How Happy to Call Oneself a Turk: Provincial Newspapers and the Negotiation of a Muslim National Identity 9780292734913

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How Happy to Call oneself a turk

Modern Middle east series, no. 26 sponsored by the Center for Middle eastern studies the university of texas at austin

how happy to Call oneself a turk Provincial Newspapers and the Negotiation of a Muslim National Identity Gavin D. BroCkett

university of texas press

Austin

Copyright © 2011 by the University of Texas Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America First edition, 2011 Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to: Permissions University of Texas Press P.O. Box 7819 Austin, TX 78713-7819 www.utexas.edu/utpress/about/bpermission.html ♾ The paper used in this book meets the minimum requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (R1997) (Permanence of Paper). An earlier version of Chapter 5 was published as “The Legend of the Turk in Korea,” in War & Society 22, no. 2 (October 2004): 109–142. Other material was previously published in part as “Provincial Newspapers as a Historical Source: Büyük Cihad and the Great Struggle for the Muslim Turkish Nation (1951–53)” in IJMES 41, no. 3 (August 2009): 437–455. LIbRARy Of CONgReSS CAtALOgINg-IN-PubLICAtION DAtA

Brockett, Gavin D. How happy to call oneself a Turk : provincial newspapers and the negotiation of a Muslim national identity / Gavin D. Brockett. — 1st ed.   p.  cm. — (Modern Middle East series ; no. 26) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISbN 978-0-292-72359-7 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Turkish newspapers—History—20th century. 2. Atatürk, Kemal, 1881–1938—Political and social views. 3. Printing—Political aspects— Turkey—History—20th century. 4. Printing—Social aspects—Turkey— History—20th century. 5. Mass media—Social aspects—Turkey— History—20th century. 6. Mass media—Political aspects— Turkey—History—20th century. 7. Muslims—Turkey—History— 20th century. 8. Identification (Religion)—Political aspects—Turkey— History—20th century. 9. Nationalism—Turkey—History—20th century. 10. Turkey—Politics and government—1918–1960. I. Title. PN5449.t8b76 2011 079'.5610904—dc22 2010039656 ISbN 978-0-292-73491-3 (E-book)

to tHe memory of william l. ClevelanD

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Contents

List of Illustrations ix Preface xi Acknowledgments xv Introduction 1 CHapter 1. Imagining the Secular Nation: Mustafa Kemal and the Creation of Modern Turkey 25 CHapter 2. Narrating the Nation: Print Culture and the Nationalist Historical Narrative 55 CHapter 3. Provincial Newspapers and the Emergence of a National Print Culture 83 CHapter 4. Religious Print Media and the National Print Culture 113 CHapter 5. Muslim Turks against Russian Communists: The Turkish Nation in the Emerging Cold War World 144 CHapter 6. Mustafa Kemal Atatürk and Mehmed the Conqueror: Negotiating a National Historical Narrative 173 CHapter 7. Religious Reactionaries or Muslim Turks?: Print Culture and the Negotiation of National Identity 203

Conclusion. A Muslim National Identity in Modern Turkey 222 Notes 229 Bibliography 265 Index 285

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illustrations

fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure fiGure

1. Modern Turkey xx 2. Akbaba, 1928 65 3. Köroğlu, 1931 65 4. Karagöz, 1936 71 5. Yurt, 1933 72 6. Yeşil Nur, 1949 85 7. Müslüman Sesi, 1949 126 8. Volkan, 1951 133 9. Vicdan Sesi, 1952 136 10. Büyük Cihad, 1951 138 11. Demokrat Postası, 1951 155 12. Büyük Dâva, 1951 160 13. Hürriyet, 1950 167 14. Köroğlu, 1952 171 15. Sebilürreşad, 1949 179 16. Why Was Iskilipli Atıf Hoca Executed? 1951 183 17. From Osman Gazi to Atatürk, 1955 194 18. Köroğlu, 1952 201 19. Köroğlu, 1952 211 20. Hürriyet, 1952 214 21. Komünizme Karşı Mücadele, 1951 216

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prefaCe

Nor need we be perturbed by the platitude that movements are started by minorities. All effective movements have few leaders and a multitude of followers; but this does not mean that the multitude is not essential to their success. Numbers count in history . . . What seems to me essential is to recognize in the great man an outstanding individual who is at once a product and an agent of the historical process, at once the representative and the creator of social forces which change the shape of the world and the thoughts of men. e. h. Carr, What Is hIstory ? aDDressinG His CamBriDGe university audience in 1961 on the topic “What Is History?” the eminent historian E. H. Carr was concerned to stress the dynamic relationship of the individual, society as a whole, and the unfolding of events. Carr cautioned against situating “great men outside history” as “individuals who imposed themselves on history in virtue of their greatness.” Certainly, over the course of the twentieth century many leaders rose to fame and propagated the myth that as great men they were the primary motivating forces in their nations’ histories. Nevertheless the truth underlying Carr’s premise has been borne out in the Middle East as much as anywhere, for here the legacies of great men have collapsed and history has been rewritten to situate them in the context of the “multitude” who were essential to their success in the first place. Social history, therefore, has become well established alongside the ever-present histories of politics and ideas. If there is one exception, it is to be found in the history of the Republic of Turkey and its founding president, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk (1881–1938). It is no exaggeration to suggest that few, if any, countries were so dominated by one man during the twentieth century. Now, more than seven decades after his death, it would appear that “Atatürk” is still alive and well in the twenty-first century: he is at the center of national identity in Turkey. Beyond its borders, Turkey’s international image remains indissolubly associated with Atatürk, and rarely does one come across contemporary commentary on Turkey which does not at least make passing reference to his revolutionary commitment to “secularize” the former heartland of the Islamic Ottoman Empire.

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Within Turkey itself, Atatürk presides as the silent yet ever present “immortal leader” (ebedî şef ), as he was anointed soon after his death in 1938. The Anıtkabir (Atatürk’s mausoleum) looms above the capital, Ankara, and is an extremely popular site of pilgrimage. Portraits of Atatürk as well as the texts of his famous speeches adorn the walls of shops, schools, and public buildings; the Turkish lira (TL) bears his image; and towns and cities throughout the country pride themselves on magnificent statues portraying him as determined and indomitable. Every year at 9:05 a.m. on November 10, nationwide ceremonies commemorate the moment of Atatürk’s death; and at times of political crisis Turks frequently take to the streets bearing images of the “Father of the Turk” and declaring their commitment to follow in the “path of Atatürk” with the words “Atatürk’ün yolundayız.” Mustafa Kemal Atatürk is also at the heart of the accepted historical narrative of the “Turkish nation,” an account that he himself took an active role in shaping. Quite remarkably, even today this narrative—the term “Kemalist mythology” would not be going too far—prevails both in Turkey and beyond. In it, the person of Atatürk is a near-messianic figure who emerged to prominence following the defeat of the Ottoman Empire in World War I, just as the nation entered its darkest hour, with British, French, Italian, Greek, and Armenian occupation of Anatolia, the nation’s homeland (vatan). Atatürk was the one man capable of uniting a people exhausted and devastated by years of war and of inspiring them to make the ultimate sacrifice of laying down their lives for the future of the nation. Subsequent to this he was the man who had the courage to throw off the burden of the corrupt Ottoman dynasty so that the Turkish people might finally be master of their own state and achieve their full potential as a nation deserving of membership in the civilized world. Thus Atatürk was not only the savior but also the creator or author of the modern Turkish nation. Submerged in a backward and moribund culture, the people struggled under the burden of decayed and degenerate traditions associated with Islam. Atatürk alone is credited with possessing the vision for a modern and progressive nation oriented toward the West, unencumbered by its Islamic Ottoman past. To do so, it was necessary to suspend the freedoms of democracy, in which he fervently believed, and to impose on the nation drastic and thorough change in the form of far-reaching reforms. The net result of this “Turkish Revolution” (Türk inkılâbı) was, quite literally, a transformation of

prefaCe xiii

the people into the modern Turkish nation and, consequently, exclusive popular identification with it. Attractive and enduring as this narrative may be, the pervasive sense that all history began and ended with Atatürk, that the past has no meaning apart from him, can no longer stand. The reality that is Turkey today demands new and diverse interpretations of the country’s history. Most notably, there is a pressing need to consider the social history of Turkey—to explore how the people experienced the creation of their nation. The topos of a “total transformation” resulting from the Turkish Revolution is no longer sufficient, for it does not derive from careful consideration of the actual impact of reform legislation passed in Ankara on the people; nor does it account for the people’s capacity to accept, reject, or adapt elite efforts to effect change. To suggest that Mustafa Kemal created the Turkish nation in this way is to engage in an act of imagination. Today there is growing concern to move beyond Atatürk and the Turkish Revolution, as scholars of a new generation creatively examine a variety of sources to reconstruct the multiple processes by which a Turkish nation—a new nation—was created. The present book has been written very much in this vein. Mustafa Kemal undoubtedly did play a decisive role in the establishment of the Turkish nation: he deserves his reputation as one of the great modernizers and nation-state builders of the twentieth century. Nevertheless, Turkish history has a richness and depth that the prevailing historical narrative effectively obscures. This book explores Turkish history by examining not elite nationalism but popular identification with the nation. It considers how people actually experienced and even shaped the changes that the prevailing narrative has for too long taken for granted. To subject the history of the Turkish nation to honest scrutiny is not to deny the importance of Mustafa Kemal. As E. H. Carr emphasized in What Is History? the purpose is not to deflate “the greatness of great men” or to subscribe to the belief that “great men are almost always bad men.”1 Rather it is to acknowledge that history is not, in fact, the sole preserve of “great men” and that multiple perspectives on the past are of considerable value in their own right. In the case of Turkey, it is necessary to break free of the constraints imposed by the prevailing narrative and to explore the social history of nation-state formation. The social and cultural diversity that is part of Turkey today cannot be ignored, even denied, for the sake of adhering to the paradigm of a

xiv how happy to Call oneself a turk

united single Turkish nation. So far we know well what Atatürk envisioned for Turkey, but we know very little about how the people experienced this vision and in fact influenced and modified the outcome through their own participation in its implementation. The modern history of Turkey must move beyond the prevailing narrative and recognize the dynamic relationship between elite vision and popular experience in the unfolding of events.

aCknowleDGments

tHe researCH anD writinG that have gone into this book would not have been possible without the patient support of friends and family. Almost twenty years ago my wife, Meg, and I embarked on our first trip to Turkey; since then Meg has shared my enthusiasm for understanding Turkish history and culture. This has meant living a more transient life than we would have liked. Nevertheless, in the midst of her own busy life as a mother and teacher Meg has willingly offered constant encouragement and help, for which I will be forever grateful. Our three wonderful children were born during my time as a doctoral student, and sharing in their lives the past fourteen years has been a source of great joy and fulfillment. Not only have Esther, Rosie, and Malcolm graciously put up with the demands that “the book” has placed on our lives, but they have contributed to the project in more ways than they realize. It is my sincere hope that their own lives have been richer as a result of this process in which we have all been engaged. My parents, Andrew and Margaret Brockett, provided me with the upbringing and education that were so critical to helping me thrive in the academic world. Over the years they have lovingly supported our family and provided constant encouragement even as this project has dragged on for longer than ought to have been the case. My father meticulously edited the final manuscript. My parents-in-law, Greg and Shay Foster, were responsible in no small degree for encouraging my early interest in how people lived and experienced the past—and they have warmly encouraged me even as I have pursued an area of research that they never would have anticipated. In the course of my research I have also benefited from friendship and assistance offered by so many people in Turkey. In some cases they went out of their way to help me locate obscure sources, while in others they patiently helped me to understand the significance of my sources and the larger contexts of Turkish history. Many warmly extended hospitality to me. No doubt I have failed to record some names, but they include Rifat Bali, Kemal Bülbül, Yılmaz Büyükerşen, Menderes Çınar, Ismail Kara, Asım Karaömlerioğlu, Uygur Kocabaşoğlu, Necmettin Özçelik, Mustafa Sungur, Mete Tunçay, Üstün Ünüğür, Bülent Varlık, Ahmet Yıldız, Tuncer Yılmaz, and Ahmet Yüksel. I am especially grateful for the friendship and generous help provided over

xvi how happy to Call oneself a turk

the years by Atilla Aydın, Cem Erdoğan, and Ibrahim Özdemir. Others beyond Turkey have provided invaluable advice in the course of my research, including Catherine Audard, Gary Leiser, and Horst Unbehaun. My research has depended on the resources provided by many institutions in Turkey. These include the American Research Institute in Turkey, the Millî Kütüphane, the Türkiye Büyük Millet Meclisi Kütüphanesi, the T. C. Başbakanlık Devlet Arşivleri in Ankara, the Türk Tarih Kurumu, the Atatürk Kitaplığı, the Beyazit Devlet Kütüphanesi, the Istanbul Üniversitesi Kütüphanesi, the Islam Araştırmaları Merkezi, the Basın Müzesi in Istanbul, the Eskişehir Il Halk Kütüphanesi, and the Samsun Il Halk Kütüphanesi. In North America my work has been supported generously by research grants from Simon Fraser University, the Division of the Humanities and the Center for Middle East Studies at the University of Chicago, the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, and the Research Office at Wilfrid Laurier University. I am grateful for the support and encouragement offered me by colleagues in the history departments at both the University of Northern British Columbia and Wilfrid Laurier University. Dawn Zambonini and Lynne Doyle have provided administrative support, in particular with regard to preparing the illustrations for publication. Pam Schaus prepared the map with careful attention to detail. I am also indebted to the library staff at the University of Chicago, the University of Northern British Columbia, Wilfrid Laurier University, and the Center for Research Libraries. I was fortunate to receive recognition of my work in the form of first a fellowship from the Mrs. Giles Whiting Foundation in New York in 2002 and then the Malcolm H. Kerr Dissertation Award in the Social Sciences from the Middle East Studies Association in 2003. In retrospect these both came at critical moments and provided the inspiration necessary to complete my dissertation and then undertake additional research in the process of preparing the manuscript for publication. I am grateful to Michael Provence for encouraging me to approach the University of Texas Press and to Wendy Moore and Jim Burr for shepherding the manuscript through the review and production processes. This book would not have been possible without the formative influence of many dedicated scholars and fine individuals over the course of my education. My own thinking has been shaped by a number of scholars with whom I have not had the privilege of working closely but whose work nevertheless has been indispensable: Feroz Ahmad,

aCknowledgMents xvii

Kemal Karpat, Şerif Mardin, Donald Quataert, Mete Tunçay, and Erik Jan Zürcher. As a doctoral student in the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations at the University of Chicago I benefited immensely from time spent learning under Robert Dankoff, Fred Donner, Cornell Fleischer, Ronald Inden, Wadad Kadi, and John Woods. Holly Shissler and Rashid Khalidi deserve particular thanks for their contribution to my education and supervision of my dissertation. Four scholars read my manuscript and provided insightful criticism and feedback. In fact, Virginia Aksan, Ben Fortna, Reşat Kasaba, and Hasan Kayalı have long been influential in my life as friends and teachers: it has been a great privilege to have them contribute to this particular project. Their advice and support has been invaluable. It was only after completion of the manuscript that I became aware of the forthcoming work Islam and Secularism in Turkey by Umut Azak. My own book complements hers, and I hope that together they stimulate further scholarly discussion. My intellectual journey in Middle East history began in 1992 at Simon Fraser University. Here John Spagnolo and Derryl Maclean were instrumental in forming my early understanding of the field, and I am forever grateful for their patience at this critical juncture. I was welcomed into the history department by William L. Cleveland, who guided me for a number of years and encouraged me to pursue my interests in Turkish history. Bill became a deeply valued mentor and good friend. I regret that I did not follow his advice and complete this book earlier—before he passed away in September 2006. I hope that Bill would be pleased with the final product. The book is dedicated to his memory. Gavin BroCkett Hollen, ontario

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How Happy to Call oneself a turk

figure 1. Modern Turkey in 1950

introDuCtion

As the newspaper helped the rise of the ideal of nationalism by expressing the social and local sentiments of the masses in a colourful way, so the book has been instrumental in the creation of the idea of internationalism . . . by formulating, in an abstract and exact style, the principles, rules, and formulae of civilization. MehMed Ziya gökalp, “ Üç Cereyan ”

tHis Book oriGinateD in a serendipitous discovery of vast collections of newspapers published in Turkey’s provinces in the decade following World War II. Gathering dust on the shelves of various libraries, these publications had gone unnoticed and remained an untapped yet potentially valuable source for the study of history. To be sure, various studies have documented the growth of printing and publishing first in the Ottoman Empire and then in its successor states in the Middle East, but scholars have almost entirely privileged metropolitan print media over those produced in provincial centers. Moreover, apart from emphasizing seminal moments in the history of Turkey’s printing and publishing industry, scholars have failed to engage in deeper analysis: to examine the content of print media critically, to consider their growth in the context of Turkish society and politics, and thus to assess their contribution to Turkish history. Paradoxically, at the same time scholars have been content to depend on these poorly understood sources for much of their information when writing histories of modern Turkey. The present study examines this wealth of provincial newspapers in the context of the unprecedented expansion of print media in Turkey between 1945 and 1954, situating it in terms of late Ottoman and early republican Turkish printing and publishing. I argue that in this decade a countrywide or “national” print culture emerged for the first time in Turkey. The sociohistorical approach in this study identifies this development as important because it facilitated the emergence of a popular national identity for the first time in Turkey since the establishment of the Republic in October 1923. To the majority of people living in the new Turkey, beyond the limited coterie of the ruling elite, the very idea of a “Turkish nation” was novel and largely devoid of meaning, for their frames of reference had been defined by the multiethnic and multireligious Ottoman Empire. The country’s founding president, Mus-

2 how happy to Call oneself a turk

tafa Kemal Atatürk (1923–1938), attempted to infuse the “nation” with meaning as part of a program of modernization imposed on the people in the form of the “Turkish Revolution” (Türk inkılâbı). Predicated on the domination of single-party authoritarian government starting in 1925, strict state control of the rather limited print media resulted in a near-complete absence of public debate for two decades. The subsequent introduction of multiparty politics in 1945, accompanied by a relaxation of restrictions upon the press and its corresponding rapid expansion, therefore marked a critical moment in the history of modern Turkey. The nature of public debate that found expression in the new national print culture after 1945 casts doubt on the long-standing assumption that through the Turkish Revolution Mustafa Kemal actually succeeded in breathing life into the national framework that he established. Denied the means by which to participate in the process of nation formation throughout the single-party period, the people in fact did not identify with the nation as it was defined by the narrow dictates of the elite. Rather, it was only as a result of political liberalization subsequent to World War II that popular participation in defining the nation became possible. The dominance of the Kemalist state began to be challenged by those Turks who were on the periphery, both ideologically (not content to accept the tenets of Kemalism in their entirety) and geographically (living beyond the metropolitan centers of power). It was no coincidence that they conducted this challenge in the pages of the new print media of the time. These gave voice not only to disaffected members of the elite in Istanbul, Izmir, and Ankara, but also to people living in the provinces, where the expansion of print media had its greatest impact. The result was the beginning of the integration of Turkish society as a whole: the emergence of a national print culture that incorporated the perspectives of people across the country—the perspectives of the “nation” and not just those of the ruling elite. The study of provincial newspapers from 1945 to 1954 suggests that the new national print culture contributed to the crystallization of an increasingly widespread national identity. Their content also justifies the conclusion that, in this first instance, popular identification with the nation was infused by an equally strong commitment to religious faith. Particularly striking in this print culture is the importance accorded to Muslim identities on the part of the people. For two decades the Kemalist elite had endeavored to emphasize the primacy of the nation and to minimize the relevance of Islam to daily life through the ap-

introduCtion 3

plication of the Kemalist principle of laiklik (secularism). Now appealing to wider audiences beyond the Kemalist elite, print media quickly came to reflect the concerns and interests of that part of the population for whom Muslim practices and beliefs constituted a significant point of reference for both individual and collective identity. Thus analysis of the pages of Turkish print media results in a conclusion that challenges a fundamental tenet of modern Turkish history. The political elite in the center could not simply impose change on the periphery. They could not transform a “backward” people into a cohesive, modern nation by fiat. The emergence of the nation—and, by extension, national identity formation—is a creative process in which all elements of society necessarily play a part. This process was not simply limited to the period of Mustafa Kemal’s presidency; nor was it defined by his modernizing reforms alone. Certainly, the implementation of Mustafa Kemal’s vision in the years 1923–1938 was critical, but in this book I argue that the very implementation of laiklik in fact proved to be an obstacle to national identification on the part of those Turks for whom religious identities remained important. It was only with the opening up of public debate in conjunction with the introduction of multiparty politics after 1945 that this obstacle could be resolved. Then it became possible to examine the relationship between nation and faith, to explore the place of Islam in modern Turkey. Popular identification with the nation therefore did not emerge exclusive of all other identities; rather, national identity came to be incorporated within a preexisting repertoire of popular identities, among the most important of which were those associated with Islam. These were the same religious identities that the Kemalist elite had hoped to sacrifice on the altar of the nation; yet after two decades of demotion and denigration they again became a prominent aspect of public discourse between 1945 and 1954. Turkish print media facilitated this “negotiation of the nation,” or what in fact was the transition from elite nationalism to popular identification with the Turkish nation. The notion of national identity frequently has been subsumed ambiguously under the single term “nationalism.” Nonetheless it is important to distinguish between the two. Nationalism is perhaps best understood in terms of an “ideological movement for the attainment and maintenance of autonomy, unity, and identity on behalf of a population deemed by some of its members to constitute an actual or potential ‘nation.’”1 The limited scope of this movement must be emphasized, restricted as it is to either a cultural or

4 how happy to Call oneself a turk

a political elite. The elite were committed to creating a nation to meet the requirements of the newly established state after the establishment of the Republic of Turkey in 1923. All too often scholars have taken at face value elements of the nationalist historical narrative that Kemalists produced in the process, implying that the people naturally shared the elite vision for the creation of a nation. According to this perspective, a broad-based national identity was the inevitable outcome of a nationalism that might be represented as a “river of wave-like movements starting out in its heartlands and gaining in power and extent of involvement as it gathers pace.”2 Appealing though this interpretation may be, it implies that the elite nationalist vision was successfully implemented without challenge or opposition and that the people were little more than mindless participants in their own history. It reflects a false assumption concerning the ability of an elite to effect social change and to inculcate a popular national identity on its own terms. This interpretation also accepts the notion that the characteristically narrow conception of the nation put forward by the elite was the only acceptable definition, adhered to by everyone. Anthony Smith has defined “the nation” as a “named human population sharing an historic territory, common myths and historical memories, a mass, public culture, a common economy and common legal rights and duties for all members.”3 By the time of Mustafa Kemal’s death in 1938, many of these elements undoubtedly were in place, not the least of which was a compelling mythology narrating the origins of the “Turkish nation.” Yet notably absent was the existence of common legal rights as well as a mass public culture. The former largely began to be manifested through the practice of multiparty politics after 1945, and historians have explored this important transition at length. By contrast, we know almost nothing about the latter. This book considers the specific question of just how it was that a mass public culture began to emerge in Turkey as a result of unprecedented growth in printing and publishing. The overall argument concentrates on the role that this new national print culture—in which provincial newspapers were prominent—played in facilitating the negotiation of an identity that incorporated both the religious and the national in Atatürk’s secular Turkey. It is an identity all too obvious to those familiar with Turkey today. Ultimately, this book is based on the premise that to understand Turkey better today it is necessary to move beyond the person and ideas of Atatürk, although he cannot be ignored; beyond the period in

introduCtion 5

which he was dominant; and beyond the ideological and geographic center from which Turkish history has long been viewed. Newspapers produced in the provinces after 1945 constitute an ideal source for this. Through an examination of the emerging national print culture, this book asks how people came to identify with the new Turkish nation, exploring some of the ways in which they participated in the transition from Ottoman Empire to Turkish nation-state. In analyzing how print contributed to the crystallization of a popular Muslim national identity, we find that the very pages of print media reveal a great deal about aspects of Turkish history beyond the wellestablished political narrative that has dominated for so long. As a result, subsequent chapters interweave this argument with an examination of three interrelated themes as they relate to the last years of the Ottoman Empire and the initial three decades of the Turkish Republic. The first is the history of printing and publishing itself, in particular the growth of periodicals leading to the emergence of a national print culture. A second theme running throughout is the actual popular experience of laiklik and the meaning of both secularism and Islam to the people. Here it is necessary to explore the undeniable and continued importance of religion in the context of Mustafa Kemal’s commitment to a secular nation. The final theme is the relationship between nationalism as ideology and the “nation”: the process by which the people interacted with elite imaginings of the nation. Central to this process is the way in which members of the nation (the people) actively contributed to a shared understanding of the nation defined in terms of both its relationship to other countries and its imperial Ottoman past. In the years 1945–1954 perhaps the most important means for so doing was through newspapers produced in the provinces.

provinCial newspapers and the nationalist narrative A country’s print culture includes a variety of publications, not all of which are equally important at a given time. This book devotes primary attention to periodicals (both newspapers and journals) because they enjoyed by far the greatest circulation. Along with a variety of books and brochures, in the decade after 1945 periodicals reached an ever-increasing number of readers. Of course, periodicals produced in metropolitan centers largely for the benefit of residents of Istanbul, Izmir, and Ankara were a critical component of the new national print

6 how happy to Call oneself a turk

culture. For the majority of the people, however, newspapers produced in individual provinces were more important. This provincial press (referred to variously in Turkish as the Anadolu basını, bölgesel basın, yerel basın, or taşra basını) was produced specifically for the residents of the particular province within which it circulated. Most newspapers were produced in provincial capitals but sometimes also in towns and in a few cases even in villages. They circulated mostly within a single province, although some had subscribers throughout the country. These constitute a novel source: while they provide considerable insight into the lives of that vast majority of the people who lived in the provinces, scholars have almost completely ignored them in favor of the most prominent metropolitan newspapers of record that present only a limited centrist perspective on Turkish history. More generally, provincial newspapers cannot be considered in isolation from other print media, for they represent only part of the larger whole that is a national print culture. That said, few scholarly works deem the provincial newspaper a valid object of study.4 It remains on the periphery of scholarship devoted to the printing and publishing industry. On a theoretical level, Benedict Anderson touched briefly on provincial print media in his seminal study on print and nationalism. In Imagined Communities he identified the provincial newspaper as uniting European colonies in South America into communities distinct from the larger polities from which they hailed in Europe.5 Yet with the rise of the nation-state they began to play a very different role, uniting the nation through a creative tension. A lone study of the Irish provincial press suggests its contribution to social history: it gives people a voice on the national stage where none existed before; it validates the local with reference to the national. Provincial newspapers connect local communities to the nation, investing those communities with credibility and inviting them to participate in the “theatre of the nation.”6 Accordingly, the very notion of the nation obtains value among the people. So too provincial newspapers played an important role in the emergence of the Turkish nation-state. The national print culture to which these newspapers contributed reinforced the very idea of the nation, while at the same time providing people a means to participate in debate after 1945 about just how to define that nation. In this first decade of relatively free public debate in Turkey a synergy emerged between provincial newspapers and those metropolitan publications that broke with the tradition of the single-party period and began to question the legacy of Mustafa Kemal’s policy of laiklik. The

introduCtion 7

result was public recognition of the importance of religion to the nation. Consequently, a focus on the perspective promoted by provincial print media produces a fundamental reorientation in our approach to nationalism and national identity. It helps us to explore the possibility of alternatives to the dominant narratives of Turkish history, in this case that of secularism. Analysis of the content of provincial publications as well as metropolitan print media advocating similar perspectives focuses attention on debates that permeated the entire country. Provincial print media make it possible to consider how Turks understood and responded to the nationalist assumptions that had long characterized elite political discourse. A nationalist elite undoubtedly does play a critical role in articulating the parameters of the nation with which the people come to identify, but the transition from an elite nationalist ideology to a broad-based popular national identity cannot be taken as either automatic or unproblematic. In comparison with the neat lines of nationalist historical narratives, the histories of national identity formation must surely be untidy and difficult to trace yet exceedingly rich. In his schema designed to explain eastern European nationalism, Miroslav Hroch has identified a third and final stage: “mass mobilization” or popular identification with the nation. Hroch maintains that it must be possible to explain why people develop a national consciousness and that this can only occur when awareness of “membership in the nation” is coupled with “the view that this membership is an inherently valuable quality.” In order for nationalist ideologies to mobilize popular support they must promote the “interests of the groups” to which they “make [their] appeal” or at least contain in part “the kind of programme which is close to their interests.”7 To be sure, Hroch has defined a critical element in the transition from nationalism to national identity; however, an unspoken corollary is of equal significance. This is the necessity that the nation as defined by the elite in no way contradict or offend popular notions of identity and, just as importantly, that the elite not alienate the people through implementation of intolerant policies in seeking to inculcate their vision of the nation in the people. In the case of Turkey, Kemalist efforts to define the nation along exceedingly narrow lines that denied legitimacy to long-standing religious identities, to say nothing of the authoritarian and sometimes brutal actions that characterized efforts to realize the modern nation, in fact arrested the process by which the people could fully and unconditionally identify with the Turkish na-

8 how happy to Call oneself a turk

tion. To the majority of Turks, the inherent value of identification with the Kemalist nation was open to question between 1925 and 1945. Nationalist movements typically infuse the nation with an essentialism that denies diversity or the possibility of internal conflict. Other possible foci of loyalty are either subordinated to the nation or forcefully suppressed. Nationalist elites implement policies along these lines in the belief that by subsuming other identities “in the larger category of the nation” they improve their “prospects of winning mass support and mobilizing to achieve their goals.”8 History demonstrates that primary among the identities that nationalism seeks to subsume are those associated with religious beliefs and practices that it identifies as being in opposition to the nation. The point is not to idealize alternative perspectives—after all, religious ideologies can be no less essentialist and no less intolerant than nationalism.9 Yet when history is written according to the precepts of nationalist ideology, the resulting narrative is severely deficient: it fails to consider how individuals and groups accepted, rejected, or adapted certain tenets. As Şerif Mardin has observed, it takes for granted the “constraints of domination, power and coercion” and neglects the very important matter of the “resources of the dominated.”10 Rather than recognize that many elements in a population have the capacity to reshape and modify the nationalist vision on the basis of “an inherited fund of symbols, memories, myths and traditions,”11 this approach resorts to simplifying national identity formation and condemning any modification of the elite view through the appropriation of pejorative and opaque terms such as ignorance, backwardness, resistance, and reaction. On the contrary, provincial print media in Turkey after World War II offered people the means to reshape the original Kemalist vision of the nation, resulting for the first time in the crystallization of a popular national identity—a Muslim national identity.

print Media, religion, and negotiating the nation This book presents a novel approach to print media that deviates from the dominant assumption that print was simply a tool in the hands of an elite devoted to modernization and secularization, leading to the inevitable denouement of the modern nation-state. The focus is on a national print culture in which the single most important element was a provincial newspaper press. These newspapers facilitated a negotia-

introduCtion 9

tion between the elite nationalist vision of the nation and popular conceptions of identity. Print media undoubtedly contribute to framing and reifying the very idea of the nation that originates with nationalist elites; but as a print culture expands to include the perspectives of those on the periphery, they inject new ideas into public discourse. Negotiation takes the form of both validating alternative perspectives of the nation—reflecting back to people their understanding of Turkey as a Muslim nation—and providing a forum for the explicit challenge of previously dominant and exclusive interpretations of the nation. Of course such a role is provocative and necessarily tests the commitment of a political elite to the preservation of the freedoms that make a national print culture vital in the first place. The relationship of print media, nationalism, and the creation of modern nations has long been debated. It is at the center of numerous theoretical works as well as historical studies of specific countries.12 Indeed, intellectuals and politicians have long assumed the importance of print to the creation of a nation. The author and poet Namık Kemal (1840–1888) was among the earliest Ottoman publicists to recognize this connection. Convinced that journalism (gazetecilik) constituted an almost sacred duty with regard to the fatherland (vatan), he attributed the Ottoman Empire’s “backwardness” relative to Europe to its lack of a newspaper press until his time. In keeping with European theories, Kemal believed that the primary value of the press lay in the opportunity constantly to repeat ideas, influence public morals and values, and imbue readers with a love of their country.13 In the early twentieth century the Young Turks were neither less paternalistic toward their readers nor less confident as to the powers of print. Those producing satirical publications reflected the belief that they had “the freedom to determine wrongs, to disseminate doctrines and, through relatively uncensored narrative and cartoon, to reach a hitherto less reachable audience.”14 Following the establishment of the Republic of Turkey, Mustafa Kemal determined that newspaper journalists should carry out this responsibility in service to the nation and made no apologies for expecting the press to “always have [the] national interest in mind.”15 Memoirs written by Turkish journalists make no effort to disguise that Mustafa Kemal frequently cajoled them into writing articles in support of the state and at times dictated the actual content of articles, convinced that the press was crucial to inculcating and spreading his reforms among the wider populace.16 It is no accident that Mustafa Kemal deemed print important to a

10 how happy to Call oneself a turk

process of transformation that included the introduction of laiklik. Among early theorists of nationalism, Hans Kohn—a contemporary of Mustafa Kemal—assumed that nationalism in the “East” replicated developments in western Europe in that it replaced religion as “the principle governing all social and intellectual life.”17 To Kohn, writing in the years after World War I, Kemalist nationalism and secularism in Turkey offered an ideal example of this very process. In the context of the Cold War (after 1945) scholars of development and modernization again identified Turkish nationalism as prototypical—and in this case the evident growth of mass media in Turkey was seen as important. Here the history of print all too readily became integral to an account of how the state and nationalist elites in metropolitan centers might introduce new forms of media for the purposes of nation building. Following World War II, the “development” of what came to be known as the Third World was seen as “the grand transformation that began in Western Europe at the end of the Middle Ages and that in our own day has engulfed the remotest countries.”18 Social scientists deemed “secularization” to be an integral aspect of this modernization and assumed that a growth in the means of communications enabled the state to “create a public,” to effect control over popular behavior, and to mold people according to its image. In the words of Karl Deutsch, “nationality” consisted of “the ability to communicate more effectively, and over a wider range of subjects, with members of one large group than with outsiders.”19 There was general consensus that no other country exemplified this better than Turkey, where political liberalization following World War II combined with a “communications revolution” was resulting in the gradual triumph of those whom Daniel Lerner called the “Transitionals” in a process that was the inevitable “passing of traditional society” in the Middle East.20 Lerner himself anticipated that as media (radio in particular but also print) penetrated rural Turkey people would inevitably identify with Mustafa Kemal’s vision of the modern Turkish nation and that the “old” would be transformed by the “new.” While print media may have aided in the process of forming the nation, a close reading of Turkish history suggests that they did not do so in the way that theorists of nationalism typically assume. Nation and religion were by no means mutually exclusive: the former was not predicated on the inevitable decline of the latter. In fact, one of the early proponents of Turkish nationalism, Mehmed Ziya Gökalp (1876–1924), recognized this reality. In the context of intense early

introduCtion 11

twentieth-century debates as to how the peoples of the Ottoman Empire might preserve their independence in the face of European imperialism and colonialism, Gökalp argued that it was essential to awaken latent popular identification with the Turkish nation. Nationality based on language offered the most inclusive form of social and political organization; however, Turkish nationalism could also incorporate the powerful influences of both Islam and modernity. Drawing on the work of the Frenchman Gabriel Tarde (1843–1904), Gökalp concluded that this inclusive nationalism might be fostered by the newspaper and the book. The newspaper contributed to forging a “common consciousness” among people who spoke the same language because it was published in the local vernacular. It would lead to the rise of nationalism by conveying ideological currents in other countries and by “expressing the social and local sentiments of the masses in a colourful way.” By contrast, the book contained language more abstract and conceptual in nature and thereby contributed to what Gökalp termed the “idea of internationalism” by expressing “the principles, rules, and formulae of civilization.”21 According to Gökalp, Turkish “internationality” or civilization was defined by Islam. Contrary to the nationalism that came to define the new Republic of Turkey during the Atatürk era (infused by Kemalist laiklik), Gökalp believed that nation and religion were not mutually exclusive. They existed in a symbiotic relationship that modern print media nurtured. Gökalp’s distinction between the specific contributions that the book and the newspaper made to this symbiosis surely failed to recognize that neither medium was the exclusive preserve of either nationalism or internationalism. Nevertheless, he did recognize the important contribution that print made by bringing the nation and religion together, in distinct opposition to the notion that print facilitated the emergence of the former and demise of the latter. The content of Turkish print culture in the decade after World War II makes it abundantly evident that Gökalp was correct. Ironically, just as modernization theorists identified Turkey as the ideal example of a modern, secular country in the early Cold War, other scholars—less concerned with theoretical models than with what they actually observed while living in Turkey—wrote a bevy of articles exclaiming about the apparent “resurgence” of Islam in a country that they had understood to be “secular.” According to them, the prominence of a variety of publications (pamphlets, books, journals, and newspapers) devoted to addressing the religious concerns of Turks was particularly

12 how happy to Call oneself a turk

noteworthy. The evidence was clear that the new Turkish nation remained deeply influenced by religion despite Mustafa Kemal’s commitment to modernization and the secularism denoted by laiklik. Turkey was a Muslim nation.22 At the same time, the question remains: just how did print contribute to the emergence of a “common consciousness” or a national identity? A significant problem facing historians is determining just what impact the content of printed texts as well as the act of reading had on a wider populace.23 Identifying the people who in fact read the growing number of printed works and how they understood them remains a conundrum solvable only in part by the scraps of evidence (records of private libraries and booksellers and personal diaries) that survive in written form.24 Yet scholars are increasingly challenging the notion of elite cultural hegemony, speculating that peasant populations actually used literacy and print as a means to protect their own interests and preserve important traditions. Rather than submit to the designs of the elite, the people perhaps created the “cultural universe” that contributed to the definition of the nation by choosing which literature to purchase and consume.25 This debate relates directly to the role of media in society and the powers of the press in particular. Put simply, does the press create and manipulate “public opinion” as a tool in the hands of an elite or is it an “instrument of the popular will” by virtue of free market conditions in that the press is subject to “election” every time it goes on sale, with the consumers rather than the producers setting the agenda?26 This either/or debate (with its emphasis upon the “effectiveness” of media as a tool) distracts from what is perhaps a more fruitful line of analysis: the “effects” on the society in which the media are produced. Contrary to what they might like to think, the elite are part of larger social processes over which they cannot exert complete control. Of course a newspaper editor actively selects which news to print and thus contributes to the “frames of reference” within which people understand the local, the national, and the international. Yet editors themselves are products of the society that they are addressing, as are the frames of reference that they select.27 Moreover, as editors they might hope to shape popular opinion by way of what they choose to publish. Where a competitive capitalist market exists in conjunction with basic political freedoms, however, the very existence of alternative publications offers people the opportunity to form their own thoughts and thus a multiplicity of opinions. The relationship between print media

introduCtion 13

and society therefore is far more dynamic than might first appear to be the case. The people do exercise considerable autonomy as they read and process the content of a newspaper, while in a competitive market the interests of readers necessarily affect what an editor chooses to include as content. As Mehmed Ziya Gökalp recognized, print itself contributes to larger processes underway, primary among these being the formation of modern nations. But print constitutes far more than a tool to be manipulated by a political elite. Benedict Anderson, of course, has developed this more abstract dimension of “print culture” in his Imagined Communities. He has argued convincingly that print created “unified fields of exchange” that enabled people to identify with otherwise complete strangers who read the same publications in distant locations; reading became a mass ceremony of simultaneous consumption.28 Just as maps and censuses helped to define the boundaries of the new nation, so the vernacular press enabled people to define their national loyalties relative to other entities. This book, however, explores how print—in particular provincial newspapers—gave voice to alternative perspectives of the nation that had been suppressed during two decades of authoritarian rule. In particular, the expansion of a provincial newspaper press facilitated the growth of a national print culture that in turn fostered widespread debate. The duration of this debate proved to be limited, because in 1953–1954 the political elite reverted to efforts to restrict the public expression of opinions that challenged secular Kemalist ideology. Nevertheless, by that time print media had become too deeply rooted in Turkish society to be successfully suppressed. More to the point, the Muslim national identity that the media had spawned had been established beyond a shadow of a doubt. Thus I demonstrate that in Turkey print was ideally suited to play a critical role in the negotiation of a popular identity that was both religious and national at the same time. With political liberalization in 1945, print became a forum for the expression of multiple perspectives rather than the means for an elite to impose a narrow nationalist ideology.

the prevailing historiCal narrative and the topos of total transforMation The emphasis in this book on how people both experienced and influenced the formation of the nation-state implicitly challenges what

14 how happy to Call oneself a turk

has been the prevailing approach to Turkish history, which privileges elite politics over all else. This book cannot explore all the contours of Turkish historiography. It is significant, however, that the durable Western narrative of Turkish history as an account of total transformation authored by Mustafa Kemal took root at precisely the time when a national print culture was facilitating the negotiation of a Muslim national identity after World War II. In the years immediately after 1945 a new generation of foreign scholars began to devote their attention to Turkey. As they traveled to Turkey and worked there, they were deeply influenced both by the sources available to them and by the process whereby Turks were actively negotiating identification with the nation. These scholars then wrote what were to become extremely influential articles and books that have served until very recently as the primary texts of Turkish history in the English-language Western historical tradition. Products of the time in which they were written, these works perpetuate a fundamental contradiction in that they place undue emphasis on the “secular” Turkish Revolution while at the same time hinting that Islam remained an important force in Turkish society. Foreign scholars based their analyses on two distinct sets of sources. The first was the corpus of texts that constituted the foundation of the Kemalist or nationalist historical narrative itself. These included Mustafa Kemal’s various speeches (in particular the “Ur-text” of modern Turkey: his famous Speech [Nutuk] delivered before the Republican People’s Party [Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi] in October 1927); adulatory accounts of Mustafa Kemal as well as memoirs written by members of the Kemalist elite; history texts produced for Turkish students such as the four-volume Tarih (1931) and later Enver Ziya Karal’s The History of the Republic of Turkey;29 and, finally, the writings of certain influential Kemalist scholars such as the political scientist Tarık Zafer Tunaya.30 With limited or no access to primary documents or state archives, Western scholars established the basic outlines of Turkish history from these sources, while also adopting the modernist assumptions inherent in the Kemalist perspective. The second set of texts on which Western scholars based their analyses was the literature produced by Europeans and Americans during the Atatürk era. This literature reflected a Western infatuation with Mustafa Kemal and his Turkish Revolution. The majority of it was anything but scholarly, devoted to satisfying the Western appetite for accounts of travelers’ experiences in the “Orient.” This corpus also included biographies of Mustafa Kemal and works of scholarship that,

introduCtion 15

while detailed, did little to dispel the prevailing image of Atatürk as a benevolent despot single-handedly transforming backward Turkey. Although this literature reflected a continuation of long-standing Orientalist fascination with the “Turk,” it signaled an important departure in that it betrayed an unequivocal admiration for the Turk—or at least the “Father of the Turk”—as well. Indeed, as soon as Mustafa Kemal had led Anatolian resistance forces to victory in September 1922 and the Grand National Assembly had proclaimed an end to the Ottoman Empire, deeply rooted European prejudices against the Turk began to evaporate in favor of a mixture of awe and respect for Mustafa Kemal and his vision for the new Turkey. A stream of writers traveled to Turkey and wrote popular accounts published in newspapers and journals for audiences throughout the West.31 As early as March 24, 1923, Time magazine featured a picture of the great “Emancipator of Turkey” on the cover, lauding Mustafa Kemal as one who had “lifted the people out of the slough of servile submission to alien authority, brought them to a realization of their inherent qualities and to an independence of thought and action.” From this point forward countless articles were written about Turkey, culminating sixteen years later when National Geographic published an extensive article entitled “The Transformation of Turkey” accompanied by twenty-three colorful and evocative photographs depicting “Old Pattern and New.”32 More ambitious travelers took on the challenge of writing books. Those who ventured to offer biographical accounts of Mustafa Kemal even benefited from personal audiences that the president himself granted the authors.33 These books bore evocative titles such as Gray Wolf: The Life of Kemal Ataturk; Turkey in Travail: The Birth of a New Nation; Das land Kamâl Atatürks: Der Werdegang der modernen Türkei; Mustapha Kemal ou L’Orient en marche; Allah Dethroned: A Journey through Modern Turkey; and The Rebirth of Turkey.34 In each case, the authors readily imbibed Kemalist rhetoric related to secularization and modernization; they then repeated this to their Western readers. Even scholars who earlier had evinced a dislike for the Ottoman “Turks” were no exception. This change of heart was most clearly evident in the writings of the influential historian Arnold Toynbee. In the midst of World War I he had excoriated the “evil” Turks— “a band of freebooters from Central Asia”—for the treatment of the Ottoman Armenian population in his booklet The Murderous Tyranny of the Turks.35 Reporting on the conflict in Anatolia in 1921, he had

16 how happy to Call oneself a turk

begun to develop considerable sympathy for the Turks in the face of Greek atrocities. Remarkably, by 1926 Toynbee had sacrificed the prestigious Koraes Chair in Greek and Byzantine Studies at King’s College, London, to become an ardent admirer of Mustafa Kemal and the new Turkey. Turkey (his history of the new state, written with Kenneth Kirkwood) was unabashedly adulatory. Mustafa Kemal, driven by a “revolutionary zeal,” was thoroughly transforming the country: “the ideals of Western civilization are permeating the country and gradually converting it from an Oriental community, depressed by the weight of Islamic laws and customs and the incubus of superstition, into a Westernized community enlightened in its outlook and progressive in its attitude.”36 Toynbee’s various publications, in fact, were among the most important foreign sources on which the emerging Western historical narrative would be based in the years immediately after World War II. Three of the scholarly works that defined this tradition are particularly noteworthy. The first is Turkey by Geoffrey Lewis, published in 1955.37 A newly minted professor of the Turkish language at Oxford, Lewis wrote his work as a contribution to the Nations of the Modern World series and consciously built on the model first established by Toynbee and Kirkwood in their 1926 history by the same title. Following their example, Lewis situated the history of the Turkish Republic in the broader context of the decline of the Ottoman Empire and the onset of modernization in the nineteenth century. The second text is The Emergence of Modern Turkey by Bernard Lewis.38 A classic Orientalist by training, Lewis held an endowed chair in Near and Middle Eastern history in the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London. Although The Emergence of Modern Turkey was not published until 1961, it was based on research that Lewis conducted in Turkey during the early 1950s, when he published a number of articles on contemporary developments. The third text is Atatürk: A Biography of Mustafa Kemal, Father of Modern Turkey written by Lord Kinross (Patrick Balfour). This too was published in the 1960s, but it was the culmination of a long-standing fascination with “Asia Minor” that Kinross first developed during a series of trips throughout Turkey between 1947 and 1954—precisely the period when Turks were engaged in debating Mustafa Kemal’s legacy and in confirming him as the living symbol of the nation. Initially Kinross published two accounts in the vein of classic Orientalist travel literature, before embarking on his extensive research into the

introduCtion 17

life of Mustafa Kemal.39 No other biography of Mustafa Kemal rivaled his extremely readable account until Andrew Mango published his work in 1999.40 The foundation for the Western historical narrative that these three texts established was faithful to the national narrative emerging in Turkey after 1945 (explored in the following chapters) and incorporated important modifications to the Kemalist interpretation of the Ottoman past. The foreign authors readily accepted Mustafa Kemal’s assertion concerning the existence of an ancient, primordial Turkish nation; however, they also drew attention to connections between modern Turkey and its Ottoman heritage, freely interchanging the words “Turkey” and “Ottoman Empire” with regard to developments in the nineteenth century. As a result, the establishment of the Republic of Turkey appears to be an inevitable, natural occurrence, intimately tied to the narrative of reform and modernization. At the same time, the authors cast Mustafa Kemal as the primary protagonist in the emergence of the modern Turkish nation. To be sure, Kinross—writing self-consciously in the biographical tradition first established by Harold Armstrong’s Gray Wolf—did not shy away from recording Mustafa Kemal’s less attractive personality traits. But at no time did Geoffrey Lewis, Bernard Lewis, or Lord Kinross call into question the nationalist version of history with Mustafa Kemal at its center. These works perpetuate the earlier Western preoccupation with Mustafa Kemal as the great secular modernizer. Each leaves no doubt that he was responsible for rescuing his nation from near demise and subsequently for transforming it—to the point that they credit him with “creating” a “new Turkey.”41 An almost continuous refrain of dates and reform legislation runs through these books. The story of transformation is charted chronologically from one reform to another, thereby providing the sense of total change predicated on the assumption that legislation passed in Ankara inevitably altered society in toto. In this vein, the authors all but trip over their words in their eagerness to use hyperbole to exalt Mustafa Kemal. According to Kinross, in “a few hours Kemal had swept away an epoch of history.” Whereas for the previous century reformers had waged “a slow battle against religious conservatism,” Mustafa Kemal had abruptly accelerated it and brought it “to its logical end,” becoming the “first ruler to openly assault and vanquish the entrenched forces of an orthodox Muslim state.”42 In the words of Geoffrey Lewis, Mustafa Kemal drove the people “along the road to Western civilization” and “forced the Turks to emerge from

18 how happy to Call oneself a turk

the crumbling ruins of the Ottoman Empire and to become a nation, at a time when many European and Asiatic peoples were lapsing into demoralization and despair amidst the wreckage of ancient empires.”43 Finally, Bernard Lewis cast Mustafa Kemal as a “brilliant and inspired leader who snatched the Sick Man of Europe from his death-bed and infused him with a new life and vitality”; he fashioned “a nation from the debris of the shattered empire” and forcibly transformed the nation “from one civilization to another.”44 Quite naturally, Kinross’s narrative ends with the death of Mustafa Kemal, so in his work the narrative of total transformation remains unrivaled. The same cannot be said of the histories by Geoffrey Lewis and Bernard Lewis, who both endeavored to bring the narrative up to date, to the early years of the post–World War II era. Consequently their books contain a fundamental contradiction.45 Indeed, this contradiction underlies the Western narrative of Turkish history: specifically the reality that, despite the Turkish Revolution, Islam remains alive and well in Turkey. Both authors were aware that some scholars already had suggested the need for more nuance in analyses of Mustafa Kemal’s efforts at secular reform;46 but it was their own experiences in Turkey, while preparing their books, that forced them to recognize that the Turkish Revolution had not resulted in the eradication of Islam from Turkish society. Contrary to the view that had come to prevail in interwar Europe, religion had not been marginalized. In fact, Geoffrey Lewis and Bernard Lewis were only two of the scholars who witnessed the vitality of Muslim beliefs and practices in Turkey and published articles drawing attention to this fact in scholarly journals of the time. Whereas earlier Western writers had noted the absence of Turks at regular prayers, Geoffrey Lewis commented on the overwhelming popular participation, to the point that the “vicinity of a Turkish mosque on Fridays is nowadays an astonishing spectacle.”47 Bernard Lewis and Geoffrey Lewis therefore not only stressed the topos of “total transformation” but also acknowledged that in fact the story was more complicated. Juxtaposed with the gross generalizations of wholesale change are admissions that the reality was very different. Geoffrey Lewis could not help concluding that “Turkey is still a Muslim land,”48 while Bernard Lewis wrote that “Islam is too deeply rooted an element in the Turkish national identity to be lightly cast aside.”49 In the end they had no choice but to qualify earlier statements: thus reforms aimed at women, it turns out, had no impact beyond urban centers and wholesale transformation did not occur.50 Bernard Lewis

introduCtion 19

concluded that in “spite of all this, there is much evidence that the secularization of Turkey was never quite as complete as was sometimes believed . . . the deepest Islamic roots of Turkish life and culture are still alive, and the ultimate identity of Turk and Muslim in Turkey is still unchallenged.”51 Dependent as they were on Kemalist and Western sources, and too close to the developments they observed to obtain critical distance, these scholars were unable to reconcile Islam in Turkey with the narrative of secular transformation to which they were unequivocally loyal. The inevitable contradictions in their texts echo the Kemalist tendency to render Turkish history in terms of a bitter conflict between the forces of progress and conservative tradition. Kinross’s intimate portrayal of Atatürk presents him in a perpetual battle against “reactionary sentiments” exploited and fanned by fanatical religious extremists.52 Earlier, Geoffrey Lewis had offered this same analytical framework for interpreting events during the Atatürk era, not hesitating to subscribe to the notion that the country faced a threat from the “fanatically religious,” who were capable of actions described as “hideous” manifestations of “religious reaction.”53 It fell to Bernard Lewis, however, to enshrine in the prevailing narrative the most enduring images of this conflict between the modern nation and “the forces of reaction.” In The Emergence of Modern Turkey he employed the phrase “clash of civilizations” that has become so ubiquitous in more recent years. He did so in assessing the bleak prospects for a “synthesis of the best elements of West and East” in Turkey.54 Immediately after World War II, therefore, a new generation of foreign scholars passed up the opportunity to offer a critical interpretation of the founding of the Turkish nation-state. Instead they adopted the essence of the Kemalist historical narrative and projected it through an Orientalist lens for Western readers eager to learn of surprising developments in the “Orient.” Mustafa Kemal represented the antithesis of the “backward” Near or Middle East, and the West was flattered by his determination to imitate modern Western civilization. Given the long tradition of Western discomfort with, even hostility toward, the East and especially Islam, Mustafa Kemal offered a rare reason for Orientalists to express confidence in the possibility of change and progress beyond the boundaries of Europe.55 After 1945 foreign scholars arriving in Turkey were well aware that the total transformation trumpeted by foreign writers during the interwar period had not occurred, in particular that “secularism” had not resulted in an end to Islam in Turkey.

20 how happy to Call oneself a turk

Although they duly noted this, their own predisposition—and that of the readers for whom they wrote—was to retain an emphasis on Mustafa Kemal as secular reformer and modernizer. That this predisposition remains current in Western representations of Turkish history accounts in large part for the prevailing contradiction concerning Islam and secularism that fails to explain the reality that is Turkey today.

a soCial history of national identity The social history of national identity formation explored in this book explicitly challenges those perspectives on Turkish history that concentrate on the person and ideas of Mustafa Kemal. The prevailing topos of total transformation—with laiklik at its core—derives from an emphasis on Mustafa Kemal himself and on the litany of reform legislation introduced by his government. It is not based as much on careful consideration of the actual impact of the Turkish Revolution and popular reception of the reforms. The tendency has been to assume that legislation passed in Ankara radically altered the daily lives of Turks, that Mustafa Kemal alone created the Turkish nation.56 Enduring and inspiring though this narrative may be, it is severely deficient. We must perforce move beyond it. Undoubtedly Mustafa Kemal did play an important role in Turkish history, but we can no longer exalt his contribution to the exclusion of all else. Although political scientists—and to a lesser degree sociologists and anthropologists—are now engaged in examining and explaining the complexities of Turkey today, they sorely lack the benefit of a mature and independent historical literature that might enable them to situate recent events in their appropriate historical contexts. Scholars are correct to argue that significant social, economic, and political change in the late 1980s and early 1990s contributed to more recent developments, but they do so in part because of the dearth of historical studies that consider catalysts for change over the much longer term. The extensive literature that perpetuates the focus on Mustafa Kemal simply fails to constitute an adequate foundation on which to build a comprehensive explanation of the forces that have contributed to the making of Turkey as we know it today. In recent decades some Turkish and foreign scholars have challenged the prevailing emphasis on Mustafa Kemal in the historical narrative.57 Although this movement has been slow to take root, it appears that we are on the cusp of a fruitful period in which the richness and

introduCtion 21

complexity of Turkish history will be revealed. This book is a contribution to these efforts, adopting a sociohistorical perspective to examine the intersection between Mustafa Kemal’s vision for a modern secular nation and the experiences of the people. It explores the dynamism resulting from Mustafa Kemal’s commitment to laiklik but also the undeniable continuing importance to the people of their identities as Muslims. Ultimately this dynamism resulted in the crystallization of a popular Muslim national identity in Turkey: however, it did not occur under Mustafa Kemal’s tutelage during the Turkish Revolution but after his death, as a direct result of political liberalization beginning in 1945. In the first decade of multiparty politics, conditions permitted the unprecedented emergence of a national print culture through which Turks across the country began to participate in the process of debating the nation. It was as a result of this debate that the people negotiated a sufficiently generous and flexible notion of the nation to accommodate—rather than exclude—their identities as Muslims. To make this argument, the first two chapters address the interrelated themes of print culture, Islam and secularism, and nationalism as they relate to the late Ottoman Empire and early Turkish Republic. Here the emphasis is upon the absence of a popular national identity prior to 1945. Chapter 1 addresses the genesis of the very notion of a “Turkish nation” and the assumption that Mustafa Kemal in fact succeeded in creating this “nation” through the Turkish Revolution after World War I. I challenge his own claims that the Republic of Turkey is but the latest and greatest manifestation of the Turkish nation in world history. Rather, the Turkish nation is thoroughly new and modern. Mustafa Kemal’s efforts to create a modern nation did not reach fruition, however, because they were limited by the authoritarian nature of his rule and the meaning he attached to laiklik. Chapter 2 examines in detail Mustafa Kemal’s efforts to imagine the Turkish nation into existence and to use print media to narrate both its distant and immediate history. An examination of print culture during the singleparty period shows that Mustafa Kemal indeed laid the foundation for a Turkish national identity, with himself at its center; but in his concern to control both the message and the medium he precluded the possibility that the people might actively contribute to the definition of the nation. In the absence of common legal rights and a mass public culture, the formation of the Turkish nation remained an unfinished enterprise throughout the single-party era. Subsequent chapters make the case for locating the crystallization

22 how happy to Call oneself a turk

of a Muslim national identity in Turkey in the decade following World War II. Chapter 3 explores the emergence of a national print culture after 1945 in the context of the first decade of multiparty politics. It considers the relative importance of metropolitan and provincial newspapers to this print culture, arguing that the rapid growth of the latter is what is most noteworthy about these years. For the first time, provincial newspapers provided people across the country with the opportunity to contribute to the theatre of the nation. Thus a national print culture was the product of a flourishing printing and publishing industry, new press freedoms, and various other aspects of modernization that began to break down the isolation of rural Turks and allow them the opportunity to participate in public debate for the first time. Chapter 4 argues that most noteworthy among the variety of publications that appeared between 1945 and 1954 was the unprecedented number of new religious periodicals. I situate these in the context of political debate concerning Islam, laiklik, and the nation and then examine various types of religious publications: those devoted to educating the people and those that adopted a more activist stance, engaging in public debate concerning the relationship between the religious and the national. Religious publications appeared in the provinces as well as in metropolitan centers. The chapter concludes with observations on how they influenced editors of mainstream political newspapers in the provinces to adopt far more generous and sensitive attitudes toward Islam than had been the case during the Atatürk era. This visibility of religion and validation of religious identities in the national print culture was instrumental in enabling people to begin identifying with the Turkish nation. The emergence of a national print culture constituted the critical arena within which the Turkish nation might be debated after 1945, beginning an era of contestation. Examination of print media suggests two axes along which a popular national identity emerged in these years. Chapter 5 considers the axis of Turkey’s place in the emerging Cold War world and the Turks’ concern to identify their nation as independent but also as central to Western efforts to combat both communism and Soviet imperialism. As Turks imagined their country in the wider global context, they very much cast it as a Muslim nation combating Soviet communism. Chapter 6 addresses the axis of history and how Turks imagined their nation’s past after 1945. Print media devoted considerable atten-

introduCtion 23

tion to this topic, involving two important dimensions of public debate. The first was popular determination not to scrutinize developments of the Atatürk era but rather to enshrine Mustafa Kemal as beyond criticism at the center of the new national identity. The second dimension was the introduction of an important modification to the Kemalist historical narrative with reference to the Ottoman past. An examination of how print media presented the Turkish nation in relationship to the Ottoman Empire—in light of the content of print culture during the single-party period—leaves no doubt that for Turks their Ottoman past was important. Moreover, as celebrations of Constantinople’s 500th anniversary in 1953 demonstrate, the new national historical narrative acknowledged that this was not just an Ottoman past but also an Ottoman Muslim past. Religion therefore comes across in print media as integral to popular definitions of the Turkish nation, but this in and of itself generated an intense debate throughout the country after 1945. Chapter 7 examines this debate as it was manifested in print, for here we see clearly the negotiation of the nation. Those involved in the production of religious print media of course believed that they were exercising their rights to engage in a public dialogue concerning the meaning of laiklik and the place of Islam in Turkish society. Secular Kemalists, however, viewed this new discourse as disturbing, even threatening to the nation that Mustafa Kemal had envisioned and with which they identified. For the first time, a discourse of difference was allowed to take place—and it did so in the newly flourishing print media of the time. In fact, this debate proved short-lived, for authoritarian rule again reared its head with efforts to suppress the freedoms of the press and expression in 1953–1954. Nonetheless, by this time the national print culture had become deeply rooted, and the Muslim national identity to which it had contributed had been clearly defined. The process was by no means complete and in many ways continues to ferment to this day. Identity itself constitutes a constructed category rather than a primordial, organic state and is far more fluid than nationalists like to acknowledge. Moreover, national identity is not exclusive of other identities: they can and do coexist, grafted to each other. This book puts flesh on the bones of the narrative of nation formation as it relates to the emergence of a popular Muslim national identity in modern Turkey. I neither take for granted the existence of a national identity nor accept that one man alone might be credited with creating the nation. It was only in 1923, after the establishment of the Repub-

24 how happy to Call oneself a turk

lic of Turkey, that a state unambiguously began to mandate the existence of a Turkish national identity. Prior to this, identification with the idea of a Turkish nation had been limited to a small portion of the Ottoman Turkish elite familiar with European nationalist discourse. If one pervasive collective identity existed, then it was primarily religious, based on popular loyalty to the Muslim Ottoman dynasty. Therefore this book explores how people came to include identification with the Turkish “nation” among a repertoire of other identities, the most important of which were religious.

CHapter 1

iMagining the seCular nation: Mustafa keMal and the Creation of Modern turkey

In every phase of the period of decline . . . the borders of the State of Turkey narrowed a bit more, the spiritual and material strengths of the Turkish nation failed a bit more, the state’s independence was challenged, the wealth of land as well as the nation’s honor and population were destroyed and corrupted with a determined speed. Finally in the period of Vahdettin’s sultanate—as the 36th and last exalted Ottoman sultan—the Turkish nation was brought before the deepest chasm of captivity. Mustafa keMal, noveMber 1, 1922 Continuing for many years, the Turkish Revolution [ Türk inkılâbı] has undertaken the effort to secure and confirm in the law its very existence and mentality, as well as the new principles that are the foundation of social life. What does the Turkish Revolution mean? This revolution [inkılâp] denotes a far more extensive transformation than the idea of political revolution [ihtilâl ] which at first it alludes to. Mustafa keMal, noveMber 5, 1925

tHese first two CHapters make the case for the absence of a popular national identity in Turkey prior to 1945. Not only did the “Turkish nation” not predate the establishment of the Republic of Turkey in 1923, but Mustafa Kemal did not succeed in inculcating in the people an identification with the new nation that he set about creating through the Turkish Revolution. Until political liberalization began in 1945, two elements critical to the existence of the modern nation were notably absent. In early republican Turkey people had neither the freedom to exercise common legal rights nor a mass public culture in which they might participate. Consequently I advance a theoretical explanation of the formation of a popular national identity in Turkey that

26 how happy to Call oneself a turk

depends on the manifestation of these critical elements after the passing of the country’s founding president and the authoritarian regime over which he presided. The Turkish nation and a popular national identity in Turkey are new, largely the products of the twentieth century. Contrary to the nationalist historical narrative that emerged after the establishment of the Turkish Republic in 1923, neither the nation nor popular identification with that nation can be taken for granted: they require an explanation. The processes by which the inhabitants of Anatolia and Eastern Thrace came to identify as “Turks” constitute a critical dimension of the social history of the transformation from Ottoman Empire to Turkish nation-state. Moreover, they offer a healthy corrective to the overemphasis on the Kemalist elite’s commitment to imagine a nation, to establish territorial sovereignty on behalf of a people, and then to inculcate in them a national identity. Mustafa Kemal Atatürk was one of the great nationalists of the twentieth century. He seized on the new international order following World War I and not only imagined the existence of a “Turkish nation” and the possibility of an independent Turkish nation-state but devoted his life to an effort to realize this vision. On November 1, 1922, after the formal dissolution of the 600-year-old Ottoman Empire by the new Grand National Assembly of Turkey, Mustafa Kemal reminded its members that only three years earlier the “nation” had been on the brink of disaster at the hands of the last, corrupt Ottoman sultan. One year later, on October 29, 1923, upon the proclamation of the new Republic of Turkey and his election as its president, Mustafa Kemal declared that the same nation had achieved its destiny through the establishment of its own independent state in the heartland of the former Ottoman Empire. In so doing the Turkish nation had demonstrated that it belonged among the modern, “civilized” nations of the world.1 Mustafa Kemal’s words illustrate the immense power of nationalism to generate retrospective historical narratives that represent the past in terms favorable to the emergence of modern nation-states. Nationalist historical narratives take it for granted that the nation is the natural and primordial form of human collective identity, each nation deriving from unique and innate cultural attributes that dictate an individual’s own primary identification with the nation. At the same time they emphasize that, despite the primordial character of national identification, over the course of history any given nation has faced numerous obstacles to organizing as an independent sociopolitical entity; conse-

iMagining the seCular nation 27

quently the realization of an independent nation-state in modern times ostensibly follows centuries, even millennia, of pregnant expectation. Nationalist historical narratives therefore convey this history with a teleological certainty that represents the nation in the past with remarkable clarity. In the course of establishing the new Turkish state, Mustafa Kemal claimed for the nation a history suitable to its present circumstances. Drawing on a cultural Turkish nationalism that members of the Ottoman elite had begun to articulate in the late nineteenth century, he posited the existence of a conscious collective Turkish identity (an ethnically derived nation) in the distant past. This Turkish nation had established numerous states in Central Asia. In the tenth century it had begun to adopt Islam as its creed, whereupon Islam entered into a new—and allegedly its most magnificent—period of history.2 Yet the very success of the Turkish nation was also nearly the cause of its demise. In founding and then submitting to dynastic empires (such as those of the Selçuks and Ottomans) as well as thoroughly converting to Islam, the Turkish nation all but disappeared from memory, only to be revived much later in the nineteenth century. The establishment of the Republic of Turkey in 1923 was therefore a natural step in the revival of the Turkish nation. As its leader Mustafa Kemal took it upon himself not only to revive the Turkish nation but also to re-create it as a modern nation deserving of a place in the Western world. Attractive though such a rendition of the past is in terms of imagining the emergence of the present nation-state world order, scholars standing outside nationalist movements take issue with nationalist historical narratives. After all, the very raison d’être of nationalist movements is first to secure and preserve “autonomy, unity and identity on behalf of a population” that an elite imagines to “constitute an actual or potential ‘nation’” and then to subsume previous popular identities through the inculcation of a new national identity.3 Contrary to the very tenets of nationalism, scholars generally agree that the nation is a thoroughly modern concept and that collective identity and sociopolitical organization in the past were shaped along multiple and concurrent axes, such as gender, kinship, dynasty, locality, socioeconomic class, ethnicity, and religion. Narratives that project the existence of nations back into time and assert the primacy of national identities are largely the product of fertile elite imaginations. Certainly, neither elite conceptions of the nation nor popular national identities are conjured out of nothing; they do draw on a trove of cultural traits, some of

28 how happy to Call oneself a turk

which have a greater capacity than others to bond together an otherwise diverse people. Nevertheless, the very idea of the nation and the existence of nation-states are relatively new; and popular identification with the nation has not been one of the primary motive forces in history until very recently.4 Today the very notions of the “nation” and “identity” are under scrutiny, and their validity as categories of analysis is even contested. Increasingly, nationalist assertions that the nation is the most important form of collective identity are subject to critical appraisal.5 Similarly, identity—collective or individual—is exceedingly complicated, and scholars no longer talk about it as confidently as they once did. Identity is neither innate nor simply produced by acts of the individual will.6 Identity cannot merely be reduced to a single essence: it is not necessarily as coherent as we might like to think, but rather fragmentary and contradictory in nature. To some degree it may be more appropriate to refer to “identification” rather than “identity,” because the former points to both a degree of ambivalence and the ongoing nature of a process without clear beginning or end.7 Identities are instrumentalist to a degree, consciously drawing as they do on symbols, commonalities of language, and shared memories. But they also represent an unconscious dimension derived from practices embedded in early life according to the community in which an individual grows up—what Pierre Bourdieu has defined as “habitual dispositions” or “habitus.”8 Thus identity is neither singular nor exclusive, neither innate nor entirely constructed. Identification with the nation therefore is the result of a multilayered, multidirectional process in which negotiation and redefinition are ongoing. In the case of Turkey, national identity formation had its origins in the late nineteenth century with the very conception of the idea of a Turkish nation; but a popular national identity did not reach fruition until the years immediately after World War II. This chapter challenges two persistent themes that are the result of the enduring impact of the nationalist historical narrative that emerged under Mustafa Kemal. The first is Mustafa Kemal’s assertion that a Turkish nation already possessing its own identity existed prior to 1923. This was patently false. Although historians have long acknowledged the exaggerated nature of the Kemalist narrative, they still have a remarkable tendency to conflate the Ottoman Empire and the Turkish Republic, to view their histories as different stages in a single nation’s history. The second theme that this chapter refutes is the notion that Mus-

iMagining the seCular nation 29

tafa Kemal should be credited with successfully creating the new Turkish nation through his ambitious program of modernizing reforms. Undoubtedly he did lay an essential foundation for the Turkish nation, but when we consider the degree to which the people actually identified with this nation prior to 1945, it is clear that his efforts fell short of complete creation of a nation. I argue that this was due in no small part to Mustafa Kemal’s determination to implement his policy of laiklik as the defining aspect of the Turkish Revolution. In fact, this constituted an obstacle to the possibility that people might actually identify with the nation that he imagined.

nationalisM and authoritarian governMent (1925 –1945) As president of a newly established state, Mustafa Kemal looked to the ideas of late nineteenth-century Turkish nationalists to define what he imagined to be a modern secular nation suitable to the new world order following World War I. Nationalism and the historical narratives it spawns are inherently intolerant of the possibility that the people might possess any identity other than that rooted in the nation. Emphasis is upon the unitary nature of that nation: difference or diversity is forcefully repressed in an effort to enforce conformity with the nationalist ethos.9 The Turkish nationalism that Mustafa Kemal came to espouse after 1923 was no exception: he claimed not only that a Turkish nation already existed but that it was his responsibility to transform it into a modern nation. In so doing he demanded that all other previous collective and individual identities be subsumed within the far more important collective identity that was the nation. To realize this goal Mustafa Kemal introduced what was to become two decades of single-party authoritarian rule under the Republican People’s Party (Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi), buttressed by legislation designed to limit the freedoms exercised by the people. The result was what the Italian count Carlo Sforza described as Europe’s only “successful dictatorship” before 1931.10 The Republic of Turkey was the product of the intense conflict that engulfed Anatolia and Eastern Thrace upon the conclusion of World War I. In those years Mustafa Kemal had emerged as the dominant figure in an Anatolian resistance movement against foreign occupation. Then, at the end of what became known as the War of Independence (1919–1922), he faced the challenge of translating his leadership

30 how happy to Call oneself a turk

into control over the Grand National Assembly of Turkey and over the territory it claimed as constituting the sovereign state of Turkey. Such a task was by no means easy, for among the new nationalist elite were those who had become disillusioned with Mustafa Kemal’s autocratic tendencies as well as distrustful of his intentions concerning the future. Mustafa Kemal’s position within the Grand National Assembly became considerably less precarious with the victory of the Anatolian resistance movement and the evacuation of Greek troops from Izmir in September 1922. In short order he outmaneuvered his opponents and abolished the sultanate. In the spring of 1923 he dissolved the Assembly and successfully manipulated subsequent elections so that neither members of the self-declared opposition within the Assembly (the Second Group [Ikinci Grup]) nor those of the former Committee of Union and Progress (CUP) were elected as representatives. Yet many in the Grand National Assembly still retained a loyalty to the Ottoman dynasty and a concern to preserve the caliphate. They were also opposed to the proclamation of the Republic, and their criticisms of Mustafa Kemal’s iconoclastic approach to nation-state creation between November 1922 and March 1925 were constantly voiced in the Istanbul press.11 Even the trial of a number of newspaper editors before an Independence Tribunal failed to mute the debate. On March 3, 1924, the Grand National Assembly approved legislation abolishing the caliphate and exiling all members of the Ottoman dynasty.12 Disillusioned with the government’s polices, a small group of deputies under the leadership of Hüseyin Rauf (Orbay) resigned from the Republican People’s Party and established a formal opposition, the Progressive Republican Party (Terrakkiperver Cumhuriyet Fırkası), in November 1924. Soon it became clear that the new party could generate considerable support across the country. In the wake of the Şeyh Sait Kurdish rebellion in eastern Anatolia in early February 1925, the government ignored opposition from the Progressive Republican Party and passed the infamous Law for the Maintenance of Order (Takrir-i Sükûn Kanunu) and revived the Independence Tribunals (Istiklâl Mahkemeleri) that had been established during the War of Independence.13 On the pretext that the Progressive Republican Party had somehow incited the rebellion and also exploited religion for political purposes contrary to the recently amended High Treason Law, the government then dissolved the party on June 3, 1925.14

iMagining the seCular nation 31

Thus formal political debate and multiparty politics in Turkey effectively came to an end. But Mustafa Kemal was not yet without rivals. Hence the political revolution continued, and for the next year the country was submerged in a wave of political oppression. Reconstituted Independence Tribunals prosecuted Mustafa Kemal’s opponents across the country. All told, thousands of people were tried between 1925 and 1927: sentences varied considerably, but hundreds of death sentences were issued.15 Significantly, those tried included not only Anatolian notables, tribal leaders, Sufi şeyhs, and members of the ulema but also former members of the Progressive Republican Party. Then in 1926, following an alleged attempt on his life, Mustafa Kemal used the Ankara Independence Tribunal to eliminate and silence the remaining leadership of the former CUP.16 In such an oppressive atmosphere, those resolutely opposed to Mustafa Kemal’s vision for the nation and concerned for their own well-being fled the country; others he deemed suspect were exiled.17 Some managed to keep their opinions to themselves and retired from public life, while others found it possible to overcome earlier reservations and became active members of the ruling elite. From the summer of 1925 onward Mustafa Kemal governed Turkey as its president and as the leader of the sole political party, his Republican People’s Party. He did so virtually uncontested, except for a brief moment in 1930. Perhaps in an effort to stem public discontent with economic problems resulting from the Great Depression, in the summer of that year Mustafa Kemal asked his friend Ali Fethi Bey (Okyar) to establish a new opposition party within the Grand National Assembly.18 Again Turks demonstrated an eagerness to participate in multiparty politics, and the new Free Party (Serbest Cumhuriyet Fırkası) garnered considerable support at public rallies and then in local elections in October. Concurrently, intense acrimony within the Assembly convinced Mustafa Kemal that open political debate was not in the country’s best interests; at his behest, Fethi Bey shut down the Free Party on November 16. These events were soon followed by the infamous momentary “uprising” at Menemen on December 23, which in no way threatened the security and stability of the country, Kemalist rhetoric to the contrary. The state’s violent response to this event—including the execution of twenty-eight alleged “reactionaries”—left no doubt in anyone’s mind that no form of political or public opposition to Mustafa Kemal’s regime would be tolerated from this point forward.19

32 how happy to Call oneself a turk

The year 1930 is often cited as a pivotal time in the history of the young Republic, for it marked the end to any experimentation in democracy and the beginning of the clear articulation of Kemalism as a full-fledged ideology defining the authoritarian state. Turkish politics between 1931 and the spring of 1945 reflected similar trends in other European countries at the time. This authoritarianism was evident in the passage of a draconian Press Law in 1931 and the subsequent repression of free speech. The state’s increasingly ideological nature was manifested in the articulation of the six principles or “arrows” of Kemalism in May 1931 by the Republican People’s Party. Arguably the most important of these was the principle of laiklik (secularism). Then the party established People’s Houses and People’s Rooms across the country in an effort to indoctrinate the population. In 1937 the six principles of Kemalism were formally incorporated within the Constitution of 1924.20 Mustafa Kemal died on November 10, 1938, but Turkey continued to be ruled by a single-party authoritarian government. He was replaced as president by his longtime ally and prime minister, İsmet İnönü, who then faced the challenge of navigating Turkey through World War II. An authoritarian regime served the purpose particularly well, as İnönü resisted intense pressure from all sides and insisted upon Turkey’s neutrality. On January 18, 1940, the Grand National Assembly passed the National Defense Law (Millî Korunma Kanunu), which granted the government extraordinary powers. Then on May 22 it passed legislation that later would legitimize the declaration of martial law in Istanbul and its environs in November of that year.21 Nevertheless, İnönü lacked not only the stature of Mustafa Kemal but also the same strength of conviction: almost immediately upon assuming the presidency he indicated a willingness to entertain political opposition. He permitted some of Mustafa Kemal’s most prominent opponents to return to public politics and established an Independent Group to provide opposition within the Grand National Assembly.22 Indeed, as İnönü struggled to preserve Turkey’s neutrality in the war and wrestled with mounting economic and social difficulties throughout the country, opposition did ferment among deputies after general elections on February 15–20, 1943, as well as among some of Istanbul’s most prominent journalists writing for newspapers such as Tan (Dawn), Vatan (Fatherland), and Tasvir-i Efkâr (Description of Ideas).23 This opposition would eventually lead to the establishment of multiparty politics in Turkey and the negotiation of a popular national identity, starting in 1945.

iMagining the seCular nation 33

the genesis of the turkish nation The seductive appeal of the Turkish nationalism that Mustafa Kemal espoused obscures the mythical qualities inherent in its own historical narrative. It is true that Turkish as well as related Turkic languages were spoken in Central or Inner Asia well before the emergence in recorded history of the Türk Empire in the sixth century and that thereafter the term “Türk” does appear as a political designation, perhaps even used for the purposes of self-description by those speaking Turkish. Thus, for example, as early as the ninth century Arabic sources identified “Turks” (at-turk, pl. al-atrāk) as a homogenous people, albeit in mostly derogatory terms. Nevertheless, this does not mean that these people shared a common collective identity. It is important to emphasize that both identity and the nation are far more complex phenomena than nationalists might otherwise like to admit: language on its own does not make for a common identity.24 It is fanciful to suggest that all those speaking Turkish identified with each other as members of the same “nation” when in fact Turkic Central Asian society reflected considerable diversity in terms of the physiological features of the people, lifestyle, religion, and forms of political organization. Little or no evidence suggests that under these conditions people realized that “they had much in common.”25 Therefore the Kemalist historical narrative is incorrect to posit that a collective Turkish identity was later submerged in Islam and dynastic empires: this identity simply did not exist; nor was it waiting to emerge from obscurity to forge its own nation-state when conditions allowed. Scholars vigorously debate how to define the “Turkishness” of the Ottoman Empire. After all, the Ottoman dynasty emerged from among the Turkomen tribes inhabiting western Anatolia in the thirteenth century, and Turkish remained the most commonly spoken language in Ottoman Anatolia. Yet Anatolian society was anything but homogenous: Ottoman society retained a multiethnic and multireligious character. The population of both Anatolia and Ottoman provinces in general included Christians, Jews, and Muslims as well as people speaking numerous diverse languages. Ottoman Turkish may have provided a unifying administrative language, but its vocabulary and structure reflected the strong influence of Persian and Arabic on elite Ottoman culture. In this context, people still did not identify themselves as “Turks”; other cultural and religious identities predominated.26 Significantly, however, beyond the frontiers of the Ottoman Empire

34 how happy to Call oneself a turk

itself Europeans did conceive of Ottoman Muslims in unitary terms. As early as the late twelfth century Europeans had begun to refer to Anatolia as “Turkey,” occupied as it was by Turkomen tribes who had recently migrated from Central Asia. By the fifteenth century among Europeans the ethnolinguistic signifier “Turk” had come to refer to the Muslim population of the “East” in general. Its usage in European literature reflects conflicting conceptions of the East: at some times a fascination with the exotic (the “Lustful Turk”), at others a fear of some great menace (the “Terrible Turk”).27 Only as a result of the OttomanTurkish elite’s growing familiarity with European writings and ideas in the nineteenth century did the very term “Turk” begin to gain currency not as a derogatory reference to the uncouth Anatolian peasant (as had been the case when used previously) but as a source of elite pride, imbued with respect.28 Although the geographic designator “Turkey” also began to be used by the Ottoman elite at this time, it was simply synonymous with “Ottoman Empire” and did not carry the meaning that would be attached to “Turkey” in the twentieth century. Only in the late nineteenth century, therefore, do we witness the genesis of the idea of a “Turkish nation” for the first time. Initially, members of the Ottoman-Turkish elite conversant with the political and social debate current in Europe following the American and French revolutions began to adopt the idea of the nation according to its liberal definition of a sovereign people inclusive of difference rather than exclusive based on language or ethnicity. In the late Ottoman Empire trends aimed at reforming Ottoman political institutions as well as an emerging Ottoman-Turkish literature reflect the incorporation of these ideas.29 Significantly, the term adopted by Ottomans for “nation” was millet, derived from the Arabic milla, meaning literally “religion” or “confession.” In both the Qur’an and classical Arabic literature, this term refers specifically to the community of Muslims, more commonly denoted by the term ummah.30 Although scholars debate the changing meanings of the term millet over the course of Ottoman history, by the nineteenth century it undoubtedly referred primarily to the non-Muslim communities defined according to confession (especially Armenians, Greeks, and Jews). It might at times also have referred to the “Muslim millet.” Nevertheless, with the Tanzimat reforms of the nineteenth century millet also came to be associated with European liberal notions of the nation as a sovereign people, adding to rather than replacing previous meanings of the word. Therefore, in its effort to preserve the unity of

iMagining the seCular nation 35

the empire and to diminish distinctions among Christians, Jews, and Muslims, the Ottoman state promoted notions of the Ottoman millet as incorporating all people regardless of creed or ethnicity. Subsequently, two further trends generated a metamorphosis in Ottoman notions of the millet among some of the literate elite. On the one hand, European Orientalist scholars began to unearth the previously obscure histories of Turkic peoples in Central Asia, while immigrants to Ottoman lands from Russia and Central Asia drew attention to the current existence of other Turkic peoples beyond the empire. On the other hand, in the late nineteenth century in Europe conceptions of the nation underwent a significant shift toward an ethnic and exclusive definition, to the point that the nation even came to be equated with the idea of “race.” Concurrently, Orientalists speculated that a Turkish race had been rooted in ancient Central Asia, and some OttomanTurkish intellectuals familiar with the idea began to consider the possibility of a Turkish millet. Ernest Renan, in his famous lecture to the Sorbonne in 1882 (“Qu’est-ce qu’une nation?”), can only have added fuel to the fire. He allowed for the possibility of a Turkish “nation” in “Asia Minor” but concluded that the Ottoman Empire (in his words “Turkey”) could not constitute a nation precisely because it was not united, incorporating as it did peoples of distinct languages and religions.31 This absence of unity constituted an insurmountable obstacle to the small number of Ottoman-Turkish intellectuals enamored with the possibility of a state representing a purely Turkish nation. Even as the Ottoman Balkan provinces broke away to establish independent states and the remaining Ottoman lands incorporated far fewer Christians than Muslims, the empire continued to reflect significant ethnic diversity in terms of its sizable Arab and Kurdish as well as Turkish populations. The degree to which the Young Turks and then (after the Revolution of 1908) the CUP governments were committed to a policy of “Turkification” in an effort to realize an ethnic Turkish state remains a moot point. Out of necessity, however, in the face of European imperialism “Ottomanism” remained the predominant ideology among the Ottoman elite (Arab, Turkish, or Kurdish), and terms such as “Turk,” “Ottoman,” and “Muslim” were largely coterminous in public discourse. The Ottoman millet was understood as that polity which incorporated the various ethnic elements within the empire who shared a common bond as Muslims and as subjects of the sultan-caliph. At the same time, the Ottoman elite also recognized that European associations with “Turkey” or the Ottoman Empire were increasingly

36 how happy to Call oneself a turk

negative. Europeans had come to construe race and nation in hierarchical terms, influenced by Charles Darwin’s theories of evolution. Nations in Europe were imagined to exist on a superior level, altogether different from those in Africa and Asia. Moreover, and of tremendous significance to Turkish nationalism, European intellectuals placed the “Turkish race” in the lowest ranks of this racial hierarchy.32 Rather than being the mighty empire that had once been integral to earlymodern European economy and politics, “Turkey” was now the “Sick Man of Europe,” viewed in Europe with disdain and contempt. The atrocious treatment of Armenian and Greek Christian minorities by the Ottoman government during World War I only further cemented these prejudices, providing justification to Western diplomats determined to put an end to the Ottoman Empire once and for all. Upon the surrender of the Ottoman Empire at the conclusion of World War I, the Ottoman-Turkish leaders who assumed the mantle of leadership following the flight of leading members of the wartime CUP government were fully aware of prevailing European attitudes toward the Ottoman Empire and its “Turks.” They themselves had come of age at the turn of the century and were thoroughly conversant with European ideas of society and politics. And while they subscribed to Social Darwinism and the idea of the “survival of the fittest,” they were determined to demonstrate that Turks belonged not at the bottom of the heap but among the very fittest at the top. Nor were they about to allow Anatolia, heartland of the millet and the empire, to become yet another casualty in the so-called spread of European civilization, which in reality meant the incorporation of Asia and Africa into European colonial empires.

ottoMan MusliM nationalisM (1918 –1922) Contrary to expectations held by the leaders of the most powerful countries in the world gathered at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919, these Turks did not simply “do as they were told.” Rather, they resisted European dictates and fought to preserve what they could of the Ottoman millet—including the sultan-caliph—and ensure its place in the modern world.33 Under the leadership of Mustafa Kemal they entered into what was to become a three-year struggle both among themselves and against European allies seeking to implement the Treaty of Sèvres (1920). Quite remarkably, with final battles against Greek forces in September 1922 scarcely complete, Mustafa Kemal already had begun to

iMagining the seCular nation 37

cast these events in the context of a new nationalist narrative, intentionally rewriting history to establish a foundation on which to build the new state. In his speeches to the Grand National Assembly of Turkey, Mustafa Kemal strongly asserted the existence of a conscious and united nation: following centuries of suffering and self-sacrifice, in its recent struggle against European imperialism the Turkish nation again had demonstrated its innate abilities and determination. In the realization of a state bearing its own name rather than that of a dynasty, the nation had finally achieved its ultimate destiny. Mustafa Kemal’s words signified a transformation in the meaning assigned to the word millet as it became indivisibly associated with the new political entity that was to be the Republic of Turkey. Mustafa Kemal was a master of rhetoric. From this point forward his innumerable speeches both in the Assembly and in public are testimony to his ability at one moment to congratulate his listeners on their devotion to the millet and then at another to chastise them for their failure to contribute adequately to the transformation of the millet according to the requirements of modern civilization. Regardless of his tone, however, Mustafa Kemal steadfastly maintained a focus upon the millet, painting simple but appealing verbal images: these speeches, of course, quickly became core texts for the emerging Kemalist historical narrative. His emphasis was upon the ideals of unity and progress, and so he represented the struggle of the years 1918–1922 in terms of the nation as a phoenix rising from the ashes of the Ottoman Empire. Thereafter he would foster the idea that the War of Independence (Istiklâl Savaşı) had been a National Struggle (Millı Mücadele) or the birthing process of the nation reborn. Mustafa Kemal talked with confidence of the Turkish millet (Türk milleti ), but he was well aware that he was enshrining a new concept in public discourse. Prior to the summer of 1922—when victory against Greek forces finally seemed certain—even Mustafa Kemal had used the term “Turkish millet” only very rarely.34 Whether in writing telegrams, addressing the Grand National Assembly, or speaking to the public, he had astutely avoided reference to a Turkish nation; instead he consistently had alluded simply to the millet and implied continued loyalty to the Ottoman ideal as he endeavored to unite the disparate Anatolian people. In doing so he had in fact merely acknowledged the reality that during the struggle this was the only means to achieve his goal. Following Ottoman capitulation at the end of World War I and the signing of the Armistice at Mudros on October 31, 1918, the forma-

38 how happy to Call oneself a turk

tion of societies for the “defense of national rights” (Müdafaa-i Hukuk-u Milliye Cemiyetleri) in Eastern Thrace and throughout Anatolia occurred in light of clear plans—later enshrined in the Treaty of Sèvres— on the part of the victorious powers to occupy much of what remained of the Ottoman Empire beyond its Arab provinces. Provincial representatives of the CUP played a prominent role in organizing these societies; as each society proceeded to hold a local congress, participants made clear their commitment to preserve and protect the Ottoman sultan-caliph and his domains.35 The protocol issued after the congress in Erzurum in July 1919 stated these commitments clearly, and Mustafa Kemal’s speech opening this congress placed Anatolian resistance squarely within the larger context of anticolonial movements across Asia and Africa in the wake of World War I. Significantly, the organization under which these various societies were to be united—the Society for the Defense of the Rights of Anatolia and Rumelia (Anadolu ve Rumeli Müdafaa-i Hukuk Cemiyeti)—emphasized familiar Ottoman geographic designations rather than a territory defined in ethnic or national terms: it in no way foreshadowed a break with the Ottoman Empire.36 The Anatolian resistance movement therefore was very much a war of independence. But contrary to the Kemalist historical narrative it was not for the independence of the Turkish millet; rather it was for the independence of the sultan-caliph and the Ottoman millet from foreign imperial control (British, French, and Italian) and from the obvious designs of Greeks and Armenians on Anatolia. In contradistinction to the clarity with which Mustafa Kemal identified these enemies of the millet in his speeches at the time, he remained deliberately vague with regard to the nation itself. The implication was that the millet was united in its opposition to a common enemy and not by virtue of a common identity. Rather than being an effort to give birth to the modern Turkish nation, the Anatolian resistance movement was a struggle for selfpreservation. It was carried out in a manner similar to concurrent resistance to French and British occupation of the former Ottoman Arab provinces that were to become Iraq and Syria. Indeed, some evidence suggests that in the years 1919–1922 the leadership of Arab resistance movements and of the movement in Anatolia remained open to the possibility of mutual cooperation and even some form of political union, rather than being resolutely committed to the establishment of independent nation-states.37 Precisely what Mustafa Kemal and the leaders of the Anatolian resistance envisioned

iMagining the seCular nation 39

in terms of the future is open to debate. But until the outcome of the struggle was certain they were bound by an interpretation of the millet that reflected the inclusive meaning of the Ottoman Muslim millet and not that of the future Turkish nation. Resistance to the implementation of the Treaty of Sèvres and to foreign military occupation of Anatolia therefore coalesced around the self-identification of the vast majority of the population as Muslims and as subjects of the Ottoman sultan-caliph, heir to an illustrious Muslim dynasty. It was organized in the spirit of what Erik Jan Zürcher has described as “Ottoman Muslim nationalism.”38 This was an approach rooted in the policies pursued first by Sultan Abdülhamid II (1876–1909) and then by the CUP in efforts to emphasize the unity of the Muslim population of the Ottoman Empire even as nationalism among Christian subjects resulted in the loss of the Balkan provinces.39 Sufficiently inclusive to incorporate diverse ethnic identities and to unite them as Muslim subjects, Ottoman Muslim nationalism enabled Mustafa Kemal’s adroit manipulation of symbols and idioms associated with popular religious identities in his efforts to forge a united front in opposition to European imperialism. This alone was the one ideology that might resonate with the people of Anatolia, for it derived not from an elite vision of a future Turkish nation-state but from recognition of the realities that infused Anatolian culture and society. Thus, in forging a united Anatolian resistance, the leadership spoke not in terms of the Turkish millet that would become the focus of their energies after 1922: rather, they demonstrated that they too shared an Ottoman Muslim identity with the people. Therefore it is hardly surprising that the Anatolian resistance movement was replete with Islamic symbolism. For instance, the opening of the Grand National Assembly on April 23, 1920, was a highly evocative religious ceremony: it began at the Haci Bayram Mosque and members of the ulema played a prominent role. Public prayers were offered, sheep were sacrificed, and in this context Mustafa Kemal’s speeches (as was so often the case in these years) made frequent allusions to Ottoman and Islamic idioms, suggesting reverence for Islam and even a respect for the divine.40 It was no coincidence that in September 1921 the Grand National Assembly bestowed on him the highly symbolic title of gazi (warrior of the faith). The elite in Ankara were themselves the products of the Ottoman Muslim milieu. To be sure, many of them may have had little personal interest in matters of faith, but with this background they were able to court Sunni and Alevi leaders throughout Anatolia as well as to

40 how happy to Call oneself a turk

convince Sufi şeyhs to exercise their influence on behalf of the Anatolian resistance movement.41 Conscious of the ethnic diversity of Anatolia, the elite framed the movement in terms of Ottoman Muslim nationalism. Leaders rarely if ever employed the phrases “Turkish state” or “Turkish Grand National Assembly”; instead they deliberately used the phrases “state of Turkey” and “Grand National Assembly of Turkey” in terms suggesting that “Turkey” was synonymous with the Ottoman Empire.42 We can only speculate as to what Mustafa Kemal and the other leaders of the Anatolian resistance imagined the future to hold prior to the end of hostilities in September 1922, but they publicly declared their loyalty to the Ottoman Muslim millet. At that point a Turkish nation-state simply had not been feasible even if some among the elite had dreamed of a nation defined along these lines. Now the Ottoman millet had given way to a Turkish millet, but just what was meant by millet in these new circumstances remained ambiguous.

“ seCularisM ” and the turkish revolution Although many scholars acknowledge that the existence of a Turkish nation did not predate the establishment of the Republic of Turkey, it is still widely assumed that what Mustafa Kemal described as “modernizing” a preexisting nation in fact constituted the successful creation of the Turkish nation. If the nation had not existed before 1923, it very soon came into existence as a result of the drastic social, cultural, and institutional changes that Mustafa Kemal introduced through the Turkish Revolution. Despite the ambiguity of the rhetoric of the War of Independence, once proclaimed president, Mustafa Kemal demonstrated well-defined ideas as to how he imagined the modern Turkish millet. In a speech at the opening of the Faculty of Law in Ankara in 1925 he argued that the term inkılâp (reform/transformation) should not be understood merely in terms of the forceful removal from power of an established government or authority, a process best captured by the word ihtilâl (political revolution).43 Rather, inkılâp implied a far greater transformation than a mere political revolution.44 In his speech Mustafa Kemal made a useful distinction, for the Turkish Revolution had two dimensions. The first was the political revolution (ihtilâl ) by which he overthrew the Ottoman dynasty and began to suppress all opposition to his position as sole leader of the nation. The second dimension was reform (inkılâp), with the goal of transforming Anato-

iMagining the seCular nation 41

lian society and culture. It began with the abolition of the caliphate in March 1924 and the introduction of unprecedented legislation in an effort both to modernize the country and to diminish the influence of Ottoman Islamic institutions. The Turkish Revolution is at the center of all accounts of Turkish history, influenced as they are by a nationalist historical narrative claiming that the transformation envisioned by the Kemalist elite indeed occurred as a result of Mustafa Kemal’s determination. This notion of the Turkish Revolution as fait accompli surely took root in both Turkish and foreign literature even before Mustafa Kemal had introduced all of his reforms. Time magazine captured it well: an article on February 21, 1927, described the progress in Turkey of the “voluntary Turkish social revolution,” using language such as “monstrous, astounding innovation” and “immense and revolutionary project” and declaring that Mustafa Kemal led the people “with more success than any other backward people to catch up with the march of civilization.” Yet for all the rhetoric of modernization and transformation, we know remarkably little about just what impact the Turkish Revolution had on people living across the country and how they experienced change. This remains very much virgin territory that historians only now are beginning to explore. Grandiose Kemalist claims need to be weighed against the reality that implementation of reforms was slow and neither uniform nor complete. Alongside impressive texts such as August Ritter von Kral’s Das land Kamâl Atatürks: Der Werdegang der modernen Türkei (1937) that listed extensive evidence of modernization, we must also take into account the testimony found in numerous foreign diplomatic dispatches from the period. Consuls stationed in various cities speak of popular disappointment with the failure of elaborate plans to reconstruct and modernize the country’s infrastructure; the settlement of immigrants, without adequate support, in villages destroyed by war; the scarcity of products due to government monopolies; heavy debt and bankruptcy resulting from economic hardship; concerns about low salaries on the part of professionals such as teachers and bureaucrats; discrimination against ethnic minorities on the part of government officials; and the impact of epidemics and either drought or flood on the daily effort to survive.45 In light of von Kral’s conclusions concerning the total transformation of Turkey, these diplomatic sources appear to be contradictory, but in fact they reflect different dimensions of the same complex reality that the topos of total transformation surely fails to acknowledge.

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Nowhere is this topos more misleading than with regard to the impact of the Turkish Revolution—and the principle of laiklik in particular—on the Muslim beliefs and practices of the people. To be sure, the years of Mustafa Kemal’s presidency did represent an important effort to break with the past, and he did introduce significant changes to the way people lived their lives. The notion that the Turkish Revolution so thoroughly transformed the Anatolian people that they came to identify with that nation above all else, however, obscures the complexity inherent in the formation of a nation. Moreover, it is predicated on the false assumption that the new national identity all but replaced previous religious and ethnic identities. The transformation of the people into a modern nation allegedly depended on Allah being “dethroned.”46 Yet the historical record shows beyond a shadow of doubt that this did not occur. On the contrary, it was the implementation of the policy of laiklik itself—at the core of the Turkish Revolution—that forestalled the effective realization of a popular national identity in these years. No other concept is so readily associated with Atatürk’s Turkey as laiklik, and no other term is so difficult to define. Conflicting interpretations abound—all too often informed by presuppositions concerning the irrelevance of “religion” to the modern world. Those beyond Turkey typically assume that laiklik involved the separation of state and religion and even that it denoted Kemalists’ outright opposition to the practice of Islam. Within Turkey, critics of laiklik argue not only that Kemalism was antithetical to religion but that the Kemalist state has discriminated against Islam in that it has actually failed to allow Islamic institutions the freedom that should be a corollary of true secularism. Proponents of laiklik, in contrast, respond that Turkish laiklik is unique and that its mandate has been to protect against excesses, to purify the practice of Islam so that it might be a religion suitable to the modern nation. Regardless of how the term is defined, it is abundantly clear that laiklik did not result in the demise of Muslim faith and practice in Turkey. Allah was not dethroned, despite the modernist assumptions integral to nationalist historical narratives. Implicit in these is a model of linear progress that assumes that “traditional” cultures and societies inevitably are displaced by the “modern.” The rise of nationalism is assumed to coincide with the decline of religion.47 Indeed, Mustafa Kemal’s fame as a nation-builder derives from his reforms aimed at replacing Ottoman Islamic institutions and practices central to popular

iMagining the seCular nation 43

Muslim identities with new institutions and practices that revolved exclusively around the nation. His argument was that the Ottoman Empire had become moribund because it had been mired in irrational and backward religious tradition; the new Turkey, by contrast, was obliged to shed its links with Islam and commit itself to science and progress. Ultimately this transformation was symbolized by the decision in 1928 to remove from the Turkish Constitution any reference to Islam as the official religion of the state. The word laiklik is a Turkified version of the French läicisme. The English terms “secular” and “secularism” are invariably applied to Mustafa Kemal and the Turkish Revolution, but “secularism” has its own genealogy and is not synonymous with laiklik. Indeed there is considerable debate not only about how to interpret laiklik but also about what Mustafa Kemal’s own attitudes toward religion were. The Kemalist elite were heirs to the Young Turk legacy that had infused CUP governments between 1908 and 1918. Laiklik reflected the Young Turk disdain for religion and commitment to both positivism and “progress.” The Kemalist elite were not necessarily of one mind when it came to their attitudes toward Islam and its role in society; but in his public speeches Mustafa Kemal frequently expressed the opinion held by Islamic modernists that Islam was in need of reform and rescue from outdated, corrupt beliefs and practices. Having grown up in the late Ottoman milieu, he was more than capable of adorning his speeches with appropriate Islamic rhetoric and idioms.48 In statements to foreigners, however, he could convey a very different attitude, as when he explained to the author Grace Ellison: “I have no religion; and at times I wish all religions at the bottom of the sea . . . He is a weak ruler who needs religion to uphold his government. My people are going to learn the principles of democracy, the dictates of truth, and the teachings of science.”49 Indeed, Mustafa Kemal’s actions and the legislation he introduced would suggest that he did not consider religion to be necessary for life in the modern age. He reflected well Niyazi Berkes’s description of a late Ottoman dehrî (secularist or materialist) as someone who rejected tradition and “wove from rationalism, materialism, evolutionism and naturalism an attitude rejecting beliefs and practices as absurd, superstitious, and contrary to reason. Everything that was seen to be an enforced belief was rejected as irrational.”50 Religious beliefs and practices therefore posed a challenge to Mustafa Kemal’s efforts to enshrine

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the modern nation in popular consciousness. It is difficult not to conclude that his hope must have been that—stripped of its ossified institutions and practices—religion in Turkey would die a natural death at the hands of laiklik and that it would be replaced in popular minds by the nation. Nonetheless, Mustafa Kemal was acutely aware that Islam constituted the one bond that united the diverse population of Anatolia. Whether descendants of families rooted in Anatolia or recent immigrants, whether they spoke Turkish or another language, the overwhelmingly non-Christian and non-Jewish people of Anatolia were conscious that Islam in its various forms of expression shaped their lives and identities.51 No doubt the religious carpet of Anatolia was a complex of interwoven colors and patterns representing the differences between Sunnis and Alevis, between residents of cities and towns and members of seminomadic tribes, between orthodox and folk practices, and among the numerous influential Sufi tarikats (orders) permeating Anatolian society. Nevertheless, for a significant proportion of the population a shared Muslim identity was important. Mustafa Kemal’s emphasis upon Ottoman Muslim nationalism during the War of Independence had capitalized on this. With the conclusion of that struggle, however, only a year after the Grand National Assembly had bestowed on him the Islamic honorific gazi, Mustafa Kemal embarked on those aspects of the Turkish Revolution that were to earn him international renown as a great secular reformer. In fact, laiklik is best understood as a process specific to its republican Turkish context: it does not denote a rigid relationship between state and religious institutions and certainly does not imply either an official rejection of Islam or the triumph of modernity over tradition. Laiklik in its Turkish context describes a complex, and by no means linear, set of shifting relationships and ideals pertaining to the place of Muslim beliefs and practices in society as well as in politics. Contrary to Kemalist claims in the nationalist historical narrative that laiklik resulted in the separation of state and religion,52 it was undoubtedly predicated on state control of Islamic institutions as well as the manipulation of Muslim beliefs and practices in an effort to promote both loyalty to the new nation and a commitment to progress. More than anything, laiklik stood for the subordination of Islam—in whatever form—to the nation: if Islam was to retain any meaningful role in society at all, then Kemalist ideology assumed that it had to be to the benefit of the nation and not in competition with it. It was this dimen-

iMagining the seCular nation 45

sion of laiklik that ultimately proved an obstacle to the Kemalist commitment to the creation of a nation. This intimate connection between laiklik and nationalism at times resulted in contradiction. The Kemalist historical narrative all but ignored the importance of Islam when it addressed the recent past in terms of the Republic, except to attribute to it inspiration for conservative reaction (irtica) to the Turkish Revolution.53 With regard to earlier periods of history, it emphasized the integration of a pure Islam into the daily lives of Turks as well as the importance of Turks to Islamic history itself.54 In practice, however, the actual policies associated with laiklik between 1922 and 1938 were aimed not just at diminishing the role of Islam in public and even private life but also at trying to ensure that popular identity derived from a commitment to the Turkish nation rather than to the Islamic community (ummah).55 Laiklik therefore had two facets. One was decidedly negative with regard to preexisting Islamic institutions: it was destructive in force. The other reflected a pragmatic resignation on the part of the elite to the ongoing place of Muslim practices and beliefs in Turkish society: this facet involved harnessing religion for the purposes of shaping the Turkish nation. Laiklik was, in essence, both destructive and creative.

LaIkLIk and the forging of the turkish nation Only now are scholars beginning to examine the actual implementation of laiklik in any detail, but this book is based on the premise that Mustafa Kemal was far less successful than he hoped at shaping a nation apart from religion. Laiklik did not radically transform society as the Kemalist historical narrative suggests. Its effects were very mixed: as public debate after 1945 indicates, religion remained integral to popular identities. Careful consideration of laiklik reveals the limited reach of the state: either by virtue of circumstances or by design, the state did not necessarily apply legislation as rigorously as might be expected. Both the legislation and officials applying it made allowances for the reality that religion remained a part of the social fabric. Moreover, it can be argued that many of the so-called secular reforms in fact had very little bearing on the importance of Muslim beliefs and practices to the people. When the state did try to enforce reform legislation, the punishment of alleged offenders left the people alienated from the very elite who hoped to encourage popular identification with the nation. Not only did laiklik fail to shift popular loyalty toward the

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modern Turkish nation as Kemalists hoped, but in itself laiklik served to forestall the very crystallization of a popular national identity in the single-party period. We can see the contradictory impact of laiklik by considering efforts to dissolve and weaken the formal institutions around which OttomanIslamic society and culture had been structured. These were the institutions that had long legitimated the Ottoman state. Laiklik took the form of completely undermining the Ottoman ulema establishment, nullifying the legal authority of Shariah law, and attempting to legislate an end to the pervasive influence of Sufi tarikats in Anatolian society. To the republican elite, ulema and Sufi şeyhs not only posed a threat on the basis of their ability to mobilize popular opposition to the Kemalist regime but collectively were responsible for permitting the debasement of Islam through the accretion of non-Islamic traditions that fostered obscurantism and bigotry. In the previous century both ulema and şeyhs already had found their activities circumscribed as a result of Ottoman efforts at modernization. Moreover, they themselves often had opposed aspects of modernization and framed their concerns in terms of Islamic symbols and idioms. Although members of the ulema in fact represented a diverse range of perspectives, this opposition rendered them suspect in the eyes of those committed to transforming Ottoman, and later republican Turkish, society.56 With these considerations in mind the Grand National Assembly passed unprecedented legislation in the spring of 1924. On March 3 one law officially abolished the office of the caliph, which had been separated from the office of the sultan and allowed to continue after the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire in November 1922. On the same day two other laws were passed: one further extended bureaucratic control over formerly autonomous religious institutions through the establishment of two offices, the Presidency of Religious Affairs (Diyanet Işleri Reisliği) and the Directorate-General of Pious Foundations (Evkaf Umum Müdürlüğü); the other granted authority over the medrese schools to the Ministry of Education, which promptly closed all 479 schools with the exception of the school of the Süleymaniye Mosque in Istanbul.57 On April 8, 1924, the Grand National Assembly officially closed what remained of the Ottoman Shariah courts and laid plans for the introduction of a new Civil Code two years later.58 Shariah law would no longer apply—in its place would be law based primarily on the Swiss Civil Code. This was to come into effect on October 4, 1926. Finally, the Grand National Assembly passed one more piece of legis-

iMagining the seCular nation 47

lation, this time aimed at an institution equally important to OttomanIslamic society if not more so: Sufi networks (tarikats).59 Certainly tarikats had played a prominent role in the various intrigues of Ottoman politics in Istanbul, and at various times even sultans had been intimately involved with their activities. But Sufi tarikats operated on a level very different from the various offices associated with the ulema. They were largely independent of the state and even had a history of enduring state efforts to crush them or at the very least limit their role in society. Their strength derived primarily from extensive networks throughout Anatolian society, where şeyhs commanded considerable respect. Tarikats in Anatolia and throughout the Islamic world had witnessed considerable renewal in the nineteenth century.60 Moreover, after 1919 they had been instrumental in Mustafa Kemal’s efforts to unite the Anatolian resistance movement. The Kurdish Şeyh Sait rebellion in the spring of 1925 also had derived considerable strength from the Nakşibendi tarikat. Recognizing their importance to Anatolian society and culture and hence the threat they posed to the state’s efforts to extend its influence over the people, the Kemalist elite determined to legislate the dissolution of tarikats and the closure of both their tekkes (lodges)—where şeyhs and their disciples (murid ) met— and popular shrines (türbes). All in all, these pieces of legislation constituted an unprecedented attack on the formal institutional foundations of Muslim society hitherto unequaled anywhere else in the Islamic world. Moreover, they constituted the primary lens through which laiklik would be understood both in Turkey and without, although the actual realities of Turkish secularism become apparent when they are examined more closely. The abolition of Shariah law in 1924 is frequently cited as evidence of the secular transformation of Turkey. A close examination of the Islamic and Ottoman “substratum” of the new Civil Code, however, concludes not only that significant discrepancies existed between the Turkish and Swiss civil codes but that the Turkish Civil Code of 1926 in fact preserved many former Ottoman-Islamic practices in regard to marriage, divorce, and inheritance in an effort to “interfere as little as possible with the actual lives of people.”61 In effect the Civil Code of 1926 did not introduce complete change but rather was a compromise between Kemalist ideals and the realities of Turkish society. This compromise embodied in the legal text itself was probably accentuated by Turkish officials responsible for applying the law throughout the country. One study, for instance, has pointed out that even in

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the 1950s less than half of all weddings were conducted in accordance with the new Civil Code.62 No doubt this state of affairs resulted from well-intentioned officials such as the governor of Konya—a province well within the purview of Ankara—who admitted that it was preferable to permit the application of local legal customs by town councils and village elders rather than insist upon strict adherence to the new law.63 Similar qualifications must be made concerning the state’s efforts to declare Sufi tarikats illegal and to close their tekkes as well as popular shrines (türbes). The Kemalist historical narrative, of course, cites the abolition of the tarikats as an example of Mustafa Kemal’s uncompromising commitment to secular reform. Yet there was more to this process than immediately meets the eye, as emerges from a British report that described a cabinet decree of September 2, 1925, nearly three months before the passage of the new law. The decree announced the government’s intentions to outlaw tarikats and close tekkes, but it contained some important caveats. First, those mosques and houses of prayer (mescids) associated with tekkes would be allowed to remain open. Second, if the endowment (vakıf ) of a tekke stipulated that it should function as the residence of a şeyh, then the current şeyh would be permitted to continue to live in that tekke. Finally, those şeyhs whose fathers had established a tekke would be allowed to continue to care for the vakıf and to receive its revenue.64 The provisions of this directive did not nullify the new law, but they do demonstrate the government’s unexpected sensitivity to the needs of Sufi şeyhs, which does not accord with the common assumption that “tarikats were abolished” and that their activities were suddenly brought to an end. The state lacked the means to do anything of the sort, and it may well be that these provisions contributed to the continued activities of Sufi tarikats in Turkish society despite the intent of the law. So far historians have not reconstructed their activities, but newspapers not infrequently reported on the arrest and trial of people accused of ongoing involvement in tarikats even in the single-party period. Whatever the law of 1925 accomplished, it is wrong to assume or imply that it resulted in the eradication of Sufism in Turkey. It is clear that the so-called abolition of tarikats did little more than force underground an institution that retained considerable influence in Turkish society. If these laws that were destructive in nature in fact were of more limited consequence than first meets the eye, then the creative aspects of

iMagining the seCular nation 49

laiklik were of even less importance in terms of transforming popular religious beliefs and practices. At the same time they did have a lasting effect on how people remembered the Turkish Revolution. Invariably, histories of Turkey recite a litany of reforms along these lines without offering any substantial insight into their impact. In each case, however, the ultimate effect of these reforms must be subject to question. For example, the outlawing of a variety of Ottoman Muslim headgear (sometimes called the “fez”) and the imposition of the Hat Law in the fall of 1925 did not weaken popular Muslim identities in any significant way.65 No more influential was the decision to replace the OttomanArabic alphabet with a revised Latin alphabet in 1928–1929,66 Mustafa Kemal’s directive that the ezan (call to prayer) be proclaimed in Turkish in the winter of 1932,67 and the decision that the people should all adopt Turkish surnames in 1934–1935.68 None of these changes severed Turks from their Muslim roots even if they did alter actual practice. Nor, for that matter, did Kemalist efforts to encourage women to “unveil” and dress in modern fashions have much impact beyond the elite. In some provinces local authorities did outlaw the “veil,” but it is not clear that this had any long-term significance.69 Indeed, foreigners visiting Turkey after 1945 commented with some frequency that many women wore some form of head covering. Among the first acts of the newly elected Democratic Party (Demokrat Parti) government in June 1950 was to recognize the legitimacy of the Arabic ezan. While laws such as these may be deemed “secular” in nature, religious identity runs far deeper than observable practices and is far less dependent on formal institutions than might be assumed. Whatever else it may have done, laiklik did not eradicate Muslim practices and beliefs in Turkey. Rather, the ruling elite’s commitment to diminishing the importance of religion in the new nation-state emphasized the gap between the modernizing state and the people. Although the evidence has yet to be collected in a comprehensive fashion, it indicates that popular experience of laiklik was hardly positive. The actual implementation of the alphabet reform in 1928–1929 led to immense frustration on the part of many. Bureaucratic processes became even more drawn out as civil officials (memurs) struggled to adapt; contrary to the government’s propaganda, a Turk who diligently learned to read and write could not be sure of finding a comfortable government job after doing so.70 The experience of those in Samsun was nothing out of the ordinary. Efforts to impose change were strictly enforced there: police “visited cafés and backgammon dens, removing

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to school any culprits who could not produce certificates of their reading and writing ability,” and penalties were prescribed “for those who neglect to attend the schools and for those who attend but are lazy.”71 Of greater consequence were the state’s efforts to prevent the activities of tarikats and forcibly ban the “fez.” For those who openly opposed the 1925 Hat Law, the consequences were harsh. The state responded in an extremely brutal manner following popular unrest associated with the Hat Law, violently suppressing public protests and then ordering Independence Tribunals to prosecute—even execute—those who had voiced their discontent. Similarly, throughout the Atatürk era those suspected of active participation in tarikats found themselves arrested and put on trial. The state’s execution of twenty-eight people in response to the alleged Nakşibendi-organized “uprising” in Menemen in 1930 is most notable. In 1933 confusion and frustration in Bursa concerning the language of the ezan resulted in public protest and then speculation that punishment meted out by the state would be equally drastic. In fact it was not, although the state did prosecute those it held responsible.72 In light of this scattered evidence, it is possible to suppose that laiklik left Turks distrustful of, even resentful and bitter toward, the very elites who were encouraging them to take pride in their nation. If this was the popular experience, then it can only have been aggravated by the Kemalist state’s attack on those members of society who had helped to define and perpetuate Muslim identities under the Ottoman Empire and no doubt retained far more influence in republican Turkish society than the Kemalist elite would have liked. Sufi şeyhs may have fared better than members of the ulema, but both found themselves demoted from former positions of influence and respect to the status of low-ranking religious “functionaries” or civil servants in a burgeoning bureaucratic system. At various times during this period the government deliberately consolidated religious offices and reduced the number of functionaries, thus rendering large numbers unemployed. Further legislation mandating the dress to be worn by religious officials, which ultimately restricted the wearing of religious garb to those actually officiating in a mosque, and declaring illegal the titles of respect by which they could be addressed only augmented the Kemalist message that the “men of religion” were no longer worthy of respect or loyalty.73 Disconcerting though these new circumstances were, it must be remembered that those who opted to oppose the policies of the regime in Ankara almost invariably found themselves subject to prosecution

iMagining the seCular nation 51

and harsh punishment by the Independence Tribunals. Others had the choice of resigning themselves to the new order or withdrawing from public life to devote their efforts to preserving Muslim beliefs and practices within their immediate communities. As one contemporary American scholar observed, Turkey had only two classes of “Muslim functionaries” in the single-party period: “those who will have nothing good said about the present regime, and those who are willing to say good things about it in the weekly sermon, even to preaching material handed out by Ankara. The former are for the most part unemployed, at least in religious duties.”74

LaIkLIk and the republiCan state of the turkish nation If we recall that among the constituent elements of the “nation” articulated by Anthony Smith was the existence of “common legal rights and duties for all members,”75 then it is clear that the absence of these rights and duties between 1925 and 1945 was an obstacle to the emergence of a popular national identity. Mustafa Kemal worked assiduously to define the parameters of the new nation, but he did so on the assumption that it was necessary to suppress alternative definitions in the process. The nation that he sought to create was his nation, and its importance was to supersede religious practices and beliefs. Mustafa Kemal was integral to the process of forming a nation, but the very content of laiklik and the ways by which the ruling elite applied it left Turks alienated from the modern Turkish nation that Mustafa Kemal envisioned. In many ways Mustafa Kemal’s determination to impose his vision on the people and to punish those who questioned it was simply a continuation of his efforts at forcible unification of the Anatolian population during the War of Independence. For, as he recalled after the fact, the Anatolian resistance movement had received less than unanimous support.76 To suppress opposition, the new government in Ankara passed a Law of High Treason (Hiyanet-i Vataniye Kanunu) on April 29, 1920, and a few months later established the infamous Independence Tribunals (Istiklâl Mahkemeleri). Over the next three years these tribunals would distribute “justice” throughout Anatolia. We know little about their activities (or about those of the military tribunals that were also established), but Ergun Aybars has concluded that these courts prosecuted at least 59,164 people and punished 47,457. These punish-

52 how happy to Call oneself a turk

ments included 3,993 death sentences, although just how many executions were in fact carried out remains unclear.77 In light of popular opposition to the Ankara government and the nascent state’s repressive measures by way of response, it is difficult to read the victory of the Anatolian resistance forces and the subsequent establishment of the Republic of Turkey as the natural outcome of a nation inspired by unalloyed unity and devotion and moving toward inevitable independence and statehood. Nevertheless, it was precisely this that Mustafa Kemal chose to stress in writing the history of the nation, taking it upon himself to tell the people what he wanted them to believe. As heirs to the Young Turk legacy, the secular Kemalist elite in the Republic of Turkey exhibited not only a disdain for and distrust of religion but also a pervasive elitism. Influenced by European currents of thought, they perceived themselves to be an intellectual elite, biologically superior to the “people,” who were inherently ignorant and unqualified to contribute in any meaningful way to the development of a political vision for Turkey.78 Moreover, the ignorance of the people made them susceptible to the influence of opponents to Kemalism and hence untrustworthy. The Kemalist elite took it upon themselves not only to prevent their opponents from misleading and corrupting the people but also to set about transforming this stagnant nation and inculcating in the people both a commitment to progress and a fresh loyalty to their nation, with which they ostensibly no longer identified.79 Mustafa Kemal’s goal was to transform the “mentality” (zihniyet) of the people so that the Turkish nation could eradicate the very weaknesses that had destined the Ottoman Empire to failure; as a result Turkey would regain its rightful place as a leading nation in the civilized world. To effect this change, Mustafa Kemal embarked on what was essentially a “civilizing mission” infused with the spirit of laiklik. Just as the Middle Eastern elite were conscious of European Orientalist assumptions concerning the “stagnant” and “backward” Islamic East, so the Kemalist elite identified themselves with Western civilization but deemed the people to be mired in an “Oriental” mentality and in desperate need of enlightenment. In some cases they even alluded to “colonizing” the rural population: in this regard the Kemalist elite adopted the perspective and methods of European colonial elites throughout Africa and Asia.80 They justified unpopular “civilizing” policies on the grounds that they were for the benefit of the nation. Their actual approach to implementing these policies suggests that the elite believed

iMagining the seCular nation 53

that the people required not only “education” but also “discipline.” The Kemalist historical narrative presents this civilizing mission in contradistinction to the “reactionary” tendencies of a conservative and ignorant people preoccupied with the possibility of returning to the old Ottoman Islamic order. At no point does it suggest that there may have been reasonable grounds for popular resistance or that opponents of the Kemalist regime were capable of weighing the consequences of their actions. To oppose the transformation of the nation was by definition irrational. It is helpful to take the analogy of a “civilizing mission” one step further and characterize Kemalism as a form of “internal colonization.”81 After all, a frequent justification for colonialism was the need to bring civilization and enlightenment to a “backward” people. In the Turkish case, internal colonization took the form of introducing new forms of education to eradicate the traditional and to produce good and loyal citizens. The process was necessarily authoritarian as well as intolerant of diversity. Partha Chatterjee has demonstrated that the British colonial government in India (even with all the resources available to it) could not transform the population according to its designs. Western power indeed had an impact on the “outer domain,” but Chatterjee asserts that beyond this lay an “inner” or “spiritual domain” insulated from the destructive influences of colonization. This, he suggests, was the domain of “national culture . . . if the nation is an imagined community, then this is where it is brought into being.”82 Although it is perhaps an exaggeration to suggest that the inner domain could remain completely untouched by external forces, this theory can still be applied to early republican Turkish history. Despite the concerted efforts of the Kemalist elite, the people retained control of the inner domain and did not forget that their identification as Muslims had been an important, if not exclusive, aspect of individual and collective identities long before the Turkish nation had been conceived. Laiklik, as it came to be articulated under Mustafa Kemal, was intended to cut Anatolian society and culture loose from its OttomanIslamic moorings and to define the basis of modern Turkish national identity. It is no coincidence that laiklik derives from the French läicisme, for both Young Turks and Kemalists found inspiration in their understanding of the history of the French Revolution and sought to replicate various aspects of it despite the vast differences between late eighteenth-century France and the early twentieth-century Ottoman Empire and Republic of Turkey. In particular, Kemalists shared the

54 how happy to Call oneself a turk

ideal of the “Republic” as a “community of citizens.” Article 88 of the Turkish Constitution (1924) stated: “Regardless of their religion and race, the people of Turkey are to be Turkish in terms of their citizenship.”83 This suggests a civic or voluntary understanding of the nation as distinct from an ethnic definition. As Catherine Audard has noted, if “the Republic” is defined as a “voluntary political creation, the result of an endlessly renewed social contract,” then the very possibility of other competing loyalties and identities—of “cultural pluralism”—poses a threat to the political project of national unity.84 The result is that “Republicanism” can manifest itself in two very different, even contradictory forms: in terms of illiberal exclusivity in an attempt to impose homogeneity on the people; or in terms of tolerant inclusive ideals defined by political institutions—and hence the citizenship of all—rather than by culture or ethnicity. This would seem to offer a framework within which to understand the single-party era in Turkey. During the French Revolution, läicisme was an integral component of the effort to impose on the people “one single culture, one language, one way of thinking, irrespective of its various distinct identities, and all this in the name of emancipation.” The revolutionary elite aggressively challenged the authority of the church and claimed to rescue the people from “their attachment to Catholicism and to the forces of obscurantism.”85 Kemalist laiklik emerged with a remarkably similar purpose, although in this case the institutions that posed a challenge to the Kemalist vision of transformation were those associated with Islam. Between 1923 and 1945 the “republican state” of the Turkish nation was characterized by the Kemalist determination to suppress diversity, to impose homogeneity, and to assert the unity of the nation. The price of all this was that the people were effectively alienated by the limited imagination of the elite and their resort to authoritarian means in the belief that they could force popular acquiescence in their vision. In these years the Turkish people were denied the benefits of full citizenship in the Republic: freedoms as well as alternative individual and collective identities were sacrificed in the name of assimilation. This failure to respect “liberty of conscience” in fact arrested the possibility that a popular national identity might emerge.

CHapter 2

narrating the nation: print Culture and the nationalist historiCal narrative

The new Turkey bears no relation to the old Turkey. The Ottoman government has passed into history. Now a new Turkey has been born. In fact, the nation has not changed. The same Turkish element forms this nation. However, the form of administration has changed. Prior to the establishment of a national government in Ankara, there was a sultan and his government in Istanbul . . . This form of government was not sufficient to grant the nation its desired independence and freedom. The detrimental results of this form of government are clear. Mustafa keMal, noveMber 2, 1922

In more recent times, in the context of the Ottomanist movement possessed by the dream of creating a single nation containing all elements within the Ottoman Empire, the name of the Turk was forgotten; the national history was not only neglected: it was all but wiped from the pages of history, included only as a third, insignificant party. tarIh (1931) at tHe start of November 1922—on the eve of the Lausanne Peace Conference—the Grand National Assembly of Turkey passed a resolution bringing a formal end to the Ottoman Empire.1 According to Mustafa Kemal, the Turkish nation had been an immutable force in history with an illustrious past: now it was his job to awaken that nation and to transform it so that it might take its deserved place among the civilized nations of the world. A decade of devastating conflict had radically altered the map of the Middle East, and after some six centuries the once mighty Ottoman Empire was no more. At this critical juncture in history, it was necessary both to justify the establishment of the new

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state of Turkey and—in accordance with the prevailing political theory of the day—to infuse the country with its own national identity. To understand the present, therefore, it was essential for Mustafa Kemal to become author of the past. In this chapter I situate Kemalist efforts to dictate to the people the story of their nation in the context of the history of printing and publishing in the single-party period. The implementation of the Turkish Revolution and articulation of laiklik between 1922 and 1938 rapidly became integral elements of what was an emerging narrative of the modern Turkish nation. Even as Mustafa Kemal was working to diminish the relevance of Muslim identities and to transform the people into a secular nation, he also deemed it essential to generate a history to justify the creation of that same nation. Mustafa Kemal set out to “narrate the nation,” to explain the present in terms of the past, and to do so he depended heavily upon print media.2 Therefore this chapter considers the extent of early republican print culture and the degree to which it could actually contribute to the formation of the nation as well as the content of the emerging nationalist narrative that Mustafa Kemal engendered. Throughout the single-party period the effects of authoritarian rule were manifest in a relatively weak printing and publishing industry infused with both a Kemalist and centrist perspective. The absence of a mass public culture on which the nation might have been established is striking. Limited largely to major metropolitan centers, print culture in the years 1925–1945 discouraged public debate and conspicuously failed to validate alternative popular perspectives to Mustafa Kemal’s vision for the nation. Instead, the Kemalist elite envisioned print media as the ideal means to inculcate a national loyalty in the people. In light of this Mustafa Kemal decided to mandate a new alphabet for the new Turkey in 1928 and then to embark on a campaign to raise levels of popular literacy. Kemalists were convinced that—once the people discovered the pleasures of reading—popular commitment to past traditions would quickly be replaced by an unquenchable thirst for “secular” knowledge and progress.3 This of course was predicated on Kemalist control of print and manipulation of its content, for the elite were well aware of the potential danger posed by a mass-circulation press. It constituted a double-edged sword: on the one hand, it was an ideal tool for uniting the nation and inculcating a progressive mind-set; on the other hand, it could become

narrating the nation 57

a weapon in the hands of political opponents. Consequently, just as the Ottoman government had controlled print media in the nineteenth century, a defining characteristic of the first two decades of republican Turkish history was the state’s determination to regulate and restrict their content.4 Nowhere was this more important than in writing the history of the nation. Just prior to the formal dissolution of the Ottoman Empire, on October 31, 1922, Mustafa Kemal took the important step of making liberal reference to the “Turkish nation” (Türk milleti ) in a speech before the Grand National Assembly.5 As we have seen, he had previously used the term “Turkish nation” only rarely when addressing the Assembly or the public, preferring instead to refer simply to “the nation” or to “Turkey.” Now Mustafa Kemal was consciously implying that any notion of an Ottoman millet that had incorporated multiple identities was to disappear with the Ottoman Empire. In its place would be a single, homogenous Turkish national identity shared by all and derived from conscious and exclusive commitment to the Turkish millet. He now set out to write the history of this millet and to disseminate it through print media. Identity is defined very much in terms of the past: it must have a history. The framework of a nation’s history contains conflicting perceptions of this past. The Kemalist elite, however, assumed that they alone should narrate the nation’s history and instill the basic tenets of a nationalist historical narrative in the collective memory. This entailed creating a “consecutive account of all that . . . happened from a particular point in the past.” It was a teleology that necessarily presaged the emergence of the modern nation. By contrast, the general populace had a far richer, more complex view of the past: the people were “content to live in a present that contain[ed] both past and future” and did not “feel compelled to invest in archives, monuments, and other permanent sites of memory.” Instead they relied on “living memory.”6 Nationalist elites worked to distance the new state from the past and to erase precisely this living memory by filling in the resulting “blank” with a history better suited to national purposes. As a primary means of conveying this history in early republican Turkey, therefore, print did not offer the opportunity for the people to exercise freedom of expression and participate in the political process; instead it constituted a tool ideally suited to the task of creating a nation as envisioned by the elite.

58 how happy to Call oneself a turk

print Media, national identity, and the late ottoMan eMpire Just as the Turkish population’s lack of common legal rights and duties constituted an obstacle to the emergence of the Turkish nation, the failure of the state to facilitate the emergence of a mass public culture prevented the collective definition of a popular national identity. Indeed, it is important to stress that the infrastructure necessary to support such a culture simply did not exist before 1945. Some scholars have gone so far as to suggest that an increasingly popular “politicalcommunal identity” emerged in the latter decades of the Ottoman Empire because the “rise of the mass media” led to a “sense of community,”7 the “growth of national sentiments among the Ottoman Muslims,” and the emergence of “Turkishness . . . as an umbrella identity” among the Anatolian people.8 These conclusions, however, are based not on thorough research but on rather fanciful calculations concerning the impact of the late Ottoman press. In fact, these scholars lack concrete evidence for such conclusions and seem influenced more by a concern to demonstrate the continuity between an Ottoman or Turkish Muslim national identity and the subsequent national identity that would infuse the Republic of Turkey.9 In this regard it is worth recalling a qualification made by Niyazi Berkes, who was eager to demonstrate that the growth of communications in the late Ottoman Empire (curiously, he concentrated on the telegraph and not the newspaper) did create a popular “likemindedness” or mass public culture. Having asserted that the Revolution of 1908 had brought “a sense of community to the Turkish masses,” however, he then admitted that this “did not encompass the peasantry, which was not yet enveloped in the changes.”10 This caveat is of no small importance, for the vast majority of the Anatolian population qualified as the peasantry in 1908. Late Ottoman population statistics do not shed much light on the distribution of the Anatolian people, but those of the early Republic do. According to the 1935 census, 34,876 villages and towns were home to 76.5 percent of the country’s entire population spread throughout Anatolia.11 The existence of a mass public culture in these conditions required infrastructural development capable of integrating these communities by facilitating both communication and transportation throughout Anatolia. Nineteenth-century modernization certainly did introduce changes along these lines, and the state did gradually begin to exert its influ-

narrating the nation 59

ence across Anatolia by way of the telegraph, schools, and the gendarmerie just as new roads and railways began to integrate major centers.12 Nevertheless, the effects of modernization were incomplete and extremely uneven: conditions favorable to a mass public culture did not emerge for several decades in Anatolia. At the same time, it is important to acknowledge that the nucleus of the print culture that was to be pivotal to that future mass public culture in republican Turkey already existed in the late Ottoman Empire. Print only slowly gained currency in major Ottoman urban centers in the nineteenth century, and fears of its potential to influence the public resulted in various efforts by the state to impose regulation and control. With very few exceptions, the only printing houses in Anatolian provinces prior to the Young Turk Revolution of 1908 were those established by the state in accordance with legislation passed in 1864. These produced official gazettes and statistical yearbooks and even a few books. Interestingly, the gazettes were not limited to publicizing the activities of the sultan, civil appointments, the workings of government councils, the promulgation of new laws, and progress on public-works projects. To some degree, they were also modeled on the newspapers that were becoming increasingly popular in Istanbul in the second half of the nineteenth century. Thus the earliest Anatolian gazette, Envâr-i Şarkiyye (Eastern Lights) (Erzurum), contained news stories of general interest, including those relating to foreign affairs, and even serialized stories. Admittedly, the reach of this provincial print culture was extremely limited. But it existed in at least sixteen Anatolian provincial centers (including both printing presses and a trained workforce), which was to have tremendous implications for the future emergence of an Anatolian print culture.13 Indeed, after the Revolution of 1908 the vibrant print culture that was such a prominent characteristic of life in Istanbul did echo in the provinces, and the available statistics would suggest considerable expansion of the press in provincial cities. We know almost nothing about this press, but it is clear that many papers were published privately and in competition with each other. These may have been short-lived, but they did provide an important forum for the expression of ideas in a period of marked political liberalization. Nevertheless, these provincial print cultures did not in fact constitute a “mass media” sufficient to overcome the isolation of Anatolian communities. It may be appealing to imagine post-1908 print media integrating the people into an Ottoman Muslim nation as it conveyed the “trauma” of Balkan nationalism

60 how happy to Call oneself a turk

and other crises, but that would be an exaggeration of the capacity of print to integrate Anatolian society in these years. No doubt the provincial elite were incorporated into the Ottoman Muslim millet, but a widespread “Turkish nationalism” could not and did not take root.14

printing and publishing in the single-party period In the course of the War of Independence, print media constituted an important resource by which the Anatolian resistance movement communicated with the people and rallied them to its cause. Mustafa Kemal not only established new newspapers but in April 1920, in an effort to centralize and control the dissemination of information, also ordered the formation of the General Directorate of Press and Information (Matbuat ve Istihbarat Umum Müdürlüğü) as well as the Anatolia News Agency (Anadolu Ajansı) in Ankara. At the same time he distributed printed pamphlets and circulars throughout Anatolia in further efforts to garner public support. A unique aspect of these years was the unprecedented—albeit temporary—importance of provincial newspapers in Anatolia as a result of Allied occupation of Istanbul. In some cases local elites benefited from printing houses established in provincial capitals in the last decades of Ottoman rule, but more often they used simple portable letterpresses smuggled from as far away as Istanbul to produce papers countering enemy propaganda and rallying the local populace in common defense. On the occasion of the Battle of Sakarya in August–September 1921, when there were fears that Ankara would fall to the Greeks, the proprietors of Yeni Gün (New Day) and Sebilürreşad (Straight Path) packed their presses into horse-drawn carts and fled to the city of Kayseri, where they continued their publishing activities.15 In this way journalists contributed to heroics that were to become legendary after the war. When a particular town or city fell, some newspapers continued to publish in order to provide ongoing opposition to occupation; most, however, were forcibly closed down. In other cases, newspaper editors fled to neighboring centers and participated in subversive publishing activities from the new locale. Newspaper production at this time was certainly irregular at best, while circulation figures were low, probably between 250 and 300 copies at a time. Nevertheless, some 100 private Anatolian newspapers contributed to the struggle between 1918 and 1922.16 This brief florescence did not translate into a healthy Anatolian

narrating the nation 61

press during the single-party period. Rather, printing and publishing outside of metropolitan centers remained largely stagnant in these years. Nor did the newspaper industry as a whole thrive. To understand the state of Turkey’s print media after 1923, it is best to distinguish newspapers from books and journals. In the case of books, real growth occurred. Although statistics for the years before 1933 are inadequate to draw conclusions on an annual basis, thereafter the number of books published each year did increase: from 1,530 in 1934 to 3,072 in 1945.17 The number of journals also increased in these years. If 1928–1929 is taken as the dividing line, then 317 separate journals were published in the decade before the alphabet change; in the following decade this number rose to 519.18 Statistics related to newspapers, however, tell the opposite story. Between 1919 and 1928 a total of 308 separate newspapers were published in the Ottoman script; but in the subsequent decade the number of newly established newspapers dropped to only 183.19 In absolute terms, the number of newspapers published annually in the 1930s fluctuated, but by the end it had actually decreased. In 1930 the number stood at 114. It dropped to 68 in 1933, rose to 126 in 1937, but dropped again to 113 in 1940.20 Although we do not know the precise difficulties faced by newspaper publishers, it is not unreasonable to conclude that the switch to the new alphabet in 1928 did have a significant impact on the newspaper industry. At the time, the American ambassador to Turkey, Joseph Grew, provided a detailed report recording requests from leading metropolitan newspapers to the government for financial assistance as they not only lost readers but faced the challenges of retraining employees and purchasing new equipment. According to Grew, circulation had dropped precipitously as a result of the introduction of newspapers in the new script.21 Circulation statistics available from other sources also suggest that in these decades newspapers did not increase greatly in popularity, as might have been expected. In 1926– 1927 individual metropolitan papers probably published in the range of 7,000–8,000 copies, with the most widespread being Vakit (Time) with a circulation of 17,000. In 1937–1938 many major papers remained at 7,000–10,000, with Cumhuriyet (Republic) among the strongest at 25,000–28,000.22 These circulation figures indicate that metropolitan newspapers produced in Istanbul did witness some growth during the single-party period: compared to the provincial newspaper industry, the industry in Istanbul and perhaps Izmir was robust and healthy. This points to an important aspect of Turkish print culture in these years: its “cen-

62 how happy to Call oneself a turk

trist” character. The vast majority of printing and publishing took place in Istanbul, Ankara, and Izmir, while the cities of Bursa and Adana also had vibrant if considerably smaller publishing and printing industries.23 In 1935 Istanbul accounted for 35 percent of the country’s daily newspapers, 68 percent of its journals, and 72 percent of its books. In that year Istanbul’s population of 741,148 represented only 4.5 percent of Turkey’s entire population, and it was only one of fifty-seven provinces.24 Records for 1940 indicate a grand total of only forty Turkishlanguage daily political newspapers in Turkey: sixteen of these appeared in Istanbul, with three each in Ankara, Izmir, and Adana. Only thirteen other provinces had daily papers, leaving forty-six provinces without any daily paper. Of the latter, twenty-one provinces had private newspapers published once or twice a week, while twenty-five provinces had no paper at all or, at best, an official government gazette.25 Periodical publication—to say nothing of books—was even more heavily concentrated in the metropolitan centers: in 1940 Istanbul was home to 106 Turkish-language journals, Ankara to 50, and Izmir to 9. The other sixty provinces had a total of 42 periodicals, of which 33 were produced by local People’s Houses (halkevleri ).26 People’s House journals may be the best-known form of printing and publishing in the provinces from the single-party period, and justifiably so considering the paucity of other provincial publications. Nevertheless, these journals were of limited importance and typically printed only 500–600 copies of an issue.27 Nor were provincial newspapers much more significant. Many efforts were made to establish new newspapers and periodicals in provincial cities, but few of these were long-lasting. Sivas, for example, appears to have had only one newspaper, Kızılırmak (Red River), between 1922 and 1938; during this period two weekly papers, Kepenek (Butterfly) and Sivas Postası (Sivas Post), appeared for less than half a year each. Even Eskişehir appears to have had no new private newspaper (the official gazette Eskişehir was established in 1925) other than the weekly Sakarya (established in 1926) until 1937.28 Circulation figures were typically very low, not exceeding a few hundred, although some newspapers—such as Türk Sözü (Turkish Word) in Adana—had a circulation as high as 1,500.29 Moreover, the actual quality of these papers was poor, reflecting low income and high costs. Copies of local newspapers lead to the conclusion that they were so uninspiring that they could not compete with metropolitan publications even though the latter arrived in provincial cities many days late.30

narrating the nation 63

single-party rule and the freedoM of the press Economic conditions in Turkey no doubt hindered the growth of newspapers in the interwar period, but by far the most significant limiting factor was the Kemalist concern with maintaining control over the printing and publishing industry. Following the evacuation of Istanbul by British and French troops on October 2, 1923, the Turkish government did lift martial law and all forms of press censorship. With the establishment of Ankara as the new capital, however, Istanbul became the locus of opposition to Mustafa Kemal and his vision for the country. Some newspapers, such as Cumhuriyet and then Milliyet (Nationality), spoke out in favor of and even represented the newly established Republican People’s Party. But otherwise the Istanbul press was notable for its harsh criticism of the government, defying Mustafa Kemal’s efforts to suppress political and public debate concerning controversial issues such as the status of the Ottoman caliphate.31 Consequently, in an effort to stem such criticism, the Grand National Assembly amended the Press Law to make criticism of the president or the Assembly punishable by imprisonment.32 Ultimately freedom of the press could not be tolerated, and the passage of the Law for the Maintenance of Order on March 4, 1925, signaled Mustafa Kemal’s triumph in this struggle. The president now had the power to close any form of organization or publication that encouraged “reaction” or “rebellion” or threatened the order and peace of the country. Almost immediately, on March 6, six publications in Istanbul were forced to cease publication: Tevhid-i Efkâr (Unity of Ideas), Istiklâl (Independence), Son Telegraf (Last Telegraph), Aydınlık (Light), Orak Çekiç (Hammer and Sickle), and Sebilürreşad. Beyond Istanbul, the same fate befell print media in Bursa (Yoldaş [Fellow Traveler]), Mersin (Doğru Öz [True Essence]), Adana (Tok Söz [Complete Word] and Sayha [Cry]), and Trabzon (Kahkaha [Laughter] and Istikbal [Future]).33 In June and August the Eastern Independence Tribunal ordered the arrest and prosecution of well-known Istanbul journalists allegedly implicated in the Şeyh Sait rebellion,34 while the Ankara Independence Tribunal also prosecuted other prominent journalists opposed to Mustafa Kemal.35 We lack the benefit of any comprehensive study of print media in these years, but it would be wrong to conclude that opponents of Mustafa Kemal were entirely quiescent even if they generally avoided publicly challenging him. Satirical newspapers such as Papağan (Parrot)

64 how happy to Call oneself a turk

(Istanbul), in particular, could be read on multiple levels and might be understood as implicitly criticizing the government.36 Moreover, the government’s efforts to intimidate journalists did not necessarily result in acquiescence. Yusuf Ziya Bey, editor of the Istanbul satirical magazines Akbaba (Vulture) and Yeni Kalem (New Quill), appears to have been determined to criticize the government even as he faced trial because of one cartoon that mocked journalists who had succumbed to the efforts of the state to buy their cooperation and another that mocked the so-called freedom of the press in Turkey.37 Similarly, some two weeks after the passage of the new Press Law in 1931, the people’s paper Köroğlu published its own cartoon explicitly ridiculing the government’s efforts to control the press.38 More to the point, when intellectuals and critics of the government felt that the risk of retribution had declined sufficiently, it is clear that they immediately turned to print and voiced their opinions. Thus the years 1929–1931 witnessed not only the brief existence of the Free Party but also a “short-lived golden age of the Turkish avant-garde,” from the expiration of the Law for Maintenance of Order (March 1929) until the introduction of the new Press Law (July 1931).39 On the one hand, this was a period of public conflict between “Communists” and “nationalists”: when figures such as Nazım Hikmet (1902–1963), Peyami Safa Safa (1889–1961), and Zekeriya Sertel (1890–1980) and Sabiha Sertel (1898–1968), writing in publications such as Resimli Ay (Illustrated Monthly), Hareket (Action), and Akşam (Evening), challenged Hamdi Suphi Tanrıöver (1885–1966), Yakup Kadri Karaosmanoğlu (1889–1974), and Yusuf Ziya Ortaç (1895–1967), who wrote in Ikdam (Perseverance) and Milliyet. On the other hand, supporters of the Free Party made extensive use of the press to criticize the government. Zekeriya and Sabiha Sertel were active in this regard as well, this time in their publication Son Posta (Final Post), which campaigned for various radical causes.40 Just as prominent was longtime antagonist and critic of the Republican People’s Party Arif Oruç [Bey] (1892–1950), who faulted the government’s economic policies and the new Press Law in his paper Yarın (Tomorrow).41 Oruç was subject to prosecution on numerous occasions but did not cease to publish his views until forced to do so in August 1931.42 The next year Oruç published a short treatise on the importance of freedom of expression and freedom of the press before fleeing to Bulgaria—a poignant statement on the degree to which authoritarian government in Turkey had come to dominate the public sphere.43

figure 2. “Look at your big brothers. See how well they behave?” Akbaba (Istanbul), January 5, 1928.

figure 3. “All trouble comes from not holding one’s tongue.” Köroğlu (Istanbul), August 1, 1931.

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The Constitution of Turkey of 1924 stated that “the press shall enjoy freedom within the framework of the law.”44 The draconian Press Law of 1931 demonstrated that the government intended to use the law to regulate the industry and to limit this freedom. The Press Law specified that anyone who wished to open a printing house or publish either a newspaper or periodical was obliged to notify the government. It then laid down the basic qualifications required for individuals who could own or supervise a publication: these included “advanced education” and not having been convicted of crimes against the nation or the Turkish Revolution. At the same time, the law listed certain topics that could not be reported in print, notably anything to do with the sultanate, the caliphate, communism, or anarchism. But the articles in the law that superseded all others were buried deep in its text: Articles 50 and 51 vested in the Turkish cabinet precisely the authority that it had exercised under the 1925 Law for the Maintenance of Order. Article 51 gave the cabinet the power to ban and collect newspapers and journals originating outside of Turkey. Article 50 addressed publications produced in Turkey itself: in this case the cabinet could immediately suspend any publication that it deemed to threaten the public welfare (memleketin umumî siyaseti ) and forbid the publication’s editor from producing anything further during the period of suspension.45 In each case the cabinet had absolute power and was not required to justify its decision. In future years the Press Law would be amended, further strengthening the hand of the state. At the end of 1934 Article 51 was altered to allow the cabinet to collect all copies and forbid the distribution of offensive publications produced not only beyond Turkey but also within the country. Moreover, in exceptional circumstances the Ministry of the Interior could now order the collection of such publications before the cabinet even reached its decision.46 In 1938 amendments made it even more difficult for an individual to establish a new publication. It was now necessary to apply for permission from the government, and one of the stipulations was that no one of “bad reputation” would be permitted to publish. Moreover, anyone wanting to publish a political (siyasî) newspaper or journal had to post a bond to pay for court costs in the event of prosecution and conviction. For those wishing to publish in Istanbul the amount was significant: 5,000 TL.47 Finally, further changes in 1940 addressed punishments for those whose publications might offend “national sentiments” (millî hisleri ), threaten the nation’s security, or promote incorrect statements about the country’s history.48

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As if printing and publishing were not sufficiently bound by these laws, the government passed the Martial Law Act in May 1940, which granted authorities the freedom to prohibit the importation of printed materials from abroad, to close printing houses in Turkey, and even to impose censorship on the press. In November of that year martial law was in fact proclaimed not only in Istanbul but in neighboring provinces. It was renewed on a number of occasions until martial law was finally lifted on December 22, 1947.49 In these years major Istanbul dailies faced frequent prosecution: during the war Cumhuriyet was closed down three times by the government and twice by the Martial Law authorities; Vatan was closed a total of nine times.50 At the same time, the cabinet frequently intervened to close down or ban other offensive publications.51

print Culture and the turkish revolution Mustafa Kemal’s government did not rely on legislation alone to control print media in the 1930s: after all, the law did not impose formal censorship prior to 1940. It could only address the consequences of publication after the fact, and the collection of “subversive” newspapers and journals after publication must have been a difficult if not impossible task. At the same time, therefore, concerted efforts were made to influence the actual production of print media and their content. The consequence was that in these years print culture was thoroughly Kemalist in orientation.52 This was largely the result of the Republican People’s Party’s direct involvement in printing and publishing. Deputies themselves controlled many of the most prominent metropolitan newspapers, including prominent figures such as Falih Rıfkı Atay (1894–1971; Hâkimiyet-i Milliye [Sovereignty of the Nation]), Hakkı Tarık Us (1889–1956; Vakit), Necmettin Sadak (1890–1953; Akşam), Hüseyin Cahit Yalçın (1874– 1957; Tanin [Resounding Noise]), and Yunus Nadi (1879–1945; Cumhuriyet).53 The Republican People’s Party directly engaged in producing its own publications, the best known of which was Hâkimiyet-i Milliye (later to become Ulus [Nation]), and the rural paper Yurt (Homeland). The Republican People’s Party also controlled papers in the provinces: in 1940 these included newspapers in Aydın, Hatay, Gaziantep, Kastamonu, and Konya.54 In other provinces where the Republican People’s Party was not directly engaged in the newspaper industry, often the only newspaper was an official government gazette produced by state officials on state printing presses—of which there were twenty-two

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in 1940.55 Finally, the Republican People’s Party also directly oversaw the publication of the People’s House journals in the provinces in the 1930s. This oversight was taken seriously: when a local People’s House journal failed to conform to official expectations with regard to content, those responsible were taken to task.56 Print media not directly tied to the state or the ruling party still faced considerable pressure to conform to Kemalist ideology. The Kemalist elite were convinced that print should contribute to creating the nation. This was the explicit conclusion reached by delegates to the first Press Congress, held in Ankara in May 1935 under the auspices of the General Directorate of the Press (Matbuat Umum Müdürlüğü). This office was responsible for overseeing publishing and printing in Turkey and for ensuring that all print media were “appropriate to the needs of the nation, policies of the state, and principles of the revolution.”57 Representatives of Turkey’s major daily newspapers were all invited to the congress, which established three commissions to address matters related to cooperation between the government and the media, culture, and employment. The overarching conclusion among those at the congress was that quality of publications was more important than quantity but that in this case “quality” implied commitment to the Turkish Revolution and support for the reforms. As a result of this conference, the government passed a law three years later establishing the Press Union (Basın Birliği) to oversee journalism throughout the country. Not surprisingly, the majority of its directors were also deputies elected to the Grand National Assembly. All journalists were required to belong to the Press Union, which included committees assigned to supervise regions throughout the country as well as a central committee. Disciplinary committees were authorized to warn journalists when they failed to live up to the goal of assuring public security and furthering national goals—and also to punish them for failing to do so.58 The success of these state efforts to control print media is evident in the content of newspapers and journals from the single-party period. Some variety existed, especially in Istanbul and Izmir, which had a market-based competitive print culture, albeit within the accepted parameters. But the diversity characteristic of the years prior to 1925 and even of the brief period between 1929 and 1931 was no longer present. In the case of intellectual journals such as Ülkü (Ideal), Kadro (Cadre), and Varlık (Existence), writers were careful to promote ideas within accepted boundaries—even though in later years authors

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who had published together in one periodical in the single-party period would adopt very different, even opposite, perspectives.59 As the first Turkish Printing Congress in May 1939 recognized, books hardly circulated in great numbers during these years, while those that were published did not reflect a great variety of perspectives.60 Authors of Turkish fiction tended to write in line with Kemalist ideology, emphasizing Ottoman decline, the glories of the War of Independence, the importance of reform and the detrimental nature of social conservatism, and the conflict between urban and rural life.61 In a revealing decision, in the late 1930s the Ministry of the Interior undertook to rewrite popular folk literature—which often reached print runs of up to fifty thousand—to suit the needs of the Revolution. This enterprise proved rather ineffective: few villagers heard these new stories, while old versions continued to dominate popular culture, thereby emphasizing the chasm between Kemalist ideal and Anatolian social reality.62 Print media circulating in the provinces were no less Kemalist in orientation. Provincial newspapers, where they existed, lacked substantial content and were thoroughly uninspiring.63 Yeni Mersin (New Mersin) in 1933, Yeşil Gireson (Green Giresun; later Yeşil Giresun) in 1934, Samsun in 1935, and Edirne Postası (Edirne Post) in 1938 are typical examples of provincial newspapers that carried little or no international news, very little interesting or controversial local news, and almost no pictures or advertising. The state of politics in Ankara was so limited that newspapers had little more to report than official announcements and statements made by prominent figures such as Mustafa Kemal. Provincial journals were no better: apart from those produced for doctors, lawyers, and teachers, the People’s House journals clearly did not catch popular interest as they were intended to do. Operated by the Republican People’s Party, these publications conformed to the dictates of Kemalist ideology. They offer strong evidence of the increasing gap between the Kemalist elite and the people in these years.64 Produced irregularly, they were available only to those who frequented the People’s Houses themselves. Aksu (Cataract), produced in Samsun in the 1930s, is but one example. While it did contain articles on local history and culture, its commitment to further Kemalism and to contribute to the mythology surrounding Mustafa Kemal is unmistakable.65 Other publications were produced in Istanbul and Ankara but aimed explicitly at audiences in the provinces. Karagöz and Köroğlu were “people’s papers” (halk gazetesi) published for Turkey’s rural majority. Unfortunately, we know nothing about their circulation: in the 1930s

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Karagöz appeared once a week and Köroğlu twice a week. They must have circulated by mail to the country’s towns and villages. Karagöz dated back to the cultural florescence following the Young Turk Revolution and was one of many extremely popular satirical magazines after 1908. Drawing on traditional Ottoman shadow theatre, each issue featured a large color caricature or cartoon on the front page. Either in the picture itself or outside looking in were two figures from Turkish folklore, Karagöz and Hacivat, and the text under the cartoon offered their interpretation of the cartoon itself. Karagöz changed hands and editors a number of times, but it remained committed to furthering the principles of enlightenment and progress. In 1928 its editor, Burhan Cahit, gave up his job to establish his own people’s paper, Köroğlu, which was very similar to Karagöz. At this time Karagöz apparently became the property of the Republican People’s Party.66 As people’s papers, both Karagöz and Köroğlu clearly upheld the tenets of Kemalism. Sometimes their cartoons addressed international developments and Turkey’s role in the world: they always emphasized Turkey’s importance and (especially during World War II) Turkey’s stability relative to the rest of Europe. In 1936 and 1937, as Turkey worked to acquire Hatay from French Mandatory Syria, the papers stressed that this was Turkish territory, an indivisible part of the nation.67 At other times, they promoted aspects of the Turkish Revolution: thus in 1929 “the nation’s cinema” on the back page of Köroğlu presented photos of Turks from across the country, all engaged in learning the new alphabet.68 Cartoons often made fun of Ottoman-Islamic society, taking pleasure in ridiculing either the sultan or members of the ulema. When the government feared reactionary movements in the country, the papers echoed its interpretation, encouraging Turks to turn their backs on superstition and commit to progress.69 Finally, they played an important role by generating pride in the nation, commemorating anniversaries from the War of Independence, and lauding Mustafa Kemal as exalted Father of the Turk.

print Media and the nationalist historiCal narrative As people’s papers, Köroğlu and Karagöz reveal much about what Kemalists hoped to convey to the broader populace in the 1930s. The same is true of another metropolitan publication produced for the country’s rural majority: the Republican People’s Party “propaganda

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figure 4. Turkey protecting Antakya. Karagöz (Istanbul),

December 12, 1936.

sheet,” Yurt. Unfortunately, we know little about this biweekly paper either. According to Donald Webster, some 90,000 copies of each issue were printed, with at least one copy sent to the more than 35,000 villages scattered throughout the country.70 Typically it would be posted in a prominent public place for all to view. Indeed, archival documents demonstrate the care which local party members took to ensure that the paper reached all villages in a given province. They kept careful lists of Anatolian villages and raised concerns when a problem with distribution occurred.71 First published on the occasion of Turkey’s tenth anniversary (October 29, 1933), Yurt avoided satire, unlike the people’s papers. It

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figure 5. Yurt (Ankara), October 29, 1933.

was extremely serious, dedicated to inculcating the underlying principles of Kemalism in the people through large, colorful pictures and oft-repeated phrases. Using both text and illustrations, it emphasized how important the transition from the Ottoman past to the republican present had been and stressed how much better off peasants were in terms of taxation and reaping the benefits of new industry. When appropriate, it emphasized the importance of individual reforms— new railways, language reform, and the surname law. It contributed significantly to the cult surrounding Atatürk, casting him as the lone figure responsible for transforming the people into the modern Turkish nation.72 Perhaps better than any other publication, Yurt captured the essence of the nationalist historical narrative that the ruling elite hoped to embed in popular consciousness as justification for the new Turkish nation-state. This narrative had two critical ingredients: the first was a

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deemphasis—sometimes to the point of denigration—of the Ottoman Empire, while the second was the elevation of Mustafa Kemal to the status of “savior.” The deemphasis of the Ottoman past is most evident in the content of newspapers in the single-party period. They simply ignored anything to do with the Ottoman Empire. Although historical novels of the period often featured Ottoman society and politics, newspapers only occasionally dedicated space to a serial novel or a humorous cartoon depicting the Ottoman past.73 Of course, state gazettes and Republican People’s Party publications could be expected to present such a limited perspective, but even independent metropolitan newspapers devoted scant attention to things Ottoman.74 In stark contrast to the content of newspapers published after 1945, rarely do newspapers of the single-party period contain columns commemorating important individuals such as nineteenth-century statesmen and reformers or historic moments in Ottoman history. With very rare exceptions, they seem to have had no interest in commemorating (at the end of May each year) Sultan Mehmed II’s capture of Constantinople. Indeed, the only common allusion to the Ottoman past in the press was to Mimar Sinan (1489–1588)—ironically, a non-Turkish architect—on the anniversary of his death.75 Sinan’s contribution in terms of great Ottoman buildings that continued to dominate Istanbul’s skyline and were an important source of pride for the new Republic could not be denied. Otherwise, the pages of the press suggest that owners and editors of periodicals felt that the Ottoman past was safer left untouched. As the difference in content between novels and newspapers suggests, the Kemalist approach to the Ottoman past entailed considerable ambiguity—perhaps more than has generally been acknowledged. The conclusion that the Ottoman Empire was “despised and neglected” in the single-party period is an exaggeration.76 To be sure, the abolition of the sultanate and then of other imperial institutions conveyed a disdain for the immediate past. In his speeches in the early years of the Republic, Mustafa Kemal made no attempt to disguise his contempt for much of the Ottoman past and especially for many of its sultans.77 Nevertheless, Kemalist policies in the 1920s did much to perpetuate Ottoman architectural style as part of what has been called the “National Architectural Renaissance.”78 Similarly, one of the earliest history textbooks in these years—the 1926 History of Turkey for middle school (orta okul ) students—subjected Ottoman society and government to considerable criticism but also lauded some aspects of it.79

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Most importantly, the intense nationalist denigration of the Ottoman Empire that was to emerge in print after 1930 is almost completely lacking. Finally, it is true that a new generation of scholars did begin to explore newly opened archives after World War II and important works such as Ismal Hakkı Uzunçarşılı’s multivolume work Ottoman History appeared.80 But in the single-party period some of Turkey’s most accomplished historians also studied aspects of the Ottoman Empire.81 If the Kemalist elite were ambiguous toward the Ottoman Empire in the 1920s, in the next decade their interpretation became far less generous and more rigid. Indeed, the Ottoman Empire occupied an important place in the emerging nationalist historical narrative in that it constituted the foil against which Mustafa Kemal and the new Republic might be portrayed. Of course, this came to be articulated in the context of a broader theory of history associated with the so-called Turkish Historical Thesis (Türk Tarih Tezi) and subsequent Sun Language Theory (Güneş Dil Teorisi).82 These theories promoted exaggerated, racist interpretations of world history, with the Turk as the primary protagonist. The outlines of the Turkish Historical Thesis were initially suggested by Mustafa Kemal’s adopted daughter, the historian Afet Inan, in 1930.83 Toward the end of that same year the Turkish Historical Association published a 606-page synthesis of “Turkish History” from the beginning of time to the present: The Outlines of Turkish History.84 Only 100 copies were printed, but it was followed in 1931 by an abbreviated version, The Introduction to the Outlines of History.85 Some 30,000 copies of this were printed for use in schools. These two texts were to have an important influence on the representation of the Ottoman Empire in the Kemalist historical narrative. In the first and larger volume, 52 out of 606 pages are devoted to the Ottoman Empire. The shorter Introduction hardly mentions the Ottoman Empire at all. Beginning with the words “The homeland of the Turks is in Asia,” the Introduction briefly traces Turkish migrations throughout the world, including the earliest migrants to Anatolia and Europe. Greek learning and Roman civilization are presented as rooted in Turkish Anatolian civilization. Turks migrating throughout the world apparently lost their fluency in Turkish and even their “national identity” (millî benliği ), thereby constituting the foundation of subsequent Arab and Kurdish cultures.86 The Kemalist concern is to stress the ancient history of the Turkish nation, even of the Turkish “race”: in this regard the Ottoman past is largely irrelevant or at most a less than glorious chapter in the nation’s history.

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Ultimately, this is the emphasis of the four-volume high school (lise) history text Tarih (History), also published in 1931. Whereas The History of Turkey (1926) begins at the time of Ottoman expansion under Sultan Mehmed II (1451–1481) and ends with the establishment of the Republic, the new Tarih series published in 1931 could not be more different.87 By contrast, only Volume 3 of Tarih addresses the Ottoman past, in the context of extensive discussion concerning European history. The perspective is far broader. Volume 4 is devoted to the short years of republican history, while the first two volumes address the previous millennia that Kemalist nationalism now claimed as part of the history of the Turkish nation. Volume 1 covers the origins of humankind and “world history” to the time of the Roman Empire. Volume 2 largely covers the “Turkish history” of Central Asia and Islamic history to the collapse of the Selçuk Empire. Two implications are embedded in this narrative of the past. The first is that republican Turkey is only the latest of many Turkish states in world history, a natural outcome of the passage of time. The second is that the Ottoman Empire represented only one—and not necessarily the most glorious or memorable—moment in that long trajectory. Strikingly, this perspective is emphasized by the identical introduction printed at the start of each volume, which stresses the importance of reviving Turkish history on its own terms and separating it from Islamic history. The introduction faults the Ottoman Empire for its efforts to forge a single Ottoman society, which caused the very name “Turk” to be forgotten. The 1931 Tarih series announces that its purpose is to resurrect and reclaim the past belonging to the Turkish nation. In terms of actual content, Volume 3 does much to present the Ottoman Empire in a dubious light. Certainly it treats the early history of the empire—most notably the conquest of Constantinople—in positive terms, as the result of efforts by “Turks” to establish a great state. By the sixteenth century, however, it is the “Ottomans” who are caught in inevitable decline because they have lost touch with “original” Turkish culture, thereby losing the ability to be creative and to forge ahead on their own terms.88 This is the result of falling under the influence of foreign cultures: here even European culture is deemed harmful, but most detrimental is the growing influence of Arabic and Persian traditions. The book faults individual sultans for specific decisions that weakened the empire. Mehmed II (1444–1446, 1451–1481) is overly tolerant toward Christian minorities. Bayezid I (1389–1402) succumbs to the influence

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of mysticism (tasavvuf ) and of dervishes, thus leading to religious bigotry (taassup). Selim II (1566–1574) makes the decision to claim the caliphate that eventually becomes an obstacle to progress and the source of inspiration for conservatives and reactionaries.89 Tarih (1931) is particularly critical of developments in the final century of Ottoman history. It faults Mahmud II (1808–1839) for introducing absolutism; dismisses the Young Ottomans as idealistic and without influence; holds Abdülhamid II (1876–1909) responsible for refusing to permit the publication of Turkish nationalist writings; and presents the Committee of Union and Progress (CUP) as an opportunist military regime that forces the Turkish nation to enter World War I and sacrifice itself unnecessarily in support of the Germans.90

Mustafa keMal and the nationalist historiCal narrative We know that Mustafa Kemal was intimately involved in the production of The Outlines of Turkish History in 1930 and in the activities of the Turkish Historical Association.91 It is hardly surprising, therefore, that just as Tarih (1931) casts the Ottoman Empire as decadent and stagnant on the eve of World War I, it also presents Mustafa Kemal as the natural and inevitable solution to the nation’s problems as it struggled to survive the war. This was the second critical ingredient of the nationalist historical narrative that emerged in the 1930s, captured both on the colorful pages of Yurt and in the text of Tarih (1931). Indeed, in an extremely imaginative rendition of late Ottoman history, Volume 3 introduces Mustafa Kemal as a messianic figure struggling against the autocracy of the CUP. Predestined to rescue and lead the nation, he is presented as far more noteworthy than other leading figures normally associated with late Ottoman history.92 In describing World War I, the text devotes specific attention to Mustafa Kemal’s role and those personal characteristics that destined him for greatness.93 Even before 1919 and the beginning of the War of Independence, Mustafa Kemal already symbolized the nation, standing in stark contrast to the decrepit and dishonorable Ottoman sultan, desperate only to preserve his influence by signing the Treaty of Sèvres. In 1936 a new curriculum for primary school teachers explicitly required that they not only must stress the Turkish nation’s contribution to world history in history classes but must emphasize the shortcomings of the Ottoman past to justify the reforms introduced

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by Mustafa Kemal.94 These reforms and the early history of the Republic are the subject of Volume 4 of Tarih (1931). The instructions to teachers clearly reveal the intimate connection between a narrative that stresses Ottoman decline and the rise of Mustafa Kemal and the Turkish nation, for without the former the latter would not have been necessary. In laying the groundwork for this theme, Volume 4 goes even further than the previous three volumes in terms of emphasizing the glorious contribution that Turks have made to history and—naturally—the importance of the new Republic. No other “race” (ırk) has established so many great states in history, and the new Republic of Turkey is by far the greatest. Of course this would not have come about without Mustafa Kemal: Penniless and on his own, in a country struggling under all these terrible circumstances; relying on his own genius, will, and strength, as well as on the influence, respect, and affection he had gained from the Turkish nation as a result of his victories in the Great War, he set out to establish a new state and a new army . . . This is the miracle of the Turk.95

Mustafa Kemal therefore is the key to the nationalist historical narrative. It is a narrative that Mustafa Kemal personally helped to shape, not only through his influence within the Turkish Historical Association but also through his innumerable speeches, in which he constantly wrote and rewrote history to suit his purposes. For all his emphasis upon the sovereignty of the people, Mustafa Kemal went to great efforts to cast himself as the very personification of the nation and consciously contributed to the personality cult that quickly began to emerge. He did so by touring the country and delivering speeches as well as by ordering the statues and paintings of himself that began to adorn the country after 1926.96 Consequently, Atatürk’s biography and the history of the nation merge into a single narrative, stressing certain aspects while ignoring many others. This history all but leaves out other key players unless they are opponents who must be chastised or defeated. It is also a history rooted in the War of Independence, when Mustafa Kemal rallies the tired, almost defeated nation, leads it to victory, and earns the name “rescuer” or “savior” (kurtarıcı). The critical contribution of Volume 4 of Tarih (1931) is to enshrine Mustafa Kemal’s biography in a formal historical narrative of ancient Turkish and Ottoman history. It reinforces the message with seem-

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ingly endless photographs of Mustafa Kemal. Not surprisingly, it also draws heavily on and quotes extensively from Mustafa Kemal’s Speech of 1927, although it departs from the Speech in that it does not build a case against Mustafa Kemal’s opponents. Indeed others among the political elite are simply excluded from the historical record destined for widespread public consumption: İsmet İnönü (1884–1973) and Fevzi Çakmak (1876–1950), for instance, are mentioned only very briefly. The volume also devotes 150 pages to the reforms that are at the core of the Turkish Revolution.97 These reforms are presented as essential to the process of rooting out problems and ensuring that there can be no return to “the past.” Mustafa Kemal constantly faces opposition from a self-serving and bigoted elite as well as from an ignorant and conservative population, thus making the work of the Independence Tribunals essential. His policy of laiklik is not presented in terms of opposition to Islam or the absence of religious faith: rather its purpose is to root out “medieval” and superstitious (batıl) customs and beliefs in order to modernize Islam for its own sake. History texts were important to Mustafa Kemal’s definition of the new nationalist historical narrative, but they were not the only form of print media harnessed to the cause of communicating the official perspective. The biography of Mustafa Kemal as the essence of the modern nation’s history already had a lengthy genealogy quite apart from Tarih (1931). Displaying a remarkable grasp of the importance of print, Mustafa Kemal began to use the media to establish a public image as early as March 1918, when a lengthy interview with the journalist Ruşen Eşref Ünaydın appeared in three consecutive issues of the Turkish Hearth (Türk Ocağı) publication Yeni Mecmua (New Magazine).98 He followed a similar approach in numerous interviews published later in Turkish newspapers, such as Vakit in 1922, Cumhuriyet in 1924, and Milliyet in 1926.99 During the War of Independence Hâkimiyet-i Milliye had led the way among newspapers by carrying the text of his speeches, and by 1922 Mustafa Kemal’s more important speeches already were being individually printed and circulated.100 In 1926 the Istanbul dailies Vakit and Milliyet both published extensive memoirs related to Mustafa Kemal.101 That same year the first edition of The State Yearbook of the Republic of Turkey published an official biography of Mustafa Kemal; then a more extensive version appeared in 1928 under the title The Golden Book of the Turk: The Gazi’s Life.102 After Mustafa Kemal delivered his famous Speech to the Grand National Assembly in October 1927, of course, its text and supporting documents

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were almost immediately published not only in Turkish but also in foreign languages.103 Volume 4 of Tarih (1931) therefore represented the culmination of a process by which the basic elements of Mustafa Kemal’s biography were established. Reminiscences by his adopted daughter, Afet Inan, in 1937 and brief biographical vignettes by contemporaries such as Hikmet Bayur only reinforced the original message. Enver Behnan Şapolyo’s full biography of Mustafa Kemal published in 1944 contains little variation from the narrative already established.104 Print media throughout the single-party period constantly reinforced the theme that Mustafa Kemal and the Turkish Revolution constituted the crowning moment of the Turkish nation’s lengthy history. This is evident in the Republican People’s Party propaganda broadsheet Yurt as well as in a classic 48-page booklet, From the Ottoman Empire to the Republic of Turkey: How Was It? What Has It Become?105 Both were first published to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the Republic on October 29, 1933. Moreover, each publication conveyed the notion that the establishment of the Republic of Turkey in place of the Ottoman Empire had been accompanied by essential and drastic changes promulgated by Mustafa Kemal himself. Time and again they contrasted the “old” with the “new.” The Ottoman Empire’s status as “Sick Man of Europe” in its last decades is indelibly associated with weak and self-serving sultans; Turkey’s independence and supposed strength are attributed to Mustafa Kemal’s determination and vision. These publications characterize the old by its örümcekli (literally, “cobwebbed”) mentality and, quite predictably, describe the new as ışıklı (enlightened). Peasants had been rescued from the burden of the rural aşar tax and now enjoyed the benefits of health care, literacy, and improved means of transportation and communication. The last page of From the Ottoman Empire to the Republic of Turkey proclaims that the “Turkey of the Sultanate”—the “Sick Man”—has given way to the new “Turkey of the Republic,” a country now deeply revered throughout the world. Reflecting the times in which it was written, it purports to quote no less a source than Adolf Hitler: “In fact the Star born and shining in Turkey has shown us the way. The Gazi is such a person that eternally he will be at the very front of our century’s greatest men. History has given this position to him as a right.” And it portrays a photo of a city on a hill resembling the New Jerusalem, with the words: “The Kaaba of All Oppressed Nations: Ankara.” This trope underlying the Kemalist historical narrative was also con-

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veyed by independent provincial newspapers in the single-party period, from Edirne Postası to Yeşil Gireson.106 The October 29, 1934, sixteenpage anniversary edition of the provincial newspaper Zonguldak trumpeted the benefits of life in Republican Turkey as compared with life in the Ottoman Empire. The layout of this edition is particularly suggestive: on the left-hand side is a description of each of these subjects in terms of “The Former Turkey/Ottoman Empire” with the subheading “we received it in this form,” while on the right-hand side the same subject is examined in terms of “New Turkey,” with the subheading “we transformed it in this way.” The corrupt nature of Ottoman politics and society and the crushing weight of European imperial designs are contrasted with the dramatic transformation inspired by Mustafa Kemal and resulting in national freedom and growth. Kemalism therefore did not permit Turks the luxury of romanticizing their Ottoman past; instead they were told unequivocally that it was worthy of shame and rejection. The Turkish nation was to be rooted in a present and a future wrought by Mustafa Kemal and was to be the source of immeasurable pride.

inCorporating the people into the nation The nationalist historical narrative that Mustafa Kemal authored during the single-party era was essential to the framing of the new nation and thus to the formation of popular national identity in Turkey. Yet, for all the appeal of a glorious, ancient past and of a charismatic, determined savior, this narrative was long on vision and short on recognizing the realities that shaped the lives of the people. Just as laiklik reflected Kemalist aspirations for the future secular nation that did not fit with the priorities and interests of the people, so too the nationalist interpretation of the past suggested the failure of the Kemalist elite to recognize reality. As was to become clear once Turks enjoyed the freedom to express their own perceptions of the past after World War II, the Ottoman Empire remained a treasured memory that the people were less than willing to denigrate. Popular sentiment toward the Ottoman past was far more positive than the Kemalist elite could countenance: the people looked to the Ottoman Empire as an important stage in their own history, in which they took pride. To be sure, they were open to accommodating Mustafa Kemal as a pivotal figure in that history, but he was not to dominate the stage alone. The emergence of a popular national identity required that the nation incorporate the perceptions of the people rather than merely reflect the narrow, elite, nationalist

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agenda that caused the people to question the inherent value of that nation. Theorists have long attempted to define the nation according to different models in their efforts to explain the rise of the nation in the West and its subsequent diffusion to the East. They typically distinguish between a territorially based “civic nationalism” emphasizing the legal equality of all citizens—typified by England—and later “ethnic nationalism,” with its populist emphasis on a common culture and language but not necessarily on popular participation in politics. The latter is typified by Eastern European, African, and Asian—often authoritarian—states.107 Although Turkish nationalism typically would be included in the latter group, such discrete categorization obscures the complex history of nations, in particular the possibility that a given nation might incorporate elements from both models in its own past. Indeed, to understand the transition from Kemalist nationalism to popular national identity in Turkey, it is useful to see these categories as representing two distinct stages in the creation of the nation. Liah Greenfeld has argued that in terms of its genealogy the word “nation” underwent an important transformation in sixteenth-century England: from referring exclusively to the political and cultural elite to an inclusive definition that included “the people,” specifically those formerly understood to be of a lower social status. Coinciding with the political transformation that led to democratic politics underway in England, this change in the meaning of “nation” implied the elevation of the people to a level on a par with that of the elite. “The people” was no longer an opprobrious term, but rather became synonymous with the “nation” and the basis of political solidarity. Significantly, sovereignty effectively came to lie with the people rather than with the monarch, and the nation was “defined in terms of the individual dignity, or liberties of its members.” English nationalism, then, “developed as democracy.”108 Greenfeld contrasts this civic nationalism with an ethnic, authoritarian form that took root when elites imported the concept of the nation to other European countries. In these cases, “nation” came to emphasize a unique people rather than a sovereign people in the context of societies that were not undergoing a political change leading to democracy. The elite who imported the idea of the nation claimed the right to interpret the collective will in the form of authoritarian government. Ethnic nationalism therefore was based on a fundamental inequality, in which “the select few dictate to the masses who must obey.”109 Although the Turkish Constitution of 1924 professed to include all

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people as equal citizens, in practice Kemalist ideology in the singleparty period articulated an authoritarian nationalism by which the elite promoted government for the people rather than by the people. Only with the end of World War II do we observe a new understanding of the Turkish nation that included both the elite and the people. Accompanying the introduction of multiparty politics in 1945 was the emergence of a new era of “civic” rather than “ethnic” nationalism in Turkey. For the first time, the people found themselves elevated closer to the status of equal participants in the political process: the very practice of democratic politics reflected a recognition of the inherent dignity and liberties of the people as well as an affirmation of their priorities and concerns, different though these may have been from those valued by Kemalist ideology. Admittedly, as the remaining chapters show, this civic nationalism had clear limits, and the expression of alternative perspectives—in particular those opposed to laiklik—provoked a powerful response. Nevertheless, these years marked a critical step toward the establishment of public freedoms in Turkey. In this context a national identity began to crystallize, if only because for the first time print media served to incorporate the people into the nation by acknowledging the importance of their Muslim identities. In Turkey, as in France, the Jacobin phase of the Republic and of laiklik proved finite. With the new domestic and international circumstances in which Turkey found itself after World War II, the alternative interpretation of republican laiklik tentatively took root. This was characterized by “a kind of emancipation and modernization that does not so much mean the painful loss of identity as the creation of a new breathing space.”110 Crucial to the creation of this new breathing space was the maturation of an institution which had begun to make its impact felt in the last years of the Ottoman Empire but which had been restricted in influence due to economic and political realities: the newspaper press. After 1945 the emergence of a national print culture, founded not on newspapers produced in Istanbul but on a new and flourishing newspaper industry in provincial cities throughout Anatolia, would allow for a discourse of difference.111 This in turn finally led to the emergence of a negotiated popular national identity that incorporated preexisting Muslim identities with the vision that Mustafa Kemal had developed for the nation.

CHapter 3

provinCial newspapers and the eMergenCe of a national print Culture

To our minds, the newspaper is a means for true news, creative ideas, and constructive criticism . . . in democracies, journalism is a highly responsible and weighty career . . . Democracy is a moral and legal order that takes strength from an individual’s freedom of thought and feeling of responsibility. GIresun, august 20, 1952 Not accepting that humankind’s existence is naturally corrupt and unredeemable, we are intent upon remedying with hope, determination, and faith the suffering shared by the nation, by society, and by all of humanity . . . We are convinced that the greatest strength lies in FAITH . . . What others hold as their goals—money, women, public office, and fame—we view merely as a means; while our goals are what others merely consider their means—religion, honor, morality, virtue, and humanity. It is to realize these goals that this newspaper is published. yeşIL nur (green radianCe) (eskişehir), May 1, 1951

mustafa kemal Certainly was instrumental in the formation of the Turkish nation, but his contribution was neither as unique nor as complete as the nationalist historical narrative suggests. The process did not begin with him; nor did he achieve the desired results. During the period of single-party rule (1925–1945) the Kemalist elite articulated a vision of the nation that was at odds with popular conceptions of identity related to both the Ottoman past and Islam. The very mixed experiences of the people in the face of laiklik along with the continued importance of religion to the people suggest that the Turkish Revolution by no means resulted in the total transformation of Turkish society and culture. In this period nationalist ideology became increasingly clearly defined, but a national identity failed to materialize

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precisely because of its elitist character and its approach to the people as objects to be “civilized” rather than as legitimate participants in a nationwide discourse. As I argue in the remaining chapters of this book, it was only after 1945 that the process of nation formation began to reach fruition with the recognition of shared legal rights and duties on the part of the people and with the emergence of a mass public culture for the first time. Following World War II, Turkey underwent the transition from single-party authoritarian rule to multiparty democratic politics: at precisely this moment it began to be possible to negotiate a popular national identity in the context of new public freedoms that allowed debate on the nature of the nation. The year 1945 therefore witnessed the beginning of a new era in Turkish history in which print media played the critical role of opening up new “breathing space” and allowing people to participate in the theatre of the nation. In this chapter it is necessary to examine the expansion of print media after 1945 as the means by which this public debate occurred following the introduction of multiparty politics. Crucial to the process was an institution that had lost the short-lived vitality it had enjoyed during the War of Independence: the provincial newspaper press. Giresun and Yeşil Nur are but two examples of the hundreds of newspapers published in the provinces in a unique window of time between 1945 and 1954. As their editorials made clear, the entrepreneurs behind them believed that it was their duty to uphold and serve their nation. Indeed they did so, but in ways they were perhaps unaware of. The proliferation of print media in these years and the unprecedented integration of the country as a result of infrastructural modernization combined to bring about a truly national print culture for the first time. This in turn facilitated the emergence of a discourse of difference within which negotiation of the nation could take place. The transition to multiparty politics in Turkey has already been well documented: typically, emphasis is placed upon the defeat of the Republican People’s Party and the formation of a new Democratic Party government in May 1950.1 What must be emphasized here, however, is the nature of the transformation of Turkish politics that began in 1945. This marked the “working out” of democratic politics, and print media were integral to the process. Of course the two major political parties participated in national general elections in 1946, 1950, and 1954 as well as in regular municipal elections. In the Grand National Assembly their rivalry led to intense and acrimonious debates. Con-

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figure 6. Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), November 18, 1949.

siderable tension existed within the parties themselves, which at times led malcontents to break away to form new parties. The Democratic Party was established in January 1946 by dissidents from the Republican People’s Party; in 1948 Democratic Party deputies broke away to form the Nation Party (Millet Partisi); and in 1955 still others left the Democratic Party to establish the Freedom Party (Hürriyet Partisi). In this atmosphere prime ministers and presidents were drawn into the mire. Prime ministers such as Recep Peker (1888–1950) of the Republican People’s Party and Adnan Menderes (1899–1961) of the Democratic Party—particularly in his latter years—are remembered for their efforts to suppress opponents both within their parties and without.2 Nor could presidents İsmet İnönü (1884–1973) and Celâl Bayar (1884–

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1987) remain above the fray: indeed, democratic politics resulted in the presidency being transformed from a position all but idolized under Mustafa Kemal Atatürk to one viewed as all too human and fallible under his successors.3 Although political histories of Turkey concentrate almost entirely on the major parties, it is important to recognize that democratic politics included a variety of small parties. No parties except the Democratic Party and the Republican People’s Party successfully fielded candidates in general elections, with the limited exceptions of the Nation Party in 1950 and the Republican Nation Party (Cumhuriyetçi Millet Partisi) in 1954.4 The plethora of parties established in the years 1945– 1952 alone, however, speaks to the importance that Turks attached to politics and their determination to participate in public debate. Tarık Zafer Tunaya’s rather outdated compendium lists the establishment of some twenty-nine separate parties, not only in Istanbul but also on occasion in provincial cities: the Free Democrats’ Party (Öz Demokratlar Partisi) in Afyon; the Country-Duty Party (Yurt Görev Partisi) in Hatay; and the Farmer and Peasant Party (Çiftçi ve Köylü Partisi) in Bursa. Many of the parties based in Istanbul also opened branches in provincial cities. Often these new parties were short-lived, but a number at least tried to field candidates in the general elections of 1946 and 1950, even continuing to function when they had no success. It is equally significant that many of these parties seized on the press as a means to promote their platforms. The National Development Party (Millî Kalkınma Partisi) published Tez Kalkınma (Rapid Development). The Nation Party published Kudret (Power). The Socialist Party of Turkey (Türkiye Sosyalist Partisi) was associated with Gerçek (Truth). The Socialist Laborers’ and Peasants’ Party of Turkey (Türkiye Sosyalist Emekçi ve Köylü Partisi) published Sendika (Union). The Turkish Conservative Party (Türk Muhafazakâr Partisi) published Millî Inkılâp (National Reform) and Mücadele (Struggle). The Islamic Democratic Party (Islam Demokrat Partisi) was closely associated with Hür Adam (Free Man), Yeşil Bursa (Green Bursa), and Büyük Cihad (Great Struggle).5 Thus multiparty politics in Turkey emerged hand-in-hand with a flourishing newspaper press. The transformation of Turkish politics after 1945 was evident not only in intense debate among political parties and the political elite but also in the popular concerns that influenced this very debate, to which it even responded. This was unprecedented in the history of the young Republic. At times Mustafa Kemal had pursued populist politics, touring the country and address-

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ing the people in public speeches aimed at assuring them that his vision was in their best interests. After 1945 circumstances were very different. Prime ministers and presidents as well as all deputies found themselves traveling the country and appealing to the public to support them rather than the candidates of other parties. At the same time, major parties held local congresses in the provinces in which ordinary people participated: not infrequently these generated awkward moments for politicians, as people demanded policies that were not necessarily in line with those of the party. Campaigns and congresses, of course, constituted ideal material for the country’s newspapers. While politicians used the press to communicate their ideas, the press also provided the people with access to information that enabled them to consider which candidate to support as they participated in the new and vibrant political process. As a result, political liberalization and a flourishing press integrated the people into public political debate for the first time: now it was possible for them to contribute to the definition of the nation that Mustafa Kemal had envisioned when he brought the Ottoman Empire to an end in 1922. Thanks to the new national print culture, the people were now actors in the theatre of the nation.

the proliferation of print and the politiCs of deMoCraCy Just as the intense, often acrimonious nature of political debate after 1945 contrasted starkly with the dominance of Kemalist ideology throughout the single-party period, so too the emerging national print culture in Turkey after World War II could not have been more different from the preceding centrist and Kemalist print culture. Printing and publishing had not flourished: in the single-party period the number of books and journals published had increased on an annual basis, but they impacted only a very small portion of the population, limited largely to metropolitan centers. Moreover, the number of newspapers in print had actually decreased by one between 1930 and 1940: these too were concentrated in Istanbul, Ankara, and Izmir. The most common form of newspaper in the provinces was the lifeless official government gazette; few private newspapers managed to survive, while those that did were faithful to the Republican People’s Party and Kemalist ideology. So dismal was print culture in Anatolia that the novelist Reşat Nuri Güntekin even decried the inability to find newspapers in the

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major city of Adana, which was characterized by a pervasive disregard for the value of print media.6 Throughout World War II the situation hardly improved. Authoritarian control over the press enshrined in the 1931 Press Law had been enhanced further with the establishment of martial law in November 1940. The state may not have exercised direct censorship, but thereafter Istanbul newspapers faced suspension time and again when they chose not to conform to the “directives of the Press Bureau as regards the general treatment of the principal topics of the day.”7 Under the difficult economic and political circumstances of World War II, printing and publishing remained largely stagnant. Fifty daily political newspapers existed in 1940, but the number had decreased to forty-five by 1945; even though the number of nondaily newspapers did increase (by eleven), overall the total number of periodicals in print decreased by one.8 Within the next ten years printing and publishing in Turkey underwent a transformation. Print media became an increasingly common feature of public life not only in metropolitan centers but in almost every province. People living in Anatolian cities or villagers traveling to them began to participate in a national print culture that included books, newspapers, journals, and brochures. A report on the southeastern city of Gaziantep identified some seventy-one “nationallycirculated publications” already regularly available on newsstands in 1949. These included popular weekly and monthly magazines as well as “police gazettes.” Total monthly circulation of print media in Gaziantep was estimated at 61,166. By 1955 sales of journals and newspapers had grown even more, including a variety of “technical periodicals” and no less than fifteen separate “literary and artistic” journals. A “comic magazine” rarely read in 1949 now sold 1,000 copies each week, while the Istanbul daily Hürriyet had higher daily sales (850) than the total sales of all metropolitan newspapers in Gaziantep in 1949 (835).9 Statistics such as these relating to print media in Gaziantep are extremely difficult to come by. Moreover, determining the exact nature of the expansion of print media in Turkey between 1945 and 1954 is frustrated by an absence of reliable figures in government publications and their failure to utilize consistent categories to measure change. Incomplete information is available in a variety of sources that do not necessarily correspond with each other. Some sources are inaccurate.10 Nevertheless, it is evident from a number of perspectives that print media—newspapers in particular—proliferated.

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In these years the number of printing houses in operation greatly increased. Statistical Yearbook (Istatistik Yıllığı) charts this trend from 415 printing houses in 1946 to 612 in 1952 to a total of 1,021 in 1956.11 Their activities led to increased demand for newsprint. The best estimate is that consumption of newsprint more than tripled from roughly 5,700 tons in 1945 to 17,889 tons in 1955. Much of this was imported from abroad, but a significant portion was also produced in Turkey at the Izmit paper factory, established in 1934.12 Newsprint was used primarily in the production of newspapers, of course, and estimates of total daily circulation figures for newspapers explain the demand.13 Here the numbers vary wildly: it is possible to determine only the general trend. One study, for instance, suggests that daily circulation rose from 65,000 in 1937 to 500,000 in 1959.14 By contrast, another study estimates that in 1945 daily circulation figures were between 150,000 and 180,000, while by 1953 they had already reached 650,000.15 A government publication later estimated daily circulation in 1956 at over 1 million.16 The growth in printing and publishing is most clearly evident, however, in the actual number of newspapers and journals in print after 1945. According to the Statistical Yearbook, 336 separate periodicals were in print in 1945. By 1950 this had increased to 647 and by 1952 to 775, more than double the number only seven years earlier. The detailed listing of newspaper and journal titles in The Bibliography of Turkey (Türkiye Bibliyografyası) for 1952 suggests that this last figure was a gross underestimate: according to this source, 607 separate “newspapers” and 399 journals appeared, totaling 1,006 periodicals in all.17 This impression of tremendous growth is corroborated by figures showing the increase in the number of daily newspapers in print: according to the Statistical Yearbook, the 53 political dailies published in 1945 had increased to 91 in 1950 and then to 163 by 1952.18 In 1930 only 31 daily newspapers had been published.19 Underlying this expansion of the newspaper press was a combination of political and economic factors: in the second half of 1950 the newly elected Democratic Party government more than doubled state expenditures on official advertisements in newspapers in Ankara and Izmir.20 In the competitive atmosphere accompanying multiparty politics, Turkey’s politicians recognized the importance of newspapers in communicating with the public and attacking their opponents. Official advertising contracts were an accepted means for the government to reward those newspapers that supported its platform. The tendency

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to do so invited considerable criticism of the “nourished” or “fattened” (besleme) press on the part of those editors who refused to be influenced by offers of lucrative government contracts.21 In this matter, as in many others, the press contributed to political debate and provided the primary means through which the people were incorporated into the political process. At the same time, authoritarian traditions died hard, and the government of the day—whether the Democratic Party or Republican People’s Party—feared that a completely free press was not in its own best interests. Consequently, although multiparty politics all but made a free press an essential component of Turkish society, governments sought to co-opt journalists through both persuasion and intimidation—and, when this failed, ultimately through a return to the Kemalist preference for legislation justifying prosecution of journalists who overstepped the prescribed bounds. It is no coincidence that the malcontents within the Republican People’s Party in 1945 turned to the press to express their discontent following the rejection of their demand for greater civil liberties (dörtlü takrir) on June 7, 1945.22 At different points during the war the government had faced criticism in both the Assembly and the press because of its economic and foreign policies. Istanbul’s journalists, suffering under the implementation of martial law, had also called for greater freedoms and even for democratic government.23 In the spring of 1945 editorials in Cumhuriyet, Tasvir (Description), Son Telegraf, Akşam, and Vakit had vigorously debated the desirability of an independent second party within the Grand National Assembly.24 At the time the most controversial matter under discussion in the Assembly was a Land Reform Bill, but concurrently Celâl Bayar submitted a proposal to amend Article 50 of the Press Law in order to limit the authority to close newspapers to the courts rather than the cabinet. This caused considerable debate in the press itself: proponents of the status quo implied that such a demand was a sign of disloyalty to Mustafa Kemal, while others supported the change, even demanding the removal of Article 50 altogether.25 The Republican People’s Party reacted strongly to this criticism. On May 10, 1946, at a Republican People’s Party congress President İnönü accused opposition newspapers of trying to undercut his party and hence of threatening the welfare of the nation.26 At the opening of the Grand National Assembly on November 1, 1945, however, he had stressed the importance of freedom, promising to alter uncon-

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stitutional laws and to protect the freedom of the press.27 In the next months the Republican People’s Party faced the prospect of an increasingly popular Democratic Party, so the government introduced amendments to the Press Law in an effort to change its public image. On June 13, 1946, the Grand National Assembly completed debate on two pieces of legislation and passed them. The first altered but did not abolish Article 50 of the Press Law, following Bayar’s earlier proposal. Thus the cabinet lost the power to close publications summarily. Now such matters were to be referred to the courts.28 On the same day the Assembly also ratified legislation that abolished the Press Union of 1938, allowing journalists the freedom to organize as they wished. That same month a new Journalists’ Association (Gazeteci Cemiyeti) was formed, committed to lobbying for further freedoms of the press.29 On the following day another law granted amnesty to all journalists facing prosecution under the previous versions of the law.30 In September 1946 came a new Printing Law that removed some of the earlier requirements: it was no longer necessary to apply for permission to publish a paper or to post a bond, and a “bad reputation” could not stand in the way of the right to publish.31 June 13, 1946, therefore marked the beginning of a new era. Each of these laws was equally significant in its own way, and they introduced changes that were to have a profound impact not only on publishing and printing but on Turkish society as a whole. Not surprisingly, the press heralded this as a historic occasion.32 It soon became apparent, however, that the government had not granted journalists complete freedom. In fact, Article 51 of the Press Law had been altered in 1934 to give the cabinet the right to ban the publication of periodicals produced not only abroad but also in Turkey and to collect offending copies without any due process or explanation.33 Significantly, changes to the Press Law in June 1946 did not address this article. Moreover, martial law remained in effect in Istanbul until December 1947. The government therefore had at its disposal more than adequate means to continue to exert pressure on the press. Indeed, the Martial Law Authority took its responsibility seriously and frequently exercised its powers, as when it closed the Istanbul publications Yeni Sabah (New Morning) and Gerçek on June 25, 1946, following general elections.34 Archival documents demonstrate that the cabinet frequently suspended publications on the grounds that they contravened Article 51 of the Press Law. The ensuing battles between print media and the state are perhaps most evident in the experiences

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of editors of Turkey’s more radical publications in these years. Aziz Nesin of Markopaşa and Necip Fazıl Kısakürek of Büyük Doğu (Great East) found themselves in court or censored by the cabinet on more than one occasion.35 “Freedom” and “democracy” thus became the mantra for opponents of the Republican People’s Party, not least for the Democratic Party following its establishment in January 1946. The party’s formal program did not in fact call for freedom of the press, although in their speeches and public statements the party’s leaders left no doubt about its importance.36 Of course they also turned to the press to criticize the government for its failure to implement democracy, as İnönü had implied he would do in a speech delivered on May 19, 1945.37 Mehmed Fuad Köprülü (1890–1966) was particularly prolific, writing regular articles that appeared in numerous newspapers, challenging the Republican People’s Party’s “single-party mentality” and fear of public debate. In August 1947 Köprülü penned an article for Kuvvet (Force) in which he explicitly demanded freedom of the press, challenging the notion that reforms introduced in 1946 had granted this.38 Similarly, Celâl Bayar challenged the Grand National Assembly’s decision to extend Martial Law in Istanbul in May 1947 precisely because it restricted the press.39 It was in this context that the proliferation of newspapers began, not only in Istanbul, Ankara, and Izmir but across the country. Between 1945 and 1950 the press was by no means completely free, but it was easier to establish new publications. The public had an increasing appetite to participate in the acrimonious political debate characteristic of these years. Significantly, no further legislation was passed to remove the remaining constraints, although in 1948 the government of Hasan Saka (1885–1960) undertook a study of further modifications to the Press Law, while the Democratic Party continued to cast itself as the champion of freedom. In response to debate in the press concerning this process, the Republican People’s Party organ Ulus stressed that freedom must have limits and that the government had a responsibility to ensure that freedom of the press was not detrimental to society.40 Ultimately the Assembly did not ratify further changes to the Press Law.41 Thus, even with the introduction of multiparty politics, the party that had ruled the country since 1923 retained at its disposal a Press Law legitimating its ongoing efforts to limit public freedoms. The Republican People’s Party was indelibly associated with authoritarian government in the minds of the people. Democrats could have no doubt that their resounding victory in the May 14, 1950, elec-

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tions owed much to their alliance with a disillusioned press. Consequently, one of the earliest pieces of legislation introduced by the government of Adnan Menderes (1899–1961) was a completely new Press Law in which the very first article stated simply that “the press is free” (basın serbesttir). Rather than modifying the existing Press Law of 1931, this law represented a complete break with both the Ottoman and republican Turkish approaches to the freedom of the press.42 Ratified on July 15, the new law was noteworthy for what it did not require of individuals interested in publishing and printing: it did not require them to seek permission from the government, to post bond, or to have a formal education beyond the ability to read and write. A new Printing Law passed on the same day did require the printing house to send a copy of each item to the local public prosecutor, but owners and editors bore little or no responsibility for controversial articles appearing in their publications.43 Responsibility now rested with individual journalists. If prosecution was necessary, it was to take place in special courts reserved for the purpose. To be sure, the cabinet retained the authority to ban and collect foreign publications, but it possessed no such authority with regard to publications produced within Turkey.44 Two years later the Menderes government further ingratiated itself with the printing and publishing industry when it introduced an extensive law governing the rights of journalists, granting them protection from their employers, the right to claim holiday and severance pay, and the right to unionize.45

the eConoMiCs of a national print Culture Governments were responsible for reducing restrictions upon the press and creating an environment within which it might become an important public institution. But the actual proliferation of print media in the decade after 1945 was due to favorable conditions that derived from overall improvement in the Turkish economy following World War II. Neither the government’s statist economic policy nor foreign assistance from the United States under the Marshall Plan after 1947 appears to have had a direct impact on the printing and publishing industries. The machinery imported under American military and economic assistance programs apparently did not include printing presses.46 By contrast, even though private investment in the economy was not a notable feature of the postwar decade, it would appear that in the case of printing and publishing industries it was significant. In these years

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government printing houses and government-sponsored official gazettes no longer dominated in the provinces. The official gazettes actually decreased in number, while the number of privately owned printing houses and newspapers increased. The only direct financial assistance that the government offered to newspapers took the form of official advertisements. This sort of subsidy had been important to struggling publishing enterprises in the single-party period and remained important after 1945. The manner in which the Democratic Party government allocated advertising contracts was the source of considerable controversy. In the mid-1950s, however, major metropolitan newspapers evidently began to hesitate when offered government advertising because government rates had fallen below the rates that could be charged for private advertising. While the government paid as much as four TL per centimeter-column, the price charged for private advertisements ranged between six and ten TL.47 This suggests that many newspapers were becoming selfsufficient by the end of the first decade of press freedoms: economic growth during these years had an impact on printing and publishing. Memoirs written by Turkish journalists certainly bear witness that in Istanbul entrepreneurs were able and willing to take the risk of investing in up-to-date printing presses from Europe. Initially these were difficult to come by, as were paper and spare parts.48 With the new technology, however, they were able to print large numbers of newspapers in a short time, even in color. At this time newspapers such as Hürriyet (Freedom) and Milliyet were pioneers in these techniques, generating a market unprecedented in size. Although on a completely different scale, individuals in provincial centers also invested in presses (albeit much simpler) with the same idea that printing and publishing might become a profitable enterprise. Clearly newspapers and journals were aimed at that part of the population with some money to spare beyond daily necessities. Regular advertisements contained in these publications bear this out. Apart from government advertising, newspapers advertised luxuries such as refrigerators, toasters, radios, and watches as well as farm machinery. Print media were very much a part of “print capitalism” (to use the term loosely), encouraging spending while also benefiting from the increased spending power enjoyed by a growing portion of the population. The result was a competitive environment in which newspapers and journals vied for the growing market and provided both more attractive formats and useful content to the consumer.

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To be attractive, newspapers also had to be affordable (if not for everyone), and increasingly this was the case. Donald Webster noted that in the mid-1930s a newspaper cost the equivalent of “a pound of bread,” while one month’s subscription to a newspaper cost 2.5 percent of the “average salary of primary school teachers.”49 Webster’s meaning is ambiguous, and without more information it is impossible to make precise comparisons with later years. But Webster was sure that price was an impediment to wider newspaper circulation. After 1945 a challenge facing publishers was to keep newspapers affordable even as the price of paper increased significantly. In March 1951 Cumhuriyet informed its readers that along with a number of major Istanbul dailies (not including the popular Hürriyet, however) it would be raising its price from ten to fifteen kuruş. The cost of newsprint produced within Turkey at the Izmit factory had risen 25 percent, while newsprint from Europe had increased a stunning 100 percent.50 Similarly, increases in postal rates made it all the more difficult for newspapers to meet subscription demands outside of the local city, whether within the same province or across the country.51 It is not uncommon to find appeals from a newspaper or journal for subscribers to meet their obligations and pay for their subscriptions on the grounds that the publication was facing economic difficulties. Newspaper prices did rise in the end, but perhaps not as much as income did, based on the following changes over twenty years. In 1932 a copy of the Ankara daily Hâkimiyet-i Milliye cost five kuruş; the people’s paper Köroğlu sold for three kuruş, although it probably was distributed free of charge; and in August 1933 the provincial paper Yeni Mersin sold for five kuruş. In 1952 Ulus (formerly Hâkimiyet-i Milliye) sold for fifteen kuruş, while Köroğlu cost ten kuruş. Similarly, provincial newspapers in 1952 generally cost ten kuruş. In 1955 the Ankara daily Zafer (Victory) still cost fifteen kuruş. The degree to which Turks enjoyed sufficient disposable income to purchase newspapers varied greatly. Income depended on the type of work, and not all villages supported a cash economy. Moreover, village economies did not necessarily prosper in these years; towns too might suffer from considerable unemployment. Nevertheless, a growing proportion of the population could contemplate subscribing to a newspaper or buying an occasional copy. In 1949 a Village Institute teacher’s monthly base salary was one hundred TL; a factory worker’s salary might have been seventy-five TL; and a day’s labor in a provincial city was valued at between two and a half and three TL. By 1955 a

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factory worker in Kayseri might have earned between seven and eight TL a day.52 In other words, a local newspaper was not necessarily out of reach, even if it was not possible to purchase one every day: a provincial newspaper was cheaper than a metropolitan paper and still contained the most important news.53

Metropolitan print Media after 1945 The new national print culture incorporated two distinct elements: metropolitan and provincial print media. Although authoritarian Kemalist ideology had dominated metropolitan print media, nonetheless they had functioned in a competitive market environment and were best equipped to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by political and economic developments after 1945. A sufficient number of printing houses already operated in Istanbul and Izmir, and at first these did not increase significantly in number. By contrast, Ankara had not fared as well; but between 1946 and 1952 the number of printing houses jumped from 12 to 86. Between 1952 and 1956 the number of printing houses in all three metropolitan centers combined increased by 204 (52 percent): the number of printing houses in Izmir more than tripled, from 41 to 127.54 Throughout the post–World War II decade these metropolitan printing houses still dominated in the production of both books and journals. The number of books published each year continued to rise, increasing from 2,621 titles published in 1945 to 3,250 titles in 1955.55 It is important not to place too much emphasis on books, however, when assessing the new national print culture. Print runs remained small, rarely exceeding 2,000, and it was not easy for the public to access them at the few libraries and public reading rooms scattered across the country.56 Moreover, the absolute numbers of books in print alone cannot be taken as indicative of a corresponding growth in a popular print culture, for it is clear that the majority of books published between 1945 and 1954 were academic in nature. In these years between 50 and 60 percent of all books covered topics such as philosophy, linguistics, social sciences, law, and science. It is worth noting that the number of “religious books” published significantly increased in these years, while the occasional book published in a provincial city typically was devoted either to religion or to patriotic poetry.57 Journals also were published predominantly in Istanbul, Ankara, and Izmir between 1945 and 1954. Accurate statistics related to the in-

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crease in the number of journals in print are particularly difficult to obtain, because the annual Statistical Yearbook only distinguishes between “daily” and “nondaily” publications: this does not account for the significant number of newspapers that appeared two or three times a week.58 One study concludes (without offering a clear definition) that “journals” increased from 38 in 1945 to 170 in 1952.59 An analysis of The Bibliography of Turkey, however, suggests that in 1952 alone some 399 separate journals were published, 354 of which were published in the three metropolitan centers. What is most important to note is that the growth in journals in these years reflected a significant diversification in terms of content when compared with print media during the single-party period. Journals represented a wide variety of genres and perspectives. Many were aimed at women, others at children.60 Some were serious news magazines such as Kim (Who) and Akis (Reflection). Others, such as Akbaba, were satirical. Magazines focusing on sports also gained in popularity. Literary magazines such as Ufuklar (Horizons) and Yeditepe (Seven Hills) flourished, as did the popular Resimli Tarih Mecmuası (Illustrated History Magazine). Nationalist perspectives were well represented, if for only a short period, by Çınaraltı (Under the Plane-Tree), Yeni Bozkurt (New Graywolf), Tanrıdağ, and Orhun.61 Most importantly, numerous religious journals were available, including Sebilürreşad, Selâmet (Salvation), and Büyük Doğu. Although the vast majority were published in metropolitan centers, it is clear that journals circulated throughout the country, for provincial newspapers regularly carried advertisements for recent issues. As such they constituted an important component of the new national print culture. Far more widespread, however, were metropolitan newspapers. While dailies did increase in number after World War II, their growth was not as dramatic as that of provincial daily newspapers. The number of metropolitan dailies in print (32 in 1945) almost doubled (59 in 1952). The most significant increase occurred in Izmir (where the number more than doubled) and Ankara (where it tripled). Some 204 nondaily metropolitan newspapers were also in print in 1952.62 Regardless of how frequently they were published, we know that metropolitan newspapers accounted for the vast proportion of the growth in overall circulation in these years. Some were long-established papers such as Ulus, Akşam, Cumhuriyet, Yeni Sabah, and Vatan; often new owners and editors had taken charge. Others were new papers specific to this period, such as Yeni Istanbul (New Istanbul), Zafer, Milliyet, Yeni Büyük Doğu (New Great East), and Hürriyet.

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Hürriyet is perhaps the best-known metropolitan newspaper from the period, for it established new records in terms of circulation and remains one of the most important newspapers in Turkey today. Its success was foreshadowed by the short-lived satirical paper Markopaşa, which demonstrated the potential for a large market hitherto untapped. Published in 1946–1947, Markopaşa was intensely critical of the Republican People’s Party. It lasted only a few months before being closed by the Martial Law Authorities in Istanbul but nonetheless reputedly attained a circulation of up to 80,000 copies.63 On May 1, 1948, Hürriyet was established, thus marking an important new stage in the history of Turkish print media. An interesting survey of major newspapers worldwide in March 1951 described some of the hallmarks of Hürriyet: Hürriyet is politically “independent” though generally favourable to the Democratic Party. It is very nationalist . . . During the week in question, Hürriyet appeared daily with six large-size pages . . . It used more coloured ink than any of the 17 [newspapers studied]. The front page gave 49 per cent of space to pictures and 13 per cent to headings and sub-headings . . . The title, printed in red, was flanked to the left by the red-and-white Turkish flag.64

Hürriyet blazed new trails in Turkish journalism by featuring unprecedented numbers of colored photos and cartoons; by switching from lengthy, weighty stories to shorter, often more sensational articles; and by publishing supplements to commemorate special events and days. For example, its coverage of the London Olympics in August 1948 featured a back page completely covered with photos. Hürriyet’s circulation quickly reached 51,000. By 1951 Sunday editions were selling over 100,000 copies, and on March 15, 1954, the newspaper claimed that the previous day’s circulation had reached 243,700.65 In an article at the end of 1952 the editors of Hürriyet made it clear that this circulation was to a degree nationwide. After all, they argued, few Turks could find or afford the books advertised in journals, so they depended on Hürriyet to provide excerpts of important literature about science, history, culture, and fine arts.66 Metropolitan newspapers therefore fulfilled an important function, incorporating people across the country into the national print culture. Their participation in political debate and support for particular parties naturally drew people into the political process. In anticipation of elec-

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tions, Hürriyet sent reporters around the country to “take the pulse” and to report back on expectations and concerns in particular regions. At the actual time of elections in May 1950 and May 1954 it announced to readers that it had journalists stationed in provinces throughout the country to report on local results. But metropolitan papers also worked to draw the country together by focusing on the nonpolitical. Not infrequently reporters would travel throughout the country and report observations on specific provinces. Starting in 1951, Cumhuriyet featured regular “village letters” (köy mektupları) written by the novelist Yaşar Kemal: these would later be published under the title This Country from First to Last.67 Most notable was an extensive project undertaken by Ahmet Emin Yalman in the Istanbul daily Vatan. Between December 1951 and July 1953 a team of Vatan reporters traveled across the country and each week published four- to six-page supplements devoted to local culture and politics as well as the progress of modernization in each province. These proved to be very popular with readers. Metropolitan newspapers obviously competed with each other for the growing market of readers by appealing to a variety of popular interests. They made extensive use of color, and Hürriyet was not alone in its emphasis upon photographs and cartoons. Serialized romances, mysteries, and historical novels were also important. It was not uncommon for newspapers to publish memoirs written by members of the elite who had been prominent during the War of Independence or Mustafa Kemal’s presidency.68 Fashion pages and sports pages were common too. These devoted special attention to the success of Turks on the international stage whether in beauty contests or in sporting competitions: the success of Turks in world wrestling competitions and in the Olympics of 1952 received intense coverage.69 Finally, just as they sent reporters throughout the country, they also invested in reporters traveling to other countries who filed colorful reports and titillating pictures of exotic parts of the world for Turks at home. In February 1952 Ahmet Emin Yalman published a series of letters from India in Vatan, while Hürriyet published extensive coverage of its journalist, Hikmet Feridun Es, traveling in Asia in June 1950 and the South Pacific in April 1952. All in all, metropolitan newspapers were professional and appealing: they established the standard for newspapers throughout the country. Yet despite their evident advantage over provincial newspapers in terms of financial, material, and human resources, metropolitan newspapers faced one insurmountable challenge in the decade after 1945:

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distributing copies to the provinces on a daily basis in a timely manner. This is evident in a letter to the editor published in Hürriyet in December 1950. Isolated in an unidentified small town on the eastern border with the Soviet Union, a reader pleaded for an improved distribution system. Hürriyet represented a primary source of pleasure and his only contact with the world. With the onset of winter, however, delivery of the Istanbul daily became extremely erratic, leaving this reader longing for the next issue to arrive.70 Those involved in metropolitan publishing and printing must have been very conscious of the potential market that lay beyond Istanbul, Ankara, and Izmir. They made some effort to reach this market, albeit within the constraints imposed by the realities of technology at the time. They attempted to deliver newspapers to the provinces by various means, but until the 1960s these were not entirely reliable. Of course those provinces in proximity to Istanbul, Ankara, or Izmir were more likely to receive metropolitan publications on a consistent basis. But the most important and popular print media were produced in Istanbul, leaving the vast majority of the Turkish population beyond easy reach. In the 1950s Eskişehir received deliveries of Istanbul newspapers by airplane, while Black Sea coastal communities such as Zonguldak, Samsun, and Trabzon could expect metropolitan papers to arrive by ship on a fairly predictable basis.71 Presumably the same was true of cities along the Aegean and Mediterranean coasts. Air cargo also provided a means to deliver papers to more distant Anatolian centers such as Diyarbakır.72 In these years, however, such methods of delivery were experimental and by no means regular: the passage of ships could be affected by inclement weather, while the cost of transporting heavy newsprint by plane proved prohibitive.73 The most reliable means were by truck and train, but inevitably this resulted in a delay of several days, depending on the distance of Anatolian cities from Istanbul or Ankara. Only in 1955 did Hürriyet pioneer novel distribution methods, with a truck leaving Istanbul at 3:00 a.m. and heading for Edirne, dropping off papers in towns along the way. In subsequent years new routes to Bursa and Eskişehir became operational, but by 1959 it had become clear to the Istanbul press that cooperation was essential if it wished to avoid government efforts to take over national newspaper distribution. Thereafter, a number of papers formed a cooperative (Gameda) for the purposes of distributing their papers all over Anatolia by road as efficiently as possible. It was only in the early 1960s that Istanbul’s

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newspapers began to produce Ankara editions by engraving plates in Istanbul and then flying them to Ankara in time to print and circulate morning papers. These in turn were distributed to central and eastern Anatolia more rapidly.74

the expansion of provinCial print Media after 1945 Technology may not have been adequate for metropolitan newspapers to extend their reach beyond the immediate environs of Istanbul, Ankara, and Izmir effectively; but it was sufficient to aid in the expansion of newspapers produced and distributed in individual provinces throughout Anatolia. Thanks to the support of two wire services,75 provincial newspapers provided readers with the latest and most up-todate national and international news. They could not compete with more colorful and elaborate metropolitan publications in terms of content. But by the time metropolitan papers actually arrived in the provinces their “news” was already out of date. Provincial newspapers were ideally placed to meet the growing public demand for information that accompanied political liberalization and national integration after World War II. They enjoyed a niche market in that they alone could address issues and concerns relevant to the residents of a particular town or province. These were matters that arguably had more bearing on people’s daily lives than either national or international news. Some metropolitan papers might have correspondents in major provincial cities, but the occasional brief paragraph buried in the pages of Cumhuriyet or Hürriyet hardly did justice to developments in a specific province. These years therefore were a unique period in the history of Turkish printing and publishing. Until metropolitan publications could be distributed more effectively, the provincial newspaper played the critical role for the vast majority of the people (87 percent) who lived outside of the three metropolitan areas by incorporating them into the emerging national print culture. Three separate sources demonstrate the prominence of the provincial newspaper after 1945. The first source casts light on the situation in the Black Sea city of Zonguldak before this change began to occur: the local journal Doğu (East) published a survey of local newspaper vendors in the city in 1943. This survey counted local sales of periodicals but did not include subscriptions arriving by mail. It is not easy to identify with certainty where each title was produced, but it appears that

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no newspapers except Doğu originated locally; in all likelihood, the rest of the titles were published in Istanbul, Izmir, or Ankara. Admittedly Doğu was the most popular journal, but its sales accounted for only 330 of the 1,242 copies of journals sold. Ulus (the official Republican People’s Party newspaper) represented more than half of the 751 metropolitan newspapers sold daily, at 400 copies. Apparently no provincial newspaper (not even Zonguldak, established by Doğu’s owner in March 1923) was in print at the time of the survey. The market for locally produced print media was extremely limited during this period, yet within a few years Zonguldak would be home to a thriving local printing and publishing industry.76 Two other sources reveal that this new reality was already emerging by 1949. The first is an article that appeared in January 1949 in Dirlik (Peace), a small paper serving the Gaziosmanpaşa subdistrict (ilçe) within the province of Bursa.77 This article reported on a survey concerning newspaper readership: a total of 250 people reported reading a newspaper regularly. Of these, almost half (120) read metropolitan papers, but the remainder (130) read one of two papers produced in Bursa (Ant [Oath] or Doğru [Truth]) or Dirlik itself. Again, the information is very limited; regrettably, the article does not reveal specific information about Dirlik’s own circulation. The purpose of the article was to draw attention to the low number of Turks who read the press, but it is interesting to note that from another point of view the numbers were significant if small. They demonstrate not only that even a district that was not a provincial administrative center had an active readership for newspapers but that this group was sufficiently large to justify the publication of a small paper like Dirlik. The province of Bursa was well within the reach of Istanbul’s major newspapers, yet even here they represented less than half the market in 1949. The final source is a report on print media available in Gaziantep in 1949, written in July 1949 by Richard Robinson, an American scholar very familiar with post–World War II Turkey.78 This is perhaps the most detailed source concerning the various print media available in a provincial center. Robinson states that Gaziantep already had three local daily newspapers, all founded after 1945, with a total daily circulation of roughly 2,425.79 By contrast, daily metropolitan newspapers enjoyed total sales of only 835 in Gaziantep. At the same time, metropolitan publications dominated the market for less frequent publications: sales of “weekly newspapers” numbered an impressive 5,400, while 3,679 copies of other publications were sold each week. Unfortunately,

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beyond these statistics, Robinson provides very little detail. He does not reveal which nationally circulated newspapers were most common or elaborate on vague categories such as “police gazettes,” “religious magazines,” and “women’s magazines.” As in Gaziosmanpaşa (albeit this time in a province much farther from a metropolitan center) the print market was divided between metropolitan and provincial publications. Importantly, a wide range of metropolitan journals and weekly papers had a sizable readership in Gaziantep; in terms of daily newspapers, however, those produced locally enjoyed a market three times larger than the metropolitan newspapers of far greater renown. Statistics on the growth of provincial newspapers corroborate the impression that the provincial newspaper became an important local institution after 1945. Again journals did not constitute a large part of provincial printing and publishing: in 1952 only 45 journals were published outside the metropolitan centers. By contrast, according to The Bibliography of Turkey, a total of 110 daily and 220 nondaily newspapers were published that year in the provinces. More to the point, growth of the provincial print media in the years 1945–1952 was greater than the growth experienced by metropolitan publications. Supported by a dramatic increase in the number of private printing houses,80 according to the Statistical Yearbook, the number of periodicals more than tripled from a mere 112 in 1945 to a total of 359 in 1952. The growth is most impressive when we consider daily newspapers more closely. In 1940 a total of 18 private political daily newspapers were published in the provinces, and by 1945 this number had increased to 27. By 1952, according to the Statistical Yearbook, 114 provincial dailies were published. This figure is more than four times the number only seven years earlier. In 1940 only fourteen provincial capitals had a private political daily paper. By 1952 only twenty-two provinces out of sixty-three lacked a daily: indeed, between 1951 and 1952 new daily publications appeared in Çoruh, Denizli, Kars, Kastamonu, Kütahya, Manisa, Maraş, Muğla, Ordu, Siirt, Sivas, and Urfa. In 1940 only thirty-eight provinces had a private paper of some sort, while eighteen had official gazettes. This left seven provinces without any publication. It is unclear how many official gazettes remained by 1952,81 but by this time only two provinces lacked any publication at all. Increasingly, provincial towns and cities were home to their own vibrant print cultures, defined in terms of both local publications and metropolitan print media circulating throughout the country. Virtually every provincial center boasted multiple local publications, fre-

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quently even more than one daily newspaper. To be sure, printing and publishing were less vibrant in some provinces, with considerable variation among provinces. Thus in 1952 the southeastern province of Diyarbakır had only two newspapers, one of which was daily, whereas nearby Malatya was home to eight newspapers, of which six were daily. In these years Malatya was more the rule than the exception: in contrast to the single-party period, independent, locally produced newspapers now thrived throughout the country. In 1952 Eskişehir had sixteen newspapers (seven published daily) and five journals; Giresun was home to eight newspapers (five published daily); and Hatay had eleven papers (nine published daily) and two journals.82 Although many provincial newspapers may have struggled to survive in these years, the very fact that Turks were experimenting with their production is an indication of the growing importance of print media to provincial society. Just as print had long contributed to metropolitan society and culture, now the content of provincial newspapers echoed the characteristics of printing and publishing in Istanbul, Ankara, and Izmir. Alongside mainstream newspapers were independent publications devoted to specific causes. Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), Büyük Cihad (Samsun), Vicdan Sesi (Voice of Conscience) (Samsun), and Müslüman Sesi (Voice of the Muslim) (Izmir) all were “religious”; Büyük Dâva (Great Cause) (Kayseri) and Komünizme Karşı Türklük (Turkish Nationalism against Communism) (Zonguldak) offered an extreme nationalist perspective; newspapers called Işçi’nin Sesi (Voice of the Worker) in both Zonguldak and Eskişehir were but two of many newspapers committed to addressing the needs of the country’s growing industrial labor force. A competitive print market was now emerging in the provinces, and editors of all publications developed rivalries as they engaged in intense rhetoric about issues of concern to an increasingly literate population.83 Their newspapers sported the same features that captured popular attention in the metropolitan press: alongside reports of the latest international crisis or political dispute in Ankara were columns devoted to history; serialized novels; sports, fashion, and religion pages;84 occasional reports on life in other parts of the country, even on life in other countries; and sometimes cartoons. The very fact that these newspapers were produced locally enabled them to address provincial matters that outsiders would have considered mundane or unimportant: they engaged in debates concerning provincial or municipal politics, complained about the failure of various public works projects,

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and raised concerns about challenges facing the local economy. On a more positive note, they drew attention to important moments in local history, rallied the populace to participate in local campaigns to raise funds for charitable causes, and commemorated members of the community who had died. The quality of provincial newspapers varied considerably, and they were certainly less impressive than metropolitan publications. Some were fortunate to have been established during the single-party period and to have ready access to resources and skilled workers. In this case a paper might consist of at least four sides, and its content might be quite rich. The majority, however, were new papers produced by new printing houses. These surely worked on tight budgets and struggled to turn a meager profit if any at all. Often these papers would be just two sides of one sheet, printed on pedal presses and lacking any sophistication. Advertising revenue was sparse and in most cases cannot have been the sole or even primary source of income for proprietors. But it is wrong to dismiss provincial newspapers on the assumption that most printed only a few hundred copies. We lack clear or comprehensive figures. Although some newspapers certainly had a circulation as low as 150 copies, even as early as 1940 some provincial newspapers had circulation figures as high as 1,500.85 After World War II circulation figures must have varied significantly: two weekly provincial religious publications each circulated between 5,000 and 10,000 copies throughout the country, however, which leaves no doubt that the provinces were increasingly becoming an important component of a national print culture.86

printing and publishing in gaZiantep At present we know very little about the history of print media in any province. Those journalists who wrote memoirs were almost all associated with major metropolitan publications. We are fortunate, however, that limited details are available in volumes dedicated to tracing the outlines of printing and publishing in specific provinces. Few in number and hardly critical in terms of perspective, these small books are an important source, as is evident in the case of Gaziantep.87 Typically, those involved in the production of provincial newspapers came from a variety of backgrounds: owners of newspapers might have been active in business or politics, while journalists frequently had been trained and continued to work as teachers or lawyers. Frequently edu-

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cated in Istanbul or Ankara, they were appointed to work in a particular provincial center and sought to imitate the metropolitan print cultures to which they had been exposed earlier.88 Upon the owner’s reassignment to another city, a publication would either move too or simply cease to exist. Each province deserves individual analysis, because various factors influenced the development of local print, such as the distribution of the population between the major cities and its smaller district centers (kaza merkezleri ) as well as the ease of transportation and communication between them. Local literacy rates, resources, and economic growth were all factors. We cannot conclude that Gaziantep is necessarily typical in every respect, but certainly its history of printing and publishing is not out of the ordinary. Gaziantep was atypical in that it did not have a government printing house or gazette, because the city of Antep had been part of the vilayet of Aleppo in the Ottoman period. It did have a private press, however, that had been brought to the city from Izmir to serve the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions college in 1831. This was the only printing press in Gaziantep until 1915. In that year Ruştu Hoca Atalar established a small printing house with a pedal press, and in 1924 he purchased much of the equipment from the American Board college. In 1929 Kılıç Ali and Hüsnü Levent established a private printing house, which was turned over to the Republican People’s Party and administered by the local People’s House from 1932 onward. Levent then established two other printing houses, one in 1932 and another (Güven Basımevi) in 1949. In 1944 Ali Elgin, an employee of the Republican People’s Party printing house, decided to open his own shortlived establishment.89 In 1946 Hüseyin Bayaz established Gaziantep Basımevi. Finally, in 1950 Yeni Basımevi introduced new machinery in the form of an offset press (as well as a pedal press) and thus started the rapid growth in the region’s printing industry. Between 1951 and 1958 nine more printing houses were established, each by a different proprietor. These utilized a combination of older pedal presses and in some cases more advanced automatic presses.90 In terms of publications, thirty-four separate titles produced by the Gaziantep People’s House constituted the majority of books produced since 1923. In accordance with the mandate of the People’s Houses, these dealt primarily with local history, folklore, and culture. Between 1945 and 1954 only nine books appear to have been published in Gaziantep: three of these dealt with the local dialect, and three focused on as-

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pects of Gaziantep during the War of Independence. Journals did not thrive in Gaziantep either, although not for want of trying. Between 1923 and 1945 seven separate titles were established; but with the exception of Başpınar (Fountainhead), published by the People’s House, none managed to produce more than twelve issues. Between 1945 and 1949 three new journals were established, including one by high school students (Yankı [Echo]) and one for children (Çocuk Sesi [Voice of the Child]). Between 1950 and 1958 ten new journals were published, three of which were associated with local schools. Again virtually all of these were very short-lived. By contrast, newspapers did flourish in Gaziantep after 1945. The American Board college produced various periodicals prior to 1923. Between 1908 and 1918 some seven “newspapers” were published for various lengths of time. During the War of Independence two papers supported the Anatolian resistance movement. Between 1922 and 1925 Gazisancak was published as a local cultural/intellectual newspaper. Among its authors was Mehmed Ziya Gökalp, who had been an active author in Diyarbakır in the later years of the Ottoman Empire. Otherwise only six newspapers appeared in the province of Gaziantep between 1923 and 1945, one of which was in the district center of Kilis (1940–1946). With the possible exception of Yeni Gaziantep (New Gaziantep, published intermittently between 1940 and 1946), evidently none of these was a daily newspaper, and none survived for very long. Four new newspapers were established in 1947–1949, but two only managed to produce one issue each.91 After 1950 the scene was transformed: that year alone seven new newspapers were established, one of which was in the district of Kilis.92 Between 1951 and 1957 another fourteen newspapers appeared, which all lasted a number of years. In the same period another twelve publications appeared for less than a year.

provinCial newspapers and national integration In a report on “Village Communications” in the province of Gaziantep in 1949, Richard Robinson explained that there could be little doubt that rural peasants were familiar with newspapers and viewed them with respect. During visits to villages around Gaziantep he had noticed copies of newspapers. He also noted that “by virtue of the fairly frequent visits” made by the villager to the city, “he must be somewhat affected by what he sees and hears.”93 In fact, the proliferation of print

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after 1945 coincided with a critical moment in the long history of Anatolian infrastructural modernization, by which a national print culture was to emerge. Most importantly, changes were taking place in terms of transportation and communication as a direct result of the Turkish government’s concern to overcome rural isolation with the help of American foreign aid. The millions of dollars provided to Turkey in the context of the early Cold War had an impact not only on Turkey’s military but also on the rural economy. Aid was aimed at sectors such as mining, ports, roads, and electricity; improving productivity of farms and importing new machinery for industry were the primary focus. Numerous sources and studies from the period testify to the process, which built on changes underway for more than a century. It was in these years that Turkey began to become integrated, however, as longstanding barriers between rural and urban life diminished.94 Central to the dissolution of these barriers was the start of largescale migration from the countryside to provincial urban centers. A phenomenon more commonly associated with the 1960s, urbanization took root in the decade after 1945.95 We know that the proportion of Turks living in “cities” increased in these years while the proportion of those living in “villages” declined: 21.5 percent of the population lived in centers of more than 5,000 in 1945, while this number had increased to 25.5 percent by 1955.96 Local economic conditions resulted in considerable variation across the country, and cities grew at different rates: 70 percent of migrants moved to Turkey’s largest cities between 1950 and 1960,97 but a total of 800,000 migrants (26 percent) ended up in provincial towns and cities with populations of less than 10,000. Not surprisingly, the number of cities with a population of between 5,000 and 10,000 increased from 99 to 148 in the same period.98 The overall trend is readily evident in the changes that occurred in the province of Gaziantep: the population of the city of Gaziantep grew by 33 percent between 1950 and 1955, while two of the province’s district administrative centers—Islahiye and Nizip—grew at a similar or even greater rate. Urbanization was both the product and cause of increased mobility resulting from improved means of transportation. At a time characterized by real growth in the system of roads throughout the country as well as by a rapid increase in the number of vehicles on those roads, Turks found themselves able to move among villages, towns, and cities with far greater ease.99 Moreover, the opening of dozens of new district administrative centers, the establishment of new hospitals and schools, and new opportunities for commerce provided incentives

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for them to do so. The growth in the central province of Kayseri was typical: the governor, Kâzım Arat, told reporters for the Istanbul daily Vatan that 400 km of new roads had been constructed in the previous two years. He asserted that virtually no village remained unconnected to an urban center. Although a significant number of these roads were passable only eight months of the year, he was optimistic that within a few years even this would change.100 To be sure, Kayseri’s governor may have been overly optimistic. Although the integration of the vast rural population into public debate through an emerging national print culture was only beginning in the years 1945–1954, it set in motion a process that increased with further urbanization and the expansion of other forms of media in subsequent decades.

national print Culture and turkish publiC debate, 1945 –1954 In the decade after World War II, therefore, the newspaper became an important component of Turkey’s economic and social integration, while the provincial newspaper in particular was critical to the emergence of a new national print culture. There was no guarantee that printing and publishing outside of metropolitan centers would be profitable, and it is clear that many newspapers had short lives. Unlike the singleparty period, however, when one provincial newspaper closed another surely was established. Even today provincial newspapers remain an important aspect of Turkish print culture, despite the economic and technological advantages enjoyed by major metropolitan dailies. Nevertheless, it was not the economics of printing and publishing in Turkey that posed the greatest challenge to newspapers. This came from a ruling political elite, uncertain whether they wanted print media to enjoy the freedoms that they had gained in 1946 and later in 1950. That was the legacy of the single-party period. Since 1945 there has been an inherent tension in Turkey between popular participation in democratic politics and efforts by the state to limit public freedoms for fear that they might undermine Mustafa Kemal’s secular nationstate. This tension was palpable in the years 1945–1954, and journalists quickly discovered that even the Democratic Party was determined to control the content of print media and to suppress their freedom of speech. This was particularly the case when journalists criticized the government or advocated views contrary to Kemalist ideology. Most owners of provincial newspapers cannot have depended on

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them for an income, especially those who were determined to maintain their independence from the government and not succumb to the temptation of accepting official advertising contracts. Not infrequently, provincial editors would declare their independence and their determination not to be influenced by the government.101 This was a direct challenge to the Democratic Party government’s efforts to exert control over the press through economic means: financial and material support came not only through advertising contracts but also through the unequal distribution of the limited quantities of available newsprint.102 This approach to the press garnered the Democratic Party much support, but it also angered those editors determined either to remain neutral or to support the Republican People’s Party by placing them at a distinct financial disadvantage. To journalists, Democratic Party efforts to influence the press constituted little more than a continuation of policies previously pursued by the Republican People’s Party. Journalists were more aware than the public was that the Democratic Party followed in this tradition, for an early draft of the 1950 Press Law had been more restrictive than they liked. Initially Article 30 had provided for the prosecution of those journalists whose articles damaged the public peace (âmmenin huzuru), while Article 33 had prescribed the punishment for journalists who cast aspersions on an individual’s private life and harmed his or her reputation. Significantly, neither of these articles was included in the final draft.103 In the spring of 1952, however, the government revisited the idea, this time proposing to alter Article 159 of the Criminal Code to protect the president and deputies from public criticism. It backed down in June in the face of intense pressure from the opposition and from journalists.104 As a result of these less than subtle efforts to exert its control, the Democratic Party’s relationship with the press deteriorated drastically. Beginning in late 1952, therefore, Adnan Menderes went out of his way to follow Mustafa Kemal’s example by meeting with the heads of the most influential Istanbul and Ankara newspapers. This particular policy evoked some disapproval from politicians and from provincial journalists offended at having been excluded, but by and large it did ensure Menderes crucial support.105 Moreover, journalists applauded legislation on February 13, 1953, that protected them from prosecution in military courts when facing criminal charges.106 Despite these positive steps, tensions between Menderes and the media only continued to increase: the prime minister’s arrogance and distrust of journalists re-

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sulted in the gradual alienation of those who had previously supported the Democratic Party in the early years of multiparty politics.107 In the spring of 1954 Menderes’s struggle with journalists entered a new stage as the prime minister, anticipating the upcoming election campaign, was concerned about limiting criticism of his government. New legislation brought earlier Democratic Party efforts to control the press to their logical conclusion: this was a new law aimed at “crimes committed by way of publication or the radio.” According to the new law, prosecutors were now required to investigate personal attacks on anyone, regardless of whether or not that person had registered a complaint. Moreover, a journalist convicted of publishing false information (yalan haber) that might threaten the political or financial well-being of the state faced imprisonment for one to three years as well as a fine of no less than 2,500 TL.108 As journalists and politicians pointed out, the implications of the new legislation were drastic: journalists were now denied the opportunity to prove the veracity of allegations about a public figure before they faced prosecution. They were in essence denied the “right to proof” (ispat hakkı).109 From this point onward Menderes’s approach to the press reflected an increasing intolerance of criticism: even within the Democratic Party, deputies were concerned about the prime minister’s authoritarian tendencies. In 1956 he introduced even harsher legislation,110 all the while continuing to use advertising in an effort to manipulate the press. Yet circumstances were now very different than they had been in the single-party period: convinced that the press constituted an institution crucial to the defense of the nation against authoritarian rule, journalists now refused to acquiesce. Indeed, the years 1945 through 1954 had constituted a unique window during which a national print culture had become rooted not only in metropolitan centers but also in the provinces. The government no longer had the stature or the means to control its content, and print media in this period became the foundation on which a much wider variety of media would develop in subsequent decades. Between 1954 and 1958 alone, state prosecutors undertook some 1,161 cases against journalists who refused to be intimidated into submission.111 Since 1945 a defining aspect of Turkish society has been public debate dependent on the breathing space created by media. This began with political liberalization and the emergence of competitive print markets throughout Turkey and the formation of a national print culture increasingly incorporating both rural and urban Turks. Capital-

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izing on the freedoms of the press that accompanied multiparty politics, Turks turned to print to express diverse opinions and to engage in a public debate that concentrated on how to define their nation. As we shall see, these “freedoms” were by no means complete, and the public debate that was to be permitted had distinct limits. Nevertheless, newspapers, journals, books, and brochures all offered Turks the opportunity to promote diverse perspectives. Authors and editors were well aware that their publications increasingly had to appeal not only to the metropolitan Kemalist elite but also to a growing print market that now included Turks living across Anatolia. These people, as well as a substantial proportion of the urban population, retained frames of reference defined by their identities as Muslims—identities that the Turkish Revolution had not eradicated. The national print culture therefore recognized and validated this, if only because those involved in printing and publishing were eager to retain readers in their sphere of influence. In this way print culture facilitated the negotiation of a Muslim national identity. Even as print media framed important dimensions of national identity such as the Turkish nation’s relationship to the broader world or its imperial past, it left little doubt that Turkey was a Muslim nation.

CHapter 4

religious print Media and the national print Culture

By following His path, our goal is to pay our debts and to be loyal servants to our Great God [Ulu Tanrımız], who has bestowed on us the pride and glory of being Turkish and Muslim. We shall struggle, without being daunted, against every idea and action that opposes all that we deem sacred. Büyük CIhad (saMsun), MarCh 16, 1951 Freedom of conscience [vicdan hürriyeti ] demands that all people be able to carry out their religious duties and practices on the condition that religion not mix with politics and that religious practices not be contrary to general custom or public order. If freedom of conscience is not accepted as the citizen’s natural right as are other freedoms, it is impossible to realize the principle of a laical state. In our program, freedom of conscience and the essence of laiklik are defined in these terms. priMe Minister adnan Menderes, June 4, 1950 soCial sCientists stuDyinG moDerniZation in the Third World after World War II assumed that increased mobility and exposure to new ideas through the newspaper and radio would inevitably result in the eradication of the “traditional” and the emergence of the “modern Turk.”1 Implicitly they assumed that religion would die a natural death in Atatürk’s secular Turkey, when in fact the content of print media from the years 1945–1954 reveals that just the opposite occurred. Indeed, public and political debate in these years frequently turned to the importance of Islam for the Turkish nation. Significantly, the military coup that overthrew the authoritarian government of Adnan Menderes in May 1960 was justified in part on the pretext of needing to protect “Atatürk’s reforms.” In light of this the Democratic Party often is accused of having deviated from laiklik

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and Mustafa Kemal’s vision for a “secular” Turkey. Nevertheless, when Menderes laid out the principles underlying his government following the Democratic Party’s electoral victory in May 1950, the evident sensitivity to popular religious practices and emphasis upon “freedom of conscience” were hardly original. Rather, the new government’s policies represented the culmination of intense debate concerning laiklik and the place of Islam in Turkey that already had galvanized politicians throughout the first five years of multiparty politics. Moreover, Menderes’s comments reflected an awareness that this debate was joined not only by the political elite but increasingly by people across the country, who participated through a national print culture that facilitated the freedom of both expression and conscience. Infused by a variety of new religious print media that granted importance to Islam, this national print culture offered Turks a breathing space within which they might negotiate identification with Turkey as a Muslim nation. This chapter examines the religious print media that constitute such a striking aspect of the national print culture between 1945 and 1954. These are print media that so far have gone all but unnoticed in the historical record. Their story speaks to the limited yet significant freedoms extended to printing and publishing in these years. Benefiting from the relaxation of restrictions on the press starting in 1946, they proliferated to the point that by 1949 some ten separate religious periodicals already sold a total of 470 copies a week in Gaziantep, for example. As we shall see in the final chapter, however, the very existence of a religious press posed a serious problem for secular Kemalists. This resulted in intense debate in 1952–1953 and the eventual suppression of many religious publications, especially those produced in the provinces. Thus, even as the Democratic Party moved to place more general restrictions on the freedom of the press, other legislation aimed at protecting Mustafa Kemal’s secular legacy was enacted with the goal of specifically limiting those publications promoting a religious perspective. Consequently, their numbers began to decline, so that by 1955 only two religious periodicals were for sale on the newsstands in Gaziantep.2 This short-lived expansion of religious print media captured the attention of foreign scholars studying in Turkey after World War II. They noted the highly profitable trade in religious literature. Most of it was published privately; some was produced by the government; still more was brought into the country by Turks returning from the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. In true Orientalist fashion, these scholars evaluated

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the contents of these publications. Some they dismissed as “spurious,” but even the best they deemed poor compared to Islamic writings from earlier periods of history. Nonetheless, they recognized that the proliferation of religious print media in Turkey was important: it was evidence that “the deepest Islamic roots of Turkish life and culture are still alive and the ultimate identity of Turk and Muslim in Turkey is still unchanged. The resurgence of Islam after a long interval responds to a profound national need.”3 Quite apart from the misleading essentialism inherent in such a conclusion, it was an accurate observation of the relevance of Islam to Atatürk’s “secular” Turkey. In interwar Europe the assumption had prevailed that—as a result of the diffusion of nationalism from the West to the East—“citizenship of a nation” had replaced religion as the “supreme ruling principle” in politics; it was also “the decisive inner experience” that governed “all social and intellectual life.” As the Kemalist historical narrative implied, nationalism was supposed to involve “the progressive march of enlightenment and secularization against clerical influence and the orthodox reverence for tradition still prevailing among the masses.”4 The very existence of religious print media in Turkey after 1945 exposes the fallacy behind this assumption. While they did not necessarily promote an Islamist agenda as we understand it today, they did speak to the complexity of Turkish society and the continued importance of religion in daily life. In fact, nation and religion were becoming intertwined: the former had not simply replaced the latter. Print media bear witness to this process, for they featured intense debates after 1945 over the very meaning of “secularism” (laiklik) and religion (din). Turks themselves appeared to understand that these concepts had specific genealogies intimately related to their own history: rather than employ the term “Islam,” print media often used the term Müslümanlık (literally, “Muslimism”), implying that to Turks religion was a real, lived experience not necessarily reducible to a rigid projection of orthodoxy or orthopraxis. Time and again, periodicals such as the Samsun weekly Büyük Cihad asserted the importance of Islam—however it might be defined—to daily life. While mainstream provincial newspapers typically avoided the actual debate, we see clear evidence in their content that they implicitly acknowledged this reality. Print media therefore incorporated the people into a growing public discourse that included even members of the political elite who now questioned the modernist Kemalist devotion to the nation as the sole locus of loyalty.

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the politiCs of religion If Prime Minister Menderes did not introduce the notion that laiklik required revision, he did inject an important distinction into political and public debate. In response to questions concerning his party’s policies, Menderes alluded to those reforms that had been “accepted by the nation” (mal olmuş) and by implication suggested that the nation had rejected others. The former were sacred and inviolable: it was his government’s duty to protect them. By contrast, those that had not taken root required reassessment. They might initially have been necessary to prepare the way for later change in that they had been essential to overcoming the old mentality characterized by bigotry so that new national ideals could be inculcated in the people. By their very nature, however, these reforms restricted public freedoms, especially freedom of conscience. Menderes now surmised that they were no longer necessary and certain changes were needed in order for laiklik to reach its true potential. This applied to state efforts to regulate the forms of public religious practice (ibadetler), in particular the language used for the call to prayer (ezan).5 Thus Menderes suggested that defining aspects of the Turkish Revolution were not themselves beyond reform. In a speech to the Grand National Assembly a few days later, Menderes went one step further by claiming that the popular victory of the Democratic Party itself represented the greatest reform (inkılâp) in the country’s history.6 Such arrogance of course shocked loyal Kemalists, for Menderes was arrogating to himself a concept (inkılâp) usually associated with Mustafa Kemal alone.7 Moreover, with the advent of multiparty politics the Republican People’s Party itself had initiated an examination of the efficacy of Kemalist laiklik, which his inflammatory comments completely ignored. Indeed, it had undertaken a reevaluation of laiklik at its seventh party congress in November–December 1947.8 Subsequently it had initiated a number of changes in policy—a process that the new Democratic Party government merely took to its logical conclusion in 1950. Multiparty politics opened the way for new parties to promote specific and diverse perspectives: perhaps the most prominent of these related to laiklik and religion (din). Among the parties that Tarık Zafer Tunaya lists as having formed between 1945 and 1952, at least thirteen took public positions that implied they were appealing to popular Muslim identities and capitalizing on a discontent with Kemalist laiklik.9

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By far the most important of these was the Islamic Democratic Party (Islam Demokrat Partisi), formally established under the leadership of Cevat Rıfat Atilhan (1892–1967) in Istanbul on August 27, 1951.10 Even the use of the word “Islam” in the name of a political party was unusual and ultimately proved to be the primary grounds on which the Istanbul public prosecutor would later seek to ban the party.11 Evidently the party was reasonably popular: within months of its establishment the Islamic Democratic Party had branches in at least 150 towns in ten provinces. It claimed a membership of two thousand. The first branch opened was in Malatya, with thirty-five members; others soon followed in centers such as Bursa, Samsun, Of, Milas, Urfa, Amasya, Erzurum, Menemen, and Keçiborlu.12 By February 1952, however, the minister of the interior had become increasingly uncomfortable with the party’s rapid expansion: in a report dated February 28, F. L. Karaosmanoğlu recommended that the party be shut down because it constituted a political organization associated with Islam and thus contravened the Law of Associations.13 Beyond the party’s name, Karaosmanoğlu also cited as evidence articles written by Atilhan in the Samsun newspaper Büyük Cihad and the Bursa branch of the Islamic Democratic Party’s application to the local governor for permission to offer public prayers when raising the country’s flag at its opening ceremony.14 On March 3 a court in Istanbul ordered that all branches of the party close. Initially lawyers for the Islamic Democratic Party successfully contested this decision, but after months of drawn-out legal arguments the courts eventually sided with the prosecutor, and the party was permanently shut down on November 7, 1952. Neither the Islamic Democratic Party nor the other small parties succeeded in electing deputies to the Grand National Assembly. But their emphasis upon Islam and the need to reevaluate laiklik influenced political debate, as is evident in the policies introduced by the Republican People’s Party as well as the two major opposition parties. It was no coincidence that the program of the newly founded Democratic Party in January 1946 included statements concerning laiklik. Specifically, Article 14 emphasized not only that the state should have nothing to do with religion but also that laiklik should not be understood to mean “opposition to religion”; freedom of religion was a “sacred freedom.” Moreover, the Democratic Party was committed to resolving the “problem of religious education” and to training “men of religion” (din adamları), even to opening a Faculty of Divinity.15 On numerous occasions Celâl Bayar defended this position in public speeches, countering

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criticism from the Republican People’s Party. Addressing the Democratic Party Congress in June 1949, he declared that the “Turkish nation is Muslim, and will remain Muslim,” assuring delegates that a Democratic Party government would demonstrate respect for religion.16 The Nation Party adopted an even more provocative posture regarding laiklik. Its most prominent leader was Marshal Fevzi Çakmak, known as a military hero and as a man of piety; his early support for the Democratic Party in 1946 had immediately bolstered its credibility. Significantly, the very word laiklik was conspicuously absent from the Nation Party’s program: it simply stated in Article 8 that the party respected “religious institutions and national traditions,” emphasizing the importance of both “freedom of conscience” and complete freedom in the practice of religion. It too insisted on absolute separation of state and religion,17 while also advocating religious education in primary and middle schools. The party proposed that the government establish an independent organization to oversee religious affairs. In short, the Nation Party’s determination to capitalize on growing public demands for “freedom of conscience and creed” reflected its aggressive approach to religion and to laiklik after its establishment in 1948. The party won only a single seat in the 1950 elections, which suggests that Turks were content with the moderate approach adopted by the Democratic Party. Nonetheless, the Nation Party would remain prominent in national politics until the ruling Democratic Party moved to close it in the summer of 1953, precisely due to fear that its overt association with Islam encouraged “religious reaction” (irtica).18 Religion and laiklik therefore became a prominent part of debate not only in the Assembly but also among the people, especially during general election campaigns in 1946 and 1950, when aspiring deputies throughout the country had to respond to questions. Before the July 1946 elections the Democratic Party not only demanded an end to authoritarian government and the “single-party mentality” but was accused of pandering to public demands by promising to permit the use of Arabic for the ezan and even to return to use of the Arabic script.19 In the spring of 1950 the debate was all the more intense as the Republican People’s Party and Democratic Party were joined by the Nation Party, which promoted a conservative platform. Again the parties accused each other of engaging in religious propaganda for political gain: this time the topics of discussion included not only “religious freedoms” but also the wearing of the fez and religious education.20 Finally, candidates in by-elections in September 1951—including those from the

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Republican People’s Party—were brazen enough to make open visits to mosques and perform prayers with constituents and to convey a general concern for public piety.21 Within the Assembly itself, the two most controversial and pressing matters of debate concerned education and the ezan. With regard to education, deputies addressed both the need to teach children the fundamental aspects of Islam—such as the Qur’an, morality, and Islamic history—and the importance of training men of religion to fulfill public duties associated with mosques. Kemalist policies had not favored religious education following the closure of the medrese school system in 1924: neither the new imam-hatip schools nor the Faculty of Divinity at Istanbul University had flourished. Hence after 1933 the only formal religious training available in Turkey had been training for hafız (those who were responsible for memorizing and reciting the Qur’an). Similarly, the government had gradually reduced the prominence of religion classes in public schools, so that by 1935 they had been completely eliminated, even in primary schools.22 Religious education very quickly became a subject of debate both in the press and in the Assembly in the context of budget deliberations in December 1946.23 When two Republican People’s Party deputies— Muhittin Baha Pars (1884–1954) and Hamdi Suphi Tanrıöver (1885– 1966)—proposed to reintroduce religious education to the schools, they received support from Democratic Party founders Adnan Menderes and Mehmed Fuad Köprülü. Prime minister Recep Peker—an ardent secular Kemalist—dismissed the proposal on the grounds that it would open the doors to “religious propaganda.” Nonetheless, Tanrıöver again put forward the matter of religious education at the Republican People’s Party’s seventh party congress.24 Significantly, in July of that year the Ministry of Education had already acknowledged the importance of the matter by issuing guidelines permitting private institutions to offer religious education both to children and to men of religion.25 Debate at the congress revealed considerable support among deputies for some sort of religious education, but many remained concerned that any move along these lines would pose an unacceptable challenge to laiklik and Mustafa Kemal’s efforts to eradicate religious influence over education. In general the deputies were determined not to accept any fundamental change in the party’s interpretation of laiklik. They did indicate some sympathy for the welfare of men of religion (whose salaries were extremely low) as well as recognition that Islam was necessary to the nation’s “moral fabric” and hence that religious

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education was crucial to guarding against the moral degradation of the people.26 Consequently, the year 1948 witnessed intense debate about how these concerns should translate into practical policy. It began with a formal proposal in January that courses for the training of men of religion (in this case imams and hatips) and a Faculty of Divinity be established. Discussion in the Grand National Assembly and the press reflected confusion as to which government office would oversee these new institutions and fear on the part of some that the Ottoman-Islamic medrese might be reestablished. In fact there was no chance of this occurring, but advocates of government-sponsored religious education emphasized that religion could not simply be reduced to a personal relationship between God and human beings. On the contrary, a Muslim nation had an evident need for trained men of religion to carry out fundamental rituals such as funerals, and without them Turkey risked falling prey to the very superstition (hurafe) and bigotry (taassup) that Mustafa Kemal had deplored and considered Turkey’s worst enemy.27 In February 1948 the Republican People’s Party committed itself to the establishment of a Faculty of Divinity at the University of Ankara and then in May to the establishment of new imam-hatip schools. In the summer the Ministry of Education accepted the proposal that “voluntary” religious lessons be introduced to the fourth and fifth grades of primary school.28 Implementation of these decisions, however, was far from immediate, as politicians continued to ponder whether the new policy threatened to reintroduce not just a dual school system but also the “dual mentality” that had so weakened the Ottoman Empire. Both new curricula and textbooks were needed for the religion classes in school, which proved to be extremely popular. By January 1949 initial concerns had been overcome sufficiently that the government did open imam-hatip courses in Ankara and Istanbul and then in eight other cities; meanwhile Ankara University agreed to consider opening a Faculty of Divinity.29 Thus by the time of the 1950 election the Republican People’s Party government had made significant steps to address issues to which both the Democratic Party and Nation Party programs had drawn attention. Under pressure both from within the party itself and from without and facing accusations that laiklik had left people spiritually impoverished and subject to the temptations of communism, the Republican People’s Party had initiated its own significant reform of this defining Kemalist principle. The state, however tentatively, once again was directly

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supporting the instruction of Turks in their faith. It remained only for the Democratic Party to extend and formalize this intervention. On November 4, 1950, the new government took the step of making religious lessons mandatory in primary schools: parents who did not wish their children to learn about Islam had to notify the school to that effect.30 At the same time, the government recognized that the new imam-hatip courses had not been effectively implemented despite considerable popular demand. Consequently, working in cooperation with local provincial organizations that raised money to build the facilities, the government formally resurrected imam-hatip schools in 1951 in Isparta, Adana, Ankara, Istanbul, Kayseri, Konya, and Maraş. Thus began a very popular and effective means to train men of religion. Although its detractors may have faulted the Democratic Party for acting contrary to the principles of laiklik, the government was only responding to popular demand (just as the Republican People’s Party had done before), as was necessary in the new political system.31 No less controversial was the question of the ezan, even though it was not the subject of so much public discussion. Whereas critics of Kemalist laiklik faulted the Republican People’s Party for observing the separation of state and religion and failing to provide religious education in schools, their concerns about the ezan were contradictory. In this case they did not want the state involved in matters of faith. They argued that Mustafa Kemal’s decision to Turkify the ezan constituted unwarranted interference in what ought to have been a matter of religious freedom: how individuals chose to practice their faith. Specifically, the state was standing in the way of Turks who wanted to fulfill the religious stipulation that the ezan should be in Arabic, “the language of the Qur’an.” With the initiation of multiparty politics, this matter gained currency in political debate. In 1946 Democrats had raised the matter during the July election campaign, and it was no coincidence that the Nation Party program called for absolute freedom of language when it came to religious practices.32 At the same time, the government struggled to enforce regulations concerning the ezan: as it admitted, the law had been broken on at least seventy occasions in 1946–1947 alone.33 Concerned to clarify just what the law required, Ahmet Hamdi Akseki, director of the Ministry of Religious Affairs, issued a memorandum on September 22, 1948, in which he assured employees of the ministry that Turkish was not required in the actual recitation of prayers or of the mevlut (celebration of the birth of the Prophet) or for the reading of the Qur’an.34

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Nevertheless, the ezan does not appear to have become a major focus of contention among politicians until February 4, 1949. Then two men upset the decorum of the Grand National Assembly. Sitting in the visitors’ gallery, they very suddenly launched into the Arabic ezan, one after the other.35 Almost immediately the offenders were dragged from the building and charged with breaking the law; their explanation was that they so loved the sound of the Arabic ezan that they could not help themselves when overwhelmed by inspiration—although just what proceedings of the Grand National Assembly of Turkey provided such inspiration remained unexplained. Further investigation led to the conclusion that they were adherents of the secretive and generally unknown Ticani tarikat and previously had been charged with proclaiming the Arabic ezan in the cities of Eskişehir, Kütahya, and Afyon. The moment in the Assembly had been carefully orchestrated, while the eventual outcome—a change in the legislation to permit the Arabic ezan—was probably more than even these “reactionaries” (mürteci ) had dared hope for. In the short term, this event incited intense debate in the press over Mustafa Kemal’s intentions with regard to laiklik and the role of the state in religious affairs. The debate was between Hikmet Bayur (1891–1980; Nation Party) and Falih Rıfkı Atay (1894–1971; Republican People’s Party). Atay maintained that Mustafa Kemal had been involved personally in the translation of the ezan into Turkish and would have instituted the reading of the Turkish Qur’an in the nation’s mosques had he lived. Noting that mosques remained open and Turks were free to worship according to traditional practice, Atay maintained that this did not in fact constitute “interference” in religion. Bayur had the more difficult task of criticizing elements of laiklik without personally attacking Mustafa Kemal. While the Turkish ezan and the use of a Turkish Qur’an constituted unacceptable interference, he argued, Mustafa Kemal actually had little to do with the translation of the ezan. At the same time, Bayur affirmed that Mustafa Kemal’s concern when implementing laiklik had been to prevent bigotry and the manipulation of religion for political purposes.36 Ultimately the Democratic Party deemed the ezan to be an ideal issue by which to define its new government in 1950. Recognizing that it owed its victory to the people, the government proposed just before the start of Ramazan to strike down the 1941 law requiring that the ezan and kamet be proclaimed in Turkish. Menderes moved quickly to discuss the matter within the party and then within the Assembly.37

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Predictably, the political debate was lively and heated, but the final outcome was revealing: caught between their loyalty to Mustafa Kemal and their desire to win popular support, the Republican People’s Party deputies ultimately voted in favor of permitting the Arabic ezan. This decision was so important that the prime minister’s office issued a statement to the Anatolia News Agency on June 16, the same day that the Grand National Assembly passed the measure. It requested that the agency inform Turks in publications and radio broadcasts that from this point forward they were free to proclaim the ezan in Arabic.38 Reports from across the country reveal beyond a doubt that the changes to the law were well received and immediately implemented.39 Seizing on the popularity of this decision, less than a month later the government announced that Turks could now expect to hear passages of the Arabic Qur’an and related religious programs on state-controlled radio. The government simultaneously began to publish collections of sermons delivered in Turkish over the radio, which were distributed widely between 1951 and 1954: one report suggested that as many as 628,000 copies of publications such as Moral and Religious Speeches on the Radio were sold.40

religious print Media and the national print Culture The apparent popularity of these collections of sermons is indicative of the overall importance of religious print media to the new national print culture. Religious print media in any form had been all but absent in Turkey throughout the single-party period.41 After World War II this began to change. The Statistical Yearbook lists 27 “religious books” published in 1945, but thereafter the number increased annually: in 1952 a total of 73 religious books appeared, while the number reached 104 in 1955. No doubt this growth reflected in part the establishment of a printing department within the Presidency of Religious Affairs in 1950, with a mandate to publish popular works dealing with Islamic beliefs, practices, and morals.42 Between 1945 and 1949 thirteen separate “lessons in religion” books for children had already been published. Some books were technical in nature and assumed considerable prior knowledge on the part of the reader, but an examination of titles listed in The Bibliography of Turkey after 1950 suggests that many were aimed at a popular audience. These provided Turks with basic instruction on practices such as fasting, praying, and going on the hajj. Others were collec-

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tions of sermons produced by individual preachers; some were translations of tefsir (commentary) on the Qur’an; and still others addressed contemporary debates such as the importance of religious education and whether or not the Qur’an should be read aloud over the radio. Although the publication of books in provincial centers was not common in the decade after 1945, a significant portion of those books that did appear concerned Islam. Religious books were published in Mardin, Eskişehir, Düzce, Adana, and Kayseri in 1950 and in Maraş, Malatya, Bursa, Eskişehir, Giresun, Samsun, Bafra, and Mersin in 1952. The ease and affordability of printing offered new opportunities. Mehmed Lutfullah Baydoğan in Izmir is a case in point: a local preacher (vaiz) and editor of his own paper (Müslüman Sesi ), Baydoğan published treatises and instructional booklets for his readers in and around Izmir.43 So did other figures such as Eşref Edib (Fergan) (1882–1971), Şemseddin Yeşil (1904–1968), Kemal Pilavoğlu (1906–1977), and Ömer Fevzi Mardin.44 Religious books and pamphlets were an important but nonetheless small component of Turkish print culture in the decade after 1945. More important and more prolific were journals and newspapers devoted to addressing the religious needs of the people and increasingly engaging in public debate concerning laiklik. Just how the government or others defined “religious” (dinî) is not immediately clear, but the number of these publications did increase significantly. The Statistical Yearbook listed three religious periodicals in 1945, ten in 1951, and twelve in 1952. As noted, in 1949 ten religious periodicals were already available in Gaziantep.45 A search of Turkish libraries suggests that at least ten religious publications were established between 1945 and 1949,46 while at least sixteen more were established in the years 1950– 1952 alone.47 Only three of these were daily newspapers, all produced in Istanbul and associated with Necip Fazıl Kısakürek (1905–1983): Büyük Doğu, Yeni Büyük Doğu, and Hilâl (Crescent). The other religious newspapers and journals appeared on an intermittent basis: weekly, biweekly, or monthly. The majority of these (at least seventeen) were published in Istanbul, but six were published in the provinces: Yeşil Nur in Eskişehir, Büyük Cihad and Vicdan Sesi in Samsun, Müslüman Sesi in Izmir, Büyük Dâva in Karşıyaka (Izmir), and Yeşil Bursa in Bursa. What is striking about this religious dimension of the national print culture is the mixture of old and new: in many ways its diversity and vitality is reminiscent of the vibrant religious print culture characteristic of the years immediately following the Young Turk Revolution of

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1908. Indeed, Eşref Edib revived one of the most prominent periodicals from that period when he again published Sebilürreşad in 1948. Other figures involved with post–World War II religious print media, such as Cevat Rıfat Atilhan, Ali Fuad Başgil (1893–1967), and Ömer Rıza Doğrul (1893–1952), had also been active in the late Ottoman Empire. At the same time, however, writers and publishers of the new generation such as Necip Fazıl Kısakürek, Kemal Bülbül (1928–), Nuri Akyar, Osman Yüksel Serdengeçti (1917–1983), and Bekir Berk (1926–1992) were equally if not more influential. These “new Turks” may have been children of the Republic, but they were no less committed to promoting a Muslim perspective in their publications: the so-called Islamic revival after 1945 did not reflect the death throes of the last generation of Ottomans. Rather, these individuals were linked by a commitment to Islam and to utilizing print media to appeal to, and harness, the religious sentiments of the people. Thus they seized on a medium formerly dominated by the Kemalist state and used it to offer alternative perspectives, often in direct opposition to Kemalist laiklik.

religious print Media: eduCating the people Following the withering Kemalist attack on Islamic institutions and subsequent neglect of prominent symbols of Muslim society during the single-party period, the freedoms of the press accompanying multiparty politics afforded Turks the opportunity to participate in debate concerning the efficacy of laiklik and once again assert the importance of Islam in daily life. In some cases print media were devoted largely to educating Turks in correct beliefs and practices as Muslims, rather than engaging in current debate. They did so on the assumption that Turks lacked an accurate understanding of Islam because of the absence of religion classes in the schools. Five of these periodicals (all established in 1947–1948) are particularly noteworthy: Hakikat Yolu (True Path), Ehli Sünnet (The Sunnis), Islam Yolu (Path of Islam), and Islamiyet (Islamism) in Istanbul and Müslüman Sesi in Izmir.48 The editor and lead writer for Müslüman Sesi was the aforementioned Mehmed Lutfullah Baydoğan, an employee of the Ministry of Religious Affairs in Izmir.49 Müslüman Sesi appeared once every fifteen days. The contents of the first issue clearly indicate its focus. Baydoğan informed his readers that the periodical’s goal was to emphasize that Islam (Müslümanlık) represented all that was good, moral, civilized, and truthful; it opposed backwardness (gerilik), lies and untruth-

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figure 7. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), August 14, 1949.

fulness, and all that was bad. Accordingly, in an article entitled “What Sort of Religion Is Islam?” he emphasized that Islam had no exclusive relationship with a particular nation but was founded upon morality, the teachings of the Prophet, and a commitment to progress and enlightenment.50 Baydoğan would later assure his readers that Islam was fundamentally opposed to bigotry and reactionary conservatism and that the Muslim world was on the verge of regaining the greatness and glory that it had once known. As Muslims, Turks had a duty to practice Islam in a manner suitable to the modern age, cleansed of those accretions that had brought about its decline.51 Thus Müslüman Sesi devoted considerable space to instructing Turks in how they should live: articles promoted brotherly love, the importance of prayer (namaz) and whether it was permissible to pray

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without a head covering, the benefits of regular fasting (oruç), and the importance of participation in the annual hajj to Mecca.52 Similarly, it emphasized the importance of moral living: in particular, consumption of alcohol was contrary to Islam and, according to science, harmful to good health.53 Müslüman Sesi stressed that the very success of the Turkish nation depended on its ability to observe and promote the morality fundamental to Islam. It was therefore committed to fighting irreligion (dinsizlik) and challenged literature circulating in Turkey that promoted skepticism about the existence of God.54 As such it argued that there was an inherent connection between nation and religion, pointing out that religious beliefs and practices constituted a critical spiritual dimension even in the West. Islam was inherently progressive, while its emphasis on an afterlife and on the existence of God was completely in tune with trends evident in modern Western civilization.55 Even President Harry Truman had appealed to Americans to recognize and respect their own shared religious tradition, and Müslüman Sesi called on Turks to do likewise.56 Alluding to current debate, it addressed the importance of religion lessons in school and asserted that these not only would promote respect for parents and humanity as a whole but also would inculcate love for the nation.57 Müslüman Sesi was published in Izmir, but it echoed many of the themes stressed by Islam Yolu, Hakikat Yolu, Islamiyet, and Ehli Sünnet, all published in Istanbul. These too stressed that Islam was a modern and progressive faith, opposed to outmoded superstition and conservatism. Yet these publications did not necessarily promote identical interpretations of Islam: each reflected the ideas and opinions of its owner or editor. Indeed, each journal appears to have wanted to lay claim to having the one true interpretation of Islam, and on occasion they did not shy away from criticizing each other on these grounds.58 Hakikat Yolu and Islamiyet were both mouthpieces for a young Istanbul preacher, Şemseddin Yeşil: Islamiyet frequently published the texts of his sermons and advertised pamphlets for sale containing his writings.59 Hakikat Yolu presented itself as a “moral and social journal” (ahlâkî ve içtimaî mecmua). Islamiyet was a “weekly religious, social, and moral newspaper” (haftalık, dinî, içtimaî, ahlâkî gazete) and proclaimed below its masthead: “By reason and tradition it is proven that the religion of Islam was sent to all humanity. This great religion is the sole religion of the future.”60 Hakikat Yolu and Islamiyet each devoted a significant amount of space to tefsir and to the discussion of hadith.

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At times Hakikat Yolu responded to specific questions from readers on topics such as fasting and the sacrifice of animals, but its primary purpose was to address the spiritual poverty of a populace denied regular religious instruction by the government.61 Ehli Sünnet, owned and edited by Abdurrahim Zapsu, claimed a similar purpose; but it was distinct in preferring that the government not involve itself in religious education.62 Rather, Zapsu cherished the role of shaping the hearts and minds of the people: regular columns dealt with aspects of worship (ibadet) and faith (iman) as well as with tefsir, hadith, and mysticism (tasavvuf ).63 Islam Yolu was owned and edited by Esat Ekicigil.64 Both Ehli Sünnet and Islam Yolu situated these lessons among other articles that dealt with aspects of Islamic history, particularly the time of the Prophet and earliest caliphs (asr-ı saadet).65 Each of these journals therefore encouraged Turks to see themselves as Muslims first and foremost; although they did not necessarily refer often to the Turkish nation as a locus of identity and loyalty, implicit in their message was the assumption that the greatness of this nation derived first and foremost from Islam.66 This was also the message conveyed by another religious print medium dedicated to educating Turks in their faith during the years after World War II: the letters (Risale-i Nur [Epistles of Light]) written by the prominent mystic Bediüzzaman Said Nursi (1876–1960) between 1926 and 1949. Despite dedicated Kemalist efforts to suppress his teachings, a popular movement had grown up around Nursi. Not surprisingly, his influence increased rapidly just as the new national print culture was emerging after 1945, although his writings had already gained widespread popularity without the benefit of print. The Risale-i Nur initially were recorded in Ottoman Turkish and for the most part continued to be read in the old script until 1956.67 For years Nursi relied on his faithful followers to hand-copy his letters and circulate them by hand throughout Anatolia. Not only did this imbue his message with a certain mystical aura, but it had the practical effect of minimizing the chances that his writings would be seized by the state.68 Accounts provided by his followers suggest that some 600,000 copies of parts of the Risale-i Nur were already in circulation by the early 1940s. They also began to be copied mechanically and printed: in 1946–1947 simple duplicating machines (teksir) were set up in Isparta and Inebolu to aid in reproducing Nursi’s letters, while on occasion portions were printed in Istanbul (some in the modi-

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fied Latin script) in the 1940s and early 1950s. Finally, in 1956 a deputy in the Grand National Assembly obtained permission to publish the Risale-i Nur in the new alphabet; very quickly printing presses were established for this purpose not only in Istanbul and Ankara but also in Samsun and Antalya. Nursi and his writings were also prominent in the religious periodicals that began to appear in these years.69 These religious newspapers and journals—especially those published in the provinces—had relatively high circulation figures, but journalists could only dream of the level to which the Risale-i Nur penetrated Anatolian society. Their decision to feature Nursi therefore was undoubtedly a means to gain legitimacy among the wider populace and to increase circulation; at the same time, Nursi offered an unparalleled constructive explication of the relevance of Muslim beliefs and practices to people in the new nation. It was no coincidence that secular Kemalists invariably associated Nursi with religious reaction: while they considered tradition and religion to be incapacitating burdens upon modern life, Nursi not only emphasized the importance of Islam but accepted the validity of the unorthodox folk practices and beliefs that informed popular conceptions of Islam.70 The very popularity that Nursi and his writings enjoyed just at a time when other religious print media were also gaining an audience across the country ensured that public debate after 1945 could not help but be infused by a Muslim perspective.

religious print Media: islaM and the nation Religious print media primarily devoted to education inevitably contributed to current debate by virtue of the issues they addressed, yet their purpose was not to engage in an increasingly bitter polemic that was emerging between secular Kemalists and those Turks who presented themselves as committed to a “sacred” or “religious” (mukaddesatçı) nationalist (milliyetçi ) perspective. Perhaps best represented in the pages of the renowned Istanbul journal Sebilürreşad, this perspective permeated many religious publications that were aggressively combative in tone. The one and only issue of the small provincial newspaper Yeşil Bursa captured the most vital elements in February 1952: denial that those committed to religious nationalism were reactionary, criticism of laiklik introduced by the Republican People’s Party during the two decades of authoritarian rule, an interest in Muslims in other

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parts of the world but also an emphasis upon the Turkish nation, and a call for Turks to unite in opposition to their “ancient and eternal enemies”: communism, Zionism, and Freemasonry.71 Yeşil Bursa failed to survive because it was closely associated with a struggling provincial wing of the Islamic Democratic Party. Sebilürreşad, by contrast, was a well-established metropolitan journal with an unrivaled pedigree: originally published by Eşref Edib (Fergan) in 1908, it had been among the most prominent publications to support the Anatolian resistance movement between 1919 and 1922 before being closed by the Independence Tribunals in 1925. When Edib resurrected it in May 1948, Sebilürreşad became the standard-bearer among publications concerned with emphasizing the importance of Islam to the Turkish nation.72 Its very first issue offered a stinging critique of the Republican People’s Party and its approach to religion. Sebilürreşad frequently engaged in the growing debate concerning laiklik, and some of the most prominent religious nationalists led the way in challenging undemocratic laws. Ali Fuad Başgil was the most articulate critic of laiklik, while M. Raif Ogan and Cevat Rıfat Atilhan engaged in bitter denunciations of communism, Freemasonry, and Jews.73 Unfortunately, we have no information regarding Sebilürreşad’s circulation, but letters submitted by readers indicate that it was read across the country, as far from Istanbul as Giresun, Diyarbakır, and Hatay. In fact, Eşref Edib revived Sebilürreşad after another prominent religious nationalist periodical had already appeared in Istanbul. Selâmet, published weekly by Ömer Rıza Doğrul, first appeared on May 23, 1947, and its final issue was on November 2, 1949. Among religious print media it was preceded only by Hakikat Yolu and Hakka Doğru (Toward Truth). Doğrul was a member of the ulema, born and educated in Egypt: in the late Ottoman Empire and early Republic he had worked for the religious publication Tasvir-i Efkâr. In 1950 he successfully stood for election as a Democratic Party candidate from Konya, and in February 1951 he led the Turkish delegation to the World Islamic Conference in Karachi, Pakistan. Selâmet appears to have been a popular and influential periodical in Turkey after World War II: appearing before Sebilürreşad, it was the first to adopt an unmistakably combative tone with regard to laiklik. To be sure, Selâmet drew attention to the experiences of Muslims in the process of decolonization throughout the world (in Palestine, Egypt, and Indonesia) and warned Turks against the evils of Zionism and communism.74 Its primary focus, however, was upon develop-

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ments in Turkey, specifically the detrimental impact of laiklik, which, it claimed, had come to constitute enmity toward religion. Selâmet was noteworthy for its coverage of the Republican People’s Party’s seventh congress in November–December 1947, at which questions concerning religious education sparked intense debate. Thereafter Selâmet put pressure on the Republican People’s Party to permit religious lessons in the classroom, to allow the opening of popular shrines (türbes), and to rescind Mustafa Kemal’s order that the ezan be recited in Turkish.75 Despite Doğrul’s evident determination to use Selâmet to engage in current debate, far more prominent and more controversial among religious nationalist publications were journals and newspapers published by Necip Fazıl Kısakürek under the titles Büyük Doğu and Yeni Büyük Doğu. Their content was written largely by Kısakürek, an enigmatic character with a considerable popular following, as evidenced by the activities of the short-lived Great East Association (Büyük Doğu Cemiyeti), which was established in Istanbul on June 28, 1949, and closed of its own accord in June 1951. It was no coincidence that June 28 was also the start of the holy month of Ramazan: although the Great East Association described itself as “political, cultural, and moral,” it was religious and nationalist in orientation. According to its “constitution” the organization’s stated goal was to combat “godlessness” (allahsızlık), false reforms (sahte inkılâpçılık), immorality (ahlâkî kayıtsızlık), and communism, among other things.76 In 1950 it opened branches in Kayseri, Malatya, Tavşanlı, Afyon, Kütahya, Soma, and Diyarbakır. Kısakürek personally visited these branches and delivered speeches in an effort to increase membership. The organization was well supported in these provincial centers, but it also had its detractors. In Afyon, where the newspaper Yeni Büyük Doğu reputedly had a circulation of one thousand, local newspapers reported a good deal of excitement and controversy surrounding Kısakürek during his visits.77 The journal Büyük Doğu initially appeared in 1943 and was closed by the government in the following year. Kısakürek was given permission to reopen it in 1945. He later recalled that in Istanbul only 3,500 of 15,000 copies printed actually sold in these years.78 Thereafter Büyük Doğu took a number of forms: between November 2, 1945, and April 2, 1948, it was a weekly journal; between March 11 and August 26, 1949, it was a weekly newspaper associated with the newly established Great East Association; and between October 14, 1949, and June 29, 1951, it was published in the form of a journal again. Then Kısakürek and Haci Ali Rıza Cansu launched Büyük Doğu as a weekly newspaper

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on November 16, 1951. As of November 29 Kısakürek was no longer associated with it, either having resigned voluntarily or having been forced to leave. On December 11, 1951, Ali Rıza Cansu opened a new daily newspaper on his own under the title Hilâl. Finally, the following spring Kısakürek and Hüseyin Yananlı started Yeni Büyük Doğu as a full-blown six-page newspaper of substantial quality.79 Yeni Büyük Doğu received lucrative advertising contracts from the government, which was the source of considerable controversy. Kısakürek noted in his memoirs that some 20,000 copies were printed daily before he closed it of his own volition on September 19, 1952.80 Thereafter Büyük Doğu would appear intermittently as a literary periodical until 1975.81 Kısakürek was the most prominent religious nationalist after 1945, and his articles in Büyük Doğu and Yeni Büyük Doğu were always controversial, not least because the most pervasive theme was doubt about the value of Western culture and, as a result, persistent disillusionment with the cultural impact of the Turkish Revolution.82 Indeed, on more than one occasion Kısakürek engaged in a thinly veiled criticism of Mustafa Kemal himself and of his reforms.83 Consequently, on a number of occasions between 1943 and 1950 the cabinet used the powers invested in it by the Press Law to ban issues of Büyük Doğu and temporarily halt its publication.84 The various reports circulating among government offices when Büyük Doğu was suspended for the first time on May 8, 1944, typify the concerns and suspicions that Kısakürek’s critics were to express in future years.85 The primary charge leveled against him was that he was promoting Islamic propaganda along various lines. Sometimes it was explicit, but at other times he attempted to disguise his purposes by pretending loyalty to Mustafa Kemal in his writings. He consistently criticized the Kemalist state, however, blaming it for the current “spiritual crisis” (buhran) that plagued the country. Regardless of the consequences, Kısakürek encouraged young people to join in this critique and was therefore guilty of inciting popular discontent. If this was the preoccupation of government officials in 1944, they had far greater reason to be concerned about religious nationalist publications following the election of the Democratic Party in May 1950. Thereafter a number of combative and controversial periodicals entered the fray, exploiting popular religious sentiments. One was Hür Adam, published in Istanbul: owned and edited by Sinan Omur, it first appeared on September 1, 1950.86 According to an advertisement it carried on October 19, 1951, Hür Adam had a circulation of 1,500 that reached

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figure 8. Volkan (Istanbul), June 29, 1951.

beyond Istanbul and into Anatolia.87 Hür Adam was particularly noteworthy for its implied criticism of Mustafa Kemal and the Atatürk era (see Chapter 6). It is hardly surprising that the December 1, 1951, issue of Hür Adam announced that Sinan Omur had been arrested. For a brief time during his incarceration Hür Adam fell under the editorial control of Cevat Rıfat Atilhan, promoting the activities of the Islamic Democratic Party and echoing Atilhan’s extreme anti-Semitism. Very similar to Hür Adam, although published as a monthly journal, was an Istanbul publication with the provocative title Volkan (Volcano), harking back to the controversial newspaper associated with the March 31, 1909, counterrevolution in the Ottoman Empire.88 This history would have been well known in Turkey in early 1951 when Nihad Yazar began to produce the new Volkan. It also offered veiled criticism of the Atatürk era and even went so far as to publish excerpts

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from Kâzım Karabekir’s memoirs of the War of Independence that Hür Adam only advertised.89 At the same time, Volkan drew attention to the circumstances of Muslims around the world: concerned about the plight of Muslims in India, it called on Muslims throughout the world to unite. Muslims beyond India might not face forced “Hinduization,” but they did face Western cultural imperialism and should unite in support of Palestinian Muslims suffering due to the establishment of the state of Israel.90 Volkan therefore made a point of stressing that Muslims needed to combat not only international communism but also the evils of Freemasonry and Zionism. In this vein it even went so far as to publish excerpts from the anti-Semitic Protocols of the Elders of Zion.91 Among the authors who published in Volkan was M. Raif Ogan, who himself was owner and editor of the Istanbul periodical Islam Dünyası (World of Islam) and the author of a vitriolic book in which he decried the activities of Masons in Turkey, identifying Freemasonry as a Jewish conspiracy.92 The very first issue of Islam Dünyası included an article entitled “The Secret Mason Empire,”93 but thereafter the journal appears to have been more concerned with addressing the beliefs and practices of Turks as Muslims. Published weekly, Islam Dünyası emphasized the basic elements of correct belief, while its very title stressed the connection between Turks and Muslims throughout the world. Curiously, its very first issue announced that Islam Dünyası was being published in Arabic and Persian as well: in content it was overwhelmingly nationalist in flavor, however, leaving no doubt that both in Islamic history and in the present Islamic world the Turkish nation was of utmost importance, although it was inseparable from Islam. The religious and the national could not be separated.

religious print Media in the provinCes Religious nationalist periodicals produced in Istanbul enjoyed a significant countrywide circulation, but Turks in the provinces were not content to leave the task of challenging laiklik to metropolitan publications alone. In the new circumstances after 1945 they could produce their own religious periodicals in the provinces. Yeşil Bursa is testimony to this, even if it did not survive beyond one issue. Four other provincial religious periodicals, however, also incorporated a religious nationalist perspective, albeit to varying degrees of intensity. Three were considerably more successful than Yeşil Bursa. The other was Büyük Dâva, a short-lived monthly periodical published in the district of

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Karşıyaka in the province of Izmir by Hasan Üçışıklar Kanburoğlu. Its first edition was dated March 7, 1952. Both Hürriyet and Anadolu reported on December 5 that the house of Büyük Dâva’s editor had been searched after the attempted assassination of Vatan’s editor (Ahmet Emin Yalman) and that he had been arrested.94 Although Büyük Dâva was printed in Izmir, Anadolu reported that it was distributed in nearby villages. The content of the paper would seem to corroborate this: the very first issue made a point of addressing villagers (köylü) with respect, validating their identity as Muslims. Another issue informed readers that the paper was distributed in various cities in western Anatolia, including Istanbul, Izmir, Bandırma, Balıkesir, Manisa, Tekirdağ, Kırşehir, and Bursa.95 Büyük Dâva presented itself as an independent newspaper for “Turks and Muslims,” devoted to matters religious, national, “scientific,” and moral (Büyük Dâva dinî, millî, ilmî ve ahlâkî müstakil dâvadır). Indeed, in its columns the paper encouraged Turks to think of themselves as Muslims, to combat communism, and to address aspects of the political debate current in Turkey. In the fall of 1952 it also waded into the highly charged debate regarding the alleged threat to the nation posed by religious reaction. Far more influential than Büyük Dâva was Yeşil Nur, owned and edited by Nuri Akyar. Originally it appeared in Eskişehir on November 18, 1949, but it was limited to only four issues, for reasons that are unclear. After a hiatus of nearly eighteen months Yeşil Nur reappeared on May 1, 1951. It was published on a biweekly basis, first as a “political” and later as a “religious, social, and political” newspaper (dinî, içtimaî ve siyasî).96 Yeşil Nur was a popular newspaper: according to the Istanbul daily Vatan, Yeşil Nur (with a circulation of 5,000 in early 1953) posed a threat to the security and stability of the nation. Advertising in Yeşil Nur itself on January 9, 1953, confirms that its circulation was between 4,000 and 5,000, while in April 1953 it announced that it had printed 7,000 copies and intended to increase this to 10,000 in the near future.97 Moreover, on November 28, 1952, Yeşil Nur informed its readers that it had the honor of claiming a worldwide readership, with Muslims in Europe, North America, and Asia subscribing to the paper. Yeşil Nur’s editorial stance was extremely combative toward secular Kemalists. Akyar occasionally dared the public prosecutor to find fault with its content while at the same time publishing articles (many reprinted from Sebilürreşad) that tested the tolerance of those concerned with protecting the nation against reaction.98 It is significant that Nuri Akyar was a young man at this time, probably in his early twenties.

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figure 9. Vicdan Sesi (Samsun), November 6, 1952.

He did not represent a generation rooted in the Ottoman Empire and wanting to return to an old order but instead echoed the concerns of a new generation. Raised in Kemalist Turkey, these Turks were anxious to ensure the health of their nation through the cultivation of a popular Muslim identity, as evidenced through morality and piety.99 If Nuri Akyar was very much a “new Turk,” so too was Kemal Bülbül, owner and editor of Vicdan Sesi, which first appeared in Samsun on October 29, 1952. Published weekly, it advertised itself as a “Moral, Scientific, and Political” newspaper (ahlâkî, ilmî, siyasî). Kemal Bülbül was a young poet and author who had previously been editor of the Samsun paper Büyük Cihad.100 Although far less polemical and combative in tone than Yeşil Nur, Vicdan Sesi was nonetheless shut

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down by the state after only fifteen issues, following a provocative article criticizing Mustafa Kemal by M. Raif Ogan on January 6, 1953. When Bülbül resumed Vicdan Sesi in late October 1954, he changed its description to simply “literary” and “political” and was far more circumspect in terms of the periodical’s attention to the Atatürk era and laiklik. Instead, Vicdan Sesi took up the growing debate over Cyprus and became a mouthpiece for the newly formed Republican Nation Party (Cumhuriyetçi Millet Partisi), although it did not neglect religion entirely.101 Yeşil Nur and Vicdan Sesi both placed considerable emphasis upon public morality (ahlâk). Religious periodicals devoted to education, such as Müslüman Sesi, did so as well; but their articles on the subject tended toward the abstract, emphasizing traditional Islamic theories of and justifications for moral living without actually engaging the real issues faced by Turks in the post–World War II era. By contrast, both Yeşil Nur and Vicdan Sesi cast themselves as guardians of the nation’s morality on the explicit assumption that the Kemalist interpretation of laiklik had ushered in pervasive moral degradation. Yeşil Nur was by far the more outspoken of the two and regularly promoted the activities of the Green Crescent (Yeşil Ay), evidently committed to eradicating public consumption of alcohol.102 Almost every issue contained a cartoon or even a poem caricaturing pathetic drunken individuals or an article railing against alcohol and emphasizing its harmful effects on health and society.103 Yeşil Nur and Vicdan Sesi also mounted campaigns against gambling and prostitution. A full-page picture in Yeşil Nur in early 1953 delivered the message succinctly: accompanied by a poem and the caption “They destroyed a generation in this way,” the page depicted a skull with playing cards on its forehead and two scantily clad women in the place of its eyes and cheeks.104 By far the best-known and most consistently published provincial religious periodical was the Samsun weekly Büyük Cihad. According to its one-time editor Kemal Bülbül, Büyük Cihad was immensely popular, due in large part to its anti-Communist stance and later its association with the Islamic Democratic Party. Bülbül’s best recollection is that Büyük Cihad had a circulation of roughly 5,000 and was distributed to provincial cities throughout the country. An exposé run by Cumhuriyet soon after the attempt on Ahmet Emin Yalman’s life in November 1952 suggested that Büyük Cihad ’s circulation was as high as 8,000, which may have been an exaggeration, given the concern of the mainstream press to emphasize the threat of religious reaction at

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figure 10. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), March 30, 1951.

the time.105 Büyük Cihad engaged in an ongoing battle with secular Kemalists who took exception to its harsh criticism of laiklik and of the Republican People’s Party. Initially it also projected an extremely anti-Communist tone; but once Atilhan began to publish articles in Büyük Cihad in May 1951, it reflected his hatred of Zionism and Freemasonry. With the establishment of the Islamic Democratic Party, Büyük Cihad published articles concerning its activities as well as official party statements.106 The first issue of Büyük Cihad prominently featured on the front page a provocative article entitled “The Nonsense about Religious Reaction” by Ali Fuad Başgil; it also featured another article explaining that the newspaper’s purpose was to encourage service and submission to God (here the word Tanrı rather than Allah was used) and to combat all those “red and black” (kızıl ve kara) elements who opposed this.107 In

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the following issue Büyük Cihad explained that the world was divided into two camps, as evidenced by the Korean War: one, represented by the Communist Soviet Union, was faithless, cruel, and inhumane; the other, represented by the free world of which Turkey was a part, was characterized by faith, morality, virtue, and freedom.108 By choosing the name Büyük Cihad (Great Struggle), the newspaper’s owner, Mustafa Bağışlayıcı, no doubt capitalized on the multiple associations that Muslims had with the term. According to Shiite tradition, the greater jihad was a spiritual struggle, one with which Turks arguably could identify as a result of the legacy of laiklik. More often the term “jihad” is understood as an active struggle to spread Islam, which also applied in Turkey: according to some, laiklik had destroyed the religious fabric of the nation from within while atheist Communist forces were threatening from without.109 This implied criticism of the impact of the Atatürk era upon the Turkish nation was in accord with the combative tone adopted by religious nationalist periodicals. Büyük Cihad published a plethora of articles that relentlessly attacked the Republican People’s Party. Referring to the period 1923–1950 as the “sultanate of oppression” (zulüm sultanatı), Büyük Cihad characterized it as an era of dictatorship, treachery (hainlik), and narrow-mindedness. Unlike those of the Tanzimat era, Mustafa Kemal’s reforms were not genuine, for their ultimate goal was not enlightenment and freedom but a gradual restriction of freedom of conscience.110 Despite secular Kemalist efforts to the contrary, Büyük Cihad declared that the Turkish nation had survived the storm and had managed to hold onto its Muslim faith.111 But it also warned Turks to beware attempts by Kemalists to restore the Republican People’s Party to power and vowed to carry on the battle against this possibility. Although in its earliest issues Büyük Cihad expressed support for the Democratic Party government, after a while it projected a growing disillusionment with the government and began to criticize the Democratic Party as well as the Republican People’s Party. To religious nationalists, no political party was above criticism if it did not meet the needs of the people as both Turks and Muslims.

islaM and the new national print Culture Religious print media forced into the foreground questions concerning laiklik and convictions regarding the importance of Islam to the nation. Religious newspapers and journals reflected a variety of tones and

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emphases, as did the many books and brochures also published by the same men. The very existence of such publications is a striking characteristic of the new national print culture in Turkey after 1945. Precisely the same conditions that facilitated the growth of a national print culture allowed those who promoted a religious perspective to thrive as well. Moreover, the very existence of religious print media could not help but influence mainstream newspapers participating in the same competitive print market—particularly those in the provinces. In distinct contrast to the norm during the single-party period, in these years Muslim faith and practices became a frequent topic of discussion in the provincial press. “People’s papers” such as Köroğlu and Karagöz as well as Köylü, although published in Istanbul and Ankara, were sensitive to and even supported popular Muslim identities.112 So too were mainstream provincial newspapers, which frequently made a point of drawing attention to important religious holidays such as Kurban Bayramı and Ramazan Bayramı.113 Some papers actively encouraged Turks to observe the religious significance of these days: they provided instruction on appropriate prayers and celebrations. In 1951, on the occasion of the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday, Sadakat (Fidelity) (Afyon) expressed satisfaction with efforts by the Ministry of Religious Affairs to educate the public regarding this holiday and noted approvingly that under the Democratic Party laiklik in no way translated as irreligion.114 Other papers made a similar point by noting the enthusiasm with which people participated in religious celebrations.115 The mainstream provincial press also reflected a concern that Turks should be well taught in their faith in order to understand and commemorate these Muslim holidays. While politicians in Ankara debated the inclusion of religion classes in the primary school curriculum, provincial newspapers gave expression to local, generally favorable, opinions in this regard.116 Articles in a number of papers echoed the belief that educating children about Islam in schools was essential to avoid “surrendering” to ignorance and bigotry. The government’s decision to open imam-hatip schools was therefore well received, and residents of many cities eagerly donated the resources necessary to translate this decision into a reality.117 Although the government had a role to play in “educating” the public about Islam, provincial Turks recognized that they themselves also bore considerable responsibility. The local press reflected this conviction. Columns addressing the moral standards by which Turks lived their lives were frequent, al-

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most always with the explicit assumption that morality and faith were not only intimately connected but essential to the well-being of the nation.118 Some articles addressed the historical and theological foundations of Islamic morality in detail, while others concentrated on applying general principles to challenges posed by contemporary innovations such as radio and cinema.119 In some cases mainstream papers went even further and published series that actively explored early Islamic history or the Qur’an itself, although more often than not such a commitment to active education of the population was reserved for the religious print media.120 Provincial newspapers not only provided Turks with guidance about Muslim practices but also engaged various issues that were a common concern to them as Muslims. The Democratic Party years are known as a period when the government sponsored the construction of many new mosques. Local papers played a role in encouraging public donations to these efforts; they also addressed local concerns regarding the upkeep and poor condition of mosques as a result of the Republican People’s Party policies of neglect.121 One paper was concerned that Turks should understand the history of the ezan, dating back to the time of Muhammad, while another took a survey and determined that an overwhelming number of respondents agreed that the ezan should be proclaimed in Arabic.122 The subject was just as charged for the populace as a whole as it was for Turkish politicians, and Halkın Sesi (Voice of the People) reported that news of the government’s decision was met with jubilation and the spontaneous sacrifice of animals in Antakya. For many Turks the government’s decision to permit the ezan in Arabic served as a litmus test, for from the provincial perspective the state all too often had demonstrated an insensitivity toward personal freedoms and traditional religious practices in its quest for modernization.123 Similarly, when the government began to make foreign exchange available for those going on the hajj starting in 1948, Turks responded positively. Newspapers published articles discussing the hajj, reported on those departing and returning, and carried extensive advertising for companies arranging transportation to Saudi Arabia.124 The hajj itself undoubtedly carried multiple meanings for Turks, but it was a significant statement that the government no longer discouraged participation. Thanks in part to Kemalist history texts, Turks were well aware of their nation’s contribution to Islamic history; so participation in an act that brought Muslims together from around the world seemed only natural. In stark contrast to provincial newspapers, the country’s major

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metropolitan newspapers betrayed a striking absence of any recognition that Islam was of importance to the Turkish people. The exception that proved this rule was when newspapers competed with each other to cultivate ever-wider audiences. One means by which they did so was to capitalize on the interests and curiosities of Turks as Muslims. Thus in February 1950 Hürriyet featured a lengthy series of interviews with the Englishman Raymond Poel, renamed Abdurrahim Ali, under the evocative title “Why I Converted to Islam.” Then in 1954 it broke new ground by sending a team of reporters to Mecca to cover the annual pilgrimage: for weeks Hürriyet published photos and stories about Turks’ experiences in Saudi Arabia as it sought to increase its share in the competitive national print market.125 Otherwise, metropolitan newspapers made a distinct point of not drawing attention to important religious holidays—Ramazan Bayramı and Kurban Bayramı in particular—even as Turks celebrated them widely. Government legislation passed in 1952 forbade the publication of newspapers other than a Bayram Gazetesi (Holiday Newspaper) during these holidays, to free journalists and others involved in the industry to celebrate with their families.126 Surprisingly, the newspapers in Ankara and Istanbul made no effort whatsoever to draw attention to the holiday or its significance. Instead they carried extra coverage of sporting events, films, and fashion alongside the regular international and national news as well as advertising, which many Turks would have deemed completely insensitive to Muslim morality. More to the point, a 1951 Ramazan Bayramı issue in Istanbul even printed a provocative illustration in which a mosque and crescent moon represented the “ancient” even “outdated” holiday, while the Turkish flag symbolized the “eternal” holiday of the future.127 It is equally interesting that in 1952 Kurban Bayramı happened to coincide with the national holiday commemorating the conclusion of the War of Independence (August 30): at this time Istanbul’s Bayram Gazetesi carried large photos of military parades marking the day and only—almost as an afterthought—a small photo of the Sultan Ahmet Mosque along with a caption noting the dual holiday.128 Secular Kemalists dominated the mainstream metropolitan press: indeed they were the self-proclaimed protectors of laiklik. In practice, this meant that they believed it was their duty to draw attention to threats posed to the nation by religious reaction (irtica). To their minds, religious print media constituted just such a threat; the result was an intense and bitter public debate in 1952–1953 that eventually resulted

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in the suspension of most religious newspapers and journals (see Chapter 7). Nevertheless, contrary to the claims of secular Kemalists, these print media did not represent a threat to the nation: there was no single, coherent religious or religious-nationalist movement in which extreme opinions dominated. An examination of the content of the various religious publications demonstrates that those who wrote in their pages were men of strong personalities with very different backgrounds.129 Even if they had wished to work together in a constructive manner, their differences were too great for them to overcome. Rather, what all religious print media shared was a concern to redress the perceived inequities of laiklik and to force recognition that Islam remained important to the people. This they did—and thereby made a critical contribution to the negotiation of a Muslim national identity after 1945. That identity was abundantly clear in the pages of print media that also articulated the popular wish to identify Turkey as a Muslim nation with a glorious Ottoman past, destined to play an important role in the emerging Cold War world.

CHapter 5

MusliM turks against russian CoMMunists: the turkish nation in the eMerging Cold war world

It is as though the blood running in Korea is running in our veins: it is uniting us once again, it is rekindling our national feelings. The fire that comes from this blood has created a greater, enduring determination in our own blood. Now we believe in ourselves far more. her gÜn (every day) (istanbul), deCeMber 12, 1950

Islam completely rejects the ideology of communism and its application in any form. The strongest weapon able to counter communism is the power of faith and spirit. It is impossible for a true believer [mümin] to identify with Communist ideas and actions . . . In communism we see nothing resembling human rights, human freedom, freedom of religion, security of property or person, or the sacredness and inviolability of the family. ahMet haMdi akseki, Minister of religious affairs, august 25, 1950

tHe aBsenCe of a coherent Turkish nation and a popular national identity in Turkey throughout the single-party period is betrayed by the way in which, in practice, the Kemalist elite defined the nation in contradistinction to the people. During the War of Independence Mustafa Kemal had promoted the idea of a united nation struggling against European colonial powers. No sooner had hostilities come to an end, however, than he pursued a very different foreign policy, epitomized by the motto “Peace at Home, Peace Abroad.” This emphasized the new Turkey’s place as part of the “civilized” world. Consequently it became necessary to imagine a new “other” against which to define Turkey: the people he set out to transform through the Turkish Revolution.1 The defining principle of laiklik was predicated on the Kemalist elite’s determination to define the new Turkey as distinct from the allegedly

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Eastern, traditional, backward, and superstitious Ottoman Muslim traditions to which the people had long been bound. Kemalist nationalism therefore set itself apart from the very people it identified as constituting the nation. Just as nationalist ideologies are the products of the times in which they are conceived, political liberalization and the crystallization of a Muslim national identity in Turkey in the decade after 1945 reflect the realities of the emerging Cold War world. Accordingly, popular identification with the nation was predicated not on a fundamental distinction within Turkish society but on an awareness that the nation was united in opposition to a common external enemy in the form of Soviet imperialism and international communism. Both individual and collective identities derive in part from the nature of relationships with the “other”—other people and other groups. These relationships draw attention to the ways in which an individual is distinct, and only when “there is an Other can you know who you are.”2 In Turkey people came to know and identify the other through the new national print culture. This chapter examines how the pages of print media between 1945 and 1954 reveal popular conceptions of the Turkish nation in relation to the rest of the world as well as how provincial newspapers, in particular, facilitated the negotiation of a Muslim national identity in the context of the early Cold War. On the one hand, the limited nature of public freedoms in these years is evident: both leftists and Pan-Turkists found that the law increasingly restricted the opportunity to express their perspectives in print. On the other hand, it is clear that print media played a critical role in conveying information about the world to people and in framing their perceptions of Turkey’s place in that world. The often acrimonious debate concerning laiklik that characterized these years occurred in the context of considerable uncertainty as Turks recognized the challenges inherent in the Cold War. Initially, in the face of Soviet belligerence, their shared concern was whether Turkey could depend on the “West” for support. After the Korean War Turks understood their own contribution to the conflict to have been decisive in the outcome: uncertainty was transformed into widespread confidence in the importance of the Turkish nation to the world. Print media reveal that Turks conceived of their nation not only in accordance with the Kemalist vision of a modern nation deserving of membership in the “civilized” world but also as a Muslim nation rooted in the East but very much a part of the West.

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the turkish nation and the eMerging Cold war world Popular Turkish national identity crystallized in the early years of the Cold War at a time when Turkey was attempting to locate its place in the emerging world order. After two decades of relative international isolation and determined neutrality during World War II, this was no easy matter. The pages of the press after 1945 not only introduced Turks to the wider world but conveyed a sense of considerable vulnerability as the Turkish government looked to the United States for public declarations of support in the face of increasing Soviet belligerence toward its southern neighbor. This fear of Soviet imperialism and international communism was to have a significant impact on the emerging popular national identity. The “red scare” in the United States and the impact of McCarthyism by way of a response are well known; it is less well recognized that very similar circumstances prevailed in Turkey at the same time. Turks became preoccupied with the “red danger” (kızıl tehlike) to the north at precisely the same time: as in the United States, media constituted the primary means by which people became familiar with the notion of an impending crisis. Although Turkey’s decisions regarding Allied and Axis shipping in the Straits had been the source of considerable tension during World War II, Turkish-Soviet relations had been moderate.3 On March 22, 1945, however, the Adana daily Bugün (Today) informed its readers that the Soviet government had formally announced that the TurkishSoviet Friendship Treaty of 1925 would not be renewed for a fourth time.4 Thereafter newspapers closely followed Soviet demands that both Turkey and the Allied powers renegotiate the Montreux Convention of 1936 and then Soviet foreign minister Vyacheslav Molotov’s demands on June 7 that the eastern Turkish provinces of Kars, Ardahan, and Artvan be “returned” to the Soviet Union. This claim was backed up by an intense campaign in the Soviet press, including letters written by Georgian members of the Soviet Academy of Science claiming much of the Black Sea coast as Soviet territory, based on the argument that the Laz population and Georgians were related linguistically. Moscow Radio, penetrating foreign borders, read these letters aloud in Turkish and directed a stream of propaganda along similar lines at Turks. The Turkish press reacted with a mixture of horror and indignation: newspapers carefully followed the response of the Turkish government and its efforts to obtain assurances of support from Great Britain, pub-

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lished editorials challenging the arguments put forward by the Soviet Academy of Science, and thoroughly rejected any compromise with the Soviet Union regarding the Turkish Straits or the eastern provinces.5 The period from late 1945 through March 1947 was a time of considerable tension in Turkey: pressure from the Soviet Union proved extremely unsettling, while assurances by Western governments concerning support for Turkey were vague and noncommittal. Britain, exhausted by the war, was searching for ways to reduce its commitments in the Middle East. Initial postwar American foreign policy was isolationist: the Middle East, according to American officials, was an extension of Europe, and a renewed commitment to the Monroe Doctrine dictated that the United States should not interfere. Turkey and its efforts to stand up to Soviet threats therefore did not seem to receive a great deal of attention.6 Meanwhile Soviet efforts to intimidate Turkey increased. Throughout 1946 the press assiduously followed the regular exchange of “diplomatic notes” between the Soviet government and the Turkish government, which appeared to carry out its diplomacy in a very public manner. Newspapers assured Turks that the government had rejected Soviet demands that the two countries share defense of the Straits and alleged that Soviet foreign policy was aimed at transforming the Mediterranean into a “red sea” under its exclusive domination.7 In this atmosphere the press seized on every opportunity to proclaim the slightest signs of foreign support, such as the arrival of an American or British fleet in a Turkish port. In April 1946 the American ships USS Missouri (on which the Japanese surrender had been signed on September 2, 1945) and USS Providence visited Istanbul, while in November an American flotilla put in at Izmir. Turks interpreted these visits as symbolic of American commitment to Turkey, as the U.S. government in fact intended.8 When the American admiral gave an interview to reporters in Izmir, the press trumpeted his assurances that the United States attached great importance to its relationship with Turkey. Similarly the press hung on every word regarding Turkey in official Western responses to Soviet belligerence. American statements to the Soviet Union that Turkish sovereignty was not negotiable inspired considerable relief, as did American, British, and French unity of opinion concerning Turkish control of the Straits even as Soviet troop movements along Turkey’s borders increased public concern.9 Turkish newspapers also reported on other developments. In these same years Turks were well versed in the international tensions that were leading to the Cold War: they read about drawn-out postwar

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negotiations and seemingly insurmountable disagreements regarding veto powers within the United Nations. The civil war in neighboring Greece and Soviet advances into Iran in 1946 made the headlines. Turkish newspapers also addressed international efforts to control the spread of nuclear technology, while emphasizing the horrors of nuclear warfare. In short, newspaper editorials frequently expressed the fear that world peace and hence Turkish security were by no means guaranteed in these years.10 The Antakya daily Atayolu (Path of the Father) informed its readers that American military experts were confident that a Soviet attack on Turkey would most certainly result in the onset of a Third World War.11 The Istanbul weekly Millet (Nation) provided illustrations depicting how quickly and easily the Soviets could attack the Turkish nation.12 In fact, United States officials were following developments in the Middle East closely but were unclear about how to present intervention plans to the American public. Ultimately it was Soviet aggression in northern Iran and the evident success of communism in Greece that enabled the United States to take a more active role in the Middle East. Inheriting the British mantle, it adopted a firm stance with regard to Soviet expansionist policies, conscious that these might well lead to military conflict in the Middle East. It was therefore with great relief and interest that the Turkish press followed American-Soviet discussions in early 1947 and President Truman’s efforts to convince Congress not only that Greece should receive grants for postwar reconstruction but that Greece and Turkey should become the focus of a new commitment to contain the Soviet Union.13 On March 12 Truman delivered his famous speech to Congress in which he outlined the Truman Doctrine, effectively guaranteeing Turkey moral, political, economic, and military support. Needless to say, Turks were elated: newspapers proclaimed the good news with headlines such as “Truman’s Historic Speech: ‘Turkey’s National Unity Is Essential for Middle Eastern Order’” and “Truman’s Speech Is a Warning to Russia, and There Can Be No Doubt the American People Stand behind This Warning.”14 Contrary to what Turks had undoubtedly hoped, Truman’s declaration alone was not sufficient to quell their apprehensions. Predictably, the Soviet response was extremely negative. Moscow Radio launched into a habit that would last for years: maligning Turkey as a pawn of capitalist America.15 In retrospect it is clear that after such a public declaration of American support Soviet interest in Turkey waned in favor of exploiting anticolonial sentiments prevalent in Arab countries.

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But at the time a good deal of ambiguity remained as to just how far American support would extend. American interest in Turkey prior to 1947 had been so negligible that a number of “fact-finding” missions had to be dispatched to determine just what sort of aid was appropriate and necessary. The Turkish press repeatedly welcomed the members of these missions and enthusiastically reported their observations on conditions in Turkey as well as their promises to ensure the delivery of aid.16 The Truman Doctrine had promised $100 million of purely military aid. Mindful of secretary of state George Marshall’s plan to assist European economic recovery (announced in July 1947), however, Turkish politicians felt that Turkey too deserved substantial amounts of nonmilitary aid. But American and British officials did not agree. For the next year the Turkish press echoed the government’s frustration at being rejected: newspapers frequently demanded that Turkey receive compensation for the cost of keeping its army mobilized, which, they argued, constituted a service to the whole world.17 In February 1948 Edirne Postası noted that Turkish foreign minister Necmeddin Sadık had announced that Turkey and the United States had entered into formal negotiations concerning the Marshall Plan.18 In July 1948 the American government capitulated to Turkish requests and accepted Turkish inclusion within the Marshall Plan, thereby paving the way for millions of dollars in agricultural, mining, and communications aid.19 The Turkish press now reflected a greater confidence in the nation’s security, on the basis that Turkey’s importance to the world had been recognized by the United States and Britain, if grudgingly. Indeed in March 1947 the Turkish ambassador to France had initiated plans for a Mediterranean pact that would provide for security in the eastern Mediterranean, and in 1948 the Turkish government felt sufficiently confident to offer to broker British-Arab relations.20 Nevertheless, an air of uncertainty remained. In the midst of growing global tensions— instability in Italy and Greece, the Indo-Pakistani conflict, the Chinese civil war, American and Russian occupation of Korea, and increasing Soviet influence in Europe—Turkey continued to seek American assurances that it would receive assistance, even protection, in the event of war.21 Yet such assurances remained elusive, and Turks were particularly insulted that negotiations throughout 1948 for a Western or Atlantic defense union were conducted without Turkey’s involvement. Turks could not understand why their country, an active opponent of Soviet

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expansion, should not receive the same guarantees as western Europe.22 The conclusion of the Atlantic Pact (whose signatories included Italy and French North Africa) on April 4, 1949, without Turkish participation in the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) only added to concerns about national security. Some Turks took comfort in British and American efforts to stress the importance of Turkey despite its exclusion, while others decided to petition to have Turkey included at a later date. The public revelation in September 1949 that the Soviet Union now possessed the atomic bomb only added to the notion that Turkey desperately needed American guarantees of security. Turks argued that this new development increased their importance as a bulwark against Soviet imperialism.23

representing the world to the people The new national print culture therefore offered Turks an opportunity to come face-to-face with the world, often for the first time, precisely when their country’s place in the world appeared to be particularly vulnerable. Print media exposed and connected Turks to the wider world with an unprecedented intimacy and immediacy. Of course, the world that Turks learned about was primarily defined in terms of the emerging Cold War: it was limited largely to the United States, Great Britain, France, the Soviet Union, and China. Given the Turkish government’s decision to ally with the West in this conflict, news stories treated the West with respect and admiration; by contrast, coverage of the Communist powers concentrated on the threat they posed to world peace by virtue of an ill-disguised imperialism. Developments in the Middle East also appeared on the front pages of newspapers, which typically emphasized regional social, economic, and political problems as a useful foil to make Turkey appear healthy and robust. Similarly, Turkey appeared modern and civilized when metropolitan newspapers—and occasionally those in the provinces24—carried exotic descriptions of life in foreign countries (including Africa, “the awakening continent,” as the Istanbul daily Vatan described it in June 1953). A revealing aspect of Turkish national identity formation is that newspapers were equally concerned with telling readers how the rest of the world viewed Turkey. Quick to draw attention to Turkey’s role in international affairs such as the Korean War, they were also preoccupied with every story about Turkey that appeared in foreign publications, presumably alerted by consular officials or other Turks living

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abroad. Whenever an article appeared in a newspaper or journal in another country, Turks at home soon learned about it. They were proud when foreign journalists exalted Turkish hospitality (misafirperverlik), Istanbul’s majestic skyline and glorious history, and the modernization evident in the streets of Ankara.25 Articles that explained Turkey to the world and positively construed its history as well as its transformation into a modern nation were well received. But articles that allegedly misrepresented Turkey as either backward or lacking in public security evoked vehement denunciations.26 The attention that newspapers devoted to international affairs after 1945 contrasted with the previous norm. Throughout the single-party period metropolitan newspapers had differed considerably from their struggling provincial counterparts in terms of international news. Major newspapers in Istanbul, Ankara, and Izmir had provided an array of information concerning foreign developments; by contrast, the provincial press was thoroughly anemic, even though such news was available through the Anatolia News Agency wire service. Rarely did events occurring beyond Turkey make it into local papers except when foreign affairs had a direct impact on Turkey, the best example being Turkey’s efforts to annex Hatay from French Mandatory Syria beginning in 1936. Provincial newspapers did inform readers of developments in this regard, and no doubt they helped to make Hatay an important symbol of the Turkish nation.27 The unimaginative coverage of this matter in the provincial press, however, paled by comparison with the inspiring images presented on the front pages of the people’s papers Karagöz and Köroğlu. They consistently laid claim to Hatay as Turkish territory and ridiculed both the French government and the Syrian Arab population for suggesting otherwise.28 In a similar manner, Karagöz and Köroğlu also covered international tension prior to the outbreak of World War II and then the conflict itself. These papers were careful to project a sense of national confidence even as Turkey struggled to maintain its neutrality: Turkey was depicted as a stable boat navigating its own course and riding the tumultuous sea of international relations at the time.29 Like newspapers across the country, film and radio began to contribute to popular conceptions of the world after World War II. Of course, state radio in Istanbul and Ankara broadcast international news. Turks were also exposed to foreign broadcasts in Turkish, however, produced by the Voice of America, the British Broadcasting Corporation, and Moscow Radio.30 The content of these broadcasts consisted of propa-

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ganda, designed to convince listeners of the virtues of one side and the evils of the other in the emerging Cold War.31 Film served a similar purpose, although the nature of the medium was such that the government could regulate it: only films produced in and supportive of the “free world” were available to Turks. Documentaries or newsreels at the beginning of feature films presented images casting the United Nations–led war in Korea, for instance, in a positive light while castigating Communist enemies such as the Soviet Union and China.32 At the same time, feature films produced in Hollywood and playing in the United States were quickly dubbed and made available in Turkey. The advertisements for these films in major metropolitan newspapers suggest that Turks also viewed the same popular films that contributed to the “red scare” that characterized American society in the early 1950s.33 Even more than radio and film, the new national print culture after 1945 engaged Turks with the wider world on a daily basis. Metropolitan newspapers published more international news than they had during the single-party period. The most striking development, however, was in the content of provincial newspapers. A significant feature of the emerging competitive provincial newspaper industry at the time was that many local newspapers carried more international than national news. It was not uncommon for the front page of a provincial paper to be dominated by foreign affairs. Going far beyond even the common preoccupation with the United States, the front page of the Antakya daily Yeniyol (New Path) on February 18, 1952, had stories dealing with Islamic countries freeing themselves from the bonds of French colonialism; elections in Iran; measures aimed at the economy in England; the threat of a general strike in France; and state suppression of communism in Jordan. Alongside these was a lone piece of national news about President Celâl Bayar’s trip home to Turkey after visiting London. Yeniyol may have devoted undue attention to international news on that day, but its emphasis in this regard was hardly anomalous. Concurrent with stories in provincial newspapers about developments in foreign countries was the important visual contribution made by a common feature, “World Events in Photographs” (Dünyada Olaylar). No doubt reflecting the constrictions within which the provincial press operated, newspapers from different regions often printed identical pictures showing life in other countries. An overwhelming proportion depicted either prominent U.S. figures or modern technological developments associated with the United States. Thus there were images of American presidents and military personnel, the latest war-

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ships and fighter planes, statues and memorials, and impressive buildings in major U.S. cities.34 In the Black Sea town of Giresun, readers of Keşap on June 21, 1950, found pictures of President Truman pitching the first baseball of the Major League season, the American Capitol and White House, and an American B-29 Bomber on display at a public exhibition. Often these images were accompanied by short paragraphs rendering the foreign more familiar. Provincial newspapers no doubt benefited from information and images available via the Anatolia News Agency and the new Turkish News Agency. But it also seems likely that the availability of foreign news was a direct result of efforts made by the United States Information Service (USIS). Dedicated to propagating favorable images of the United States throughout the world, USIS produced a daily news bulletin (including both analysis and the full text of speeches made by important figures), which was wired to USIS offices around the world. It was the responsibility of local press officers to translate the relevant material into the local language and disseminate it via print and wire to newspaper editors in the host country, especially to those of provincial newspapers that could not afford to access news via commercial wire services such as the Associated Press. Although details of USIS activities in Turkey are not available, the content of provincial newspapers suggests that many of the 25,000 periodicals worldwide that received these daily bulletins must have been in Turkey.35 As a result, Turks living in the provinces were just as likely to be familiar with statements made by American presidents Harry Truman and Dwight Eisenhower or British prime minister Winston Churchill as they were with those made by Turkish presidents İsmet İnönü and Celâl Bayar.36 American Cold War propaganda meshed well with popular Turkish fears of the “Russian empire” to the north, so the world as Turks knew it was defined in terms of the struggle against the “red danger.” Turks were not necessarily enamored with the United States, and some even warned that its assistance to Turkey constituted a form of cultural imperialism.37 Nevertheless, in an increasingly bipolar world the dominant images in print media cast the United States in a favorable light and the Soviet Union as the enemy. For the vast majority of Turks anything was preferable to the “red danger,” and those exposed to the press learned of events worldwide that indicated the seriousness of the Soviet threat. Reports of Soviet plans to occupy Yugoslavia through a troop buildup in Bulgaria were frequent in 1951, while military maneuvers in Poland and along the Iranian border were the subject of further specu-

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lation.38 Turks understood that the Soviet Union was actively interfering in the Middle East by supporting Egyptian opposition to British occupation, actively penetrating and disrupting the oil workforce in Iran and Iraq, and distributing false American currency.39 In short, the Communists were conspiring to upset the world order, to prevent alliances (such as NATO) among non-Communist countries, and to infiltrate labor organizations worldwide with the goal of overturning capitalist states.40 The United States had vowed to protect Europe against overt Soviet actions. Turks sought similar assurances that Turkey too would have an ally ready to come to its side when the army of “800 million” disciplined Communists made their advance.41 Although Soviet aggression frequently dominated front-page articles of Turkish newspapers, cartoons and serial stories that communicated the Communist threat in graphic detail were just as prominent and perhaps of greater importance in terms of determining Turkish attitudes toward communism. It was not uncommon for Turkish provincial papers to reprint cartoons that originated in the American press, which usually ridiculed Joseph Stalin and his alleged goals to take over the world while proclaiming peace and goodwill. One cartoon in particular exemplifies the Turks’ image of the Soviet Union: it depicts a small Stalin bearing a placard emblazoned with a dove and wearing huge black boots, supported from underneath by hundreds of gaunt, faceless, and enslaved people marching to the sound of music.42 The relationship between oppression and the Soviet Union was indelibly etched in the minds of Turks: newspapers carried heartwrenching stories of the abuse experienced by “Turks” in Bulgaria and Central Asia, emphasizing their lack of freedom and government policies aimed at destroying any sense of Turkish culture and identity.43 More frequent were serialized stories (also borrowed from the American press) about life in a Communist state, such as “The Soviet Graveyard in East Germany,” “Forced Labor Camps for Children in Northern Siberia,” “Russia’s New Empire,” “The Truth about Soviet Slave Camps,” “The Truth about Communism,” “Communist’s Bloody History,” “Behind the Iron Curtain,” and “I Spied on Stalin.”44 These stories commonly emphasized the immoral, irreligious, utterly degenerate state of Communist society and the endless suffering of those who had no choice but to live under communism. Needless to say, these themes only corroborated anti-Russian attitudes harbored by Turks who were familiar with the history of Ottoman/Turkish-Russian relations; indeed descendants of the millions of Muslims who had fled the Russian

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figure 11. “Stalin hoisted on the road to peace.”

Demokrat Postası (Zonguldak), December 24, 1951.

Empire as it occupied Ottoman territory in the nineteenth century represented a significant portion of the Turkish population. It is not difficult to imagine the curiosity and excitement generated by a series published in the Istanbul daily Hürriyet entitled “How Did the Turkish Pilot Mehmet Altun Bey Escape from Russia? The Fugitive from Red Hell!”45

leftists, pan-turkists, and the new national print Culture Turks came to understand their nation in opposition to the SovietCommunist “other” as a result of newspaper coverage of international developments bearing directly on Turkey against the backdrop of a struggle between Pan-Turkists and leftists in these same years. The contours of this struggle were communicated in the pages of main-

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stream metropolitan newspapers as well as in print media devoted to promoting these movements and their ideologies. But here we see the limits to public debate in these years. These movements did not enjoy widespread popularity, and the government was not willing for them to use print media to advocate extreme ideas. The experience of these movements is an important dimension of the history of printing and publishing in Turkey in the years 1945–1954 and foreshadows what would ultimately befall those who also used print to promote religious and religious-nationalist ideas in 1953. In the context of the emerging Cold War, Turks who hoped to use print to promote leftist ideas (whether socialist or Communist) soon discovered that they would not be tolerated. Pan-Turkists were not particularly well received either: their ultranationalist ideology reflected a racist and irredentist vision of a greater Turkish nation incorporating ethnic Turks living in Soviet territory. This hardly appealed to a Turkish government working to incorporate all of its own citizens regardless of ethnicity into the nation while at the same time avoiding conflict with the Soviet Union. Consequently leftists found their efforts thoroughly suppressed, even though they insisted upon their loyalty to the Turkish nation. Pan-Turkists discovered that it was more prudent to eschew ideological extremes temporarily and to support popular identification with the nation through vitriolic attacks on communism and explicit support for Turkey as a Muslim nation. Neither leftists nor Pan-Turkists had fared well during the singleparty period, although both groups had continued their activities, even resorting to covert publications in the face of state efforts to ensure the public dominance of Kemalist ideology.46 World War II, however, afforded new opportunities, as the Turkish government faced intense international pressure to abandon its policy of neutrality. At the same time, the government navigated competing currents within the country: leftists called on Turkey to support the Soviet Union, while PanTurkists were equally adamant that it should ally with Germany. They made their demands through print, engaging in a bitter polemic against each other.47 At first, leftists appeared to have the upper hand: major Istanbul dailies such as Ulus and Vatan openly rejected the racist and irredentist foreign policy pursued by Pan-Turkists.48 Moreover, in the context of growing public unrest between leftists and Pan-Turkists as well as PanTurkist allegations that it was sympathetic to communism, the government ordered the closure of the most prominent Pan-Turkist journal,

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Orhun, and later the arrest of prominent Pan-Turkists, including Orhun’s owner and editor, Nihal Atsız (1905–1975).49 Some twenty-three Pan-Turkists faced trial in Istanbul; all were eventually acquitted but not until March 31, 1947, after an appeal of their initial conviction.50 By contrast, in the wake of World War II leftists initially appeared to benefit from the struggles experienced by Pan-Turkists. Quick to seize on the opportunities afforded by political liberalization, leftists organized new political parties and published a variety of periodicals. In 1946 some nine parties with a socialist orientation were established, although only two—the Socialist Party of Turkey (Türkiye Sosyalist Partisi) and the Socialist Laborers’ and Peasants’ Party of Turkey (Türkiye Sosyalist Emekçi ve Köylü Partisi)—were of any real significance.51 These two parties promoted their activities through various metropolitan publications, including Gün (Day), Gerçek, and Sendika.52 Between 1946 and 1950 leftists were associated with an array of periodicals, displaying remarkable resilience in the face of persecution: although the Istanbul Martial Law Authority might close one, another would appear. These included the extremely popular Markopaşa, which established new circulation records in 1946–1947,53 and Yığıt (Young Man), Ses (Sound), Dost (Friend), Nor Or, Yarın (Tomorrow), Zincirli Hürriyet (Shackled Freedom), Hür Gençlik (Free Youth), Baştan (From the Start), Yeni Baştan (New From the Start), Beşer (Mankind), Nazım Hikmet, and Nuhun Gemisi (Noah’s Ark).54 Nevertheless, the years 1945–1954 were also extremely difficult for leftists: ultimately they fared far worse than their Pan-Turkist opponents. In the context of growing fears of a belligerent Soviet Union after 1945, leftists found their very loyalty to the nation under scrutiny, although they themselves were adamant about their commitment to it. On December 4, 1945, public protests had been organized in Istanbul against the allegedly “Communist” periodicals Tan, Görüşler (Opinions), Yeni Dünya (New World), and La Turquie (Turkey). Similar protests were staged in Bursa, Adana, and Eskişehir.55 Then, on December 16, 1946, the Martial Law Authority closed not only the Socialist Party of Turkey and the Socialist Laborers’ and Peasants’ Party of Turkey but also all associated unions and publications, including their newspapers.56 In June 1946 the government had introduced changes to Articles 141 and 142 of the Criminal Code aimed at restricting the activities of leftists, and it would do so again in 1949 and 1951.57 Leaders of the suppressed parties and dozens more “Communists” were arrested in

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December 1946, and their subsequent trial was held behind closed doors.58 Simultaneously, individuals associated with various leftist publications began to face considerable public harassment. This included the well-known controversy surrounding three professors at the University of Ankara,59 protests against leftist periodicals such as Markopaşa and Zincirli Hürriyet,60 the murder of the popular novelist Sabahaddin Ali (1907–1948),61 and the controversy surrounding efforts to have the poet Nazım Hikmet released from prison. Hikmet was released as a part of the General Amnesty issued by the new Democratic Party government on July 15, 1950, but within a year he had fled to the Soviet Union—as had the prominent leftist journalists Zekeriya Sertel and Sabiha Sertel.62 By now it was clear that leftists not only were unwelcome but were suspected of treason. In 1951 and 1952 some 184 leftists were arrested, of whom 131 were convicted and sentenced to prison. Significantly, alterations to the Criminal Code in December 1951 mandated capital punishment for those convicted of overseeing organizations allegedly intent upon overthrowing the established order: in this case, however, no leftists appear to have been executed.63 It was no coincidence that the same changes to Articles 141 and 142 of the Criminal Code that prescribed the death penalty for leftists also made it a crime to promote racist (ırkçı) propaganda. The government made it clear that the activities of Pan-Turkists were not welcome either, even if the penalties for those guilty of organizing Pan-Turkist activities were not as severe.64 The trials of Pan-Turkists between 1944 and 1947 had not yet resulted in their suppression, even if they had been chastened by the experience. On the contrary, the trials of PanTurkists were public and afforded them a good deal of publicity. Soon after the conclusion of the final trial, Pan-Turkists reestablished a number of well-known periodicals, including Çınaraltı, Tanrıdağ, Orkun (formerly Orhun), and Yeni Bozkurt.65 For reasons that are unclear, none of these apparently lasted very long. Orkun, which first appeared on October 6, 1950, was by far the most successful. When Nihal Atsız closed it (voluntarily, it seems, although only weeks after the modifications to Articles 141 and 142 of the Criminal Code) on January 18, 1952, he assured his readers that the Pan-Turkist movement was alive and well. In fact, we know little of the activities of Pan-Turkists in these years, although they continued to establish organizations to promote their ideas. What is significant is that they often did so by presenting themselves in the guise of “nationalists” (milliyetçi) rather than Pan-Turkists

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(Türkçü). A number of Pan-Turkist organizations were formed in 1946 and 1947, largely aimed at youth in Istanbul, Ankara, and Kayseri. The Organization of Turkish Youth (Türk Gençlik Teşkilâtı), for instance, was established with the express purpose of taking Pan-Turkism to the provinces; sponsor of the journal Tanrıdağ, it appears to have had a following in the Aegean region around Izmir and in Samsun on the Black Sea.66 In a significant move, however, these organizations then formed a loose union in April 1950: the new organization was called the Federation of Nationalists of Turkey (Türkiye Milliyetçiler Federasyonu).67 A year later three of these organizations dissolved themselves, to form the new Association of Turkish Nationalists (Türk Milliyetçiler Derneği).68 This organization proved to be extremely active as well as effective at recruiting new members. By October 1951 its weekly publication Mefkûre (Ideal) already listed thirty branches across the country; in a speech on November 1, 1952, the organization’s president, Said Bilgiç, claimed that “nearly eighty” (seksene yakın) branches had opened in eighteen months.69 At the same time when Pan-Turkists were attempting to incorporate their activities within “nationalist” organizations, they also engaged in a wide range of publishing activities, including books unmistakably Pan-Turkist in both tone and content.70 In other cases they produced periodicals that intentionally blurred the distinction between Pan-Turkism and nationalism. Rıza Çandarlı produced Dâva (Cause) in Izmir, beginning on December 4, 1948; Izzet Mühüdaroğlu established Meşale (Torch) in Istanbul on January 1, 1947; and the Association of Turkish Nationalists produced its own periodical, Mefkûre, in Ankara, beginning on October 20, 1951. Pan-Turkist publications also existed in the provinces. Doğu and Komünizme Karşı Türklük were published in Zonguldak. Sesleniş (Proclamation) in Kayseri was sympathetic to Pan-Turkist ideas, while Büyük Dâva was avowedly Pan-Turkist in orientation.71 Büyük Dâva exemplifies the means by which Pan-Turkists presented themselves as nationalists, reinforcing the distinct anti-Soviet and anti-Communist tone in the national print culture. A total of six issues of Büyük Dâva appeared between January 25 and April 10, 1951. The paper described itself as a “nationalist” (milliyetçi) periodical, but its masthead included a picture of a wolf with the words “May God Protect the Turk” (Tanrı Türkü Korusun). In its initial editorial the paper defined “Turkism” as “nationalism” and argued that Turkey was now engaged in a sacred struggle against communism because it was in-

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figure 12. Büyük Dâva (Kayseri), January 25, 1951.

tent upon destroying the nation. Other articles situated this struggle in history, suggesting that the war in Korea was simply a continuation of ancient conflicts between Turks and Chinese in Central Asia. Communism itself was presented as a more recent form of Russian imperialism aimed at dominating other nations and destroying national and religious values. As a result, Büyük Dâva took some pleasure in drawing attention to a public meeting of nationalist youth in Kayseri, who petitioned their elected deputies to alter the Criminal Code to provide the death penalty for Communists. Pan-Turkists hoped to gain public acceptance of their ideas by cloaking their efforts in the language of nationalism. Presumably for similar reasons, they readily adopted the idioms and symbols of the reli-

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gious nationalism that was so popular in the decade after 1945. When Büyük Dâva laid out the principles underlying the Federation of Nationalists of Turkey, it made a point of stressing that the organization promoted the notion of Turkey’s youth as protectors of religion, faith, and national values.72 According to Büyük Dâva, popular awareness of religion constituted the surest defense against communism. The subsequent Association of Turkish Nationalists stressed the importance of Islam to the nation. Alongside prominent Pan-Turkists such as Nihal Atsız, the organization also accommodated the likes of Nurettin Topçu (1909–1975), Mehmet Kaplan (1915–1986), and Bekir Berk (1926–1994), who all tended more toward a religious nationalism.73 Indeed, when the government closed down the Association of Turkish Nationalists in the spring of 1953, it did so on the grounds that it was too closely identified with “reactionary” religious trends.74 The government’s fears were perhaps best captured in a brochure published by the Çanakkale branch to commemorate the “Turkish” victory at Gallipoli in 1915–1916: entitled 18 March 1915: The Çanakkale Story, it was written by an author who adopted the evocative pseudonym “Islamtürk.”75 A similar emphasis is evident in periodicals that verged on religious nationalism but also retained Pan-Turkist features. The earliest publication to span these perspectives was Millet, published by Cemal Kutay (1909–2006). First produced in Istanbul on January 31, 1946, it lasted as a weekly journal until October 4, 1951. Serdengeçti (Martyr) was first published by Osman Yüksel (1917–1983) in May 1947. Among the more provocative and controversial figures in the history of Turkish printing and publishing, Yüksel was arrested and tried on some ninety-two separate occasions over the course of his life, mostly during the 1940s and 1950s. Between 1947 and 1962 Yüksel succeeded at publishing only thirty-three issues of Serdengeçti in the midst of his ongoing legal and financial difficulties.76 Komünizme Karşı Mücadele (Struggle against Communism) was a twice-monthly newspaper owned and published by Bekir Berk. The first issue appeared on August 1, 1950, and thirtysix issues appeared. Berk himself was a well-known nationalist: he assumed leadership of the Federation of Nationalists of Turkey upon its formation in the spring of 1950. Millet, Komünizme Karşı Mücadele, and Serdengeçti were uncompromising in their vitriolic condemnation of communism. And each argued that the most effective antidote to communism in Turkey was a popular ideology that stressed not only loyalty to the nation but also morality and religious faith.77 Thus they had much in common with religious-nationalist peri-

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odicals. Serdengeçti ’s subtitle described it as a journal for those who “pursued God, the nation, and the fatherland” (Allaha, Millete, Vatana Koşanların Dergisi), and it made a point of carrying informative articles about Islam and the wider Islamic world. Similarly, in December 1951 Komünizme Karşı Mücadele published an article by Mehmet Kaplan emphasizing the importance of religion to the nation after years of neglect. Kemalist reforms had separated the nation from both its history and its spirit, resulting in a spiritual crisis. The Turkish nation was plagued by ignorance and superstitious (batıl ) beliefs: to ward off communism and materialism, more was needed than simply a personality cult focused on Mustafa Kemal Atatürk.78

turkey and the korean war What the Turkish nation needed was a clear sense of purpose, especially in terms of its place in the world. Public debate after 1945 demonstrated that Turks were not inclined to define that purpose according to either leftist or Pan-Turkist ideals. Rather, they needed to understand their nation according to the realities of the period: against the SovietCommunist threat to the north and in recognition that the Turkish nation could not extend beyond its current boundaries. The advent of the Korean War in the summer of 1950 offered Turks the opportunity to do just this, to resolve the uncertainty and vulnerability they associated with their country’s place in the world, and to define their nation in concrete terms. Print media reports of the Turkish contribution to this conflict generated sufficient confidence for newspapers such as Köroğlu to identify Turkey as the “Fortress of the Middle East.”79 Previously excluded from NATO, Turkey was now the country most important to Western plans to protect the Mediterranean from Soviet imperialism and international communism. Turkey, led by the newly elected government of Adnan Menderes, was among the very first countries to respond to the United Nations plea on June 27, 1950, for assistance in restoring “peace and security” to the Korean peninsula. Turkey’s contribution was a brigade—roughly 5,000 men strong—that would be an active part of the United Nations forces until the armistice in 1953. Given its small size in comparison to the large American and South Korean contingents, the Turkish contribution does not figure largely in histories of the Korean War.80 In Turkey today the Korean War remains important to collective mem-

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ory, however, to the point that Turks recall their nation’s participation in the conflict as legendary.81 Print media at the time played a crucial role in the construction of this memory. In 1950–1951 the Korean War was the foreign issue that dominated Turkish newspapers and was the subject of numerous other publications as well. The importance of the Korean War to Turks was revealed by a United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) study of major newspapers throughout the world over one week in March 1951. It concluded that while no other newspaper devoted more than 4.3 percent (and on average 2 percent) of its space, the Istanbul daily Hürriyet devoted as much as 17 percent (and on average 13 percent) of its space to the war. Moreover, Hürriyet also distinguished itself by virtue of being one of only three publications—out of seventeen in the study—that had a special correspondent in Korea. It also had its own photographer.82 Hürriyet was not unique among Turkish newspapers, for both Cumhuriyet and Yeni Sabah also had correspondents and photographers in Korea for the explicit purpose of conveying as much information as possible to Turks at home. Newspapers across Turkey carried extensive coverage of the Turkish Brigade in Korea, especially during the first year: large colorful photos often dominated the front page, while special supplements inside contained multiple pages of black-and-white pictures accompanied by short communiqués from Turkish soldiers to their families back home.83 Correspondents wrote extensively about the personal experiences of Turkish soldiers, about Turkish heroics in fierce battles, and about the awe with which allies and enemies alike viewed Turks. This was particularly the case after the battle at Kunu-ri (November 26–December 1, 1950), in which Turkish troops rescued American forces from near decimation. Thereafter Turkish media eagerly cited public statements of gratitude issued by American politicians and took great pleasure that even Gen. Douglas MacArthur publicly acknowledged what Moscow Radio was proclaiming with glee: “this time the Turks had rescued the Americans.”84 One Turkish newspaper announced: “The Entire World Surprised by Turkish Soldiers” and went on to summarize reports from Ottawa, Madrid, Vienna, Paris, and even Kabul. Turkish actions had established new standards of bravery: when regiments from other countries performed well in Korea they were compared with Turks.85 Although Turkish provincial newspapers could not afford to post special correspondents in Korea, that did not restrict the flow of in-

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formation. Wire services communicated up-to-date details across the country, and provincial newspapers frequently placed this news of the war front and center. Similarly, whenever the opportunity afforded itself these smaller papers featured speeches, memoirs, and serial stories about and by soldiers recently returned from Korea. Indeed, the public did not have to wait long for these: the first load of Turkish soldiers wounded in action at the battle of Kunu-ri began to arrive home in January 1951.86 Thus by the time metropolitan papers such as Hürriyet, Cumhuriyet, and Yeni Sabah filtered into the provinces, their graphic presentations only reinforced the images of the Korean War already forming in the minds of the general populace. The press conveyed a tone of unequivocal pride. Even before troops left for Korea they were the object of great public interest. Reporters took whatever opportunities they could find to interview the troops and their families. They emphasized in their articles that these young men were voluntarily and proudly representing the nation just as Mete, Atilla, Timur, and Mehmed the Conqueror had done in glorious battles of the “Turkish” past. As one proud father explained: his son had been born for this day when he would assume the mantle of his grandfather, who himself had fought previously in Galicia, at Gallipoli, and in the Caucasus.87 Not surprisingly, young Turks who died on the battlefield were memorialized in appropriately glowing terms. No sooner had Turkey’s first soldier died in Korea than a reporter for the Bursa daily Ant was requesting an interview with the soldier’s widow. Printing a picture of Sedat Bora’s wife and children on the front page, Ant proceeded to quote his wife extensively. Her husband, she said, had been a child of Atatürk who died heroically fighting for freedom and democracy; she could expect no more than that he lived and died a soldier. Extolling this woman’s stoicism, the author then emphasized that wives of soldiers now—as in the Turkish War of Independence—must contribute to the war effort by their faithfulness, self-sacrifice, and bravery. This might require more than simply losing their husbands. When the reporter turned his attention to Sedat Bora’s three-year-old son, the boy confidently asserted: “I too want to go to Korea and kill all the infidels [gavur].”88 The “infidels,” of course, were Communists. Although the Korean peninsula was far from their own country, Turks perceived the war there as simply an extension of a struggle against the spread of subversive ideas with which they were already engaged at home. This was

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the purpose behind the Turkish presence in Korea. As a schoolteacher asserted in the forty-page treatise Why Are We Going to Korea? Turks were committed to realizing Atatürk’s vision of peace at home, peace abroad.89 The teacher, Mustafa Deral, insisted that Turks had a duty to extinguish Communist fires wherever they appeared: the world was divided between those who were free and those who were under communism, the latter being utterly untrustworthy. If the world did not recognize Turkey’s importance in this struggle—as its failure to gain entry to NATO suggested—then Yeniyol in Antakya concluded that Turkey should not appear desperate: rather it should wait for the world to acknowledge its importance to global security, which would soon become clear in Korea.90 Newspapers document the enthusiasm with which Turks responded to what they perceived to be an important responsibility. More than 20,000 young men and even some women volunteered to serve in the Turkish Brigade, and the military was forced to draw lots to determine who would enjoy this privilege. Local commanders sent off young men selected for service with stirring speeches, reminding them that Turks were born into the world destined to serve the nation and die as martyrs. Representing justice and freedom, they were to fight and die with the same pride as their forefathers had. Families crowded train stations to bid farewell to their sons and husbands and to express similar national sentiments.91 After further training in Ankara the Turkish Brigade then set off by train to the port city of Iskenderun; later troops would come and go through Izmir and Istanbul as well. Cities and towns along the train route to Iskenderun seized the opportunity to greet the troops as the trains stopped briefly: when a train carrying reinforcements for the original brigade passed through Kayseri in early 1951, thousands crowded onto the platform to hear speeches by brigade commanders and then by the local mayor and provincial governor. The ceremony included music, the display of a huge decorative sword, flowers and gifts of food presented to the soldiers, and a formal presentation of a Turkish flag printed with the blood of Kayseri youth.92 Turks turned to print media as an effective way of actively expressing their interest and pride in the accomplishments of their soldiers. The Korean War offered a very tangible way to participate in the affairs of the nation, to look beyond the social and political debate at home, and to seek a resolution to the country’s uncertain position in the new world order. One way to participate was to contribute to the new na-

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tional print culture by writing books and poems. We have no definitive list of such publications, but The Bibliography of Turkey for the years 1950–1954 reveals that they were common. For the most part books were published in Istanbul or Ankara, although the author might reside in a province. Collections of patriotic poetry inspired by the Korean War, however, often were published in provincial centers.93 Newspapers also published poems that praised the Turkish soldier. Many of these were written by schoolchildren. The Korean War was an important part of their education; by composing poems they were contributing in their own small way. They were preparing themselves for the day when they could assume the mantle of the Turkish “lion” (aslan): always moving forward, making the world tremble with fear as he brandished his bayonet, never to be overcome.94 Some of the books published mirrored the memoirs written by returning soldiers for local newspapers. These included Seyfi Erkmen’s I Came from Korea; Nazmi Özoğul’s Why Did I Fight in Korea?: Communist Oppression and Efforts at Protection; and Cevdet Canbulat’s The Turkish Soldier in Korea, a collection of stories about individual soldiers.95 Other books were written by Turks who never left home but nonetheless expressed their pride and support for soldiers in Korea, rallying the nation behind the cause. These included Mustafa Deral’s Why Are We Going to Korea?; Ahmet Yaşnar’s The Conflict in Korea; and H. Aslanoğlu’s Korea and the Korean War.96 Still other books were devoted to perpetuating and reinforcing notions of Turkish heroism and martyrdom: Kani Sarıgöllü’s Turkish Heroism in Korea (a short treatise published in Konya); Refik Soykut’s The Eternal Heroes in Korea; and Feyzullah Sacit Ülkü’s The Miracle of Korea and the Sound of the Martyr.97 A text by Mustafa Kepir illustrates the synergy between radio and print at this time: in August 1951 he published the text of a number of highly patriotic speeches delivered over the radio for the benefit of Turks at home and those in Korea. To his surprise, the small volume Radio Broadcasts to the Heroes in Korea sold out within a matter of months, necessitating a second printing before the end of the year.98 Print media—along with radio and film—therefore contributed directly to the creation of a legend of the Turk in Korea, which was no doubt also conveyed by word of mouth. One particularly prevalent image was of Turkish soldiers who stoically fought on, seemingly unaffected by multiple bullet wounds and refusing to admit the possibility of defeat. This must have been based on a good deal of truth, for newspapers reported stories along these lines.99 Sarıgöllü’s Turkish Hero-

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figure 13. America: “I wait for you on Korean shores. I need you immediately!” Hürriyet (Istanbul), July 28, 1950.

ism in Korea featured a man from Konya, Mehmet Ek, who surprised doctors when they discovered that his body had absorbed seventeen bullets.100 This story then appeared as a serial cartoon in Hürriyet. It presented various heroic and terrible scenes from the battle of Kunu-ri, ending with a surgeon asking a Turkish officer in amazement: “Do you Turks never die?”101 This was the image of their nation that Turks received from representations of the Korean War in the national print culture: Turkey was held in awe by others, even Americans. It was an image repeatedly enforced by print media and captured best by a cartoon in the Istanbul daily Hürriyet only days after Turkey agreed to send troops to Korea: the cartoon portrayed a despairing blonde woman (the United States) on the Korean peninsula playing a Turkish saz (lute) and tearfully appealing to a resolute and bold male soldier (Turkey) on a ship steaming toward her. “America” is saying: “I wait for you on Korean shores. I need you immediately!”102

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turkey: MusliM fortress against atheist CoMMunisM Print media stressed the importance of the Turkish nation in the Korean War and thus in the world and in so doing often emphasized that it was a Muslim nation. We know that Turkish soldiers themselves viewed the conflict very much in religious terms. In Korea the spiritual needs of soldiers were attended to by six imams, and the soldiers made a habit of building mosques—with minarets—in areas they occupied.103 They observed not only national holidays but also Friday prayers (namaz) and religious holidays such as Ramazan, as described graphically in the memoirs of the Turkish commander in Korea, Gen. Tahsin Yazıcı.104 Newspapers reported on religious practices as a matter of course. The front page of one issue of Hürriyet presented a large color picture of soldiers gathered together and offering prayers around the grave of a fallen soldier. Even more evocative—in light of the role of the military as guardian of laiklik in subsequent decades—was another photo showing General Yazıcı making a very public statement by reverently putting a copy of the Qur’an to his lips.105 Newspapers also reveal that people at home responded to developments in Korea, conscious of their identities as Muslims. This was particularly evident when Turks received the news that friends or family members had achieved the status of “martyrs,” dying on the battlefield in Korea. As news began to trickle in about the tremendous battles at Kunu-ri and uncertainty spread concerning the number of dead and wounded, Turks across the country expressed their sorrow and support. People attended readings of the ritual mevlut at local mosques to remember the deceased and plead for God’s mercy for those still alive.106 Newspaper after newspaper announced the time and place of these prayers and encouraged people to attend. Students at Istanbul University had their own meeting, while the government sponsored a mevlut at the huge Süleymaniye Mosque attended by tens of thousands.107 Turkish print media devoted to the conflict often framed it in distinctly religious terms as well. Throughout coverage of the Korean War, the notions of sacrifice and martyrdom were prominent: indeed it is no exaggeration to argue that Turks saw the Korean War as a sacred struggle, although the word “jihad” was not commonly used as a descriptor. Time and again stories both about soldiers fighting at the front and about their families at home reveal that alongside “national” honor Turks perceived their efforts to be indicative of religious virtue: to die

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fighting for freedom was not simply noble but carried tremendous significance, for the Muslim martyr knew that the rewards in the world to come were many times greater than those on earth.108 Some books even went so far as to declare the Korean War a sacred venture. Ahmet Yaşnar began his The Conflict in Korea with the words: “Dear soldiers of the faith and martyrs: you are God’s soldiers, under the spiritual command of the Prophet, fighting on God’s path for benefit of humanity and freedom.”109 He then proceeded to explain the war as very much a religious conflict between Islam and atheist communism. Those fighting in it were gazis (soldiers of the faith), while those who died most certainly were to be remembered as martyrs. A similar tone pervaded Nazmi Özoğul’s Why Did I Fight in Korea?: Communists were portrayed as the mortal enemies of the Muslim Turkish nation.110 It is in this context that we must understand a book published by the Ministry of Religious Affairs soon after the government’s decision to send troops to Korea: The Political and Religious Necessity of Our Participation in the Korean War. The book’s subtitles conveyed its purpose: “The Holy Meaning of Martyrdom in Korea” and “To Live Freely It Is Essential to Risk Death and to Join Those Doing So.”111 It did not appeal to national honor or historical tradition. Instead it offered a theological justification for participation in the Korean War and argued that those fighting in the war were gazis and those who had died were martyrs—evidently a proposition that the Republican People’s Party had been questioning in its efforts to oppose the Democratic Party government.112 One of the purposes of the work was to refute those unidentified individuals who denied the validity of notions of gazi and martyrdom on the grounds that Turkey had not been attacked and the war was beyond its borders. Extensively examining both the Qur’an and the Bible as well as history, this treatise defended Turkey’s participation alongside a non-Muslim nation such as the United States on the grounds that both Christian and Muslim traditions required believers to oppose oppression (zulüm) and fight for freedom. As a member of the United Nations, Turkey was politically obliged to fulfill its obligations, but this was entirely in accord with those duties incumbent upon it as a Muslim nation. It had an obligation to fight not just when attacked but when the very essence of humanity—freedom—was threatened by an evil as pernicious and pervasive as communism. Therefore those Turks who might die supporting this cause should know beyond a doubt that they would become both martyrs of the faith and heroes of the na-

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tion. Thus the Korean War reveals the indivisibility of nation and faith to Turks in the post–World War II era. Communism was perceived to be a very real threat not just because it was inextricably intertwined with Russian imperialism but because it promoted a materialist, atheist worldview completely at odds with that of Muslim Turks. By fighting in the Korean War, Turks were playing a crucial role, defending the Islamic world against not only imperialism but also atheism. Of course, this was not a perspective unique to Turks. Muslims in other countries shared this same conviction: in Egypt the Muslim Brotherhood stood in clear opposition to communism, while in Pakistan at this time Muslim authors published various works condemning leftist ideas.113 For Turks, however, their nation’s sacrifices in Korea elevated Turkey to a unique position in the Muslim world. Indeed, they believed that it was because of these sacrifices that Turkey was admitted into NATO in September 1951 and now stood as a respected member of the international order. Turkey was both a democratic Muslim country and a member of the Western alliance against Soviet imperialism and communism. This was in stark contrast to the circumstances experienced by other Muslim countries. Various religious periodicals drew attention to this, as we have already seen in the case of Islam Dünyası, Volkan, Sebilürreşad, Büyük Doğu, and Selâmet. These periodicals alerted Turks that the Islamic world had entered into a new phase of independence and development, increasingly throwing off the shackles of European colonialism. Certainly the establishment of Pakistan in 1947 was a case in point, but their own country constituted a far more powerful and important example. In fact, Turkey and Pakistan appear to have vied for leadership of the Islamic world at this time. In 1949 and 1951 Pakistan hosted a World Muslim Conference, and Turkey sent an official delegation to the second conference. The delegation was headed by the deputy Ahmet Rıza Doğrul, also editor of the Istanbul religious periodical Selâmet. Provincial newspapers in Turkey reported on this conference. Atayolu in Antakya emphasized Doğrul’s speech, in which he took pains to argue that Mustafa Kemal had not led a crusade against Islam but had been committed to reforming Muslim beliefs and practices, cleansing them from ignorant “reaction.” Doğrul implied that Turkey in fact constituted the model for the rest of the Islamic world rather than being a wayward secular state in need of redemption.114 In this same vein, Demokrat Eskişehir in July 1952 responded to an article in the Pakistani paper Dawn that described Turkey as lacking

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figure 14. “The current state of Muslim countries!”

Köroğlu (Istanbul), July 2, 1952.

the characteristics of a Muslim country. Dawn also claimed that Pakistan was the preeminent country in the Islamic world. Demokrat Eskişehir categorically rejected this: it denied that Turkey had turned its back on Islam. Rather, Turkey was a Muslim country in which freedom reigned. The paper asserted that a Pan-Islamic movement was unnecessary: close relations among Muslim countries were all that was needed. The world could be divided into two blocs: free and unfree countries. Although Turkey wished Pakistan well, a country needed an independent constitution and absolute freedom from foreign domination before it could aspire to leadership. According to Demokrat Eskişehir, these characteristics defined Turkey and not Pakistan: by implication, Turkey was the country that deserved to be the leader of the Islamic world.115 The people’s paper Köroğlu made a similar claim that month: in a cartoon it depicted Turkey as the one free, modern Muslim nation in all of Asia.116 Atayolu, Demokrat Eskişehir, and Köroğlu were not devoted specifically to religion. Rather, they were newspapers that reached audiences in the provinces throughout the country. As such, they demonstrate a

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popular awareness of the wider world and a popular confidence in the place of the Muslim Turkish nation in that world. This awareness and confidence in Turkey’s role in the world were the result of the new national print culture, which increasingly incorporated a larger proportion of the population within its sphere of influence after 1945. At first, print media communicated to Turks an uncertainty associated with their nation’s place in the new Cold War world. The Korean War, however, resolved this sense of vulnerability: through their active participation in the conflict both at home and abroad Turks now understood that their Muslim nation was an important bulwark against Soviet imperialism and international communism. The popular national identity that took shape in the decade after 1945 depended very much on this understanding of Turkey’s place in the world. As print media reminded readers, the Turkish nation boasted a glorious history: recent feats of heroism in Korea were but the latest stage.

CHapter 6

Mustafa keMal atatÜrk and MehMed the Conqueror: negotiating a national historiCal narrative

All of a sudden the entire world is carefully noting with surprise, envy, and appreciation your military prowess and iron character. For as long as human communities have been nations, history—which began with you—has recorded as its most glorious moments of the world’s story the times when you established dominion over Asia, Europe, and Africa. You continue to perpetuate your entire history in these great countries, where you wandered on the backs of horses, with steps that cannot be erased. Even at the most difficult moments you forced those enemies bent on destroying you to accept the Turks’ power with awe. Today your heroics, produced by self-sacrifice almost unequaled in history, for the sake of humanity, virtue, and freedom, have proven to friend and foe alike that the Turkish strength cannot be defeated. The children of Genghis Khan, Attila, Timur, and Atatürk are demonstrating their enthusiasm and willingness to write in world history, personally and as a nation, a new triumph, to keep burning that torch of the glorious history of their forefathers. yenIyoL (antakya), deCeMber 9, 1950 Just as our children visit Atatürk’s tomb, so too they will visit the tomb of Fatih Sultan Mehmed. tahsin banog˘lu, Minister of eduCation, MarCh 1, 1950

after tHe turkisH suCCess at Kunu-ri in Korea in November– December 1950 the Antakya daily Yeniyol reminded readers that the cost of participating in the Korean War was not without reward. Not only did the war offer Turkey the opportunity to resolve its ambiguous relationship with the West in the context of the emerging Cold War; but, understood within the framework of their nation’s glorious history, Turkish heroism in Korea once again affirmed the continued im-

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portance of the Turkish nation to world history. Just as popular identification with that nation was predicated upon an appreciation of its present place in the world, so too it was intimately related to popular awareness of their nation’s past. This was a past of which they could be justly proud. Individual and collective identities derive not only from establishing the self as distinct from “others” but also from a need to understand the present in terms of the past: identity must have a history. A sense of identity is intimately connected to a projection of current difference over time.1 Mustafa Kemal’s adopted daughter, Afet Inan, recalled after his death that he had set out to create a history for the Turkish nation in response to the evident prejudice against the “Turk” then current in Europe.2 It was necessary to claim a distant past far greater than the recent past from which the new Turkey had broken away: thus it was essential not only to do away with Ottoman Islamic institutions but to produce a narrative justifying Turkey’s place in the new world order that did not hearken back to images such as the “Sick Man of Europe,” “Oriental Despotism,” or the persecution of Christian minorities. The result was a nationalist narrative that cast the modern Turkish nation as a primordial and eternal nation predestined for greatness; at the same time, this narrative downplayed, even denigrated, the lengthy but relatively recent history of the Ottoman Empire. Ironically, Mustafa Kemal hoped to instill in the people a national identity by bestowing on the nation a glorious but distant legacy while downplaying the very history with which they themselves were familiar by virtue of their own lived experiences. Inscribing a nation’s history, however, is not so easy: nationalist narratives cannot negate lived memory. Instead the two must be brought together to forge an inclusive narrative of the nation’s past that includes elements of each: the nationalist must give way to the national. In the case of Turkey, this involved the merging of the Kemalist historical narrative—established during the single-party period—with a popular wish to recognize the importance to the present of the Ottoman past. Again the new national print culture that emerged in the decade after 1945 was integral to the process while at the same time bearing witness to it after the fact. The theatre of the nation to which its pages testify included not only vital debate concerning the efficacy of laiklik and the place of Islam in Turkey as well as a concern with defining Turkey’s place in the emerging Cold War world but also a need to reconcile a coherent and meaningful narrative of the past with the present.

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This chapter explores the public negotiation, through print media, of a new interpretation of the past that was not simply an extension of the Kemalist perspective on the past. The result was a national historical narrative in which both the elite and the people had an investment. This process had two distinct aspects. On the one hand, a critique of Mustafa Kemal occurred that might have inspired a popular reevaluation of his contribution to the nation’s past. Again, however, the limitations on public debate in these years are very apparent, and this critique proved short-lived. Nevertheless, through an examination of this debate we see clearly how important Atatürk was to popular conceptions of the past and how he became so firmly enshrined at the core of the emerging national identity. On the other hand, at precisely the same time, print media devoted increasing attention to framing the nation’s past through the rehabilitation of the Ottoman Empire. Contrary to Kemalist ideology, the pages of the new national print culture left no doubt that Ottoman history was to be appropriated as a definitive aspect of the nation’s past. In particular we see this in the popular interest attached to the 500th anniversary of the conquest of Constantinople, celebrated on May 29, 1953. Turks were determined to retain Mustafa Kemal as a potent symbol of the nation; but they also expected that Mehmed II—greatest of the Muslim Ottoman sultans—would be accorded similar respect. As the minister of education, Tahsin Banoğlu, emphasized to the Grand National Assembly in March 1950, not only did Mustafa Kemal deserve a place in the nation’s history but so too did Sultan Mehmed the Conqueror.

Mustafa keMal and the war of independenCe Today the importance of Mustafa Kemal to Turkish history is taken for granted, but the pages of print media from the years 1945–1954 testify to the way in which print itself was critical to enshrining Turkey’s founding president at the center of the popular national identify forming at that time. Throughout his presidency Mustafa Kemal worked hard to establish himself at the center of the nation’s history: he was the visionary leader and great modernizer who had rescued the nation for its own sake. As such, he tolerated no criticism and hardly acknowledged that others also might have made a contribution to the founding of Turkey as a modern nation-state. Mustafa Kemal’s death on November 10, 1938, therefore marked an important concluding moment in

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the creation of the Kemalist historical narrative. Print media paying tribute to the man the Republican People’s Party quickly anointed as its “eternal leader” (ebedî şef ) implied that now all meaningful history had reached its conclusion. Newspapers across the country devoted text and images to glorifying the man Karagöz called the “world’s unequaled person.”3 Countless pamphlets, books, and collections of photos commemorating his life and recounting his funeral were published in subsequent months.4 Edirne Postası in Thrace echoed sentiments across the country when it declared on November 23, 1938: “Atatürk is an undying ideal. We shall always hold his sacred being in our hearts.” Nonetheless, a visitor to Turkey between 1939 and 1945 might well have wondered just what the future held in store for Mustafa Kemal as “Father of the Turk.” Even as the Republican People’s Party memorialized him as its eternal leader, his successor as president, İsmet İnönü, appears to have tried to establish himself as Mustafa Kemal’s legitimate substitute. İnönü—who adopted the title “national leader” (millî şef )— presided over a government no less authoritarian than that of Mustafa Kemal and thus soon became the focus of public attention. Paper money and stamps bore his portrait, public buildings and roads bore his name, and statues of him began to appear throughout the country. Moreover, İnönü adamantly refused to allow political debate concerning Mustafa Kemal or his reforms. The government avoided legitimizing its policies with reference to Mustafa Kemal, as later became the practice.5 Mustafa Kemal could not be erased from the collective memory in such a short time, but it is significant that he now shared the stage with İnönü on the occasion of national celebrations, and pictures of both men typically appeared on the front of pages of newspapers. In some cases the picture was of İnönü alone.6 İnönü’s dominance did not last long: with the establishment of multiparty politics, even the lofty position of president of the Republic became subject to scrutiny. In these circumstances İnönü found it impossible to remain apart from and above the growing political debate. In an important development, however, Mustafa Kemal also became the subject of unprecedented debate. This took criticism that his opponents had voiced during the War of Independence and in the early years of the Turkish Revolution to a new level: at that time members of the elite had distrusted his motives and disagreed with the authoritarian means he employed to shape the new nation-state.7 After the war, some of them had challenged the emerging Kemalist historical narrative that justified Mustafa Kemal’s dominance. The jour-

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nalist Zekeriya Sertel, for instance, publicly criticized the lack of freedom and democracy in the new Republic: he accused Mustafa Kemal of trying to establish his own “sultanate.” In late 1924 he published an article in the journal Resimli Ay that was critical of dictatorship. Then he began a campaign to keep alive memories of the popular contribution to the war by raising money for a monument to the “unknown soldier” (meçhul asker). This was a deliberate slight to Mustafa Kemal. In response the Istanbul daily Akşam published an article that suggested success in the War of Independence had depended not on the people but on Mustafa Kemal’s leadership alone: without him resistance would have amounted to no more than a failed popular rebellion.8 Sertel’s campaign was easily suppressed by the Independence Tribunals,9 but the War of Independence hero Kâzım Karabekir (1882– 1948) constituted a more formidable challenge. A founding member of the Progressive Republican Party in 1924, Karabekir was later caught up in the maelstrom surrounding the 1926 “Izmir conspiracy” to assassinate Mustafa Kemal; as a result he too was tried before an Independence Tribunal.10 Karabekir was acquitted and thereafter retired from public life to Istanbul, where he began to write his memoirs (not published fully until 1960).11 In 1933, however, Karabekir became embroiled in a public debate concerning the War of Independence initiated by the Istanbul daily Milliyet. In an effort to present his own version of events, Karabekir undertook to publish an abbreviated version of his memoirs with Sinan Publishing House in Istanbul under the title The Foundations of Our War of Independence. Evidently the Kemalist elite feared that this would contradict the official historical narrative as it related to Mustafa Kemal and the War of Independence. Consequently two former members of the Independence Tribunals seized and apparently destroyed all copies before they could be distributed.12 Not all copies of Karabekir’s memoirs were destroyed, and it is no coincidence that they were to reappear in the context of growing public debate after World War II, contributing to a corpus of publications challenging Mustafa Kemal’s centrality to the historical narrative. In 1951 Sinan Publishing House once again undertook to publish Karabekir’s abbreviated memoirs, and this time The Foundations of Our War of Independence reached the public. Sinan Omur, owner of the publishing house, advertised the publication in his religious-nationalist newspaper Hür Adam but curiously did not publish any excerpts. Instead, it was the religious-nationalist journal Volkan—also produced by Sinan Publishing House—that took this provocative step on October 27, 1951.

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Karabekir’s work was only one among many memoirs concerning the War of Independence to be published soon after 1945, but it was unusual because of its content. Other memoirs appear not to have put forward controversial claims: they left Mustafa Kemal the undisputed leader of the “national” resistance movement.13 By contrast, Kemalist fears in 1933 about what Karabekir had written proved to be well founded. Just as his complete memoirs eventually published in 1960 would challenge the Kemalist narrative, so the 1951 abbreviated version initiated the process of rewriting history. In particular, Karabekir cast himself as taking the initiative in the Anatolian resistance movement, with Mustafa Kemal following his lead: needless to say, this implicitly challenged the narrative of the “national struggle” that Mustafa Kemal himself had laid out in his Speech of 1927. Karabekir drew attention to the fact that he had refused to arrest Mustafa Kemal in Erzurum in 1919, implying that it was only because of his benevolence that Mustafa Kemal had gone on to lead the resistance movement.14 Significantly, The Foundations of Our War of Independence stops suddenly in March 1920, on the eve of the first meeting of the Grand National Assembly of Turkey.15 So it lacks all the criticisms of Mustafa Kemal contained in Karabekir’s later, complete memoirs.16 Nevertheless, it leaves no doubt that Karabekir believed that the War of Independence needed to be reinterpreted so that Mustafa Kemal alone would not come across as the dominant figure. Prior to the publication of The Foundations of Our War of Independence its content had already been foreshadowed by other publications that challenged the official historical narrative. The Istanbul nationalist journal Meşale, for instance, had printed an article as early as June 5, 1947, questioning the assumption that the Anatolian resistance movement would have failed without Mustafa Kemal’s leadership. Perhaps not coincidentally, this article reminded readers not to forget the contribution made by Kâzım Karabekir himself; it also stressed that ultimate victory had depended on the entire nation’s cooperation rather than on any one individual. Along other lines, the Istanbul religiousnationalist journal Sebilürreşad presented a rather different perspective in April 1949 when it stressed that Mustafa Kemal had approached the war as a pious leader of a Muslim population. The article argued that Mustafa Kemal’s success depended not only on his own abilities but also to a large degree on the support of members of the ulema and Sufi şeyhs. Fittingly, the cover of Sebilürreşad carried a picture of Mus-

Mustafa keMal atatÜrk and MehMed the Conqueror 179

figure 15. “Memories from the national struggle for independence.” Sebilürreşad (Istanbul) 40:2 (April 1949).

tafa Kemal, accompanied by members of the ulema, offering prayers in front of the Grand National Assembly.17 This critique of the Kemalist narrative of the War of Independence soon found expression in a controversial set of articles published by the Democratic Party deputy Hasan Fehmi Ustaoğlu in the Samsun newspaper Büyük Cihad. Ustaoğlu’s first article in Büyük Cihad appeared on September 12, 1952, and in it he took exception to an article in the Ankara daily Ulus that had lauded laiklik and Kemalist reforms. On October 3 Ustaoğlu wrote another article concerning the impact of laiklik on Turkish society, concluding on a provocative note. Entitled “The Claim That in the War of Independence the Nation Was In-

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debted to Atatürk’s Reform Is Absolutely False,” this article expressed Ustaoğlu’s frustration with the allegations of religious “reaction” that were circulating in the press following a Democratic Party congress in Çorum in September. Ustaoğlu argued that it was necessary to understand why delegates had expressed concerns about the religious welfare of the nation and that no government could force “reforms” on people who did not support them. Turks had certain unique “Eastern” traits that could not be denied. Those products of reform (inkılâp eserleri ), such as dancing and beauty pageants, that were contrary to the nation’s values and well-being should indeed be rejected by the public. Ustaoğlu, however, did not limit his comments to a criticism of laiklik. Instead, in the most controversial part of his article, he asserted that victory in the War of Independence had very little to do with Mustafa Kemal: the struggle certainly had not been fought with his reforms in mind, as some seemed to claim. Rather, success had been due to the efforts of the Anatolian people united in and inspired by their shared Muslim faith. Ustaoğlu reminded readers that no one had talked of “reforms” at the time, while in fact Mustafa Kemal frequently had been seen at prayer in mosques. Indeed Ustaoğlu went so far as to assert that ultimate victory in the War of Independence had been the result of divine mercy and that the same outcome could have been achieved with any other leader. Far from being the national savior, in fact, Mustafa Kemal had left behind a legacy of antidemocratic laws infringing on personal freedoms (in the form of laiklik) that it was now time to remove.

Mustafa keMal and the turkish revolution Ustaoğlu’s articles in a religious-nationalist newspaper reveal the intimate connection that many identified between Mustafa Kemal’s desire to wield ultimate power in the new Republic and his determination to impose modernization and laiklik on an unwilling people. Above and beyond raising questions concerning Mustafa Kemal’s presumed importance to the War of Independence, some Turks also drew attention to the authoritarian nature of his presidency. At times this translated into a barely concealed contempt for Mustafa Kemal. In a blunt critique, Orkun’s owner and editor, Nihal Atsız, addressed “The Problem of Atatürk.” Atsız concluded that Mustafa Kemal posed a problem for Pan-Turkists: after all, he had been a “dictator” and just as many disliked him as liked him. No doubt the country’s youth were enamored

Mustafa keMal atatÜrk and MehMed the Conqueror 181

with Mustafa Kemal as a symbol of the War of Independence, but those who had suffered under his regime knew and felt otherwise. The question that Atsız presented to his readers was whether or not their commitment was to a fallible person or to the greater ideal of the nation.18 Orkun was not alone in its frank commentary. The nationalist paper Meşale, for instance, published an issue on April 20, 1947, that included an article on “the first martyr of Turkish democracy.” This addressed the murder in March 1923 of Mustafa Kemal’s opponent in the Grand National Assembly, Trabzon deputy Ali Şükrü Bey.19 The same issue of Meşale also included an article under the title “Is Atatürk a Shield or Insurance?” in which it warned Celâl Bayar not to hold up Mustafa Kemal as an example of a democratic leader as he commonly did in his public speeches. Rather, the article pointedly criticized the notion that Mustafa Kemal had been the “father of democracy.” In fact he had been a dictator, whose actions as president betrayed the rhetoric contained in his many speeches. On more than one occasion Sebilürreşad offered a similar perspective. In July 1950 it directly criticized Kemalist reforms as “strangling religious freedom.” Reforms had been implemented by a dictatorial ruler concerned only with crushing the public will. Citing numerous examples of how the excesses of the Republican People’s Party had resulted in injustice, it made clear that the gallows as a symbol of oppression and dictatorship had passed into history when Mustafa Kemal had been buried.20 Other authors were careful to criticize Mustafa Kemal only implicitly, concentrating on the injustices suffered by people as a result of the Turkish Revolution. The fate of Mustafa Kemal’s opponents early in the Turkish Revolution was the focus of criticism both in books and in periodicals. Most notably, Feridun Kandemir published two books as part of a popular history series supposed to provide firsthand accounts of events not written about previously. In 1955 he published The Truth behind the Izmir Conspiracy, addressing the plot to assassinate Mustafa Kemal uncovered in 1926.21 In the same year, he also published Political Murders in the Period of the Republic, in which he drew attention to the deaths of well-known politicians, such as Ali Şükrü Bey, during Mustafa Kemal’s presidency.22 Admittedly, the focus of these books was not on Mustafa Kemal himself, and Kandemir even explicitly defended him in regard to the Izmir conspiracy. Yet Kandemir was also the author of an adulatory biography of Mustafa Kemal’s most prominent political opponent, Kâzım Karabekir, published in 1948.23 Subtle though he may have been, Kandemir was offering an unmistak-

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able critique of the excesses of authoritarian government and its failure to respect democratic rights. Supplementing the text of Political Murders in the Period of the Republic were photographs of those he identified as the “oppressed” (mazlum) and as “sacrificial lambs” (kurban), including pictures of victims hanging from the gallows. Although Kandemir’s books were not published until 1955, the religious-nationalist newspaper Hür Adam ran an abbreviated serialized version of The Truth behind the Izmir Conspiracy as early as August 1951.24 Although it included pictures from the book, it did not acknowledge its author. Hür Adam was a particularly provocative publication: it published other series such as “How Was the First Opposition in the Republic Choked?” and “The Truth about the Previous Period.”25 It also clearly relished advertising the publication of Karabekir’s memoirs that had been censored in 1933 and that Sinan Publishing House finally published in 1951. Moreover, it published a series of articles on the life of Iskilipli Atıf Hoca, a member of the ulema from Trabzon popularly believed to have been unjustly executed in February 1926.26 The series played up the virtues and piety of Hoca, presenting him as a man devoted to educating people in their faith. It emphasized his unexpected arrest, the arbitrary nature of his trial before the Ankara Independence Tribunal, and his opponents’ determination to prove that he had been responsible for protests against the Hat Law, despite clear evidence to the contrary. Not surprisingly, Sinan Publishing House also published these articles as a book in 1951. Its front cover depicted Iskilipli Atıf Hoca hanging from a gallows.27 Curiously, none of these implied criticisms of Mustafa Kemal’s authoritarian approach to government appears to have elicited much public controversy. Perhaps Kemalists tacitly recognized that the Atatürk era had been characterized by injustice to a degree. The influential Kemalist intellectual and writer Yaşar Nabi (1908–1981) acknowledged as much in his book Where Are We Going? and in the pages of his journal Varlık. Here Nabi defended both Mustafa Kemal and İsmet İnönü against charges of dictatorship on the grounds that democracy carried with it the risk of social turmoil and the rise of “reactionary” ideologies that would threaten the secular roots of the Kemalist state.28 Authoritarian government therefore had been both necessary and excusable. Precisely the sort of reaction that Nabi feared had manifested itself only a year before he published his book. This took the form of a provocative poem printed in the religious-nationalist journal Büyük Doğu. The journal’s owner and editor, Necip Fazıl Kısakürek, was among the

Mustafa keMal atatÜrk and MehMed the Conqueror 183

figure 16. Why Was Iskilipli Atıf Hoca Executed? Istanbul:

Sinan Matbaası, 1951.

most virulent opponents of the Turkish Revolution: he had already used Büyük Doğu to ridicule Kemalist imitation of the West. On May 30, 1947, however, Kısakürek printed in Büyük Doğu a version of a poem by Rıza Tevfik under the title “Request for Assistance from the Spirit of Sultan Abdülhamid.”29 Tevfik had been a Young Turk philosopher and mystic as well as an opponent of the Anatolian resistance movement. After the end of the War of Independence he was among the infamous “One Hundred and Fifty” (Yüzelilikler) that Mustafa Kemal exiled. Tevfik took up residence in Egypt, where he was active in religious circles until his return to Turkey in 1943.30 Tevfik’s poem apparently had been published in exile but not in Turkey, and Büyük Doğu reproduced only excerpts from it. Not only was the poem abbreviated, but Kısakürek intentionally omitted certain

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words, which rendered its meaning ambiguous.31 It is clear that the poem calls on Abdülhamid II to come to the aid of the Turkish nation in its current helpless state. Moreover, it confesses that the sultan has been misunderstood and mistreated by his opponents, who deserve the labels “crazy” and “uneducated.” Rather than faulting the sultan, the poem admits that it is “we” who have engaged in misguided efforts producing both human suffering and a decrepit society. Specific words that are missing in one verse but could in fact be read as “Mustafa Kemal” according to the rhyme and meter and hence to constitute an implicit criticism of him. The publication of Tevfik’s poem in Büyük Doğu provoked an impassioned response in the press and in public meetings throughout the country. Kemalists had no doubt that Kısakürek had intentionally insulted Mustafa Kemal.32 Soon afterward Kısakürek was arrested and Büyük Doğu was suspended. In court he mounted a spirited but rather disingenuous defense, explaining his decision to print the poem on the grounds that it neither mentioned nor insulted Mustafa Kemal or Turkish nationalism (Türklük). Instead he claimed that really the missing words should have been “Enver ve Cemal”: the poem was really a critique of the former CUP leaders, not of the country’s founding president. Kısakürek had published the poem in support of an effort to encourage a revision of negative attitudes toward Abdülhamid II; he interpreted the poem to be an attack on the Tanzimat period of Ottoman reform rather than on the Turkish Revolution. Eventually Kısakürek was acquitted by the court and permitted to resume publishing Büyük Doğu—undeterred, he continued to use his journal to criticize both Mustafa Kemal and the Turkish Revolution.

tiCanis and the atatÜrk law It was in the context of these criticisms in print media that Turkey’s politicians responded to a controversial series of public attacks by alleged members of a Sufi tarikat on images of Mustafa Kemal soon after the election of the Democratic Party in May 1950. The accused iconoclasts supposedly were members of the Ticani tarikat. No study of their activities exists, although the Istanbul daily Hürriyet did send an undercover agent into their midst to report on Ticani activities in Turkey.33 Nor is there a definitive list of the “attacks on Atatürk.” In a submission to the Grand National Assembly on April 27, 1951, the minister of the interior reported that a total of fifteen attacks had taken

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place between May 14, 1950, and April 1, 1951: nine on busts and statues; five against Mustafa Kemal’s person or memory (manevi şahsiyeti ); and one on a photograph.34 Based on newspapers, however, numerous attacks also occurred in the spring of 1951. The earliest attack appears to have occurred in Eryamanlar village on March 29, 1951, and later reports suggest similar events in the provinces of Bursa, Balıkesir, Manisa, Kastamonu, and Ankara.35 The accused did not necessarily undertake their campaign in secret or in a coordinated manner: in one case a certain Sadık Çakırtepe used a hammer to attack a statue in front of a military post in broad daylight.36 Another attacker claimed to have acted spontaneously, in no way beholden to the directives of a Sufi şeyh: he confessed that he had distributed a printed declaration (beyanname) and claimed that he had been inspired by a voice telling him to destroy these “idols.”37 Other reports concerned Ticanis who even carried out their campaign in Ankara: one individual took to the minber (pulpit) during a time of prayer in the Haci Bayram Mosque and condemned both the government and “worship of statues” before being pulled down by those assembled.38 Little is known about the Ticani order (which is usually associated with North Africa) in Turkey.39 Evidently a Ticani zaviye (lodge) had been established in Istanbul during the reign of Abdülhamid II in the context of his efforts to extend his claim as caliph throughout the Islamic world. In republican Turkey the tarikat evidently was led by Kemal Pilavoğlu (d. 1977), who had been arrested and convicted of operating a tarikat in 1943.40 Thereafter he claimed to have ceased his involvement in the tarikat; however, he continued to write and publish literature aimed at educating Turks about Islam and promoting the importance of the Arabic ezan (it allegedly had been members of this group who proclaimed the Arabic ezan in the Grand National Assembly in February 1949). Although Pilavoğlu’s Handbook of Religion had been banned by the cabinet in that same year,41 his writings were popular; he made a point of selling them in villages at Friday prayers.42 Apparently the 1952 trials of Ticanis allegedly responsible for attacking busts and statues of Mustafa Kemal excited considerable interest: they were not solemn affairs. Thousands of Pilavoğlu’s followers descended on the courthouse and disrupted the trial, forcing the government to post 200 police around the building. Pilavoğlu apparently claimed to have some 40,000 followers. During the proceedings themselves, the accused interrupted and challenged the authority of the secular state to try them.43 Eventually Pilavoğlu and many of the

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seventy-four on trial were convicted. Pilavoğlu was found guilty of circulating a declaration opposing laiklik, advocating a religious basis for the state, organizing a tarikat, and adopting the title şeyh.44 In fact, as the minister of the interior had explained to the Assembly in April 1951, attacks on images and statues of Mustafa Kemal were not new: in the context of multiparty politics, however, the activities of the Ticanis received considerable attention. Politicians of all stripes were eager to demonstrate their loyalty to Atatürk, hallowed symbol of the nation.45 Thus, in response to these events, the Grand National Assembly undertook to pass legislation protecting Mustafa Kemal’s honor and legacy. On July 23, 1951, the Assembly debated a draft of the “Atatürk Law” that prescribed punishments of one to five years in prison for anyone who publicly insulted the memory of Atatürk or vandalized his statues, busts, monuments, or mausoleum. In a rare but notable criticism of this legislation, the religious-nationalist publication Volkan objected on the grounds that the law essentially forced Muslims to commit idolatry. By contrast, the vast majority of newspapers declared their wholehearted support for the law.46 Those who objected in the Assembly did so mainly on the grounds that it was an antidemocratic infringement of public freedoms, but they found themselves loudly criticized by an overwhelming majority.47 The Ankara daily Zafer went so far as to publish the names of deputies opposed to the law, intimating that they were in fact standing in opposition to Mustafa Kemal himself. Some critics argued that a law protecting Mustafa Kemal’s legacy would not have been necessary had the government done its job properly.48 Of course the Republican People’s Party and the Democratic Party vied for the honor of protecting Atatürk, faulting each other for the current crisis. The law passed without difficulty on July 25, 1951, and remains in force today.49

Mustafa keMal and the national historiCal narrative For all their declarations of loyalty toward Mustafa Kemal, Turkish politicians were exalting a memory and an ideal more than a historical figure. As we have seen, Mustafa Kemal’s actions were not entirely beyond the bounds of criticism: this is evident not only in the content of print media but in the actions of politicians themselves, particularly members of the Nation Party. Already associated with a reactionary attitude to laiklik, the Nation Party included those who debated

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whether they should pay their respects to Mustafa Kemal and lay a wreath at his mausoleum at a party congress in Ankara in May 1952. That such a demonstration of loyalty might be open to question within a political party was tantamount to heresy for some: the press argued that by disrespecting Mustafa Kemal they were also disrespecting the nation.50 The party itself was intensely divided: one of its founders, Hikmet Bayur, demanded that the party’s criticisms of the single-party period be dropped after a party congress in Izmir in May 1951 at which delegates had vocally criticized Mustafa Kemal for not respecting the basic freedoms of the population.51 Bayur and his supporters left the party after its fourth congress in June 1953 because it was dominated by those determined to criticize Mustafa Kemal and his reforms.52 The Ticani attacks on images of Mustafa Kemal therefore provided an ideal opportunity for Turkish politicians and people alike to confirm their commitment to situating Mustafa Kemal at the center of the emerging national historical narrative. The attacks occurred at a time when towns and cities throughout Turkey were competing to erect statues of Mustafa Kemal.53 Not surprisingly, the public response to the Ticanis was vehement condemnation. Newspapers across the country carried reports of each successive attack, and in Kırşehir residents staged a large and vocal rally declaring their commitment to Atatürk.54 A Zonguldak newspaper presented its readers with a succession of dramatic images: first a pristine bust of Atatürk, then its smashed remains, and finally the alleged offender lying on the ground surrounded by his captors, with his hammer prominently displayed front and center.55 Of course newspapers adhering to a particular political party seized on these events: one newspaper took the opportunity to point out that Kemal Pilavoğlu had been involved in an Ankara branch of the Democratic Party. Another newspaper blamed the Republican People’s Party for having permitted the Ticanis to be active in the first place and then for permitting them to increase their influence before 1950.56 Hasan Fehmi Ustaoğlu witnessed a similar response to his controversial articles in Büyük Cihad in the fall of 1952. In this case, however, some people were willing to come to his defense. Coming as they did from a government deputy, Ustaoğlu’s blatant challenges to laiklik and aspersions concerning Mustafa Kemal’s role in the War of Independence touched off a storm of indignation, especially in the metropolitan press. Ulus labeled Ustaoğlu the Democratic Party deputy who “denied Atatürk.”57 Ustaoğlu, however, was unrepentant: he defended himself in subsequent issues of Büyük Cihad, arguing that he had

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not attacked Mustafa Kemal personally. Moreover, in response to the furor Büyük Cihad printed numerous telegrams received in support of Ustaoğlu; so did Sebilürreşad, which also opted to reprint versions of Ustaoğlu’s offending articles.58 Büyük Cihad had already published memoirs written by the controversial religious-nationalist Cevat Rıfat Atilhan in which he expressed similar sentiments if not in quite such a combative manner.59 Ustaoğlu, however, became the target of public condemnation. So intense was the pressure on the Democratic Party that Ustaoğlu’s immunity as a deputy was lifted in March 1953;60 he was ejected from the Grand National Assembly in December and subject to investigation. Finally, in December 1954 he was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment.61 These controversies testify that Mustafa Kemal’s death, followed by political liberalization in 1945, had ushered in a moment of ambiguity in terms of how he was to be remembered. With Mustafa Kemal no longer able to assert his will, just how to interpret his legacy was open to debate. His critics, long silent during the single-party period, now began to express their opinions. The new national print culture provided a forum to advocate a reevaluation of his place in the history of the Turkish nation. In retrospect we can see how limited and unsuccessful these efforts were, but at the time people felt an overwhelming concern to elevate Mustafa Kemal above public debate and to confirm him as the unassailable symbol of the emerging nation. Again print media constituted the primary means for doing so: those who questioned Mustafa Kemal’s place in the nation’s history were roundly condemned as reactionaries (mürteci) and fanatics (yobaz). To forestall the threat they posed to the nation the Assembly passed the Atatürk Law in July 1951. The pages of the mainstream press reflect intense popular loyalty to Mustafa Kemal and an unwillingness to ridicule him or subject him to the sort of criticism directed toward İsmet Inönü after 1945. Whenever Mustafa Kemal was denigrated, people rallied to declare their loyalty to the “Father of the Turk.” Newspapers echoed these sentiments, most often with bold headlines declaring their devotion to Mustafa Kemal and his ideals.62 Typically, national holidays were occasions when newspapers printed pictures of Atatürk on the front page and carried articles about his life, poems written by schoolchildren in his honor, and excerpts from his own speeches. At times newspapers competed with each other to present the most elaborate commemorative editions possible, but invariably the content was predictable in terms of story

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line, avoiding anything controversial.63 Turks could read about Atatürk’s childhood as well as his career in the Ottoman army and contributions to World War I and the War of Independence, but the historical narrative almost always ended with the establishment of the Republic in 1923, jumping suddenly to his death in 1938. Significantly, discussion of his reform legislation and the subsequent social and political turmoil that gripped Turkey at least during the 1920s was all but absent from such accounts.64 The overall expansion of print culture after 1945 included increased production of books devoted to Mustafa Kemal and his reforms. This literature simply added to an already large corpus: by 1939 roughly 325 titles had appeared, while in the eleven-year period between 1945 and 1956 a further 287 new titles were printed.65 These books represented a wide variety of genres: collections of Mustafa Kemal’s speeches, biographies, histories of the War of Independence, and inspirational books for children. During this period two extensive biographical essays also appeared in new encyclopedias,66 and these remain important reference works to this day. They perpetuate the main themes of Mustafa Kemal’s biography established during the single-party era, relying heavily on the text of his speeches and emphasizing the War of Independence more than the years of his presidency. They leave no doubt that the history of the Republic of Turkey is intimately connected to the biography of Mustafa Kemal. At a time when public debate was openly encouraged, when questions concerning laiklik and religion were hotly debated, and when Turkey’s place in the emerging bipolar world was uncertain, Mustafa Kemal constituted a symbol and an ideal in which the nation might remain anchored. He had inserted himself into a nationalist historical narrative during the single-party period: now, within the context of a new national print culture and increasing public debate, Mustafa Kemal became enshrined at the core of a national narrative of the past integral to popular identification with the nation. Indeed, each year the anniversary of Mustafa Kemal’s death constituted the closing act of an annual national passion play: it began with the commemoration of the opening of the Grand National Assembly in Ankara on April 23, continued with subsequent important dates from the “national struggle” (May 19, August 30, and October 29), and concluded with Mustafa Kemal’s passing on November 10. Although it is not a national holiday, to this day Turks stop to remember Atatürk at the moment of his death, 9:05 a.m.

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rehabilitating the ottoMan eMpire At precisely the time when Turks were debating how to remember Mustafa Kemal, the new national print culture after 1945 devoted unprecedented attention to the Ottoman Empire as legitimate precursor to the Turkish nation-state. It was no coincidence that in 1947 Necip Fazıl Kısakürek had decided to publish a poem in Büyük Doğu possibly denigrating Mustafa Kemal but also honoring Abdülhamid II, the very sultan that Kemalists imagined to have been the antithesis of all that defined the Turkish Revolution. In these years the negotiation of a national historical narrative on which a popular national identity might be founded depended very much on the rehabilitation of the Ottoman Empire (and, for some, even of a figure as controversial as Abdülhamid II), in contradistinction to the negative light in which the Kemalist historical narrative had cast it. Previous Kemalist attitudes toward the Ottoman past did not evaporate entirely.67 But more common in the new national print culture was a far more generous attitude toward the Ottoman Empire. This included new textbooks written for high school students and published in 1952: Tarih II dealing with the “Middle Ages” and Tarih III dealing with the Ottoman Empire.68 These texts share much in common with the Tarih (1931) series described in Chapter 2: they perpetuate the decline paradigm as it applied to Ottoman history from the sixteenth century onward and insert Mustafa Kemal into the narrative as though he had been destined to be the founder of the modern Turkish nation. Nevertheless, the nationalist ideology that infuses the new texts is far more moderate. Most notably, the Tarih (1952) texts are no longer prefaced by an introduction stressing the struggle of the Turkish nation over time and the negative impact of Ottoman rule on that nation. Nor do they present the Ottoman Empire as a mere extension of the ancient Turkish nation: the authors are content to assign the term “Ottoman”—rather than “Turkish”—to the early years of expansion and to acknowledge that the Ottoman Empire was a distinct and venerable polity with its own history. “Turks” remain a positive force in the narrative, but the Ottoman Empire now is portrayed as an independent stage in Turkish history of which Turks should be proud. Perhaps the most significant variation evident in the new narrative is that in the Tarih (1952) series the nineteenth century is cast as the natural precursor to the Turkish Republic. The story is not of a nation escaping Ottoman oppression but rather of a nation coming into its

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own as history unfolds. Nor do the texts place a strong emphasis on Christian minorities “taking over” the administration of the empire and using it for their own purposes, as had been the case with the Tarih (1931) series. The new history texts present Sultan Mahmud II respectfully as one of the earliest reformers committed to renovating the empire for its own sake (ıslahat). Equally importantly, the Young Ottomans are no longer dismissed as idealists but are lauded for leading the struggle against Sultan Abdülhamid II’s despotic regime; Namık Kemal and Mithat Paşa are even identified as early Turkish nationalists. Emphasis is on the constructive role of Turks in bringing about nineteenth-century reforms, for the nineteenth century is in many respects the first century of the Turkish Republic. After all, it was Turkish intellectuals—rather than Arabs, Kurds, or Christians—who traveled to Europe and brought back new approaches to the state and society.69 Beyond texts prepared for the classroom, market-based print media after 1945 demonstrate a fascination with, even empathy toward, the Ottoman Empire. Now the Ottoman Empire became the subject of considerable discussion in a way that had not been possible when Mustafa Kemal had been determined to emphasize that the new Turkish Republic represented a drastic break from the Ottoman Islamic past. Throughout the single-party period, the Ottoman past had usually taken the form of works of fiction, which had occasionally appeared in serial form in metropolitan newspapers. Now the Ottoman Empire claimed a prominent place in all elements of the new national print culture, especially in newspapers and journals. On some occasions they addressed the Ottoman past as serious history, while on others they preferred to present a more popular, sensationalized version. In some cases newspapers published a series of articles that located the origins of the modern Turkish nation in the late Ottoman Empire. Porsuk (Badger) in Eskişehir, for example, injected a nationalist perspective into a reevaluation of nineteenth-century Ottoman history. Early Ottoman expansion had been due to the Turkish element in the army, and it was only with the eradication of the janissary corps in 1826 that Turks supposedly returned to dominance. Thus the Turkish component of the army became a necessary precondition for the emergence of the Turkish Republic.70 Along rather different lines, another set of articles in Gündüz (Daytime) (Giresun) examined various aspects of Ottoman history under a title that might be translated “Steps toward Democracy in Our Recent History.”71 These articles presented an hon-

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est evaluation of nineteenth-century financial and territorial problems facing the Ottoman state; their overarching theme was that these developments were part of an inevitable transition to complete nationhood for Turks.72 The author, Fahri Çakir, freely used “Turk” and “Ottoman” interchangeably and made a point of emphasizing the superiority of Turkish history over that of Europe. The difference, he asserted, was that Muslim society promoted far greater equality and freedom than European society did; as a result, Ottoman sultans had been respected by the populace. This image contrasted starkly with the Kemalist representation of Ottoman sultans as responsible for the decline of the empire.73 An important theme in representations of the Ottoman past in the new national print culture therefore was the intimate and valued connection between the Ottoman Empire and the Turkish Republic. Like the school texts, popular literature presented nineteenth-century Ottoman history as a precursor to republican history. An important dimension of this was the tendency to read back into history the seeds of Turkish nationalism, even though it would not have been recognized as such at the time. Prominent Ottomans—in particular Namık Kemal and Mithat Paşa—were identified as leading lights in the Turkish “national movement.” Few provincial or national newspapers missed the opportunity to commemorate the anniversary of Namık Kemal’s death: his prominence as a journalist and intellectual committed to the Turkish nation (vatan) was almost unrivaled.74 Many books had been written about Namık Kemal by 1953, and Turks debated how he should best be remembered. No one disputed that he had devoted his life to virtue and freedom, to the nation and the fatherland, at a period in Ottoman history when despotism had been at its height.75 Mithat Paşa was treated in a similar manner. Although he was less of an intellectual and progenitor of Turkish culture, newspaper articles heralded him as a beacon of hope and freedom in the “red sea” of Abdülhamid II’s despotism. Mithat Paşa was associated with effective administrative reform and leadership within the Ottoman government, but his greatest achievement was overseeing the enactment of the first Ottoman Constitution in 1876. He was revered as the “father of nation and law,” “indefatigable hero of holy war and freedom,” and “idealist state architect.”76 Mithat Paşa’s other “achievement” lay in his actual death at the hands of Sultan Abdülhamid II in 1881 and hence in his willingness to die for the ideals for which he had lived: for freedom and therefore implicitly for the Turkish nation. It was no accident that in

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1951 the Democratic Party government in Turkey secured the return of Mithat Paşa’s remains from Saudi Arabia and seized on the opportunity to organize a ceremony in which this hero of the Turkish nation was publicly commemorated by thousands of Turks.77 Publications were also devoted to simply giving readers accurate information about the Ottoman past.78 The Tulip Period (1718–1730) captured the attention of authors because it was a time of cultural renaissance, interaction with Europe, initial “reform,” and even popular unrest. One series demonstrated both pride in and fascination with the events of this period but also sympathy toward popular discontent with the cultural excesses promoted by the Ottoman ruling class; in so doing it intertwined themes that were usually dealt with separately in accounts of Ottoman history.79 Other authors wanted to challenge the exotic reputation associated with Ottoman sultans and to provide the public with a more realistic understanding of their lives. The Illustrated History Magazine published an article devoted to overturning Orientalist images of the Ottoman harem based more on myth and innuendo than on fact. The author, Ziya Şakır, did his best to document his sources while talking frankly about life in the harem and examining various notions about sultans’ personal lives. He did acknowledge, however, that some reputations were well deserved.80 At the same time, sensational accounts of the Ottoman Empire also appeared in the popular press, both provincial and metropolitan. Some of these were single reports recalling intriguing moments in Ottoman history.81 Others were serialized stories. Türkün Sesi (Voice of the Turk) in Zonguldak published the series “Executed Grand Viziers of the Ottoman Empire.” Hâkimiyet (Sovereignty) in Kayseri published excerpts from “The Turkish Army in Kosovo.”82 Vignettes such as these typically impressed upon readers the crises facing the aging empire, the intrigue of court life, and the unpredictable nature of Ottoman sultans, all of which the Kemalist narrative had emphasized in school textbooks. The difference was that the Ottoman Empire no longer constituted the foil against which the modern nation was to be defined: rather, it was appropriated as part of the nation’s history in the popular press, sensational aspects and all. This sensationalism was probably corroborated by the images portrayed in films about Ottoman society and life that a nascent Turkish film industry began producing at this time.83 The efforts of a number of authors who wrote novels and serial publications for the general public were critical to this popularization of Ottoman history. During this period Feridun Tülbentçi (1912–1982)

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figure 17. From Osman Gazi to Atatürk: A Panorama of 600 Years of History. Istanbul: Cumhuriyet, 1955.

began to write historical novels about Ottoman sultans and their personal lives; excerpts were read aloud over the radio and also published in major metropolitan newspapers in Istanbul and in popular history magazines such as the Illustrated History Magazine.84 Tülbentçi’s novels included titles such as The Turk Who Brings Glory to History (1945), Yavuz Sultan Selim Cries (1948), The Loves of the Sultan (1950), and The Conquest of Istanbul (1954).85 The Istanbul daily Vatan regularly featured excerpts from these works and piqued readers’ interest in the weeks before a particular series was published by printing graphic images of turbaned, sword-wielding, and determined sultans.86 Reşad Ekrem Koçu (1905–1975) was also popular: author of a number of novels, he also produced From Osman Gazi to Atatürk: A Panorama

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of 600 Years of History as a special supplement for the Istanbul daily Cumhuriyet.87 This work was particularly noteworthy for its unconventional presentation of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk as the last in the long succession of Ottoman holy warriors and sultans. Extremely positive in its tone, Koçu’s work explicitly depicted the Ottoman Empire as part of the glorious history of the Turkish peoples as they spread throughout the world. Koçu exhibited great pride in the power and extent of the empire. He mixed biographies of Ottoman sultans with those of future Turkish “nationalists” such as Namık Kemal and Mithat Paşa, emphasizing that the Turkish Republic was a natural outcome of the changes undergone by the Ottoman Empire. Indeed, it is particularly striking that Koçu almost completely avoided the decline paradigm and did not depict Turks as suffering at the hands of either non-Turkish Ottomans or Europeans. Instead his purpose was to convey to a popular audience a tale of sacrifice and greatness that inevitably led from one great Turkish state to another.

sultan MehMed ii and the Conquest of Constantinople Although many of the representations of the Ottoman past in the popular press emphasized the sensational, it is also clear that Turks imagined sultans to have been pious Muslims, devoted to furthering the cause of Islam. This emphasis on the Ottoman Empire not only as an important stage in national history but also as an Islamic empire was a crucial characteristic of representations of the imperial past in the new national historical narrative emerging after 1945. Kemalists had always acknowledged early Islamic history as part of the nationalist historical narrative; now the new national narrative came to accept the Ottoman Muslim past as deeply relevant to the present. Thus newspaper series that examined the lengthy history of the Turkish “nation” often stressed the importance of Islam to that nation, especially when addressing the history of the Ottoman Empire.88 This shift in attitude is also evident in the Tarih (1952) series. To be sure, a debased form of Islam is still associated with Ottoman decline, but the connection is more ambiguous; religious reaction is no longer traced back to Bayezid II, who instead is cast as a pious sultan. Rather, the topos of religious “reaction” (irtica) only enters the narrative in the context of the attempt to return power to Abdülhamid II in the 1909 Counterrevo-

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lution. Here religious reaction is not something inherent in the Ottoman Empire but an ominous force in opposition to the emerging Turkish nation and its modern democratic institutions. Popular interest in the Ottoman Islamic Empire and its importance to the emerging national identity is nowhere more evident than in celebrations on May 29, 1953, of the 500th anniversary of the conquest of Constantinople by Sultan Mehmed II. Reflecting Kemalist efforts to diminish the importance accorded the Ottoman past, the official historical narrative had downplayed the significance of Ottoman sultans even to the point of finding fault with them. Moreover, the law of November 30, 1925, that had closed down Sufi tekkes and outlawed tarikats also had required that tombs of prominent figures be closed to the public. This measure was primarily aimed at eradicating a folk Islam in which visits to the shrines of popular religious figures had been common. But the law also applied to the türbes (mausoleums) of Ottoman sultans, so Kemalist laiklik actively sought to separate the people from these reminders of their Ottoman past. The practical result of the legislation was that tombs and mausoleums previously important to Ottoman culture were neglected and allowed to fall into a state of disrepair. The condition of türbes soon became the source of some debate in Turkey after 1945, both among politicians and in print media. Hamdi Suphi Tanrıöver, who advocated a general reevaluation of laiklik, raised the matter at the seventh congress of the Republican People’s Party in late 1947. He did so by emphasizing the importance of history to the nation and the cost of neglecting the past.89 Even before this, the religious journal Selâmet had drawn attention to the poor condition of the country’s monuments (abide) and mausoleums, calling on the government to restore them and open them to the public.90 Little if any action appears to have been taken in response to these demands until the spring of 1950, as the government prepared for general elections on May 14. At this point the Grand National Assembly debated and approved a proposal to open to the public mausoleums associated with “Turkish heroes.” Of course, this raised the question of how to determine just who constituted a “Turkish hero” and how the government could ensure that the opening of mausoleums would not lead to a recurrence of superstitious folk practices. Nevertheless, the argument was made that just as Turks visited Mustafa Kemal’s grave they should also be free to visit that of Sultan Mehmed II.91 Subsequently a commission was appointed to adjudicate the pro-

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cess. Initially it approved the opening of nineteen mausoleums, most of them belonging to Ottoman sultans buried in Istanbul and Bursa.92 No sooner had the Democratic Party taken power after the elections, however, than it began to receive requests to open other popular mausoleums that had no connection with Ottoman sultans. In fact, the very first tomb that the new government agreed to open to the public did not belong to a Turk at all but to a Companion of the Prophet Muhammad, Abu Ayyub or “Eyüp Sultan.”93 Eyüp Sultan had died during the Arab siege of Constantinople in 674–678. From the mid-sixteenth century onward a royal pilgrimage to his shrine had become an essential part of the accession ceremony for each new Ottoman sultan.94 The decision by the republican Turkish government to open his tomb to the public therefore must be understood in the context of pressure on the government to prepare for the imminent 500th anniversary of the conquest of the city by the Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II. Reflecting the general interest in the Ottoman past evident in print media after 1945, newspapers and journals often published articles on the conquest of Constantinople. In 1948 both Selâmet and Çınaraltı devoted complete issues to commemorating the 495th anniversary.95 On May 29, 1951, the Samsun newspaper Büyük Cihad published an extensive article under the title “The Conquest and the Conqueror,” which stressed the importance of the conquest to both world and Islamic history. It emphasized that Istanbul itself was an inherent part of the “national personality.” Accordingly, Turks were concerned that celebrations in 1953 should befit the importance of the event. The popular Association of Turkish Nationalists published a statement in newspapers throughout the country detailing what it believed would be appropriate celebrations for such a momentous event.96 Included in this lengthy list were demands for the preparation of daily radio programs devoted to the conquest of Constantinople to be aired between May 15 and June 10; for extensive programs for the country’s schools; for the creation of a statue in honor of Sultan Mehmed II (the lack of which was the cause of considerable consternation on the part of many Turks);97 and for Istanbul University to be renamed Fatih University. Turkish flags would decorate Rumeli Hısar (a fortress on the European side of the Bosphorus); a mevlut would be read in the Hagia Sophia; and lights would be strung up in the central district of Taksim forming the words “Istanbul is Turkish and will forever remain Turkish.” Finally, the association argued that

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May 29 should become a national holiday and that the president and prime minister should be active and visible participants in nationwide commemorations. The call for a reading of the mevlut is indicative of the religious significance assigned to the conquest of Constantinople. The actual celebrations in 1953 did not meet the demands of the Association of Turkish Nationalists. A committee established by the new Democratic Party government in June 1950, however, did organize ten days of commemorative activities, which placed considerable emphasis upon Istanbul as an Islamic city and Mehmed II as a Muslim sultan.98 The primary celebration on May 29 took the form of a parade into the city through the gate first used by Mehmed II. It was accompanied by the sacrificial slaughter of sheep, by the ezan echoing from mosques, and by Friday prayers at the Fatih Mosque, a landmark that had been constructed on orders from the sultan himself. On June 7 the ten days of official celebrations concluded not with speeches or more parades but with a special reading of the mevlut at the Fatih Mosque; that evening Istanbul Radio broadcast a mevlut accompanied by special music, again in memory of the martyrs of the conquest.99 May 29, 1953, was a Friday, so weekly prayers at mosques throughout the country offered Turks beyond Istanbul an opportunity to join in the celebrations. Throughout the country Muslim Turks who had gathered for weekly prayers heard a specially written sermon (hutbe) that stressed not only how important the conquest of Constantinople had been to world history but also its tremendous significance to Islamic history, as Turks once again had rendered their faith inestimable service.100 Gauging public participation in the celebrations of May 29–June 7 in Istanbul and related events in provincial cities based on newspaper reports is not easy, but it seems clear that this was an important anniversary for Turks. This conclusion is corroborated by the extensive print culture before and directly in conjunction with the 1953 celebrations. Before 1945 Turks had refrained from publishing anything (whether books, periodicals, or newspapers) that ran counter to official Kemalist ideology, and in this vein the events of 1453 were generally ignored. An occasional monograph touching on the culture or architecture of Istanbul did appear, but very little else.101 After 1945, however, the emerging national print culture included a remarkable number of publications touching on Constantinople’s conquest. Between 1945 and 1950 articles in newspapers and journals often noted the significance of May 29 as

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an anniversary, while a few books specifically devoted to the topic also appeared. After 1950 the number of related publications jumped dramatically. All told, in the post–World War II decade at least ninety-five separate books were printed, and their titles suggest that most were written for the public rather than simply as scholarship. Finally, in the weeks leading up to May 29, 1953, Istanbul’s major newspapers published editorials, serialized stories, cartoons, and pictures—all in anticipation of the 500th anniversary of Constantinople’s conquest. Newspapers throughout the country featured extensive commemorative articles on the actual anniversary, while the major Istanbul newspapers produced entire supplements. Similarly, the Illustrated History Magazine produced a special 148-page edition with articles covering almost every conceivable aspect of the conquest.102 Turks opening this special May 1953 issue found neither words nor pictures glorifying the Turkish nation. It contained the Arabic text of a hadith attributed to the Prophet Muhammad and the article “Hazreti Muhammad—Hazreti Fatih” (His Excellency Muhammad—His Excellency Fatih), explicitly tracing the tradition which held that the Prophet had foretold Constantinople’s conquest with the words: “Of course you will conquer Istanbul. How happy will be the commander, how happy will be the soldier who does so.” Time and again, Turkish authors writing in conjunction with the celebrations of 1453 emphasized not only this hadith but also that Sultan Mehmed II, as an enlightened and just ruler, had been the very paragon of Muslim virtue. The driving force behind the conquest of Constantinople therefore was an indivisible Muslim-Turkish spirit (Müslüman Türk ruhu) through which the nation had achieved great successes and also survived terrible trials. The Kemalist emphasis on the idea that Turks had done more for Islam than any other nation (1453 being the prime example) was still present, but in this literature it is clear that Islam is just as important to the Turkish nation as the nation is to Islam. More than anything else, it clearly stresses the piety of Turkish soldiers and of Sultan Mehmed II. These works frequently use the term gazi with reference to those laying siege to Constantinople and invariably refer to those who died in this act of Holy War as martyrs (şehit). Descriptions of Sultan Mehmed II’s entry into the city make a point of noting that he immediately dismounted and offered prayers to Allah. After arriving at the Hagia Sophia his first act was to offer prayers in the great church, in so doing

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consecrating it as a Muslim place of worship.103 Although the common refrain in the press around May 29, 1953, was most certainly “Istanbul is Turkish and will always remain Turkish,” the Turkish nation referred to here was not the pre-Islamic, pre-Ottoman entity proposed by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk. Instead it was a thoroughly enlightened Muslim and Turkish nation that drew much of its inspiration from the Ottoman past (Mehmed II in particular) as it sought to define its importance to, and place in, the post–World War II world.

Mustafa keMal atatÜrk and MehMed the Conqueror With the completion of the anniversary of Constantinople’s conquest in May–June 1953, one final act necessary for the definition of a national historical narrative and hence the crystallization of a popular Muslim national identity remained. This was the transfer of Mustafa Kemal to his final resting place overlooking the city of Ankara, thereby thoroughly enshrining him within popular perceptions of the nation’s past. The emergence of multiparty politics had initiated a contest among the country’s elite to demonstrate their loyalty to the memory of Mustafa Kemal. In print media, politicians constantly accused those in other parties of failing to live up to Atatürk’s ideals. No sooner had the Democratic Party won the election of May 1950 than it began to define its loyalty to Mustafa Kemal by removing statues of İsmet İnönü erected during World War II.104 Moreover, Prime Minister Menderes laid claim to being the true protector of Mustafa Kemal and his legacy.105 Then the Democratic Party succeeded where the Republican People’s Party had failed: it completed the construction of Mustafa Kemal’s mausoleum (the Anıtkabir), begun soon after his death. With considerable fanfare and pride Prime Minister Menderes and President Bayar unveiled the Anıtkabir and ceremoniously interred Mustafa Kemal Atatürk there on the fifteenth anniversary of his death, on November 10, 1953.106 It is interesting that at roughly the same time when the Anıtkabir was conceived plans also were made for the construction of a massive mosque in Ankara. Although it had been proposed as early as 1934, the Republican People’s Party government did not begin to explore designs for what today is the Kocatepe Mosque until the late 1940s. After being elected in 1950, the Democratic Party took significant steps to make its construction a reality.107 Today the Anıtkabir shares Ankara’s skyline

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figure 18. “The Greeks want the Hagia Sophia!” Köroğlu (Istanbul), July 16, 1952.

with this mosque. Nothing better symbolizes the relationship between religion and nation in modern Turkey. It is no coincidence that these majestic structures were rooted in the early years of multiparty politics when a new understanding of the nation’s history emerged, incorporating both Mustafa Kemal and Mehmed the Conqueror, the modern Turkish Republic and the Islamic Ottoman Empire. In the context of the commemorations of Constantinople’s conquest in 1953, Turkish nationalists expressed a concern that Greek nationalists continued to lay claim to Constantinople. In response to this a zealous young Turkish nationalist published a short treatise proposing that the names of Turkey’s two major cities be changed in order to erase all foreign associations with their names.108 He argued that neither “Istanbul” nor “Ankara” was Turkish in origin. Instead he boldly proposed that Istanbul should be renamed “Fatih Mehmed” while Ankara should be renamed “Atatürk.” Both were essential elements of the nation’s past, and neither could be denied. These men represented the ideals which people now identified with the Turkish nation. This was best captured in a picture adorning the front page of the people’s news-

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paper Köroğlu on July 16, 1952. Mustafa Kemal and Mehmed II are depicted above the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, fiercely protecting it against the claims of Greece. In these years it was not uncommon for religious or religious-nationalist periodicals to demand that Turks be allowed to use the Hagia Sophia as a mosque. Mustafa Kemal had converted it to a museum in 1934, but now many Turks were eager that it should once again be a living symbol of the Muslim Turkish nation.109 This was the gist of a widely published article entitled “The Conqueror: Sultan Mehmed Khan Speaks.”110 Sultan Mehmed II is presented as “returning” to pass judgment on the Turkish nation five centuries after his great conquest, and his rebuke is stinging. The imagined list of the sultan’s criticisms is lengthy, but primary among them is his disgust at the Turkish nation’s deviation from the straight path of Islam, for which so many of its believers had willingly sacrificed their lives. Casting the reign of Mehmed II as a Golden Age, this article urges Turks to renew their faith and to return to those values from which the nation’s strength derived. Significantly, Sultan Mehmed II calls on Turks to undertake a nonviolent struggle (cihad) to claim back the very gift that the Turkish nation had given the world in 1453: freedom of conscience and belief (vicdan hürriyeti ). As this article suggests, the negotiation of a national historical narrative after 1945 occurred very much in the context of an increasingly intense debate concerning the relationship between Islam and the nation in modern Turkey. This debate permeated Turkish society between 1945 and 1954 as a result of the emergence of a national print culture.

CHapter 7

religious reaCtionaries or MusliM turks? print Culture and the negotiation of national identity

The Turkish nation is Muslim, and it will remain Muslim. In this country no one has the authority to attack freedom of conscience. Genuine believers [mümin] and sincere Muslims can be absolutely sure of the freedom of conscience. However, true believers and Muslims . . . know how to respect the religious conscience and beliefs of others. priMe Minister adnan Menderes, adana, deCeMber 6, 1952

The accusation is made that because The Guide for Youth provides religious instruction, it is contrary to laiklik: in that case, what is the meaning of laiklik? We wonder: is laiklik the enemy of Islam? Does laiklik denote irreligion? Does laiklik give the freedom to attack religion to those who have chosen to pursue life without religion? Is laiklik the rule of absolute despotism that permits the suppression of those who proclaim the truths of religion and publish the lessons of faith? ˘ LahIkası II (1952) bediÜZZaMan said nursi, emIrdaG

tHe prevailinG narrative of Turkish history credits Mustafa Kemal Atatürk with the creation of the modern secular nation between the world wars. It also defines Turkish history according to political developments in such a way that the year 1950 stands out as a point of rupture: the Republican People’s Party lost general elections and was replaced in government by the Democratic Party. In contrast, in this book I argue for a sociohistorical approach to the transition from Ottoman Empire to Turkish nation that presents the entire decade starting in 1945 as pivotal, for it was in these years that a popular national identity crystallized in Turkey. More to the point, this was a distinctly religious or Muslim national identity rather than the “secular” loyalty so commonly associated with the Turkish Revolution. To appreciate this

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development it is necessary to move away from elite, centrist history with its focus upon great men and powerful ideologies to the question of how people in fact participated in and experienced the formation of the nation. Previous chapters have demonstrated the importance of the national print culture emerging after 1945 in the definition of the very idea of the “nation” among the people. Specifically, the provincial newspapers with which people were increasingly likely to come into contact situated Turkey with reference to both the post–World War II international order and the Ottoman past. In each case these print media contributed to the negotiation of a national identity by validating popular religious identities rather than denigrating them, as had been the case with earlier Kemalist ideology and practice. This chapter examines the context within which this negotiation occurred: an often bitter public debate about the place of Islam in Turkey and the efficacy of laiklik. This debate, featured prominently in the pages of both metropolitan and provincial print media, was the public dimension to the political debate already described in Chapter 4. In light of the absence of such debate during the single-party period and the Kemalist determination to prevent public discussion of laiklik, this development after 1945 was remarkable. It was possible, however, only because of the emergence of religious print media in this decade. This debate was joined by people across the country, because these religious publications circulated regularly in the provinces as well as in Istanbul, Izmir, and Ankara. Its significance and influence is evident: not only the influential mystic Bediüzzaman Said Nursi but also prime minister Adnan Menderes publicly argued that religion constituted an integral dimension of the Turkish nation. In the first decade of multiparty politics, therefore, it actually began to be possible for people to make an active contribution to the shaping of their nation. If we look beyond nationalist ideology, it is clear that people used newly flourishing print media to negotiate the meaning accorded to the nation—that is, to exercise their constitutional rights and freedoms to contribute to a mass public culture. In contrast to earlier Kemalist efforts to impose on the people a homogenous definition of the nation informed by a narrow, exclusive understanding of laiklik, after 1945 a new and more generous approach to government facilitated the transformation to a “civil” understanding of the nation. It elevated the people to equal participants in the theatre of that nation. Rather than force Turks to sacrifice alternative identities for the sake of the

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nation, this form of government permitted the emergence of a national print culture that engendered a breathing space in which a discourse of difference might emerge. Nevertheless, as we have seen, the year 1954 marked the introduction of new legislation restricting the press. The Democratic Party began to constrict this breathing space to protect its political dominance. This chapter documents that even before that point intense public debate concerning Islam had caused many among the political elite to rally in defense of laiklik and to pass supplementary legislation aimed at suppressing religious print media. The very nature of the public freedoms that a civil nationalism permitted remained subject to the whims of the political elite. As the demise of provincial religious newspapers attests, the elite succeeded at limiting these freedoms—but not before the national print culture had already established the validity of a Muslim national identity in Turkey.

religious print Media and the Critique of LaIkLIk Central to discussions concerning laiklik in the new national print culture was criticism of the single-party period if not usually of Mustafa Kemal himself. Büyük Cihad in Samsun, for example, published a plethora of articles that relentlessly attacked the Republican People’s Party and referred to the period 1923–1950 as the “sultanate of oppression” (zulüm sultanatı), during which freedom of conscience had been denied the people.1 Vicdan Sesi, also published in Samsun, echoed these sentiments. Arguing that Mustafa Kemal had never claimed to be infallible and that it was necessary to offer constructive criticism of his actions that had fallen short of the “truth,” one article pointed out that he had not adhered to the interpretation of laiklik that dictated the separation between state and religion. By insisting on the Turkish ezan, wearing of the hat, and the end to religion lessons in school, he had infringed on basic human rights, laying the foundation for future popular ignorance and bigotry. Twenty-five years of systematic attacks on religion rather than the application of true laiklik had resulted in corrupt Muslim beliefs and practices that now manifested themselves as a national crisis.2 Underlying this critique of laiklik was the accusation that its application had constituted a gross abuse of power. Denied the very freedoms that the law granted to Christians and Jews, Muslim Turks had not enjoyed the benefit of wholesome religious education and now ex-

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hibited evidence of corrupt forms of Islam justifiably defined as bigoted (mutassıp), superstitious (hurafe), and reactionary (irtica).3 The Istanbul journal Selâmet declared that Turks were by nature religious; therefore it was essential that they be free to learn about their faith and to practice it. It was incumbent on the government to redefine laiklik so that it did not interfere in the beliefs and practices of the people.4 Presenting the United States as the “fortress of democracy,” another Istanbul journal, Islam Dünyası, argued that all manner of freedoms rested on the firm foundation of belief in God. According to this perspective, “the primary condition for the progress of civilization is belief in God.”5 In this vein, the Izmir journal Müslüman Sesi addressed newly elected prime minister Adnan Menderes in August 1950, expressing hope that the Democratic Party government would counter the negative effects of Republican People’s Party rule and commit itself to implementing genuine laiklik.6 “Freedom of conscience” (vicdan hürriyeti) and “religious freedom” (din hürriyeti ) therefore became common mantras among Turks determined to critique laiklik and demand change. No one articulated these principles more clearly than Ali Fuad Başgil, a professor of law at Istanbul University. Başgil offered a moderate but thorough critique of the absence of religious freedom in Turkey—a reality brought home to him in May 1943, when the government had prevented him from publishing a work on the Prophet Muhammad on the grounds that it would encourage a “religious mentality” (dinî bir zihniyet) among the people.7 At the request of university students in April and May 1950 Başgil delivered two lectures on the subject of laiklik and religious freedom. These were published in the Istanbul daily Yeni Sabah as well as in religious newspapers across the country. Subsequently they were also published as brochures. They ultimately formed the core of his important work What Is Religion? What Do Freedom of Religion and Secularism Mean? (first published in 1954).8 Başgil argued that religious belief was not simply a personal matter but was of national importance in Turkey. Examining the intellectual roots of secularism in Europe and the history of Kemalist laiklik, he insisted that the government’s policy of interfering in Muslim faith and practice—but not in those of minority religious traditions—had been seriously detrimental to the people. According to Başgil, the only acceptable model of secularism was the one that had emerged from the French Revolution, in which not only were the state and religion separate but the state allegedly avoided any efforts to control religious insti-

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tutions or popular practices. Such an interpretation of laiklik became central to public debate concerning the place of religion in Turkish society in the decade after 1945. Echoing ideas put forward by others, Başgil concluded that any “religious reaction” that existed was in fact the result of the failure of the government to implement true laiklik, for Turks now lacked the guidance and information necessary for healthy religious practice. He suggested that Turkey’s intellectuals and politicians (himself included) were responsible for passively permitting these circumstances to arise. Hence the time had come to solve the problem: to reestablish genuine freedoms of belief and conscience and to educate the populace in the religious traditions on which their nation was in fact founded.9 It almost goes without saying that secular Kemalists responded to the increasingly vocal critique of laiklik after 1945 by vigorously defending laiklik. Articles in both provincial and metropolitan periodicals insisted that laiklik was founded upon a fundamental respect for religion: in no way did it constitute opposition to the practice of true faith and beliefs.10 This argument echoed a defense of laiklik that dated back to the days when Mustafa Kemal and Republican People’s Party deputies had initially defined and defended its implementation.11 Now editors of major metropolitan newspapers in particular considered the continued defense of laiklik a hallowed calling. Ahmet Emin Yalman was among the most prominent defenders of a “secular” Turkey. On April 9, 1952, his newspaper, Vatan, took particular care to mark the “anniversary of laiklik,” reminding Turks that in early April 1928 the Grand National Assembly had officially removed reference to Islam as the national religion from the Constitution.12 Along similar lines, in December 1952 Cumhuriyet declared the final week of the year to be “laiklik week.”13 The following year a Malatya lawyer, Faik Muzaffer Amaç, sent an open letter (later published as a pamphlet) to the Grand National Assembly in which he argued that the twenty-fifth anniversary of the implementation of laiklik deserved official recognition. Amaç asserted that laiklik constituted the foundation of the Turkish Revolution but that the importance of this date had all but been forgotten: rather than encouraging Turks to take pride in this important development the government had resorted to harsh laws penalizing those who transgressed laiklik. While not opposed to these, Amaç was convinced that a more positive approach would deliver better results: thus the anniversary of laiklik should be celebrated in the same vein as formal national holidays.14

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It was also in 1952 that the Turkish Historical Association (Türk Tarih Kurumu) commissioned Mustafa Celâl Saygın to write the rather unusual text Atatürk’s Reforms from the Perspective of Religion.15 In this book Saygın cited the Qur’an to justify Kemalist interpretations of laiklik. Thus he defended the abolition of the sultanate and caliphate, the Hat Law, the Turkish call to prayer, the outlawing of tarikats and the closing of tekkes, and the establishment of the Ministry of Religious Affairs. In short, he argued that Turks ought to be grateful to Mustafa Kemal for cleansing Islam of superstition and for reforming its practice in accordance with modern science. Saygın made an argument—albeit from an explicitly religious perspective—all but identical to that put forward by Mustafa Kemal himself time and again in his public speeches between 1923 and 1938. The most common response by secular Kemalists was a vehement defense of laiklik, arguing that the current critique by religious publications put the country at risk. Nazım Poroy, for instance, published Concerning Laiklik, a collection of speeches delivered to a local Istanbul branch of the Republican People’s Party in December 1950. Poroy’s speeches captured the fear that laiklik was in danger. He began by laying out the familiar tenets of laiklik, emphasizing that the state should not have any connection with religion. He also took particular care to stress that “freedom of conscience” was a fundamental principle. As far as Poroy was concerned, the state under Mustafa Kemal had not become involved in religion, for it had surrendered control of religious schools and courts.16 It was precisely in this area, however, that Poroy felt the government had begun to slip: he criticized recent decisions and policies by which the state had become associated with religious education. Under the Democratic Party government, the ezan had reverted to Arabic, religious lessons had become mandatory in primary schools, and state radio was even broadcasting readings of the Qur’an. This, he suggested, was evidence that laiklik was under siege.17 Pamphlets defending laiklik also circulated among the public. In 1953 one such pamphlet explained in simple terms the importance of strengthening the Turkish nation by separating it from previous Ottoman Islamic influences. Laiklik, it asserted, had been the most important of Mustafa Kemal’s reforms (devrim) and incorporated within it the notion of a laik state (devlet), laik society (cemiyet), and laik individual (insan). A laik state, of course, was supposedly separate from the affairs of religion. Although the pamphlet acknowledged the importance of freedom of belief, it also asserted the necessity of transforming

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individual perspectives to make Turkish society truly laik. Thus it declared the importance of eradicating foreign (Arabic and Persian) words from Turkish; alphabet reform; freeing women from religious practices such as veiling (kapalı); promotion of the fine arts free from religious influence; and a public morality defined apart from religion. Yet despite these prescriptions the pamphlet argued that laiklik did not necessarily mean the absence of religion (dinsizlik) in Turkish society.18 The pamphlet in question was but one of the many publications produced by a newly established institution: the Hearths of the Turkish Revolution (Türk Devrim Ocakları). Founded in February 1952, this organization reflected an uncharacteristic display of unity among politicians of the time. Under the leadership of deputies from each of the three major parties, the organization was to be above politics, to work to protect the Kemalist legacy in the face of the much feared “reactionary” forces allegedly gaining momentum throughout the country.19 The official constitution of these Hearths emphasized that their purpose was to follow in Mustafa Kemal’s footsteps and to protect his revolution (devrim) by working to inculcate its values in the people. It followed, therefore, that they upheld the principle of laiklik and as such preferred that religion should not be a part of political debate but rather should remain a personal and private matter.20 The Hearths of the Turkish Revolution, established in twenty-six provincial centers, were loyal to the tenets of Kemalist ideology, which meant that they became the locus of intense debates regarding the state of the nation. These debates evoked calls for more drastic efforts on the part of the government to guard against the threat of religious reaction.21 Public meetings of the Hearths featured rousing speeches in defense of Kemalist reforms in which Turks were called to protect laiklik by observing the law and educating each other about the importance of the Turkish Revolution. In response, some Turks felt compelled to argue that the Hearths were intolerant of popular Muslim practices and beliefs. Needless to say, those who voiced such criticisms were soon made to feel unwelcome at public meetings.22

raising the speCter of religious reaCtion The Hearths of the Turkish Revolution were an important element in an increasingly intense debate concerning laiklik in the early 1950s, symbolic of the determination among secular Kemalists to take the offensive against those who allegedly threatened the secular founda-

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tions of the Turkish nation. Secular Kemalists undertook this struggle by consistently raising the specter of religious reaction. Again, just as their defense of laiklik echoed arguments put forward by Kemalists during the single-party period, so too the topos of religious reaction had a lengthy genealogy rooted in the years of the Turkish Revolution. In those years Kemalists had emphasized the threat posed by religious “fanatics” and “bigots” in part to justify the harsh punishment of those who stood in the way of Mustafa Kemal’s visionary program of reform legislation. They suggested that religious reactionaries (mürteci) in fact were determined to overthrow the Republic of Turkey and bring about a return to the Islamic Ottoman Empire.23 Political liberalization after 1945, of course, introduced public freedoms that opponents of laiklik were quick to seize on, and politicians and journalists were already drawing attention to this in 1947. Yaşar Nabi, owner and editor of Varlık, called opposition to laiklik “The Greatest Danger,” asserting that Turkey’s future lay in the country’s complete reorientation away from the East and toward the West. Predictably, he characterized the East as mystical, bigoted, despotic, and backward, while the West was thoroughly positive and progressive. Echoing Mustafa Kemal’s mantra, Nabi was convinced that the only hope for Turkey was completely to turn its back on the East and to follow in the footsteps of the West. Consequently, the greatest danger facing the country was the possibility that it might hesitate and turn back toward the East under pressure from the “enemies of the Revolution” (inkılâp düşmanları). To prevent this, Turks of a like mind had to join forces and remain faithful to Atatürk’s revolution in the face of those determined to undermine its integrity.24 Such was the tone of debate in the Grand National Assembly on November 26, 1947, when the government responded to concerns about the appearance of publications—such as Necip Fazıl Kısakürek’s Büyük Doğu—allegedly devoted to opposing the Turkish Revolution in the name of religion. As minister of the interior Münir Hüsrev Göle assured members of the Assembly, they themselves were of a generation that had personally witnessed seminal events in the struggle between the forces of progress and reaction: the March 31 Counterrevolution in 1909 and the December 23 Menemen event (an alleged moment of Islamic reaction) in 1930. According to Göle, they had learned from these experiences: the government knew well the threat that forces of reaction posed to the nation. Their duty therefore was to ensure that similar events did not disrupt the stability and welfare of the country.25

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figure 19. “The time has come to punish the

‘reactionary.’” Köroğlu (Istanbul), December 3, 1952.

It was in the context of this perceived threat posed by the increasingly rapid growth of print media that the Ministry of Religious Affairs directed the müftülük (office of the mufti) across the country to keep careful track of newspapers and journals that addressed matters of a religious nature.26 Religious reaction therefore was the epitome of what secular Kemalists feared the most. In the spring of 1949 they undertook what Hürriyet called a “war on religious reaction,” as the government prepared to alter Article 163 of the Criminal Code.27 To the horror of Turks who considered themselves both devout Muslims and loyal citizens, the government declared that religious reaction posed as great a threat to the nation as did communism.28 Originally Article 163 had prohibited the use of religion to threaten the security of the state or provoke unrest. In June 1949 the Grand National Assembly approved significant changes to this article: now it specifically prohibited organizations or the publication of material opposed to laiklik.29 To secular Kemalists, events less than a year later appeared to jus-

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tify their efforts to guard against religious reaction. A month prior to the general elections of 1950 the Nation Party lost its leader, the pious War of Independence hero Marshal Fevzi Çakmak. Çakmak’s fame had been next only to that of Mustafa Kemal, İsmet İnönü, and Kâzım Karabekir, as reflected by the outpouring of public grief throughout the country. Çakmak’s funeral was held in Istanbul, and thousands of mourners streamed into the city to pay their last respects, including many youths from Ankara.30 The size of the crowds at the funeral of this figure so closely associated with the religiously sympathetic Nation Party took the government by surprise. When the press reported that a small group (roughly seventy-five individuals) had engaged in questionable activities—most notably proclaiming the ezan and reciting ritual prayers in Arabic—secular Kemalists could only respond with cries of “religious reaction.” They feared that such crowds might easily be inspired to open rebellion against the state.31 Indeed Hüseyin Cahit Yalçın went so far as to remind readers of the Ankara daily Ulus that these events had occurred just days after the forty-first anniversary of the March 31, 1909 Counterrevolution that Kemalists considered the prototype of all subsequent religious reaction.32 Immediately after Çakmak’s funeral, the editors of eleven Istanbul newspapers jointly published a manifesto condemning the “anarchy” of the previous days. They declared their commitment to Mustafa Kemal’s revolution and their determination to combat anyone who threatened the nation’s success after a 150-year struggle.33 Thereafter these editors took it upon themselves to spearhead a public campaign against religious reaction. Whenever mainstream newspaper editors became aware of individual cases of “reaction,” they immediately drew them to the country’s attention. Of particular concern were those Turks who blatantly defied the law and wore “illegal headgear” such as the fez, beret, or skullcap (takke); both Hürriyet and Vatan pointed out that these items were readily available outside Istanbul’s Beyazit Mosque and called on the government to enforce the law actively. Similarly, the increased visibility of women wearing the çarşaf (headscarf) in Istanbul and in Anatolian cities prompted considerable concern, for this was not suitable to a “civilized” nation.34 No more acceptable were the unregistered schools teaching Arabic occasionally discovered by investigative reporters, the use of Ottoman Turkish by Turks, and the proliferation of “religious books”—often in Arabic or Ottoman Turkish—that allegedly taught false notions of Islam and only encouraged reactionary attitudes in a people much in

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need of enlightenment.35 Whenever the activities of tarikats were uncovered, of course, this only served as proof that the population was surreptitiously being dominated, under the surface, by reactionary leaders with no respect for the nation. Evidently tarikats were very active throughout Anatolia at this time, thereby defying any Kemalist hope that Mustafa Kemal’s famous legislation outlawing them in 1925 had actually achieved its purpose.36 The most vocal in this campaign against religious reaction was Ahmet Emin Yalman, editor and owner of Vatan. He drew public attention to every act that might conceivably be construed as religious reaction, one example being the discovery in early 1953 of a green rather than red Turkish flag allegedly destined for somewhere in Anatolia.37 To the fertile secular Kemalist imagination such a symbol could be used for no purpose other than to rally reactionaries intent upon overthrowing the state. When prominent Democrats such as Menderes rejected the possibility of religious reaction they were ridiculed mercilessly.38 Vatan and other papers were committed to raising the specter of religious reaction. They gave considerable coverage to statements by politicians that communism and religious reaction were united in efforts at undermining public order,39 published series tracing the history of religious reaction against the Ottoman state in the nineteenth century and during the War of Independence,40 and explored the extreme conditions which religious reaction had engendered in other countries such as Afghanistan.41 At times journalists even focused their attention on each other, eager to demonstrate that they were faithful to Kemalism while accusing their competitors of inciting religious reaction through the articles they published.42 Predictably, the metropolitan press as well as some provincial newspapers concerned with defending laiklik insisted on accusing the Democratic Party of encouraging religious reaction following congresses in Konya (March 1951), Manisa (May 1951), Çorum (September 1952), and Balıkesir (October 1952). At these meetings, delegates expressed concerns that the Kemalist implementation of laiklik had been detrimental to the nation and that Turkish culture was increasingly irreligious. Hence they demanded the return of the fez; the enforced covering of women in public (tesettür) and women remaining in the home; the return of the Arabic alphabet; religious lessons at all levels; the right to form religious associations; legislation outlawing statues and Freemasonry; an end to dance and ballet performances; and an end to pictures of scantily clad women in the press.43 The Republican

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figure 20. “The royal contradiction” (Menderes denying the threat of reaction).

Hürriyet (Istanbul), November 23, 1952.

People’s Party paper Ulus, of course, took pleasure in the discomfort evident among Democratic Party leaders as a result of these demands; however, it was not so happy when a Democratic Party congress in Balıkesir issued a statement condemning the Republican People’s Party for destroying the religious fabric of the nation. Although the statement was formally addressed to İsmet İnönü, Republicans, reading between the lines, saw that it really was addressed to the father of Turkey, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk.44

refuting the Charge of religious reaCtion What sets the years 1945–1954 apart from previous decades of republican history is that opponents of laiklik actually possessed the freedom to use print media to defend themselves and to reject charges of religious reaction. During the single-party period “religious reactionaries” had been swiftly arrested, summarily tried, and consistently repressed.45 After World War II, in a way that had not previously been possible, they now engaged in a public debate with secular Kemalists. The new national print culture constituted the forum for this debate.

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Even Bediüzzaman Said Nursi—who sought to avoid public controversy—challenged the hysteria around the idea of religious reaction. He emphasized that religious reaction in its harmful form was more a primordial, tribal behavior defined by rivalry, division, and blood feuds. Nursi intimated that the disputes current in Turkey were indicative of this sort of malaise and that the nation would be in grave danger unless unity was reestablished. He called on Turkey’s leaders to recognize that those Turks branded as reactionaries were in fact devout Muslims concerned with strengthening the wider Muslim community (ümmet) and preserving it from European domination. At the same time, he stated clearly that if the term “religious reaction” was applied to the act of testifying to Islam in the world, then he willingly accepted the label “religious reactionary.”46 Ali Fuad Başgil echoed Nursi and led the way in this rejection of the opprobrious label “religious reaction.” His widely circulated article “The Nonsense about Religious Reaction” (“Irtica Yaygarası”) initially appeared on March 1, 1951, in Komünizme Karşı Mücadele in Istanbul. It was reprinted in numerous periodicals across the country and also appeared as a separate brochure.47 Başgil condemned those responsible for raising the specter of religious reaction, arguing that they did so in an effort to confuse the government as well as the public and to gain revenge for the defeat of the Republican People’s Party in May 1950. Başgil defended the unease that many Turks felt concerning Mustafa Kemal’s reforms on the grounds that they had destroyed the very foundations on which Muslim society rested: its history, language, spirituality, and morals. He asked whether it was in fact wrong to criticize oppression and injustice and called for a period of “restoration” by which the nation—akin to a sinking ship—might once again be restored to health and set on course. Başgil took pains to deny the allegation that Communists in the guise of reactionaries (mürteci ) were infiltrating Turkey and using religion to destabilize the country. This very propaganda, he argued, only divided and weakened the already fragile nation. Other authors issued resolute denials that religious reaction had any connection with Islam: it was associated with bigotry (taassup) and absolutism (istibdat) and therefore had nothing to do with true Islam (Müslümanlık) as practiced in Turkey. Müslüman Sesi in Izmir argued that Muslims themselves were committed to rational thought and to progress, and so they were determined to struggle with any bigotry that might show itself in Turkish society. Only those ignorant of the meaning and truths of Islam could even imagine applying the

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figure 21. “The nonsense about religious reaction.” Komünizme Karşı Mücadele (Istanbul), March 1, 1951.

term to Turks.48 Abdurrahman Şeref Laç—a young lawyer increasingly prominent in these years—offered a clear denunciation of the concept of religious reaction in the Istanbul daily Yeni Büyük Doğu. In the single-party period the term “religious reactionary” (mürteci ) had been applied incorrectly to pious Muslims struggling to come to terms with Kemalist reforms. Thus it had been the “godless”—Kemalists devoted to laiklik—who had defined the idea of religious reaction and had intimidated faithful believers to the extent that they practiced their faith in private for fear of being persecuted as reactionaries.49 At times, religious print media went so far as to accuse secular Kemalists of being the true reactionaries because of their determination to oppose the free practice of Islam. Not infrequently these publications would employ idioms dating back to nineteenth-century mod-

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ernizers’ condemnations of religious reaction. They labeled secular Kemalists “reform fanatics” (inkılâp yobazlar) or “fanatics of the revolution” (inkılâp softaları) and mocked them for crying out “the reforms are disappearing” (inkılâp elden gidiyor).50 Kemal Bülbül, owner and editor of Vicdan Sesi, pointed out to readers that corruption and immorality had invariably led to the collapse of great empires in history.51 He argued that in a similar manner the Republican People’s Party government had led Turkey to the brink of disaster. Turks who identified as Muslims were hardly reactionary and most certainly did not constitute portents of doom. Rather it was secular Kemalists who had harmed the nation. Far from being beacons of enlightenment as they claimed, they were the ones spiritually impoverished, characterized by a narrowminded obsession that refused to recognize the long-standing importance of the sacred in daily life. Their determination to bring about spiritual reform (ruh inkılabı) through harsh measures had failed because it had been too brutal and oppressive.52 The consensus among those who publicly criticized laiklik in print therefore was that Turkey was populated by pure (halis) Muslims simply longing for the freedom to worship without political interference: this freedom was guaranteed under the Constitution but not upheld by the state. Büyük Cihad reminded readers that the real meaning of irtica was to “turn back.” It rejected the notion that anyone in Turkey wished to do so: Turkey was a nation of Muslims who accepted progress and innovation while seeking greater spiritual knowledge. Turks were religious (dindar) and patriotic (vatansever), committed to the nation. Sebilürreşad summarized it thus: the only real religious reaction was the ignorant, stubborn bigotry that had characterized the last twenty-five years of attacks on the nation’s history, language, and spirituality. To criticize this period of suffering and oppression and to redress past wrongs could not be reactionary.53 As Başgil had asserted, the very notion of religious reaction was pure nonsense.54

religious reaCtion and the suppression of religious print Media Secular Kemalists hardly agreed, however, if only because they identified the most pernicious threat to the nation as the very existence of religious print media that attacked laiklik and refuted allegations of religious reaction. The new national print culture enabled secular Kemalists to draw attention to suspect events and movements, but at

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the same time it provided those opposed to laiklik with the most effective means to propagate their ideas throughout the country. Secular Kemalists therefore determined to silence and suppress religious publications, resulting in palpable public tension throughout 1952. In 1951 newspapers had drawn attention to questionable brochures written by Ali Fuad Başgil as well as to investigations by public prosecutors into Büyük Doğu and Volkan in Istanbul and Müslüman Sesi in Izmir because of provocative articles.55 Both President Bayar and Prime Minister Menderes already had gone out of their way to assure the people that their country was not beset by the forces of religious reaction.56 Early in 1952 the government decided that the time had come to shut down the popular Islamic Democratic Party, but this decision was contested before the courts. Between March and November newspapers carried reports of the prolonged legal struggle.57 At the same time, they also covered the ongoing trial of Kemal Pilavoğlu and alleged members of the Ticani tarikat accused of desecrating images of Mustafa Kemal the previous year. This trial attracted considerable public interest before finally reaching a conclusion in July 1952.58 It was precisely in these same months (beginning in May 1952) that Necip Fazıl Kısakürek established Yeni Büyük Doğu as a daily religious-nationalist newspaper in Istanbul. He used it to continue his vocal opposition to laiklik, in particular mounting a campaign against Ahmet Emin Yalman and Vatan. Often Yeni Büyük Doğu was joined in its efforts by similar metropolitan publications, including Sebilürreşad, Hür Adam, Islam Dünyası, Serdengeçti, and Komünizme Karşı Mücadele. To these must also be added provocative provincial newspapers. After all, it was the Samsun newspaper Büyük Cihad that published Hasan Fehmi Ustaoğlu’s incendiary articles concerning Mustafa Kemal and the War of Independence in the fall of 1952. Büyük Cihad already had published an article in June attributed to Bediüzzaman Said Nursi that had raised the ire of the local prosecutor.59 Consequently Büyük Cihad attracted condemnation across the country and in local newspapers such as Samsun Postası (Samsun Post) and Nebiyan (The Prophets). Open conflict occurred in Eskişehir too. Yeşil Nur and Demokrat Hamle were devoted to emphasizing the importance of religion to Turkish society, while a new paper, Mücadele (Struggle), was established on October 29, 1952. Immediately it engaged in a war of rhetoric with Yeşil Nur and Demokrat Hamle in defense of the Turkish Revolution. Again the Democratic Party government went out of its way to calm

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fears that the country faced a crisis, even as metropolitan newspapers did their best to inculcate an atmosphere of paranoia concerning the possibility of religious reaction. They found ready examples in the “reactionary” provincial Democratic Party congresses in September and October 1952, at which delegates had called for a return to social practices more in conformity with Islamic mores. After one of these congresses President Bayar traveled to Çorum in September to emphasize the Democratic Party’s commitment to the Turkish Revolution.60 On November 21 Menderes addressed a crowd in Kayseri, discussing the challenges facing the country. He emphasized the importance of protecting public freedoms and declared that those who raised the specter of religious reaction were doing no less than insulting the Turkish nation. Categorically rejecting the possibility of religious reaction, Menderes asserted that the nation was by nature revolutionary (inkılâpçı): the only threat facing the nation was from opposition politicians unwilling to accept the nation’s decision to entrust government to the Democratic Party.61 The prime minister’s timing could not have been worse. The very next day Menderes visited the southeastern city of Malatya. Among those traveling with him was Ahmet Emin Yalman. That evening the owner and editor of Vatan was ambushed by a young man and shot multiple times, although he was not killed. As one of the country’s most provocative journalists, Yalman had become the target of intense criticism in newspapers throughout the country, in particular in Yeni Büyük Doğu. In part this was due to Yalman’s determination to sponsor a “Miss Turkey” contest in Vatan—an event that many Turks interpreted as immoral. When his assailant (Hüseyin Üzmez) was eventually captured, he confessed to having been inspired by the vitriolic rhetoric in Yeni Büyük Doğu. Immediately after the attack, metropolitan newspapers, led by Vatan, took cries of religious reaction to new extremes. Suggesting that it harked back to the dark days of the Menemen “uprising” of December 1930, they concluded that the failed attempt on Yalman’s life—the “Malatya event”—was irrefutable evidence of the much greater threat facing the nation.62 The impact of the Malatya event on Turkey was profound.63 It marked the beginning of the end of this first period of public debate concerning laiklik and religious reaction that had started with the emergence of a national print culture after 1945. Secular Kemalists capitalized on the event by relentlessly pressuring the government to suppress religious print media. Major metropolitan dailies such as Vatan, Hürriyet,

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Cumhuriyet, and Zafer orchestrated a campaign drawing attention to allegedly insidious efforts by reactionaries to employ print media to undercut the very welfare and stability of the Turkish nation. Mainstream newspapers in the provinces also joined the chorus.64 Their target was the “reactionary” or “black press” (kara basın), which according to one report numbered as many as one hundred separate periodicals.65 Zafer (associated with the Democratic Party) in particular railed against the “black press.” It questioned how such publications could possibly have survived, for surely they could not have earned sufficient income to cover their costs. The implication was that they were seditious publications taking advantage of laws that protected freedom of expression and receiving money from sources outside the country intent upon undermining the Turkish nation.66 Yet, for all the aspersions the metropolitan press might cast on religious printing and publishing, secular Kemalists were genuinely concerned about the reach and influence of such endeavors. After World War II religious print media were both numerous and popular. It was because of this that the Istanbul Journalists’ Association announced the formation of a “national cooperative front” (millî tesanüt cephesi ) in January 1953 to combat the evils of both religious reaction and racism (ırkçılık).67 The assumption was that religious nationalism in particular had become problematic, so the government faced intense pressure to close first the Association of Turkish Nationalists (Türk Milliyetçiler Derneği), which it did on January 22, and then the Nation Party, which it did in July of that year. At the same time, Prime Minister Menderes continued to refute the notion that the country faced a concerted reactionary movement, although he did concede that individual reactionaries were guilty of manipulating religion as a disguise for their own nefarious purposes.68 Menderes was surely correct to make this distinction between individuals and a coherent movement, as borne out by the trial of the thirty-one men accused of participating in the failed attempt on Ahmet Emin Yalman’s life. In the weeks following the Malatya event metropolitan newspapers reported with satisfaction the arrest of some of the most prominent critics of laiklik: Necip Fazıl Kısakürek, editor and owner of Yeni Büyük Doğu; Cevat Rıfat Atilhan, prolific writer for many religious nationalist publications as well as owner and editor of Yeni Istikbâl; Mustafa Bağışlayıcı, owner of Büyük Cihad; and Osman Yüksel, owner and editor of Serdengeçti. As far as secular Kemalists were concerned, these journalists were undoubtedly the vanguard of

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a dangerous reactionary movement besieging the country. When the trial eventually reached its conclusion on July 17, 1954, however, not a single one of these prominent journalists was convicted. They were all eventually acquitted on every charge.69 Although these men had used print media to challenge laiklik and to contest accusations of religious reaction, the prosecution had completely failed to demonstrate that they posed a threat to the nation. Nonetheless, by the time these critics of laiklik were released the national print culture in Turkey had entered a new phase that reflected very different political circumstances. Their own periodicals had ceased to publish upon their arrest. Other religious print media also had been forced to close because of investigations by state prosecutors, including those in the provinces: Büyük Cihad and Vicdan Sesi in Samsun, Büyük Dâva in Karşıyaka-Izmir, and Yeşil Nur in Eskişehir.70 To be sure, metropolitan religious periodicals—especially those committed to education—fared better. But in Gaziantep, where ten religious publications had been available in 1949, only two were still sold in 1955.71 Moreover, in response to demands put forward by secular Kemalists, in July 1953 the government had passed new legislation supplementing existing laws that already penalized those who used print media to criticize laiklik. The new Law to Protect the Freedom of Conscience and Assembly specifically addressed those people who used “sacred things” and “religious books” (mukaddes tanılan şeyleri veya dinî kitapları) for political purposes.72 In conjunction with earlier modifications to Article 163 of the Criminal Code, this law now made inevitable the prosecution of those Turks who turned to print as a means to challenge the efficacy of laiklik and assert the importance of Islam to their nation. Less than a year later, in March 1954, the Democratic Party followed this with broader legislation aimed at restricting the freedom of the press in general.73 On May 2, 1954, the Democratic Party won an even greater proportion of the popular vote in general elections, claiming 488 (91 percent) of the 537 deputies elected to the Grand National Assembly.74 With this Turkish politics witnessed an attempt to return to the authoritarian approach to government that had characterized the single-party era. Prime Minister Menderes insisted that his party—indeed, he alone—represented the will of the people (millî irade). Hence dissent could not be tolerated. Once again life in Turkey came to be characterized by undemocratic laws, including those that restricted the freedom of the press and those that suppressed individuals who questioned the sacred tenet of Turkish secularism.75

ConClusion: a MusliM national identity in Modern turkey

In the space of a small time we have accomplished many great deeds . . . We are going to raise our country to the level of the world’s most prosperous civilized countries . . . Compared to the past, we will work much more. We will succeed at greater deeds in less time. With regard to this, there is no doubt we will succeed because the character of the Turkish nation is great . . . How happy to call oneself a Turk! Mustafa keMal atatÜrk, oCtober 29, 1933

so far Turkish historiography has been dominated by secularization theory that takes as axiomatic the “decline of religion” both among individuals and in society as a whole as a result of modernization.1 From the perspective of the early twenty-first century, it is clear that this simply has not been the case. Religion remains an important force not only in Turkey and the Middle East but also in the West. Just what constitutes “religion” and how to account for its currency remain open questions.2 But religious faith and practice remain potent today in both industrialized and industrializing countries, in both urban and rural settings, among both the educated and the uneducated. Secularism too cannot be discounted, but it does have limits. More to the point, to posit “religion” and “secularism” in opposition to each other is to engage in a sophistry belied by the reality that the two exist in relationship with each other to the point of codependence. Modern history is very much the working out of the secular and the religious. In the case of Turkey, an important chapter of this story took place between 1945 and 1954, when a national print culture negotiated the relationship between the nation and Islam. National identification is not the result of an inexorable force of modernization, of the inevitable emergence of the nation-state. Rather,

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it requires explanation: identification with the Turkish nation is an ongoing process that originated with the seeds of elite Turkish nationalism in the late nineteenth century and then began to crystallize among the people after 1945. Critical to the process was popular participation in debating the relationship between nation and religion on the pages of a new national print culture. For the first time the large portion of the population for whom religious identities were important could publicly assert their identities as both Muslims and Turks. In this way the very idea of belonging to the nation gained inherent value for the people. And although religious print media were suppressed in 1953– 1954, this proved only temporary; before long periodicals appealing to popular religious identities again began to appear in Turkey. Scholars have yet to study these in any detail, but the increasing prominence of Islam in public debate and national politics in recent decades is undoubtedly the product of a negotiation that began in 1945. More to the point, the commitment on the part of the military government after the 1980 coup to cultivate a revised interpretation of Kemalism that synthesized loyalty to both Islam and the Turkish nation was predicated on the negotiation that had already occurred. Formulated by intellectuals in the 1960s and 1970s, the “Turkish-Islamic Synthesis” was a reflection of a reality that became all too apparent between 1945 and 1954.3 The questions of exactly what “being Muslim” means and how people came to identify as such are beyond the scope of this book. For many people experiencing the formation of the Turkish nation, however, it is clear that their faith and practice as Muslims constituted an important point of reference. Even for those who preferred to promote laiklik and a secular definition of the nation, religion remained an important part of the equation, if only because they cast it in opposition to the nation. Religious identification itself is constructed and does not exist exclusive of other identities; nor is it static and unchanging. Religion is far more fluid than either its adherents or its detractors might like to imagine. Muslim identities were not eradicated by the secular Turkish Revolution, but they most certainly were transformed in ways that scholars have yet to study in any depth. First of all, however, it is necessary to recognize their existence and importance, for the secular Kemalist narrative that has so dominated Turkish historiography clearly fails to do justice to the complex history of Turkey. The assertion by Turks that Muslim identities are important does not have to constitute religious reaction. Rather, in the decade after World War II

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it represented an effort to negotiate a popular national identity that accommodated rather than excluded religious identities. It was only after 1945 that people had the freedom to assert the importance of religious identification. Only then were all the necessary components in place for the “nation” to exist: a “named human population sharing an historic territory, common myths and historical memories, a mass, public culture, a common economy and common legal rights and duties for all members.”4 In particular, in this book I have argued that it was the emergence of a national print culture in conjunction with political liberalization that proved to be critical. Print media made possible the inclusion of alternative perspectives in new public debate about just what the nation embodied. In particular, it is the pages of provincial print media situated in the context of more familiar metropolitan publications that verify the conclusion that this debate incorporated people throughout the country. As such, provincial newspapers are an invaluable historical source deserving of greater attention. The fundamental contribution that this book makes to the question of national identity formation therefore concerns a country in which ruling elites previously tried to impose national homogeneity on the people and to inculcate identification with the nation through a narrow, ethnic nationalism. In fact the framework for the nation that these elites proposed needed modification by the people in order for them to identify with it. The formation of a nation requires popular participation and ratification. The standard notion that print media constituted an elite tool to facilitate the inculcation of a national identity does not withstand scrutiny in the case of Turkey. Print media produced in the provinces—typically dismissed as peripheral by historians—played a critical role in integrating the people into a larger national discourse and presenting perspectives that the nationalist elite had ignored or denigrated. The result was an atmosphere in which new ideas contested dominant elite ideology, and ultimately the negotiation of a popular national identity occurred for the first time.

sovereignty of the nation and the politiCs of nationalisM The Turkish Constitution of 1924 stated that sovereignty belonged unequivocally to the nation.5 But just what elements constitute the nation and how it might exercise its sovereignty have remained open to ques-

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tion throughout the short history of the Republic of Turkey. Less than a year after the ratification of the Constitution on April 20, 1924, Mustafa Kemal had already introduced legislation that established the basis for single-party authoritarian rule that was to endure for two decades. In late 1945 Turks welcomed the onset of political liberalization and eagerly began to participate in a multiparty political system augmented by a vital printing and publishing industry eager to give voice to a diversity of perspectives. Moreover, in the general elections in 1946 and 1950 a new generation of Turkish politicians emerged, replacing those whose roots were in the late years of the Ottoman Empire.6 Yet despite the infusion of new blood into Turkish politics, the political elite remained committed to preserving the power of the state at the expense of popular freedoms.7 Indeed, since the inception of the Turkish Republic in 1923, central to its history has been the working out of democratic politics and the perceived threat to the nation inherent in the exercise of freedoms on the part of the people who constitute that nation. The great hopes that people had invested in the Democratic Party as the antidote to the authoritarian Republican People’s Party had already begun to dissolve by 1954. The political history of the subsequent six years is correctly portrayed as a struggle between an increasingly repressive ruling elite led by prime minister Adnan Menderes and an ever more disillusioned populace. In May 1960 the Turkish military eventually overthrew Menderes, and a new Constitution was introduced with the specific goal of protecting political freedoms and preventing any one party from monopolizing power. This has hardly resolved the tensions inherent in Turkish democracy, however. The integration of the rural and urban populations that began after World War II has only increased, while print media—seemingly ever more popular—have been supplemented by a variety of popular electronic media. The result has been a variety of intense and acrimonious debates: most notably between leftists and ultranationalists or Pan-Turkists in the 1960s and 1970s, subsequently between proponents of Turkish and Kurdish nationalism, and between Islamists and secular Kemalists. Concerned with the effects of public strife and violence and fearing for the very stability of the country, both governments and institutions of the state (namely, the military and the judiciary) have acted to restrict public freedoms, perpetuating a theme that goes right back to Mustafa Kemal’s struggle for domination that began with the War of Independence between 1919 and 1922. If the struggle between authoritarian government and popular par-

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ticipation in politics is prominent in Turkish history, then so too is the tension between the religious and the secular. These two dynamics are not necessarily connected, although single-party rule and laiklik are indelibly linked as a result of the Turkish Revolution. Moreover, the appeal of Islamist political parties has grown since the 1970s, to the point that the Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi) won general elections on November 4, 2002. This might well be interpreted as a reassertion of the linkage between democratic politics and the expression of religious identities first witnessed in 1945–1954. Nevertheless, just as secular Kemalists feared that the public attack on laiklik posed a threat to Atatürk’s secular nation, Turks today who do not consciously identify as Muslims have a very real fear that their own freedoms are now at risk with an Islamist political party in power and reelected with an even greater majority in July 2007. It hardly helps that prime minister Recai Tayip Erdoğan has demonstrated an increasing intolerance of criticism and even a disdain for working within the democratic political system. Frequently there is public speculation that the military will once again act as the bastion of Kemalist secularism to protect Atatürk’s reforms as it did in 1960. Yet, ironically, after the military coup of September 1980 it was the military that capitalized on people’s widespread identification as Muslims to promote the TurkishIslamic Synthesis in an effort to promote national unity. It is on this basis that the Justice and Development Party has enjoyed such remarkable electoral success. In this book I have argued that the emergence of a popular national identity after 1945 was predicated upon a civil or inclusive approach to nationalism that allowed the expression of diverse opinions and other identities than those promoted by the secular Kemalist elite during the single-party period. Just as secular Kemalist nationalism was exclusive and intolerant of competing definitions of the nation, so today it is possible that the Muslim Turkish nationalism that has become so prominent might be equally inflexible. Important though a popular Muslim national identity is, numerous other identities also inform national identity in Turkey. It is essential not to accept the underlying premise of the nationalist narrative that has long dominated the historiography of Turkey, emphasizing the unitary nature of the nation to the point of repressing a discourse of difference. All too often the stress has been on the homogeneity of a population, rejecting cultural diversity and the possibility of multiple “publics.”8 It is fundamentally false to assert that there can be only one public and one identity defined according to the

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vision of a political elite, whether they subscribe to a nationalist ideology or any other.9 In Turkey today considerable energy is devoted to addressing the “identity crisis” (kimlik sorunu) ostensibly facing the nation. Quite apart from the challenge that Islamist political parties pose to conceptions of the secular state, uncertainty arises from the increasing attention paid to the existence of ethnic and religious minorities. Not only Kurds but also Alevis, Armenians, Greeks, and Jews have come to be recognized as distinctive social groups with their own histories. Of course, the very notion that Turkey might constitute a “mosaic” causes consternation among those who insist upon the unity and exclusivity of the “Turkish nation” that they define according to principles originally articulated by Mustafa Kemal.10 It is in this context that the much-debated Article 301 of the Criminal Code must be understood today.11 Yet the purpose of protecting the nation and defending “Turkishness” is inherently self-defeating. The Turkish national identity that is so strong today was negotiated on the basis of public freedoms and inclusiveness rather than imposed as an ideology from above. Such a negotiation of national identity does not have to threaten the very idea of the nation. Indeed, in the years 1945–1954 at no point did Turks question the nation or its importance; rather their concern was to supplement the definition initially imposed by the secular Kemalist elite. The result was a demonstrably stronger nation with which the people could identify. It was on this basis that members of the nation could agree with the words of Turkey’s founding president: “How Happy to Call Oneself a Turk.”

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notes

prefaCe 1. Carr, What Is History? 54; Mete Tunçay, “Atatürk’e Nasıl Bakmak.”

introduCtion 1. Anthony D. Smith, The Nation in History, 3. 2. Anthony D. Smith, Nationalism and Modernism, 56–57. 3. Anthony D. Smith, National Identity, 14. 4. A literature on what is referred to as the “local press” does exist, however. Phyllis Kaniss, Making Local News; Bob Franklin and David Murphy, eds., Making the Local News. 5. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities, 62–63. 6. Marie-Louise Legg, Newspapers and Nationalism, 172. Unfortunately I have been unable to take into account a number of very recently published studies of the provincial press in other European contexts. These were not in print at the time of my own analysis of the Turkish press. 7. Miroslav Hroch, Social Preconditions of National Revival in Europe, 12; Miroslav Hroch, “How Much Does Nation Formation Depend on Nationalism?” 8. Zachary Lockman, “Arab Workers and Arab Nationalism in Palestine,” 270. 9. Menderes Çınar, “From Shadow-Boxing to Critical Understanding”; Menderes Çınar, “Kültürel Yabancılaşma Tezi Üzerine.” 10. Şerif Mardin, “Projects as Methodology,” 66. 11. Smith, Nationalism and Modernism, 95–96. 12. Elizabeth Eisenstein, The Printing Press as an Agent of Change; Roger Chartier, ed., The Culture of Print; Joad Raymond, The Invention of the Newspaper; Stephen Lovell, The Russian Reading Revolution; Louise McReynolds, The News Regime under Russia’s Old Regime; Ami Ayalon, The Press in the Arab Middle East. 13. Korkut Boratov, “Namık Kemal’in Gazeteceliği.” 14. Palmira Brummett, Image and Imperialism in the Ottoman Revolutionary Press, 1908–1911, 27. 15. Andrew Mango, Atatürk, 404. 16. Ali Gevgili, Türkiye’de Yenileşme Düşüncesi; Mahmut Öngören, “Atatürk ve Iletişim”; Önder Şenyapılı, “Atatürk ve Gazetecilik, Gazeteler, Gazeteciler.” 17. Hans Kohn, A History of Nationalism in the East, 8. 18. Dankwart A. Rustow and Robert E. Ward, “Introduction,” in Ward and Rustow, eds. Political Modernization in Japan and Turkey, 3. Not surprisingly, the same volume contained the first significant essay on the history of Turkish print media, by Kemal Karpat. 19. Karl W. Deutsch, Nationalism and Social Communication, 97. 20. Daniel Lerner, The Passing of Traditional Society. 21. Niyazi Berkes, ed., Turkish Nationalism and Western Civilization, 71–76.

230 notes to pages 12–18 22. Bernard Lewis, “Islamic Revival in Turkey”; Howard Reed, “Revival of Islam in Secular Turkey”; Lewis V. Thomas, “Recent Developments in Turkish Islam.” 23. James Raven, “New Reading Histories, Print Culture and the Identification of Change.” 24. Martyn Lyons, “What Did the Peasants Read?”; Brian Richardson, Print Culture in Renaissance Italy; Peter Burke, “Oral Culture and Print Culture in Renaissance Italy.” 25. Laura Engelstein, “Print Culture and the Transformation of Russia.” 26. Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere, 181– 235; James Curran, “Mass Media and Democracy.” 27. Gaye Tuchman, Making News, 192–195. 28. Anderson, Imagined Communities, 44. 29. Enver Ziya Karal, Türkiye Cumhuriyeti Tarihi (1918–1944). 30. Tarık Zafer Tunaya, “Âmme Hukukumuz Bakımından Ikinci Meşrutiyetin Siyasî Tefekküründe ‘Islamcılık’ Cereyanı”; Tarık Zafer Tunaya, “Âmme Hukukumuz Bakımından Ikinci Meşrutiyetin Siyasî Tefekküründe ‘Garpçılık’ Cereyanı.” These would eventually become the core of his influential work Islamcılık Cereyanı. 31. The best bibliography of such literature is Abraham Bodurgil, Atatürk and Turkey. 32. This article appeared in the January 1939 issue. It was only one of a number of articles that appeared in National Geographic in these years. 33. A useful list of early biographies of Mustafa Kemal is included in Herbert Melzig, Atatürk Bibliyografyası. 34. Harold Armstrong, Gray Wolf; Harold Armstrong, Turkey in Travail; August Ritter Von Kral, Das land Kamâl Atatürks; Paul Gentizon, Mustapha Kemal, ou L’Orient en marche; Lilo Linke, Allah Dethroned; Claire Price, The Rebirth of Turkey. 35. Arnold Toynbee, The Murderous Tyranny of the Turks, 10, 34. 36. Arnold Toynbee and Kenneth Kirkwood, Turkey, 256; Arnold Toynbee, “The Turkish State of Mind”; Richard Clogg, Politics and the Academy. 37. G. L. Lewis, Turkey. This text reached its fourth and final edition in 1974. 38. Bernard Lewis, The Emergence of Modern Turkey. The third edition of this masterful text was published by Oxford University Press in 2002. 39. Lord Kinross, Within the Taurus; Lord Kinross, Europa Minor. 40. Mango, Atatürk. 41. Kinross, Atatürk, 570. 42. Ibid., 440. 43. Lewis, Turkey, 109–110. 44. Lewis, The Emergence of Modern Turkey, 267, 291. 45. This contradiction stems in part from another influential work published a few years later: Niyazi Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey. 46. Gotthard Jäschke, “Nationalismus und Religion im türkischen Befreiungskriege”; Henry E. Allen, The Turkish Transformation; Count Leon Ostrorog, The Angora Reform. 47. Lewis, Turkey, 133. 48. Ibid., 187. 49. Lewis, The Emergence of Modern Turkey, 423.

notes to pages 18 – 31 231 50. Lewis, Turkey, 185. 51. Lewis, The Emergence of Modern Turkey, 417–424. 52. Kinross, Atatürk, 470, 517. 53. Lewis, Turkey, 105, 133. 54. Lewis, The Emergence of Modern Turkey, 268, 424. 55. Edward Said, Orientalism, 300. 56. It is worth comparing various survey texts along these lines and noting that because of the absence of substantial research into the Atatürk era scholars have little choice but to echo the same theme. Erik Jan Zürcher, Turkey; Feroz Ahmad, Turkey; Sina Akşin, Turkey. 57. Mete Tunçay, Türkiye Cumhuriyeti’nde Tek-Parti Yönetimi’nin Kurulması (1923–1931); Erik Jan Zürcher, The Unionist Factor; Sibel Bozdoğan and Reşat Kasaba, eds., Rethinking Modernity and National Identity in Turkey; Sibel Bozdoğan, Modernism and Nation Building; Gavin D. Brockett, “Collective Action and the Turkish Revolution.” See also a special issue of South Atlantic Quarterly (Spring– Summer 2003).

Chapter 1 1. Atatürk’ün Söylev ve Demeçleri, 1:287–298, 343–344. 2. Tarih II (1931). 3. Anthony D. Smith, The Nation in History, 3 (emphasis added). 4. Anthony D. Smith, Nationalism and Modernism; Anthony D. Smith, National Identity. 5. Stuart Hall, “Ethnicity.” 6. Craig Calhoun, Critical Social Theory, 193–230. 7. Hall, “Ethnicity.” 8. See G. Carter Bentley, “Ethnicity and Practice.” 9. Calhoun, Critical Social Theory, 232–282. 10. Carlo Sforza, European Dictatorships, 195. 11. For summaries and translations of the Istanbul press, see USDS 867.9111/44 Bristol (Constantinople) to Secretary of State, January 2, 1924; USDS 867.9111/56 American Consulate General (Constantinople): Review of Turkish Press, March 9–21, 1924; USDS 867.9111/66 American Consulate General (Constantinople): Review of Turkish Press, June 1–30, 1924. 12. Reşat Genç, ed., Türkiye’yi Laikleştiren Yasaları. 13. Law #578, ratified on March 4, 1925. 14. Mete Tunçay, Türkiye Cumhuriyeti’nde Tek-Parti Yönetimi’nin Kurulması (1923–1931), 142. 15. Ergun Aybars, Istiklâl Mahkemeleri, 1923–1927, 213, 399; Tunçay, Türkiye Cumhuriyeti’nde Tek-Parti Yönetimi’nin Kurulması (1923–1931), 173. 16. Erik Jan Zürcher, The Unionist Factor. 17. Ilhamı Soysal, 150’likler. 18. Walter F. Weiker, Political Tutelage and Democracy in Turkey; Cem Emrence, 99 Günlük Muhalefet. 19. MAE 165: de Chambrun à Ministre des Affaires Étrangères, December 2, 1931; FO 371/15376/E913 Turkey Annual Report, 1930; FO 371/16091/E222 Turkey

232 notes to pages 32– 42 Annual Report, 1931; Umut Azak, “A Reaction to Authoritarian Modernization in Turkey.” 20. Suna Kili, Kemalism; Taha Parla and Andrew Davison, Corporatist Ideology in Kemalist Turkey. 21. Cemil Koçak, Türkiye’de Millî Şef Dönemi (1938–1945), 2:371–443. Martial Law Act #3832 was ratified on May 22, 1940. 22. John M. VanderLippe, The Politics of Turkish Democracy, 34, 97. 23. Ibid., 107. 24. E. J. Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780, 56–63. 25. Carter Vaughn Findley, The Turks in World History, 20. The first Türk Empire existed between AD 552 and 630. Ulrich W. Haarmann, “Ideology and History, Identity and Alterity.” 26. Suraiya Faroqhi, Subjects of the Sultan, 39–41. 27. Claude Cahen, “Le problème ethnique en Anatolie”; Maxime Rodinson, Europe and the Mystique of Islam, 36. 28. David Kushner, The Rise of Turkish Nationalism, 8–21. 29. Şerif Mardin, The Genesis of Young Ottoman Thought; Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780, 14–21. 30. “Millet,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam. 31. Ernest Renan, “What Is a Nation?” Renan’s words were: “Italy is a nation, and Turkey, outside of Asia Minor, is not one”; Kushner, The Rise of Turkish Nationalism, 9–10; Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780, 101–110. 32. Şükrü Hanioğlu, The Young Turks in Opposition, 209. 33. Margaret MacMillan, Paris 1919, 380. 34. Mustafa Kemal used the term Türk milleti sparingly even after 1922. It only became common in his speeches from 1924 onward. Atatürk’ün Tamim, Telgraf ve Beyannameleri. 35. Some twenty-eight congresses were held between December 1918 and October 1920. Erik Jan Zürcher, “Young Turks, Ottoman Muslims and Turkish Nationalists,” 165; Andrew Mango, Atatürk, 314. 36. See Mustafa Kemal’s speech to the Erzurum Congress on July 23, 1919, in Söylev, 1:1–5. For the text of the protocol issued after the Erzurum Congress, see Atatürk’ün Kurtuluş Savaşı Yazışmaları, 1:117–119. 37. Hasan Kayalı, Arabs and Young Turks, 204. 38. Zürcher, “Young Turks, Ottoman Muslims and Turkish Nationalists.” 39. Selim Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains; Kayalı, Arabs and Young Turks, 142–179. 40. Mango, Atatürk, 277; Söylev, 1:12–63. 41. Paul Dumont, “Hojas for the Revolution.” 42. Andrew Mango, “Atatürk and the Kurds.” See the text of the Provisional Constitution (Teşkilât-ı Esasiye Kanunu) in Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, Nutuk, 402. 43. Söylev, 2:248–252. 44. Niyazi Berkes, Atatürk ve Devrimler, 133–151. 45. British consuls stationed in Trabzon, Mersin, Izmir, and Edirne regularly reported their observations. These are to be found in the FO 371 series of the British National Archives. 46. Lilo Linke, Allah Dethroned.

notes to pages 42– 49 233 47. Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780; Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities. 48. See, for example, his famous speech at Balıkesir Mosque in 1923: Söylev, 2:98–103. 49. Grace Ellison, Turkey Today, 24. 50. Niyazi Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey, 293. 51. Kemal Karpat, The Politicization of Islam. 52. Tarih IV (1931), 186. 53. Ibid., 89, 192, 195–197. 54. Hikmet Bayur, “Atatürk”; Barak A. Salmoni, “Islam in Turkish Pedagogic Attitudes and Education Materials.” 55. Andrew Davison, Secularism and Revivalism in Turkey. 56. David Kushner, “The Place of the Ulema in the Ottoman Empire during the Age of Reform (1839–1918)”; Gotthard Jäschke, Yeni Türkiye’de Islamlık, 69–80. 57. This later became the Theological Faculty at the University of Istanbul. 58. Dankwart A. Rustow, “Politics and Islam in Turkey, 1920–1955”; Genç, Türkiye’yi Laikleştiren Yasaları. 59. Law #677, ratified on November 30, 1925. 60. Stephen Duguid, “The Politics of Unity”; Albert Hourani, “Shaikh Khalid and the Naqshbandi Order”; Butrus Abu-Manneh, “The Naqshbandiyya-Mujaddidiyya in the Ottoman Lands in the Early Nineteenth Century.” 61. Ruth A. Miller, “The Ottoman and Islamic Substratum of Turkey’s Swiss Civil Code,” 357. 62. Paul J. Magnarella, “The Reception of Swiss Family Law in Turkey”; Ihsan Yılmaz, “Legal Pluralism in Turkey”; Jäschke, Yeni Türkiye’de Islamlık, 22–33. 63. FO 371/13094/E2871 Chaffy (Mersina) to Clerk, May 14, 1928. 64. FO 371/10870/Dispatch 694. The dispatch is a translation of an Anatolian Agency Telegram dated September 3, 1925. 65. Law #671, ratified on November 25, 1925. 66. Law #1353, ratified on November 1, 1928. 67. Mustafa Kemal issued this directive for Kadir Gecesi during Ramazan on February 3, 1932. In the months that followed the government issued a directive that both the ezan and kamet should be performed in Turkish; however, a lack of muezzins trained in the new forms meant that this was implemented only slowly and inconsistently. It was only on June 2, 1941, when the government introduced legislation (Law #4055) to amend provisions of the Penal Code to introduce harsher penalties for those who contravened the Hat Law or used the Arabic script, that it also prescribed penalties of up to three months in prison and 200 TL for anyone who proclaimed the ezan and kamet in Arabic. Jäschke, Yeni Türkiye’de Islamlık, 39–52; Bülent Daver, Türkiye Cumhuriyetinde Layiklik, 171; FO 371/16092/E702 Clerk (Angora) to FO, February 5, 1932; FO 371/16092/E969 Bramwell (Constantinople) to Clerk, February 6, 1932. 68. The Surname Law (#2525) was ratified on June 28, 1934. Mustafa Kemal adopted the name “Atatürk” on November 26, 1934. Meltem Türköz, “The Social Life of the State’s Fantasy.” 69. FO 371/12320/E3234 Knight (Trebizond) to Clerk, May 12, 1927; Yeni Mersin, January 27, 1935; Samsun, January 15, 1935.

234 notes to pages 49 – 59 70. FO 371/13810/E91 Were (Trebizond) to Clerk, January 1, 1929; FO 371/13828/ E3538 Helm (Constantinople) to FO, June 29, 1929; Hasan Hüseyin Ceylan, Cumhuriyet Dönemi Din-Devlet Ilişkişleri, 2:221–247. 71. Henry E. Allen, The Turkish Transformation, 126. 72. Gavin D. Brockett, “Collective Action and the Turkish Revolution.” 73. Legislation concerning titles was passed by the Assembly as Law #2590 on November 26, 1934. The legislation concerning clothing was Law #2596, ratified on December 3, 1934. Allen, The Turkish Transformation, 182–183; Ceylan, Cumhuriyet Dönemi Din-Devlet Ilişkişleri, 2:103–150, 327–356; Jäschke, Yeni Türkiye’de Islamlık, 32, 53–68. 74. Donald Everett Webster, The Turkey of Atatürk, 85. 75. Smith, National Identity, 14. 76. Atatürk, Nutuk, 16; Feroz Ahmad, “The Political Economy of Kemalism.” 77. At least 1,054 death sentences were commuted. Aybars, Istiklâl Mahkemeleri, 1923–1927; Ceylan, Cumhuriyet Dönemi Din-Devlet Ilişkişleri, 1:96–102. 78. Hanioğlu, The Young Turks in Opposition. 79. Ergun Özbudun, “Antecedents of Kemalist Secularism.” 80. Sibel Bozdoğan, Modernism and Nation Building, 101–105. 81. Michael Hechter, Internal Colonialism; Catherine Audard, “French Laïcité and the Claims of Diversity”; John Keane, “The Limits of Secularism.” It is worth comparing early Kemalist policies toward the provinces with those of the late Ottoman state. Ussama Makdisi, “Ottoman Orientalism”; Selim Deringil, “‘They Live in a State of Nomadism and Savagery.’” 82. Partha Chatterjee, The Nation and Its Fragments, 6. 83. Suna Kili and Şeref Gözübüyük, eds., Türk Anayasa Metinleri, 128. 84. Catherine Audard, “Political Liberalism, Secular Republicanism,” 165. 85. Ibid., 169.

Chapter 2 1. Suna Kili and Şeref Gözübüyük, eds., Türk Anayasa Metinleri, 96–97. 2. Ceremony also played a role, at least in Ankara. Srirupa Roy, “Seeing a State.” 3. Birinci Türk Neşriyat Kongresi 1–5 Mayıs 1939, 226–228, 238–240. 4. Ipek Yosmaoğlu, “Chasing the Printed Word.” 5. Atatürk’ün Söylev ve Demeçleri, 1:287–298. 6. John Gillis, “Memory and Identity,” 6. 7. M. Hakan Yavuz, “Nationalism and Islam,” 191–192. 8. Soner Cagaptay, Islam, Secularism, and Nationalism in Modern Turkey, 6–7. 9. Yavuz, for instance, bases his conclusions on the work of Benedict Anderson, while Cagaptay makes dubious use of ideas put forward by Şerif Mardin to make his case. 10. Niyazi Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey, 329. 11. Some 28,110 centers had populations below 500. Genel Nüfus Sayımı, 20 Ilkteşrin 1935. See also Donald Quataert, “The Age of Reforms,” 781. 12. Roderic H. Davison, “The Advent of the Telegraph in the Ottoman Empire.” 13. These included Adana, Trabzon, Eskişehir, Kastamonu, Gaziantep, Konya, Balıkesir, Ankara, Aydın, Diyarbakır, Elaziğ, Erzurum, Izmir, Kars, Van, and Sivas.

notes to pages 60 – 62 235 Halûk Harun Duman, “Anadolu’da Türkçe Basın (1867–1922)”; Halûk Harun Duman, “Sultan II Abdülhamid ve Basın.” 14. Cagaptay, Islam, Secularism, and Nationalism in Modern Turkey, 7. 15. Enver Behnan Şapolyo, Türk Gazeteciliği Tarihi, 199; Ali Rıza Önder, Kayseri Basın Tarihi (1910–1960), 41. 16. As compared with the circulation of major publications: Hâkimiyet-i Milliye and Köy Hocası (Village Teacher): 2,000 each; Yeni Gün: 1,750; Sebilürreşad: 3,000. Alpay Kabacalı, Başlangıcından Günümüze Türkiye’de Matbaa, Basın ve Yayın, 151– 160; Bülent Özükan, “Basında Tirajlar”; Izzet Öztoprak, Kurtuluş Savaşında Türk Basını; Ayşe Yılmaz, “Milli Mücadele Dönemi Anadolu Basınından Bir Örnek.” 17. Fluctuations occurred, however, and growth was not steady from year to year. Arslan Kaynardağ, “Yayın Dünyası,” Bibliyografya 1 (1928–October 1930), 2 (November 1930), 3 (December 1930), 4 (January 1931), 5 (February–March 1931), 6 (April–August 1931), 7 (September–October 1931), 8 (November–December 1931). 18. Uygur Kocabaşoğlu, “1919–1938 Dönemi Basınında Toplu Bır Bakış.” 19. Ibid. Kocabaşoğlu also counted some seventy papers that survived the alphabet change and continued to publish for indeterminate lengths of time after 1928. We do not know how many were actually in print in 1928 before the switch. 20. Ibid.; Türkiye’de Çıkmakta Bulunan Gazete ve Mecmualar (1940). Tülbentçi’s statistics suggest that the number of newspapers in 1940 was 104. See Feridun Fazıl Tülbentçi, Cumhuriyetten Sonra Çıkan Gazeteler ve Mecmualar. 21. USDS 867.911/13 Grew (Ankara) to Secretary of State, February 13, 1929. 22. In 1926–1927 the five largest papers had a total circulation of 40,000; in 1937–1938 the largest five had a total circulation of only 65,000. Kocabaşoğlu, “1919– 1938 Dönemi Basınında Toplu Bır Bakış”; Zafer Toprak, “II. Meşrutiyet’te Fikir Dergileri.” Foreign diplomatic sources provided overviews of the Turkish metropolitan press that included estimates concerning circulation: USDS 867.911/8 Bristol (Istanbul) to Secretary of State, January 15, 1925; MAE 160: Brugère (Constantinople) à Ministre des Affaires Étrangères, February 4, 1930; MAE 391: Robert Guyon (Istanbul) à l’Ambassadeur de la République Française en Turquie (Ankara), January 13, 1939; MAE 391: Lescuyer (Ankara) à Ministre des Affaires Étrangères, March 13, 1937. 23. Throughout the single-party period Istanbul remained the most important center for newspapers. For much of this time daily newspapers did not flourish in Ankara, except for the government paper Hâkimiyet-i Milliye. USDS 867.911/8 Bristol (Constantinople) to Secretary of State, January 15, 1925; Türkiye’de Çıkmakta Bulunan Gazete ve Mecmualar (1940). 24. Donald Everett Webster, The Turkey of Atatürk, 200. 25. Eighteen provinces had only an official gazette, while seven provinces had no newspaper whatsoever. 26. Here I rely primarily on Tülbentçi for statistics, because his records make it possible to distinguish between periodicals published in various languages. Tülbentçi, Cumhuriyetten Sonra Çıkan Gazeteler ve Mecmualar. Türkiye’de Çıkmakta Bulunan Gazete ve Mecmualar (1940) is also useful. In 1940 Istanbul was home to 33 percent of all newspapers and 50 percent of all journals published. 27. Useful information concerning the production and circulation of People’s House journals can be found in government archives: BCA 490.01.829.274.1;

236 notes to pages 62– 64 BCA 490.01.894.301.1; BCA 490.01.894.501.1; Nürettin Güz, Halkevleri Dergileri, 1932–1950. 28. Tülbentçi, Cumhuriyetten Sonra Çıkan Gazeteler ve Mecmualar. In some cases it is possible to trace the development of the press in specific provinces during the single-party period through local publications: Mustafa Tayla, Bursa Basını (1868/69–1983); Mehmet Tekin, Hatay Basın Tarihi; Cavit Orhan Tütengil, Diyarbakır Basını ve Bölge Gazeteciliğimiz; Güney Nair, 1878–1999 Sivas Basını. 29. Kocabaşoğlu, “1919–1938 Dönemi Basınında Toplu Bır Bakış”; Donald Everett Webster, The Turkey of Atatürk, 201. For specific assessments of provincial circulation figures in these years, see MAE 160: Bellan (Adana et Mersin) à Chambrun (Ankara), November 7, 1932; MAE 391: Malzak (Trabzon) à Massigli (Ankara), February 25, 1940; MAE 391: Fauget (Adana et Mersin) à l’Ambassadeur de la République Française en Turquie (Ankara), January 31, 1940; and MAE 391: Le Consul Général de France à Smyrne à l’Ambassadeur de la République Française en Turquie, January 30, 1940. 30. Webster, The Turkey of Atatürk, 201; MAE 391: LaGarde (Zonguldak) à L’Ambassadeur de France (Ankara), January 25, 1940; MAE 160: Bellan (Adana et Mersina) à Chambrun (Ankara), November 7, 1932; FO 371/13094/E5860: Chaffy (Mersina) to Clerk (Constantinople), May 14, 1928. 31. The prominent politician and lawyer Lütfi Fikri Bey was tried before the Independence Tribunal in December 1923. Ergun Aybars, Istiklâl Mahkemeleri, 1923– 1927, 49–56; USDS 867.9111/44: Bristol (Constantinople) to Secretary of State, January 2, 1924; Erik Jan Zürcher, Political Opposition in the Early Turkish Republic, 36–37. 32. Two changes were introduced to the Press Law in late 1923 in an effort to discourage criticism of the government. USDS 867.911/6: Bristol (Constantinople) to Secretary of State, November 17, 1923; USDS 867.911/7: Bristol (Constantinople) to Secretary of State, December 3, 1923; Hasan Türker, Türk Devrimi ve Basın (1922– 1925); Server Iskit, Türkiye’de Matbuat Idareleri ve Politikaları, 242. 33. Mete Tunçay, Türkiye Cumhuriyeti’nde Tek-Parti Yönetimi’nin Kurulması (1923–1931), 149. 34. Ahmet Emin Yalman, Yakın Tarihte Gördüklerim ve Geçirdiklerim, 3:168–190. 35. These included Hüseyin Cahit Yalçın and Zekeriya Sertel. Tunçay, Türkiye Cumhuriyeti’nde Tek-Parti Yönetimi’nin Kurulması (1923–1931), 152; Zürcher, Political Opposition in the Early Turkish Republic, 86. The Independence Tribunals ceased activity in March 1927, although the Law for the Maintenance of Order remained in effect until March 1929. 36. G. Prochazka-Eisl, “Modernism in Turkish Society as Reflected in the Cartoons of the Satirical Magazine Papağan (1924–1927)”; G. Prochazka-Eisl, “Literature and the Satirical Press in Early Republican Turkey.” 37. Both cartoons appeared on January 5, 1928. USDS 867.911/12: Grew (Constantinople) to Secretary of State, January 16, 1928. 38. Köroğlu (Istanbul), August 1, 1931. 39. Saime Göksu and Edward Timms, Romantic Communist, 85. 40. Ibid., 96; Walter F. Weiker, Political Tutelage and Democracy in Turkey, 66, 109–110.

notes to pages 64 – 69 237 41. Yarın (Istanbul), March 7 and 30, 1930. 42. Tunçay, Türkiye Cumhuriyeti’nde Tek-Parti Yönetimi’nin Kurulması (1923– 1931), 290–291. 43. Arif Oruç, Vatandaşın Birinci Hürriyeti. See also Mete Tunçay, ed., Arif Oruç’un Yarın’ı (1933). 44. Article 77. Suna Kili, ed., Turkish Constitutional Developments and Assembly Debates on the Constitutions of 1924 and 1961, 163–171. 45. This law was the Matbuat Kanunu (#1881), ratified on July 25, 1931. Server Iskit, Türkiye’de Matbuat Rejimleri, 730–746. 46. Ibid., 750. Law #2657, ratified by the Assembly on December 28, 1934. 47. Ibid., 751–754. Law #3518, ratified on July 7, 1938. 48. These were changes to Articles 30 and 35 according to Law #3812, ratified on April 24, 1940. Basın ve Yayınla Ilgili Kanun, Kararname, Nizamname, Talimatname ve Tamimler, 16–18. 49. This was Law #3832, ratified on May 22, 1940. Zafer Üskül, “Türkiye’de Sıkıyönetim Uygulamaları Üzerine Notlar,” 85–104. 50. O. Murat Güvenir, II Dünya Savaşında Türk Basını, 119–146; Cemil Koçak, Türkiye’de Millî Şef Dönemi (1938–1945), 2:138–139. 51. Mustafa Yılmaz, “Cumhuriyet Döneminde Bakanlar Kurulu Kararı Ile Yasaklanan Yayınlar, 1923–1945: I.” 52. Foreign criticism of government pressure on the press was frequent. FO 371/16091/E222: Turkey Annual Report, 1931; FO 371/16983/E529: Turkey Annual Report, 1932; FO 371/20866/E823: Turkey Annual Report, 1936; MAE 162: Kammerer (Ankara) à Ministre des Affaires Étrangères, September 14, 1934; MAE 391: Lescuyer à Ministre des Affaires Étrangères, March 13, 1937; MAE 160: Chambrun (Ankara) à Ministre des Affaires Étrangères, December 1, 1932. For instructions sent to newspapers concerning acceptable reporting practices during World War II, see MAE 391: “Istanbul,” July 21, 1940. 53. Güvenir, II Dünya Savaşında Türk Basını, 65–75; Kocabaşoğlu, “1919–1938 Dönemi Basınında Toplu Bır Bakış,” 112. 54. Bilge R. Koyukan, “Anadolu Basını Hakkında Istatistikî Gözlemler,” 165–171; MAE 391: Malzac (Trabzon) à Massigli (Ankara), February 25, 1940. 55. Tülbentçi, Cumhuriyetten Sonra Çıkan Gazeteler ve Mecmualar, 126. 56. BCA 490.01.829.274.1; BCA 490.01.894.301.1; BCA 490.01.894.501.1. 57. Iskit, Türkiye’de Matbuat Idareleri ve Politikaları, 278–282. The Matbuat Umum Müdürlüğü was established by Law #2559, ratified on May 26, 1934. Iskit, Türkiye’de Matbuat Rejimleri, 804–805. 58. The Basın Birliği Law (#3511) was ratified on June 27, 1938. Iskit, Türkiye’de Matbuat Rejimleri, 820–826. 59. Alemdar Yalçın, Siyasal ve Sosyal Değişmeler Açısından Cumhuriyet Dönemi Türk Romanı, 11–24; Sibel Bozdoğan, Modernism and Nation Building. 60. Birinci Türk Neşriyat Kongresi 1–5 Mayıs 1939. 61. “Turks: Modern Turkish Literature,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam; Şukran Kurdakul, Çağdaş Türk Edebiyatı: Cumhuriyet Dönemi; Cevdet Kudret, Türk Edebiyatında Hikaye ve Roman: Cumhuriyet Dönemi, 1923–1959. 62. Serdar Öztürk, “Cumhuriyetin Ilk Yıllarında Halk Kitaplarını Modernleştirme Çabaları.”

238 notes to pages 69 –77 63. A rare and negative assessment of print culture in the provinces is found in Reşat Nuri Güntekin, Anadolu Notları, 1:43–47. 64. Asim M. Karaömerlioğlu, “The People’s Houses and the Cult of the Peasant in Turkey.” 65. Aksu (Samsun) 14 (March 1937). 66. BCA 490.01.02.19; Erol Üyepazarcı, “Uzun Soluklu Bir Halk Gazetesi.” 67. Karagöz (Istanbul), December 12, 1936, March 6, 1937. 68. Köroğlu (Istanbul), January 9, 1929. 69. Köroğlu (Istanbul), January 3, 1931; Karagöz (Istanbul), January 15, 1938. 70. Webster, The Turkey of Atatürk, 201–202. Contrary to Webster, its first issue is dated October 29, 1933. 71. BCA 490.01.13.68.2; BCA 490.1.0.0.6.28.30. 72. Yurt (Ankara), December 29, 1933, January 15, 1934, February 1, 1935, March 15, 1935. 73. Yalçın, Siyasal ve Sosyal Değişmeler Açısından Cumhuriyet Dönemi Türk Romanı, 257–268. 74. Yeni Asır (Izmir), August 27, 1933. 75. Yeşil Gireson, April 11, 1936; Edirne Postası, April 8, 1939; Milliyet (Istanbul), May 18, 1931. 76. Bernard Lewis, “History-Writing and National Revival in Turkey,” 226. 77. For example, his speech to the Izmir Economic Congress on February 17, 1923: Söylev, 2:103–116. 78. Bozdoğan, Modernism and Nation Building. 79. Türkiye Tarihi: Istanbul’un Fethindan Zamanımıza Kadar. This is the second edition of a text originally published in 1924. I have been unable to obtain a copy of the first edition. 80. Şerif Mardin, “Recent Trends in Turkish Historical Writing”; Halil Inalcık, “Some Remarks on the Study of History in Islamic Countries”; Ismail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, Osmanlı Tarihi Cilt 1–6. 81. Büşra Ersanlı, “The Ottoman Empire in the Historiography of the Kemalist Era.” 82. Suavi Aydın, “Türk Tarih Tezi ve Halkevleri.” 83. “Afet Inanın Konuşması,” in Uluğ Iğdemır, ed., Cumhuriyetin 50 Yılında Türk Tarih Kurumu, 67–71; Afet Inan, “Atatürk ve Tarih Tezi”; Halil Berktay, Cumhuriyet Ideolojisi ve Fuad Köprülü. 84. Türk Tarihinin Ana Hatları. 85. Türk Tarihinin Ana Hatları: Methal Kısmı. 86. Ibid., 10, 15. 87. This is contrary to Büşra Ersanlı Behar, Iktidar ve Tarih, 113. 88. Tarih III (1931), 33–40, 62, 147, 188–189. 89. Ibid., 36–39, 43–47, 115, 197–199. 90. Ibid., 207, 295–299, 303–304. 91. Ismail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, “Türk Tarihi Yazılırken Atatürk’ün Alâka ve Görüşlerine Dâir Hatıralar.” 92. Tarih III (1931), 298–302. 93. Ibid., 306–310. 94. Jessica Tiregol, “The Role of Primary Education in Nation-State Building,” 96–97.

notes to pages 77 – 88 239 95. Tarih IV (1931), 132 (emphasis in original). 96. The first statue was unveiled on October 3, 1926. Faik Gür, “Atatürk Heykelleri ve Türkiyeide Resmî Tarihinin Görselleşmesi.” 97. It devotes sixty pages to the politics of the years 1923–1931. 98. Andrew Mango, Atatürk, 159, 175. 99. Atatürk’ün Söylev ve Demeçleri, 3:73–76, 97–102, 111–117. 100. Iskit, Türkiye’de Matbuat Idareleri ve Politikaları, 378–391. 101. Milliyet published “Pages from the Memoirs of the Great Gazi” between March 13 and April 12. Vakit published “How Did You Come to Know the Gazi Pasha?” (an interview with Arif Oruç Bey). Jean Deny, “Les souvenirs du Gazi Moustafa Kemal.” 102. Türkiye Cumhuriyeti Devlet Salnamesi; Türkün Altın Kitabı. 103. M. Orhan Durusoy and M. Muzaffer Gökman, eds., Atatürk ve Devrimleri Bibliyografyası. 104. Hikmet Bayur, “Atatürk”; Enver Behnan Şapolyo, Kemal Atatürk ve Millî Mücadele Tarihi. For a list of Afet Inan’s many publications, see Durusoy and Gökman, Atatürk ve Devrimleri Bibliyografyası, 6–8. 105. Osmanlı Imparatorluğundan Türkiye Cumhuriyetine; Yurt (Ankara) October 29, 1933. 106. Edirne Postası, September 19, 1938; Yeşil Gireson, October 29, 1936. 107. Anthony D. Smith, National Identity, 12; Hans Kohn, Nationalism; Ernest Renan, “What Is a Nation?” 108. Liah Greenfeld, Nationalism, 10, 71–78 (emphasis in original). 109. Ibid., 11. 110. Catherine Audard, “Political Liberalism, Secular Republicanism,” 166. 111. For a discussion of the relationship between nationalism and difference, see Craig Calhoun, Critical Social Theory, 231–282.

Chapter 3 1. Kemal Karpat, Turkey’s Politics; Feroz Ahmad, The Turkish Experiment in Democracy, 1950–1975; John M. VanderLippe, The Politics of Turkish Democracy. 2. Peker became prime minister after the general elections of July 21, 1946; he resigned on September 9, 1947. Menderes became prime minister after the Democratic Party victory on May 14, 1950; he held this position until the military coup of May 27, 1960. 3. Karpat, Turkey’s Politics, 209. 4. The Nation Party won only one seat in 1950; the Republican Nation Party won five seats in 1954. 5. Tarık Zafer Tunaya, Türkiye’de Siyasî Partiler, 1859–1952, 638–748. 6. Reşat Nuri Güntekin, Anadolu Notları, vol. 1, 43–47. 7. United States Office of Strategic Services, Character and Composition of the Turkish Press (1939–1945). 8. Türkiye’de Çıkmakta Bulunan Gazete ve Mecmualar (1940); Türkiye’de Çıkmakta Bulunan Gazete ve Mecmualar (1945). 9. Richard Robinson, “RDR 35: Village Communications” (Institute of Current World Affairs, July 18, 1949); Richard Robinson, “Gaziantep after Five Years” (AUFS, Southwest Asia Series 4:13, May 10, 1955).

240 notes to pages 88 – 91 10. Karpat’s number of newspapers (983) produced in 1952 is wrong. Kemal Karpat, “The Mass Media: Turkey,” 279. 11. Between 1949 and 1953 the government published the annual Istatistik Yıllığı, containing statistics on printing and publishing but unfortunately did not publish another yearbook until the 1960–1962 issue. These statistics are of questionable accuracy. 12. Uri Mordechai Gordon, “The Development of the Modern Turkish Press,” 46–56. 13. It is impossible to distinguish between the number of copies a newspaper printed and the number of copies actually distributed or read. 14. Bülent Özükan, “Basında Tirajlar,” 231. 15. Gordon, “The Development of the Modern Turkish Press,” 29–46. 16. Türkiye’de Gazeteler-Dergiler ve Basımevleri, 6. 17. Here I define “newspapers” as publications appearing at least once a week. It should be noted that the list of newspapers in Türkiye Bibliyografyası (which was published annually at this time) includes a few publications that appeared less often than once a week. The statistics therein do not always match conclusions reached from its lists of publications. 18. “Political” is the term used in Istatistik Yıllığı, which distinguishes political from commercial (ticaret) newspapers. Istatistik Yıllığı lists a total of 173 political and commercial dailies for 1952, while my analysis of Türkiye Bibliyografyası suggests that the total was 183. 19. Uygur Kocabaşoğlu, “1919–1938 Dönemi Basınında Toplu Bır Bakış,” 108. For a list of newspapers in print in 1938, see Server Iskit, Türkiye’de Matbuat Rejimleri, 233–242. 20. State minister Samet Ağaoğlu addressed the matter of official advertisements in the Assembly on February 7, 1951. According to Ağaoğlu, in the first five months of 1950 the state spent 327,331 TL on official advertisements in newspapers in Izmir and Ankara; in the last seven months it spent 688,284 TL. Ayın Tarihi (February 1951), 22–23; Gordon, “The Development of the Modern Turkish Press,” 104–168. 21. Demokrat Erzurum, August 7, 1953; Hilâl (Tarsus), July 14, 1953; Demokrat Porsuk (Eskişehir), February 5, 1953. The extent of government advertising contracts given to newspapers is unclear. One estimate in 1951 was that the government was spending as much as 3 million TL a year. It is perhaps indicative that in 1954 some twenty-five new newspapers with the word “Democrat” in the title were established. 22. Mehmed Fuad Köprülu and Adnan Menderes used editorials in Vatan to express their discontent. VanderLippe, The Politics of Turkish Democracy, 121–122. 23. Ibid., 106–107. 24. Nilgün Gürkan, Türkiye’de Demokrasiye Geçişte Basın, 155–167. 25. Ibid., 173–185. 26. Ilhan Turan, ed., İsmet İnönü, 84–89. 27. Ayın Tarihi (November 1945), 16–25. 28. This was Law #4935, ratified on June 13, 1946. Assembly debate is in TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 8.24.64.261–288 (June 13, 1946). 29. Law #4932, ratified on June 13, 1946. In anticipation of this law the Gazeteci Cemiyeti was founded on June 10, 1946. Alpay Kabacalı, Başlangıçtan Günümüze Türkiye’de Basın Sansürü, 159–160.

notes to pages 91– 96 241 30. Law #4943, ratified on June 14, 1946. 31. Law #4955, ratified on September 20, 1946. Assembly debate is in TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 8.1.15.325–367 (September 16, 1946); 8.1.16.372–416 (September 17, 1946); 8.1.17.418–429 (September 18, 1946); and 8.1.18.433–441 (September 20, 1946). 32. Vatan (Istanbul), June 14, 1946. 33. Law #2657, ratified on December 23, 1934. 34. BCA 030.01.65.402.6. 35. BCA 030.18.01.02.121.101.13; BCA 030.18.01.02.115.47.18; BCA 030.18.01.02 .119.32.10. 36. Tarık Zafer Tunaya, Türkiye’de Siyasî Partiler, 1859–1952, 662–673. 37. Turan, İsmet İnönü, 30–32. 38. Kuvvet (Istanbul), August 13, 1947. Köprülü’s articles from these years were later collected as Halasi Kun, ed., Demokrasi Yolunda. 39. Ayın Tarihi (May 1947), 21–22; Cem Eroğul, Demokrat Parti: Tarihi ve Ideolojisi, 91; Orhan Mete, ed., Bütün Tafsilat ve Akisleriyle Demokrat Partinin Iinci Büyük Kongresi. 40. Ulus (Ankara), June 22, 1948. 41. Gürkan, Türkiye’de Demokrasiye Geçişte Basın, 382–387; Kabacalı, Başlangıçtan Günümüze Türkiye’de Basın Sansürü, 163. I have been unable to locate a copy of the proposed changes to the Press Law. BCA 030.01.42.252.35; BCA 030 .18.1.2.121.88.5. 42. Law #5680, ratified on July 15, 1950. Assembly debate is in TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.1.23.726–772 (July 14, 1950). BCA 30.01.17.98.29. 43. Law #5681, ratified on July 15, 1950. 44. Surol (Eskişehir), June 17, 1950; Demokrat Zonguldak, December 2, 1951. 45. Law #5953, ratified on June 13, 1952. Assembly debate is in TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.16.84.210–216 (June 13, 1952). 46. Richard Robinson, “RDR 46: ECA Operation in Turkey—I” (Institute of Current World Affairs, January 7, 1950); Richard Robinson, “RDR 47: ECA Operation in Turkey—II” (Institute of Current World Affairs, February 15, 1950); Richard Robinson, “Impact of American Military and Economic Assistance Programs in Turkey” (AUFS, Southwest Asia Series 5:2, January 17, 1956); Z. Y. Hershlag, The Contemporary Turkish Economy. 47. Gordon, “The Development of the Modern Turkish Press,” 127. 48. Sadun Tanju, Dolu Dizgin. 49. Donald Everett Webster, The Turkey of Atatürk, 205. 50. Hürriyet (Istanbul), December 31, 1952; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 26, 1951; Sabah (Antakya), November 26, 1952. 51. Demokrat Eskişehir, May 17, 1952; Samsun, July 15, 1951. Samsun complained about a 400 percent increase in the cost of mailing newspapers and books. 52. Richard Robinson, “RDR 36: Village Economics” (Letters from Turkey to the Institute of Current World Affairs, August 8, 1949); Richard Robinson, “RDR 63: Tractors in the Village” (Institute of Current World Affairs, February 15, 1952); Richard Robinson, “RDR 8-55: Kayseri and Adana, Pattern of Industrial Development” (AUFS, Southwest Asia Series, April 26, 1955). 53. By 1965 a newspaper cost about the same as a glass of tea. Halûk Harun Duman, Erzurum: Basın Yayın Tarihi (1867–1997), 118–119.

242 notes to pages 96 –102 54. Istatistik Yıllığı, 1953; Istatistik Yıllığı, 1960–1962. 55. Arslan Kaynardağ, “Yayın Dünyası,” 2832. Different statistics are provided by Istatistik Yıllığı, 1953 (1945: 1,893 books; 1950: 2,150 books; 1952: 2,353 books) and also by Türkiye Bibliyografyası (1945: 1,895 books; 1950: 2,187 books; 1952: 2,447 books; 1955: 2,891 books). 56. Books as Tools for Turkish National Growth; Arslan Kaynardağ, “Books in Turkey”; Lawrence S. Thompson, “Books in Turkey.” 57. Based on an examination of Türkiye Bibliyografyası for these years. 58. In 1952 these amounted to 424 out of 607 “newspapers.” 59. Uygur Kocabaşoğlu, “Cumhuriyet Dergiciliğine Genel bir Bakış,” 4. 60. Many journals were also aimed at women and children during the singleparty period. Hatice Özen, Tarihsel Süreç Içinde Türk Kadın Gazete ve Dergileri (1868–1990). 61. Tanrıdağ means literally “Mountain of God” but refers to the Tien Shan mountain range (Tanrıdağhar) in Asia. 62. Türkiye Bibliyografyası. 63. Levent Cantek, Markopaşa, 44. 64. Jacques Kayser, One Week’s News, 29. 65. M. Nuri Inuğur, Türk Basın Tarihi (1919–1989), 231–238. On March 20, 1954, Hürriyet announced that the previous day’s circulation had been 152,800. Just what led to such variation in circulation figures is unclear. 66. Hürriyet (Istanbul), December 31, 1952. 67. Yaşar Kemal, Bu Diyar Baştan Başa. 68. Vatan published the memoirs of Ali Fuat Cebesoy beginning in February 1952. In September 1955 Yeni Istanbul began to publish the memoirs of Halidé Edib Adıvar. 69. Spring and summer issues of Vatan (Istanbul); also May 26, 1954. 70. Hürriyet (Istanbul), December 31, 1950. 71. Interview with Kemal Bülbül, Samsun, March 16, 2002; interview with Yılmaz Büyükerşen, Eskişehir, November 27, 2001. 72. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), February 27, 1948; Demokrat Zonguldak, January 12, 1951; Diyarbakır, December, 15, 1952. 73. According to Koloğlu, in 1945 Tasvir and Vatan were delivered to Ankara by plane on an experimental basis. Thereafter buses going to Ankara were used for this purpose. According to Gordon, the delivery of some Istanbul newspapers to Ankara by air was again resumed in 1954–1955 for Akba Bookshop. Orhan Koloğlu, Osmanlı’dan Günümüze Türkiye’de Basın, 72; Gordon, “The Development of the Modern Turkish Press,” 78. 74. Gordon, “The Development of the Modern Turkish Press,” 78–85; Sevinç Dardeniz, “Günlük Gazete Dağıtımının 1960 Öncesi Görünümü”; Webster, The Turkey of Atatürk, 201. 75. The Anadolu Ajansı and the Türk Haber Ajansı (Turkish News Agency), established in 1950. Korkmaz Alemdar, Iletişim ve Tarih, 99–200. 76. Doğu (Zonguldak), February, March, April 1943 and September 1945. 77. Dirlik (Bursa), January 6, 1949. 78. Robinson, “RDR 35: Village Communications.” 79. Gaziantep was also home to one nondaily newspaper at the time.

notes to pages 103 –109 243 80. Printing houses increased in number from 129 in 1946 to 218 in 1952 and finally to 423 in 1956. Istatistik Yıllığı, 1953; Istatistik Yıllığı, 1960–1962. 81. The number already had dropped from twenty-two in 1940 to fifteen in 1945. The statistics offered here represent a revision of those provided originally in Gavin D. Brockett, “Provincial Newspapers, Print Culture and the Framing of the Turkish Nation, 1945–1954.” 82. Türkiye Bibliyografyası, 1952. Istatistik Yıllığı, 1953 provides slightly different statistics. 83. According to Istatistik Yıllığı 1953, average literacy rates for the population over seven years of age were 20.4 percent in 1935, 30.2 percent in 1945, and 34.6 percent in 1950. 84. A good example of a newspaper with diverse content is Demokrat Hamle (Democratic Assault) (Eskişehir). 85. Richard Robinson, “RDR 6-55: Yozgat” (AUFS, Southwest Asia Series, March 27, 1955); interview with Kemal Bülbül, Samsun, March 16, 2002; interview with Üstün Ünüğür, Eskişehir, November 26, 2001; Tekses (Zonguldak), November 8, 1951; Komünizme Karşı Türklük (Zonguldak), June 4, 1952; Hilâl (Tarsus), July 24, 1953; Demokrat Erzurum, August 7, 1953. 86. These publications were Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir) and Büyük Cihad (Samsun). 87. Uğurol Barlas, Gaziantep Basın Tarihi 100 Yıl; Mehmet Tekin, Hatay Basın Tarihi; Cavit Orhan Tütengil, Diyarbakır Basını ve Bölge Gazeteciliğimiz; Mustafa Tayla, Bursa Basını (1868/69–1983). 88. Aziz Demircioğlu, 100 Yıllık Kastamonu Basınında Kim Kimdir, 1872–1972; Ali Rıza Önder, Kayseri Basın Tarihi (1910–1960). 89. The Ali Elgin Basımevi. It closed in 1946. 90. According to Istatistik Yıllığı, Gaziantep had five printing houses in 1945, eight in 1952, and fourteen in 1956. 91. Halk Dostu, Gaziyurt, Hış Hışı Hançer, and Gaziantep Fıstık Gecesi. 92. Demokrat Gaziantep, Güven, Izzet Baba, Karayılan, Ülkü, Sabah, Genç Kilis. 93. Robinson, “RDR 35: Village Communications.” 94. USDS, Records of the Department of State Relating to the Internal Affairs of Turkey, Decimal File 867.1945–1949; Quarterly Report on the Marshall Plan in Turkey; Peter Benedict et al., eds., Turkey: Geographic and Social Perspectives; Kemal Karpat, ed., Social Change and Politics in Turkey. 95. Even in these years newspapers reported on the emerging issues related to the establishment of the gecekondu (shantytown) around Anatolian provincial cities. 96. Necet Tunçdilek and Erol Tümertekin, Türkiye Nüfusu. 97. Cities with a population over 100,000. In 1960 these included only nine cities: Istanbul, Ankara, Izmir, Adana, Bursa, Eskişehir, Gaziantep, Konya, and Kayseri. 98. Overall, between 1945 and 1955 the number of centers with a population greater than 5,000 increased from 201 to 275. Erol Tümertekin, Türkiyede Iç Göçler, 126–127. 99. Cavit Orhan Tütengil, Içtimaî ve Iktisadî Bakımdan Türkiye’nin Karayolları. 100. Vatan Kayseri Ilâvesi, March 18, 1953.

244 notes to pages 110 –115 101. Kale (Giresun), January 10, 1951; Demokrat Postası (Zonguldak), November 26, 1951; Türkün Sesi (Zonguldak), January 1, 1951; Demokrat Eskişehir, January 14, 1953. 102. Hıfzı Topuz, 100 Soruda Türk Basın Tarihi, 191–192. 103. S. Sayısı 55 in TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.1.23.726–772 (July 14, 1950). 104. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), April 18, 1952; Akşam (Istanbul), April 18–21, 1952; Gordon, “The Development of the Modern Turkish Press,” 113. I have found no evidence to support Alemdar’s claim that a law along these lines was finally passed in July 1953. Korkmaz Alemdar, “Demokrat Partisi ve Basın.” Another tension resulted from government efforts to change the composition of the board overseeing the Anadolu Ajansı. Demokrat Eskişehir, September 27, 1951; Samsun, October 21, 1950. 105. Ahmet Emin Yalman, Yakın Tarihte Gördüklerim ve Geçirdiklerim, 4:240– 253. Members of the Southern Regional Journalists’ Association—covering Adana, Mersin, Antakya, and Iskenderun—were offended that Menderes had not invited them to his meetings. Sabah (Antakya), May 9, 1953; Yeniyol (Antakya), April 2, 1952; Milliyet (Istanbul), April 8, 1952. 106. Law #6051, ratified on February 13, 1953. Assembly debate is in TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.20.39.142–165 (February 6, 1953). See also Zafer (Ankara), February 7, 1953. Article 36 would be amended further on March 9, 1954, by Law #6337. Assembly debate is in TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.29.62.539–543 (March 9, 1954). 107. Yalman, Yakın Tarihte Gördüklerim ve Geçirdiklerim, 4:317. In December 1953 Nadir Nadi published an article in Cumhuriyet asking the government how it could protect itself from criticism yet also claim to preside over a democratic system. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), December 8, 1953. 108. This was the “Neşir yoliyle veya radio ile işlenecek bazı cürümler hakkında kanun.” Law #6334, ratified on March 9, 1954. Assembly debate is in TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.29.60.386–431 (March 7, 1954); 9.29.61.451–526 (March 8, 1954); and 9.29.62.530–572 (March 9, 1954). 109. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), February 16, 1954; Alemdar, “Demokrat Partisi ve Basın”; Kabacalı, Başlangıçtan Günümüze Türkiye’de Basın Sansürü, 167; Topuz, 100 Soruda Türk Basın Tarihi, 184. 110. Two laws were passed: Law #6733, ratified on June 7, 1956, amended various aspects of the Press Law. Law #6732, ratified on the same day, amended the “Neşir yoliyle veya radio” law. 111. Topuz, 100 Soruda Türk Basın Tarihi, 193–194.

Chapter 4 1. Daniel Lerner, The Passing of Traditional Society. 2. Richard Robinson, “RDR 35: Village Communications” (Letters from Turkey to the Institute of Current World Affairs, July 18, 1949); Richard Robinson, “Gaziantep after Five Years” (AUFS, Southwest Asia Series 4:13, May 10, 1955). 3. Bernard Lewis, The Emergence of Modern Turkey, 417. For some of these observations, see Howard Reed, “Revival of Islam in Secular Turkey”; Bernard Lewis, “Islamic Revival in Turkey”; and John A. T. Kingsbury, “Observations on Turkish Islam Today.” 4. Hans Kohn, A History of Nationalism in the East, 8, 242.

notes to pages 116 –120 245 5. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), June 5, 1950. 6. Adnan Menderes’in Konuşmaları I, 17–29. 7. Atayolu (Antakya), November 2, 1950; Gürses (Gaziantep), March 18, 1952. 8. Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi, C.H.P. Yedinci Kurultay Tutanağı, 448–469. 9. Millî Kalkınma Partisi (1945), Demokrat Parti (1946), Sosyal Adalet Partisi (Social Justice Party, 1946), Çiftçi ve Köylü Partisi (Farmers’ and Peasants’ Party, 1946), Türkiye Işçi ve Çiftçi Partisi (Turkish Workers’ and Farmers’ Party, 1946), Islam Koruma Partisi (Party for the Protection of Islam, 1946), Türk Muhafazakâr Partisi (Turkish Conservative Party, 1947), Millet Partisi (1948), Toprak, Emlâk ve Serbest Teşebbüs Partisi (Land, Property, and Free Enterprise Party, 1949), Çalışma Partisi (Labor Party, 1950), Liberal Köylü Partisi (Liberal Peasants’ Party, 1950), Islam Demokrat Partisi (1951), Türkiye Köylü Partisi (Turkish Peasants’ Party, 1952). Tarık Zafer Tunaya, Türkiye’de Siyasî Partiler, 1859–1952, 638–747. 10. Atilhan had been a founding member of the first party to form in 1945, the Millî Kalkınma Partisi. 11. BCA 030.10.79.524.29. 12. The activities of this party can be tracked in issues of Büyük Cihad (Samsun) and Hür Adam (Istanbul). Haluk Ö. Karabatak, “Islam Demokrat Partisi.” 13. “Cemiyetler Kanunu” (Law of Associations) #3512, ratified on June 2, 1938, and modified by Law #4919, ratified on June 5, 1946. 14. BCA 030.10.79.524.29; BCA030.01.41.243.22; Islam Demokrat Partisi Esas Programı. 15. Tunaya, Türkiye’de Siyasî Partiler, 1859–1952, 662–673; Mustafa Albayrak, Türk Siyasi Tarihinde Demokrat Parti (1946–1960), 143, 600. 16. Tunaya, Türkiye’de Siyasî Partiler, 1859–1952, 681; Orhan Mete, ed., Bütün Tafsilat ve Akisleriyle Demokrat Partinin 1inci Büyük Kongresi. 17. Tunaya, Türkiye’de Siyasî Partiler, 1859–1952, 718–732. 18. The Nation Party was shut down completely by the courts on January 27, 1954. See Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), January 28, 1954; Vatan (Istanbul), May 5, 1953; and Le Journal d’Orient (Istanbul), May 6–7, 1953. 19. TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 8.1.8.125, 136 (August 26, 1946). 20. Kemal Karpat, Turkey’s Politics, 286; Cahiers de l’Orient Contemporain 21:1 (1950), 106; Gotthard Jäschke, Die Türkei in den Jahren 1942–1951, 120–121. 21. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), April 2, 1951. 22. Gotthard Jäschke, Yeni Türkiye’de Islamlık, 69–84; Howard Reed, “Turkey’s New Imam-Hatip Schools”; Howard Reed, “The Faculty of Divinity at Ankara: I.” 23. TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 8:3 (December 24, 1946), 426–469. 24. Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi, C.H.P. Yedinci Kurultay Tutanağı, 161–167, 454, 558. 25. These institutions were din bilgileri dershaneleri and din seminerleri. Jäschke, Yeni Türkiye’de Islamlık, 84–85. 26. Ibid., 76–77. Further discussion concerning religious education occurred in budgetary debates in December 1947. TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 8:8 (December 29, 1947), 577–626. 27. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), February 11, 1948; Tasvir (Istanbul), January 2–3, 1948, February 1, 1948; TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 8.8.26 (December 29, 1947).

246 notes to pages 120 –124 28. Jäschke, Yeni Türkiye’de Islamlık, 77, 84–93; TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 8:15 (January 24, 1949), 162–202; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), January 4, 1949. 29. These early imam-hatip courses were not successful in the long run. Reed, “The Faculty of Divinity at Ankara: I.” 30. The Assembly was not in session at the time and therefore did not discuss this matter. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), September 22, 1950; Demokrat Eskişehir, September 25–29, 1950; Sitem Sitembölükbaşı, Türkiye’de Islam’ın Yeniden Inkişafı (1950–1960), 61. 31. Reed, “Turkey’s New Imam-Hatip Schools”; Yeni Kayseri, March 7, 1952; Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), June 5, 1952. 32. See Article 12 of the Nation Party program: Tunaya, Türkiye’de Siyasî Partiler, 1859–1952, 719. 33. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), February 16, 1949. See also communication concerning such an incident in Konya in 1945: BCA 051.V42.12.103.44. 34. BCA 051.V33.4.31.3. 35. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), February 5–7, 1949; Anadolu (Izmir), February 13, 1949. Deputies in the Assembly refused to address the matter as a topic of political debate. TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 8.16.41 (February 4, 1949). 36. Ulus (Ankara), February 6, 1949; Akşam (Istanbul), February 5–6, 1949; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), February 8–9, 1949. 37. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), June 7 and 13, 1950; TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.1.9.178–187 (June 16, 1950). The Democratic Party first discussed the matters of the ezan and religious lessons outside of the Assembly as a caucus. Demokrat Parti Meclis Grubu Müzakere Zabıtı, May 29 and June 13, 1950. 38. BCA 030.01.51.306.2; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), June 16–17, 1950. 39. BCA 051.V33.4.31.12; Iskenderun, June 17, 1950; Sadakat (Afyon), June 16, 1950; Yeşil Giresun, June 17, 1950; Halkın Sesi (Antakya), June 18, 1950. 40. Radyo’da Dinî ve Ahlakî Konuşmalar; Ali Rıza Sağman, Hazret-i Kur’an, Radyoda Okunabilir mi?; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), July 6, 1950; Akşam (Istanbul), July 6, 1950; Howard Reed, “The Religious Life of Modern Turkish Muslims,” 118. Not all Turks who identified as Muslims believed that reading the Qur’an over the radio was an acceptable practice. 41. With the exception of a small number of books published by the government. Ismail Kara, “Cumhuriyet Türkiyesi’nde Dini Yayıncılığın Gelişimi Üzerine Birkaç Not.” During World War II three publications appeared that were precursors to the emergence of religious periodicals: Nurettin Topçu’s Hareket first appeared in February 1939; a group of intellectuals led by Eşref Edib began to produce the TürkIslam Ansiklopedisi in serial form in 1940; and Necip Fazıl Kısakürek established the first of many publications that was to bear the name Büyük Doğu in September 1943. 42. Kara, “Cumhuriyet Türkiyesi’nde Dini Yayıncılığın Gelişimi Üzerine Birkaç Not.” 43. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), December 6, 1948. 44. Ömer Fevzi Mardin, Müslümanlık Esasları; Eşref Edib, Çocuklarımıza Din Kitabı; Kemal Pilavoğlu, Din Rehberi; Islamiyet (Istanbul), November 22, 1948. 45. Robinson, “RDR 35: Village Communications.” 46. In Istanbul: Büyük Doğu, Ehli Sünnet, Islam Yolu, Hakikat Yolu, Hakka

notes to pages 124 –130 247 Doğru, Selâmet, Sebilürreşad, Islamiyet; also Müslüman Sesi (Izmir) and Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir). 47. In Istanbul: Büyük Doğu, Yeni Büyük Doğu, Islam Dünyası, Hür Adam, Hilâl, Volkan, Büyük Mücadele, Islamın Nuru, Hareket, Yeni Istikbâl, Allah Yolu; also Yeşil Bursa, Vicdan Sesi (Samsun), Büyük Cihad (Samsun), Büyük Dâva (IzmirKarşıyaka), and Inkılâpçı Büyük Dâva (Izmir-Karşıyaka). 48. Also established on March 5, 1947, was Hakka Doğru, edited by Şerafettin Şenpınar. 49. According to Işık (Giresun), July 16, 1951, Baydoğan was investigated by the state for his criticism of Mustafa Kemal. Müslüman Sesi does not appear to have halted publication—indeed it continued until 1985. 50. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), November 17, 1948. 51. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), August 14, 1949, October 15, 1949, December 7, 1949, April 6, 1953. 52. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), January 10, 1949, January 20, 1949, July 16, 1949, February 15, 1950, October 15, 1949. 53. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), November 17, 1948. 54. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), June 30, 1949, December 4, 1952. 55. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), November 17, 1948. 56. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), February 15, 1950. 57. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), November 17, 1948. 58. See, for example, Ehli Sünnet (Istanbul), October 17, 1949. 59. Islamiyet first appeared on February 22, 1948. The first issue of Hakikat Yolu is not dated. The second issue is dated February 27, 1947, and the third issue, July 3, 1947. 60. “Islam dini bütün beşeriyete gönderildiği aklen ve naklen isbat olunur. Bu aziz din, istikbalin yegâne dinidir.” 61. Hakikat Yolu (Istanbul), February 20, 1947, July 10, 1947. 62. Ehli Sünnet (Istanbul), October 17, 1947. The first issue of Ehli Sünnet is dated July 4, 1947. 63. These appeared regularly in issues of Ehli Sünnet. 64. Islam Yolu first appeared on March 1, 1951. 65. An “Islam Tarihi” (History of Islam) column appeared regularly in most issues of Ehli Sünnet. Islam Yolu (Istanbul), October 7, 1948, and October 7, 1949. 66. Islamiyet (Istanbul), December 4, 1950. 67. Necmeddin Şahiner, Bilinmeyen Taraflarıyla Bediüzzaman Said Nursi, 328, 374, 414; Şükran Vahide, The Author of the Risale-i Nur: Bediuzzman Said Nursi, 269, 296, 329; Muhammed Sıddık Şeyhanzade, Nurculuğun Tarihçesi. 68. BCA 030.18.01.117.52.2; BCA 030.18.01.118.99.1; BCA 030.18.01.115.776. 69. Articles about Nursi and excerpts from his writings appeared in many periodicals, including Sebilürreşad (Istanbul), Büyük Cihad (Samsun), and Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir). Eşref Edip published a book featuring Nursi’s 1952 trial and publicized Nursi’s arguments regarding the need for greater freedom of conscience in Turkey: Eşref Edib, Risale-i Nur Müellifi Bediüzzaman Said Nur. 70. Şerif Mardin, Religion and Social Change in Modern Turkey, 175; John Voll, “Renewal and Reformation in the Mid-Twentieth Century.” 71. Yeşil Bursa, February 28, 1952.

248 notes to pages 130 –136 72. Esther Debus, Sebilürreşâd; Fahrettin Gün, Sebilürreşad Dergisi Ekseninde Çok Partili Hayata Geçerken Islâmc–lara Göre Din, Siyaset ve Laiklik (1948–1954). 73. Sebilürreşad (Istanbul): 14 (September 1948), 30 (February 1949), 81 (June 1950), 117 (December 1951). 74. Selâmet (Istanbul), October 3, 1947, August 8, 1947, April 2, 1948. 75. Selâmet (Istanbul), October 10 and 31, 1947, May 25, 1949. 76. Büyük Doğu (Istanbul), July 1, 1949. 77. Kocatepe (Afyon), March 29, 1951, December 6, 1952; Sadakat (Afyon), January 19, 1951, October 14 and 24, 1950; Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), April 9, 1951. 78. Necip Fazıl Kısakürek, Benim Gözümde Adnan Menderes, 55. 79. The first issue appeared on May 16, 1952. 80. Kısakürek, Benim Gözümde Adnan Menderes, 231–232. 81. Bütün Yönleriyle Necip Fazıl. 82. Şerif Mardin, “Culture Change and the Intellectual”; Elisabeth Özdalga, “Necip Fazıl Kısakürek.” 83. Büyük Doğu (Istanbul), December 6, 1946, November 1, 1946, January 5, 1951. 84. BCA 030.18.01.02.121.101.13; Necip Fazıl Kısakürek, Müdafaalarım. 85. BCA 030.18.01.02.107.107.11; BCA 030.18.01.02.105.29.19. 86. It is unclear how long Hür Adam continued to publish. The last copy I have seen is dated January 23, 1953. Sitembölükbaşı maintains that it continued until 1960. Sitembölükbaşı, Türkiye’de Islam’ın Yeniden Inkişafı (1950–1960), 178. 87. Hür Adam (Istanbul), October 19, 1951; interview with Kemal Bülbül, Samsun, March 16, 2002. 88. Ertuğrul Düzdağ, ed., Volkan Gazetesi. Volkan was published by Sinan Matbaası, which also published Hür Adam. 89. Volkan (Istanbul), October 27, 1951; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), September 20, 1951. I have been unable to locate the first issue of Volkan. The earliest issue that I have found is #5, dated May 29, 1951. On September 20, 1951, Cumhuriyet reported that Volkan had become the object of prosecution by the state. 90. Volkan (Istanbul), May 29, 1951, June 29, 1951. 91. Volkan (Istanbul), August 22, 1951. 92. M. Raif Ogan, Bütün Gizli Talimatlarına Göre Türkiye’deki Masonluk. 93. Islam Dünyası (Istanbul), March 28, 1952. 94. The last issue of the paper that I have been able to locate is dated October 15, 1952: given the date of Kanburoğlu’s arrest, it is likely that an issue was also published in November. In February 1954 Üçışıklar published what appears to have been a single issue of a new journal, Inkılâpçı Büyük Dâva (Great Revolutionary Cause). 95. Büyük Dâva (Izmir), October 15, 1952. 96. Yeşil Nur’s subtitle changed from “siyasî” to “dinî, içtimaî ve siyasî” with its seventh issue in June 1951. Its first four issues were described as “gayri siyasî” (nonpolitical). Yeşil Nur published reasonably regularly between May 1951 and August 17, 1951 (6 issues); between December 28, 1951, and June 23, 1952 (11 issues); and occasionally between October 31, 1952, and April 3, 1953 (5 issues). 97. Vatan (Istanbul), January 22, 1953. Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), January 9, 1953, April 3, 1953. 98. Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), May 18, 1951, October 31, 1952. 99. Kemal Bülbül would have been twenty-four in 1952. I have no firm bio-

notes to pages 136 –141 249 graphical data on Akyar, although photos of him in Yeşil Nur suggest that he was in his early twenties. 100. Interview with Kemal Bülbül, Samsun, March 16, 2002. Bülbül used Vicdan Sesi to publish his own poems and often published supplements with his literary works. Irfan Ünver Nasrattınoğlu, Samsunlu Aşık Kemâlî Bülbül. 101. Vicdan Sesi resumed publishing on October 29, 1954, with issue number 16. 102. On August 3, 1951, Yeşil Nur advertised an “Ayran Gecesi” (Buttermilk Night) at the local cinema, where Turks could enjoy an alcohol-free evening of entertainment. Nuri Akyar evidently was one of the leaders of the Green Crescent. 103. Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), December 28, 1951, carried an entire supplement of poems, Qur’anic verses, and cartoons condemning alcohol. Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), May 1 and 18, 1951; Vicdan Sesi (Samsun), December 27, 1952, January 13, 1953, November 10, 1954. 104. Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), January 9, 1953; Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), May 18, 1951; Vicdan Sesi (Samsun), November 13 and 27, 1952, December 10, 1952. 105. Interview with Kemal Bülbül, Samsun, March 16, 2002; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), December 24, 1952. 106. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), March 23 and 30, 1951, May 4, 1951, June 22, 1951, August 31, 1951, September 21, 1951. 107. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), March 16, 1951. 108. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), March 23, 1951. 109. “Djihad,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam. 110. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), March 23, 1951, May 11 and 18, 1951. 111. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), May 4, 1951. 112. Köylü, published in Ankara, promoted a close association between religion and national identity: at the time of Kurban Bayramı, Turks were encouraged to donate the skins of animals to the air force as an act of national allegiance. Köylü (Ankara) (August 1951). 113. Iskenderun, June 17, 1950; Küçük Gazete (Zonguldak), August 27, 1952; Millî Hâkimiyet (Erzurum), August 30, 1952; Halkın Sesi (Antakya), July 15, 1950. 114. Sadakat (Afyon), December 12, 1951; Akisler (Çorum), May 16, 1953; Işık (Giresun), September 10, 1951; Halkın Sesi (Antakya), September 17, 1950. 115. Demokrat Zonguldak, June 16 and 17, 1953, August 24, 1953. 116. Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), December 28 and 29, 1950, December 18, 1952; Demokrat Eskişehir, November 25–27, 1950; Diyarbakır, December 27, 1950. 117. Yeni Kayseri, March 7, 1952; Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), June 5, 1952; Demokrat Eskişehir, October 25–29, 1950. 118. Istiklâl (Kayseri), May 13 and 21, 1953; Büyük Dâva (Kayseri), January 25– February 10, 1951; Yolağzı (Giresun), October 24, 1950; Yeşil Giresun, August 27, 1949; Tavşanlı Postası (Eskişehir), June 27, 1952; Istikbal (Eskişehir), June 11, 1951; Karaman (Konya), May 6, 1949; Ant (Bursa), December 25, 1946, February 12, 1947; Çorum, March 26, 1947. 119. Ant (Bursa), May 27, 1951; Istiklâl (Kayseri), August 8, 1953; Yeşil Giresun, September 3, 1949. 120. Ant (Bursa), October 8, 1950; Demokrat Eskişehir, May 16, 1953. 121. Reed, “The Religious Life of Modern Turkish Muslims,” 115; Yeni Şark (Diyarbakır), July 19, 1951; Yeni Yol (Antakya), February 11, 1952. 122. Yeşil Giresun, June 17, 1950; Sadakat (Afyon), June 16, 1950.

250 notes to pages 141–148 123. Iskenderun, June 17, 1950; Sadakat (Afyon), June 19, 1950; Halkın Sesi (Antakya), June 18, 1950; Atayolu (Antakya), June 17, 1950; Türksesi (Zonguldak), May 18, 1950; Yeşil Giresun, February 19, 1949; Yeni Yol (Antakya), August 5, 1952; Balıkesir Postası, November 16, 1943. 124. Iskenderun, July 4, 1950; Gürses (Gaziantep), June 13, 1952; Kocatepe (Afyon), August 13, 1952; Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), September 9, 1950; Istikbal (Eskişehir), October 20, 1950. 125. Hürriyet (Istanbul), July 7–August 20, 1954. 126. Law #5953, ratified on June 13, 1952. 127. Bayram Gazetesi (Istanbul) (morning edition), July 7, 1951. 128. Bayram Gazetesi (Istanbul), August 31, 1952. It should be noted that editions of Bayram Gazetesi from 1953 onward do devote a little more attention to the significance of the religious holidays. 129. Atilhan, for instance, was from a military background. Kısakürek was not.

Chapter 5 1. Kevin Robins, “Interrupting Identities.” 2. Stuart Hall, “Ethnicity.” 3. Selim Deringil, Turkish Foreign Policy during the Second World War, 170–171. 4. Due to expire in 1945, the treaty had already been renewed in 1929, 1931, and 1935. Necmeddin Sadak, “Turkey Faces the Soviets.” 5. The Georgian professors’ letters were published on December 20, 1945. Mehmed Fuad Köprülü wrote a particularly vitriolic challenge to this Soviet “abuse” of history in Vatan on January 17, 19, and 20, 1946. Perhaps not surprisingly, he was later ejected from the Soviet Academy of Science, into which he had been inducted in 1925. Walter Laqueur, The Soviet Union and the Middle East; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), July 12 and 17, 1945; Kütahya, January 4, 1946. 6. In fact this was not the case. Bruce Kuniholm, The Origins of the Cold War in the Middle East, 68; Melvyn P. Leffler, “Strategy, Diplomacy, and the Cold War.” 7. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), August 24, 1946, October 21, 1946; Kütahya, October 4, 1946; Bugün (Adana), September 21, 1945; Edirne Postası, August 24, 1946. 8. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), April 5–9, 1946, November 24, 1946; Edirne Postası, March 13, 1946; Kuniholm, The Origins of the Cold War in the Middle East, 335. 9. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), August 22–25, 1946; Kamûran Gürün, Türk-Sovyet Ilişkileri, 306–308. 10. Vatan (Istanbul), January 10, 1946; Kuvvet (Ankara), March 15, 1947; Edirne Postası, March 16, 1946; Ant (Bursa), April 28, 1947. 11. Atayolu (Antakya), April 24, 1949. 12. Millet (Istanbul), August 14, 1947. The October 2, 1947, issue presented a map depicting alleged plans by the Soviet Union to incorporate Anatolia into its empire. 13. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 5, 1947; Çorum, March 14, 1947; Edirne Postası, March 19, 1946. 14. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 13–14, 1947; Çorum, May 14, 1947; Kuniholm, The Origins of the Cold War in the Middle East, 410–411; George McGhee, The U.S.Turkish-NATO Middle East Connection, 19–34.

notes to pages 148 –153 251 15. Kudret (Ankara), September 14, 1947; Engizek (Maraş), February 22, 1949; Ant (Bursa), April 8, 1947; Gürün, Türk-Sovyet Ilişkileri, 307. 16. McGhee, The U.S.-Turkish-NATO Middle East Connection, 35–40; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), May 23, 1947, June 15, 1947, September 21, 1947. 17. E. Athanassopoulou, Turkey–Anglo-American Security Interests, 1945–1952, 70–72; Kudret (Ankara), January 26 and 30, 1948. In January 1948 the popular paper Karagöz called on the United States to provide economic aid to Turkey. 18. Edirne Postası, February 4, 1948. 19. Athanassopoulou, Turkey–Anglo-American Security Interests, 1945– 1952, 65. 20. Ibid., 67–69, 94–99, 132. The idea of a Mediterranean pact was not actively pursued in 1947 but would later be raised by Greece in 1948 and again by Turkey in 1949. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), October 1, 1948, March 18, 1949. 21. Kudret (Ankara), January 1, 1947; Engizek (Maraş), March 26, 1949; Edirne Postası, February 4, 1948; Guney Postası (Gaziantep), July 10, 1948; Bugün (Adana), February 13, 1949, March 22, 1949. 22. Athanassopoulou, Turkey–Anglo-American Security Interests, 1945–1952, 114–117; McGhee, The U.S.-Turkish-NATO Middle East Connection, 56–57; Çorum, August 10, 1949; Edirne Postası, March 16, 1949; Atayolu (Antakya), February 9, 1949. 23. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 18–25, 1949, September 30, 1949, June 6, 1950; Türk Sesi (Zonguldak), February 5, 1949; Engizek (Maraş), July 5, 1949; Edirne Postası, May 4, 1946; News from Turkey (New York) 2:39 (September 29, 1949). 24. Gündüz (Giresun), July 16, 1952. 25. Atayolu (Antakya), June 10, 1952; Şarkın Sesi (Erzurum), March 31, 1951; Demokrat Zonguldak, June 13, 1951; Engizek (Maraş), January 18, 1949; Yeni Adana, June 24, 1948; Ant (Bursa), February 17, 1947. In May 1953 Clarence K. Streit published “Turkey’s 500 Years at Constantinople” in Freedom and Union (Washington, D.C.) 8:5, lauding Atatürk and the Turkish Revolution. Somehow this article came to the attention of Yeniyol (Antakya), which quoted it extensively on May 30, 1953. 26. Demokrat Eskişehir, November 30, 1950; Diyarbakır, October 13, 1951; Demokrat Zonguldak, August 12, 1951; Çorum, January 8, 1947. 27. Edirne Postası, February 3, 1937. 28. Karagöz (Istanbul), September 10, 1936, December 12, 1936, March 6, 1937. 29. Karagöz (Istanbul), July 16, 1938, October 15, 1938. 30. Daniel Lerner, Radio Listening in Turkey. 31. Wilson P. Dizard, The Strategy of Truth, 69–87. 32. Film titles included The Korean War Tragedy, Turkish Heroes in Korea, and by far the most popular, The Turkish Bayonet in Korea. Robert T. Hartmann, Uncle Sam in Turkey; Sadakat (Afyon), June 9, 1951; Demokrat Zonguldak, July 31, 1951; Demokrat Eskişehir, February 2, 1951; Daniel Lerner, Movies, Newsreels and Documentary Films in Turkey. 33. Vatan (Istanbul), January 27, 1952; Dizard, The Strategy of Truth, 88–103. 34. Demokrat Zonguldak, December 29, 1952. 35. Dizard, The Strategy of Truth, 123–135. 36. James R. Vaughan, The Failure of American and British Propaganda in the Arab Middle East.

252 notes to pages 153 –157 37. Serdengeçti (Ankara), February 9, 1950. 38. Demokrat Zonguldak, July 31, 1951; Şarkın Sesi (Erzurum), February 12, 1951; Sabah (Antakya), January 17, 1953; Samsun Postası, June 24, 1951. 39. Atayolu (Antakya), February 7, 1951; Istikbal (Kayseri), June 11, 1951; Şarkın Sesi (Erzurum), May 1, 1953. 40. Şarkın Sesi (Erzurum), June 11, 1953; Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), September 19, 1951; Sabah (Antakya), August 26, 1953; Samsun Postası, April 2, 1951; Hür Millet (Eskişehir), March 20, 1948. 41. Gürses (Zonguldak), May 2, 1953; Şarkın Sesi (Erzurum), April 22, 1953; Gürses (Gaziantep), March 18, 1952. 42. Demokrat Postası (Zonguldak), November 25, 1951, December 24, 1951. 43. Yeni Dicle (Diyarbakır), May 22, 1953; Demokrasiye Güven (Diyarbakır), August 10, 1953; Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), May 3, 1951; Zaman (Giresun), August 18, 1950; Yeniyol (Antakya), January 3, 1951. 44. Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), September 26, 1951, February 26, 1952; Gürses (Gaziantep), December 30, 1950; Hâkimiyet (Erzurum), November 28, 1952; Demokrat Eskişehir, January 22, 1953; Kırıkhan, May 31, 1951, June 2, 1951; Halk Yolu (Eskişehir), August 4, 1951; Yeni Şarkın Sesi (Erzurum), March 26, 1951; Demokrasiye Güven (Diyarbakır), August 7, 1953; Yeni Dicle (Diyarbakır), August 1, 1953; Engizek (Maraş), June 23, 1949; Sakarya (Eskişehir), November 27, 1948. 45. Hürriyet (Istanbul), March 8, 1953. 46. Mete Tunçay, Türkiye’de Sol Akımlar II (1925–1936); Jacob M. Landau, Pan-Turkism. 47. This began with an attack on Pan-Turkists by Feridun Erkman, followed by an attack on leftists by Nihal Atsız in two open letters to prime minister Şükrü Saraçoğlu on February 20 and March 21, 1944. Feridun Erkman, En Büyük Tehlike! The text of Atsız’s letters is in Hayati Tek, Nihal Atsız, 101–118. Ilhan Darendioğlu, Türkiye’de Milliyetçilık Hareketleri. 48. Vatan (Istanbul), July 7, 1943; Ulus (Ankara), July 6, 1943. 49. Atsız had originally published Orhun in 1933–1934 and had been granted permission to reestablish it only a year earlier. BCA 30.18.1.2.102.45.16; BCA 30.18.1.2.105.24.10; Tek, Nihal Atsız, 23–24; Cemil Koçak, Türkiye’de Millî Şef Dönemi (1938–1945), 2:220; Landau, Pan-Turkism, 116–118. 50. Koçak, Türkiye’de Millî Şef Dönemi, 2:223–230. 51. Tarık Zafer Tunaya, Türkiye’de Siyasî Partiler, 1859–1952, 693–747; Özgür Gökmen, “Çok-Partili Rejime Geçerken Sol,” 161–185; Fethi Tevetoğlu, Türkiye’de Sosyalist ve Komünist Faâliyetler. 52. I have been unable to obtain information on Gün. Gerçek first appeared in Istanbul on July 7, 1946, only to be closed by the Martial Law Authority on July 25, 1946. Sendika first appeared in Istanbul on August 31, 1946. On December 17, 1946, Cumhuriyet announced that the Martial Law Authority had closed it, along with Yığıt and Ses. 53. Markopaşa first appeared in Istanbul on November 25, 1946. For its complex history, see Levent Cantek, Markopaşa. 54. I have been unable to obtain copies of or information about Yığıt, Ses, Dost, Nor Or, and Yarın. Three issues of Zincirli Hürriyet appeared in Izmir, starting on April 5, 1947. A single issue appeared in Istanbul on February 5, 1948. Hür Gençlik

notes to pages 157 –159 253 probably was first published in Istanbul in March 1947. Baştan first appeared in Istanbul on July 9, 1948: it published twenty-seven issues over six months before being closed by the government. Yeni Baştan began on June 30, 1950, publishing only four issues. Only one issue of Beşer appeared in Istanbul, on January 1, 1949. Ten issues of Nazım Hikmet were published in Istanbul starting on May 11, 1950. Nuhun Gemisi appeared first in Istanbul on November 9, 1949; its last issue appears to have been on May 31, 1950. 55. These protests were in response to an article by Hüseyin Cahit Yalçın in Tanin on December 3, 1945. Sabiha Sertel, Roman Gibi, 334–352; Servet Yanatma, “4 Aralık Tan Baskını ve Basının Bakışı”; Darendioğlu, Türkiye’de Milliyetçilık Hareketleri, 153. 56. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), December 17, 1946. 57. The first change was Law #4934, ratified on June 18, 1946. On October 6, 1949, the Assembly ratified Law #5435. Çetin Özek, 141–142. On December 3, 1951, the Assembly ratified Law #5844 as the final amendment. 58. Not all were convicted, including Esad Âdil Müstecâbî. He was allowed to reestablish the Türkiye Sosyalist Partisi in 1950; it closed in 1952. Özgür Gökmen, “Çok-Partili Rejime Geçerken Sol,” 180; Tevetoğlu, Türkiye’de Sosyalist ve Komünist Faâliyetler, 538–584. 59. This involved Pertev Nail Boratov, Niyazi Berkes, and Behice Boran. Hande Birkalan, “Pertev Nail Boratov, Turkish Politics and the University Events.” 60. Barış Ünlü, Bir Siyasal Düşünür Olarak Mehmet Ali Aybar, 116–118. 61. Kemal Bayram, Sabahattin Ali Olayı. 62. Saime Göksu and Edward Timms, Romantic Communist; Yıldız Sertel, Annem. 63. Tevetoğlu, Türkiye’de Sosyalist ve Komünist Faâliyetler, 653–661; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), November 16–22, 1951; Ulus (Ankara), February 12, 1951. Assembly debate concerning these changes to the Criminal Code is in TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.10.5.110–121 (November 16, 1951); 9.10.7.131–165 (November 21, 1951); 9.10.8.172– 211 (November 23, 1951); 9.10.9.221–252 (November 26, 1951); 9.10.10.270–274 (November 28, 1951); and 9.10.11.311–335 (November 30, 1951). 64. Organizing a racist organization or engaging in propaganda on its behalf carried a penalty of imprisonment from one to three years. Section 4 of Article 141 and Section 3 of Article 142 of the Criminal Code as per Law #5844 (December 3, 1951). 65. Yeni Bozkurt first appeared in January 1948. Çınaraltı appeared between March 17 and May 26, 1948. Tanrıdağ reappeared on November 5, 1950. Landau, PanTurkism, 128. 66. Tanrıdağ (Istanbul), November 5, 1950. 67. The best account of these various organizations can be found in Mefkûre (Ankara), March 29, 1952. Landau refers to it as the Milliyetçiler Birliği Federasyonu (Federation of Unions of Nationalists); unfortunately, he provides very limited information. Landau, Pan-Turkism, 133. 68. This was after expelling the Türk Kültür Calışmaları Derneği. Mefkûre (Ankara), March 29, 1952; Komünizme Karşı Mücadele (Istanbul), April 15, 1951. 69. Mefkûre (Ankara), October 27, 1951, December 20, 1952; Orkun (Istanbul), October 19, 1951.

254 notes to pages 159 –166 70. Reza Oğuz Türkkan, Ileri Türkçülük ve Partiler; Nejdet Sançar, Türklük Sevgisi. 71. Doğu appeared first in October 1942; Komünizme Karşı Türklük appears to have begun in May 1951; and Sesleniş began on October 5, 1951. 72. Büyük Dâva (Kayseri), March 10, 1951. 73. Mefkûre (Ankara), November 3, 1951. Bekir Berk went on to become a prominent follower of Bediüzzaman Said Nursi. Tanel Demirel, “Mehmet Kaplan”; Lütfi Şehsuvaroğlu, Nurettin Topçu. 74. BCA 030.01.123.784.2; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), January 23, 1953; Hürriyet (Istanbul), January 24, 1953. 75. BCA 030.01.123.783.5. 76. Hakkı Öznur, O. Yüksel Serdengeçti; Rasih Yılmaz, Serdengeçti. 77. Serdengeçti (Ankara), March 1947, October 1947, May 1949, October 1949, May 1950, May–June 1952, October–November 1952. 78. Komünizme Karşı Mücadele (Istanbul), January 1, March 1, May 1, December 1, 1951. 79. Köroğlu (Istanbul), August 8, 1951, September 28, 1951. 80. The United States contributed 302,483 troops and the Republic of Korea 590,911. Statistics are based on numbers calculated for July 31, 1953. On that date Turkey had 5,455 troops in Korea. Spencer Tucker, “United Nations Command Ground Forces, Contributions To,” in Encyclopedia of the Korean War: A Political, Social and Military History, ed. Spencer Tucker (Santa Barbara: ABC-Clio, 2000), 2:681. 81. Gavin D. Brockett, “The Legend of ‘The Turk’ in Korea.” 82. Jacques Kayser, One Week’s News. 83. “Cumhuriyet Postası” (Cumhuriyet Post) was a regular forum in Cumhuriyet starting in November 1950: it included brief letters from soldiers in Korea and from family at home. Burhan Tan, Fotoğrafla Kore Harbi. 84. Tahsin Yazıcı, Kore Birinci Türk Tugayında Hatıralarım, 205–207, 240–241. 85. Hakimiyet (Kayseri), December 16, 1950, December 12, 1951. 86. Ant (Bursa), April 4, 1951; Sabah (Antakya), August 20, 1952; Yeniyol (Antakya), November 13, 1950; Iş Yolu (Karabuk), January 15, 1952; Demokrat Hamle (Eskişehir), February 19, 1953. 87. Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), February 22, 1951, May 28, 1951, October 18 and 21, 1951. 88. Ant (Bursa), November 25, 1950; Yeni Sabah (Istanbul), December 5, 1950. 89. Mustafa Deral, Korede Niçin Çarpışıyoruz? 90. Yeniyol (Antakya), October 2, 1950, February 2, 1951; Hürriyet (Istanbul), August 7, 1950. 91. Ant (Bursa), March 4–8, 1951; Sabah (Antakya), July 15, 1952. 92. Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), February 16–17, 1951, May 30, 1951, August 10, 1951; Işık (Giresun), May 29, 1951. 93. Orhan Temirhan, Kore Destanı; Danış Renzi Karok, Mehmetçiğin Kore Destanı; Sefa Sağ, Kore Destanı; Cemal Turgut, Kore Destanı; Kemal Sezer, Kore Destanı; Cemal Bora, Kore Destanı; Hamit Özpolot, Kore Destanı; Kore Destanı. 94. Kırıkhan, June 5, 1951. 95. Seyfi Erkmen, Kore’den Geldim; Nazmi Özoğul, Korede Niçin Savaştım?; Cevdet Canbulat, Korede Mehmetçik. 96. Deral, Korede Niçin Çarpışıyoruz?; Ahmet Yaşnar, Korede Görülen Dava; H. Aslanoğlu, Kore ve Kore Harbi.

notes to pages 166 –176 255 97. Kani Sarıgöllü, Kore’de Türk Hamaseti; Refik H. Soykut, Kore’de Ebedîleşen Kahramanlar; Feyzullah Sacit Ülkü, Kore Mücizesi ve Şehidin Sesi. 98. Mustafa Kepir, Kore Kahramanlarına Radyodan Seslenişler. 99. Atayolu (Antakya), January 9, 1951; Resimli Tarih Mecmuası 19 (July 1951); Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), October 31, 1951. 100. Sarıgöllü, Kore’de Türk Hamaseti, 15. 101. Hürriyet (Istanbul), April–May 1951. 102. Hürriyet (Istanbul), July 28, 1950. 103. BCA 030.18.01.2.125.40.9; Basri Danişman, Situation Negative, 100. 104. Yazıcı, Kore Birinci Türk Tugayında Hatıralarım, 326–328. 105. Hürriyet (Istanbul), September 28, 1950, February 5, 1951. 106. Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), December 4, 1950, noted services in Sivas, Bitlis, Denizli, Muğla, Mardin, Mersin, and Bursa. Iskenderun, December 5, 1950; Istikbal (Eskişehir), December 3, 1950; Yeni Erzurum, December 11, 1950; Diyarbakır, December 11, 1950. 107. Kore Harp Albumu ve Uzak Dogu Mecmuası 1 (December 11, 1951). In Istanbul the Milliyetçiler Birliği Federasyonu held a typically ultranationalist meeting at which Mehmet Akif’s poem for the dead of Çanakkale was read, followed by the enactment of the wounding and death of a soldier to the music of the Turkish national anthem, the “Istiklâl Marşı” (Independence March). The fatiha (opening chapter of the Qur’an) was read for each martyr and the ezan (the call to prayer) was recited. Orkun (Istanbul), December 12, 1950. 108. “Shahid” and “Djihad,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam. 109. Yaşnar, Korede Görülen Dava. 110. Özoğul, Korede Niçin Savaştım? 111. Ilâhiyyat Kültür Te’leifleri Basım ve Yayım Kurumu, Kore Savunma’sına Katılmamızda Dinî ve Siyasî Zaruret Kore’de Şehitliğin Mukaddes Ma’nâsı. 112. Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), November 3–7, 1951. 113. Khalifa Abdul Hakim, Islam and Communism; Selma Botman, The Rise of Egyptian Communism, 1939–1970; Joel Beinin and Zachary Lockman, Workers on the Nile. 114. Atayolu (Antakya), February 12, 1951. 115. Demokrat Eskişehir, July 14, 1952. 116. Köroğlu (Istanbul), July 2, 1952.

Chapter 6 1. Stuart Hall, “Ethnicity.” 2. Afet Inan, “Atatürk ve Tarih Tezi.” 3. Karagöz (Istanbul), November 19, 1938. 4. M. Orhan Durusoy and M. Muzaffer Gökman, eds., Atatürk ve Devrimleri Bibliyografyası. 5. Cemil Koçak, Türkiye’de Millî Şef Dönemi (1938–1945), 2:85; Feroz Ahmad, The Turkish Experiment in Democracy, 1950–1975, 45–46. 6. The content of Doğu (Zonguldak) in the years 1943–1945 is instructive on this topic. Yeşil Gireson, October 29, 1948, October 29, 1949. 7. For example, see the English-language memoirs of Halidé Edib Adıvar, Turkish Ordeal.

256 notes to pages 177 –184 8. Sertel suggested that in fact Mustafa Kemal penned the article in Akşam, even though it was signed by Kılıç Ali. M. Zekeriya Sertel, Hatırladıklarım, 126–149. 9. Sertel was exiled to Sinop for three years. 10. Erik Jan Zürcher, Political Opposition in the Early Turkish Republic. 11. Kâzım Karabekir, Istiklâl Harbimiz. 12. Kâzım Karabekir, Istiklâl Harbimizin Esaslar, 190–192; Feridun Kandemir, Kâzım Karabekir’in Yakılan Hatıraları Meselesinin Içyuzu. 13. Ali Fuad Cebesoy, Millî Mücadele Hâtıraları; Falih Rıfkı Atay, Atatürk’ün Bana Anlattıkları; Mustafa Baydar, Atatürk’le Konuşmalar; Kılıç Ali, Istiklâl Mahkemesi Hâtıraları. When Halidé Edib Adıvar began to publish her memoirs in Yeni Istanbul on September 26, 1955, they dealt only with her life up until 1917 and thus did not broach questions related to Mustafa Kemal. She was very critical of him in her English-language memoirs, Turkish Ordeal. 14. Karabekir, Istiklâl Harbimizin Esaslar, 41–42, 81–82, 186. 15. The last document provided is dated March 25, 1336 (1920). 16. Erik Jan Zürcher, “Young Turk Memoirs as a Historical Source.” 17. Sebilürreşad (Istanbul) 40 (April 1949). See also Cevat Rıfat Atilhan’s articles in Yeni Istikbâl in October 1952 prefiguring his later publication: Cevat Rıfat Atilhan, Bütün Açıklığıyla İnönü Savaşları ve Hakiki Kahramanları. 18. Orkun (Istanbul), March 16, 1951, March 2, 1951. 19. Andrew Mango, Atatürk, 379–382. 20. This followed the publication of the new Democratic Party government’s program that called into question some of the Kemalist reforms. Sebilürreşad (Istanbul) 84 (July 1950). 21. Feridun Kandemir, Izmir Suikastinin Iç Yüzü. 22. Feridun Kandemir, Cumhuriyet Devrinde Siyasî Cinayetler. 23. Feridun Kandemir, ed., Kâzım Karabekir. Kandemir was also involved in the attempted publication of Karabekir’s memoirs in 1933. 24. In March 1951 it ran a series (“Ali Şükrü Bey Nasıl Oldürüldü”) very similar in content to Kandemir’s Cumhuriyet Devrinde Siyasî Cinayetler. 25. Hür Adam (Istanbul), March 16, 1951, November 4, 1952. 26. Hür Adam (Istanbul), November 30, 1951. 27. Iskilipli Atıf Hoca Nasıl Idam Edildi? 28. Yaşar Nabi, Nereye Gidiyoruz? Varlık, established in 1933, carried much of Nereye Gidiyoruz? in abbreviated form. 29. “Sultan Hamid’in Ruhaniyetindent Istimdat,” Büyük Doğu (Istanbul), May 30, 1947. 30. On Rıza Tevfik, see Munise Basıkoğlu in Tarih Ve Toplum 10 and 11 (1988 and 1989). 31. He claimed that the copy he had received had these words crossed out and therefore was illegible. Necip Fazıl Kısakürek, Müdafaalarım, 9–18; Büyük Doğu (Istanbul), October 10, 1947. 32. Sakarya (Eskişehir), June 7, 1947; Güney Postası (Gaziantep), June 20, 1947; Yeşil Bolu, November 9, 1947; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), June 7–20, 1947; USDS 867.00/12-247 American Embassy (Ankara) to Secretary of State, December 2, 1947; 867.00/1347 American Embassy (Ankara) to Secretary of State, November 13, 1947. 33. This was more sensational than informative. Hürriyet (Istanbul) (July 1951).

notes to pages 185 –187 257 34. TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.6.69.289 (April 27, 1951). 35. Based on newspaper coverage I have determined that the places where desecration of Atatürk’s busts or pictures occurred were Eryamenlar Köyü (March 29, 1951); Tirilye Bucağı (Bursa) (March 31, 1951); Aydın Dalama Bucağı (Izmir) (April 10, 1951); Hacı Köyü (Manisa) (May 23, 1951); Ergama Köyü (Balıkesir) (May 26, 1951); Ankara (June 24 and 29, 1951); and Kastamonu (July 15, 1951). 36. Le Journal d’Orient (Istanbul), June 4, 1952. 37. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 7, 1952; Milliyet (Istanbul), March 7 and 28, 1952. 38. Samsun, July 1, 1951. 39. Minister of the interior Halil Özyörük provided an overview of what the government understood to be the history of the movement in Turkey to the Grand National Assembly: TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.9.100.175–176 (July 16, 1951). See also Sebilürreşad (Istanbul) 89 (October 1950). 40. He allegedly established the tarikat in 1936. Mustafa Tekin, “Ticanîlik.” 41. Kemal Pilavoğlu, Din Rehberi; BCA 030.18.01.121.83.16. 42. Kemal Pilavoğlu ve Ömer Yıldız’ın Temyiz Müdafaalarının Şifahi Ifade Yerini Tutan Tasarısıdır. 43. Bernard Lewis, “Islamic Revival in Turkey”; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 7, 1952; Milliyet (Istanbul), March 5–7, 1952, March 28, 1952. Hürriyet on January 13, 1953, reported that Pilavoğlu received some 200–300 letters daily while in prison. 44. Ulus (Ankara), June 11, 1952, July 11, 1952; Hürriyet (Istanbul), July 11, 1952. 45. Minister of the interior Halil Özyörük stated that a total of sixty-seven attacks on pictures, busts, and statues of Mustafa Kemal had occurred between Atatürk’s death and May 14, 1950. TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.6.69.288 (April 27, 1951). 46. Volkan (Istanbul), July 25, 1951; Sebilürreşad (Istanbul), 100 (April 1951); Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), May 12, 1951; Diyarbakır, April 23, 1951. 47. TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.9.100.251–290 (July 23, 1951); TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.6.69.288–290 (April 4, 1951). 48. Zafer (Ankara), May 7, 1951. 49. TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.9.104.303–324 (July 25, 1951). Law #5816 was ratified on July 25, 1951. 50. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), May 17–18, 1952; Uyunan Millet (Giresun), June 27, 1952. 51. Kocatepe (Afyon), May 12, 1951; Milletin Sesi (Giresun), June 9, 1951; Kale (Giresun), January 11, 1951. 52. In early 1954 the courts closed the Nation Party because of its close association with religion. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), September 27, 1953, January 28, 1954; Deniz Bölükbaşı, Türk Siyasetinde Anadolu Fırtınası, 139, 159. 53. Inkılâp (Eskişehir), April 12, 1951. 54. Demokrat Eskişehir, August 13, 1951; Iskenderun, March 31, 1951; Hürriyet (Istanbul), March 6, 1951, July 4, 1951. 55. Demokrat Zonguldak, June 29–30, 1951. 56. Samsun, July 10, 1951; 14 Mayıs (Eskişehir), June 7, 1951. 57. Ulus (Ankara), October 16 and 26, 1952; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), October 14–17, 1952; Yeni Sabah (Istanbul), October 17, 1952; Gündüz (Giresun), December 11, 1952.

258 notes to pages 188 –193 58. Sebilürreşad (Istanbul) 137 (October 1952) and 138 (November 1952). 59. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), June 29, 1951. 60. BCA 030.10.9.53.18. 61. Vatan (Istanbul), December 10, 1952; Samsun, December 13, 1954. 62. Tavşanlı Postası (Eskişehir), November 3, 1950; Gündüz (Giresun), July 13, 1953; Sabah (Antakya), December 29, 1951; Halk Yolu (Eskişehir), April 13, 1951; Millet (Istanbul), October 23, 1947. 63. See, for instance, special commemorative editions of Hürriyet (Istanbul) and Vatan (Istanbul) from November 10, 1953, on the occasion of the opening of the Anıtkabir. 64. Diyarbakır, May 21, 1951; Demokrat Postası (Zonguldak), November 10, 1950; Tavşanlı Postası (Eskişehir), November 10, 1950. This version of history contrasted with the version provided to schoolchildren: school texts not only focused on the person of Mustafa Kemal and quoted extensively from his speeches but also provided extensive information on laiklik and the reforms. The tendency of these texts was to emphasize the transformation of the nation rather than an ethnic Turkish nation. Enver Ziya Karal, Türkiye Cumhuriyeti Tarihi (1918–1944); Enver Behnan Şapolyo, Türkiye Cumhuriyeti Tarihi, 1918–1950. 65. M. Orhan Durusoy and M. Muzaffer Gökman, eds., Atatürk ve Devrimleri Bibliyografyası. 66. “Atatürk,” Islam Ansiklopedisi (Istanbul) 1 (1949), 719–807; “Atatürk, Mustafa Kemal,” İnönü Ansiklopedisi (Istanbul) 4 (1950), 88–124. 67. Inayetullah Özkaya, Osmanlılık Içinde ve Dünya Milletleri Arasında Türk Milleti; Demokrat Eskişehir, January 2–17, 1953. 68. Emin Oktay, Tarih III; Emin Oktay, Tarih II; Niyazi Akşit, Tarih III; Zuhuri Danışman, Yeni Tarih Dersleri: Orta Okul III. 69. Akşit, Tarih III, 174–177, 181–183; Danışman, Yeni Tarih Dersleri, 98–119. 70. Porsuk (Eskişehir), August 31–September 2, 1953. 71. Gündüz (Giresun), December 1–15, 1952. 72. Gündüz (Giresun), January 28, 1953. 73. Enver Behnan Şapolyo, Mustafa Reşit Paşa ve Tanzimat Devri Tarihi. 74. Yeni Erzurum, December 3, 1950. 75. Güney Postası (Gaziantep), December 21, 1947; Istiklâl (Kayseri), April 8, 1953; Nihad Banarlı, Namık Kemal ve Türk-Osmanlı Milliyetçiliği; Mehmed Kaplan, Namık Kemal. 76. Istikbal (Eskişehir), June 26, 1951 (quotations); Kaflı Kadircan, Mithat Paşa; Ismail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, Midhat Paşa ve Taif Mahkumları; Ismail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, Midhat ve Resit Paşalarin Tevkiflerine Dâir Vesikalar. 77. Demokrat Zonguldak, June 28, 1951; Hürriyet (Istanbul), June 25–26, 1951. 78. For instance, journals of history were increasingly interested in the Ottoman Empire. See issues of Tarihten Sesler and Istanbul Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi Tarih Dergisi. 79. Yeni Erzurum, December 10–11, 1950. 80. Resimli Tarih Mecmuası 7 (July 1950), 256–259, and 40 (April 1953), 2159–2164. 81. Porsuk (Eskişehir), August 7, 1953; Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), November 28, 1952; December 2, 1952; Zonguldak, April 15, 1947, November 8, 1947; Anadolu (Izmir), April 2, 1947; Ant (Bursa), February 10, 1947.

notes to pages 193 – 200 259 82. Türkün Sesi (Zonguldak), May 3, 1952; Demokrat Hamle (Eskişehir), October 16, 1952; Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), December 2, 1952. 83. Demokrat Eskişehir, January 27, 1951. Among the films produced were Barbaros Hayrettin Paşa (1951), Lâle Devri (The Tulip Period, 1951), Istanbul’un Fethi (The Conquest of Istanbul, 1950/1951), Cem Sultan (1951), and Üçüncü Selim’in Gözdesi (Selim III’s Favorite, 1951). Giovanni Scognamillo, Türk Sinema Tarihi, 1896– 1959, 1:109. 84. Resimli Tarih Mecmuası 6 (June 1950), 201–202. 85. Tarihe Şan Veren Türk (Ankara: Aka Kitabevi, 1945); Yavuz Sultan Selim Ağlıyor (Ankara: Aka Kitabevi, 1948); Sultanların Aşkı (Istanbul: Inkılâp Kitabevi, 1950); Istanbul’un Fethi: Istanbul Kapılarında (Istanbul: Inkılâp ve Aka Kitabevleri, 1954); Büyük Türk Zaferleri, 1071–1922 (Ankara: Aka Kitabevi, 1946); Kahramanlar Geçiyor (Radyo Konusmalari) (Istanbul: Inkılâp Kitabevi, 1952); Osmanoğulları (Istanbul: Inkılâp Kitabevi, 1953); Barbaros Hayrettin Geliyor (Ankara: Ankara Kitabevi, 1949); Serhadlerin Çocuğu: Yıldırım Bayezid (Ankara: Aka Kitabevi, 1947); Kanunî Sultan Süleyman (Istanbul: Inkılâp Kitabevi, 1959). 86. Vatan (Istanbul), April 18, 1950. 87. Reşad Ekrem Koçu, Osman Gazi’den Atatürk’e: 600 Yılın Tarih Panoraması. Koçu was also author of Osmanlı Tarihinde Yasaklar, Tarihimizde Garip Vakalar, and Türk Istanbul. 88. Demokrat Eskişehir, July 23, 1951, January 2–17, 1953. 89. Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi, C.H.P. Yedinci Kurultay Tutanağı, 398–404. 90. Selâmet (Istanbul), October 3 and 10, 1947; Doğu (Zonguldak) 1 (October 1942). 91. TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 8.25.57.34–40 (March 1, 1950) 92. BCA 030.18.01.02.122.30.9. 93. BCA 030.01.90.561.7; BCA 030.01.90.561.12; BCA 030.18.1.2.124.98.8; Gotthard Jäschke, Die Türkei in den Jahren 1942–1951, 127. 94. Colin Imber, The Ottoman Empire, 117. 95. Selâmet (Istanbul), May 28, 1948; Çınaraltı (Istanbul), May 26, 1948. 96. Vicdan Sesi (Samsun), October 29, 1952; Yeni Şark (Diyarbakır), October 28, 1952. 97. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), June 4, 1953. 98. BCA 030.18.01.02.123.61.13; BCA 030.01.123.782.6; Istanbul’un Beşyüzüncü ve Müteakip Fetih Yıllarını Kutlama Derneği Ana Nizamnamesi. 99. Details of the celebrations can be found in the Istanbul press for this period. 100. The text of the hutbe was published in Yeni Sabah (Istanbul), May 26, 1953. 101. Ali Saim Ülgen, Istanbul ve Eski Eserler (Istanbul, 1933); Niyazi Ahmet Banoğlu, Fatih Sultan Mehmed (Istanbul, 1943); and Iskender Fahrettin Sertelli, Istanbul’u Nasıl Aldık? (Istanbul, 1930). For a complete list of works relating to Istanbul, see Ismet Binark and Nejat Sefercioğlu, eds., Istanbul, Fatih, Fetih ve Fatih Devri Hakkında Yazılmış Kitaplar Bibliyografyası. 102. Resimli Tarih Mecmuası 41 (May 1953). Cumhuriyet published Türk Istanbul by Reşad Ekrem Koçu. Vatan published excerpts from Tülbentçi’s Istanbul Kapılarında. Yeni Sabah published its own Fetih Ilâvesi. Hürriyet published 500cü Fetih Yılı Hâtırası. 103. Yeni Sabah (Istanbul), May 26, 1953; Istiklâl (Kayseri), May 29, 1953; Gündüz (Giresun), May 29, 1953.

260 notes to pages 200 – 209 104. The party also wrote İnönü out of a new history textbook. BCA 490.01 .2231.912.01; Hürriyet (Istanbul), June 28, 1952; Ulus (Ankara), February 3, 1951; Atayolu (Antakya), October 2, 1950, and February 6, 1951. 105. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 18, 1951; Ayın Tarihi (November 1952), 22–23. 106. See Hürriyet (Istanbul), November 10, 1953, and Vatan (Istanbul) for the days surrounding the anniversary. 107. Michael Meeker, “Once There Was, Once There Wasn’t,” 157–191. 108. Parts of this proposal were also published in the press at the time. Sâfi Dümer, “Istanbul” mu yoksa “Fâtih Mehmet” mi? “Ankara” mı yoksa “Atatürk” mü? 109. Komünizme Karşı Mücadele (Istanbul), May 1, 1952. 110. Serdengeçti (Ankara), May–June 1952; Komünizme Karşı Mücadele (Istanbul), April 1, 1952; Islam Dünyası (Istanbul), April 11, 1952.

Chapter 7 1. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), March 23, 1951, May 11 and 18, 1951; Büyük Doğu (Istanbul), November 15, 1946. 2. Vicdan Sesi (Samsun), January 6, 1953. 3. Sebilürreşad (Istanbul), 53 (March 27, 1953); Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), May 14, 1952; M. Raif Ogan, Mekteplerde Din Dersleri Okutulmasını Istemeyen Profesör. 4. Selâmet (Istanbul), August 22, 1947, December 19, 1947. 5. Islam Dünyası (Istanbul), February 6, 1953. 6. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), April 5, 1949, August 12, 1950. 7. Ali Fuad Başgil, Din ve Laiklik, 15–22. 8. Ali Fuad Başgil, Din Nedir? Din Hürriyeti ve Laiklik Ne Demektir? Interestingly this seems to have been printed twice in 1954: the first edition was only 54 pages long and contained only one section; the second edition was 213 pages long and contained three sections. 9. Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), May 1, 1951, March 13, 1952; Vicdan Sesi (Samsun), December 18, 1952; Ehli Sünnet (Istanbul), December 19, 1947. 10. Türksesi (Zonguldak), May 18, 1950; Yeşil Giresun, February 19, 1949; Yeniyol (Antakya), August 5, 1952; Samsun, December 13, 1950; Diyarbakır, April 29, 1952; Gürses (Gaziantep), October 15, 1952; Balıkesir Postası, November 16, 1943. 11. Gotthard Jäschke, Yeni Türkiye’de Islamlık, 96–97. 12. Vatan (Istanbul), April 9, 1952; Yeni Sabah (Istanbul), November 3, 1950. 13. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), December 23, 1952; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 27, 1951. 14. Muzaffer Faik Amaç, Laiklik Inkılâbının XXV. 15. M. Celal Saygın, Diyanet Cephesinden Atatürk Inkılapları. 16. Nazım Poroy, Laiklik Hakkında. 17. Bülent Daver’s important academic analysis and defense of laiklik also appeared in this period: Bülent Daver, Türkiye Cumhuriyetinde Layiklik. 18. Laiklik. 19. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), February 23 and 28, 1952. According to Reed, university students who were exposed to the “history” promoted by the Hearths rejected it as an effort to indoctrinate them. Howard Reed, “Revival of Islam in Secular Turkey,” 278. 20. Türk Devrim Ocakları Tüzüğü; Ulus (Ankara), June 23, 1952.

notes to pages 209 – 214 261 21. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), December 23, 1952. 22. Yeni Büyük Doğu (Istanbul), June 1, 1952; Islam Dünyası (Istanbul), May 2, 1952; Kadın Gazetesi (Istanbul), January 1, 1953; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), December 26, 1952. 23. Gavin D. Brockett, “Revisiting the Turkish Revolution, 1923–1938.” 24. Varlık (Istanbul) (May 1947). 25. TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 8.26.11.205–214 (November 26, 1947). 26. BCA 051.V33.4.30.26. 27. Hürriyet (Istanbul), March 11, 1949. 28. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), June 9, 1949; Sebilürreşad (Istanbul) 50 (June 1949). 29. Law #5435, ratified on June 10, 1949. Debate is in TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 8.20.104.572–598 (June 8, 1949), 8.20.105.633–676 (June 9, 1949), 8.20.106.680705 (June 10, 1949); Daver, Türkiye Cumhuriyetinde Layiklik, 179–208. 30. Hürriyet devoted considerable attention to this event and published pictures of the huge crowds. See Hürriyet (Istanbul) for April 1950. 31. The actual nature of events on this day remains very unclear. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), April 11–15, 1950. 32. Ulus (Ankara), April 15, 1950; Vatan (Istanbul), April 13–15, 1950; Kemal Karpat, Turkey’s Politics, 238; Ilhan Darendioğlu, Türkiye’de Milliyetçilık Hareketleri, 237–263. 33. The newspapers included Akşam, Cumhuriyet, Her Gün, Gece Postası, Son Saat, Son Posta, Son Telegraf, Vatan, Yeni Istanbul, Zaman, and Milliyet. Vatan (Istanbul), April 15, 1950. 34. Vatan (Istanbul), October 28, 1953, and May 14, 1954; Hürriyet (Istanbul), May 12 and 18, 1954; Samsun, June 10, 1950. 35. Cumhuriyet drew attention to some bus tickets issued by an Izmir company and printed in Ottoman Turkish. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), September 27, 1951, November 14–15, 1951, February 10, 1952; Kale (Giresun), November 23, 1951, May 5, 1953; Gündüz (Giresun), January 31, 1953; Kocatepe (Afyon), June 12, 1951. 36. Periodically newspapers reported briefly on the activities of tarikats. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 31, 1951; Gürses (Gaziantep), March 25, 1953; Kocatepe (Afyon), July 5, 1951, April 3, 1953; Hâkimiyet (Kayseri), April 1, 1953; Hür Millet (Eskişehir), January 10, 1950; Demokrat Eskişehir, April and May 1953. 37. Vatan (Istanbul), January 18, 1953. 38. Karagöz (Ankara), December 4, 1952; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 18, 24, and 27, 1951, December 21, 1952. 39. Zafer (Ankara), January 19, 1951. 40. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), April–May 1951; Ant (Bursa), April 27, 1947–May 2, 1947. 41. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), April 22, 1951. 42. Vatan (Istanbul), January 22, 1953, June 20–21, 1953. 43. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 13 and 18, 1951, May 18, 1951, September 16, 1952; Hürriyet (Istanbul), March 14, 1951; Samsun, March 17, 1951; Demokrat Eskişehir, March 17, 1951; Sabah (Antakya), October 7, 1952. Also see Ant (Bursa), December 2, 1952, for reports of a similar congress in the town of Yıldırım. 44. Gürses (Gaziantep), October 18, 1952; Ulus (Ankara), September 15 and 21, 1952; October 13–17, 1952. 45. Gavin D. Brockett, “Collective Action and the Turkish Revolution.”

262 notes to pages 215 – 221 46. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), January 9, 1953; Bediüzzaman Said Nursi, Emirdağ Lahikası II, 340–342. 47. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), March 16, 1951; Sebilürreşad 144 (Istanbul) (February 1953); Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), December 28, 1951; Ali Fuad Başgil, Irtica Yaygarası; Ali Fuad Başgil and Nurettin Topçu, Bizim de Diyecelerimiz var, Dostlar! 48. Müslüman Sesi (Izmir), May 1, 1951, and April 6, 1953. 49. Yeni Büyük Doğu (Istanbul), June 27, 1952. 50. Vicdan Sesi (Samsun), November 27, 1952, January 6, 1953; Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir), May 1 and 18, 1951, August 3, 1951, January 25, 1952; Sebilürreşad (Istanbul) 6 (June 1948), 35 (March 1949), 44 (May 1949), and 76 (April 1950). 51. Vicdan Sesi (Samsun), November 6 and 13, 1952. 52. Islam Dünyası (Istanbul), July 11, 1952; Büyük Cihad (Samsun), November 2, 1951. 53. Sebilürreşad 144 (February 1953). 54. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), November 2, 1951, December 12, 1952. 55. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 29 and 31, 1951, April 16, 1951, September 20, 1951; Işık (Giresun), July 16, 1951. 56. Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), March 18–27, 1951. 57. Büyük Cihad (Samsun) and Yeni Istikbâl (Istanbul). 58. Milliyet (Istanbul), March 5 and 28, 1952. 59. Büyük Cihad (Samsun), June 20, 1952. 60. Akisler (Çorum), September 20, 1952; Zafer (Ankara), September 19, 1952. 61. Ayın Tarihi (November 1952), 69–72. 62. See the Istanbul press for the days following November 22, 1952. G. Ozansoy and H. Cemal Beydeşman’s Malatya Suikastının Iç Yüzü was perhaps published by Vatan in 1953. Hüseyin Üzmez later wrote his own account of the event: Hüseyin Üzmez, Malatya Suikastı Iç Yüzü. In December 1952 metropolitan newspapers suddenly demonstrated a renewed interest in the Menemen event, marking its anniversary on December 23. In previous years they had ignored it. Demokrat Eskişehir, December 23, 1952. 63. Gavin D. Brockett, “Provincial Newspapers as a Historical Source.” 64. Diyarbakır, January 7, 1953; Sabah (Antakya), December 3, 1952. 65. Le Journal d’Orient (Istanbul), January 29, 1953. 66. Zafer (Ankara), January 8 and 22, 1953; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), January 6, 1953. 67. Zafer (Ankara), February 12, 1953; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), February 12, 1953. 68. Ayın Tarihi (January 1953); Zafer (Ankara), January 19, 1953. 69. Zafer (Ankara), August 4, 1953; Cumhuriyet (Istanbul), February 18, 1954, July 18, 1954. 70. The last issue of Büyük Dâva is dated October 15, 1952; the last issue of Vicdan Sesi, January 6, 1953; the last issue of Yeşil Nur, April 3, 1953; the last issue of Büyük Cihad, February 13, 1953. 71. Richard D. Robinson, “Gaziantep after Five Years” (AUFS, Southwest Asia Series 4:13, May 10, 1955). 72. Law #6187 (“Vicdan ve Toplanma Hürriyetinin korunmasi hakkında Kanun”), ratified on July 24, 1953. Assembly debate is in TBMM Tutanak Dergisi 9.24.115.1043–1144 (July 23, 1953).

notes to pages 221– 227 263 73. See Chapter 3. 74. Kazım Öztürk, Türk Parlamento Tarihi, 2:ix. 75. Richard D. Robinson, “RDR 70: Turkish Democracy under Strain” (Institute of Current World Affairs, June 15, 1952); Richard D. Robinson, “RDR 7-54: Is Turkey Still a Democracy?” (AUFS, Southwest Asia Series, December 30, 1954).

ConClusion 1. John L. Esposito and Azzam Tamimi, eds., Islam and Secularism in the Middle East. 2. Talal Asad, The Genealogies of Religion; Wilfrid Cantwell Smith, The Meaning and End of Religion. 3. Étienne Copeaux, Espaces et temps de la nation turque; Binnaz Toprak, “Religion as State Ideology in a Secular Setting”; Gökhan Çetinsaya, “Rethinking Nationalism and Islam.” 4. Anthony D. Smith, National Identity, 14. 5. The new 1982 Constitution repeats this formula in Article 6: “Egemenlik, Kayıtsız Şartsız Milletindir.” 6. Frederick W. Frey, The Turkish Political Elite. 7. Şerif Mardin, “Projects as Methodology.” 8. Essays concerning nationalism in the Arab world offer a useful comparison. James Jankowski and Israel Gershoni, eds., Rethinking Nationalism in the Arab Middle East. 9. Craig Calhoun, Critical Social Theory. 10. Peter Alford Andrews, ed., Ethnic Groups in the Republic of Turkey; Peter Alford Andrews, Ethnic Groups in the Republic of Turkey: Supplement and Index. 11. Article 301 was most recently modified in the new Criminal Code (Law# 5237) ratified on November 29, 2004. Article 301 protects “Turkishness, the Republic, and the Grand National Assembly” from insult: it has been used to prosecute a number of Turkish intellectuals, most notably the Nobel Prize winner Orhan Pamuk. Significantly, it originated in Article 159 of the 1926 Criminal Code, which the Democratic Party unsuccessfully tried to alter to protect itself in the spring of 1952.

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arChives and offiCial publiCations franCe Ministère des Affaires Étrangères (MAE)—Centre des Archives Diplomatiques de Nantes, Ankara Ambassade (1919–) 160 Presse turque, agence Anatolie 162 Presse turque, agence Anatolie 165 Politique intérieure turque 337 Analyse de la presse de Constantinople, relevé des articles et informations censures 391 Presse turque

Great Britain Foreign Office (FO) FO 371 Political Departments, General Correspondence FO 424 Confidential Print

turkey Türkiye Büyük Millet Meclis Arşivi Demokrat Partisi Meclis Grubu Müzakere Zabıtı Türkiye Cumhuriyeti Başbakanlık Cumhuriyet Arşivi (BCA) 030.01 Başbakanlık Özel Kalem Müdürlüğü 030.10 Başbakanlık Muamelat Genel Müdürlüğü Evrakı 030.11 Müşterek Kararnameler 030.18 Başbakanlık Bakanlar Kurulu Kararları 051 Diyanet Işleri Reisliği 490.01 Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi

Government Publications Ayın Tarih Istatistik Yıllığı, 1951 Istatistik Yıllığı, 1952 Istatistik Yıllığı, 1953 Istatistik Yıllığı, 1960–1962 Istatistik Yıllığı, 1963 Türkiye Bibliyografyası, 1939–1948 Türkiye Bibliyografyası, 1949 Türkiye Bibliyografyası, 1950 Türkiye Bibliyografyası, 1951 Türkiye Bibliyografyası, 1952 Türkiye Bibliyografyası, 1953

Türkiye Bibliyografyası, 1954 Türkiye Büyük Millet Meclisi [TBMM] Kanunlar Dergisi Türkiye Büyük Millet Meclisi [TBMM] Tutanak Dergisi Türkiye Cumhuriyeti Resmî Gazetesi 28 Teşrinievvel 1927 Umumî Nüfus Tahriri Genel Nüfus Sayımı, 20 Ilkteşrin 1935 21 Ekim 1945 Genel Nüfus Sayımı 23 Ekim 1955 Genel Nüfus Sayımı 23 Ekim 1960 Genel Nüfus Sayımı

266 how happy to Call oneself a turk

uniteD states of ameriCa Department of State (USDS) Decimal File 867 Records of the Department of State Relating to the Internal Affairs of Turkey 1910–1929 (Microcopy #353) Records of the Department of State Relating to the Internal Affairs of Turkey 1945–1949 (Microcopy #1292)

Office of Strategic Services “Character and Composition of the Turkish Press (1939–1945).” Washington, D.C., 1945.

interviews Kemal Bülbül. Samsun, March 16, 2002. Dr. Yılmaz Büyükerşen. Eskişehir, November 27, 2001. Said Özdemir. Ankara, November 21, 2000. Mustafa Sungur. Istanbul, November 28, 2001. Üstün Ünüğür. Eskişehir, November 26, 2001. Bülent Varlık. Ankara, November 21, 2001.

newspapers metropolitan puBliCations Ankara Ayın Tarihi Bayram Gazetesi Bibliyografya Din Yolu Gaziler Dergisi Hâkimiyet-i Milliye Korsavaş Köylü Kudret

Mefkûre Radyo Serdengeçti Türk Dili Ülkü Ulus Yurt Zafer

Istanbul Akbaba Akşam Allah Yolu Baştan Bayram Gazetesi Beşer Büyük Doğu Büyük Mücadele Çınaraltı

Cumhuriyet Ehli Sünnet Gerçek Hakikat Hakikat Yolu Hakka Doğru Hanımeli Hareket Hilâl

bibliography 267 Hür Adam Hür Gençlik Hürriyet Ikdam Iş Tanrıdağ Islam Dünyası Islam Yolu Islamın Nuru Islamiyet Le Journal d’Orient Kadın Gazetesi Karagöz Komünizme Karşı Mücadele Köy Postası Markopaşa Meşale Millet Milliyet Mukaddesat Nazım Hikmet Nuhun Gemisi Orhun/Orkun Politika La République Resimli Tarih Mecmuası

Şadırvan Sebilürreşad Selâmet Sendika Son Havadis Tarihten Sesler Tasvir Tez Kalkınma Torun Ufuklar Vakit Varlık Vatan Volkan Yarın Yeditepe Yeni Adam Yeni Baştan Yeni Büyük Doğu Yeni Istanbul Yeni Istikbâl Yeni Köroğlu Yeni Sabah Yücel Zincircli Hürriyet

Izmir Anadolu Dâva Millet

Müslüman Sesi Yeni Asır Zincirli Hürriyet

Provincial Publications Akisler (Çorum) Aksu (Samsun) Ant (Bursa) Ataızı (Zonguldak) Atayolu (Antakya) Balıkesir Postası (Balıkesir) Bizim Şehir (Izmit) Bugün Gazetesi (Adana) Bursa (Bursa) Büyük Cihad (Samsun) Büyük Dâva (Karşıkyaka-Izmir) Büyük Dâva (Kayseri) Çağlayan (Giresun) Cesaret (Eskişehir) Çorum (Çorum)

Demokrasiye Güven (Diyarbakır) Demokrat (Eskişehir) Demokrat Doğu (Erzurum) Demokrat Erzurum (Erzurum) Demokrat Eskişehir (Eskişehir) Demokrat Hamle (Eskişehir) Demokrat Isparta (Isparta) Demokrat Porsuk (Eskişehir) Demokrat Postası (Zonguldak) Demokrat Urfa (Urfa) Demokrat Zonguldak (Zonguldak) Demokrata Güven (Gaziantep) Devrek Postası (Zonguldak) Dirlik (Bursa) Diyarbakır (Diyarbakır)

268 how happy to Call oneself a turk Doğruluk (Fatsa) Doğu (Zonguldak) Edirne Postası (Edirne) Engizek (Maraş) Erzurum (Erzurum) Gireson/Giresun (Giresun) Gündüz (Giresun) Güney Postası (Gaziantep) Gürses (Gaziantep) Gürses (Zonguldak) Güzel Bolu (Bolu) Haber (Giresun) Hakikat (Eskişehir) Hâkimiyet (Kayseri) Hâkimiyet Milletindir (Erzurum) Halk Yolu (Eskişehir) Halkçı Porsuk (Eskişehir) Halkın Sesi (Antakya) Halkın Sesi (Zonguldak) Hamle (Giresun) Hilâl (Malatya) Hilâl (Tarsus) Hür Millet (Eskişehir) Hürsöz (Kayseri) Ileri Hürriyet (Antakya) Inkılâp (Eskişehir) Inkılâp (Zonguldak) Inkılâpçı Büyük Dâva (Karşıyaka-Izmir) Iş Yolu (Zonguldak) Işçi Postası (Eskişehir) Işçi Sendikası (Zonguldak) Işçi’nin Sesi (Eskişehir) Işık (Giresun) Iskenderun (Iskenderun) Istikbal (Eskişehir) Istiklâl (Kayseri) Kale (Giresun) Karaman (Konya) Keşap (Giresun) Kırıkhan (Antakya) Kocatepe (Afyon) Komünizme Karşı Türklük (Zonguldak) Küçük Gazete (Zonguldak) Kütahya Gazetesi (Kütahya) 14 Mayıs (Eskişehir) 14 Mayıs (Zonguldak) Milletin Sesi (Giresun)

Mücadele (Düzce) Mücadele (Eskişehir) Mücadele (Mardin) Mücahit (Bursa) Muğla’da Halk (Muğla) Nebiyan (Bafra) Ocak (Zonguldak) Porsuk (Eskişehir) Sabah (Antakya) Sabah (Zonguldak) Sadakat (Afyon) Sakarya (Eskişehir) Samsun (Samsun) Samsun Postası (Samsun) Şarkın Sesi (Erzurum) Sesleniş (Kayseri) Sinop (Sinop) Sivas Postası (Sivas) Surol (Eskişehir) Tavşanlı Postası (Eskişehir) Tekses (Zonguldak) Tilki (Giresun) Turhal (Kayseri) Türk Sesi (Zonguldak) Türk Sözü (Adana) Türkün Sesi (Zonguldak) Uyanan Millet (Giresun) Vicdan Sesi (Samsun) Yarın (Zonguldak) Yeni Adana (Adana) Yeni Dicle (Diyarbakır) Yeni Erzurum (Erzurum) Yeni Hatay (Antakya) Yeni Karabük (Zonguldak) Yeni Kayseri (Kayseri) Yeni Konya (Konya) Yeni Mersin (Mersin) Yeni Şark (Diyarbakır) Yeni Şarkın Sesi (Erzurum) Yeniyol (Antakya) Yeşil Bolu (Bolu) Yeşil Bursa (Bursa) Yeşil Gireson (Giresun) Yeşil Nur (Eskişehir) Yolağzı (Giresun) Zaman (Eskişehir) Zonguldak (Zonguldak)

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inDex

Page numbers in italics refer to images. Akbaba (journal), 64–65, 65, 97 alphabet reform, 49, 56, 70; in the Single-Party period, 61 Anatolia News Agency, 60, 123, 153 Anatolian resistance movement, 29–30, 38–40, 60 Anderson, Benedict: Imagined Communities, 6, 13 Anıtkabir, xii, 200 Arabic ezan, 49, 118–123; broadcast on state radio, 123; as a governmental litmus test, 141 Armstrong, Harold: Gray Wolf, 17 Aslanoğlu, H.: Korea and the Korean War, 166 Association of Turkish Nationalists, 159–161, 197–198, 220 Atatürk. See Kemal, Mustafa Atay, Falih Rıfkı, 67, 122 Atayolu (newspaper), 148, 171 Atilhan, Cevat Rıfat, 117, 125, 220; antiSemitism, 130, 133, 138; criticism of Communism, 130 Atlantic Pact, 150 Audard, Catherine, 54 Aybars, Ergun, 51 Ayyub, Abu, 197

Bibliography of Turkey, The, 89, 97, 103, 123, 166 book publishing: and Constantinople, capture of, 199; and historical novels, 193–194; memoirs of Turkish Korean War veterans, 166; metropolitan publishers, post– World War II, 96; and Mustafa Kemal, 181–182, 189; Pan-Turkish publishing, 159; religious books, 123–124; and Single-Party period, 61. See also specific books Bourdieu, Pierre, 28 Bülbül, Kemal, 125; as editor of Büyük Cihad, 137; as editor of Vicdan Sesi, 136–137, 217 Büyük Cihad (newspaper), 113–117, 137–139, 138, 188, 217; and Constantinople, capture of, 197; investigation of, 221; and Islam, 138; on laiklik, 179; and Mustafa Kemal, 139, 205 Büyük Dãva (newspaper), 134–135, 159– 161, 160, 221 Büyük Doğu (newspaper/journal), 124, 170, 210; government investigation of, 218; and Rıza Tevfik, 183; and Yaşar Nabi, 182–184

Başgil, Ali Fuad, 206–207, 215, 218; and “religious reaction,” 215 Balfour, Patrick. See Kinross, Lord Banoğlu, Tahsin, 173, 175 Bayar, Celãl, 85–86, 181; and the Press Law, 90–92; and religious education, 117–118; and “religious reaction,” 218–219 Baydoğan, Mehmed Lutfullah, 124–126 Bayur, Hikmet, 122, 187 Berkes, Niyazi, 58

Cahit, Burhan, 70 Çakir, Fahri, 192 Çakmak, Marshal Fevzi, 118; death of, 212; and the Nation Party, 118, 212; in Tarih, 78 caliphate, 63; abolition of, 41, 208; and the press, 66; loyalty toward, 30 Canbulat, Cevdet: The Turkish Soldier in Korea, 166 Carr, E.H.: What is History?, xi, xiii cartoons, 64, 65

286 how happy to Call oneself a turk censorship, 63–67, 92, 182 Chatterjee, Partha, 53 Cold War, 144–172; American-Turkish relations, 149; British-Turkish relations, 149; foreign aid, 108, 147; foreign propaganda, 152; and international affairs in the Turkish press, 150–151; and Turkish national identity, 146, 174 colonialism, 53; internal, 52–53 Committee of Union and Progress, 30–31 Conflict in Korea, The (Yaşnar), 166 Conquest of Istanbul, The (Tülbentçi), 194 Constantinople; capture of, 73; 500th anniversary of capture, 197–200; religious significance, 198; and Turkish national identity, 198 Cumhuriyet (newspaper), 67, 194, 220; content, 99; “laiklik week,” 207 Democratic Party, 84–86; and the Anıtkabir, 200; and the Arabic ezan, 49, 129–130, 208; establishment of, 85; and government advertising, 89, 94; and Hürriyet, 98; and laiklik, 113– 114, 116, 120–121, 140, 206; and the press, 90–92, 110–111, 205, 221; and religious education, 117; and “religious reaction,” 213, 218–219 Demokrat Eskişehir (newspaper), 170–171 Demokrat Postası (newspaper), 155 Deral, Mustafa: Why Are We Going to Korea?, 165 Deutsch, Karl, 10 Dirlik, 102 Doğrul, Ömer Rıza, 130–131 Doğu (journal), 101–102, 159 Edirne Postası (newspaper), 69, 80, 149, 176 education, 119–121; Faculty of Divinity at the University of Ankara, 120; and religious lessons, 121, 140 Ehli Sünnet (newspaper), 125, 127–128

elite cultural hegemony, 12 Emergence of Modern Turkey, The (B. Lewis), 16–19 Envâr-i Şarkiyye (newspaper), 59 Erdoğan, Recai Tayip, 226 Erkmen, Seyfi: I Came from Korea, 166 Eternal Heroes in Korea, The (Soykut), 166 Eyüp Sultan. See Ayyab, Abu Fethi Bey, Ali, 31 fez, 49. See also Hat Law fiction publishing, 69 film and radio, 193; and the Cold War, 151–152; and the Korean War, 166 folk publishing, 69 foreign journalism: portrayal of Turkey, 151 Free Party, 31 From Osman Gazi to Atatürk (Koçu), 194, 194–195 From the Ottoman Empire to the Republic of Turkey, 79 Gameda (distribution cooperative), 100 Gaziantep: publishing in, 88, 102, 105–109 gazettes, official government, 59, 67–68 General Directorate of Press and Information, 60, 68 Giresun (newspaper), 83 Gökalp, Ziya, 1, 10–11, 13 Golden Book of the Turk, The, 78 Greenfeld, Liah, 81 Gündüz (newspaper), 191 “habitual dispositions”: and identity, 28 hajj, the, 141 Hakikat Yolu (journal), 125, 127 Handbook of Religion (Pilavoğlu), 185 Hatay: annexation of, 70, 151 “Hat Law,” 49–50 Hearths of the Turkish Revolution, 209–210 High Treason Law, 30 Hilâl (newspaper), 124, 132 historiography, 14

index 287 History of Turkey, 75, 126, 223 Hroch, Miroslav, 7 Hür Adam (newspaper), 132–133, 182, 218 Hürriyet (newspaper), 94–98, 142, 155, 167, 214; circulation, 98; content, 98, 163; distribution methods, 100–101; and Korean War, coverage of, 163– 164, 168; and “religious reaction,” 211 I Came from Korea (Erkmen), 166 ihtilâl, 25, 40 Illustrated History Magazine, 97, 193– 194, 199 Inan, Afet, 174 Independence Tribunals, 30–31, 51, 177 inkılâp, 25, 40, 116, 180, 219. See also ihtilãl İnönü, İsmet, 32, 176; criticism in the press, 188; and freedom of the press, 91–92; portrayal in Tarih, 78; presidency, 176; statues of, 200 Islam: and Cold War, 170; education debate, 119–121; ezan, 141, 198; and Turkish national identity, 3. See also Arabic ezan Islam Dünyası, 134, 170, 206, 218 Islamic Democratic Party, 117 Islamiyet (newspaper), 125, 127 Islam Yolu (newspaper), 125, 128 Istanbul Martial Law Authority, 91; and leftist periodicals, closings of, 157 journalists: prosecution of, 63 journals: metropolitan publishers, post–World War II, 96–98; religious, 124, 128. See also specific journals Kandemir, Feridun, 181–182; Political Murders in the Period of the Republic, 181, 182; The Truth Behind the Izmir Conspiracy, 181 Karabekir, Kâzım, 177–178, 181; biography, 181; and Independence Tribunals, 177–178; memoirs, 134, 177–178, 182

Karagöz (newspaper), 69–70, 71; and Hatay, annexation of, 151; and Mustafa Kemal, 176; and popular Muslim identities, support of, 140 Karal, Enver Ziya: The History of the Republic of Turkey, 14 Kemalist historiography, 4 Kemal, Mustafa, xii, 25, 222; and Anatolian resistance movement, use of, 39; attacks on images of, 185–187; as “benevolent despot,” 15, 29; as “creator” of modern Turkey, xii; death, 32; as “immortal leader,” xii, 176; mausoleum of, xii, 186, 200; as messianic figure, xii, 73, 77, 189; as “modernizer,” xiii, 17, 20, 175; Speech (Nutuk) of October 1927, 14, 78, 178; successors, 86, 176; and Tarih, 14, 76–78; as “transformer” of Turkey, 16, 20, 80 Kemal, Namık, 9, 191–192, 195 Kepir, Mustafa: Radio Broadcasts to the Heroes in Korea, 166 Kesap (newspaper), 153 Kinross, Lord: Atatürk, 16–19 Kısakürek, Necip Fazıl, 124, 131–132, 210; and Büyük Doğu, 92, 131–132, 182–184, 190, 210; and Yeni Büyük Doğu, 131–132, 218, 220 Kocatepe Mosque, 200–201 Koçu, Reşad Ekrem, 194; From Osman Gazi to Atatürk, 194–195 Kohn, Hans, 10 Komünizme Karşı Mücadele (newspaper), 216, 218 Korea and the Korean War (Aslanoğlu), 166 Korean War, 145; importance in Turkey, 162–163; soldiers’ memoirs, 166; and Turkish national identity, 162–167, 167; Turkish troops, 163 Köroğlu (newspaper), 65, 69–70, 95, 140, 171, 201, 211; and Hatay, annexation of, 151; and popular Muslim identities, support of, 140 Kral, August Ritter von: Das land Kamâl Atatürks, 41

288 how happy to Call oneself a turk laiklik, 12, 23, 42–53, 56, 114; attacks on, 205, 217, 221, 226; debates over meaning, 115; defense of, 208, 213; and the Democratic Party, 113–114; inequities, 143; opposition to, in print media, 125; popular experience of, 5, 49–50; portrayal in Tarih, 78; public debate, 114, 124–125; Republican Party debate, 120; and Turkish national identity, 3, 29, 42, 45–46. See also läicisme; secularization läicisme, 43, 54. See also laiklik Law for the Maintenance of Order, 30; negative effect on publishing, 63 Law of High Treason, 51 leftists: and Criminal Code, 157; and leftist publications, and PanTurkists, 155–167; protests against, 158; publications, 157 Lerner, Daniel, 10 Lewis, Bernard: The Emergence of Modern Turkey, 16–19 Lewis, Geoffrey: Turkey, 16–19 Loves of the Sultan, The (Tülbençti), 194 Mango, Andrew, 17 Mardin, Şerif, 8 Markopaşa (newspaper), 157–158 Marshall Plan, 149 Martial Law Act, 66 mass public culture in Turkey, 4, 204, 224; emergence of, 58–59; lack of, pre-1945, 21, 25, 56 mausoleums: of public figures, 196, 200. See also türbes Mehmed the Conqueror. See Sultan Mehmed II Menderes, Adnan: and the Arabic ezan, 122; and the Korean War, 162; and laiklik, 116, 206; and May 1960, 113, 225; and opponents, 85, 221; philosophy, 114; and press, 93, 110–111; and religious education, 119; and “religious reaction,” 213–214, 218–220 Menemen “uprising,” 31, 50, 210, 219 Meşale (journal), 159, 178, 181 milla, 34. See also millet

millet: definition of, 37, 40; Ottoman, 35, 40; Turkish, 57 Millet (newspaper), 148, 161 Milliyet (newspaper), 94, 177 Ministry of Religious Affairs, 211 Miracle of Korea and the Sound of the Martyr, The (Ülkü), 166 Mithat Paşa, 192–193 Muslim identity, 39, 44, 136, 223 Müslümanlik, 115 Müslüman Sesi (journal), 125–127, 126, 206, 218 Nabi, Yaşar, 182, 210 national identity: dynamic nature of, xiv, 13, 21; inexclusivity of, 23–24; “mass mobilization,” role in, 7; as narrative, 56–57, 174; negotiation of, 4–5, 8, 21, 112; and “the people,” inclusion of, 81; popular identification, importance of, 7; and race, 35; unitary nature, 29, 226 nationalism: effect on history, 26, 29; as “modern,” 27; and national identity, 3–10; as “natural,” 26–27 national print culture, 5, 9, 22; emergence of, 1–9, 82, 83–113; and multiparty politics, 86; and pre- and post1945, 2, 87; and World War II, 88. See also provincial press Nation Party, 85–86, 118, 121, 187 newspapers: metropolitan, 6, 67, 73; and fiction, 191; in Gaziantep, 88, 102; and government advertising, 94; and government assistance, 61; and holidays, observance of, 142; and popular interests, 1950s, 99; in post–World War II, 97–99; pricing, 95, 218; and religion, 142; in SingleParty period, 61. See also specific newspapers Nursi, Bediüzzaman Said: publication of letters, 128–129; and “religious reaction,” 215 Orhun (journal), 97, 156–158. See also Orkun

index 289 Orkun (journal), 158; on Mustafa Kemal, 180–181. See also Orhun Orientalism: in Western views of Turkish history, 14–15, 16, 19. See also colonialism: internal Oruç, Arif, 64 Ottoman history: in the popular press, 193; rehabilitation of, 175, 190–202; and Single-Party period newspapers, 73; and Turkish national identity, 23, 195; and “Turkishness,” 33 Outlines of Turkish History, The, 74; and Mustafa Kemal, 76 Özoğul, Nazmi: Why Did I Fight in Korea?, 166, 169 pamphlets, 60; of Kemal’s speeches, 78 Pan-Turkists, 155–167; and nationalist language, 160; penalties for political activities, 158 peasantry, 58, 69 People’s House Journals, 62, 67–69 Pilavoğlu, Kemal, 185–187, 218; Handbook of Religion, 185 Political Murders in the Period of the Republic (Kandemir), 181–182 press: journalists, prosecution of, 63; 1953–1954, 23, 205; and Ottoman rule, 57; post-1945, 90; religious publications, 114; suppression of, 65 Press Law, the, 32, 63, 65, 91; new Press Law, 1950, 93, 110–111 Press Union, 68, 91 “print capitalism,” 94 printing houses, 59–60; closings of, 67; government printing houses, 94; increase post-1945, 89, 96, 103–106; metropolitan, 96; provincial, 60 Printing Law, 91, 93 Progressive Republican Party, 30–31, 177 provincial press, 1, 13, 83–112; expansion, post–Turkish revolution, 59; expansion, post–World War II, 101–103; increase in readership post1945, 102; local production, 104; newspapers, content of, 69; news-

papers, proliferation of, 1945–1950, 92, 93; quality, post–World War II, 105; technology, role in, post-1945, 101; and the War of Independence, 60 Radio Broadcasts to the Heroes in Korea (Kepir), 166 reactionary sentiments, 210; and the Arabic ezan, 122; and the “black press,” 220; and Communism, 215; and dictatorial policies, 182, 188, 210, 214–217; and the Hearths of the Turkish Revolution, 209; and laiklik, 205; and the Nation Party, 186– 187; and political executions, 31; religious, 75–76, 129–130, 161, 205; and tarikats, portrayal of, 213 religion classes: in Turkish schools, 118–121, 125, 140, 208 religious print media, 114–143; and foreign scholars, 114–115; periodicals, 22 “religious reaction,” 211–216; refutation of, 214–15 Republican People’s Party, 14, 31; and authoritarian policies, 29, 92; defeat in May 1950, 84; and laiklik, 32, 120–121, 129; and press, direct involvement in, 63, 67–71, 79, 87, 102; reaction to political dissent, 90–92 Risale-i Nur, 128–129. See also Nursi, Bediüzzaman Said Robinson, Richard, 102–103, 107 Şakır, Ziya, 193 Sarıgöllü, Kani: Turkish Heroism in Korea, 166 satire, 70. See also cartoons Sebilürreşad (journal), 60, 129–130, 178, 179, 217–218 secularization, 10, 13, 40–52. See also laiklik Selâmet (journal), 130, 197 Sergengeçti (journal), 161–162 Sertel, Zekeriya, 177 Şeyh Sait Kurdish rebellion, 30

290 how happy to Call oneself a turk Shariah law: abolition of, 47 shrines, 196–197. See also türbes Smith, Anthony, 51 Social Darwinism, 36, 52 social history, xi, xiii Socialist Laborers’ and Peasants’ Party of Turkey, 157 Socialist Party of Turkey, 157 Soviets: and imperialism, 145–147; as “infidels,” 164; and Turkish fears, 153–154 Soykut, Refik: The Eternal Heroes in Korea, 166 Speech (Nutuk) of October 1927, 14; and “national struggle,” 178; as published, 78–79; and Tarih, 78 Statistical Yearbook, 89, 97, 103, 123–124 Sufi tarikats, 44, 46–48; abolition, 48, 196; attacks upon, 184 sultanate, abolishment of, 30; in nationalist histories, 195 Sultan Mehmed II, 191, 199–202 Tan (newspaper), 32, 55 Tarih (1931), 14, 55, 74–79, 195; and Mustafa Kemal, 79; and Ottoman past, portrayal of, 80; Tarih II and III, 190 Tarih (1952), 190–191, 195 Ticani tarikat, 184–185, 218; and Mustafa Kemal, 186–187 Toynbee, Arnold, 15–16 Treaty of Sèvres, 38–39 Truman Doctrine, 149 Truth Behind the Izmir Conspiracy, The (Kandemir), 181–182 Tülbentçi, Feridun, 193–194; The Conquest of Istanbul, 194; The Loves of the Sultan, 194; The Turk Who Brings Glory to History, 194 Tulip Period, the, 193 Tunaya, Tarık Zafer, 14, 116 türbes, 47–48, 131, 196 “Turk”: history of the word, 34 Turk Who Brings Glory to History, The (Tülbentçi), 194 Turkey (G. Lewis), 16–19

Turkish Constitution, 81; new Constitution, 1960, 225 Turkish Heroism in Korea (Sarıgöllü), 166 Turkish language, 33; history of the use of Turkish languages, 33; language reform, 72 Turkish national identity: “breathing room” created by media, 111, 114; civic rather than ethnic, 82; and “identity crisis,” 227; Islam, importance of, 3, 7–9, 13, 21, 23, 40, 113, 203; Kemalist historical narrative, 13–14, 33, 45, 48, 175–176, 203; language, importance of, 11; popular experience of, xiii, 1, 13; provincial press, importance of, 6, 8; and Soviet enemy, 145 Turkish Revolution, 2; Hearths of the Turkish Revolution, 209–210; impact of, 20–21, 83, 132; and Islam, 18, 223; and laiklik, 29, 56, 144, 226; and Mustafa Kemal, 180–184; and the press, 59, 67–70; and secularism, 14, 40, 203, 207; and “Turkification,” 35; and Turkish national identity, xii, 2, 25, 41–45, 112. See also ihtilâl, inkılâp Turkish Soldier in Korea, The (Canbulat), 166 Turkish-Soviet Friendship Treaty of 1936, 146 Ülkü, Feyzullah Sacit: The Miracle of Korea and the Sound of the Martyr, 166 Ulus (newspaper), 156, 214 United States Information Service (USIS), 153 urbanization, 108–109 Ustaoğlu, Hasan Fehmi, 179–180, 187; imprisonment of, 188 Varlik (journal), 182, 210 Vatan (newspaper), 32, 67, 99, 109, 135, 150, 156, 194–195, 194, 207 “veil,” 49

index 291 Vicdan Sesi (newspaper), 104, 124, 136–137, 136, 205; investigation of, 137, 221; and laiklik, 205; and public morality, emphasis on, 137 Volkan (journal), 133–134, 133, 177, 218 War of Independence, 29, 38; anniversary of, 70, 142; and Gaziantep, book publishing in, 106–107; and the Korean War, 164; and the Independence Tribunals, 30; rhetoric of, 40, 44, 144; and Mustafa Kemal, 76, 175–176; newspaper coverage, 78; and the provincial press, 84; and Turkish national identity, 37, 51 Webster, Donald, 95 What Is Religion? What Do Freedom of Religion and Secularism Mean?, 206 Why Are We Going to Korea? (Deral), 165, 166 Why Did I Fight in Korea? (Özoğul), 166, 169 Why Was Iskilipli Atıf Hoca Executed?, 183

Yalman, Ahmet Emin, 219; arrest, 135; assassination attempt, 137, 219–220; and “religious reaction,” 213; “village” letters in Vatan, 99 Yarın, 64, 157 Yaşnar, Ahmet: The Conflict in Korea, 166 Yavuz Sultan Selim Cries, 194 Yazıcı, General Tahsin, 168 Yeni Büyük Doğu (newspaper), 124, 216, 218 Yeniyol (newspaper), 152, 173 Yeni Gun (newspaper), 60 Yeşil Bursa (newspaper), 86, 129–130, 134 Yeşil Nur (newspaper), 83–85, 85, 135– 137, 221 Yurt (newspaper), 67, 71–73, 72, 76; distribution in provinces, 71 Zafer (newspaper), 95, 220 Zonguldak (newspaper), 80, 102 Zürcher, Erich Jan, 39