By Andrew Mango
On 18 June 1987, the European Parliament met in Strasbourg to consider ‘a political solution to the Armenian question’, before turning its attention to the annual report on the European Regional Development Fund (which, the Portuguese rapporteur noted sadly, lacked sufficient resources and could adopt only three of the 17 national projects submitted to it). (1)
The Armenian debate had been awaited with apprehension by the Turks, with hope by the Armenians (and their tactical allies, the Greeks) and with indifference by almost everyone else. It had not been easy to organize. The ostensible justification for it lay in the campaign of assassination to which Turkish diplomats were subjected by Armenian terrorists. The campaign had started in January 1973 with the murder of the Turkish consul general in Los Angeles. However, it was not until1981, by which time 19 Turkish diplomatic officials had been murdered, that a group of members of the European Parliament raised the problem in Strasbourg. Their purpose was to punish the victim , Turkey, by delaying the approval of the fourth financial protocol between that country and the European Community, a protocol which came under the terms of the Association agreement , signed by both parties in 1963. In 1981, Turkey was not popular with European liberals and left-wingers. The previous year the Turkish armed forces had taken over power and proceeded to put an end to internal terrorism by draconian means and to economic mismanagement by orthodox liberal economic policies. ‘Military fascists in the service of capitalism’ were an easy target. Moreover, since the punishment consisted of stopping the disbursement of 600 million European Currency Units from the straitened European budget, it had much to commend itself to the parliamentarians in Strasbourg.
However, there was no logical link between Armenian terrorism and the Turkish military take-over. The former was deployed outside Turkey, while the latter was directed at domestic enemies of law and order. What is more, the Armenian terror campaign had started while Turkey was ruled by Parliament, albeit very ineffectively. But there was political logic in the resolution: Turkey (like most countries) had always had national adversaries; in 1981, it also had numerous liberal critics. The proposers of the resolution, most of whom represented constituencies in France, a country with strong liberal traditions as well as a large Armenian community , brought the two together. Their argument ran as follows: in order to quell ‘the violent attacks organized by ill-identified groups of Armenians’ one must remove their causes which ‘are rooted in the age-old oppression suffered by the Armenian people who, since the genocide of the First World War, are still suffering various forms of oppression by certain states and more particularly by the Turkish Government’. Therefore, while protesting ‘vigorously and indignantly’ at the ‘violent attacks’ (by Armenian terrorists) and expressing solidarity with their victims, the European parliamentarians asked that the Turkish government should be informed of ‘the disapproval felt in the Community at the many violations of human rights taking place in Turkey’, as well as being deprived of European aid.2 The fact that the small Armenian community left in Turkey had no quarrel with the country’s military rulers, who made sure that there was no popular backlash against the murder of Turkish diplomats, was disregarded.
The first draft resolution was followed by others: two were submitted on behalf of the socialist group, one by a Greek parliamentarian who demanded that 24 April should be proclaimed Armenian Genocide Day (‘having regard… to the decision of the Permanent People’s Court taken in the Sorbonne on 13–16 April1984’).(3) There were also written questions, to one of which the European Foreign Ministers replied diplomatically:
The tragic happenings which claimed very many Armenian victims in the Ottoman Empire during the First World War in 1915 and 1916 are not in dispute. The Ten strive to encourage respect for basic freedoms and human rights, including those of minorities. At the same time, they are always firm in their condemnation of all acts of terrorism, irrespective of the reason underlying them.(4)
The draft resolutions were referred to the Political Committee of the European Parliament, and on 20 December 1984 the Committee asked a Dutch MEP, Mr J. Vandemeulebroucke to draw up a report. Mr Vandemeulebroucke read a few books and produced his short history of the Armenian question. He found that ‘although the policy of a large number of Sultans may be characterised as noble and tolerant, after 1850 the dichotomy between legal order and actual reality becomes particularly apparent’. Thus Abdulhamid II was clearly less noble than his predecessors, since ‘his administration was least beneficial for the Armenians and other minorities’. It is of course, a fact that the Armenians fared badly under Abdulhamid (after the start of Armenian nationalist violence), although many Armenians maintained their prosperous place in Ottoman society, while the Greeks did well, the Jews found Abdulhamid no worse than his predecessors, and the Arabs (who were hardly a minority) rose in esteem. However that may be, Abdulhamid’s reign undeniably witnessed the development of an Armenian nationalist movement (described as ‘free of complexes’ by Vandemeulebroucke), as well as the beginnings of Turkish nationalism, and on the eve of the First World War ‘the image of both nationalisms is at the same time an image of lost opportunities for creating a democratic federalist form of government’.6 Instead of creating a federation, the nationalists led their respective communities to violence which resulted in a bloodbath. Mr Vandemeulebroucke examined the Turkish and Armenian versions of what happened to the Armenians, and concluded that there was an Armenian genocide. However:
It is plain that the present Turkish government cannot be made at all responsible for the acts of genocide committed by the Young Turks. The present rulers are, however, the heirs of the Turkish State, on the territory of which these events occurred. In view of this fact, the Turkish government can no longer deny the history of the Turkish Armenian question and the element of genocide. Recognition of these events will, of course, only have moral consequences, but Turkey would thereby implicitly play a special preventive role in consolidating respect for human rights in the international community.(7)
But the Turkish government refused to play this ‘special preventive role’, pointing to the fact that their predecessor, the Ottoman government had been faced with Armenian subversion, that more Muslims than Armenians perished in Anatolia in the First World War, and that the physical survival (in exile) of the majority of Anatolian Armenians was inconsistent with a presumption of genocide.
Turkish objections were taken into account by the Political Affairs Committee of the European Parliament on 15 April1987, when it prepared its draft resolution on the basis of Vandemeulebroucke’s report. As a result, the word ‘genocide’ was not used in the draft which, instead, regretted ‘the injustice perpetrated against the Armenian people in 1915’. Furthermore, while calling for ‘fair treatment of the Armenian minority in Turkey’, it also expressed ‘its concern at the difficulties currently being experienced by the Armenian community in Iran’ and condemned ‘the violations of individual freedoms committed in the Soviet Union against the Armenian population’.8
The attempt by the Political Affairs Committee to pour oil on troubled waters did not succeed. Not only was genocide written back into the resolution when it was discussed by the European Parliament on 18 June 1987, but a general broadside was let loose against Turkey.
The refusal of the present Turkish government to acknowledge the genocide against the Armenian people committed by the Young Turk government (the amended resolution stated), its reluctance to apply the principles of international law to its differences of opinion with Greece, the maintenance of Turkish occupation forces in Cyprus and the denial of the existence of the Kurdish question, together with individual and collective freedoms, in particular freedom of religion, in that country are insurmountable obstacles to consideration of the possibility of Turkey’s accession to the Community.(9)
Turkey, which had reverted to parliamentary rule after the general elections of November 1983, had applied for full membership of the European Community on 14 April1987. It was this application which the authors of the amendment sought to use by linking it with the satisfaction of their demands. Their catholic condemnation of Turkish government policies was passed by the votes of 180 MEPs (including 24 Greeks) out of a total membership of 518.(10) History does not record where the other MEPs were, but it does record the furore which the resolution provoked in Turkey. On 19 June, President Kenan Evren surmised that demands would follow for territory in eastern Turkey, and said: ‘If they are strong enough, let them come and take it’.(11) On 22 June he was even angrier in a speech in Sivas: ‘We are in NATO, but it seems we should not be in the EEC. At the bottom of this there is a religious difference: Christianity… No, that’s not on. Such an alliance is not on. It is useful to pause for a moment and reconsider the NATO alliance’.(12) However, Turkey made no move to leave NATO. Instead, on 23 June, EEC ambassadors in Ankara were summoned and handed a Turkish protest at the resolution.(13) The Turkish Grand National Assembly met and unanimously condemned the resolution of the European Parliament. Not only was it contrary to historical facts, Turkish deputies declared, but it would ‘prepare suitable ground for the terrorist organisations of the world’.(14) This was a reference to the attack by Kurdish terrorists on the village of Pinarcik (province of Mardin, in south eastern Turkey) on 20 June, when 30 villagers, including 16 children, were murdered.(15) The attack was immediately described as a ‘true genocide’ by Turkish journalists, who laid the responsibility for it at the door of their country’s European critics. It was not for the first time in the history of the Eastern Question that atrocities reinforced political argument.
The storm (but not the murderous activities of Kurdish terrorists) gradually subsided: in July 1987, when the Turkish Foreign Minister Vahit Halefoglu visited London, the British government dissociated itself from the EEC resolution; more importantly, at the end of January 1988, the Turkish Prime Minister Turgut Ozal and the Greek Prime Minister Andreas Papandreou met in the Swiss mountain resort of Davos and agreed to create an environment conducive to working out lasting solutions’.16 In this more relaxed atmosphere, the writing of history is being left to scholars. But nationalist history has been warfare by other means.
Two opposing accounts of the Armenian troubles have recently been published. The Armenian Genocide in Perspective, edited by Richard Hovannisian, professor of Armenian and Near Eastern history at the University of California, Los Angeles, is based on papers read at the International Conference on the Holocaust and Genocide in Tel Aviv in 1982.17 Almost all the papers come from the pens of Armenian scho lars; Turkish scholars took no part in the proceedings, and according to Israel W. Charny, who contributes a preface to the volume, the Turkish government exerted heavy pressure to have the Armenian topic removed from the conference.IS The venue and purpose of the conference led the contributors to seek parallels between the Armenian massacres and the Jewish Holocaust. To stress the similarity between the two events, two of the contributors quoted Hitler as saying (on the eve of his invasion of Poland) ‘Who still talks today of the extermination of the Armenians’? (as reported by R.Hrair Dekmejian)19 or ‘Who remembers what happened to the Armenians’? (according to Leo Hamalian).20 But apart from the fact that the authenticity of this statement has been impugned,21 there is this essential difference between the Armenian and the Jewish cases: the destruction of the Armenian community in Anatolia was preceded by more than 20 years of Armenian nationalist agitation aimed, at least, at winning territorial autonomy for the Armenians, and often employing terrorist methods, while the Jews who perished in the Holocaust had made no such demands, let alone used such methods. Vigen Guroian comes closest to discussing this crucial difference when he says:
Inspired by European liberal, socialist and nationalist movements, there arose among Armenians a new national consciousness that gave birth to several political parties. The most radical of these, the Hnchakian and Dashnaktsutiun parties, staged terrorist raids and incited riots. The Hnchakian party favoured an independent state, whereas the Dashnaktsutiun party, the larger of the two, sought ‘reforms within the framework of the Ottoman Empire’. But not even in 1915 did these radical parties have the means to pose a serious threat to the Ottoman state…22
The degree of the threat posed by Armenian nationalists can, of course, be reasonably discussed even though it can never be finally determined. What cannot be sustained is that Armenian nationalists did not constitute a threat to the integrity of the Ottoman Empire either before or during the First World War. Equally, all sides to the dispute should agree that while the occurrence of massacres can be explained, it should never be justified. It is a matter of record that many Armenians were killed after the first serious nationalist uprisings in 1894-96, and that a large part of the community perished in the deportations of 1915. The exact numbers of victims are disputed, and the contributors to the Tel Aviv conference do not address themselves to this historical problem. Thus Professor Hovannisian gives but does not justify the figure of ‘between 100,000 and 200,000 Armenians’ killed in 1894-95, in the first wave of serious work by the Turkish scholar, Ambassador Kamuran Gurun, quoted several estimates of the number of victims, including the figure of 88,000 given by Johannes Lepsius, a prominent contemporary defender of the Armenians, and concluded that the true figure ‘hardly reach[ed] 20,000′.24 Similarly, while the claim is repeated that 1,500,000 Armenians were killed during the First World War, none of the speakers at Tel Aviv referred to the demographic studies of Professor McCarthy who calculated that there were
1,465,000 Armenians in Anatolia in 1912, that survivors in 1922 numbered 881,000, and that some 584,000 Armenians had, therefore, perished from all causes.25 Nor do the contributors address themselves to the matter of Muslims killed during the earlier Armenian troubles and, on a much larger scale, during the First World War. While as a matter of historical record it is important to establish the number of victims as accurately as possible, morally, as Leo Kuper says,’the magnitude of the crime of genocide is hardly reduced if the number of victims is, say 200,000’.26 But the purpose of the conference was to draw attention to facts as well as to draw moral conclusions. ‘Terrorist actions stain the truth that scholars labour to make clear’, Terrence des Pres says in his introduction, ‘But if the truth were made clear, the terrorism would stop’,27 Would that it were so.
If the volume edited by Hovanissian concentrates mainly on the fate of the Armenians in the First World War, Dr Salahi Sonyel’s study, The Ottoman Armenians,28 is concerned largely with the preceding period and the beginnings of Armenian nationalist violence. The study is sub-titled ‘Victims of Great Power Diplomacy’, in line with the tradition of modern Turkish historiography which stresses external factors in the development of nationalist movements in the Ottoman Empire. Describing the birth of the Eastern Question, Sonyel says:
Towards the latter part of the nineteenth century the decline of the Ottoman Empire became acute. The Great Powers, taking advantage of this decline, waited impatiently to share the carcass of the dying ‘sick man of Europe’. In order to hasten his demise, they encouraged the growing nationalist movements in that Empire . . . [and] vied with one another for the control of the Near and Middle East … in order to satisfy their own selfish interests. The only thing that kept them from delivering the final blow was the possibility that, if the Ottoman Empire did collapse, their rivalries would provoke a conflict of incalculable proportions. However, if she [sic] had to be maintained, she had to be kept weak …29
It is, of course, true that nationalist movements in the Ottoman Empire had their ideological roots in Europe, where they could also rely on considerable support. But if by Great Powers one means the governments of Britain, France, Russia, Austria-Hungary and Germany, then the evidence that these fomented nationalist movements is scant. To use an anachronistic term, nationalism was an anti-establishment movement, which the older states of Europe had cause to fear. They were tardy in supporting it, and they did so only when they felt that their interests left them no other choice. It took six years, from the beginning of the Greek revolt in 1821 to the naval battle of Navarino in 1827, for the Great Powers to move into action in order to save Greek nationalism from defeat. In all other Eastern crises, the governments of the Great Powers sought at first to contain rather than to incite nationalist rebellions. They believed that reforms in the Ottoman Empire would prevent further outbreaks, even if in the event they only served to encourage them.
European expansion in the Near East was achieved largely by force of arms; it owed little to local nationalist agitation. In the case of the Armenians, the Russian conquest of Transcaucasia preceded the birth of Armenian nationalism, which later disturbed the empire of the Tsars as it did, in admittedly a much greater measure, that of the Sultans. Individual Armenians did serve the Russian Empire, but even more so its Ottoman neighbour. True, European empires employed on occasion unwise servants, who encouraged or gave the impression of encouraging nationalists against the better judgment of their governments. It is also true that nationalist agitators from the Ottoman Empire, including Young Turkish nationalists before 1908, hatched their plots in European cities or in cities under European control. But even if their hosts were not as careful as they should have been in watching them, they did not conspire to use them. Only when they were at war with the Ottomans did European governments have dealings with subversive nationalists, and they derived little profit from them.
Sonyel does not in fact present any evidence to prove that the Armenians were the victims of Great Power diplomacy. His patient reasearches into British diplomatic and consular despatches at the Public Records Office substantiate a different, and a familiar, tale of nationalist agitators seizing on and exacerbating grievances, using and causing violence, which then led to the involvement of the Great Powers. Territorial autonomy was right from the start the aim, and in some cases the minimum aim, of Armenian nationalists. It could only be achieved at the expense of local Muslims, who formed the majority of the population in historic Armenia, and who reacted savagely to the threat to their position. Among them, numerous Muslim refugees from lands lost to the Ottoman Empire were a living reminder of the consequences of the loss of Muslim power. Some officials of the Ottoman central government sought to restrain intercommunal violence, others condoned or even organized it. Even under the Young Turks, some Muslims guilty of killing Armenians were tried and executed. 3D But in the end, the Empire was overwhelmed by the wave of violence which had been plotted by the nationalist agitators, but which was also precipitated by the decision of the Young Turks to enter the war against the Allies. Had the Tsarist armies emerged victorious from the war, the Armenians would have had today a larger, and the Turks a smaller, national home. As it was, fortune on the battlefield has drawn not only the political, but also the ethnic map of the region. Anatolia was sorted out on religious-ethnic lines, while to the north, the imposition of Russian rule in Soviet garb preserved the multi-ethnic mosaic of the Caucasus.
Sonyel ends his study with an appeal to both Turks and Armenians:
‘What they need now is the courage and inducement to look back on these dark days when they were forced by self-seeking alien Powers into a position of internecine confrontation, to receive a lesson therefrom, and to develop the magnanimity of mutual forgiveness and understanding’.31
One cannot quarrel with a call for magnanimity, but recent events in the Caucasus confirm that the analysis on which Sonyel bases his study is flawed. The killings of Armenians in the new industrial city of Sumgait in Soviet Azerbaijan in March 1988 were not caused by self-seeking alien powers, but by a perceived weakening of alien, imperial control.
Nowhere has the evil influence of alien powers been imputed more consistently than in explanations of the modern phenomenon of terrorism. Yet, here too, as two recent studies of Armenian terrorism show, internal factors are paramount. Anat Kurz and Ariel Merari are sympathetic to the Armenian people, since ‘Both the Jews and the Armenians have been the victims of genocide in the 20th century’.32 However, this does not stop them from clearly seeing the nature of the Armenian terrorist organization, the Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia, which, they explain, was ‘established under the protection of the PLO in Lebanon; it was from the Palestinian nationalist movement that it drew its inspiration, and Palestinian terror served as a model for the type of struggle it chose to conduct’.33
The two authors’ historical introduction is weak: historic Armenia became part of the Ottoman empire not in the fifteenth, but in the sixteenth century;34 it is not true that ‘until the beginning of the nineteenth century the Armenian nation constituted a majority in its areas of residence’;35 the statement that Armenian separatists in the nineteenth century ‘were backed by France, but the principal support came from the side of Russia’ needs considerable qualification;36 the further statement that ‘revolutionary reforms in the government system failed to obtain the support of Sultan Abdulhamid himself can only raise a smile;37 the accusation that ‘in April 1909 the Sultan instigated a counter-coup to eliminate the Young Turks’38 has never been proved, and so on. There are many misspellings of proper names, misprints (some misleading: the Russians first occupied parts of Armenia in 1828, not 192839), and minor inaccuracies (for example, there are no Armenians in Van today;40 or again, in what sense is AI Nashara a ‘Cypriot newspaper’?). Kurz and Merari fail to realize on occasion that quotation is no proof. Thus their statement: ‘Immediately following the evacuation of Beirut, an ASALA training center was organised in the Greek sector of Cyprus, while simultaneously another, apparently political, base was established in Greece’41 is justified in a footnote by a reference to a publication called Executive Risk Assessment. But is it true? One should at least be told something about the credibility of the source. Nevertheless, this study of ASALA does contain useful information, and some of the authors’ comments are judicious. The problem posed by Armenian terrorists for Western states is analysed sensibly, the possibility of long-term co-operation between Armenian and Kurdish nationalists is, again sensibly, dismissed. The authors conclude that ASALA’s target of regaining the independence of the Armenian nation on its historic soil ‘would seem even more irrational and unattainable than that of gaining international recognition’.42 This too is sensible. But their last conclusion requires further thought. ‘Undeniably, these violent acts’, they say, ‘have revived the Armenian question, and here lies the main and most striking achievement of the terrorists’. 43 Such a judgement of the results of terrorist activity had become a cliche in the literature on terrorism. Yet can one speak of achievement, where terrorist action serves only to bring further misery to the people whom it purports to champion?
Professor Michael Gunter’s study of contemporary Armenian terrorism is more solid and comprehensive.44 He deals with both ASALA, and the rival organization JCAG-ARA (Justice Commandos of the Armenian Genocide-Armenian Revolutionary Army). The first is revolutionary leftist, the second ‘appears to be an offshoot of the Dashnaks’, the main Armenian nationalist party today.45 The history, structure and activities of both organizations are carefully chronicled, and there is much material which helps to explain subsequent developments such as the agitation in the 1988 in the (Armenian) Autonomous Region of Karabakh in Soviet Azerbaijan, or the murder in Athens in April 1988 of Hagop Hagopian who helped found ASALA in 1975,46 and who was the leader of its more militant faction after a split in 1983. Gunter describes this faction as ‘little more than a group of gangsters illogically pursuing one minor or unrelated adventure after another’.47 In a thorough examination of the international setting, Gunter reaches the conclusion that ‘although the Turks probably overemphasize the importance of the foreign connections and downplay the degree of Armenian self-support, there is no doubt that the contemporary Armenian terrorists . have received both material and especially moral support from a number of foreign sources’.48 However, these sources have been largely unofficial. Links with other terrorist organizations, such as the Popular Front· for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) and the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (DFLP} are well documented. As Gunter points out, ‘the Lebanese Civil War of the mid-1970s and the Palestinians acted as catalysts for Armenian terrorism. Behind the lawlessness rampant in Lebanon, ASALA was able to draw physical and spiritual succour from a Palestinian ideological ally with whom it shared such common attributes as a lost homeland and a large diaspora’.49 One could add that, like ASALA, the PFLP and DFLP are led by members of Christian minorities, men who have sought in revolutionary Marxism the key to their own integration in a region where their faith, as well as the misfortunes to which they have been prey, set them apart.
As far as foreign governments are concerned, the actions of some of them have been ambiguous. Thus, ‘what is most likely is that the Soviets simply have been playing their usual game of trying to destabilize their potential foes, actions not foreign to American behaviour, it should be noted. ASALA probably has been just one of many terrorist groups attempting to strike at Turkish stability that has received some covert Soviet aid. As one of the two superpowers in world politics today, however, the Soviet Union often has an inherent interest in not promoting instability’.50 This interest has certainly increased since the publication of Gunter’s book. Turning to Western countries, Gunter says that ‘American political sympathy for the Armenian cause . . . falls far short of the much more blatant support a number of prominent French politicians have given it’.51 Tangible proof of a Greek connection is lacking, in spite of Greek sympathy for the Armenians, while ‘harder evidence exists of Syrian-Armenian connections’.52 These, however, vary in accordance with the state of relations between Turkey and Syria, and recent Turkish press reports suggest that the Syrians have closed down the ASALA training camp in the Bekaa and its information office in Beirut.
Gunter dismisses Armenian nationalist claims for territorial restitution, saying that if these were to be granted ‘the Cherokee Indians might as well be allowed to assume sovereignty in middle Tennessee, the English in northwestern France, or for that matter the Turks in the Balkans…’53
He also believes that ‘despite the protestations of Armenians abroad, those in Tu*ey are probably better off than their co-ethnics in such other Middle Eastern countries as Iran and Syria’.54 However, he tactfully suggests that Turkey can help bury the hatchet: ‘Certainly, an official statement that the Turkish government deeply regrets the tragedies suffered by the Armenians during World War I could be made without doing harm to the Turkish contention that they too suffered grievously during these years’.55 Again, he proposes that Turks should acknowledge the Armenian contribution to the development of Anatolian history.56 Such steps did not commend themselves to the Turkish authorities when their diplomats were being murdered by Armenian terrorists. ‘Armenian terrorists in the past decade have murdered 30 Turkish diplomats or members of their immediate families. . . In addition, some 34 non-Turks have been murdered and over 300 wounded because they happened to be in the terrorists’ line of fire’.57 But now that the campaign has stopped, or has at least been suspended, tempers could begin to cool. True, in Soviet Armenia nationalists are stoking up the fire. This, however, should not stop historians of all nations from bringing out the truth of the tragically close relationship between Turks and Armenians. The work of historians committed to national causes is not to be discarded, simply because it brings out facts helpful to the cause while ignoring others. All significant facts will find their place in the synthesis which should eventually reflect the past as truthfully as records and historical skills permit. To this work of synthesis begun in a review article published in this journal by Gwynne Dyer,ss and continued by Professor Justin McCarthy, Gunter has made a notable contribution.
For the ethnic communities in the Near East a common past has given way to a separate future. In his standard work on Turkey’s foreign relations, published in 1971, Ferenc Vali wrote:
Although they stem from different cultures, Turks and Greeks are both territorial descendants of an empire which was first Byzantine Christian and then Ottoman-Muslim. It required centuries and enormous sacrifices before it was possible to disentangle the ethnic religious conglomeration of these succeeding empires. In Cyprus the ghost of the Roman-Ottoman imperial heritage still survived; it remains for the successors of Venizelos and Ataturk to exorcise this last remnant of theocratic-ethnic obsolescence.59
The last remnant was exorcised three years later in 1974, although not in the spirit of the agreement achieved by Ataturk and Venizelos in 1930. Then, seven years after the expulsion of Greeks from Anatolia, the government in Athens recognised the permanent loss of lands where there had been a Greek presence for two millennia. In Cyprus, 15 years after the end of hostilities which resulted in the physical separation of Greeks and Turks, the Greek government in Nicosia is still not ready to accept the permanent loss of the northern part of the island. ‘We shall never accept the partition of Cyprus, under any conditions whatsoever’, declared the President of (southern) Cyprus, Mr George Vassiliou, to a group of British MPs in April 1988.60
Thirty-four years earlier, as John Reddaway reminds us in his new study on the British connection with Cyprus,61 Henry Hopkinson, the Minister of State in the Colonial Office, ‘made his ill-chosen and never-to-be-forgotten use of the word “never” in the House of Commons…’ His actual words were:
It has always been recognised and agreed that there are certain territories in the Commonwealth which, owing to their particular circumstances, can never expect to be fully independent … I am not going as far as that this afternoon, but I have said that the question of the abrogation of British sovereign cannot arise – that British sovereignty will remain.62
As Reddaway observes, the wording was muddled. Unlike President Vassiliou today, Hopkinson had left himself a little loophole which was widened in 1956, when the Colonial Secretary (Lennox-Boyd) told the House of Commons:
When the international and strategic situation permits, and provided self-government is working satisfactorily, Her Majesty’s Government will be ready to review the question of the application of self determination. When the time comes for this review … it will be the purpose of Her Majesty’s Government to ensure that any exercise of self-determination should be effected in such a manner that the Turkish Cypriot community, no less than the Greek Cypriot community, shall … be given freedom to decide for themselves their future status. In other words, Her Majesty’s Government recognise that the exercise of self-determination in such a mixed population must include partition among the eventual options.63
A bon entendeur salut! But the Greek Cypriots shut their ears to the warning, and blamed Britain for plotting partition, which, in fact, came to pass only when Britain was no longer the sovereign power. Reddaway’s collection of essays has the rare distinction of providing a spirited defence of Britain’s record since 1878, when British rule in Cyprus was installed by agreement with the Ottoman government. Having served in Cyprus for more than 20 years, first as District Commissioner and finally as Administrative Secretary during the EOKA terrorist campaign, Reddaway has been stung by the ‘repeated denigration of the role Britain played in Cyprus’ in the course of ‘official Greek Cypriot pronouncements, particularly on occasions celebrating their “national struggle'”.64 But Greek nationalists are not alone in denying history. Reddaway quotes a ‘particularly obtuse’ letter to The Times from a British officer who had served as GOC Cyprus District from 1964 to 1966, and wrote: ‘About the only legacies from our colonial rule were an unworkable constitution, driving on the left and quarantine for dogs’. Reddaway comments: ‘The achievements of British rule in Cyprus… are undeniable and deserve respect, not mockery from British officials who have had the opportunity to see for themselves in Cyprus how much of its subsequent prosperity rests on the solid foundations laid during the period of British rule’.65
Reddaway recalls that ‘from the beginning of its occupation of Cyprus, Britain was in two minds about its new acquisition. Disraeli’s opinion that the Island was “the key to Western Asia” was endorsed by Queen Victoria and had wide support among the British public’. But ‘when the Liberal Party came to power, it declared that “the acquisition of Cyprus… is of no advantage to the country either in a military or a political sense”‘. However ‘neither doubts about the value of Cyprus to Britain nor sympathy for the aspirations of the Great Cypriots prevailed over the political and military arguments for maintaining British control of Cyprus. The opinion that “Britain’s interest in the Cyprus Question has always been strategic” is indisputable, provided that the term strategic is defined widely enough to include not only specific British defence requirements but also the broader British interest in maintaining peace and stability in the Eastern Mediterranean, particularly in preventing conflict over Cyprus between Greece and Turkey’.66
This interest continues to this day when it has become subsumed in a wider Western interest. But what course of action is best calculated to serve this interest? Should one try to recreate, albeit with a federal structure, the united independent Cyprus Republic, whose demise began when the Turkish community on the island came under attack in December 1963? This is the official policy of the United Nations, including its Western members. Or is the wisest course to accept the status quo, as was often done in the long history of the Eastern Question? After all, Britain and the rest of the world, excluding Turkey, accepted the new status quo when the Constitution of independent Cyprus was violated by the leadership of the Greek community in December 1963. And there is a strong suspicion that the overthrow of President Makarios by a coup organized from Athens in July 1974 would similarly have been accepted as a fait accompli, if it had not been for the Turkish military intervention. Reddaway writes:
A strange myopia seems to have afflicted British officials serving in Cyprus in the years following independence. It was as though they did not wish to know of or learn from the events which led up to the 1960 settlement … An attitude of ‘avant moi le deluge’ seems to have prevailed and to have blinded the High Commissioner and his staff from seeing what was going on under their noses. Apparently it did not cross their minds nor those of their superiors in London that what they were witnessing may not have been simply a sincere, if ill-judged, attempt to reform the machinery of government but rather a stage in a deliberate attempt to overthrow the Zurich and London settlement.67
Reddaway concludes that international pronouncements ignore the ques tion ‘whether there has in fact been any legitimate government at all in Cyprus since the 1960 Constitution was overthrown by the Greek Cypriot leadership in 1964. Consistency would seem to demand either that no such government has existed since then or that it has been repaced by two, equally legitimate or illegitimate, autonomous governments’.68 Behind the legal question, there is a real one: Has there ever been a case in which the geographical separation of two ethnic communities, converted to mutually antagonistic nationalist ideologies, was subsequently reversed?
There remains the liberal hope of ‘creating a democratic federalist form of government’ (which presupposes recognition of the Turkish Cypriot government since at least two legal entities are needed to form a feder ation). The historical record, set straight by Reddaway, gives few grounds to hope that the opportunity for this will not again be lost.
A previous sad episode in the history of Cyprus- the nationalist agitation among Greek Cypriots which led to the burning of Government House and the suspension of the Constitution introduced by Gladstone in 1882, and later modified in 1925 -is discussed at great length in a recently published monograph by G.S. Georghallides.69 This parochial history is on a grand scale solidly based on British records and private papers, the minutes of the Cyprus Legislative Council and a careful examination of the Cyprus Greek press. It tells an interesting and instructive story.
In 1926, the Colonial Secretary L.S. Amery chose Ronald Storrs, who was then Civil Governor of Jerusalem and Judea, as Governor of Cyprus. Georghallides describes Amery’s outlook at the time as one of ‘unformulated flexibility’. He ‘did not . . . give the new Governor any formal mandate to promote a liberal reform of the constitution’, but he probably thought of Storrs as a ‘suitable executor of delicate political manoeuvres’.70 In fact, no ‘liberal reform’ could have conciliated Greek
Cypriot politicians, for as Reddaway says sensibly: The core of the objection to it [the colonial Constitution of Cyprus] is the same which eighty years later condemned the 1960 Constitution – that is, that it obstructed the realisation of Enosis [union with Greece]. Then, as later during the period of British rule, those Greek Cypriots and their supporters who were convinced that the Greek Cypriot aspiration for union with Greece was morally and indisputably right judged British actions in the constitutional and administrative field by the criterion of their political devotion to that cause. Once the premise was accepted that the Greek Cypriot desire for Enosis was a matter of natural justice overriding all other considerations, then it followed that actions which obstructed or frustrated the achievement of that goal were by definition unjust and immoral.71
In the circumstances, Storrs enjoyed a limited scope for ‘delicate manoeuvres’. Earlier in Palestine, in the words of Christopher Sykes quoted by Georghallides, ‘nothing was faintly proved against him [Storrs]. . . beyond the fact that with his anxiety to please he sometimes appeared to give promises which he could not, or as the Jews (and Arabs) said, did not fulfil’.72 In Cyprus, Storrs succeeded for just one year during which he played a part in the abolition of the ‘tribute’ of some £100,000 a year, originally due to the Ottoman government, but applied in fact to compensate foreign holders of Ottoman bonds.
In 1928, neither Storrs’ ‘flamboyant habit of wearing blue-white and red-white ties, depending on whether he found himself in predominantly Greek or Turkish company’,73 nor his well-meaning efforts to promote the economy of the island, could prevent a Greek Cypriot boycott of the celebrations of the 50th anniversary of British rule.
Undeterred, Storrs turned his attention to the agricultural development of Cyprus and achieved some success in securing money from the Crown Agents for irrigation, and in raising a loan for the Agricultural Bank. The sway exercised by moneylenders over the Cypriot peasantry preoccupied the minds of British officials, particularly in view of the links which they saw between the moneylenders and nationalist politicians. Early in
1929, Reginald Nicholson, the Acting Governor, disregarding ‘the Colo nial Office’s preference for inaction over the important and controversial subject of the island’s constitution’, produced a set of fanciful proposals under which three quarters of the membership of District Council and the Legislative Council would be ‘bona fide agriculturalists’, while rural moneylenders would not be eligible.74
The Colonial Office was not impressed. In the words of A.J. Dawe, one of its senior officials, ‘Will not … Mr Nicholson’s bona fide agriculturalists follow the call of blood? Material progress under British rule elsewhere has often been not a depressant but a stimulant of nationalist and separatist feelings’.75 However, these leisurely arguments were interrupted by the emergence of two new threats to stability: the advent to power of Ramsay MacDonald’s Labour government in June 1929 and the eruption of the
world economic crisis. The Greek members of the Cyprus Legislative Council immediately expressed their joy and congratulations at the Labour party victory ‘having been exceptionally oppressed and greatly wronged by the Conservative Party’.76 However, MacDonald proved a disappointment to Greek nationalists: Enosis was not forthcoming, while the depression forced a harsh budget. The Greek Consul in Nicosia, Alexis Kyrou, who was himself of Cypriot origin, intrigued against both the British and his own government in Athens, and was removed with difficulty after he had contributed to the breakdown of law and order (while the Turkish Consul who had similarly over-reached himself in nationalist zeal was recalled without any fuss). A Greek secret nationalist society stoked the fires of disaffection, but was not noticed by Storrs. Greek Cypriot Venizelists and anti-Venizelists competed in nationalist fervour. A Greek Orthodox bishop then gave the final push to violence: Bishop Nicodemos of Kitium (Limassol) having first refused to resign from the Legislative Council, saw himself outflanked by nationalist agitators, and took the lead of the civil disobedience campaign for the realization of union with Greece. Within a few days, on 21 October 1931, an unruly crowd of Greek Cypriots assembled in Nicosia and burned down the Governor’s house. Storrs was away, but he lost his books and his reputation.
The harm to the island was quickly repaired: the despatch of 400 marines and 126 soldiers sufficed to restore order; Nicodemos and five other nationalist agitators were exiled; the Governor assumed full powers and Cyprus enjoyed a quarter of a century of unbroken peace and progress until the emergence of a new generation of Greek nationalists, led by Archbishop Makarios; tried violence again and launched the EOKA terrorist campaign on 1 April1955. The Government House, rebuilt from stone, survived to serve as Presidential Palace for Makarios when Cyprus became independent in 1960. In 1974, it was damaged by the guns of unreconciled Greek nationalists directed by the Colonels’ regime in Athens. Makarios escaped, but the Greek Cypriot community paid dearly for his and his opponents’ escapades.
Georghallides describes the re-establishment of order in 1931 as ‘the punishment of the islanders by the institution of an autocratic administra tion, suitable for the most backward and remote parts of the empire’.77 But such pained expressions are rare in a book which, while sympathetic to the proponents of Enosis, is generally fair-minded. However, Georghallides’s concentration on parish-pump politics can produce strange results. Thus a row about the employment of English teachers in the Turkish lycee in Nicosia merits a chapter entitled ‘The crisis in Anglo-Turkish relations’. The sympathies of Metin Maiko. professor of international law at the Texas Technical University, and author of yet another book on Cyprus, are not in doubt. They are made perfectly clear in his title The Turkish Cypriot State: The Embodiment of the Right to Self-Determination.78 It is a lawyer’s book which, with many a quotation from United Nations declarations, propounds the thesis that ‘the degree of “legality” of a particular State or its regime is determined by the degree to which it contributes to the self fulfilment and self-government of individual citizens in both national and international arenas’ .79 The objections to this argument are obvious. Who is to measure self-fulfilment and how? What happens if the self-fulfilment and self-government of one group of citizens are at odds with those of another group? How is one to deal with states which manifestly exist, but
fall short of the professor’s ideals? No matter, Maikohas no difficulty in proving that in 1963/64, Turkish Cypriots were deprived by force of the rights granted to them by the Constitution under which Cyprus became independent in 1960, and that they are much happier now in their Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus. They would be happier still if their republic were recognized internationally. It is to this end that Maikodeploys his forensic skill as he appeals to liberal public opinion, which is more used to the Greek argument that self-determination applies to majorities and that the Greek Cypriots should, therefore, have their way in an undivided island. The dispute cannot come to a logical conclusion, but a practical one has already been reached. This conclusion can, of course, be modified, and might even be improved. Maikosuggests one way of improving it when he says: ‘It would be foolhardy on the part of all concerned to expect the two states of Cyprus to give up their independent statehood at this time for a federation like the United States. It seems more reasonable to expect that each side be willing to create certain common institutions and processes for limited purposes in a “confederation” of the two independent States of Cyprus. When this kind of experiment proves viable, Cyprus will move in the direction of a “genuine federation” ‘.so It is a practical conclusion to an idealistic argument, the latter serving as some sort of moral and legal justification for the former. Readers who are not interested in such a justification will be diverted by a number of press cartoons which are reproduced to illustrate successive phases of the Cyprus troubles.
Articles written by lawyers are to be found, too, in the recently pub lished papers of a symposium on Greek-Turkish problems, which was held in Paris in May 1986 under the auspices of the Centre d’etudes et de recherches internationales.81 Thus Dr Theodore Katsoufros rehearses Greek arguments on the Aegean Sea, while Professor Hiiseyin Pazarci defends the Turkish case; Professor Peter Stagos argues that Greece is entitled to fortify the island of Lemnos; Professor Baskin Oran lists the grievances of the Turkish minority in (Greek) Western Thrace, and Dr Andrew Mavroiyanis gives a Greek appreciation of the Cyprus problem. Diplomats and diplomatic historians might find useful references in these articles which, however, cover well-trodden ground. Less well-known aspects of Greek-Turkish relations are also examined. Sinan Kuneralp contributes a useful short study of Ottoman diplomats of Greek origin. The Greeks, he says, felt a certain pride in serving ‘His Imperial Majesty, our Exalted Sovereign’ (the Sultan), whose personal servants they considered themselves to be. ‘Their loyalty’, adds Kuneralp, ‘has not to this day been disproved’.82
Mme Joelle Dalegre offers a fascinating analysis of recent Greek historical novels on the lives of Greeks in the late Ottoman Empire. In them Turks receive a stereotyped, usually condescending, but often kind treatment. However, she notes that references to kind, sympathetic Turks do not find their way to Greek school anthologies, which perpetuate nationalist animus. In a parallel piece Nedim Giirsel speaks of Greek characters (chiefly young fishermen) on whom the Turkish short-story writer Sait Faik lavished his affection. His paper ends on a sad note:
‘Istanbul, as loved and sung by Sait Faik, fell not in 1453, but in our days … The Jewish, Greek and Levantine neighbourhoods of Galata and Pera have been destroyed one after the other. They have been replaced by towers and luxury hotels …A masculine, tense and irritable crowd has invaded the streets. The minorities are gone, and nothing is left of cosmopolitan Istanbul or of Sait Faik’s characters’.83 There is self-criticism also in a rumbustious demolition of Turkish history textbooks by Tugrul Artunkal. But while Artunkal complains of the disparagement of Greeks,
Turkish historiography gives increasing space to the part played by ancient, mediaeval and modern Greeks in the history of the territory of the Turkish Republic. But references to Armenians are rare in the extreme.
The Greek contributors are less prone to self-criticism, although Stephen Yerasimos in a paper on myths and realities in Greek-Turkish relations, says: ‘Not only the average Greek, but often also those in responsible positions, is basically convinced that the Turk has no aptitude for civilization.
This stretches from his inability to use sophisticated weapons provided to him by the West to the inability to develop his own culture. This perception does not only limit the chances of understanding; it also leads to an underestimate of the adversary, and this could have grave consequences’.84
Dr Christophe Chiclet (better known as the author of a detailed history of the Greek Communist Party85) provides a suitably cynical analysis of French policy towards Greece and Turkey, in which weapons sales to the one and hopes of large-scale commercial projects in the other maintain an uneasy balance. The volume is edited by Dr Semih Vaner who places the Greek-Turkish relationship in the framework of superpower politics. Today, as an attempt is being made to improve Greek-Turkish relations in the spirit of the Davos meeting of January 1988, there are parallel efforts to salvage relations between Turkey and Bulgaria whose Communist government has found an original way of eliminating a Turkish minority, numbering between 700,000 and one million people, by giving a Bulgarian name to every single Turk in the country. There are echoes of this controversy in a book recently published in Sofia which brings together a number of studies in praise of Eugene Schuyler, United States Consul General in Constantinople in 1876, the year when the Ottomans repressed a Bulgarian nationalist rising.86 Schuyler visited the affected area in the company of his friend and fellow-American Januarius MacGahan, special correspondent of the London Daily News. MacGahan’s special inquiry and Schuyler’s preliminary report, published in London as a booklet under the title The Turkish Atrocities in Bulgaria,87 created a furore which made it easier for Russia to declare war on the Ottoman Empire in 1877. The emancipation of Christian Bulgarians and the subjugation of those Muslims who did not escape or perish in the war, followed, constituting the penultimate act of the destruction of the Ottoman pres ence in the Balkans. Schuyler is, therefore, a hero in Bulgarian eyes, and in the book under review two Bulgarians, Veselin Traikov and Petar Shopov, and a US citizen, Michael Petrovich, trace his career and extol his services to the Bulgarian people. In the introduction Veselin Traikov sets the tone by saying that ‘the Ottoman yoke’ had been imposed on a people ‘which, intellectually, morally and culturally, stood far above its oppressors•.ss One of Schuyler’s achievements was that ‘apart from anything else, the American diplomat established also the evil done by Ottoman dominion to the Bulgarian people: the forcible Islamization of Bulgarians, their alienation from their kinsmen and their separation from their own people’.89 Considering that any Bulgarians forcibly converted to Islam in 1876 would have had no difficulty in reverting to their ancestral faith less than two years later, when the Ottomans were driven out of the country, Schuyler’s reports hardly provide a justification for depriving Turks of their Muslim names in 1985. After a passing reference to ‘the injustice perpetrated against the Bulgarian people at the [the Congress of] Berlin, when Bulgarians in Macedonia were set apart’ .90 Traikov concludes his tribute to Schuyler with the words: ‘Rarely (with the exception of Russian representatives headed by Count lgnatieff) was there a foreign diplomat who had established such wide links with a distant people, who had understood its fate so deeply, and who had joined his life so closely with that people’s historical existence’.91 The account given by the three authors of the life and work of Schuyler and MacGahan is straightforward and useful. Otherwise the book is politically interesting both for what the editors allow, and for the absence of Marxist exegesis. Thus Petrovich can write: ‘Schuyler displays the moral conscience of common American people hastening to help the suffering, a conscience which led specially so many American Protestant missionaries to labour in the Near East and in the world throughout the 19th century’.92 Shopov, who holds a Bulgarian diplomatic appointment, is more guarded: ‘The personality of Schuyler transcends the limitations of a given nation, the strict political line of his own state and the religious dogma of his personal beliefs and convictions. In this sense Schuyler is transformed into a citizen of the world, who can be studied and respected by all those who hold dear progressive national and social causes’.93 Lenin comes in usefully too: during his earlier service in Moscow, Schuyler had criticized the Russian conquest of Central Asia, but so had Lenin. Shopov writes:
‘The peoples of Central Asia endured a double oppression – on one side, by the local feudal top layer, and, on the other, by Russian Czarism. At the same time, the accession of Central Asia to Russia exercised a progressive influence on the development of the region’.94 Bulgarian glasnost is cautious: both Russians and Communists have to be propitiated, but in the studies on ‘the good American’ Schuyler, propitiatory asides are few, while the spirit of nationalist historiography pervades the work.
Mr. Keyder Caglar, Associate Professor of Sociology at the State University of New York, declares in the introduction of his ‘interpretive’ [sic] history of modern Turkey, that ‘the writing of history is itself a political act’ .95 It is, therefore, in order to examine the purpose of his act. It comes as no surprise to find that this is to provide a Marxist explanation of Turkey’s past and, therefore, present state. But as a Marxist historian, Caglar has this virtue that he stretches and, arguably, refines his ideology to account for the facts, instead of ignoring them for the sake of ideological simplicity and purity.
The facts which he recognizes are that in the Ottoman Empire there was no shortage of land, while there was a shortage of rural labour; that large-scale land ownership was absent; that commerce and crafts were the preserve of non-Muslims most of whom disappeared from the scene when the modern republic was founded; that the Ottoman Empire had never been colonized, ‘nor had it been drawn into the domain of “informal empire” ‘;96 that ‘for the 1856-1914 period as a whole, inflow of loans was roughly equal to the outflow of debt servicing’97 (in other words, European capitalists made no profits); that the Ottoman, and later the republican, bureaucracy derived its power solely from its position in the state structure, and that in modern times ‘the class struggle’ has been fought between it and the ‘burgeoning bourgeoisie’.97 Accepting the bureaucracy as a class and recognizing the importance of ethnicity are, of course, signs of Marxist revisionism and should logically lead to the revision also of the concept of class struggle, of economic determinism, of ‘imperialism as the last stage of capitalism’ and other well-loved and well-worn Marxist beliefs. Caglar is not there yet, but he has made some refreshing discoveries.
Thus, speaking of the situation after the Second World War, he notes that ‘a peasantry of which at least 80 per cent are independent petty producers does not have much revolutionary potential, save where the revolution promises market freedom . . . It might have been possible to woo the poorer peasants, but as became clear in the 1950s, they too preferred economic freedom in the form of market opportunity, although not as fervently as middle and rich peasants’.98 ‘Peasants migrating to urban areas were not pushed out of the countryside because of landlessness and poverty’.99 ‘The shanty town was not only a major innovation responding to the problems of urbanization and housing, but it also proved [sic] to contribute to the formation of an internal market’ .100 The policies of the Democratic Party under Adnan Menderes after 1950 ‘exhibited a developmentalist bias’ .101 As a result of his early success Menderes ‘had already become a folk hero revered as a saviour’ and this ‘led him to behave in a manner typical of populist politicians: he wanted to extend the economic boom at any cost’ .102 As a result, Turkey was ‘one of the first instances where international organizations forced a developing country’s government to adopt more planning’ .103 However, not surprisingly, in Turkish planning ‘a situation was created which privileged political allocation processes and, consequently, bargaining at the very top administrative level rather than in the market’ .104 ‘The [1960 military] coup was basically benign, despite occasional excesses and the ridiculous trials of DP politicians …’105
Dismissing ‘gullible proponents of “planned” industrialization’, Caglar says that in the 1970s ‘both the agrarian structure and state policy were factors pushing up wage rates and preparing for an industrial development strategy based on mass consumption’ .106 Indeed ‘a labour aristocracy had been created within the working class’,101 and, although aglar does not mention it, was led by Marxist demagogues to ask for even more, thus helping to bring the (trigger-)happy 1970s to a close.
The 1970s, when Mr Biilent Ecevit, leader of the ‘left-of-centre’ Republican People’s Party, popularized the Marxist concept of ‘exploita tion’, while hard-line Marxists were, as usual, fighting ‘the system’, had, it seems, considerable merits. aglar writes: ‘The mid-1970s was truly a period of prosperity in terms of the purchasing ability of the masses, when every household in shanty towns of the large urban areas and in smaller Anatolian towns acquired a television set, often a refrigerator and a washing machine, and most middle-class families in the large cities could purchase a car’. 108
Moreover, Turkish capitalism was ‘national’: ‘foreign capital accounted for less than five per cent of private capital and less than three per cent of the total capital formation in the manufacturing sector’.109 Since ‘the agrarian structure was not characterised by the existence of a landed oligarchy, and the internal market-orientated, state-supported bourgeoisie was not comprador’, ‘the political strategy of the left was … misdirected: it seemed the working class was appealed to more in theoretical necessity than as a tactical exigency and that the true historical agents of the revolution were the intelligentsia and the students’ .110
However, while aglar has done away with or re-interpreted much Marxist dogma, enough remains. It shows in the opaque jargon in which the book is written, in the personification of ‘the bourgeoisie’, ‘the bureaucracy’ etc., in ‘lefty’ asides (‘Immediately after the war, when the casus belli of the Cold War was being discovered, a Soviet demand concerning territorial concessions by Turkey came to their [the Turkish bourgeoisie’s) aid …’111 as if the Cold War and its consequences were a bourgeois plot, and not the result of the policies of the same Stalin who made territorial demands of Turkey.) It shows also in the belief that there was a ‘fascist scenario’ leading up to the military take-over of 12 September 1980,112 before which the militant left was, on the whole, ‘on the defensive against a widely spread fascist movement which slowly gained control of the interior’ .113
In the end, it is Marxist model-making which leads Caglar, after much recognition of the truth, after many perceptive insights, to a false diagnosis of the present situation in Turkey. After 1980, he concludes, ‘a frantic legislative activity succeeded in clearing the administrative system of a bureaucratic and populist heritage of 60 years . . . The result of all these policies would be a shrinking of the national market’. 114 There has been, Caglar believes, a ‘repudiation of the paternalist image’.(115)And yet, Prime Minister Ozal is, mutatis mutandis. as populist as Menderes, and more so than Menderes’s successor Siileyman Demirel, both in propitiating religious feeling and in buying electoral support through inflationary policies. But if Menderes’s promise of ‘bright horizons’ and ‘unprecedented development’ has been reborn in Clzal’s prospectus of ‘skipping over an entire age’, the explanation should be sought in the exigencies of parliamentary politics in a poor country, in personal ambitions and cultural traditions, rather than the dynamics of class and relations of production.
A different, and much more practical, view of Turkey is taken by Professor Dankwart Rustow, in his latest contribution to Turkish studies, Turkey: America’s Forgotten Ally,116 which provides a convenient and perceptive summary of recent developments and their current conse quences. Rustow’s thesis, presented, it would seem for the benefit of policy-makers in the US, is, in the words of his concluding sentences:
‘In the late twentieth century, Turkish and American interests in the Middle East converge and coincide more closely than ever. Turkey remains a crucial barrier to Soviet expansion. Historically and strategically, culturally and commercially, Turkey is the West’s bridge to a more peaceful Middle East’. 117
As a believer in the usefulness to both parties of the connection between Turkey and the United States, not to say the whole West, Rustow is disposed to be optimistic about Turkey’s prospects. But he is careful not to give hostages to fortune. ‘While Turkey in the mid-1980s is clearly moving toward democracy’, he writes, ‘ultimate judgments on the country’s ability to combine democratic freedom, rapid economic growth, and public order will have to await the outcome of future elections and governmental successions’ .11s However, he expects that ‘future social dislocations will enliven the political debate, force government and opposition to vie for practical solutions acceptable to a wide variety of groups of voters – and in sum, launch a constructive political process that, far from destroying democracy will strengthen it’ .119 Perhaps.
Certainly Rustow is right in finding grounds for optimism in the recent past. As he says, ‘the firm commitment of the vast majority of Turkish voters to the centrist, democratic parties of the mainstream constitutes the most impressive single feature of Turkey’s recent political life. In eight successive elections over three decades – including a period of parliamentary paralysis and rampant terrorism – between 83 and 97 per cent of the electorate, or at least six Turkish voters out of seven, have voted decisively for gradual democratic change’. 120 As for parties which were, at least implicitly, against the established system, the religious National Salvation Party and its successor have fluctuated between five and 12 per cent of the poll, the extreme Nationalist Action Party reached a maximum of six per cent, and Marxists never exceeded the initial three per cent which they achieved in 1965.
Rustow believes that ‘the most important single factor in the decay of Turkish democracy in the 1970s was the divisive electoral system of proportional representation’ .121 Yet, the earlier first-past-the-post system had contributed to the coup of 1960, and the introduction of a variant of it after 1980 resulted in the accession to power of a government approved by only 36 per cent of the electorate in 1987. This has not been conducive to consistent policies. But then Rustow is wise in not expecting too J!lUCh of government policies. The ideal of the present Prime Minister Ozal, he says, ‘of Turkey as a future Japan of the Middle East, committed to ancestral values and up-to-date international technology, however attrac tive its historic and long-term logic, rema !J.S a somewhat distant vision. Meanwhile, the question remains whether Ozal’s political programme and Turkey’s economy can stay the course’.122
One of the virtues of Rustow’s short book is that he is aware of the speed, extent and tensions of social change in Turkey. His picture of Turkish society today, with its remarkable mobility and ethic of achievement, is clear and true to life. There are, it is true, a few faults of detail: Village Institutes were set up not by Ataturk, but by his successor lnonii;123 the version of Islam adopted by Turkish Alevis is not related closely to that of Alawis of Syria124 (if by the latter one means the Nusairis); it is not certain that attendance at the mosques is lower in Turkey than in any other Muslim country;125 Angora is not so much an older as a Western form of Ankara;126 the Turkish word for pig stands not for cruelty but for deceit;127 the 1971 agreement between Turkey and the US for the elimination of the cultivation of the opium poppy, far from appearing ‘to have been a full success’,128 was set aside by former Prime Minister Bulent Ecevit in 1974; Greece did not proclaim an extension of its territorial waters around the islands from six to ten miles129 but reserved the right to extend them to 12 miles, while continuing to claim ten miles for its national air space; ‘major ethnic massacres’ occurred in 1822 and not 1832 against the Greeks (in Chios), and in 1876, not 1878, against the Bulgarians;130 it is wrong to speak baldly of US ‘encouragement of the Greek Colonels’ coup of 1967′.m Ankara did not support a Middle East Command in the 195Qsl32 (it supported the Baghdad Pact, which was a different arrangement); the basic law (that is, Constitution) of 1982 did not embody ‘a division of labour between the military and political authorities’, 133 but, at least in the letter, the supremacy of civil power; the Organization of Economic Corporation and Development estimate of 4.5 per cent for economic growth in 1986 134 proved wrong (growth was nearer eight per cent); experience elsewhere makes it doubtful that the completion of the giant Atatiirk dam (correctly scheduled for completion in the 1990s on p.121, and incorrectly in 1988 on p.39) will help integrate the local Kurdish minority135 A British reviewer cannot agree that Turks speak English with an American accent,136 and the statement that British administrators in Cyprus had found it convenient to divide and rule ‘that is, to preserve and emphasise rather than merge the cultural differences between Greeks and Turks’137 invites the riposte that mergers are easier in New York than in Nicosia. However, these are small faults in a book which came out usefully on the eve of the 1988 US presidential elections. American politicians would do well to read it as they re-examine their country’s policies in the eastern Mediterranean.
Discussing Turkey’s place in American policy in the Middle East, Rustow says: ‘Probably our relations will never be as close with Turkey as they are with Israel’. Given the importance which the US attaches to Israel, ‘Turkey’s friends might hope that Ankara would extend its recent pattern of outreach so as to develop closer relations with Israel’ .138 Rustow’s advice might make sense to a lobbyist, but the record of Turkey’s relations with Israel shows the difficulty of implementing it. This record is examined by Mr Amikam Nachmani in a newly-published study of Israel’s relations with Turkey and Greece.139 A careful examination of the archives of the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs leads Nachmani to the conclusion that ‘the Israeli-Arab conflict and the Cyprus problem will, unless resolved, prove a permanent impediment not only to tripartite relations but to normal bilateral relations as well’.140
Nachmani starts his study with an account of the activities of Mr Eliyahu Sasson, the first Israeli ambassador in Ankara. Sasson, who was born in Damascus, became the first head of the Middle Eastern department of the Israeli Foreign Ministry. According to the Ministry’s Director General, Walter Eytan, Turkey was one of the best sources of information on developments in the Middle East, particularly since, in the words of Mr Nachmani, ‘clandestine meetings with Arabs- messengers, collabora tors and informants – caused the Turkish capital to replace Cyprus as a principal sphere of operations for Israel’s intelligence community’.141
Nevertheless, ‘Sasson received unambiguous instructions that fostering bilateral relations was to receive first priority “and your expertise on Arab and Mideastern problems comes second'”.142 Sasson did his best, largely by offering hospitality on such a lavish scale that austere Israeli officials were scandalized and put an end to it. But, there were immediate difficulties in Ankara too: Israeli intelligence activities, which according to Nachmani produced useful information, were resented by the Turks;143 in view of ‘Israel’s ostensible neutrality in the East-West conflict’ at the time, ‘Turkey feared that Israel might be harbouring a Communist menace’;144 some Turkish Muslims were antagonistic, although Nachmani observes rightly that ‘Turkey’s relations with Israel during the 1950s were little affected by domestic Islamic reaction’.145
A more serious obstacle to good relations emerged after Sasson’s depar ture from Ankara, when Turkey became a founder member of the Baghdad Pact, acting, in the words of Ferenc Vali, ‘as the promoter of a plan masterminded by Washington and London’.146 According to Nachmani, Turkey entertained misgivings about the alliance with Pakistan, to which it consented on the insistence of the US. But ‘in the case of Iraq … rapprochement appears to have been investigated by Ankara’.147 Nachmani identifies correctly Turkey’s concerns about the presence of Communists in Iraq, the general instability of the country, the threat posed by the Kurds on both sides of the border and the military danger of a Soviet move to outflank Turkey through Iraq. Perhaps another factor was the friendship which the Turkish Prime Minister Adnan Menderes felt for his Iraqi counterpart, Nuri Said. One may disagree with Nachmani when, in describing Israeli efforts to stop a Turkish alliance with Iraq, he says that ‘Israel’s concern was for Turkey itself, since ‘weapons delivered to Iraq were liable to fall into the hands of Kurdish insurgents in Turkey’.148 That was indeed a reasonable guess, but it was not a prospect which need have alarmed Israel. However, that may be, General Kassem’s coup in 1958, which put an end to Nuri, the monarchy in Iraq and to the Baghdad Pact (its successor, CENTO, was of little importance) was ‘a heaven-sent gift’ for Israel’s relations with Turkey.149 It led to the conclusion between the two countries of ‘an agreement for cooperation in the diplomatic, military and intelligence spheres, as well as in commerce and scientific exchanges’.150
Nachmani says that since Israel has classified the relevant documents as military information, the sole source of which he knows for this agreement is Michael Bar-Zohar’s biography of Ben-Gurion. According to this, the agreement was negotiated by Ben-Gurion during a secret visit to Turkey on 29-30 August 1958.151 But even in the absence of corroboration, it is likely that there was an understanding, if not a formal agreement. Menderes was shaken by the murder of Nuri, while the Americans, having just landed their marines in the Lebanon, encouraged any effort to shore up the crumbling edifice of Western interests in the Middle East. But the Turkish Foreign Ministry drew a somewhat different conclusion, which it has sought to apply consistently since the fall of Menderes in 1960. This was that Turkey should revert to the traditional foreign policy of the Republic and avoid involvement in Middle Eastern politics just as it would the plague: Arab politics were at the mercy of individuals, and since these were here today and gone tomorrow, no lasting arrangements could be made with the Arab states, relations with which had to be managed on a pragmatic day-to-day basis in order to serve Turkish national interests.
It is because these interests are shared with Israel only in a few specific cases (as, for example, the need to contain Syria), that, in Ben-Gurion’s vivid phrase, the Turks ‘have always treated us as one treats a mistress, and not as a partner in an openly avowed marriage’,152 and that Turkey is unlikely to proceed far in the direction indicated by Rustow.
Nachmani includes in his book only a short postscript to Turkish Israeli relations since 1958. But nothing which has happened invalidates his conclusion that these continue to depend on regional developments. These ‘may generate a rapprochement… But, then again, they just might not’ .153
Israel’s relations with Turkey, for all their vicissitudes, have been better than its relations with Greece. There are historical reasons for this, which Nachmani does not mention: after all, Greek Orthodox and Jews were competitors in the Ottoman Empire, where the former were for centuries more successful, but, in the end, less loyal than the latter. Folk memory (as well as material considerations about the relative size and importance of Greece and Turkey) probably helped Israeli diplomats in Ankara to convince their Foreign Ministry, much to the chagrin of their colleagues in Athens, that ‘Ankara, not Athens, was the New Jerusalem’.t54 On the Greek side, the refusal, persisting to this day, to grant Israel de jure recognition had some material justification: initially, fears for the future of the Greek community in Egypt (which, nevertheless, had to pack up and go), and later, the growing importance of Greek commercial exchanges with Arab countries (in the case of Turkey too, this has led to the curtail ment of relations with Israel, without, however, depriving them of their de jure basis). The Eastern Orthodox Patriarchate in Jerusalem provided a complicating factor, whose complexity is not sufficiently brought out in Nachmani’s study. True, he mentions that the Patriarchate was opposed to the internationalization of Jerusalem for fear that Catholics might get the upper hand, and was thus more in line with Israeli thinking than was the Greek Foreign Ministry in Athens. There was, however, the additional factor that in trying to keep Greeks in control of the Patriarchate which Arabs had long coveted, Athens had a common interest with Israel. But this was insufficient to cement relations, particularly since the memory of old rivalries was reinforced by New Left anti-Zionism after the accession to power in Athens of Andreas Papandreou in October 1981.
In spite of the difficulties attending relations between Greece and Israel, the Greek and Jewish lobbies in the United States, did, as Nachmani says, reach an understanding in 1952.155 It is an understanding which Ankara has often tried to breach, relying initially on its relationship with Israel for this purpose.t56 The need to make friends in Congress is one reason why relations with Israel receive more attention in Athens and Ankara than the scale of bilateral exchanges would otherwise have warranted. But although the relations of Turkey and Greece with Israel are limited, the three countries will continue to be players in the same area and students of it should be grateful to Nachmani for his scholarly account of the bilateral and multilateral dealings involved. True, the book presents an Israeli perspective, which can take one aback, as for example when Mr Nachmani, in defiance of geography, describes Greeks and Turks as ‘a minority within the surrounding Arab world’.157 Explaining his reliance on the Israel State Archives, Nachmani mentions the absence of access to such primary documentation in Athens and Ankara.158There are, however, secondary sources which he could have consulted, like the urbane memoirs of Mr Angelos Vlachos, Greek Consul-General in Jerusalem in 1954-55.159
But although Nachmani does not give us a definitive account of his subject, he has made an important contribution to its study, and, incidentally, brought out the liberality of Israeli authorities in allowing access to their records.
The impact on Turkish politics of the outside world, and of the US in particular, is emphasized in the account of the military coup of 12 September 1980, which was written by Mr Mehmet Ali Birand, foreign correspondent of the Istanbul left-of-centre daily Milliyet, and which has now been pub lished in an English translation by Mr Mehmet Ali Dikerdem.160 Dikerdem says in his preface that the coup produced ‘revolutionary effects across the entire social, economic and political fabric of Turkish life’.161 This judgment would have been excessive in 1984, when Birand’s book first appeared; today it is even harder to sustain with Turkish politics (and Turkish politicians) reverting to form. So too with Birand’s epilogue which picks up the argument that the coup saved Turkey for the International Monetary Fund. ‘The IMP-prescribed economic policies launched on 24 January 1980 [i.e. before the coup] … were carried out vigorously’, writes Birand, ‘Turkey’s 15-year average rate of growth of 7 per cent per annum fell to 2 per cent’.162 The fall, which occurred in fact before the coup, in the second disastrous year of Bulent Ecevit’s ‘social-democratic’ government in 1979,163 was soon made up as inflationary policies were resumed: the average for the five years 1982-87 amounted to six per cent (little different from the 1965-80 average, which Birand exaggerates). What the generals’ coup did was to re-establish law and order, which was why, as Birand says, ‘the Turkish public embraced Evren [the Chief of the General Staff who became Head of State and then President] and the army as their liberators’.164 Law and order have so far been maintained, but ‘the final demise of the political establishment’ (the title of the last chapter in Dikerdem’s translation) has not taken place: all the surviving old politicians are back in action. New rules have not prevented the resumption of the old political game, or made much impact on the organic evolution of Turkish society. The external impact on this derives from the decision to integrate Turkey in the Western (and by now, world) free market, which was implicit in the acceptance of Marshall Aid by President Ismet Inonii after the Second World War, and which subsequent Turkish governments have reaffirmed. Coming to power 30 years after Marshall Aid, Ecevit had little chance of breaking out of the economic difficulties of his own making that confronted him in 1978–79, by going it alone. Today that option is still more difficult to exercise.
The distance covered in the political evolution of Turkey in the last half-century is brought out by the publication, 57 years after the event, of a short memoir by Ali Fethi Okyar entitled ‘How the Free Democratic Party Was Founded and How It Was Dissolved’.t65 Okyar, an old companion of Mustafa Kemal and his ambassador in Paris, was encouraged in 1930 to found an opposition party in order to provide a safe channel for popular discontent, which derived both from secularization and from the hardships occasioned by the world economic crisis. Okyar obliged, but the party lasted for only three months as it soon became clear that there was no way that a genuine opposition could be safely entertained by the regime. Having decided to dissolve his own party, Okyar told the Gazi (Mustafa Kemal): ‘In future please honour another one of your servants with the task of forming a party’. Okyar adds in his memoir:
I asked him where I should hand over the car. The Gazi replied:
It is my gift to you. Won’t you accept my gift? If you refuse it, I’ll be very upset. It must certainly remain yours … Weren’t you going to start a newspaper?
I still want to start a newspaper.
Falih Rifki [the regime’s main publicist] and his likes will now attack
me like rabid dogs. I must defend myself.
All right, but you will cause great trouble for yourself. They’ll
They’ll attack me even if I don’t publish a paper. No, I’ll warn them not to.
The Gazi ended the audience with the words:
‘You’ve worked hard for the good of the country. You’ve suffered
a lot for my sake. I thank you very much’.166
Okyar did not publish a newspaper; instead, he became Turkish ambassador in London. Ataturk’s handling of the problem was inspired by an old tradition. Within the elite, manipulation had been preferred to coercion certainly since the time of the reforming sultans. Today, manipulation has to extend to much wider strata, if not to the whole people. But although the setting is much larger, the old skills still come in handy.
I. Minutes of European Parliament for 18 June 1987, pp.249-57.
2. European Parliament Session Documents, 1987-88, A 2-33/87/ Part A, 15 April
1987, Annex I, p.7.
3. Ibid., Annex V, pp.12-13.
4. Ibid., Annex III, p.lO.
5. Document A-2-33/87, pp.7, 9.
6. Ibid., p.12.
7. Ibid., p.28.
8. Document A 2-33/87, pp.S–6.
9. European Parliament, Minutes of Proceedings, 18 June 1987, PE 114.764, p.31.
10. Ana Britannica (Istanbul, 1988) Dunya Almanagi, p.9a.
1 I. Milliyet (Istanbul), 20 June 1987.
12. Milliyet, 23 June 1987.
14. Newspot (Ankara), 27 June 1987, pp.1, 7.
15. Milliyet, 22 June 1987.
16. Newspot, 6 Feb. 1988, p.7.
17. Published by Transaction Books, New Brunswick and Oxford, second printing, 1988.
18. Op. cit., p.6.
19. Ibid., p.95.
20. Ibid., p.196.
21. Turkkaya Ataov, Hitler and the ‘Armenian Question’ (Ankara universitesi Siyasal
Bilgiler Fakultesi, 1984).
22. Op. cit., p.140.
23. Op. cit., p.25.
24. The Armenian File (London: K. Rustem & Bro./Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1985), p.161.
25. Muslims and Minorities (New York University Press 1983), p.130.
26. Op. cit., p.52.
27. Op. cit., p.17.
28. Published by K. Rustem & Bro., London, 1987.
29. Op. cit., p.27.
30. Thus Cerna!Pasha mentions in his memoirs that when he was appointed governor of
Adana after the intercommunal riots in 1909, in which, he says, 17,000 Armenians and
1,850 Muslims were killed, he ordered the execution of 30 Muslims in Adana and 17 in Erzin, while only two Armenians were executed. ‘Among those executed there were young men belonging to the oldest and wealthiest families of Adana, as well as the mufti of Bahe district’. (Cerna!Pa§a, Hatiralar (Istanbul: Selek Yayinlari, 1959), p.355.)
31. Op. cit., p.323.
32. ASALA: Irrational Terror or Political Tool (Westview Press for Jaffee Center for
Strategic Studies, Tel Aviv University, 1985), p.5.
33. Op. cit., pp.4-5.
34. Ibid., p.7.
36. Ibid., p.8.
37. Ibid., p.9.
39. Ibid., p.7.
40. Ibid., p.15.
41. Ibid., p.33.
42. Ibid., p.65.
43. Ibid., p.70.
44. ‘Pursuing the Just Cause of their People’: A Study of Contemporary Armenian Terrorism
(New York: Greenwood Press, 1986).
45. Op. cit., p.55.
46. Milliyet, 29 April1988.
47. Op. cit., p.52.
48. Ibid., p.89.
49. Ibid., p.92.
50. Ibid., p.97.
51. Ibid., p.103.
52. Ibid., p.l12.
53. Ibid., p.l48.
54. Ibid., p.138.
55. Ibid., p.150.
57. Ibid., p.l.
58. ‘Turkish “Falsifiers” and Armenian “Deceivers”: Historiography and the Armenian
Massacres’ in Middle Eastern Studies, Vol.XII, No.1 (January 1986).
59. Bridge across the Bosporus (Johns Hopkins Press, 1971), p.270.
60. Cyprus Bulletin, Press & Information Office, Nicosia, 19 April1988.
61. Burdened with Cyprus: The British Connection (London: K. Rustem & Bro./ Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1986).
62. Op. cit., pp.85-6.
63. Ibid., pp.95-6.
64. Ibid., p.4.
65. Ibid., p.l40.
66. Ibid., p.ll.
67. Ibid., pp.138-9.
68. Ibid., p.l86.
69. Cyprus and the Governorship of Sir Ronald Storrs: The Causes of the 1931 Crisis,
(Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 1985).
70. Op. cit., p.6.
71. Op. cit., p.l9.
72. Op. cit., p.5.
73. Ibid., p.67.
74. Ibid., p.l66.
75. Ibid., p.l75.
76. Ibid., p.224.
77. Ibid., p.702.
78. Published by K. Rustem & Brother, London, 1988.
79. Op. cit., p.l31.
80. Ibid., pp.l38-9.
81. Semih Vaner (ed.), Le different greco-turc (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1988).
82. Op. cit., p.46.
83. Ibid., p.263.
84. Ibid., p.40.
85. Les communistes grecs dans Ia guerre (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1987).
86. Eugene Schuyler iBalgarite (Sofia: Nauka i lzkustvo, 1987).
87. Published by Bradbury, Agnew & Co., London, 1876.
88. Op. cit., p.9.
90. Op. cit., p.lO.
92. Ibid., p.52.
93. Ibid., p.107.
94. Ibid., p.27.
95. State & Class in Turkey: A Study in Capitalist Development (London: Verso, 1987), p.4.
96. Op. cit., p.36.
97. Ibid., p.38.
98. Ibid., p.127.
99. Ibid., p.159.
100. Ibid., p.163.
101. Ibid., p.132.
102. Ibid., p.133.
103. Ibid., p.135.
105. Ibid., p.146.
106. Ibid., pp.152, 161.
107. Ibid., p.160.
108. Ibid., p.186.
109. Ibid., p.182.
110. Ibid., p.209.
111. Ibid., p.114.
112. Ibid., p.220.
113. Ibid., p.217.
114. Ibid., pp.224, 225.
115. Ibid., p.226.
116. Council on Foreign Relations, (New York, 1987).
117. Op. cit., p.126.
118. Ibid., p.6.
119. Ibid., p.39.
120. Ibid., pp.82, 83.
121. Ibid., p.82.
122. Ibid., p.8.
123. Ibid., p.17.
124. Ibid., p.31.
125. Ibid., p.35.
126. Ibid., p.41.
128. Ibid., p.93.
129. Ibid., p.100.
130. Ibid., p.102.
131. Ibid., p.112.
133. Ibid., p.118.
134. Ibid., p.120.
135. Ibid., p.121.
136. Ibid., p.124.
137. Ibid., p.93.
138. Ibid., p.114.
139. Israel, Turkey and Greece: Uneasy Relations in the East Mediterranean (London: Frank
140. Ibid., pp.vii, viii.
141. Ibid., p.3.
142. Ibid., p.4.
143. Ibid., p.6.
144. Ibid., p.45.
146. Op. cit., p.280.
147. Op. cit., p.72.
148. Ibid., p.73.
149. Ibid., p.77.
150. Ibid., p. 74.
152. Ibid., p.75.
153. Ibid., p. 78.
154. Ibid., p.70.
155. Ibid., p.92.
156. Ibid., pp.52-5.
157. Ibid., p.vii.
158. Ibid., p.ix.
159. Mia Fora ki’ena Kairo Enas Diplomatis, Vol.4 (Athens: Hestia, 1986).
160. The Generals’ Coup in Turkey: An Inside Story of 12 September 1980, (London: Brassey Pergamon, 1987). This is a translation ofM. A. Birand, 12 Eylul. Saat: 04.00, (Istanbul: Karacan, 1984), reviewed in Middle Eastern Studies, Vol.21, No.4 (October 1985),
161. Ibid., p.vii.
162. Ibid., p.212.
163. W. Hale, The Political and Economic Development of Turkey (London: Croom Helm,
1981), table p. l3l.
164. Op. cit., p.195.
165. Ali Fethi Okyar, Serbest Cumhuriyet Firkasi Nasi/ Dogdu, Nasil Fesh Edildi? (Istanbul,
166. Op. cit. , pp.81-3.