 124 –6, 139, 182, 193n43, 247, 249, 270, 274– 6, 290, 305, 311 Lassalle, 291 – 4, 300 law on public gatherings, 6, 214 – 15, 222–3, 225, 229 – 30, 298n47 Leskovik, 123 Liberal Union, 241 – 2, 287 liberalism, 43, 60– 1, 220, 292, 296, 313n10 liberalization, 239, 257 loyalty, 161, 163, 167, 172n20, 250, 266, 299 Macedonia, 7, 18, 25, 33n4, 42 –3, 47, 50, 73, 113– 14, 136, 138, 147n66, 168, 199–200, 202, 212 madrassa, 181 –2 Maistre, Joseph de, 40 majority, 163, 197, 201, 222, 226, 228, 240, 242, 256, 272, 274, 307 Manaki Brothers, 16 –18, 23, 27, 31, 33n4, 37n50 Manyasizade Refik Bey, 78, 242, 244 Marx, Karl, 293 – 5, 297, 300, 306, 308 – 10 meclis-i idare, 115 Mehmet V, Sultan, 270, 282n15 mektepli, 203 –4 Midhat Pasha, 137, 237, 260n2 military, 7, 9, 20, 23, 42, 59– 60, 76, 101, 104, 115–17, 128, 134 – 5, 139 –42, 154, 168, 181, 202 –4, 212, 225–6, 229, 254 –6, 258, 309 minority, 180, 240 – 1 Mirdita, 125 Mitrovica, 114, 124, 128 –9, 131, 141 motherland, 165 muhacir, 134, 141 Mu¨lkiye, 141, 270

322 YOUNG TURK REVOLUTION AND municipality, 75, 87, 134, 190 Muslim, 8, 19, 42, 45, 53, 58, 68, 117, 119, 121, 123 – 8, 130 – 9, 141, 155, 167, 169, 182, 184 –6, 197 – 8, 218, 253 –4, 274 – 5, 279, 288, 298 Mustafa Sabri, 182 Namık Kemal, 79 nation, 55, 57, 59 –60, 68 –9, 79, 81, 83, 85, 87– 8, 99 –100, 122–3, 143, 196, 220, 247, 250, 265– 8, 270 – 80, 300, 307 –8 national, 6, 8, 32, 52, 58, 131, 135, 161, 168 – 9, 184, 187, 202, 208, 238– 9, 243 – 4, 247, 250 –1, 253, 259, 267 – 9, 273 –4, 276– 7, 279, 294, 310 nationalism, 2, 7, 68, 266, 279, 311 – 12 nationality, 169 Nazim Bey, 117 – 18 Necip Draga, 128, 141 Neologos, 243 Niyazi, 16, 23– 31, 61, 202, 208, 232, 304 non-Muslim, 68, 123, 131, 138, 154, 165, 186, 197, 237, 244, 253– 4, 274, 279, 288 notables, 114, 116, 119 –21, 125, 130 – 7, 141, 199, 228, 243, 257 Novipazar, 129, 141 O Ergatis, 156 –7, 160 – 3, 165– 74 oath, 115, 129 – 31, 139, 250, 270 – 1 officer, 19, 30, 118, 130, 133– 4, 202 old regime, 5, 8, 23, 67, 70 –2, 76, 78– 80, 83– 4, 86 –8, 198, 203, 215, 218, 250, 257, 259 opponent, 30, 46, 53, 59, 117, 127, 137, 286 opposition, 5, 41, 43, 48– 9, 52– 3, 56, 58– 9, 69, 88, 117 – 18, 120, 122,

THE

OTTOMAN EMPIRE

126–7, 129, 134, 137, 140, 142–3, 187, 199–200, 204 –8, 218 – 19, 245, 250, 287– 8, 290, 311 oppression, 49, 246 –7, 250, 252, 255 –8, 288, 311 Ottoman Socialist Party (Osmanlı Sosyalist Fırkası), 286 – 8, 295, 298, 311 ownership, 251, 257 – 8, 293, 296, 303 pamphlet, 69, 116, 147n66 Parliament, 4 – 6, 15, 19, 32, 51 –4, 56, 59, 67, 81, 86, 105 –6, 120, 132, 138, 142–3, 176, 179, 198 –9, 201–4, 207, 209, 211 –14, 223, 225, 229, 237– 41, 244 – 5, 247, 251 –3, 258, 265, 267 –79, 287, 297, 305, 310 Party of Freedom and Understanding (Hu¨rriyet ve I˙tilaf Fırkası), 287 patriarch, 78, 240 – 3, 249 –50, 253, 256 patriarchate, 240, 250, 253, 257– 8 Pavlo Karolidi Efendi, 274 peasants, 121, 138 – 9, 295 –6, 300, 303 –5 People’s Centre, 166, 173n42 Pera, 35n21, 54, 181, 185, 243, 251 permissiveness, 185 photograph, 16– 18, 26 police, 75– 6, 80, 83, 87, 90, 95, 101, 162, 168, 172, 186, 188–9, 194, 198, 201, 214– 16, 219 – 29, 231 – 3, 237, 286 police schools, 223 –4, 226 positivism, 45, 53, 57 press, 6, 10– 12, 17, 20, 22, 33, 38, 45, 48, 50– 4, 61 –2, 64– 6, 69 –70, 78, 82, 94– 5, 97, 107, 118, 143, 152, 157, 169–70, 178 – 80, 185, 188, 199, 208–11, 230, 233, 241 –2, 245 –6, 260 – 1, 263 –4, 278, 280, 283–5, 287, 306, 312–13, 316 –17 Preveza, 125

INDEX Prishtina, 141 prison, 98– 107, 127, 186 privilege, 74, 78, 80, 299 Prizren, 114 – 16, 123, 125, 131–3, 136, 141, 143 – 7, 149 –51 progress, 2, 8, 10 –12, 15, 41, 43– 5, 49– 50, 55– 6, 58, 68, 89, 95, 97– 8, 102, 107, 113 –16, 118, 122, 129 – 30, 135, 164, 172, 182, 190, 192, 198, 209 –11, 215, 218, 223, 240 – 2, 245, 252, 267, 287, 291– 2, 294, 296, 312, 316 propaganda, 32, 46, 115, 120– 2, 127, 132, 139, 143, 181, 187, 199, 202, 207 protest, 36n38, 99, 121, 123, 125, 153, 166, 187, 228 –9, 243, 245 Protestant, 241 protocol, 241 Proudhon, 299 –300 provincial, 77, 87, 104, 117, 120, 127, 133, 139, 202, 248, 250–1, 255–8 public opinion, 18, 57, 59, 81, 88, 163, 180, 182, 205 public space, 19 –20, 122, 184–5, 190–1 Puka, 125 purge, 115 –18, 140, 142, 144n21 Puzantion, 238 Qur’an, 130 Rachid Ridha, 182 railway, 6, 8, 153, 155 –8, 160 – 3, 165, 169 – 70, 228 Ramadan, 6, 8, 125, 175 – 90, 199 reaction, 52, 60, 81, 83, 99– 100, 105, 122, 128, 184, 188, 203, 205, 207, 218, 287, 306 representation, 16, 19– 20, 22, 74, 240, 245 – 7, 251, 253, 299, 309– 10 Republic, 2, 18, 32, 34n14, 45, 49, 159, 175, 196, 200, 237, 312 resettlement, 258

323

Revolution, 1 – 9, 15 –17, 19, 24, 40–7, 49 –50, 52– 3, 56, 58, 60, 67–71, 76, 82– 8, 113 – 17, 120 –3, 125, 127 – 9, 133 –7, 139–43, 168 –70, 176, 180, 183–91, 198 –200, 202, 204, 207, 215–20, 223 –4, 228, 238 –9, 253, 265 –7, 277, 279 – 80, 286 –8, 295 –6, 299, 304, 311 Rıza Nur, 51, 186 Robespierre, 44 Rousseau, Jean Jacque, 299 rumour, 51, 57, 118 – 20, 131, 142, 185, 206, 237 rural, 130, 251, 256, 290, 304, 308, 310 Russia, 49, 287 Rustem Kabash, 128 Sabah, 183 safety, 127, 186, 252 Salonica, 79, 97, 114, 117, 119, 125 – 6, 133, 136–8, 140, 170n5, 202 school, 20, 28– 9, 49n28, 50, 53, 55, 75–6, 124, 126, 134, 141, 161, 166–7, 226, 254, 270, 290–1, 295, 308 Second International, 288 secret, 60, 114 – 15, 118, 128, 131, 133, 135, 139, 147n70, 168, 224 secularism, 176, 187, 191n2, 196, 200 secularization, 8, 175, 196 – 7, 259 security, 19, 102, 214 –15, 219, 221 – 4, 226, 228–9, 237, 245, 257 Senate, 55, 59, 238, 245, 252 – 3, 270 –3 senator, 55, 245, 253 Serbesti, 53, 199, 245 Sharia, 54, 131, 139, 185, 197, 200 – 1, 206 –8 Sheykh Sait, 207 Shkodra, 114–18, 121, 123, 125 – 7, 129, 132–8, 141, socialism, 8, 228, 286–300, 303, 305–11 softa, 180 Sohrabi, Nader, 3– 4, 69, 71, 213

324

YOUNG TURK REVOLUTION AND

solidarity, 130, 162 – 3, 167, 242, 244 – 6, 248, 250, 258 sovereignty, 6, 8, 23, 42, 247, 259, 265 – 6, 268, 270, 273– 7, 279, 296n22, 294, 306 Spain, 253, 310 squealers, 72, 77, 82 strike, 6, 8, 67, 153 –7, 159– 65, 167, 183, 197, 204, 213, 215, 223, 228 Sublime Porte, 54– 5, 238 –9, 255 Sultanahmet, 54, 79, 100 tax, 128, 137 – 8, 243, 251, 258, 262n83, 310 taxation, 251, 258, 304, 310 telegraph, 118 – 19, 127, 142, 162 – 3 temporality, 5, 7, 309 territorial integrity, 121, 252 Third Army, 55, 119 –20, 202 Tiflis, 238 Tirana, 133, 135 –7, 139 Topkapı, 177 –8, 180 Toprak, Zafer, 2 trade, 153, 164 – 6, 197, 256, 292, 296, 307 Tsourouktsoglou, 157 – 8, 160, 163, 172n20 Tunaya, Tarik Zafer, 2, 69, 288 Turk, 1 –9, 15 –16, 18– 20, 22, 24, 26, 28, 30, 32, 40 –52, 54, 56– 8, 60, 67 –70, 74, 76, 78, 80, 82– 4, 86 –7, 98, 100, 113–24, 126, 128, 130–40, 142–3, 165, 168–9, 175–6, 180–1, 184, 186–191, 212–14, 218–19, 223, 238, 240, 242–3, 251, 258, 278, 294 Turkish, 2, 56, 73– 4, 114, 119, 122, 126, 159, 176, 179, 183, 186– 7, 196, 200, 203 – 4, 208, 227, 241– 3, 247, 253 – 4, 288 –90, 311–12 ulamas, 121, 177, 180 –2

THE

OTTOMAN EMPIRE

Unionist, 2, 4, 6 –9, 46, 48, 51 –5, 58–60, 74, 79, 99, 122, 142, 165–6, 198 – 206, 218 – 19, 223, 228, 239, 241– 2, 274 United States, 252 unity, 58, 121 – 2, 273, 287 Vienna, 28, 114 violence, 6– 7, 9, 49, 133, 157, 185, 204, 227, 232n34, 295 Vitalis Feraci Efendi, 269, 282n16 Vlach, 25, 30, 36n37 Vlora, 114 – 15, 119 – 21, 124 –31, 133–5, 137 – 8, 142, 201 wage, 154, 170, 224, 293, 295 –6, 303, 305 war, 7, 41 –2, 48, 59, 66, 76, 84, 114, 140, 158, 175,187 –91, 200 –1, 227, 254, 256, 267, 288, 295, 303, 312 Weinberg, 20 well-being, 22, 121, 218, 252 workers, 153– 67, 169 –70, 225, 228, 243, 287, 389– 90, 292 – 3, 295–7, 303 – 4, 307 –8, 312 Workers Trade Union, 164 World War I, 42, 48, 67, 187, 189, 200, 288, 312 Yesayan, Zabel, 238, 246, 258 Yıldız Palace, 16, 22, 96, 179, 181, 237 Yorgaki Artas Efendi, 274 Young Turk, 1–9, 15–16, 18–19, 25, 40–54, 57, 59–60, 67–71, 82–3, 86–7, 113–24, 126, 128–40, 142–3, 156, 165, 168–9, 175–6, 180–1, 184, 186–91, 199, 204–5, 207, 212–13, 219, 223, 238, 266, 280, 287 Zohrab, Krikor, 238, 241 – 2, 244 – 5, 251 –2, 255, 257