The African Presence in Late Ottoman Izmir and Beyond

The African Presence in Late Ottoman Izmir and Beyond
Michael Ferguson
Department of History
McGill University, Montreal
August 2014
A thesis submitted to McGill University in partial fulfillment of the requirements of
the degree of Doctor of Philosophy
© Michael Ferguson 2014

Abstract
This thesis explores the relatively unknown social and cultural history of enslaved and
emancipated Africans and their descendants in Izmir. At the end of the nineteenth century, Izmir
had the second-highest concentration of Africans in the Ottoman Empire’s northern tier (after
Istanbul). This ballooning of Izmir’s African population was largely a result of the abolition of
the slave trade. As an important port city situated on numerous trans-Mediterranean shipping
routes, Izmir became the main site where the Ottoman state, backed by their British partners in
abolition, decided to install rescued emancipated Africans. This study reveals that, though their
labour played an important role in making late Ottoman Izmir a booming port city, by and large
these emancipated Africans lived on the social and economic margins in Izmir. While they
created a vital community at the city’s geographic and financial margins, their unique religious
practices were perceived by some in the upper echelon of Ottoman society as “savagery” that
should be suppressed.
Unlike previous studies, this thesis extends into the early twentieth century and the policies
of the new Turkish state, whose extreme form of nationalism worked to mute any social, cultural,
and religious diversity within its borders. As a result, Africans in Izmir were silenced and their
cultural practices ceased to be performed in public space. It also examines the recent weakening
of Turkish nationalism and shows how it has helped the descendants of these enslaved Africans,
known as Afro-Turks, to begin celebrating their unique heritage and identity. This study
contributes to the historiographies on nineteenth-century Izmir and on slavery in the Ottoman
Empire, as well as the growing body of scholarship uncovering the lives of non-elite groups in
1
Ottoman Empire whose contributions to the making of the late Ottoman world have been
underrepresented in the prevailing literature.
Resumé
Cette thèse explore l'histoire sociale et culturelle relativement inconnu des esclaves et
affranchis Africains ainsi que leurs descendants dans la ville d’Izmir. Elle soutient qu’à la fin du
XIXe siècle, Izmir avait la deuxième plus forte concentration d'Africains dans la partie nord de
l'Empire ottoman (après Istanbul). Ce grand nombre de population africaine était en grande partie
due à l'abolition de la traite des esclaves. Importante ville portuaire située sur de nombreuses
routes trans-méditerranéennes, Izmir était en effet devenu le site principal où l'Etat ottoman,
soutenu par la Grande Bretagne qui fut son partenaire dans ses efforts abolitionistes, a décidé d'y
installer les Africains nouvellement affranchis. L’étude révèle que dans l'ensemble, ces Africains
émancipés vivaient sur les marges sociales et économiques de la ville. Elle montre aussi que
leurs pratiques religieuses distincts ont été perçus par certains à l'échelon supérieur de la société
ottomane comme de la «sauvagerie». Ceci étant dit, une étude détaillée de leur vie est très
pertinente car leur contribution fut important pour rendre Izmir une ville portuaire très
dynamique.
Cette thèse explique aussi comment et pourquoi au début du XXè siècle, le nouvel Etat
turc a adopté une forme de nationalisme extrême qui ne tolerait aucune diversité sociale,
culturelle et religieuse au sein de ses frontières. Ceci a eu pour consequence que les Africains
d’Izmir ainsi que leurs pratiques religieuses ont longtemps était réduit au silence. L’étude
examine également le recent affaiblissement du nationalisme turc qui a permi aux descendants de
2
ces esclaves africains - connus sour le nom d’Afro-Turcs – de commencer à celebrer leur
patrimoine culturelle et identité unique. Cette thèse contribute à l’historiographie d’Izmir et de
l'esclavage dans l'Empire ottoman du XIXè siècle. Elle vient aussi s’ajouter au nombre croissant
d’études qui tentent de mettre en lumière la vie des populations qui n’appartenaient pas à l’élite
dans l’Empire et dont la contribution à la construction du monde Ottoman a jusque là été sous-
représentée.
3
Table of Contents
Abstract ……………………………………………………………………………….………1
Resumé…………………………………………………………………….……………….….2
Table of Contents……………………………………………………………………………..4
Acknowledgements………………………………………………………………….….……..5
Note on Place Names……………………...………………………………………….….........6
Note on Transliteration and Spelling…………………………………………….…..…........6
List of Abbreviations………………………………………………………………….………7
List of Figures…………..…………………………………………………………….………..8
List of Maps……………...…………………………………………………………….………9
Introduction……………………………………………………………………………………10
Chapter 1 – Izmir in the late Ottoman Slave Trade…………………………………….......34
Chapter 2 – Africans living and working in Izmir post-emancipation…………………….71
Chapter 3 – Emancipated Africans in Izmir’s hinterland: agriculturalists and bandits....107
Chapter 4 – The Calf Festival…………………………………………………….…………..139
Chapter 5 -- Loss of Community, Silence, Resurgence (1880-2014)……………………….179
Conclusion………………………………………………………………………………….….216
Bibliography…………………………………………………………………………………...221
4
Acknowledgements
This thesis would not have been possible without the support and help of many
individuals.
First and foremost, I would like to thank my supervisor Prof. Gwyn Campbell for
supporting my research in African Slavery in the Ottoman Empire since 2008. I have benefitted
greatly from the numerous conferences and presentations that have taken place at the Indian
Ocean World Centre (IOWC).
I am grateful to Prof. Tassos Anastassiadis for his support and frank discussions as a
member of my thesis committee in recent years. I would also like to thank all the professors and
support staff Department of History and Classics for helping me when needed.
Outside of the McGill network, I would like to thank Prof. Anton Minkov for inspiring
me to become a historian of the Ottoman Empire. I would also like to acknowledge the early
support given to my work by Prof. Kenneth Cuno and Prof. Terrence Walz. I would also like to
thank Prof. Yorgos Dedes for his help and encouragement.
This dissertation was supported by two major grants: the Joseph Armand Bombardier
PhD Fellowship from the Social Sciences and Research Council of Canada (SSHRC) and a
fellowship from the Turkish Cultural Foundation. I am deeply grateful to these funding bodies
for providing the resources necessary to undertake this study.
This project benefited greatly from the help of the employees of the Ottoman Archives in
Istanbul and the city archives in Izmir. I would also like to thank Mr. Mustafa Olpak and the
Afro-Turk Cultural and Solidarity Association for their support in Izmir.
Numerous friends, whether in Canada or Turkey, have helped with the development of
this dissertation. They include, in no particular order, Gareth Edwards, Mark Sanagan, Facil
Tesfaye, Emrah Şahin, Emre Ünlücayaklı, Efe Atabay and his family, and Ceyda Karamürsel.
Lastly, and most importantly, I would like to thank those closest to me. First, to my
parents, Daryl and Lese Ferguson, for believing in me since I began my graduate work in 2004.
And to my fellow historian and partner Sarah Ghabrial, your kindness and patience kept me
together and on track – I could not imagine going through this without you.
Each in your own way, you have supported and helped me so much, thank you.
5
Note on Place Names
In this thesis, I have chosen to use Izmir over Smyrna. This choice is pragmatic, in order to avoid
the cumbersome nature of switching between Izmir and Smyrna which occurs in the sources.
Note on Transliteration and Spelling
In this dissertation, I have transliterated Ottoman Turkish terms using modern Turkish spelling
for simplicity.
Pronunciation of Turkish letters
C, C = “j” as in jagged
Ç, ç = “ch” as in chart
Ğ, ğ = known as the soft g (unpronounced), lengthens the proceeding vowel.
I, ı = dotless i, somewhere between “in” and eel”
Ö,ö = same as the vowel sound in the French peu
Ş,ş = “sh” as in shore
Ü,ü = same as “u” in French tu
*additionally, where the Turkish capital dotted İ occurs in the initial position of a word, it has been rendered into an
I.
For Arabic terms, I have used a simplified version of the McGill Institute of Islamic Studies
transliteration system, omitting diacritical marks except for the ‘ayn and hamza.
6
List of Abbreviations
ADKYDA - Afrikalılar Dayanışma, Kültür ve Yardımlaşma Derneği Arşivi [Afro-Turk

Culture and Solidarity Association Archive], Izmir
APKA – Ahmet Priştina Kent Arişivi [Ahmet Priştina City Archive], Izmir
BOA – Basbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivi [Prime Ministry’s Archives], Istanbul
7
List of Figures
Figure I - Mekteb-i Sanayi of Izmir (approx. 1900)………………………………………..88
Figure II - “Turkish Women work with figs.” (post card, approx. 1900).................................99
Figure III - Postcard from Izmir depicting an African café waiter (dated 1912)…………….101
Figure IV - Izmir’s Port and Customs House, 1890………………………………………….102
Figure V - Fig Market in the Bazars of Izmir (approx. 1900)………………………………103
Figure VI - Postcard featuring a group of Zeybeks, with 2 Afro-Zeybeks………..…………130
Figure VII - “Grand Country coffee-shop at Aydın” - Theophilos Hatzimihail (1933)……...131
Figure VIII - Magnified portion of “Grand Country coffee-shop at Aydın.”…………………132
Figure IX - Afro-Zeybek performing the Koca Arap dance in Ödemiş, approx. 1900……..135
Figure X - The Tomb of St.Polycarp (1904)………………………………………………..153
Figure XI - The Tomb of St.Polycarp (approx. 1900)………………………………………156
Figure XII - The Shrine of Tezveren Ali in use (2012)……………………………………...159
Figure XIII - Vahap Özaltay (approx. 1920)…………………………………………………197
Figure XIV - Mustafa Olpak - Founder of the Africans’ Cultural and Solidarity Association.207
Figure XV - Sign outside the Afro-Turk association offices in Kemeraltı, Izmir……………211
8
List of Maps
Map 1 – Location of Izmir in the Eastern Mediterranean………………….……………….35
Map 2 – The urban space of Izmir in 1876…………………………………………………44
Map 3 – Topographical map showing the location of Izmir and major hinterland towns….108
9
Introduction
On 11 June, 2013, in the midst of the storming of Gezi Park and Taksim Square by the
Istanbul riot police, Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan of the ruling AK party rose in the
Turkish parliament and expressed his frustrations with the protestors occupying the park. The
protests began as an effort to save one of Istanbul’s last green spaces from being flattened to
make room for a shopping mall and a replica of a nineteenth century Ottoman artillery barracks -
two physical manifestations of Erdoğan’s neo-liberal and Islamist agenda. They subsequently
transformed into a greater movement against excessive use of force by the police and Erdoğan’s
increasingly authoritarian tendencies. His speech, delivered in his trademark philippic style,
included this revealing statement:
Onlara göre biz siyasetten anlamayız. Onlara göre biz sanattan, tiyatrodan,
sinemadan, resimden, şiirden anlamayız. Onlara göre biz estetikten,
mimariden anlamayız. Onlara göre biz okumamış, cahil, alt tabaka, verilenle
yetinmesi gereken... yani zenci bir grubuz
According to them we don’t understand politics. According to them we don’t

understand art, theatre, cinema, poetry. According to them we don’t understand
aesthetics, architecture. According to them we are uneducated, ignorant, the
lower class, who has to be content with what is being given; meaning, we are a
group of negroes. 1
Erdoğan’s point was to illustrate the gulf that separated him, his party, and the “average Turk”
from those of urban, upper-middle class Istanbullians who, in this populist script, consider
themselves better and more “civilized” than the rest of the country. This trope is well-worn
ground for Erdoğan, a staple of his self-branding as the great outsider, disinterested and removed
from the politics of twentieth-century one-party rule and corruption, just a simple man trying to
1
AK Parti TBMM Grup Toplantısı / 11 Haziran <http://www.akparti.org.tr/site/video/45834/ak-parti-tbmm-grup-
toplantisi-11-haziran>. Date accessed 14 June 2013.
10
get things done for Turkey.
In Turkish politics, this characterization of class divide is expressed in the well-known
concept of “White Turks” and “Black Turks.” White Turks are considered to be educated,
working mainly in the upper reaches of the state bureaucracy, the army, and business worlds,
while Black Turks are their opposite: uneducated, lower classes, or people with peasant
backgrounds. What Erdoğan was doing in this speech, then, was trying to emphasize that he and
his party had been discriminated against by their opponents, whose views were fueled more by
prejudice than logic. While these terms are relatively common, the most often quoted iteration of
this expression by Erdoğan is: “In this country there are White Turks, as well as Black Turks.
Your Brother Tayyip is from the Black Turks.” [“Bu ülkede bir Beyaz Türkler, bir de siyah
Türkler var. Kardeşiniz Tayyip, siyah Türklerdendir.”] 2 It thus appears most likely that in his
recent speech, Erdoğan was drawing on this familiar notion, and yet dramatically elevated the
tone of his language to distinguish himself from the abject and racialized zenci. Indeed, this
attempt to demonstrate the level of disdain his opponents had for his party’s success and his
everyman roots operates on the steam of an ugly racial stereotype. His comparison is not only
disingenuous; it also reveals the cloudy history of race politics in Turkey, rooted in the early
Republic and the unresolved legacy of African slavery in the Ottoman Empire.
What kind of weight does this word carry in everyday Turkish conversation? Importantly,
the modern Turkish word zenci is not a precise analogue to negro in English. Depending on
context, it can range from the more acceptable “black,” to “negro,” to a much more derogatory
racial slur. However, by employing the word zenci and attaching it to such a detailed description
of debasement, as opposed to using other terms such as siyahi or arap (both often used to mean
2
Hugh Pope, “Erdoğan’s Decade” The Cairo Review of Global Affairs,
<http://www.aucegypt.edu/gapp/cairoreview/pages/articleDetails.aspx?aid=149>. Date accessed: 18 June 2013
11
“black skinned,” though they can be just as problematic), Erdoğan deliberately chose the most
vulgar language, opting for a word that has a complicated, unstable meaning, with a deep history
rooted in the Ottoman period.
While Murat Ergin notes that racial discourses borrowed from the late Ottoman period
“grew into maturity” in the early decades of the Republic of Turkey (1923-1950) and were
“transformed into cultural forms in the following decades,” he does not delve into the
beginnings of these discursive practices. 3 To do so, one needs to look back further into the
Ottoman past to the history of the African slave trade and an earlier understanding of the term
zenci – African slave.
African slavery existed in the Ottoman Empire from its foundation in the early fourteenth
century. Probably two-thirds of slaves were women who worked in households as domestic
servants, some of whom became the wives of their masters. By 1857, at the behest of the British
abolitionists, the Ottoman government banned the African slave trade and began the process of
policing its seas and territories for slave trading. However, British and Ottoman efforts to curtail
the trade were disorganized and largely ineffective. Indeed, this was the very same time that the
trade reached its peak: an estimated 10 000 African slaves were annually imported into Ottoman
lands in the third quarter of the nineteenth-century. Despite efforts to halt the trade since 1857, it
lasted until the end of the empire in the 1920s with the foundation of Turkey in 1923. Centuries
of enslavement have inevitably influenced how non-African Ottoman and Turkish citizens
thought about enslaved Africans and continue to imagine their descendants.
Given the deep historical roots of such a problematic term, one might wonder about the
impact this type of language on those citizens of Turkey who trace their heritage to African
3
Murat Ergin, “Is the Turk a White Man?’ Towards a Theoretical Framework for Race in the Making of
Turkishness” Middle Eastern Studies 44, 6, (2008), 832.
12
slaves who were brought to Anatolia and scattered along the Aegean coastline and in Istanbul.
Even today, the people who self-identify as Afro-Turks often face discrimination based on their
skin color, including the use of the word “zenci” as a racial slur.
In 2005, a marble worker from Ayvalık named Mustafa Olpak wrote a biography of his
family entitled Kenya-Girit-Istanbul: Köle Kıyısından Insan Biyografileri [Kenya-Crete-
Istanbul: Human Biographies from the Slave Coast], detailing his family history from
enslavement in Africa to integration into modern Turkey in the twentieth century. 4 Its
publication opened the door to a new discussion about the history of people of African descent in
modern Turkey.
With the success of the book, along with support from international organizations such as
United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), and the European
Union, Olpak founded Afrikalılar Kültür ve Dayanışma Derneği (the Africans Culture and
Solidarity Society) that currently has its office in the Aegean port city of Izmir. Since 2005,
Olpak has become the informal leader of the emerging Afro-Turk community, raising their
profile and discussing Turkey’s history of slavery publicly for the first time.
When asked for a comment about Erdoğan’s use of the term zenci in his speech on 11
June 2013, Olpak responded:
Everywhere demonstrations are being made for democracy and freedom.

The people have stood up against the government. Unfortunately there
are thousands injured, four people have lost their lives […] Our wish,
without seeing anyone else harmed, is for people to use their democratic
rights and for democracy to be victorious.
Regrettably, Mr. Erdoğan gave a very unfortunate example in his

speech. While complaining about experiencing unjust treatment and
discrimination, he himself made the most racist discrimination. Certainly
this is a very upsetting situation. If such a thing can still be found in
the speeches of a prime minister, it means that our work is very difficult.
While we are making an effort to raise awareness, it is really unfortunate
4
Mustafa Olpak, Kenya – Girit – Istanbul: Köle Kıyısından İnsan Biografleri (Istanbul: Ozan Yayıncılık, 2005).
13
if those who are at the very top use these expressions. 5
This thesis aims to bring to light part of the complicated past that explains the continued
currency of the term zenci in modern Turkey and informs its use by politicians like Erdoğan. It
traces the roots of Turkish identity politics as it relates to Africans beginning with African
slavery in the Ottoman Empire, and reveals why it is no coincidence that the recently founded
Afro-Turk association is based not in Istanbul but in the coastal city of Izmir.
Argument
This thesis explores the relatively unknown social and cultural history of enslaved and
emancipated Africans and their descendants in Izmir. I argue that, while Africans had been
present in Izmir for centuries, the community reached its maximum size at the end of the
nineteenth-century, at which point Izmir had the highest concentration of Africans in the
empire’s northern tier after Istanbul. This ballooning of Izmir’s African population was largely a
result of the abolition of the slave trade. As an important port city situated on numerous trans-
Mediterranean shipping routes, Izmir became the main site where the Ottoman state, backed by
their British partners in abolition, decided to install rescued emancipated Africans. Once in
Izmir, most of these newly-arrived Africans were integrated into households, others were placed
in new state institutitions designed to care for Africans, while still others formed their own
community in one particular part of the city. Yet others left Izmir to live and work in the city’s
rich agiculturial hinterland. Demonstrating the vitality of the African community in Izmir, they
organized an annual festival that incorporated elements of religious practices brought with them
from sub-Saharan Africa.
5
Mustafa Olpak, personal communication, 24 June 2013.
14
Their growing presence impacted Izmir’s social and cultural landscape. In fact, the
activities of the African community in Izmir were a cause for concern amongst the upper echelon
of Ottoman society. They viewed African spiritual practices and the annual festival at which
Izmir’s Africans congregated as expressions of “savagery,” in contrast to their own notions of a
modern Ottoman civilization. In the early twentieth century, the new Turkish state adopted an
extreme form of nationalism that attempted to redefine and consolidate a homogenous “Turkish”
identity and worked to mute any social, cultural, and religious diversity within its borders. As a
result, Africans in Izmir were eventually silenced and their cultural practices in public spaces
ceased. These discourses of modernity and civilization employed by Ottoman officials and
learned classes against the Africans of Izmir still resonate in the racial politics of Turkey today.
Recently however, the weakening of Turkish nationalism has helped the descendents of these
enslaved Africans, known as Afro-Turks, to begin celebrating their unique heritage and identity.
Reconstructing the social worlds of Africans in Izmir in the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries has value beyond simply recovering an unknown aspect of the history of African
slavery in the Ottoman Empire. This study contributes more generally to the growing body of
scholarship narrating the lives of non-elite groups in Ottoman Empire, whose contributions to the
making of the late Ottoman world has been underrepresented though they constituted roughly 90
percent of the total population. 6
Historiography
This thesis critically engages with two major historiographies: the history of Ottoman
Izmir and the history of African Slavery in the Ottoman Empire. It is argued here that neither of
6
Donald Quataert, Miners and the State in the Ottoman Empire: The Zonguldak Coalfield, 1822-1920 (New York:
Berghahn Books, 2006), 17.
15
these historiographies have properly adressed the history of enslaved and emancipated Africans
and their descendents in Izmir.
Historiography of late Ottoman Izmir - a “Cosmopolitan” city
The history of late Ottoman Izmir has been conventionally framed as the history of the
activities of elite Europeans and their local counterparts. It is no surprise then, that emancipated
Africans and their descendants have been left out. Comprising part of Izmir’s poorer classes,
they lived along the social, economic and, indeed physical margins of this great port city. 7
The majority of social and cultural studies of late Ottoman Izmir are dominated by the
Great Fire of 1922 that effectively levelled the city centre, and the concurrent human catastrophe
which, these studies argue, wiped out a seemingly peaceful, Europeanized social life. 8 As Reşat
Kasaba has recently noted for this body of literature, “what passes as analysis of these events is
usually limited to justifying the tragedy from the Turkish side or lamenting it from the Greek or
Armenian perspective.” 9 This literature has been primarily occupied with elite cultural history in
Izmir in the years just prior to the fire, including celebratory accounts of the lives of Levantines,
the descendents of Europeans businessmen long settled in Izmir. Compared to the other
inhabitants of the city, disproportionate interest has been paid to a small number of Levantine
7
For a discussion of French and Greek historiography on Izmir, see: Marie-Carmen Smyrnelis, Une ville ottomane
plurielle: Smyrne aux XVIIIe et XIXe siècles (Istanbul: Éditions Isis, 2006), 13-36.
8
For example see: Marjorie H. Dobkin, Smyrna 1922: The Destruction of a City (Kent, Ohio: Kent State University
Press, 1988); George Horton, The Blight of Asia: An Account of the Systematic Extermination of Christian
Populations by Mohammedans and of the Culpability of Certain Great Powers; with a True Story of the Burning of
Smyrna (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill Co, 1926); Giles Milton, Paradise Lost: Smyrna 1922 - the Destruction of
Islam's City of Tolerance (London: Sceptre, 2008); Christos Papoutsy, Ships of Mercy: The True Story of the Rescue
of the Greeks : Smyrna, September 1922 (Portsmouth, N.H: Peter E. Randall, 2008); René Puaux, Les derniers jours
de Smyrne (Paris, 1923); Dora Sakayan, An Armenian Doctor in Turkey: Garabed Hatcherian : My Smyrna Ordeal
of 1922 (Montreal: Arod Books, 1997).
9
Reşat Kasaba, “Izmir 1922: A Port City Unravels” in Fawaz, Leila T, C A. Bayly, and Robert Ilbert. (eds.)
Modernity and Culture: From the Mediterranean to the Indian Ocean (New York: Columbia University Press,
2002), 207.
16
families, local European consuls, and the unique mixture of belle époque European and Ottoman
culture that Ottoman port cities were known for, complete with cinemas, operas, boat races, and
large, sprawling suburban mansions. Nostalgia for an earlier, more innocent era, and the
mourning of its passing, is a recurring theme in this literature. Indeed, the dominant narrative of
Izmir, as represented in this conventional historiography, is the emergence and untimely
destruction of this “cosmopolitan” city. 10
To give just one example, in his recent book on Izmir entitled Paradise Lost, Giles
Milton declared that “[Izmir] had long been celebrated as a beacon of tolerance – home to scores
of nationalities with a shared outlook and intertwined lives.” 11 This image of “tolerance” is
buoyed by the presence of “nationalities” that were largely Western and a “shared outlook” that
is elite and European. Crucial to this diversity is of course the locals who either have acquired or
aspire to adopt European culture. The historical “celebration” of this diversity was undertaken
for the most part by the European residents and travelers and Western historians who followed.
The romanticization of “cosmopolitan Izmir” prior to the fire in 1922 contains the sub-text that
things were better when Europeans were benefitting from the mobility and power provided to
them by imperialism and colonialism. 12
On the one hand, the substantial amount of writing from this perspective is
understandable, given the abrupt end of Ottoman Izmir in 1922 represents the collapse of the
Ottoman Empire, the success of Turkish nationalist forces over a Greek invasion, and demise of
10
For example, see: Alexander H Groot and Maurits H. Boogert. Ottoman Izmir: Studies in Honour of Alexander H.
De Groot (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 2007), xi; Elena Frangakis-Syrett, "The Economic
Activities of Ottoman and Western Communities in Eighteenth-Century Izmir." Oriente Moderno. (1999), 17; Hervé
Georgelin, La fin de Smyrne: du cosmopolitisme aux nationalismes (Paris: CNRS Editions, 2005), 201; Philip
Mansel, Levant: Splendour and Catastrophe on the Mediterranean (New Haven [Conn.: Yale University Press,
2011); Smynelis, Smyrne, 15-16; and others used throughout this chapter.
11
Milton, Paradise Lost, 4.
12
For a full discussion on this subject, see: Tony Ballantyne and Antoinette M. Burton. Moving Subjects: Gender,
Mobility, and Intimacy in an Age of Global Empire (Urbana, Ill: University of Illinois Press, 2008), 1-30.
17
the largest European enclave in Anatolia. However, there are some troubling implications to
limiting the story of late Ottoman Izmir to the perspectives and archival records of the European
elites and their local counterparts. Such an exclusionary approach sets the boundaries of research
around an imagined Izmir that was in contact with Europeans and European culture. Aspects of
Izmir’s history that do not conform to this type of ‘cosmopolitanism’ described above are
marginalized or forgotten altogether. Interrogating these silent spaces in the historiography helps
disrupt these imagined boundaries.
Most studies on Izmir employing “cosmopolitan” or the idea of “cosmopolitanism”
utilize it to express the perspective of a western European, elite, lifestyle. 13 This is not a surprise
given the origins of the term. Immanuel Kant is credited with developing the concept of
cosmopolitanism. For him, cosmopolitanism represented a future global order in which self-
serving individualist goals would be subsumed under an ethical and moralist autonomy. 14 Non-
European parts of the world lagged behind in this process, largely as a result of their adherence
to religion. 15 Thus in Kant’s view, the spreading of European values and culture signalled
progress towards a future universal state. Recreating European spaces in non-European lands,
then, is a natural outcome of this logic. Many of the historical studies on Izmir employing the
term “cosmopolitanism” have uncritically replicated it exactly as found in the travelogues,
fictional accounts, memoirs, and biographies that emerged immediately after the fire in 1922.
In recent years, this model of cosmopolitanism has come under sharp critique. For Craig
13
R.J. Holton, Cosmopolitanisms: New Thinking and New Directions (Basingstoke, [England: Palgrave Macmillan,
2009), 29.
14
For Kant, it was contemporary federal European nation-states that represented the emergence of this future world
order. See: Harold Mah, "The Age of Herder, Kant, and Hegel" in Lloyd S Kramer and Sarah C. Maza. (eds.) A
Companion to Western Historical Thought (Malden, Mass: Blackwell Publishers, 2002), 151-152.
15
James Tully, “The Kantian idea of Europe : critical and cosmopolitan perspectives” in Anthony Pagden. (ed.) The
Idea of Europe: From Antiquity to the European Union (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 2002),
341.
18
Calhoun, it “is a discourse centered in a Western view of the world” while Peter van der Veer
calls it a colonial engagement with “the rest of the world.” 16 Others have also argued that it is
overused, often undefined, and “in danger of being an almost meaningless and glib catchphrase”
that “does not necessarily make a good analytical tool.” 17 In response, some scholars have
emphasized the potential plurality of cosmopolitanisms as a way to describe non-elite or non-
Eurocentric mixing of peoples, cultures and ideas, while others have avoided it entirely. 18
Despite this debate, the term remains prevalent both in popular and academic literature. 19
One recent study by Henk Driessen, has taken a critical approach to “cosmopolitanism”
in Ottoman port-cities in the nineteenth-century, with Izmir as its focus. Driessen points out the
“problematic relationship between cosmopolitanism and power,” and emphasizes that “it is
mostly embraced by political, economic, and cultural elites” as part of their control and
domination. 20 He also notes that not all people living in Ottoman port cities experience
cosmopolitanism equally and thus it would be wrong to conclude that the city as a whole is
cosmopolitan, if at all. 21
While the “cosmopolitan” trope dominates Western historiography on Izmir, it also exists
in the Turkish historiography more broadly, which likewise glosses over life outside the
cosmopolitan space. 22 In this case however, Turkish nationalism, and the Turkish nationalist
16
Gavin Kendall, Ian Woodward, and Zlatko Skrbiš, The Sociology of Cosmopolitanism: Globalization, Identity,
Culture and Government (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 20.
17
Kendall, Woodward, and Skrbiš, Sociology of Cosmopolitanism, 12.
18
Kendall, Woodward, and Skrbiš, Sociology of Cosmopolitanism, 20; Holton, Cosmopolitanisms, 33-40.
19
My thanks to Anastassios Anastassiadis for pointing out that the prevalence of “cosmopolitan” themed literature
in recent decades may also be a reaction to the nationalisms of the late 1990s which brought about violent
consequences such as those in the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda.
20
Henk Driessen, "Mediterranean Port Cities: Cosmopolitanism Reconsidered." History and Anthropology. 16,1
(2005), 137.
21
Driessen, "Mediterranean Port Cities,” 138.
22
Bülent Şenocak, Levant'ın Yıldızı İzmir: Levantenler, Rumlar, Ermeniler Ve Yahudiler. (İzmir: B. Şenocak, 2003);
Milton, Paradise Lost, was translated into Turkish in 2009 and was featured prominently in bookstores throughout
Izmir.
19
narrative is largely to blame for stifling investigations into Izmir’s diverse social and cultural
past. Delving into certain aspects of life in late Ottoman Izmir was for a long time taboo, due to
the political climate created following the founding of the republic, 23 and is perhaps the reason
why many economic studies on Izmir, which limit discussions of culture and identity, are by
Turkish historians.
Many of these economic studies of Izmir examine the growth of trade through its port,
particularly with Western European empires, and the resulting changes it brought forth, including
the expansion of the port facilities, the construction of railroads beginning in the 1830s, and the
development of the city’s rich hinterland. 24 These studies, such as Reşat Kasaba’s Ottoman
Empire and the World Economy: The Nineteenth Century, are concerned with demonstrating the
dynamism of the Ottoman economy, countering earlier Orientalist scholarship which had
described it as stagnant and weak. A related branch of research focuses on the urban and
architectural history of port-cities like Izmir, especially their physical, demographic, and
environmental transformations as a result of dramatic economic growth. Studies of this type
often limit their scope to formal government initiated changes in the city and do not examine
developments outside of the city center and port area. 25
While it is true that a more sophisticated view of the social history of Izmir has emerged
23
Çağlar Keyder, “The Consequences of the Exchange of Populations for Turkey“ in Renee Hirschon (ed.),
Crossing the Aegean: An Appraisal of the 1923 Compulsory Population Exchange between Greece and Turkey
(New York: Berghahn Books, 2003), 48-49.
24
For example see : Elena Frangakis-Syrett, The Commerce of Smyrna in the Eighteenth Century (1700-1820).
(Athens: Centre for Asia Minor Studies, 1992); Daniel Goffman, Izmir and the Levantine World, 1550-1650
(Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1990); Reşat Kasaba, The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy: The
Nineteenth Century. (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1988).
25
F. Cana Bilsel, Cultures et fonctionnalités: l'évolution de la morphologie urbaine de la ville d'Izmir aux XIXe et
début XXe siècles. PhD diss. (Lille: A.N.R.T, Université de Lille III, 1996); Biray Kolluoğlı-Kirli, “Cityscapes and
modernity: Smyrna Morphing into İzmir”, in Anna Frangoudaki and Çağlar Keyder (eds.), Ways to Modernity in
Greece and Turkey: Encounters with Europe, 1850-1950, London, I.B. Tauris, 2007), 217-235; Erkan Serçe,
Tanzimat'tan Cumhuriyet'e İzmir'de Belediye, 1868-1945 (Izmir: Dokuz Eylül Yayınları, 1998); Sibel Zandi-Sayek,
Ottoman Izmir: The Rise of a Cosmopolitan Port, 1840-1880 (Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 2012).
20
in recent years, 26 western scholars continue to almost totally ignore the history of the varying
peoples that make up the communities commonly referred to as “Turkish” or “Muslim” that
existed in Ottoman Izmir. For example, while Marie-Carmen Smyrnelis’ edited volume, Smyrne,
la ville oubliée?: mémoires d'un grand port ottoman 1830-1930, breaks new ground in bringing
together a number of European, Greek, and Turkish historians together, and avoids the typical
periodization centred around 1914 or 1922, it still focuses on the cosmopolitan (European,
Levantine, Jewish/Christian) parts of Izmir. 27 The one small chapter on the “unknown
community” of Muslims in Izmir, as the authors put it, is in the form of an interview with no
citations. Furthermore, few if any Turkish sources are used by the contributors. 28
It is possible that many historians have avoided studying the history of Muslims in
Ottoman Izmir given that what is considered the main source for their social history, 29 Ottoman
court records (kadi sicils), were destroyed in the 1922 fire, but this is not a reason to exclude all
examinations of any sort using other Ottoman or Turkish documents. 30 Studying the Muslim and
Turkish-speaking populations of Izmir in the late Ottoman period necessitates the use of sources
compiled by members of these religious and linguistic groups. In this period, as Eyal Ginio
notes, “cultural products, such as the press, memoirs, literature, [and] theatre” are readily
26
Malte Fuhrmann, "Zandi-Sayek: Ottoman Izmir: the Rise of a Cosmopolitan Port, 1840–1880” Bulletin of the
School of Oriental and African Studies. 75.3 (2012), 581-583.
27
Marie-Carmen Smyrnelis, Smyrne, la ville oubliée?: mémoires d'un grand port ottoman 1830-1930. (Paris:
Autrement, 2006).
28
Not surprisingly, the Turkish contributors examining the Republican period use the most Turkish sources.
29
For a critical overview of the use of Ottoman court records in Ottoman historiography, see: Ze'evi Dror. "The Use
of Ottoman Sharia Court Records As a Source for Middle Eastern Social History: a Reappraisal" Islamic Law and
Society. 5,1 (1998), 35-56.
30
Eyal Ginio, "Hervé Georgelin, La Fin De Smyrne: Du Cosmopolitisme Aux Nationalismes, Cnrs Histoire (Paris:
Cnrs Editions, 2005). Marie-Carmen Smyrnelis, Ed. Smyrne, La Ville Oubliée? 1830–1930: Mémoires D'un Grand
Port Ottoman, Collection Mémoires/villes (Paris: Éditions Autrement, 2006)." International Journal of Middle East
Studies. 41.1 (2009), 133-136. For a full discussion on Ottoman court records see Reşat Kasaba, “Geç Dönem
Osmanlı Toplumsal Tarihi İçin Kaynak Olarak Mahkeme Sicilleri” Tarih ve Toplum, 14, (February 1985), 49-53.
21
available but yet have been largely ignored. 31 If they were used, historians would have known
that Africans lived and worked throughout the city. As there are no state documents which give
voice to the enslaved and emancipated Africans of Izmir, these non-conventional sources are the
closest one can get to them. 32
Historiography of enslaved and emancipated Africans in the late Ottoman Empire
The social history of enslaved and emancipated Africans in the Ottoman Empire and
indeed across the Muslim world in the late nineteenth century and beyond is, in general, limited.
This is despite the impressive advances made in the last twenty years in examining the impact of
foreign pressure, the mechanisms of manumission, the attitudes toward the institution of slavery,
and the problems of suppression and abolition. 33 Even less is known about the lives of
emancipated Africans and their descendants who inhabit Turkey today.
The reasons for this are many. First and foremost is the unwillingness of local historians
to discuss seemingly shameful aspects of their nation-state’s early history. Second is the
awkwardness of acknowledging and discussing Islam’s permission of a ‘gentle slavery.’ 34 Third,
and related, is the legacy of American slavery which looms large over any discussion of African
slavery globally and sets a politically-charged standard to which all other cases are compared..
Fourth, nationalism has also rendered the study of enslaved and emancipated Africans in the late
Ottoman Empire more difficult. In most Turkish scholarship, the history of the Ottoman Empire
31
Ginio, "Hervé Georgelin, La Fin De Smyrne," 252. Furthermore, disregarding Turkish language sources has also
minimized the role of the state and its various local agents in making Izmir a booming port-city.
32
Quataert, Miners and the State, 17.
33
Ehud Toledano, As If Silent and Absent: Bonds of Enslavement in the Islamic Middle East. (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 2007), 38.
34
For example, see: Ehud Toledano, Slavery and Abolition in the Ottoman Middle East (Seattle: University of
Washington Press, 1998), ix-x; Y. Hakan Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire and its Demise, 1800-1909
(Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1996), xvii-xix; John Hunwick and Eve Troutt Powell, The African Diaspora in the
Mediterranean Lands of Islam (Princeton: Markus Wiener Publishers, 2002), ix-xxiv.
22
in the late nineteenth century is presented as that of south-eastern Europe and western Anatolia,
with a linear progression towards the rise of the modern Turkish Republic. 35 While it is true that
this approach is now being discarded, it has influenced how we understand who constituted the
late Ottoman Empire's population. As Çağlar Keyder notes:
Turkish nationalist historiography is distinguished

by the enormity of the effort to negate the previous
existence of non-Turkish populations in the land that
eventually became Turkey. … A concept of
Turkishness was constructed in an attempt to present
the remaining population as homogenous, and it glossed
over any real diversity. 36
Inasmuch as Africans of the late Ottoman Empire are disruptive to Turkish nationalist
history—as well as the nationalist histories of all other Ottoman successor states—they represent
a “fragment of the nation” as described by Partha Chatterjee. 37 Tracing their experiences requires
the historian to work against these powerful narratives that have obscured perceptions of the
history of the late Ottoman Empire.
Fifth, the existing historiography portrays the history of Africans in the Ottoman Empire
as the history of African slaves. This is because, as Esma Durugönül notes, Ottoman
demographic sources do not record people by race or ethnicity. Africans were thus, “statistically
35
See, for example, Bernard Lewis, The Emergence of Modern Turkey (London, New York: Oxford University
Press, 1961); Stanford J. Shaw and Ezel K. Shaw, History of the Ottoman Empire and Modern Turkey. (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1976). Slavery and slaves are also excluded from the authoritative Halil İnalcık and
Donald Quataert, An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 1300-1914. (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1994). More recently, however, Quataert has acknowledged that “the presence of Africans in the
northern Ottoman Empire” is among the issues that “may require further discussion at a later point”: Quataert, The
Ottoman Empire, 1700-1922. (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2005), xii.
36
Keyder, “Consequences,” 48–49.
37
Partha Chatterjee, The Nation and Its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories (Princeton, N.J: Princeton
University Press, 1993).
23
non-existent.” 38 Beyond isolated cases, there is little documentation to directly study Africans,
other than the huge bulk of documents related to the prohibition of the African slave trade in the
second half of the nineteenth century. The result is that these sources about African slaves have
been one of the only ways to tell the history of Africans in the Ottoman Empire.
This lack of documentation has also made Africans, in the words Durugönül,
“invisible.” 39 However there is a conceptual error in Durugönül’s understanding of their absence:
she prioritizes state documents, the documents produced by the Ottoman Empire and the
Republic of Turkey, over any other sources of historical information. This is not unique to her,
and is in fact done by most historians studying the history of African slavery and indeed most
Ottomanists. The result of this focus on state documents is, as Donald Quataert notes, that non-
elite groups are entirely under-represented. 40
While it is tempting to conclude that this invisibility is merely an unfortunate accident, it
is nothing of the sort. The Ottoman and Turkish bureaucracies created documents for specific
reasons which included, above all, the maintenance of power. The absence of documentation
about Africans in the Ottoman Empire was a direct effect of the operation of centralized state
authority. The state had a vested interest in suppressing the visibility of subjects who
contradicted its vision of the ideal Ottoman or Turkish citizen. 41 Thus, extensive state
documentation about the experiences of the Ottoman Empire and Turkey’s diverse peoples
simply does not exist because those in power deemed them undesirable and unimportant.
Therefore, any existing traces and evidence of their history that still remain must be understood
38
Esma Durugönül, “The Invisibility of the Turks of African Origin and the Construction of Turkish Cultural
Identity: The Need for a New Historiography” Journal of Black Studies 33, 3, (2003), 289.
39
Durugönül, “The Invisibility of the Turks of African Origin.”
40
Quataert, Miners and the State, 1-3.
41
Durba Ghosh notes a similar case for women in Sex and the Family in Colonial India: The Making of Empire.
(Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 18.
24
as a triumph.
To study the history of enslaved and emancipated Africans in the late Ottoman Empire, a
different approach is required that draws upon evidence from a variety of state and non-state
sources. Moving away from an over reliance on state documents is one way to avoid reproducing
the invisibility of Africans in the Ottoman Empire and Turkey. Perhaps surprisingly, there are
many sources available which remain unexamined, though they are not all “archival” in the
traditional sense – that is, produced by state offices and kept in state archives or national libraries
as is more typical in in Ottoman historiography. While most Ottoman historians have limited
themselves to such sources, elsewhere in the field of history research is being undertaken that
incorporates a broader variety of materials that are all treated as equally valid.
As Ann Laura Stoler notes, “[e]thnographic sensibilities have led us to ask how oral and
vernacular histories cut across the strictures of archival production and refigure what makes up
the archival terrain.” 42 She adds, furthermore that “[s]uch sensibilities have [been] opened to a
broadening array of genres of documentation, to representational practices that impinge on
received canons of inscription, to collages of memory that at once deface official writing as they
provide new forms of historical evidence.” 43 Additionally, when fragments of a history are all
that is left it is at times necessary to use a bit of narrative imagination to stitch them together.
This does not render them any less valid or problematic than state-produced documentation.
Indeed, this problem goes both ways: many studies in Ottoman historiography that prioritize
state documents use them without questioning the motives behind them or even the reasons for
their existence. 44
42
Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense. (Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press, 2009), 33-34.
43
Stoler, Archival Grain, 34.
44
Toledano, Silent and Absent, 38.
25
As one of the few Turkish historians examining the past through oral history, Leyla
Neyzi has demonstrated the success of these new approaches noted by Stoler to the field of
Ottoman and Turkish history. In one of her articles, she uses interviews with “an elderly
Smyrniote/Izmiran woman born in 1915 to interpret memories of war and violence in the context
of contemporary debates on history, memory and identity in the public sphere in Turkey.” 45 It
would be impossible to tell such stories using only state-produced documentation.
Acknowledging that her approach might seem unusual to the regular reader of Ottoman and
Turkish history, she justifies herself by arguing that “[m]emory studies can make an important
contribution to research on post-Ottoman domains by reminding us that the historical legacy of
countries like Turkey rests on nationalist violence perpetrated by states whose subjects have
inherited a rich cultural habitus that continues to find expression within families, in everyday life,
and interpersonal networks.” 46 It is methodological approaches such as this, including the use of
oral history, which this study draws upon to recover the stories of those Africans made invisible
in the state archives.
Moving away from the perspective of the state is also accomplished by shifting the object
of study geographically away from the state capital and nucleus of its bureaucracy. This is partly
why this study is focused on the activities of Africans in Izmir and not Istanbul. The distance
between Istanbul, the capital of the Ottoman Empire, and Izmir means that it was sometimes less
susceptible to the gravitational force of the state’s influence, and its citizens less available for
surveillance, especially those on its margins like emancipated Africans. Using non-state sources
thus becomes not only more relevant but also more necessary.
45
Leyla Neyzi, "Remembering Smyrna/Izmir: Shared History, Shared Trauma." History & Memory. 20.2 (2008),
106.
46
Neyzi, “Remembering Smyrna/Izmir,” 109.
26
In practical terms, a more focused geographic framework also enables a better control of
all the variables at hand. As Izmir was/is a smaller city than Istanbul, a greater percentage of the
total factors can be taken into account when studying the lives of Africans there. By limiting its
geographic range, this study is also able to engage in a more extended synchronic scope,
covering nearly 150 years from the third quarter of the nineteenth-century to the present.
There are three main studies for the history of Africans in Izmir, each of which has
played a major role in the development of this dissertation, and which will be drawn upon
throughout. While they have laid the groundwork for this study, none take the same approach or
draw on the same sources as the ones used in this dissertation.
Günver Güneş, in his short article Kölelikten Özgürlüğe: Izmir'de Zenciler ve Zenci
Folkloru [From Slavery to Freedom: Negroes and Negro Folklore] was the first to study the
history of emancipated Africans in the nineteenth in Izmir. 47 He uses a broad variety of local
sources to piece together information about both their economic and cultural lives in the late
nineteenth century. He notes that the annual African festival was the centerpiece of their
community and describes the negative views local authorities had both of the festival and of the
Africans themselves. However, there are some issues with his approach. First, emancipated
Africans are treated largely in isolation from the rest of the city. He fails to explain how they fit
into the fabric of this great Ottoman port city. He also stops short of analyzing how their
existence destabilizes dominant themes in the historiography of cosmopolitan Izmir. Second,
Güneş’s study abruptly ends with the collapse of the Ottoman Empire. He does not follow the
history of Africans beyond 1922, and in so doing concedes to (or willingly takes part in) the
Turkish nationalist narrative which hinges on a sharp rift between life in the Ottoman Empire
47
Günver Güneş, “Kölelikten Özgürlüğe: İzmir’de Zenciler ve Zenci Folkloru,” Topulumsal Tarih 11, 62, (1999), 4-
10.
27
and the Turkish Republic. 48 Further to this point, his choice of language to explain the end of the
annual African festival in Izmir is problematic: “Whereas in the Republican period the festival
was forgotten and went” (Cumhuriyet döneminde ise bayram unutulup gitti). 49 The passive
grammatical phrasing leaves a notable degree of ambiguity around who was responsible for the
end of the festival.
In Slavery in the Ottoman Empire and Its Demise, 1800-1909, Y. Hakan Erdem details
the mechanics of and politics behind the African slave trade and its abolition in the late
nineteenth century. 50 While it is not his central focus, he does briefly discuss the social and
cultural history of Africans in one small section entitled “The Care of Emancipated Slaves.” 51 He
rightly pinpoints the fact that Africans attempted to ameliorate their own condition after being
emancipated, and draws on examples from Istanbul to bolster his argument. He also sheds light
on the state emancipation program which brought unprecedented amounts of emancipated
Africans to Izmir (something that was later re-examined by Abdullah Martal). 52 Unfortunately,
however, his analysis stops with the end of the state document trail in the late 1890s and he is
unable to explain the connection between these programs and the present-day population of
Turkish citizens of African descent, who live in Izmir’s hinterland today. 53 This thesis works to
fill in these gaps left by his study.
48
Working to undermine the Turkish nationalist narrative is a dominant trend in the historiography of the Ottoman
Empire, see for example Erik J. Zürcher, “From empire to republic- problems of transition, continuity and change”
in Erik J. Zurcher (ed) Turkey in the Twentieth Century =: La Turquie Au Vingtieme Siecle (Berlin: K. Schwarz,
2008), 15-30.
49
Güneş, “Kölelikten Özgürlüğe,” 10.
50
Y. Hakan Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire and its Demise, 1800-1909 (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1996).
51
Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 173.
52
Abdullah Martal, "Afrika'dan Izmir'e: Izmir'de Bir Köle Misafirhanesi," Kebikeç 10 (2000), 171-179.
53
28
Ehud Toledano’s As If Silent and Absent: Bonds of Enslavement in the Islamic Middle
East is a major step forward for the social and cultural history of enslaved and emancipated
Africans in the late Ottoman Empire. Toledano brings together Güneş’s account for Izmir with
other sources for Istanbul to reconstruct the history of African spiritual and religious practices in
the late Ottoman Empire. 54 He does not undertake much new primary research specifically on
the Africans of Izmir. Instead, his study’s innovation lay in its sophisiticated synthesis and
analysis. 55 Toledano places the annual African festival in the wider context of Africans in the
late Ottoman Empire and analyzies the role syncretism played in its formation as well as the
transmission of beliefs and practices from Africa to the Ottoman Empire. His broad scope means
that he does not spend much time detailing the local dynamics on the ground in Izmir, a
limitation he acknowledges. This dissertation therefore takes up his call for futher archival and
ethnographic work in this field. 56
The approach this study takes is also informed by important social histories conducted
outside of the historiography of both Izmir and Ottoman slavery specifically. In their respective
works, Marc David Baer and Ryan Gingeras draw on a wide variety of sources to tell complex
and local, Ottoman, histories that counter Turkish nationalist scripts. 57 Baer examines the
relatively unknown history of Dönmes, a secretive crypto-Jewish society that lived and to some
degree still live within the broader Ottoman Muslim community. He places them in the local
context of the Ottoman port city of Salonica, tracing the lives of individuals in an enigmatic
religious sect from the late Ottoman to early republican periods, drawing on sources as wide
54
Toledano, As If Silent and Absent, 208-212.
55
Toledano, As If Silent and Absent, 237.
56
57
Marc D. Baer, The Dönme: Jewish Converts, Muslim Revolutionaries, and Secular Turks (Stanford: Stanford
University Press, 2010); Ryan Gingeras, Sorrowful Shores: Violence, Ethnicity, and the End of the Ottoman
Empire (1912-1923. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009).
29
ranging as architecture to oral interviews. Gingeras’s study examines the history of Circassian
refugees settled in north-western Anatolia at the end of the Ottoman Empire. He situates them
within “the complexities of local society” to show that not only were they more focused on
regional problems and alliances than with the emerging Turkish nationalist movement, but some
even went so far as to attempt to create their own Circassian-led state. 58
This thesis is indebted to each of these prior works of innovative history-writing. Inspired
by their examples, it challenges the seeming ‘invisibility’ of Africans in Izmir from the late
Ottoman period to the present, using sources that range from postcards, photographs, maps, and
local newspapers to folklore, literary sources, and oral histories. 59 Where needed, state
documents are used as just one of many sources. In discussing the history of Africans in Izmir,
the intent is to show an unknown aspect of the history of Izmir that exists outsides the perimeters
of its so-called “cosmopolitan” space.
Chapter Overview
Chapter one lays the foundation of many aspects of the history of enslaved and
emancipated Africans in Izmir that will be explored in the subsequent chapters. It begins by
reviewing the geographic and historical setting of Izmir which helped it to become a booming
port city in the late nineteenth century. Its goal is to demonstrate that Izmir held a key place in
the economic vitality of the late Ottoman Empire. This chapter then examines African slavery in
Izmir prior to the nineteenth-century to show its long-standing existence there. Next, this chapter
58
Gingeras, Sorrowful Shores, 5.
59
Oral history interviews undertaken for this thesis adhere to the Tri-Council Policy Statement: Ethical Conduct for
Research Involving Humans with approval from the McGill University Research Ethics Board. For more
information see: Canadian Institutes of Health Research, Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of
Canada, and Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, Tri-Council Policy Statement: Ethical
Conduct for Research Involving Humans, December 2010. Available online:
<http://www.ethics.gc.ca/pdf/eng/tcps2/TCPS_2_FINAL_Web.pdf>. Date accessed: 12 February 2014.
30
describes the history of the African slave trade and its prohibition beginning in the mid-
nineteenth century and demonstrates Izmir’s important position within it. I illustrate this key
point using the case of the Mahrousa, a slave ship apprehended in 1887 near Izmir, to show how
the trade unfolded on the ground and the shortcomings of its policing. The chapter concludes by
discussing the history of the slave market of Izmir and its closure in the late nineteenth-century.
Chapter two examines the lives of recently emancipated Africans in Izmir’s urban space.
It first examines the growing role of the Ottoman state in the process of emancipation for African
slaves and how Izmir became the focal point for a state-directed emancipation program. Second,
it compares examples of institutional and private care of African children in Izmir. It shows that
despite introducing new mechanisms to care for ex-slaves, the experiences of the children
changed little between these two forms. The real difference was that state-care of children helped
to direct their labour into state institutions. Finally, this chapter describes how newly
emancipated Africans lived and worked in Izmir. It reveals the important yet socially
circumscribed roles they played in the everyday functioning of the city.
Chapter three reveals the multitude experiences of Africans in Izmir’s hinterland in the
late nineteenth century. It argues that they arrived there largely due to the dramatic economic
development the western Anatolian region experienced at that time. Like many others
newcomers, emancipated Africans made their way to the hinterland to work as agriculturalists.
However, unlike most newcomers, the situations in which emancipated Africans found
themselves were particularly perilous and open to exploitation of their labour. Mainly as a result
of unfair labour conditions, some emancipated Africans chose, or were forced, to live entirely
outside the system, as bandits. As such, they created for themselves far more autonomous lives
than those working as agriculturalists would have ever known.
31
Chapter four examines the history of Izmir’s annual African festival, known as the Calf
Festival, in the late nineteenth century. It begins by describing the festival in detail before
examining its possible origins, and the reasons why emancipated Africans chose to maintain it.
The festival and the associated religio-spiritual practices are then compared to similar African
practices elsewhere within and beyond the Ottoman Empire. It also examines the significance of
the festival within the local context of religious devotion at a specific tomb shared by various
confessional groups, as are the motivations behind its prohibition in the 1890s. Finally, this
chapter examines the language used in locally published newspaper articles to demonstrate how
people thought about the Calf Festival and the emancipated Africans in the late nineteenth-
century. The chapter concludes by evaluating the significance of the Calf Festival within the
local festival landscape of late nineteenth-century Izmir.
Chapter five, the final chapter, examines the history of the African community of Izmir
over the long term from its zenith in the late nineteenth century to the present. It reveals three
distinct phases in this timeframe. It first examines factors that contributed to the disruption of
African community in Izmir in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. These included:
their spatial marginalization, the arrival of non-African refugees in their neighborhoods, and a
loss of autonomy due to national and international actors advancing into their neighbourhoods in
Izmir. Second, it also analyzes wider socio-political factors related to the silencing of the
community, most notably the impact of Turkish nationalism. Discussion and analysis of this
phase is enhanced through brief glimpses into the lives of Turkish citizens of African descent in
Izmir mid-twentieth century. The third section examines factors that precipitated the rise of Afro-
Turkish identity in the twenty-first century, such as the democratization of Turkish society, and
the impact of international organizations and Afro-Turkish activist, Mustafa Olpak. The chapter
32
concludes by examining some of the contemporary issues surrounding the development of Afro-
Turk identity.
33
Chapter 1 –Izmir in the late Ottoman Slave Trade
Introduction
This chapter seeks to establish many of the background factors that shaped the lives of
emancipated Africans in late Ottoman Izmir. First, it reviews the geographic and historical
setting of Izmir to demonstrate that its natural port and fertile hinterland allowed it to be well
suited for settlement. Then, it shows that prior to the nineteenth century, Izmir was largely the
beneficiary of historical forces and power-struggles between centralized and local authorities that
are often otherwise understood in the historiography as detrimental to Istanbul and the Ottoman
Empire as a whole. Subsequently, it examines the impressive transformation of the city brought
about by an internal reform movement and foreign pressure in the nineteenth century. The goal
of these sections is to demonstrate that Izmir held a key place in the economic vitality of the late
Ottoman Empire. Lastly by way of background, this chapter defines and describes African
slavery in the Ottoman Empire and its usage in Izmir prior to the nineteenth-century.
With the stage set, this chapter then describes the history of the African slave trade and
its prohibition beginning in the mid-nineteenth century in order to demonstrate the important
position Izmir had within it, and to explain the diplomatic and practical challenges of halting the
trade. This chapter will then examine the case of the Mahrousa, a slave ship apprehended in 1887
near Izmir to illustrate how the trade unfolded on the ground as well as the shortcomings of its
policing. Finally, this chapter discusses the previously unexamined history of the slave market of
Izmir and its closure in the late nineteenth-century. Therefore, this chapter aims to lay the
34
foundation of many aspects of the history of enslaved and emancipated Africans in Izmir that
will be further explored in the following chapters.
Map 1 – Location of Izmir in the Eastern Mediterranean. 1
1
Carl Hughes, “Location of Izmir in the Eastern Mediterranean,” Montreal, 2014.
35
Geographic Setting
Izmir is located on the rugged coast of Western Anatolia, part of the so-called Ottoman
heartland, mid-way between the imperial capital, Istanbul, and the island of Rhodes. It sits at the
head of the Gulf of Izmir which forms a large natural harbor and thus provides mariners with a
safe place to rest in a storm. The waters of the gulf are deep enough to allow large ships to come
very close to the shore, and calm enough to facilitate the loading and unloading of cargo. These
qualities make Izmir the finest port on the eastern Aegean Sea. The shoreline is flat as it was
formerly seabed in pre-historic times. This plane and much of the gulf are surrounded by large
hills, the closest of which are Kadifekale (elevation 186m) and Değirmendağı (elevation150m).
As the gulf pierces deep into Anatolia, it provides access to the interior. Rivers such as the Gediz
and Meles flow into the gulf at its head while the Küçük and Büyük Menderes river valleys cut
through the hilly land in the nearby countryside. 2 Moreover, Izmir enjoys a Mediterranean
climate highly conducive to human settlement. Winters are mild and can be rainy while summers
are hot and dry. 3 Overall, the geographic position of Izmir means that it is a prime location for
fishing, agriculture, trade, and thus settlement. Evidence of human settlement in Izmir goes back
to at least 6000CE and recorded history to around 3500CE. 4
Ottoman Izmir
2
Daniel Goffman, “Izmir: from village to colonial port city,” in Edhem Eldem, Daniel Goffman, and Bruce Alan
Masters, eds., The Ottoman City between East and West: Aleppo, Izmir, and Istanbul. (New York: Cambridge
University Press, 1999), 85
3
"Official Statistics (Statistical Data of Provinces and districts)-Izmir." <Turkish Meteorological Service.
http://www.dmi.gov.tr/veridegerlendirme/il-ve-ilceler-istatistik.aspx?m=IZMIR>. Accessed 9 October 2012.
4
Zafer Derin, “İzmir'den İki Yeni Prehistorik Yerleşim Yeri: Yassıtepe Höyüğü , Çakallar Tepesi Höyüğü”
Arkeoloji Dergisi VII, ( 2006 /1), 1-14; Ekrem Akurgal, "The Early Period and the Golden Age of Ionia" American
Journal of Archaeology Vol. 66, No. 4 (Oct., 1962), 369-379; Cecil John Cadoux, Ancient Smyrna: A History of the
City from the Earliest Times to 324 A.D. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1938).
36
Izmir’s privileged location, has led some specialists consider it to have been “the
exception” to early modern Ottoman history, as it only developed an imperial “Ottoman”
footprint in the nineteenth-century. 5 Understanding the early history of Ottoman Izmir is
indispensable for understanding the city’s development in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
It must be kept in mind that, knowledge of the history of Izmir in the early modern period is
hindered due to the destruction of Ottoman court records in the Great Fire of 1922. Historians
have been forced to rely upon the records of foreigners, particularly western Europeans, in lieu
of internal evidence. 6 Though these sources are largely limited to focusing on maritime trade to
Europe, they still provide vital information about Izmir’s development prior to the nineteenth-
century.
Prior to the establishment of Ottoman suzerainty over Izmir, it was controlled variously
by Turkoman warriors, the Byzantine Empire, the Knights of St. John, and the Mongol ruler
Tamerlane. 7 It was in 1425 that the then quasi-independent Principality of Aydın (Aydın Beyliği)
controlled by the Aydınoğlu family, was once and for all integrated into the Ottoman Empire.
Once under Ottoman control, it quickly became a key site for the export of foodstuffs to the
rapidly growing capital of Istanbul. 8 Grains, raisins, currants, figs, oranges, cotton, and wool
were moved from the lush and productive valleys of the hinterland to ships waiting offshore.
With its export-based oriented economy, Daniel Goffman argues that Izmir’s potential as a site
of regional trade, with its favourable geographic and environmental conditions, went untapped in
5
Suraiya Faroqhi, “Part II: Crisis and Change 1590-1699” in Halil Inalcik with Donald Quataert, (eds.), An
Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire (2 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994),
p.496; Goffman, “Izmir: from village to colonial port city,” 83.
6
Goffman, “Izmir: from village to colonial port city,” 83.
7
For a detailed description of the conflict in Izmir between the Mongols and the Knights of St.John, see: David
Nicolle and Adam Hook, Crusader Castles in Cyprus, Greece and the Aegean 1191-1571 (Oxford: Osprey, 2007),
50.
8
Goffman, “Izmir: from village to colonial port city,” 86; Elena Frangakis-Syrett, “Development in the Middle East:
Izmir from the early 18th to early 20th centuries” in Studies in Honour of Alexander J. de Groot (Leiden, Nederlands
Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 2007), 2.
37
the early period of Ottoman rule. 9 For example, the Ottomans let the trans-Anatolian trading
networks of Iranian silks continue on to the nearby island of Chios where Genoese and Venetian
traders were established. Despite all of its advantages, much of Izmir’s maritime trade involved
the smuggling of contraband goods such as grains in this period. 10
However, by the beginning of the early seventeenth century, a complicated web of
internal and external factors combined to loosen the grip of Istanbul on the empire’s provinces. 11
As a result, local potentates emerged as major political players, prioritizing their own interests
and development of their cities and regions over maintaining the stability of the empire. Many
eastern Mediterranean trading centres in Ottoman lands such as Aleppo or Bursa suffered greatly
as a result of this destabilization and infighting between self-interested rulers. For example,
infrastructure critical to trade was neglected: western Anatolian ports such as Balat and Ayasoluk
silted up. 12 Izmir did not suffer the same fate as other cities thanks to its large natural port,
effective local administration and growing trade with Europe. Out of this environment of empire-
wide uncertainty and disorganization, Izmir began its ascent towards becoming a pre-eminent
Ottoman port city. 13
As Goffman notes, at this time Dutch, English, French, Venetian merchants began to
appear in Izmir’s port alongside the traditional regional merchants – Armenians, Greeks, Jews
and local Muslims. Trade relations between these groups, and Izmir’s place at the centre of their
activities, was fortified through the creation of specialized European trading companies, such as
the English Levant Company in 1610. 14 By the 1640s, an intricate commercial web threaded
9
Goffman, “Izmir: from village to colonial port city,” 86-87.
10
11
Bruce Masters, “The Age of The Ayans,” in Inalcik with Quataert, eds., An Economic and Social History of the
Ottoman Empire, 660.
12
Faroqhi, “Part II: Crisis and Change 1590-1699,” 439
13
Goffman, “Izmir: from village to colonial port city,” 87-89.
14
38
together all of western Anatolia and drew goods and people to its nucleus in Izmir. 15 This
economic growth is reflected in the population estimates for Izmir in this period. Whereas in the
late sixteenth century, the city contained approximately 2000 Muslims and a handful of
Christians, roughly a half a century later, in 1640, the city contained around 35000-40000 people
from a diverse range of origins. 16 This increase is even more striking given that most Anatolian
cities saw little to no population growth in the same period. 17 It was also at this time that many
European traders chose to permanently establish themselves in Izmir, in order to better manage
the ever-increasing amount of goods coming from the hinterland and through the port. Over time,
this group of settled Europeans formed the basis of what is known as the Levantine community.
These early merchants and their descendents played a critical role in both the trade and
development of the city well into the twentieth century.
Despite the relative growth of Izmir, by the eighteenth-century Ottoman territorial losses
and increasing power of provincial potentates caused Ottoman authorities in Istanbul to develop
new strategies to regain authority over the empire. Thus, a major turning point in the history of
Ottoman Izmir came at this time in the form of bilateral trading agreements between Ottoman
and European governments known as the Capitulations. 18 In fusing together political and
commercial relations, the Ottoman state conceded a degree of sovereignty to its trading
partners. 19 European merchants from participating nations became exempt from Ottoman laws
and punishments. Ottoman authorities hoped the resulting rise in trade would help revive its
slowing economy and thus serve to strengthen the empire as a whole. While the most significant
15
16
17
Faroqhi, “Part II: Crisis and Change 1590-1699,” 439.
18
The classic study on the history of the capitulations remains: Feroz Ahmad, "Ottoman perceptions of the
capitulations 1800-1914," Journal of Islamic Studies, 11,1 (2000), 1-20
19
For a full discussion of the impact of the capitulations on the Ottoman Empire, see: Maurits H. van den Boogert
and Kate Fleet, The Ottoman Capitulations: Text and Context. (Roma: Istituto per l'Oriente C.A. Nallino, 2004).
39
capitulation agreement was signed with the French in 1740, others quickly followed. By 1756,
sixty-percent of all ships stopping in the port of Izmir were French. Undoubtedly, they were the
most prolific European traders in Izmir’s port in this period. 20
In an effort to cut expenses, the Ottoman government began passing on tax-collecting
duties to these local notables in a system known as tax farming. As a result, official power was
increasingly concentrated into the hands of a few families in each region of the empire,
beginning a period known in Ottoman historiography as “the Age of the Ayans” (the Ottoman
Turkish word for powerful local notables). 21 Around Izmir, these families were the Araboğlus of
Pergamum and the Karaosmanoğlus from Manisa, the latter being ultimately the more influential
of the two. 22 As the lords of large swaths of productive land, the Karaosmanoğlu family became
important actors in the history of western Anatolia and Izmir. Newly emboldened by the
capitulations, European traders began to work directly with ayans to increase the total volume of
trade. 23 No matter how forceful or how advanced the trading techniques, western Europeans
could not engage in Izmir’s trade without the cooperation of the indigenous population. Local
Greeks, for example, often acted as creditors for European merchants who bartered for seasonal
goods. 24 Indeed, employment within Izmir’s trade and agricultural economies were divided upon
religio-ethnic lines. For the most part, Greeks handled inter-regional trade, Jews were involved in
tax farming and credit, Muslims in regional trade, and Armenian Christians in long distance
overland trade to the east. 25
20
Frangakis-Syrett, “Development in the Middle East,” 3; “Faroqhi, “Part II: Crisis and Change 1590-1699,” 734-
735.
21
McGowan, “Age of Ayans,” 637-743.
22
Faroqhi, “Part II: Crisis and Change 1590-1699,” 567; Goffman “Izmir: from village to colonial port city,” 121.
23
24
Many Greek families that rose to prominence in the empire originally made their power and wealth from acting in
such a role, Faroqhi, “Part II: Crisis and Change 1590-1699,” 519.
25
40
Izmir in the late Ottoman Empire
During the nineteenth century, the growing economic presence of Western European
powers and reforms initiated in Istanbul combined to make Izmir the Ottoman port par
excellence. The beginnings of these reforms came at the end of the eighteenth century, the first of
which was in 1793, known as the New Order (Nizam-i Cedid). As the empire was suffering from
many of the same problems that had plagued it a century earlier, these reforms were designed to
restore central control and administrative power back to Istanbul. They included efforts to
strengthen the army against external threats like the Russian Empire, and internal ones such as
the ayans around Izmir. 26 To accomplish this, the Ottoman government developed new methods
of tax collection and a more efficient and centralized bureaucracy. In Izmir, the Nizam-i Cedid
and subsequent reforms were largely successful in breaking the stranglehold on power of the
ayan families. 27
When the French Revolution (1789) caused French merchants to temporarily withdraw
from Izmir, British and Ottoman Greek traders quickly took their place. Soon thereafter, the
industrializing British Empire became the Ottoman Empire’s leading trading partner. A free
trade agreement was struck between the British and Ottoman Empires in 1838. It was partly as a
result of this new agreement that the volume and value of trade passing through Izmir’s port
dramatically increased. 28 The Ottoman Empire subsequently signed free trade agreements with
other European powers such as the French and Dutch. Western European traders purchased
foodstuffs such as grains, opium, and cotton, and other raw materials to meet the demands of the
rapidly industrializing and urbanizing populations in their home countries. While exports
26
Goffman, “Izmir: from village to colonial port city,” 125; Erik J. Zürcher, Turkey: a Modern History, 21.
27
Reşat Kasaba, "Izmir" Review (Fernand Braudel Center) 16, 4, (1993), 396.
28
Kasaba, The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy, 47-48.
41
dominated, the most popular item imported into Izmir in this period was textiles. 29
During the nineteenth century, the Ottoman Empire once again underwent an expansive
program of administrative reform and modernization (generally known as the Tanzimat) which
directly impacted the growth of Izmir. One of the major developments was the creation of
western-style private property with the introduction of the Ottoman Land Code of 1858. It was
largely designed to increase economic stability for foreign investment. 30 Izmir’s economic boom
reached its climax mid-century. Between the 1840s and the 1870s, the total volume of all
commercial activity in Izmir reached unprecedented levels: exports increased threefold and
imports sixfold. 31 Revenues from business in Izmir became a critical part of the Ottoman
economy, contributing roughly 10% of total revenue for the empire mid-century. If the
surrounding provinces that used Izmir as their point of shipment are included, then commercial
transactions in Izmir account for a full quarter of the empire’s entire economy at this time. 32
Despite this remarkable growth, the regularization of landholding patterns and streamlining of
taxation, some of the primary goals of the Tanzimat-era reforms, were unsuccessful. In the case
of Izmir’s hinterland, small landholding plots continued to be the predominant form of land
usage. Thus, foreign investment continued through local intermediaries who helped co-ordinate
the activities of small-plot farmers. 33
29
Goffman, “Izmir: from village to colonial port city,” 126; See also: Elena Frankgakis-Syrett , “The trade of cotton
and cloth in Izmir : from the second half of the eighteenth century to the early nineteenth century” in Çağlar Keyder
and Faruk Tabak (eds)., Landholding and Commercial Agriculture in the Middle East (Albany: State University of
New York Press, 1991), 97-112.
30
31
Kasaba, The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy, 61.
32
33
Kasaba, "Izmir," 398.
42
Izmir also experienced rapid urban development in accordance with this dramatic rise in
the volume of trade. 34 Izmir became the terminus of two of the very first rail lines in the empire.
The Izmir-Kasaba line and the Izmir-Aydin line, built using British capital in the early 1860s,
greatly increased the ability of farms in the interior to move their goods to Izmir, and thus on to
local and global markets. 35 With an influx of French capital, by 1876 the port infrastructure was
still further expanded and modernized. The new port facilities allowed for rail lines to deliver
their cargo to waiting steamships, accelerating the rate at which people and goods circulated. 36
Warehouses, sorting, weighing and packing facilities all developed at the crucial transfer point
where the rail lines and the port met. To facilitate the trade, insurance dealers, traders, brokers,
and other intermediaries all concentrated their centres of operation near the port as well. 37 Yet,
while these rail lines also helped speed the movement of agricultural labourers to farms in the
interior, they never fully addressed the unending labour shortage there (see chapter three). 38
34
Kasaba, The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy, 128
35
36
Kasaba, The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy, 73. The construction of the port is detailed in Sibel Zandi-
Sayek, “Struggles Over the Shore” Building the Quay of Izmir, 1867-1875” City and Society, 12, 1, (Spring 2000),
55-78.
37
38
For a full discussion on the impact of railroads in the Ottoman Empire see: Donald Quataert, "Part IV: The Age of
Reforms: 1812-1914," in An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 811-815. This was a long-
standing historical problem for the region. For example, in the 1770s the Karaosmanoğlu ayan imported labourers
from the Peloponnese to supplement his available workforce. See: Kasaba, The Ottoman Empire and the World
Economy, 62-63.These problems, as it relates to enslaved and emancipated Africans are dealt with separately in
chapter 3.
43
Map 2 –The urban space of Izmir in 1876 (in red). 39
Izmir’s population also grew dramatically through the nineteenth century, outpacing any
other Anatolian city. Mid-century it contained around 150 000 people, in 1890 it grew to 200
000, and spiked to 300 000 in 1918. 40
With many of the tools, expertise and financial means to move products from local to
39
Lamec Saad, “Plan de Smyrne,” 1876, APKA.
40
44
global markets, it was the Levantines who were major beneficiaries of this economic boom. 41
They used their wealth to move outside of Izmir’s city centre and establish themselves in a semi-
isolated and suburban area on the north-eastern outskirts of the city known as Bournobat /
Bornova. While their mansions were located in this idyllic landscape, they used newly
established tramlines to commute to their places of business in the port. At mid-century,
Levantines and foreigners had constituted only 15% of the population, but by the 1880s, they
comprised arguably a full quarter of it. 42 Despite the relative deceleration of the overall Ottoman
economy after 1875, Izmir continued to grow until the First World War when it, along with the
entire empire, was subject to an economic blockade and as a result did not continue its global
trade. The war itself triggered the final downfall of the empire to which Izmir belonged. 43
Izmir’s impressive growth in the nineteenth century is remarkable, but its prominent
position in global trade was attained not only through geographic good fortune or the business
acumen of European, Levantine, and, Ottoman businessmen and government officials. There
were many other far less visible actors who also played a key role in actualizing the city’s
growth, including porters, sharecroppers, small boatmen, caravan workers, and domestic
servants. In short, behind these ‘big men’ of history was a multitude of labourers maintaining the
city and helping it grow. These positions were occupied by local Muslims, Christians, and Jews,
as well as by Muslim refugees who arrived after the Crimean (1853-1856) and Russo-Turkish
Wars (1877-1878) fleeing Russian expansion. 44 However, the cheapest and most malleable
labourers working in Izmir and its hinterland were enslaved and emancipated Africans.
41
42
43
For a detailed, narrative driven account of Izmir during World War I, seen Milton, Paradise Lost.
44
Arzu Temizsoy, “Cultural and Architectural Significance of Planned Refugee Houses in Izmir (Turkey) from the
point of conservation” in 1st International CIB Endorsed METU Posgraduate Conference – Built Environment &
Information Technologies, Ankara, (2006), 741-756.
45
Slavery in the Ottoman Empire
There were many practices in the Ottoman Empire that could be considered “slavery,”
including imprisonment, indebted sharecropping, and indeed various kinds of conjugal unions.
This dissertation is largely limited to legal enslavement. Slavery in terms of Islamic law, the
foundation for law in the Ottoman Empire, grants one person ownership over another, meaning
the owner has rights to the slave’s labour, property, and sexuality, and the slaves’ freedoms are
severely restricted. 45 However in practice things were much different; the experiences of slaves
in Ottoman society varied dramatically, some rose to considerable power and prominence, so
much so that it instead of ‘Ottoman slavery’ it might be better conceptualized as ‘Ottoman
slaveries.’
The first and arguably most important way slaves were divided in the Ottoman Empire is
between elite and non-elite slaves, or rather between military-administrative slaves and their
wives and consorts, which Toledano has labeled kul/harem slaves, and domestic or menial
slavery. 46 While in no way completely coming to an end, kul/harem slavery slowly but surely
came to account for a smaller segment of the entire slave population in the nineteenth-century. 47
Slaves can also be divided along gender lines. The majority of these slaves (roughly two-
thirds) were women who worked in domestic positions, though some eventually became wives in
elite households. As Madeline Zilfi notes, female slaves were inherently more vulnerable in their
positions, largely because they could not attain ‘independence’ on their own but were attached to
45
Toledano, Slavery and Abolition, 4.
46
For a full discussion of conceptualizing the kul/harem class, see Toledano, Slavery and Abolition, chapter 1.
47
R. Brunschvig, "‘Abd" in P. Bearman , Th. Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs, (eds.),
Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition (Brill, 2008). Brill Online. Accessed: 20 November 2008
<http://www.brillonline.nl/subscriber/entry?entry=islam_COM-0003>.
46
their husband and his household. 48 Sexual violence, and the lack of control over one’s
reproductive abilities put female slaves in a much more precarious position than male slaves. At
the same time, many of the female slaves who bore the children of their owners gained a special
status, of ‘mother of the child’ (Arabic: umm walad), which protected them from being separated
from their child. This is however, only if the husband recognized the child as his, something
which was not guaranteed.
Slaves can also be divided between their origin and ethnic/racial backgrounds. Generally,
African slaves were more likely to be enslaved in domestic and menial tasks, and not taken on as
wives. Furthermore, their options for working their way up the socio-political ladder, whether
inside or outside the household were much more limited than for example, slaves originating in
the Caucasus (Circassian). Other factors shaped the Ottoman slave experience, including the
class and type of employment the owner had and where and how they lived, whether urban,
rural, or nomadic. What Toledano has shown is that kul/harem slaves in elite households in
Istanbul had relatively the better opportunities, social mobility and quality of life. Domestic
slaves outside of Istanbul, owned by non-elite peoples probably likely had it the worst. 49
This dissertation focuses on African non-elite slavery as it was the predominant type in
the nineteenth-century. Unlike slavery in the Americas, which consisted largely of agricultural
labour and formed the backbone of the economy, slavery in the Ottoman Empire was largely
domestic in nature. As a result Ottoman society can be described as a society with slaves, not a
slave-based society. 50
48
Madeline C. Zilfi, Women and Slavery in the Late Ottoman Empire: The Design of Difference (New York:
Cambridge University Press, 2010), 104.
49
Ehud Toledano, “Enslavement in the Ottoman Empire in the Early Modern Period” in The Cambridge World
History of Slavery: Volume 3. David Eltis and Stanley L. Engerman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2011), 29.
50
For more on this comparative debate see Toledano, Slavery and Abolition, 14-19.
47
African Slaves in Izmir prior to the late nineteenth-century
Although there exists few studies on this subject, enslaved and emancipated Africans
appeared in the Ottoman province of Aydın as early as the sixteenth century. Suriaya Faroqhi’s
study of kadı court registers shows that enslaved and emancipated Africans regularly held their
own gatherings or assemblies and maintained a hierarchical leadership structure. Furthermore,
they engaged in a yearly festival which was looked unfavourably upon by local landlords and
masters. 51 This festival maybe linked to the African festival of Izmir in the nineteenth-century,
discussed in chapter four.
In his study of the çifliks (big farms) of the Karaosmanoğlu family at the end of the
eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, Yuzo Nagata has found that slaves were a key
component of their labour force. 52 However it is difficult to determine what percentage of them
were Africans. Furthermore, the sources Nagata examined do not always indicate whether these
slaves were simply employed as domestic servants or as agricultural labourers. There are
however, a few Africans identifiable in the sources by the word zenci (negro) as part of their
name. In 1745 a male and female African slave lived as a family with children on the farm of a
certain Hasan Ağa, the former local tax collector of Menteşe (225km south of Izmir). In 1755, a
draper (kumaşçı) in Manisa (40km north of Izmir) employed on his farm two African slaves, a
male and female. In 1819, a landowner named Deli Suleyman Ağa employed approximately 10
51
Suraiya Faroqhi, "Black Slaves and Freedmen Celebrating (Aydin, 1576)" Turcica. 23 (1991), 205-215.
52
Yūzō Nagata, “The Role of Ayans in the Regional Development During the Pre-Tanzimat Period in Turkey: A
Case Study of the Karaosmanoğlu Family” in Studies on The Social and Economic History of the Ottoman Empire
Yūzō Nagata (ed.), (Izmir: Akademi Kitabevi, 1995), 123-126. For a general discussion of çiftliks see: Halil Inalcik.
"Servile Labor in the Ottoman Empire" in A. Ascher, B. K. Kiraly, and T. Halasi-Kun (eds.), The Mutual Effects of
the Islamic and Judeo-Christian Worlds: The East European Pattern (New York: Brooklyn College, 1979), 25-43;
Halil Inalcik, "The Emergence of Big Farms, Çiftliks: State, Landlords, and Tenants" in Landholding and
Commercial Agriculture in the Middle East, 17-34.
48
African slaves on his farms. 53 Thus, Africans slaves were employed in a variety of contexts in
and around Izmir prior to the nineteenth century.
African Slavery to the Ottoman Empire in the nineteenth-century.
The trade of Africans in the nineteenth-century can be broken down into four routes from
which the enslaved left Africa. However, care should be taken to note that these are not clear cut
routes as they often changed over time and indeed overlapped. 54
Historically, one of the main routes that brought African slaves to the Ottoman Empire
was down the Nile Valley. From deep in the Sudan and sub-Saharan Africa, slaves were moved
down river to Cairo and then northwards to Alexandria and beyond. Owing to the British
influence in Egypt since the early nineteenth-century the trade there was prohibited and regulated
much earlier than elsewhere in the empire. 55 While the flow of slaves north from Cairo to ports
such as Alexandria was reduced over the century, an internal Egyptian slave trade and slavery
continued regardless of regulations. 56
Another route by which slaves were transported from Africa to Ottoman lands was by the
Red Sea. Many were moved eastwards across the large trans-African trade route just below the
Sahara that also served as a key route for pilgrims to Mecca and Medina. The Ottoman Empire
also drew slaves from East Africa as far south as Zanzibar. 57 Finally, as foreign pressure began
to slowly shut down the trade through many of the other, long-established routes in the mid-
nineteenth century, the trans-Saharan route to North African ports such as Benghazi and smaller
53
Yūzō Nagata, Tarihte ayanlar: Karaosmanoğulları üzerinde bir inceleme (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi
1997), 112-113.
54
The most detailed discussion on this topic remains Ehud Toledano, The Ottoman Slave Trade and Its Suppression,
1840-1890 (Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, 1982), 14-54.
55
Toledano, Slave Trade, 205.
56
Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 39-42. For slavery in Egypt in the era of prohibition see: Kenneth M.
Cuno and Terence Walz, Race and Slavery in the Middle East: Histories of Trans-Saharan Africans in Nineteenth-
Century Egypt, Sudan, and the Ottoman Mediterranean (Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, 2010).
57
49
ports such as Derna experienced a dramatic growth. 58
On all routes, African slaves were moved under grueling conditions by land in caravans.
Many slaves doubled as porters, carrying goods such as ostrich feathers, animal hides, and
canuba wax. 59 While caravans may have been at their largest size mid-century, with one British
report noting the existence of a caravan with one thousand slaves, they were on average usually
much smaller. 60 Slaves were often sold and traded as opportunities arose at oases and other mid-
way points. Some were destined for local clients, staying within Africa, while others were loaded
onto ships in African ports bound to the northern-tier of the Ottoman Empire. The journey across
the sea often included refueling and if necessary hiding from authorities at waypoints such as the
rocky shores of southern Crete, Cyprus, or Socotra at the mouth of the Red Sea. 61 The opening
of the Suez Canal in 1869 effectively connected the Red Sea and Mediterranean slave trade
networks. From that point onwards, it was possible to load slaves onto ships along the Red Sea
coast and move them north to Mediterranean port cities
There were two main slave markets for these African captives in the Ottoman Empire:
Istanbul and the hijaz. As the imperial capital, Istanbul and its numerous palaces were constantly
looking to replenish their slave population. The hijaz, comprising of the Muslim holy cities of
Mecca and Medina, was the site of an impressive amount of trade surrounding the annual
pilgrimage (hajj). As global networks converged on these two places they were generally not the
final destination for many slaves. 62 Indeed, all major Ottoman cities and ports saw the arrival of
slaves directly from the interior of Africa such as Cairo, Tripoli, Benghazi, Salonica, Izmir,
58
John Wright, The Trans-Saharan Slave Trade (New York: Routledge, 2007), 125-126; Toledano, Slave Trade,
238, 240-244.
59
60
61
Toledano, Slave Trade, 19-27.
62
Toledano, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 61, 63.
50
Bursa, Beirut, and Basra.
Those enslaved Africans transported across these routes were likely acquired through
wars, kidnappings, purchase at internal markets, or instability in the region. It is becoming
clearer that environmental factors often played a role in this instability: for example, the trans-
Saharan route was dramatically affected by the unique condition of Lake Chad, which recedes to
a fraction of its size annually in the hot season, and causes food scarcity and instability. 63
Conversely, in the rainy season, it was surrounded by numerous plantation-like farms using slave
labour. 64
Estimates of the volume of slaves are problematic given that, unlike the Atlantic slave
trade, meticulous records were either not kept or are unavailable to study. Thus, estimates for the
trade prior to the period of abolition are nearly impossible. Toledano estimates that on average
10 000 slaves (African and Circassian together) made it into the Ottoman Empire annually in the
nineteenth-century. The climax of the trade was during the third quarter of the nineteenth-
century, where the trade reached approximately 11 000 to 13 000 annually. 65 For the whole
nineteenth century it has been estimated that approximately 1.3 million African slaves alone
were transported to Ottoman lands. This includes roughly 313 000 from the Swahili coast, 492
000 moved across the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden, 362 000 up the Nile into Ottoman Egypt,
and 350 000 from North African ports as far west as Algeria. Independently from each other
Ralph Austen and Paul E. Lovejoy estimate the total trans-Saharan slave trade to Tripoli,
Benghazi and surrounding North African ports. They conclude that the climax of the trade was
63
Toledano, Slave Trade, 15-19; Paul E. Lovejoy, Transformations in Slavery: A History of Slavery in Africa,
second edition, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 71.
64
Michael LaRue, “Frontiers of enslavement: Bagirmi and the Trans-Saharan slave routes” in Paul E. Lovejoy (ed.)
Slavery on the Frontiers of Islam (Princeton: Markus Wiener Publishers, 2004), 31.
65
Toledano, Slave Trade, 19-28; Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 55. These numbers exclude those brought
into Egypt for domestic use.
51
between 1830 and 1870, sending approximately 4000-8000 per year across the desert and onto
Ottoman markets. After 1870, the trade declined with around 1000 coming to these North
African ports in the last decade of the century. 66
As noted above, the moment British anti-slave trade policing began in Ottoman lands this
trade also grew to its largest documented rate. While the reasons for this are still unclear, Erdem
posits that this rise was in large part a result of the introduction of steamships in the nineteenth-
century. Whereas wooden dhow-like boats were the main means of transport in Ottoman seas
until this point, new navigational tools and structural uses of iron meant these new ships were
both more reliable and quicker. Despite the fact that many of these steamers were foreign owned
and operated, they are known to have carried slaves whether wittingly or not. 67
Indeed, the Austrian Lloyd Company steamships played a critical role in the
transportation of enslaved Africans to Ottoman cities in the northern-tier of the empire. 68 The
Austrian Lloyd shipping company was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire’s commercial foray
into Ottoman lands for the general transportation of passengers and cargo, and was responsible
for considerable increases in maritime traffic in the region in the nineteenth-century. Alison
Frank has shown how this European power was involved in supporting Ottoman slavery, and
how this state-owned enterprise benefitted from operating in a grey era created by British-
Ottoman Anti-Slave Trade treaties (discussed below). When faced with accusations that their
ships were complicit in the trade, the Austro-Hungarian government did not change course
because it would have meant giving up their commercial position in the region. 69 While in
66
Michael LaRue, “Frontiers of enslavement,” 37.
67
Toledano, Slave Trade, 43-48.
68
Alison Frank, "The Children of the Desert and the Laws of the Sea: Austria, Great Britain, the Ottoman Empire,
and the Mediterranean Slave Trade in the Nineteenth Century" The American Historical Review. 117, 2, (2012),
412.
69
Frank, “Children of the Desert,” 412.
52
theory, anyone who stepped aboard an Austrian steamship became legally ‘free,’ the
implementation of such a policy was a farce, as it hinged upon the slaves taking the initiative of
presenting themselves to the captain they were enslaved and in need of rescue. The impossibility
of such actions was well known, given that most of the enslaved were women and cultural norms
dictated that they could not speak with a man other than male family members or their
‘husbands’ (who was in many cases actually just a slave trader). One mid-nineteenth century
British traveler recounts that on his way to Izmir aboard the Austrian owned Arciduca Giovanni,
“[h]alf the quarter deck was railed off into pens for Abyssinians, Nubians, & the other dark
coloured or black people…[t]he Nubian slave girls were the merriest part of the Company,
always joking, laughing, singing etc & [sic] sometimes fighting.” 70 Thus, the Austro-Hungarian
government was able to appear as abolitionist while at the same time never letting abolitionist
concerns interrupt their commercial traffic. 71
Prohibition(s) of the African Slave Trade in the Ottoman Empire
Western European (chiefly British) pressure was the main force acting on the Ottoman
Empire to participate in the abolitionist movement. After establishing anti-slavery treaties in the
early nineteenth century with West African rulers, and beginning to effectively enforce anti-
slaving measures for the Atlantic trade, the British and other European powers began to expand
their anti-slaving efforts to all parts of coastal Africa including Ottoman territory. 72 From mid-
century, the British began to pressure governments world-wide to halt the trade in African slaves.
By this time, the economic dependence of the Ottoman Empire on the British, French, and other
European powers was such that they had no choice but to listen to British remonstrations against
70
Robin Wheeler, Palmer’s Pilgrimage: The Life of William Palmer of Magdalen (Bern: Peter Lang, 2006), 312.
71
Frank, “Children of the Desert,” 426, 433-434.
72
Lovejoy, Transformations in Slavery, 252-277.
53
the slave trade. 73 Finally bowing to pressure in 1857, the Ottoman sultan issued an edict
considered the point at which the Ottoman Empire began to acquiesce to the foreign abolitionist
movement. Significantly, however, the decree only sought to abolish the slave trade. Slavery is
not only permitted in the Quran, but was also an important method of expanding a household and
creating networks of dependence. 74 Nevertheless, by the mid-nineteenth century the Ottoman
state was developing mechanisms, documents, and procedures to combat the African slave trade.
The next major treaty was The Anglo-Ottoman Convention for the Suppression of the
Black Slave Trade in 1880. As Erdem points out, this treaty marks a significant event and from
this point it was strictly illegal to import and export enslaved Africans in the Ottoman Empire. 75
It is notable in this treaty that despite the British gaining mutual rights of search and seizure of
suspected vessels transporting slaves in other Ottoman waters such as the Red Sea, the Persian
Gulf and parts of the coast of East Africa, they did not acquire this same right in the
Mediterranean, which was arguably a key linkage in the trade to Istanbul, Izmir, and other
northern ports. British anti-slavery activities were therefore limited to Ottoman ports and not the
high seas. It has been suggested that this omission was intentional as the British did not want
Ottoman authorities boarding British-flagged vessels, perhaps because they suspected that their
own steamers were illegally carrying slaves like the Austrian Lloyd discussed above. 76
Because the 1880 Anglo-Ottoman treaty specified that slave traders were to be
prosecuted under Ottoman law, the Ottoman government drafted laws in 1882 and 1883 as there
were no existing legal restrictions against the slave trade or delineated punishments. As Erdem
observed, the British were well aware that slave dealers were being treated kindly by Ottoman
73
Donald C. Blaisdell, European Financial Control in the Ottoman Empire : a study of the establishment, activities,
and significance of the administration of the Ottoman public debt (New York: Columbia University Press, 1929).
74
75
76
54
courts. Clear restrictions and punishments were designed to force local judges to act. 77 However,
when these draft laws were passed to the Sultan Abdülhamid II (r.1876-1909) for his assent,
none was ever given. It was only under pressure from the looming Brussels Anti-Slavery
Conference in 1899 when assent was finally given, creating a clearly defined set of laws relative
to the enforcement of the African slave trade in the Ottoman Empire. 78
Doubtless, the intra-Ottoman struggle to form a coherent policy that both the government
functionaries and the sultan himself could agree upon was both intense and complicated. At
times the sultan was willing to sign it, at other times he was hesitant, believing it would represent
a loss of Ottoman sovereignty and tarnish his image. Ottoman reformers had a difficult task in
balancing the permissibility of slavery in religious texts and the desires of the state and
abolitionists to end the slave trade. A year later the Ottoman government took part in its first
multilateral treaty against the slave trade as part of the General Act of the Brussels Conference.
This act was largely a repetition of the articles included in the Ottoman law signed in 1889 and
thus does not represent a drastic change but rather an international commitment to act. However
as will be discussed below, there was one key article of the treaty which did have a dramatic
effect on the actions of the Ottoman government, namely, that the emancipating state must act to
establish places of care for rescued African slaves. 79
Following the prohibition of the slave trade in 1857, the trade changed dramatically to
adapt to a new set of circumstances. No longer was it possible to openly transport slaves,
especially through major ports to waiting slave markets. It thus moved ‘underground’ and
arguably increased the suffering of the slaves themselves- in some ways defeating the very
77
78
79
Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 144-146. British and Ottoman officials doubtless used the world “rescue”
to imply that their intervention was to be a positive impact on the lives of enslaved Africans. I employ the term here
not to suggest the same, but out of the sake of grammatical simplicity.
55
purpose of the prohibition. There were also loopholes in the regulations for transporting slaves.
For example, slave traders often acted as regular passengers aboard steamships in plain sight of
the authorities. If questioned about the women he was travelling with, the trader would say the
women were his wives and show forged travel documents to bolster his case. 80 In such cases,
which were all too common, authorities had little recourse.
In 1908, one of the new government’s first acts following the Young Turk coup was to
rid the imperial palace of all of its harem slaves. In the same year they also prohibited the sale of
Circassian slaves in the empire. 81 The prohibition of slavery itself only occurred through a
binding international agreement much later, in the republican period, in 1955 when Turkey
became a signatory to the League of Nations / United Nations 1926 Slavery Convention. This is
comparable with many other former parts of the Ottoman Empire including: Greece (1955),
Bulgaria (1953), Egypt (1954), Syria (1954), Saudi Arabia (1973). 82
Ottoman Benghazi – a Crucial Entrepôt in the Era of Prohibition
Many of these anti-slavery efforts were limited by the resources and desires of local
Ottoman officials on the ground. This was indeed the case for Benghazi, where inability to act
played a critical role in aiding the flow of Africans to Izmir. Thus, this section briefly describes
the local circumstances in Benghazi that permitted the slave trade to flourish there even in the era
of prohibition.
Located on the North African coast a mere 250 kilometres from Crete and largely isolated
by desert on three sides, the port of Benghazi was recaptured by Ottoman Empire in the 1830s
80
Toledano, As if Silent and Absent, 118-124.
81
Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 150-151.
82
Slavery Convention, signed at Geneva on 25 September 1926 and amended by the Protocol
New York, 7 December 1953 (United Nations, Treaty Series, vol. 212, 17.) See also:
<http://treaties.un.org/Pages/ViewDetails.aspx?src=TREATY&mtdsg_no=XVIII-2&chapter=18&lang=en>
Accessed 14 January 2013.
56
after ousting an indigenized Turkish dynasty. While the Ottoman state laid claim to large swaths
of what today is modern Libya, they had little control beyond the port and Benghazi’s immediate
hinterland. The port conditions were also less than ideal. It was shallow and sandy, not
permitting large ships to come to shore which forced them to anchor at some distance and wait
for small boats to bring cargo and passengers back and forth. Likewise Benghazi lacked a
telegraph system of its own, instead having to relay messages to nearby Chania on Crete. 83 By
the late 1870s, major trans-Saharan slave trading routes to Tripoli had been dramatically reduced
thanks largely to European pressure. At the very same time however, caravan routes to Benghazi
were improving thanks to a recently founded politico-religious order of Sufism known as the
Sanusi brotherhood. Their lodges (zawiyas) functioned as centres for their wide-ranging
activities. They provided security for caravans while at the same time taxing them and the local
population. Crucially, the Sanusi did not recognize Ottoman authority and law, and thus slave
trade was, in their eyes, still entirely legal. Indeed, their zawiyas used slaves as agricultural
labourers to produce foodstuffs both for themselves and to sell to caravans passing by. 84 The
stability, security, and organization brought by the Sanusi created an unprecedented amount of
trade across the eastern Sahara. 85 However, as they did not recognize Ottoman authority, the
Sanusi did pay taxes or customs duties to Ottoman authorities in Benghazi. As a result, Ottoman
officials in Benghazi did not have enough money to pay local soldiers and bureaucrats, with
reports of salaries being up to 6 months in arrears. 86
In such a situation, stability of Ottoman rule in and around Benghazi was precarious at
best. After leading so-called tax campaigns to forcefully obtain taxes years in arrears from
83
Michel F. Le Gall, Pashas, Bedouins and Notables: Ottoman Administration in Tripoli and Benghazi, 1881-1902.
Phd Dissertation, (Princeton University, 1986), 183-184.
84
LaRue, “Frontiers of enslavement,” 47.
85
Le Gall, Pashas, Bedouins and Notables, 191-196.
86
57
Bedouin groups in the province through military force, some successful, some not, the Ottoman
governor of Benghazi was found guilty of embezzling those very same funds for, among other
things, financing the repair of his house. 87 Furthermore, the situation led many Ottoman soldiers
to turn to crime, committing robberies and burglaries to finance their time in the province as a
substitute for their missing salaries. 88
This sharp rise in corruption was an ideal situation for slave merchants and dealers
following the 1857 prohibition. As Michel F. Le Gall notes: “[m]any government appointees in
the major coastal towns [of North Africa] and the interior were local Arabs whose families
connections, tribal loyalties, and commercial alliances had more bearing on their conduct then
any feeling of responsibility to the laws promulgated in Istanbul.” 89 For example, in the 1880s
Benghazi, the principal agent of the main Ottoman steamship line, Mahsuse, which had been
consistently implicated in smuggling slaves, was the son-in-law of the head of the
municipality. 90 Underpaid, under resourced, limited by the Sanusi, local Ottoman officials in
Benghazi had little means or desire to halt the slave trade.
Case of the Mahrousa
In order to better understand the African slave trade to Ottoman Izmir in the late
nineteenth-century, the case of one particular slave ship, the Mahrousa, is examined here. This
case not only reveals the inner workings of the slave trade on a hitherto unknown scale, but also
the complicated nature of the diplomacy related to the apprehension and prosecution of its
captain. For the Atlantic Slave trade, Marcus Rediker has shown the benefits of presenting a
view “from the decks of the ship,” re-centering the unit of study on the ship itself and the
87
88
Le Gall, Pashas, Bedouins and Notables, 206.
89
Le Gall, Pashas, Bedouins and Notables, 147.
90
Le Gall, Pashas, Bedouins and Notables, 147; Toledano, Slave Trade, 44-46.
58
perspectives of those aboard, whether captain, crew or enslaved. 91 As he argues “[t]he shift in
focus to the slave ship expands the number and variety of actors in the drama and makes the
drama itself, from prologue to epilogue, more complex.” 92 In other words, the centre of the slave
trade is no longer politicians in far off capitals, but merchants, traders, brokers, port workers,
sailors, captains, slaves, and other usually minimized or altogether forgotten in the study of the
slave trade. The case of the Mahrousa is notable in that it commanded particular attention from
both British and Ottoman authorities. As a result of their efforts to arrest its captain, a significant
amount of documentation exists on this one single ship from 1887 to 1889, including a detailed
deposition from a Mahrousa crew member. This amount of information is particularly rare given
that, unlike in the Atlantic trade, slave traders, and brokers in Ottoman lands did not create
detailed registers, nor did its captains keep logs or diaries, and those who were enslaved
generally did not leave memoirs of their experiences behind. 93 Thus, the case of the Mahrousa
provides unprecedented glimpse into everyday slaving practices in the late nineteenth-century in
and around Izmir.
The basic story is as follows: in approximately late May or early or June 1887, a ship
named Mahrousa with an indeterminate number of slaves on board arrived in the vicinity of
Izmir from Benghazi. Ottoman officials detained it in the nearby port of old Foça (Foça-i atik)
on 6 June 1887 after a crewman, a certain Suleiman, went ashore and informed them that there
were slaves hidden aboard. He later gave a detailed deposition to Ottoman authorities and was
released; the British received a certified copy of the Ottoman original and translated it for their
91
Marcus Rediker, The Slave Ship: A Human History (New York: Viking, 2007), 1.
92
Rediker, The Slave Ship, 11
93
This is likely why neither Toledano nor Erdem focus their studies on cases involving slaves already settled, and
do not discuss in detail their arrival in Ottoman lands. The newest addition to this body of literature, focusing on
Egypt and the Sudan is: Eve Troutt-Powell, Tell This in My Memory: Stories of Enslavement from Egypt, Sudan, and
the Ottoman Empire (Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 2012).
59
records. The captain meanwhile was still being held until the investigation was complete. In his
deposition, the crewman told Ottoman authorities that prior to Izmir, the ship had previously
sailed to Salonica but was unable to sell the slaves aboard. He had decided to mutiny because he
did not want to go “to the Dardanelles” (and presumably on to Istanbul). Furthermore,
deteriorating relations between the slave trader aboard the ship, Mehmed Mehdi, and the captain,
Ahmed Amare of Trablusşam (Tripoli in modern Lebanon) put the success of their venture in
doubt. According to different sources, the slaves, all female and of an unknown number (see
discussion below), were taken by Ottoman authorities and emancipated by the provincial
administrative council. According to British sources, they were then placed in Ottoman
households as domestic servants. Around the same time, the captain escaped on his boat in the
night. After an extensive search of eastern Mediterranean ports by British officials and Ottoman
officials, he and his boat were eventually found, roughly two years after the initial incident in
Foça. On 18 September 1889, the captain was tried in the court of first instance of Tripoli but
was exonerated of the charges (tebriye-i zimmet) and released. The trail of documents for the
Mahrousa abruptly ends there. Presumably, the captain was then free to go. This much of the
activities of the Mahrousa can be determined; beyond which only uncorroborated information in
the deposition of the crewmember is available for the many of the details.
Analysis
In the search to find the Mahrousa and apprehend its captain, British and Ottoman
authorities alike believed they could catch it in the port of Benghazi or at Crete. 94 As discussed
above, Benghazi was the terminus of one of the most active slave routes out of sub-Saharan
94
Great Britain, House of Commons Command Paper. Slave trade. No. 1 (1889) Correspondence relative to the
slave trade: 1888-1889. Command Paper (London; Her Majesty's Press, 1888 [C.5821]), 90, no.75 inclosure 1-2;
BOA/DH.MKT/1480/25, 11 Cemaziyelevvel 1305 [25 January 1888].
60
Africa to Ottoman lands in the late nineteenth century. If the captain returned to slaving he
would most likely be caught there. Likewise it is not surprising they also suspected he be found
in the ports of Crete, given its close proximity to Benghazi and key stop-over point on the slave
trade routes to the northern-tier of the empire.
The case of the Mahrousa also demonstrates the impact of the prohibition of the slave
trade on how slaves were unloaded for sale. As Suleiman the crewman suggests in his
deposition, the reason the Mahrousa could not sell its cargo in Salonica was because of a
disagreement between the captain and the Cretan boatmen outside Salonica who had agreed to
guide them to shore. 95 Intimate knowledge of the conditions of each port - the location of rocky
outcroppings, safe places to surreptitiously unload cargo, and even schedules of regular Ottoman
or British patrols would have been critical to successfully landing slaves in an unknown port.
Thus hiring a local to guide would have been critical to successfully move slaves ashore in the
era of prohibition.
This explains why the Mahrousa never reached the main port of Izmir. Its captain likely
knew that unloading slaves there was no longer possible. Instead, he chose to sell his slaves at
two small towns on the Gulf of Izmir at a distance from the city centre. First, he came ashore at a
small fishing village, Urla (roughly 40km west of Izmir). With the remaining slaves aboard he
went north to Foça (60km northwest of Izmir). These places were likely chosen as landing points
as there were fewer authorities operating in smaller satellite villages which meant a greater
chance of successfully unloading the illicit cargo.
The deposition also reveals an abundance of information about the Mahrousa itself. In
doing so, it provides important information about the types of ships that were involved in the
95
Great Britain, House of Commons Command Paper. Slave trade. No.1. (1888) Correspondence relative to the
slave trade: 1887 (London; Her Majesty's Press, 1888 [C.5428]), 207-208, no.191, inclosure 6-7.
61
slave trade across the Eastern Mediterranean to Izmir. The Mahrousa was a two-masted schooner
or dhow. It was relatively small which made it ideal for smuggling. 96 The ship and its captain
had previously smuggled powder, salt, and tobacco, indicating that like most ships transporting
slaves in this period in the eastern Mediterranean, it was not specifically designed for slave
cargoes but for illicit cargoes of any sort. 97 Besides the slaves, the captain, the crewmember
Suleiman, and the slave dealer were on board. Inside, there was a secret compartment beneath
the ship’s ballast where the slaves were found in the port of Foça. 98 Indeed, this secret
compartment was so effective at hiding contraband that Ottoman authorities could only find
them with the help of Suleiman. The slaves were likely stowed away once reaching the Gulf of
Izmir to pre-empt any unexpected search.
While the British authorities reported that the slaves were found “in the most pitiable and
loathsome state, emaciated and famished” there is no evidence to corroborate that claim, nor did
the consul himself see the slaves when they emerged from the Mahrousa. 99 However if this was
true, then it is an ironic twist in the anti-slavery efforts of the British and their Ottoman
counterparts. Their efforts served to endanger the lives of the slaves by forcing them into this
secret compartment to avoid detection.
The deposition of Suleiman also details how the slaves were unloaded and sold in Izmir.
This part of the process was the realm of the slave merchant aboard and not the ship’s captain.
Upon landing the Mahrousa, the slave dealer, a certain Hadji Mehmed spent approximately three
days in the city making arrangements for the transport and sale of the slaves. Thus after landing
in Urla, the slave dealer travelled by land to Izmir and stayed in the Arap Hanı or “Khan des
96
For a full discussion see: Toledano, Slave Trade, 49-51.
97
Great Britain, Correspondence relative to the slave trade: 1887. Command Paper (London; Her Majesty's Press,
1888 [C.5428]), 207-209, no.191, inclosure 7.
98
Great Britain, Correspondence relative to the slave trade: 1887, 207-209, no.191, inclosure 1.
99
Great Britain, Correspondence relative to the slave trade: 1887, 207-209, no.191, inclosure 1.
62
Arabes.” 100 This complex, still extant today, was the centre of commercial activity for traders
from the Arabophone world in Izmir. 101 It was here that slave merchants likely met locals
brokers interested in acquiring slaves. Prior to 1860 and the closure of Izmir’s slave market (see
below), these types of transactions would have been completed in public. The logistics of
covertly moving slaves from the ship to their new owners were also likely organized here. Care
had to be taken to avoid public spaces and the watchful British and Ottoman authorities.
A few important details also emerge out of the diplomatic discussions between the British
and Ottoman authorities themselves about the Mahrousa. It is evident that Ottoman authorities
were mainly re-acting, not acting. It was only with British consuls pressuring local Ottoman
authorities that forced them to act against the slave trader, ship owner, and ensure the rescued
slaves were taken care of. In addition, these local Ottoman authorities were more willing to act as
a result of orders from their superiors in Istanbul than from advice or requests from British
consuls. 102
However, even orders from Istanbul were also ignored from time to time. For example, in
the initial days of the capture of the Mahrousa, the local governor had promised the British
consul in Foça that he would be allowed to interview Suleiman. Yet when the consul arrived to
conduct the interview, local authorities denied him access to Suleiman. He promptly sent word of
this to his superior in Istanbul who in turn asked his Ottoman counterpart to send orders to local
Ottoman officials to permit the interview to take place. Even though the Grand Vizier Said Paşa
sent these exact orders to the governor of Izmir -which local British officials in Izmir
independently confirmed that they had indeed arrived, the governor pretended he had not yet
100
Great Britain, Correspondence relative to the slave trade: 1887, 207-208, no.191, inclosure 6-7.
101
M. Münir Aktepe and Fikret Yılmaz. Izmir yazıları: camiler, hanlar, medreseler, sebiller. (Izmir: Izmir
Büyükşehir Belediyesi Kültür Yayını, 2003), 133.
102
Great Britain, Correspondence relative to the slave trade: 1887, 203-204, no.191.
63
received the orders and continued to refuse the request of the British consul in Foça. 103
The set of communications surrounding the Mahrousa also reveal that neither the British
nor Ottoman authorities could ascertain where the ship was officially registered. This confusion
reflects the complicated nature of policing the slave trade in the eastern Mediterranean with
numerous and at times overlapping bureaucracies involved. British authorities believed the ship
to be registered in the Egyptian port of Alexandria as late as March 1889. However gaining
access to the ship logs of the port of Alexandria proved impossible for the British officials. As
Egypt was administered separately from the rest of the Ottoman Empire at this time, tracking the
Mahrousa necessitated the help of Egyptian officials - which never arrived. 104 When the ship was
finally captured, it was found to be registered in Tripoli and/or Beirut where court proceedings
against the captain took place in September 1889. 105 Thus the inability to ascertain the home port
of the ship was a major impediment in attempting to track it down. Complicating matters further
was the introduction of another unwilling partner in the Egyptian officials to co-operate in the
anti-slaving efforts of British officials.
Comparing British and Ottoman discussions about the case of the Mahrousa, it appears
that Ottoman officials withheld information from their British counterparts. In one internal
Ottoman document, the name of the slave trader aboard the ship, only known to British
authorities through the deposition of Suleiman as “Hadji Mehmed” is named by his full name,
Mehmed Sinatu al-Wakwak. 106 There are only two reasons why Ottoman authorities would have
withheld his name: either an intentional omission or bureaucratic incompetence. It could also be
a combination of both. It is clear however that if British officials had had this information, they
103
104
Great Britain, Correspondence relative to the slave trade: 1888-1889, 95, no.87.
105
BOA/DH.MKT/1658/151, 22 Muharrem 1307 [18 September 1889].
106
64
would have had a greater chance of apprehending him or the captain.
Furthermore, British authorities believed there were only 26 slaves aboard when the ship
left Benghazi. However, one document from the Ottoman Ministry of Interior Affairs to the
Governor of Benghazi suggests that were may have been in fact 32 slaves. 107 It is not clear why
Ottoman officials never transmitted this information to their British counterparts. Likewise it
does not appear that Ottoman authorities investigated the landing of the Mahrousa at Urla. They
limited their activity to the port of Foça.
The eventual acquittal of the captain reflects what British authorities had long been
concerned about: Ottoman courts were lenient on captains accused of transporting slaves. Indeed,
many of the British-Ottoman anti-slave trade treaties were intended to ensure that those found
guilty of such crimes were to be harshly punished. 108 Unfortunately the documents available do
not explain on what grounds the captain was acquitted. 109 However, the case of the Mahrousa
reflects a major flaw in the anti-slave trade efforts of the British: that prosecution was entirely in
the hands of local Ottoman courts. The Ottoman legal system was not effective at preventing
captains from participating in the slave trade again. Thus, in the rare case when British and
Ottoman officials apprehended suspected slavers they went unpunished.
Finally, and perhaps crucially, both British and Ottoman authorities do not emphasize the
lives of the rescued slaves in these documents. Indeed, since the very outset of this case, the
number of slaves is unclear. Although there is some confusion about how many were eventually
emancipated, the majority of these diplomatic exchanges concern the capture of the slave ship
and its captain. The one exception is the British official in Foça during the first days of the
107
108
109
BOA/DH.MKT/1658/151, 22 Muharrem 1307 [18 September 1889].
65
investigation who noted that he could not confirm “whether the slaves captured at [Foça] have
been emancipated, or have been appropriated by the higher functionaries of the Government at
[Izmir].” 110 In fact, the British authorities saw not more than two of these slaves in person. They
were instead satisfied with the news that the slaves have all been placed “as servants in
respectable Ottoman families.” 111 However Ottoman documents record they were placed in
“appropriate locales” (münasip mahal). 112 The semantics call into question whether there was a
difference between where the British thought the rescued slaves were going, and where they
ended up. Indeed, as will be discussed in chapter two, it is known that re-enslavement was a
relatively common occurrence.
The ‘Slave Market’ of Izmir
Little academic discussion exists about the history of the slave market in Izmir. This is
because, within the history of abolition in the Ottoman Empire, the Istanbul market has a
particularly important place. Its closure in 1847 was the first concession the Ottoman
government made to the abolitionist British officials. 113 The following section demonstrates that
the slave market in Izmir operated in much the same way as its counterpart in Istanbul and that it
met a similar fate later in the nineteenth century. Despite the closure of the formal open-air slave
market, the business of buying and selling slaves continued on in decentralized form in the
private sphere without interference into the early twentieth-century.
Before describing the Izmir slave market, a brief description of its counterpart in Istanbul
is in order. This will enable a more fruitful comparison. There is an abundance of information on
110
111
Correspondence relative to the slave trade: 1887, 203-204, no.191.
112
BOA/DH.MKT/1427/86, 7 Şevval 1304 [29 June 1887].
113
Unlike later treaties and agreements, at the time the Sultan claimed he closed it based solely out of his own
compassion and benevolence Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 95-99; Toledano, Slave Trade, 53.
66
the topic as countless European travelers visited it as part of their typical tour of the Ottoman
Empire. 114 The Istanbul slave market was located near the Nurosmaniye Gate of the Grand Bazar
(Kapalı Çarşı) not far from Topkapı Palace. It contained specialized holding rooms and cells for
slaves based on their gender and skin colour. Slaves were also divided between new arrivals and
those being re-sold. Business in the Istanbul slave market was highly specialized, involving
brokers and inspectors, auctioneers, and dedicated buildings. 115 Following its closure in 1847, it
is known that the trade continued on unabated into the twentieth-century.
It is unclear whether there was ever a formalized public slave-trading space in Izmir like
in Istanbul. Indeed, the few European travelers who ventured to Izmir and gave descriptions of
what they refer to as a slave market note that they were not comparable. According to their
accounts, the place where slaves were bought and sold in Izmir appears to have been located in
the south-western limits of the old city. This was the heart of the old bazaar known today as
Kemeraltı. William Knight, visiting in the late 1830s, pinpoints the location “near the slipper
bazaar” and recalls seeing slaves there “clad in little more than a blanket.” 116 Visiting in the same
decade, Charles G. Addison recalls seeing “the slave bazaar” as a “most sickening scene of
human depravity” where roughly a dozen mostly naked African women and children were for
sale. 117 In contrast, Charles Fellows records seeing thirty to forty young Africans wearing beaded
bracelets in the slave market who “seemed healthy and happy.” 118 Visiting in 1842, Frederick
114
One of the most detailed descriptions is: Charles White, Three Years in Constantinople, vol. 2 (London: Henry
Colburn, 1845), 279-296. See also: Mrs. Edmund Hornby, In and Around Stamboul, vol. 1, (London: Richard
Bentley, 1858), 34; Julie Pardoe, The Beauties of the Bosphorus (London: George Virtue, 1838), 127-129.
115
Toledano, Slave Trade, 52-53
116
William Knight, Oriental Outlines, or, A Rambler's Recollections of a Tour in Turkey, Greece, & Tuscany in
1838 (London: Sampson Low, 1839), 293-294.
117
Charles G. Addison, Damascus and Palmyra: A Journey to the East. With a Sketch of the State and Prospects of
Syria, Under Ibrahim Pasha (London: R. Bentley, 1838), 51.
118
Charles Fellows, A Journal Written During an Excursion in Asia Minor (London: J. Murray, 1839), 6-7.
67
William Faber called the slaves in the market “languid and acquiescent.” 119 John Berwick
Harwood provides a detailed description of the market scene as it existed early 1850s:
We were accordingly conducted to a large courtyard

surrounded by long low buildings, rather sheds than
houses where under the shade of some trees, sitting,
standing or lying on the grass were a troop of Nubian
girls. Some were smoking, others asleep, some were
making bread or cooking, and one or two carried heavy
pitchers of water on their heads, and moved with the
steady step and erect carriage which their burdens
rendered necessary. 120
This description suggests the market was arranged much more informally than the one in
Istanbul. Further to this point, a report from British visitors in 1856 note that the Izmir slave
market was “a quadrangular court of a mean and ill-repaired appearance” containing a
coffeehouse in one corner. They also record that only two slaves were available for purchase that
day, one a “Nubian boy,” approximately 14 years- old sleeping in the corner with his feet bound
and another cleaning a hookah pipe. It appears that the slave prices in the Izmir market were
comparable to the Istanbul market. These same British travelers learned that this particular
Nubian boy was being sold for 3000 piastres, which is consistent with the scant evidence
available for prices of African slaves in Istanbul. 121
By 1857 it was clear that slave markets across the Ottoman Empire were facing
extinction. The closure of the Istanbul slave market in 1847 combined with the 1857 anti-slave
trade edict prohibiting the African slave trade made the buying and selling of slaves in public
illegal. However it seems the demise of the Izmir market took a few more decades. While
visiting Izmir in the mid-1860s, a British traveler records that men, women, and children were
119
Frederick William Faber, Sights and Thoughts in Foreign Churches and Among Foreign Peoples. vol 2.,
(London: J.G.F. & Rivington,1842), 603.
120
John Berwick Harwood, Stamboul, and the Sea of Gems (London: R. Bentley, 1852), 306-307.
121
Sevastopol. Inside Sebastopol, and Experiences in Camp. (London: Chapman & Hall, 1856), 268-269; For a full
discussion of slave prices see: Toledano, Slave Trade, 62-80.
68
still for sale. However by the time her travelogue was being published in 1869, she had been
informed that “within the last two years…the market in question was totally done away with.” 122
British consular documents corroborate this claim. In response to a question from his superior
about whether there is a properly constituted slave market in Izmir, on 4 August 1870, the local
British consul, Robert Cumberbatch, wrote:
I cannot say that there is a public slave market

held at [Izmir] as formerly but I can state that there are
certain khans and houses which I could point out frequented
by slave dealers also known to me who keep at these
khans any of the unfortunate individuals they may have
for sale. These khans and slave dealers are well known to
the Turkish population and to the local authorities and the
sale of human beings is continually carried on in these places
as the sale of merchandize, I conceive that this may be called
a market. 123
Thus by the late 1860s, the selling and trading of slaves became decentralized in Izmir, moving
into private houses and behind closed doors. The Izmir slave market was closed 20 years after its
counterpart in Istanbul and 10 years after the prohibition of the African slave trade. 124
Conclusion
By the third-quarter of the nineteenth-century, an unprecedented amount of Africans were
being transported across the Mediterranean to Ottoman port cities. As an economic powerhouse
suitably located on the transit route to Istanbul, and requiring slaves of its own, Izmir was both a
crucial hub and major destination of this trade. Despite exhaustive efforts to halt the trade,
122
“Leaves From My Mediterranean Journal by a Naval Chaplain” in The Ladies Companion and Monthly
Magazine. (London, Rogerson and Tuxford, Vol. XXXV Second Series, 1869), 40.
123
Great Britain, Librarian and the Keeper of the Papers, Foreign Office, British and Foreign State Papers, 1870-
1871 (London, William Ridgway, 1877) Vol. 61, 457-458, no.130, inclosure 2.
124
See also Toledano, Slave Trade, 54
69
British and Ottoman authorities were for the most part one-step behind the slave traders. As a
result, they were unable to effectively stop the trade. Policing Ottoman ports proved difficult,
involving numerous practical and logistical problems. Most notably, many Ottoman officials
were either unable or unwilling to comply with international treaties against the African Slave
trade. Ottoman officials in Benghazi, through which many slaves passed in this period, were
powerless in halting the trade across the Libyan Desert. Slaves were often kept in precarious
conditions out of the site of watchful British and Ottoman officials. By the third quarter of the
century, the prohibition also forced the Izmir slave market to close, though much later than its
Istanbul counterpart. The sale of slaves within the city was pushed underground through a
decentralized trading network. Izmir received a significant amount of African slaves in the
nineteenth century whose destinies were shaped, as will be shown, by the local conditions which
they found themselves in.
70
Chapter 2 – Africans living and working in Izmir
Post-Emancipation
The era of abolition had a dramatic effect on the make-up of the population of Izmir. By
the end of the nineteenth century it had arguably the highest concentration of emancipated
African slaves in the northern sector of the Ottoman Empire excluding Istanbul. This chapter
first examines the growing role of the Ottoman state in the process of emancipation for African
slaves and how Izmir became the focal point for a state-directed emancipation program. Second,
it compares examples of institutional and private care of African children in Izmir. It shows that
despite introducing new mechanisms to care for ex-slaves, the experiences of the children
changed little. The real difference was that the state benefitted more directly from their labour.
Finally, it describes how newly emancipated Africans lived and worked in Izmir. It reveals the
important yet socially circumscribed roles they played in the everyday functioning of the city.
Ottoman Intervention in the lives of Emancipated Africans
The nineteenth-century Ottoman state underwent dramatic reform that involved its
intervention into hitherto unregulated aspects of the lives of its citizens. 1 Part of this
transformation involved the regulation of the slave trade and the fate of emancipated slaves. This
section examines how and why, from the third-quarter of the nineteenth century, the Ottoman
state shaped the lives of many recently enslaved Africans. State intervention climaxed in the
1890s with an empire-wide emancipation scheme centred on Izmir which, consequently, became
1
Quataert, The Ottoman Empire, 63.
71
home to arguably the highest number of Africans of any city in the northern-tier of the Ottoman
Empire.
Traditional Forms of Emancipation
It is necessary to understand traditional forms of emancipation and post-emancipation
relations in order to appreciate the significance of state-intervention in the lives of enslaved and
emancipated Africans. Prior to the third quarter of the nineteenth century, manumission was
strictly a private affair. It was common for masters to manumit their African slaves after roughly
6-10 years of service. 2 Only in cases of the death of a master, or the maltreatment of a slave,
would an outside party, generally the local religious (kadi) court, become involved. Upon
manumission, a slave in theory acquired the same legal status as the freeborn. 3 However, custom
and religious practice dictated that they were to remain linked to their master even after freedom
was granted.
The duties of a master and slave following emancipation are laid out in both the Quran
and early juridical texts. According to these texts, an informal bond between the families of the
descendents of the master and of the slave remains in perpetuity, presumably to express gratitude
for granting their ancestor’s freedom. 4 In Arabic, this bond is referred to as walā’ and is often
translated into English as clientship. However, this term does not express the reciprocal nature of
the bond. A person involved in such a relationship is referred to as mawlā and the adjectives
2
For a full discussion, see: Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 152-160; R. Brunschvig, “‘Abd.”
3
Despite this theoretical equality, Alan Fisher has found that, the status of being an emancipated slave was often
recorded in legal documents. See: Alan Fisher, "Studies in Ottoman Slavery and Slave Trade, II: Manumission"
Journal of Turkish Studies 4, (1980), 54.
4
Brunschvig, "‘Abd."
72
“higher” and “lower” can be used to clarify their relational positions. 5 In doing so, the Arabic
terms articulate the idea that both parties are dependent on each other following emancipation.
Expressing these “higher” and “lower” positions in English, is usually done through the terms
patron and client. This bond is immutable: no third party shall inherit or be transferred the rights
of clientship. 6 According to one saying attributed to the prophet Mohammed, later expanded
upon by jurists, their relationship should eventually evolve towards something resembling
biological kin relations. Failure to create these patron-client relations following emancipation
was considered socially unacceptable. 7
It was the social organization of the household that facilitated the transition from
enslaved to client. Indeed, slavery was, at its core, an important “albeit involuntary…means of
linking individuals to households.” 8 A “household” is not so much a physical structure as a
particular way of organizing people in a hierarchy. It contained numerous and overlapping social,
economic, political layers. 9 Household heads attracted and maintained clients in order to gain
prestige and to cultivate social, economic, political, and military influence (and thus power) for
themselves and their families. Households varied in form, largely depending on the status and
profession of their heads. Clients included, but were not limited to: brothers and their families,
sons and their families, male and female slaves, and wives and concubines. 10 The household
structure was designed to benefit its head in two ways: through the social prestige of managing a
5
Brunschvig, " ‘Abd"; Hans Wehr, A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, (Urbana, Il: Spoken Language Services,
Inc., 1994), 1288-1290.
6
7
8
Toledano, Slavery and Abolition, 4.
9
Jane Hathaway argues that this type of social organization was so prevalent that she refers to the “hegemony of the
households” in Ottoman provincial society. Jane Hathaway with Karl K. Barbir, The Arab Lands Under Ottoman
Rule, 1516-1800 (Harlow, U.K: Pearson-Longman: 2008), 13.
10
Hathaway with Babir, Arab Lands Under Ottoman Rule, 204. According to Muslim tradition, the head of the
household was also responsible for temporary care of orphans, travellers, and the poor. Christopher Melchert,
"Maintenance and Upkeep" in Jane Dammen McAuliffe, ed., Encyclopaedia of the Qurān (Brill, 2009). Brill Online.
accessed: 31 March 2009 <http://www.brillonline.nl/subscriber/entry?entry=q3_SIM-00271>.
73
large number of clients and as a key method of organizing their labour. 11
In the Ottoman world, the development of post-emancipation patron-client relations was
a logical outcome of slavery. For the slave, the relationships formed were important as they
compensated for their lack of existing biological kin relations. 12 Slaves were well aware of the
importance of maintaining ties to the household, and only when deemed absolutely necessary,
would they willingly break the bond. 13 Indeed, the “fear of losing a hard-earned
reattachment…played a major role in shaping the bank of options available to the enslaved in
their new environment.” 14 Failure to create a post-emancipation patron-client relationship meant
risking their safety and a life of destitution. This was especially the case for female slaves in a
strongly patriarchal society. 15 For the patron, not having an emancipated slave develop into a
client represented a loss of prestige, investment, and potential labour power.
The lasting bonds formed by slavery, combined with religious traditions regarding the
duties of enslaver and the enslaved following emancipation was a form of social indebtedness.
As will be shown, from the third-quarter of the nineteenth century, it was this social indebtedness
to the emancipator that helped facilitate the Ottoman state’s involvement in the lives of the
emancipated. However, this intervention, in attempting to re-direct the flow of emancipated
11
Reuben Levy, The Social Structure of Islam: Being the Second Edition of the Sociology of Islam (Cambridge:
University Press, 1957), 81; Also, see: Jane Hathaway, The Politics of Households in Ottoman Egypt: The Rise of
the Qazdaglis, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997).
12
Toledano, Slavery and Abolition, 165; This post-emancipation attachment was also an important feature of life
following abolition in the United States, despite not being commonly acknowledged. For example, in his
autobiography famed American educator and former slave Booker T. Washington writes: “…most of the coloured
people left the old plantation for a short while at least, so as to be sure it seemed, that they could leave and try their
freedom on to see how it felt. After they had remained away for a time, many of the older slaves, especially,
returned to their old homes and made some kind of contract with their former owners by which they remained on the
estate.” Booker T. Washington, Up From Slavery: An Autobiography (New York: Doubleday & Company Inc.,
1963), 17. Toledano, Slavery and Abolition, 165.
13
Toledano, As if Silent and Absent, 257.
14
15
Toledano, Slavery and Abolition, 67. For an example of the risks faced when a patron-client relationship breaks
down, see: Ehud Toledano, “Slave Dealers, Women, Pregnancy and Abortion: The Story of a Circassian Slave Girl
in Mid-Nineteenth Century Cairo,” Slavery and Abolition 2, 1, (1981), 53-68.
74
slaves away from private households, caused a major rupture in the social fabric of the Ottoman
Empire.
The Intervention of Ottoman State in the Slave Trade and Beyond
By the mid-nineteenth century, a centralizing Ottoman state was, under British pressure,
developing mechanisms not only for halting the trade in slaves but also for shaping their future
beyond emancipation. State-interventionist emancipation generally began in two ways: either
British or Ottoman officials discovered slaves aboard ships or in Ottoman ports 16 or slaves fled
to foreign (usually British) consuls claiming maltreatment. In both instances, the rescued slaves
were held by consular officials while local Ottoman authorities were contacted to obtain
guarantees that the slaves would be emancipated. If the Ottoman authorities believed the case to
be legitimate, the slave would then be granted legal freedom by local Ottoman administrative
councils, courts, or police officers. Freed slaves were then given an official government
document called an azatname (certificate of manumission) attesting to their new status. 17 As
manumission was traditionally a decision taken by slave-owners that, if necessary, was ensured
by Muslim courts, these new methods of emancipation and associated documentation
increasingly moved the responsibility for emancipation away from individual owners to the
state. 18
The impact of this state intervention was far reaching. Governmentalized manumission
granted freedom and autonomy to poor, homeless, and kinless people in a society based largely
on clientship and membership of households. The Ottoman state was obviously not a household
16
As seen in chapter 1
17
Most azatname were formulaic with the names of the emancipated filled in the blanks. From the case of a girl who
fled her master in Salonica in 1887, “Government gives the said Haire her liberty, in order that, like every other free
person, she may go freely where she will without anyone preventing her.” Great Britain, Correspondence relative to
the slave trade: 1887, Inclosure 1 of no.214, 220. Toledano, As if Silent and Absent, 118-124.
18
Toledano, As if Silent and Absent, 120-124.
75
which could care for ex-slaves following manumission. Yet, it approximated this relationship by
placing the majority of emancipated Africans, with British approval, in “appropriate” households
as domestic servants, under the condition that they receive suitable wages and not be resold into
slavery. In some cases, state-emancipated Africans ended up in the very households they had
been destined for as slaves. Once in a household, the freed Africans were beyond the protection
of Ottoman and British officials. It is likely that many were re-enslaved. 19 Indeed, state
correspondence indicates that British and Ottoman governments “had a poor notion of what was
being done by its officials to free black slaves and take care of them.” 20
However, not all state-emancipated slaves were absorbed into households. Some were
left to their own devices. 21 This helps to explain the rising poor African population of many
cities of the late Ottoman Empire, including Chania on Crete, Istanbul, and especially the
neighbourhoods atop Kadifekale in Izmir. 22 By the late 1870s, the Ottoman state had developed a
solution to this growing problem by taking control of newly emancipated slaves themselves.
Ottoman State Intervention beyond Emancipation
There were many reasons for the Ottoman state’s move to regulate the lives of
emancipated slaves. International treaties regarding the suppression of the slave trade signed by
the Ottoman government probably played an important role. Even as early as the 1857 imperial
decree abolishing the African slave trade, the Ottoman government stated it would take an active
19
20
21
An example from Istanbul, list of numerous slaves ‘rescued’ but not given documents: Ottoman slave
correspondence, 1887 (printed 1888), no.164, inclosure 3, 179-183,
22
Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 173-76; Michael Ferguson, "Enslaved and Emancipated Africans on
Crete," in Terence Walz and Kenneth M. Cuno, (eds.), Race and Slavery in the Middle East: Histories of Trans-
Saharan Africans in Nineteenth-Century Egypt, Sudan, and the Ottoman Mediterranean (Cairo and
New York: The American University in Cairo Press, 2010), 171-95; Güneş, “Kölelikten Özgürlüğe,” 4-10; Toledano,
As if Silent and Absent, 203-54.
76
role in feeding, housing, and helping to settle emancipated slaves. 23 Subsequent treaties,
including the Anglo-Ottoman Convention for the Suppression of the Slave Trade in 1880, and
the Brussels Act of 1890, defined the new obligations of the Ottoman government. 24 For
example, article III of the 1880 treaty states that “…the Ottoman Government engages to adopt
adequate measures to ensure the freedom of such captured Africans, and to see that they are
properly cared for.” 25 Undoubtedly, this treaty played a part in shaping this interventionist policy,
as it was referred to repeatedly by British authorities pressing the local Ottoman officials to take
responsibility for the rescued slaves.
There is also some indication that the slaves themselves sought out the state’s protection.
For example, in 1837 a slave attached to the household of the Ottoman Foreign Minister
petitioned the Sultan for his freedom on the grounds that he had been treated poorly. His case
was rejected on the grounds he had not yet reached adulthood and thus would not be “safe.” 26 By
contrast, in 1851, the Sultan ruled in favour of the petition of a slave in the service of a
government official, and drafted him into the army. 27 Even though these two episodes are just a
small sample of petitions brought to the Sultan by slaves, Erdem argues that there are enough to
suggest that this state-wide new policy was likely influenced by the actions of the imperial
family as well. 28 However, looking at in the broader context of Ottoman reform, reorganization,
and centralization occurring in this period, the origins of this state-emancipation program appear
rather different. In this perspective, state-intervention into the lives of emancipated Africans was
23
Toledano, The Ottoman Slave Trade, 137.
24
Toledano, The Ottoman Slave Trade, 246-247.
25
Great Britain, House of Commons Command Paper. Convention between H.M. and the Sultan of Turkey for the
Suppression of the African Slave Trade, Constantinople, January 1880. Slave Trade. No. 2, 1881. (London; Her
Stationery Office, 1881)[C.3060]), 2.
26
27
28
77
just one of many interventions into previously unregulated aspects of life in the Ottoman Empire
at this time.
The modernizing Ottoman state sought to maximize its knowledge about, and
management of, all the information and peoples within the empire. Strengthening the state meant
above all internal security, a strong military, and an efficient economy. From the mid-nineteenth
century, the Ottoman state started to institute a number of reforms to this end. For example, it
reduced the number of citizens exempted from military service and increased penalties for those
who were enlisted but refused to serve. 29 The education system was dramatically restructured
with the goal of producing citizens that will directly address the needs of the state. 30 An effort
was also made to eliminate internal non-state loci of power. This included dismantling the
households of notable families through co-opting some of their members and forcing nomads to
form permanent settlements. 31 For the state to effectively move into previously unregulated
realms, Sultan Abdülhamid II developed the image of the sultan as both spiritual leader of the
Muslim world (caliph) and the patron of a benevolent state. 32
It was these concerns that were ultimately motivating the state to take an increasing role
29
Amit Bein, "Politics, Military Conscription and Religious Education in the Late Ottoman Empire," International
Journal of Middle East Studies 38 (2006), 288, 295; Erik J. Zürcher, Arming the State: Military Conscription in the
Middle East and Central Asia, 1775-1925 (New York: I.B. Tauris, 1999), 85-86.
30
Bein, "Politics, Military Conscription and Religious Education,” 286.
31
Selim Deringil, “Legitimacy Structures in the Ottoman State: The Reign of Abdülhamid II (1876–1909),”
International Journal of Middle East Studies 23, 3 (1991), 347; Reşat Kasaba, A Moveable Empire: Ottoman
Nomads, Migrants and Refugees (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2009). Nadir Özbek, "Philanthropic
Activity, Ottoman Patriotism, and the Hamidian Regime, 1876-1909," International Journal of Middle East Studies
37 (2005), 66.
32
Deringil, “Legitimacy Structures in the Ottoman State,” 347. Özbek, "Philanthropic Activity, Ottoman Patriotism,
and the Hamidian Regime,” 69. It may be argued that the Ottoman state’s new discourse of benevolence and
paternalism in this period reflects what Michel Foucault described as bio-politics. According to Foucault, bio-
politics is a technique of modern state power driven by concerns about the family, housing, living and working
conditions, public health and standards of living. These concerns related to ‘public good’ are used to rationalize the
permanence of “complex organs of political co-ordination and centralization.” Mitchell Dean, Governmentality:
Power and Rule in Modern Society (London: Sage Publications, 1999), 99-100. While Foucault’s thesis has enjoyed
much debate and application in the Western European historiography on modernity, it has a relatively limited, but
growing place in Ottoman historiography. For one example see: Brian Silverstein, “Sufism and Governmentality in
the Late Ottoman Empire,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 29, 2, (2009), 172-173.
78
in the lives of emancipated slaves. It wanted to ensure that as new Ottoman citizens, ex-slaves
worked to strengthen the empire and the state apparatus. Thus when possible, the state directed
emancipated Africans into fields of employment that it deemed most relevant to those ends.
Examples of State Intervention in the Lives of Emancipated Africans
State intervention into the lives of emancipated Africans was a highly complex process
which involved negotiations between British and Ottoman authorities, the actions of local
administrative councils (to issue the certificate of manumission), and most importantly the desire
and funding to implement a successful plan. For the state to successfully manumit and shape the
life a newly emancipated, these factors needed to come together seamlessly. The following
examples show how that as the century progressed, the ad-hoc nature of the program slowly gave
way to a more organized process. The culmination of which was the plan to move emancipated
slaves from throughout the empire to Izmir.
One particular case from 1880 demonstrates this new interventionism did not always
have the end result Ottoman officials hoped for. After taking refuge in the British Consulate in
Istanbul, some 25 or 26 runaway female African slaves, were sent to local Ottoman officials to
obtain certificates of manumission. Instead, Ottoman authorities detained them in a room with
reportedly prison-like conditions. 33 Following British remonstrations, Ottoman officials
explained that the African women “were kept only as guests until “[t]he [central government]
should [decide] what to do with them.” 34 He added that if the women were set free “they would
33
Great Britain, House of Commons Command Paper. Correspondence with British Representatives and Agents
Abroad and Reports from Naval Officers and the Treasury Relative to the Slave Trade. Africa. No. 1, 1881. (London;
Her Stationery Office, 1881)[C.3052]), 251-255, no.199. This petition is also discussed in Toledano, As if Silent and
Absent, 149-150; Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 173.
34
Great Britain, House of Commons Command Paper. Africa. No. 1, 1881, 251-255, no.199.
79
not know what to do with themselves, but would remain starving in the streets.” 35 Later in the
correspondence, Ottoman officials explained further that the women were detained for their own
safety, so as they do not fall into prostitution or re-enslavement. 36 In this instance, Ottoman
officials employed arguments about health and safety to justify their extended control over the
women, likely in order to buy time to determine what they believed to be an appropriate
placement for them. Despite their stalling tactics however, British pressure ultimately forced
Ottoman officials to manumit the women and release them entirely. 37 Thus, while Ottomans
officials might have lined up particular households for these Africans to be placed in, British
pressure forced them to act differently. Ottoman officials were unable to direct the lives of these
women following emancipation.
As Erdem argues, the response to one particular funding request from the governor of
Benghazi was, in 1884, responsible for the start of formal state intervention in the emancipation
process. 38 The central authorities refused the governor’s request that male slaves should continue
to be enrolled in local public works such as salt transportation and risk re-enslavement, instead
ordering him to send emancipated Africans to Istanbul and Izmir where the men would be
enrolled in military bands and artisan battalions, and the women employed as salaried domestic
servants. 39 By 1890, the central authorities denied similar funding requests from provincial
authorities and instead ordered that they send “as many [emancipated Africans] as possible” to
be enrolled in the army in Istanbul. 40
Another case from 1884 demonstrates the growing involvement of central Ottoman
35
36
37
38
Since at least 1877, central Ottoman authorities sent money to local governors to help house and care for rescued
slaves. Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 177-178.
39
40
80
officials into local emancipation programs. In the spring of that year the British Consul at Chania
on Crete described to his superior in Istanbul the actions of the local Ottoman governor that were
helping enslaved Africans, despite not being technically endorsed in the British-Ottoman anti-
slave trade agreements. He noted the Ottoman governor was removing African women from
ships arriving from North African ports such as Benghazi, suspecting them to be slaves. He
subsequently placed them “in the house of the Sheikh of the Benghazi Arabs who are domiciled
at the outskirts” of Chania. 41 After a day of living in the care of the sheikh, they had indeed
declared themselves to be enslaved and sought to stay on Crete as free persons. The British
consul wrote approvingly of these actions approved of these actions by the Ottoman governor to
his superior, noting that this “worthy Sheikh” asks no compensation and is ready at all times to
co-operate. 42 While it seems an organic solution to the growing number of rescued slaves on
Crete had been found, a year later things had changed dramatically.
In the fall of 1885, the British Consul at Chania notes that a similar case of rescued of
enslaved African women received a rather different response from the Ottoman governor. This
time, he neither took the suspected slaves off the boat nor did he send them to stay with the
“Sheikh of the Benghazi Arabs” overnight. The Ottoman governor explained to British officials
that if he did so, he would be “exceeding his instructions” from Istanbul. After British
representatives attempted to pressure the government in Istanbul to re-instate the locally devised
settlement plan at Chania, Ottoman officials in Istanbul issued a decree stating that slaves given
to:
41
Great Britain, House of Commons Command Paper. Correspondence with British Representatives and Agents
Abroad and Reports from Naval Officers and the Treasury Relative to the Slave Trade. Africa. No. 1, 1885. (London;
Her Stationery Office, 1884-1885)[C.4523]), 32, no.53.
42
For a description of Africans and the African quarter in Chania see: Ferguson, "Enslaved and Emancipated
Africans on Crete," 171-95.
81
the Arab Sheikh nominated by the [British] Ambassador…is beyond
the clear and natural limits of the [1880 treaty], and that the Sublime
Porte can never recognize the existence of such a Sheikh in Crete nor
approve of his interference into these affairs. 43
The response adds that only Ottoman police are capable of issuing certificates of
manumission. Through the actions of local Officials in this case, it can be seen that directives
coming from Istanbul were paramount over local conditions.
As noted, state-intervention often involved the placement of emancipated Africans in the
army. A case from Benghazi in 1893 demonstrates how these orders came to be implemented by
local officials. At that time the local British consul reported that:
[i]n the course of last year I suggested to [the governor], who has
musical tastes, the utility of his incorporating in the military band
some of the emancipated Blacks who idle about the streets of
Benghazi in a very miserable condition, as many of them have a good
ear for music, and are also physically capable of being enrolled in
other branches of the Ottoman army. Nothing came of my
suggestion till the commencement of this month, when one morning
I saw a number of Blacks in military uniform being drilled, and
apparently well clothed. On inquiry I found that the [governor] had
filled up several vacancies in the band with blacks, and had drafted
the taller and stronger men into a battalion of the regular troops. 44
43
44
Great Britain, House of Commons Command Paper. Paper Relating to Slave Trade in Benghazi. Africa. No. 10,
1893. Command Paper (London; Her Stationery Office, 1893)[C.7158]), 2, no.3; Emancipated Africans were
adherents of a religio-belief system called Zar or Bori, in which music was a crucial part of religious ceremonies.
Furthermore, Sufism, of which many male slaves were also practitioners of, had a central place for music in their
ceremonies as well. For Zar, see: Ahmed Al-Safi, I.M. Lewis, and Sayyid Hurreiz, (eds.), Women's Medicine: The
Zar-Bori Cult in Africa and Beyond (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1991); Janice Boddy, Wombs and
Alien Spirits Women, Men, and the Zar Cult in Northern Sudan (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1989).
For music and Sufism, see: Leonard Lewisohn, “The Sacred Music of Islam: Samā' in the Persian Sufi Tradition,”
British Journal of Ethnomusicology 6, (1997), 1-33.
82
Soon thereafter, the same consulate reported that fewer and fewer slaves were taking refuge at
his consul because the local Ottoman army had enrolled “over 200 blacks.” 45 The British consul
believed that military service would help lift emancipated Africans who “idle in the streets…in a
very poor condition” out of indolence and poverty. The choice to bolster Ottoman military power
is likely motivated by the precarious position of the Ottoman Empire in North Africa at this
time. 46 In this instance, the solution to the growing number of emancipated Africans in Benghazi
satisfied British, local, and central Ottoman authorities.
The “Izmir Plan”
One of the most notable examples of Ottoman state control of emancipated Africans
occurred in and around Izmir. As noted above, the 1880 and 1890 treaties required the state to
construct guest-houses for emancipated slaves across the empire. They were, however, designed
solely as temporary shelters until the rescued slaves could be transported to the main guest-house
in Izmir. In the historiography, it is not entirely clear why Izmir was selected to be the
centerpiece of this program. Erdem, for example, notes that there was a belief held by the sultans
that slaves could be better cared for in Anatolia. 47 However, looking at the general situation of
Izmir in the late nineteenth century, other factors were likely more important. First, Izmir was
easily accessible for ships from anywhere in the eastern Mediterranean as it intersected a number
of important shipping routes and likewise had favorable port facilities. Second, and perhaps most
important, Izmir and its hinterland suffered from an almost constant labour shortage (discussed
in detail in chapter three). As Izmir was a booming port city with rapidly developing hinterland
45
Great Britain, House of Commons Command Paper. Africa. No. 10, 1893, 4, no.6.
46
For information on the Ottomans in North Africa in the late nineteenth century see: Ali Abdullatif Ahmida, The
Making of Modern Libya: State Formation, Colonization, and Resistance, 1830-1932 (Albany: State University of
New York Press, 1994).
47
83
there were thus opportunities for employment for the rescued Africans there. Izmir was thus a
pragmatic choice for the state driven program to care for emancipated slaves.
Once in Izmir, the state planned to put the African men in vocational schools, artisan
battalions, and military bands, and the women in appropriate households as salaried domestic
servants. 48 Local administrators in Izmir allotted the former building of the Hamidiye Mekteb-i
Sanayi (The Hamidian School of Industry) as the place where these Africans were to live and be
cared for. 49 This building, which could hold roughly 200 pupils, is where the state had previously
taught poor and orphaned children trades such as tailoring, rug making, metalwork, and how to
operate printing presses. 50 The connection with the Hamidiye Mekteb-i Sanayi went beyond just
using its former building - part of this settlement plan also involved sending rescued African
children to its new and expanded location, discussed below.
While the number of slaves placed in this main guesthouse is unknown, it is known that
in 1893, the central government ordered Ottoman cities across the empire to send “as many
[Africans] as possible” to Izmir. 51 Responding to this order, local governors began transferring
emancipated Africans, including those who had married, had started new lives, had integrated
into private households, and who were not in need of this state-run training. 52 Later in 1893 the
state clarified in another circular that only unmarried, recently emancipated slaves should be
sent. 53 The extent to which this order was heeded by local authorities across the empire
48
Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 179; Güneş, “Izmir'de Zenciler,” 5; Martal, "Afrika'dan Izmir'e," 176.
49
50
“Izmir Mithatpaşa Endüstri Meslek Lisesi” Accessed: 29 January 2011
<http://www.izmir.com.tr/Pages/LinkDetails.aspx?id=148&mid=45>.
51
The extent to which these orders were followed is remarkable. From every corner of the empire, emancipated
Africans were being sent to Izmir. For example, in May 1892, the chief of police of Mecca, a certain Mahmud Ağa,
was traveling to Jeddah to arrange for the safe travel of a group of escaped African slaves to Izmir, but was
reportedly killed by Bedouins before he arrived. Rashed Chowdhury, Pan-Islamism and modernisation during the
reign of Sultan Abdulhamid II, 1876-1909 PhD. thesis, (McGill University, 2011), 316.
52
53
84
demonstrates that the central government was by this time deeply involved in the management of
the emancipation process.
Despite the fact that the Izmir guesthouse did not receive adequate funding, it is recorded
that that men “almost immediately found employment” upon arriving. 54 Perhaps they found
work in the trades that the previous occupant of the building, the Mekteb-i Sanayi, was
associated with. 55 Some rescued Africans were also settled in Izmir’s hinterland to meet the
labour shortage there, a topic discussed in chapter three. 56
The Ottoman state’s unprecedented intervention into the lives of enslaved and
emancipated Africans was a marked change from the traditional, private emancipation process in
the Ottoman Empire. The state acted to ensure that emancipated Africans did not hinder it from
maintaining order, strengthening the military forces, the expanding of the labour force, and the
removing other potential loci of power. Rather, state involvement was intended to help to ensure
emancipated Africans became productive members of Ottoman society. As a booming port city
with a developing rich agricultural hinterland, Izmir had an unrelenting demand for labour. Thus
it was logical that Izmir had become the focal point of the state-driven emancipation program.
It must be kept in mind that slaves emancipated by the state and subsequently fell under
its influence were in the minority – even those that were sent to Izmir. The state’s ability to
manage the emancipation of African slaves was limited both by costs and by the willingness and
abilities of local Ottoman officials. 57 It required fewer state resources to allow emancipated
Africans to be absorbed into private households, whether this meant re-enslavement or not.
However, conceptualizing the emancipation process as either state-driven or private is
54
55
56
Kasaba, The Ottoman Empire, 99-100.
57
For a similar argument, see: Silverstein, “Sufism and Governmentality in the Late Ottoman Empire,” 173.
85
problematic. By the late nineteenth century, almost every emancipation involved both the state
and the private sphere to some degree. Furthermore, the goal for each was much the same: both
wanted emancipated Africans to become functioning and productive members of Ottoman
society.
Africans in the post-Emancipation Era: examples from Izmir.
While the new state-interventionist programs were a significant change to the process of
emancipation in the Ottoman Empire, the end result for the Africans themselves was much the
same. 58 The care of Africans by the state or private households involved training and educating
them to become what the state considered productive members of society. This meant above all,
that whatever employment they found, they were contributing to and not a drain on financial
resources. The key difference was that whoever made the investment of time and money to care
for ex-slaves would most directly benefit from their labours. To demonstrate the similarities
between these two different types of emancipation, this section compares the experiences of
African children in the Izmir’s Mekteb-i Sanayi, with that of one African child rescued by a
private household, as recorded in Halit Ziya Uşaklıgil’s Izmir Stories.
Historians of African slavery and historians of orphans in the Ottoman Empire have
failed to identify the common ground that exists between their two respective fields of inquiry. 59
They have not realized that state management of these two different groups was not only
remarkably similar, but were interlinked. This lack of acknowledgement is rather surprising
given that, as noted above, part of the ‘Izmir plan’ involved the state placing emancipated
African children in the very institutions they had developed to deal with homeless and poor
58
Excluding Military service, which would have been a dramatic change.
59
The leading authorities in this field are Nazan Maksudyan and Lerna Ekmekcioğlu
86
children in Ottoman society at large. 60 Thus, the state’s concern about managing vagrants
developed at the same time as the state-sponsored program for managing emancipated Africans.
The Mekteb-i Sanayi and the Care of Orphans, Vagrants, and the Poor
From the mid-nineteenth century, Ottoman officials became increasingly concerned with
the homeless. This was motivated by two interrelated factors: urban middle-class anxieties about
the poor, and municipal officials’ desires to make the streets of Izmir safer to facilitate
commerce. 61 To address these concerns, the city devised a plan to “remove, relocate, educate and
rehabilitate single immigrant men and vagrant children in the name of modernity and
progress.” 62 Specifically, local officials hoped to steer street children away from becoming petty
thieves and developing into professional bandits. 63 They believed that instilling Izmir’s homeless
youth with ethics and morals would ensure they would become productive members of Ottoman
society. To accomplish this task, in 1867 central Ottoman officials ordered each province to
construct an ıslahhane (lit. reform-house) or vocational orphanage. 64 The construction of the
Izmir ıslahhane, which came to be known as the Mekteb-i Sanayi began a year later and was
65
completed in 1869.
60
Martal, "Afrika'dan Izmir'e," 176.
61
Nazan Maksudyan, "State 'parenthood' and Vocational Orphanages (ıslahhanes): Transformation of Urbanity and
Family Life" The History of the Family. 16.2 (2011), 173.
62
Maksudyan, "State 'parenthood' and Vocational Orphanages,” 174.
63
64
Maksudyan, "State 'parenthood' and Vocational Orphanages,” 173; Gülnaz Yakın, Izmir Sanayi Mektebi
(Mithatpaşa Endüstri Meslek Lisesi), 1868-1923. (Izmir: T. Iş. Bankası, 1997), 20.
65
Yakın, Izmir Sanayi Mektebi, 21.
87
Figure I - Mekteb-i Sanayi of Izmir (approx. 1900).66
At the same time, local police were given new powers to monitor public spaces. If necessary,
they were able to detain vagrants and send them to the ıslahhanes. 67 Those placed in these
institutions fell under the control of the state which then became their patron and guardian.
Nazan Maksudyan argues that, as with similar institutions developing across Europe at the same
66
Above text: “Mekteb-i Sanayi Şahane” (Ottoman Turkish: Imperial Industrial School); Below text: “École
polytechnique des Orphelins” (French: Polytechnic school for Orphans): Abdullah et Frères, date unknown, APKA.
67
Maksudyan, "State 'parenthood' and Vocational Orphanages,” 174. However, it was not a matter of simple social
control as Maksudyan notes that some destitute parents willingly put their children in these institutions to try to
advance their children’s livelihood, recalling the then extinct devşirme institution of early centuries. See: Brunschvig,
"‘Abd."
88
time, despite their seemingly benevolent activities, these vocational orphanages embodied “the
logic of incarceration and education of suspected youth and disciplining of families.” 68 Through
such institutions, the state aimed to instill in children the ideals and ethics it believed would
serve both the well-being of the children and its own goals. Intervention into the lives of
homeless and poor youth was particularly important as they were often brought up in what were
regarded by state officials as “morally suspect cultures.” 69 As African practices such as spirit
possession that occurred at the annual Calf Festival in Izmir (to be discussed in chapter four)
were equated with wild and uncivilized behavior by local authorities and newspaper editors, it is
clear that African children would have been seen as the most in need of state indoctrination and
education.
In these institutions, each child underwent a transformation of their appearance that
began with new clothes. They were provided with a jacket, pair of pants, and the ubiquitous
symbol of late Ottoman reform, the fez. 70 The children were also provided with “working”
clothes to be kept clean and subject to daily inspection that were to be worn only within the
institution. The children were instructed to act with good manners (gayet adab üzere etmek)
when outside the institution. 71 The trope of “good manners” was part of the larger discourse on
Ottoman civilization brought forth by late Ottoman reformers. 72 It is also something that,
according to local newspapers, was necessary for Africans who attended the Calf Festival in
Izmir to adopt (see chapter 4).
Education in the ıslahhanes prioritized the creation of disciplined and productive
68
69
70
Indeed, the fez is very much a symbol of the Ottoman state’s reform efforts to create equality amongst all subjects
(and later citizens). Quataert, The Ottoman Empire, 148-150.
71
72
See for example: Niyazi Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey (New York: Routledge, 1988), 216,
283-284.
89
labourers rather than literacy and numeracy. Reading, writing, and arithmetic lessons were
limited to two hours a day. In 1890/1891, the core curriculum in the Izmir Mektebi Sanayi
consisted of writing, reading and reciting the Quran, ethics, and arithmetic. 73 After 1892, these
lessons were probably conducted in a small mosque constructed next to the school. The other six
hours of daily instruction focused on vocational skills, including shoemaking, carpentry, black
smithery, tailoring, sock making, weaving, typesetting, bookbinding and rug making. 74
The central government expected these schools to be self-financing from the rent on
properties it allocated to them. The largest of these properties for the Izmir Mekteb-i Sanayi was
the Kadife-i Kebir farm in Izmir’s hinterland. Its other main source of revenue was the sprawling
Cezayir Han complex in the old city centre, a market and business building that had formerly
been used as a prison. 75 Additional sources of revenue included small shops, stores, coffeehouses,
warehouses, depots, and farmlands and orchards in and around the city. The most prominent of
these was a two-storey commercial enterprise in the Büyük Vezir Han. 76 The school
administrators operated some of these properties directly while they leased others to third-parties.
Many pupils were not only educated and trained, but also sent to work at these school-owned
businesses. 77 In other instances, graduates were sent to other state institutions to work. For
example, those trained in typesetting and printing were sent to work at the official printing house
of Izmir province. 78 Furthermore, many of the items produced in these vocational orphanages
were also sent directly to other state-run institutions or government departments. For example,
73
Salname-i Vilayeti Aydın (Aydın: Aydın Vilayeti Matbaası, 1307/1308 [1890/1891]), 272.
74
Salname-i Vilayeti Aydın 1307/1308 [1890/1891], 271.
75
Yakın, Izmir Sanayi Mektebi, 64
76
Yakın, İzmir Sanayi Mektebi, 66-67.
77
Yakın, İzmir Sanayi Mektebi, 69-70.
78
Yakın, İzmir Sanayi Mektebi, 71.
90
clothing and shoes were sent to the military and mental institutions. 79 Ultimately however, these
sources of revenues never fully accounted for the costs of training these orphans, vagrants,
refugees and state-rescued Africans as intended. Almost as soon as it was opened the Izmir
school was in financial trouble. 80 This precarious financial situation meant it likely put increased
pressure on its students cum workers to produce goods for sale.
The state thus attempted to put the children in its vocational orphanages to work for its
own benefit in a variety of different ways. Their labour and the goods they produced were
undoubtedly cheaper than those available outside the walls of these institutions. For the state to
harness their labour power, the homeless and vagrants who entered the school were essentially
educated, disciplined, and reformulated into government employees. 81 While it may never be
known exactly how many African children were placed in the Izmir Sanay-i Mektebi, isolated in
an alien society with little other options for help, they would have been ideal pupils. In placing
African children in this school, the state was not only controlling their lives beyond
emancipation, but did it for its own gain as well.
Making an Ottoman Citizen of African children: the story of Civelik Ziver.
While the Sanay-i Mektebi took in an unknown number of state-emancipated African
children, the most common form of emancipation and care for Africans was through private
households. There is unfortunately little evidence to detail how this process occurred. Actions
80
Yakın, İzmir Sanayi Mektebi, 21.
81
91
taken in the private sphere were not documented by the state, and rarely recorded otherwise. 82
However, there exists a short story by famed novelist Halit Ziya Uşaklıgil that does detail the
care of an African child in a private household in Izmir. Based on Uşaklıgil’s own life
experiences, Civelik Ziver (Crazy Ziver), involves the rescue of a homeless African child. It thus
touches on the history of emancipated Africans in Izmir and the history of homeless and
unwanted street children. In examining the story of Civelik Ziver this section compares and
contrasts the experiences of this one African child with those of the children placed in the Izmir
Mekteb-i Sanayi discussed above. It shows that regardless of whether private households or the
state administered care of the children, the transformations they underwent were much the same.
Ziver’s patron rescues him from a life of destitution. At the same time as inculcating him with
the values of a modernizing Ottoman civilization, the patron puts Ziver to work. And even
though his labour may lay out of the direct control of the state, the private household refashions
Ziver into a productive member of Ottoman society.
In the story, Uşaklıgil recalls a major event in the life of his local coffeehouse proprietor
and friend, Yavuz Ibrahim. One day, Ibrahim and some companions went as spectators to the
annual African festival atop Kadifekale. Upon arriving at the festival grounds, Ibrahim was
approached by an African child, about ten years of age, who caught his attention. Both concerned
for, and enchanted by the child, Ibrahim asked who was caring for him. The child told Ibrahim
that he was homeless and parentless but looked after by a woman called Godya Beseret. Led by
the child, Ibrahim met Godya Beseret and quickly realized she was one of the African female
priestesses and community leaders (godya). After Ibrahim asked her politely if he could take the
82
Indeed, those more well known sources that discuss the lives of Africans in the household are focused on elite
households in Istanbul, such as Leyla Saz’s memoirs, and do not really describe this process of transformation or
acculturation. See: Leyla Saz, Anılar: 19. Yüzyıl Saray Haremi. (Cağaloğlu, Istanbul: Cumhuriyet, 2000).
92
child and raise him, she agreed. 83
To accomplish this, Ibrahim shapes Ziver’s mind and body – in effect forming him into a
productive member of Ottoman society. First, Ibrahim orders a physical transformation. This
physical transformation begins with spatial move: Ibrahim takes Ziver from the African
neighbourhood atop Kadifekale and settles him in his house. In doing so, Ibrahim incorporates
Ziver into his household. Ziver is in fact put into the room next to Ibrahim’s to ensure he can be
cared for effectively. The proximity suggests the amount of involvement Ibrahim will have in his
life as he undergoes his transformation from homeless African child to productive worker.
Next, he brings the child to get his hair cut. Specifically, he asks the barber to “cut his
hair short, but not to make him bald.” 84 Such a specific request suggests that Ibrahim believes
there is a certain acceptable haircut for Ziver. At the same time, Ibrahim orders Ziver to be
bathed, cleaned up, and have his finger and toenails trimmed.
Ziver the African child also undergoes a sartorial transformation at the hands of Ibrahim.
Ibrahim buys Ziver a new pair of trousers and two pairs of shoes. He describes these new items
as “dishwashing clothes.” which are “appropriate” for Ziver. 85 In providing Ziver clothes for
manual labour and deeming them “appropriate,” Ibrahim acted much like the state-run vocational
orphanage. As soon as Ziver was rescued from a life on the streets, he was reformulated into a
labourer who would contribute to Ibrahim’s business.
Ibrahim also brings Ziver to a local court official to undergo a legal transformation. In
registering Ziver with the state, Ibrahim became his legal guardian and, most importantly, made
Ziver officially as an Ottoman citizen for the first time. In so doing, Ibrahim helped the state
toward its goal of expanding its authority over those on the social margins.
83
Halit Ziya Uşaklıgil, Izmir Hikayeleri: Anısal Öyküleri (Istanbul: Özgür Yayınları, 2005), 153-166.
84
Uşaklıgil, Izmir Hikayeleri, 158.
85
93
Ibrahim also brought Ziver to Abdullah, a local school teacher, to help him undergo an
educational transformation. Abdullah agreed to educate Ziver at Ibrahim’s coffee shop after
school. At the same time as teaching Ziver how to read, write, and count, Abdullah intended to
train him to become a practicing Muslim. Ziver was told he must memorize the Quran, learn how
to take ablutions, perform prayers and eventually become circumcised. 86 Abdullah thus wanted
to ensure Ziver undergo a spiritual transformation and adopt normative religious practices. He
likely deemed this necessary knowing that Africans in Izmir practiced and maintained certain
traditions from sub-Saharan Africa, such as the Calf Festival (discussed in chapter four) that
were viewed by many locals as uncivilized and un-Islamic. The fact that Ziver was
uncircumcised would have reinforced the notion of Ziver’s ‘wild’ upbringing to Abdullah.
Abdullah was thus trying to ensure that Ziver adopt ‘proper’ Muslim practices in order to ease
his integration into Ottoman society.
As Uşaklıgil recalls, in the midst of this transformation, Ziver demonstrated his
gratefulness to Ibrahim and his friends by kissing their hands “with good manners and respect”
(adable terbiye ile). 87 The phrasing is critical as it demonstrates that Ziver understood the
importance of his transformation, and knew how to show his gratefulness for it. The use of the
words adab and terbiye, meaning “good manners and education,” is significant. They were in
fact the same words employed by the Ottoman government officials to describe the type of
behavior they wished to instill in all Ottoman citizens. Not only are these same words also used
to describe the goals of state-run Mekteb-i Sanayi , but by local news editors and politicians to
describe what the Africans at the Calf Festival lacked as well (see chapter four).
86
Uşaklıgil, Izmir Hikayeleri, 161-162.
87
94
At the beginning of Uşaklıgil’s story, Ziver the homeless African child lived in the care
of the African community leader and lived outside the purview of the Ottoman state. Under
Ibrahim’s guardianship, his appearance was altered, he was educated, and shaped into what both
Ibrahim and to a large degree the Ottoman government desired of all children. In the simplest
analysis, this is a story of a coffee shop owner who cared for a homeless child the best way he
could. He used what was available around to help Ziver adapt to life in Izmir.
As Ziver became a client, Ibrahim acquired social prestige from his friends and coffee
shop customers who perceived his actions as an act of benevolence which, moreover, required
considerable investment of time and money. Ibrahim supported Ziver while molding him. In
doing so, Ibrahim gained a new labourer for his coffee shop. At the same time, Ziver’s
transformation reflected the growing role of the Ottoman state in this period. While under
Ibrahim’s patronage, Ziver became a citizen of the Ottoman State and subjected to its authority.
He was inculcated with the philosophy of a modernizing Ottoman civilization. This occurred
without the state having to make any direct investment in Ziver. The state also benefitted from
Ibrahim’s act of rescuing Ziver from a near homeless existence atop Kadifekale
It is difficult to assess how Ziver himself perceived this transformation. Certainly it can
be said that, he demonstrated enthusiasm and became a hard worker in the coffee house. He
likewise came to see Ibrahim as a sort of father figure. The story of Civelik Ziver should not be
understood simply as one of brainwashing by Ibrahim and passivity by Ziver. After all, the
African community leader Godya Besseret willingly gave guardianship of Ziver to Ibrahim. She
gave Ibrahim explicit instructions that Ziver be taught to read and write. 88 Perhaps she preferred
to choose a patron for Ziver rather than state officials forcibly take him away if found wandering
Izmir’s streets. In her mind then, Ibrahim’s patronage was a more attractive option given that
88
95
Ziver would have faced an unknown fate in a state institution such as the Mekteb-i Sanayi.
Examining Ziver’s transformation does not require a judgment of whether he was better
off with Ibrahim’s intervention into his life. It is a story of how an African child was
incorporated into traditional patron-client relations and separated from the African community in
Izmir. While Ibrahim’s support of Ziver may have improved his life, patronage had its limits. As
an emancipated African, Ziver’s options were largely limited to menial tasks and support work.
Africans at Work in Izmir
This section discusses the types of employment Africans undertook in Izmir in the late
nineteenth-century. It shows that Africans worked for the most part in unskilled positions mainly
as servants or manual labourers. However, available sources make it impossible to differentiate
between the various statuses of Africans at work. They might be enslaved, clients of private
households, employed through state-sponsored emancipation programs, or indeed be entirely
independent. Nevertheless, it is clear that the African population of Izmir contributed directly to
the everyday functioning of the city. The majority of emancipated African women in Izmir, as
elsewhere in the Ottoman Empire, worked as domestic servants, forming a ubiquitous feature of
the city’s middle and upper class households. As discussed above, many were in fact re-enslaved
in private households while others worked for wages.
African woman also worked in public spaces, taking part in the everyday economy of
Izmir. According to contemporary writer A. Şahabettin Ege, African women roamed residential
streets selling freshly picked flowers. To alert potential buyers to their presence, they called out
“red tulip, purple tulip” as they walked. 89 Housewives came out to their doors and purchased
what was needed to decorate their homes. The social standing of these African flower sellers is
89
A. Şahabettin Ege, Eski İzmir’den Anılar, Erkan Serçe, (ed.), (Izmir: Izmir Büyükşehir Kültür Yayını, 2002), 40.
96
shown in the fact that they acquired their product by picking wild flowers around the literal
margins of the city. Picking and selling wild flowers was in fact not just the realm of African
women. Indeed, they may have been inspired to take up this work after seeing another
marginalized group, Roma women, undertake this task. 90 Having repeat customers would have
also helped to establish social relations between the emancipated African women and
housewives. This could have been one of the ways in which African women connected with
potential employers for domestic service. Furthermore, the regular visitations of the flower
sellers would have been the ideal cover for African women access elite households and offer
their spiritual healing services, discussed further in chapter four.
African women also sold helva, a sesame-based desert, in the streets of Izmir. Ege notes
that these African women were easily spotted in the markets as they carried their goods in
baskets atop their heads. Ege comments that mothers in Izmir repeatedly told their children that
should they misbehave they would be given to a “helva selling negro.” 91 This expression implies
that these African street sellers were viewed negatively by non-Africans in Izmir. The fear that
these African women presumably instilled in non-African children was doubtless the result of
being raised to think of Africans as wild, uncivilized, others.
African women also sold on the streets a special type of bracelet, known as helhel. It was
made of small pieces of blue, red, and green coloured glass tied together. 92 According to Ege, the
bracelets were fabricated in a field near the neighbourhood of Eşrefpaşa atop Değirmendağı
hill. 93 The fabricators were probably African men and women but this is not entirely clear from
Ege’s description. Therefore, much like the picking of wild flowers, the production of these
90
Fariba Zarinebaf, Crime and Punishment in Istanbul: 1700-1800. (Berkeley, Calif: University of California Press,
2010), 99.
91
Ege, Eski İzmir’den, 40.
92
Interestingly, helhel today in modern Turkish specifically means anklet.
93
The hill that sits immediately next to Kadifekale.
97
bracelets occured on the edge of the city and reflects the marginal space in which such Africans
lived and worked. Ege also notes that these bracelets were very much in vogue in Izmir at the
turn of the twenteith century. Young middle and upper class girls in the city, some of whom
wore multiple bracelets on each wrist, considered them stylish and hence desirable. 94 These
bracelets may have first been worn only by Africans in Izmir and eventualy, as happens so often
in fashion, were adopted and popularized by the mainstream buying public. Africans thus
contributed to local material culture in Izmir.
Additionally, African women were involved in the processesing and sorting of fruits in
the large sorting warehouses in Izmir’s port. 95 As shown in a postcard from the turn of the
century, Africans were amongst many women involved in sorting and grading Izmir’s prized
export: figs.
94
Ege, Eski İzmir’den, 40.
95
Indeed, as a British report from 1857 notes for labour in Izmir, “picking and sorting of raw produce the realm of
the poor Turk.” Great Britain. Parliamentary Papers. Session 1. (0.51) Report on Smyrna, (London: Her Majesty’s
Stationary Office, 1857), 23.
98
96
Figure II – “Turkish Women work with figs.” (post card, approx. 1900).
The way in which they are portrayed in the photo gives visual clues to the hierarchy of such
processing depots. The men, dressed in European clothes (presumably Greeks, Armenians or
Europeans) pose standing directly above the female workers – thus reflecting power relations in
the workplace. Most of the women sit working cross-legged Perhaps to exoticize the photo for
the viewer, the two African workers immediately next to the European-styled men look towards
the camera.Thus, African women directly contributed to the export of Izmir’s famous product.
Sorting and grading were critical parts of the shipment process that began deep in the hinterland
and ended in the global markets such as London and Paris.
96
Author unknown, “Turkish Women work with figs,” date unknown. Postcard. Consulted at APKA, 17 August
2011.
99
Evidence further suggests that some African women in Izmir worked as prostitutes. One
French traveller in the 1840s notes seeing an African prostitute wearing excessive make-up and
flirting with an Austrian soldier in a street near the quays along the seaside promenade of
Kordon. 97 It it no surprise that African women worked as prostitues, given that it is a job that can
be undertaken by unskilled women, albeit with serious risks, when no other options are available.
Also unsurprinsing is the location of the French traveller’s sighting – most prostitutes in Izmir
worked in Kordon as it was where many European and other wealthy residents could be found. 98.
In these same streets, African men worked as coffee sellers. In the case of the suicide of
an African woman described in chapter four, it is noted in a contemporary newspaper article that
her husband, Şükrü, worked as a itinerant coffee seller in the Kordon area. 99 There he
presumably walked the streets offering passersbys a fresh cup of coffee from the thermos-like
container on his back. As the family lived in the Yapıcıoğlu neighbourhood atop Kadifekale,
Şükrü would have had to walk a great distance daily to and from work – as, indeed, would most
employed emancipated Africans from Kadifekale.
African men in Izmir also worked in other sectors of the coffee business. According to
Uşaklıgil’s story Civelik Ziver, the coffeehouse owner Ibrahim put the African child to work as a
waiter. 100 Indeed, Africans appear to have a close connection to coffee, even in the European
imaginary of Izmir at this time. A postcard from turn of the twentieth-century Izmir shows a
staged scene of an African man described as “cafetier arabe” wearing the clothes of a well-
dressed waiter holding a serving tray.
97
Maxime Du Camp, Souvenirs et paysages d'orient, Smyrne: Ephése, Magnésie, Constantinople, Scio (Paris:
Bertrand, 1848), 353.
98
For a discussion of Austrian prostitution in Izmir see: Malte Fuhrmann "Down and Out on the Quays of İzmir:
'European' Musicians, Innkeepers, and Prostitutes in the Ottoman Port-Cities". Mediterranean Historical Review. 24,
no. 2, (2009), 169-185.
99
Hizmet (Izmir) 28 May 1894, 1.
100
Uşaklıgil, İzmir hikayeleri, 110-125.
100
Figure III – Postcard from Izmir depicting an African café waiter (dated 1912). 101
While the postcard was very likely shaped by orientalist notions about the origins of coffee, it
does bear some truth since it is known that Africans did indeed work in the coffee business in
Izmir.
African men appear to have worked in Izmir’s port more than any other part of the city.
They worked in a variety of jobs including porters (known as hammals), small boatmen, and
fishermen. A photograph taken in 1890 showing activity behind the customs building show a
101
S.J. Daponte, “Cafétier Arabe,” date unknown. Postcard. Consulted at APKA, 17 August 2011.
101
great many Africans at work:
Figure IV –Izmir’s Port and Customs House, 1890. 102
In the centre of this photo are large group of African porters and/or small boatmen, responsible
for moving people and cargo to and from the larger ships anchored offshore. This job was ideal
for people with limited training or formal education such as emancipated Africans. It simply
required the ability to lift, transport, and unload heavy objects. Interestingly, a document from
1906 notes that an African fisherman named Zenci Bilal Ağa was involved in a rescue at sea in
Izmir near the quarantine area (Karantina). As a result he was awarded a medal for his bravery
102
Sebah & Joalliers, “No.9 - La Douane,” Photograph. Izmir, 1890. Consulted at APKA, 17 August 2011.
102
by the provincial authorities. 103 Porters, were an ever-present feature of all Ottoman cities and
not just the port-area. Thus it is unsurprising that another postcard from Izmir from the turn of
the twentieth-century depicted an African porter in the city’s main market (Kemeraltı):
Figure V – Fig Market in the Bazars of Izmir (approx. 1900). 104
In their later lives, African women in Izmir also worked as godyas, spiritual and social
organizers of the African community. 105 The functions they performed are not well understood
as they operated for the most part in secret. Furthermore, existing evidence is largely from
103
BOA/DH.MKT/1089/48, 17 Rebiülahir 1324 [10 June 1906].
104
Author unknown, “Fig Market in the Bazars of Izmir,” date unknown. Postcard. Personal collection of the author.
105
Pertev N. Boratav and W. Eberhard. "The Negro in Turkish Folklore". The Journal of American Folklore. 64, no.
251 (1951), 88.
103
outsiders. As a result, most contemporary commentary on them is largely conjecture and often
negative in tone. Both Erdem and Toledano have examined the important role these elder
African women played in organizing African communities across the Ottoman Empire. Erdem
notes that godyas in Istanbul worked to maintain solidarity within the African community. They
reportedly helped to protect newly emancipated Africans, particularly women, from re-
enslavement, and acted as labour organizers, helping to find employment for the newly
emancipated. Godyas probably used the network of employed African women to find work in
reliable and safe households for the newly emancipated. 106 Indeed, famed traveler to Ottoman
lands, Lucy Garnett, remarked that godyas in Istanbul formed organizations “for mutual defense
and protection, not only against the tyranny of masters and mistresses, but against sickness and
other accidents of life.” 107 These godya organizations reportedly even raised funds to purchase
the freedom of enslaved African domestic servants who had been abused by their masters. 108 It is
not clear if godyas in Izmir performed similar functions. However, as discussed above in the
story of Civelik Ziver, Godya Besseret handed guardianship of Ziver to Uşaklıgil’s friend
Ibrahim. 109 This suggests that at the very least the godyas of Izmir were community leaders
working to improve the lives of Africans there as well.
Citing an elder relative, Turkish folklorist of the early twentieth century, Pertev Boratav,
noted that godyas indeed had “special religious functions” and any African wishing to consult
them had to undergo an annual incense-burning ceremony. 110 Moreover, as head priestesses of
106
107
Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 174
108
Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 174
109
110
Boratav and Eberhard, "The Negro in Turkish Folklore," 88. Interestingly, Boratav also records that not all
godyas were African women - his relative even recalled a non-African man.
104
the annual African festival, godyas were responsible for leading processions and performing the
sacrifice of a young calf - a topic discussed in chapter four. 111
Above all, however, godyas were the physical representation and manifestation of the
African community’s desire to maintain African social, cultural and economic practices. The
continued importance of the godya into the early-twentieth century demonstrates that neither
traditional patron-client relations nor the newly developed state-client relations were capable of
integrating the wave of emancipated Africans that arrived in Izmir in this period. In many ways
then, the godya was the patron of the African community. She was the head of a large informal
household. The godya took care of community members in need and helped them gain
meaningful employment. As head priestess, godyas spiritually linked Africans across Izmir. 112
Conclusion
This chapter has shown how emancipated Africans came to and worked in late
nineteenth-century Ottoman Izmir. Central government intervention resulted in an unprecedented
amount of emancipated Africans being moved to, and settling in, Izmir at this time. The state’s
involvement was motivated predominantly by the desire to ensure that they become productive
members of Ottoman society. This intervention, however, had one glaring limitation: state
institutions such as the Meketb-i Sanayi or schemes such as the “Izmir Plan” had limited
resources. Thus despite the desires of the state to rescue, reshape, educate and capture the
productive capabilities of Africans following emancipation, it was more efficient at least on a
superficial level, to let rescued Africans become attached to private households. The traditional
household structure had existed for centuries to accommodate emancipated slaves and new state
111
112
Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death: A Comparative Study (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press,
1982), 62-65.
105
institutions could not compete with it. This is why the majority of Africans were attached to
private households following emancipation. What happened in the urban space however is only
half the story. The hinterland, the engine that powered the economy of Izmir, was also affected
by the state’s intervention in the emancipation process.
106
Chapter 3 – Emancipated Africans in Izmir’s hinterland:
Agriculturalists and Bandits
After finishing my military service I returned to Ödemiş.

I began to work as a tobacco smuggler, the most lucrative business.
I also had a partner: Ziver the Circassian, who was a security guard
for one of the rich landlords in Ödemiş, Şerif Ağa. This Şerif Ağa
had a young, beautiful Ethiopian concubine who was like a pheasant
or a sapling: Müferrih. I was unable to take my eyes off this girl.
She had this way of looking at me that… I used to say to myself:
“let me just get this work finished, I want the girl from the landlord.”
I had fallen totally in love with this beautiful Ethiopian girl. Without
a doubt, she with me as well… One day upon arriving at the big
farm [çiftlik] [where she worked], I was met with some grave news.
At the foot of a tree, Müferrih’s body was found with a bullet wound
in the chest and after an examination it was understood that the girl was
forced…. you understand, right? After that she was killed. Who?...
There was no delay in finding out. Everyone concluded that it must
have been Ziver the Circassian. Because he disappeared from there and
much later it was learned that together with three accomplices with
whom we used to smuggle [goods], they had gone up into the mountains to
become bandits. 1
This episode, described in Halit Ziya Uşaklıgil’s “Izmir Stories,” details some of the
dynamics of Izmir’s hinterland in the late nineteenth century. It notes the presence of newcomers
to the region such as Circassians and Africans, the importance of cash crops on big farms, and
existence of banditry. This chapter examines one of the many social groups who lived and
worked in Izmir’s interior in the late nineteenth century: enslaved and emancipated Africans. It
aims to situate Africans in the history of this region and examine their contribution to one of the
main economic engines of the empire. First, this chapter provides an overview of the economic
context in Izmir’s hinterland. Second, it discusses the predominate form of labour in this region:
sharecropping. Third, it argues that emancipated Africans labourers were particularly vulnerable
to exploitation by landlords. Fourth, it discusses the state-run settlement of emancipated Africans
1
Uşaklıgil, Izmir Hikayeleri, 163-164.
107
in Izmir’s hinterland. Fifth, it links the Mektebi Sanayi described in chapter two with farms in the
hinterland. Sixth, it examines the settlement of Africans in Izmir’s hinterland beyond 1900.
Finally, it looks at the fragments of evidence that suggest some Africans chose to become bandits
and live outside of Ottoman society in the hinterland. In sum, this chapter reveals the multitude
of experiences of Africans in Izmir’s hinterland in the late nineteenth century.
Map 3 - Topographical map showing the location of Izmir and major hinterland towns. 2
2
Carl Hughes, “Topographical map showing the location of Izmir and major hinterland towns,” 2014.
108
Emancipated Africans in a Developing Economic Context in Izmir’s Hinterland
The nineteenth century was a period of dramatic economic change in Izmir’s hinterland
induced in large part by the onset of western capitalist forces. Western Anatolia’s growing
connection to global markets meant that international demand, primarily from Britain and
France, helped shape the region’s development. 3 Following the British-Ottoman free trade
agreement of 1838, Izmir’s agricultural hinterland entered a new age of economic development. 4
Its agreeable Mediterranean climate and fertile soil attracted some of the most intense foreign
capital investment in the empire at the time, chiefly for the development of cash-crops. 5
Furthermore, the Ottoman Land Code, introduced in 1858, promoted greater stability of land
tenure, increased production, and heightened foreign trade. 6 Between the 1830s and 1870s, the
total volume of trade passing through Izmir’s port increased fourfold. From the 1870s onwards,
next to Istanbul, Izmir was the Ottoman Empire’s leading export hub and as such, was a major
source of tax revenues for the government. 7 Two of the most intense periods in this era of
economic transformation were around the time of the Crimean War (1853-56) and the American
Civil War (1861-1865). During the Crimean conflict, Izmir became a base for forces allied to the
Ottomans. As such, the British invested heavily in the city to accommodate its wartime needs.
During the American Civil War, British textile companies desperately searched for new sources
of cotton as alternatives to the American South and considered Izmir’s hinterland as a potentially
rich cotton-producing region. 8 The owners of cotton factories applied pressure on the British
3
For a fictional account of life in another agricultural region in the Ottoman Empire at the same time, see: Yaşar
Kemal. Memed, My Hawk (New York: Pantheon Books, 1961).
4
5
Şevket Pamuk, The Ottoman Empire and European Capitalism, 1820-1913: Trade, Investment, and Production
(Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1987), 99.
6
Quataert, "Part IV: The Age of Reforms,” 857.
7
Kasaba, The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy, 61; Quataert, "Part IV: The Age of Reforms,” 847.
8
Pamuk, The Ottoman Empire and European Capitalism, 99.
109
government, who in turn pushed Ottoman authorities to create conditions favourable to direct
foreign investment. In response, the Ottoman government in 1866 modified the Land Code to
allow direct foreign ownership of farmlands. 9
Critically, the dramatic increase in agricultural production in Izmir’s hinterland (and
indeed the whole of the empire at this time) was not the result of mechanization and intensified
production on existing farmland, but of the expansion of agriculture into new, previously unused
lands. 10 Two general types of traditional land ownership existed: small scale, often called
peasant farming, and large estate farming known in the Ottoman context as çiftliks. 11 Çiftliks,
which had in previous centuries been the dominant form of agriculture, were in the hands of
either local notables (ayans), or foreign (particularly British) companies. 12 They were often
located near main arteries of communication and travel. 13 Overall, the Ottoman state preferred
land to be farmed by those who lived directly on it. The advantages this presented were twofold:
first, owing to the complicated Ottoman tax farming system, tax revenues from smaller
operations were higher than those from large-scale farms. Second, the state sought to reduce the
powerbase of local potentates. 14 As such, it promoted small-scale production by requisitioning
land that had been left untilled for three years. 15
However, despite foreign investment, Ottoman agriculture was largely unmechanized and
heavily dependent upon manual labour. This created a situation wherein the ever-increasing
9
10
11
These large farms in many ways resemble plantations although given the evocative nature of this word in the
English context, it will be avoided. Furthermore as Kasaba notes, they were not on a scale to warrant this. See:
12
Orhan Kurmuș, Emperyalizmin Türkiyeʼye Girişi (Istanbul: Bilim Yayınları, 1977), 100.
13
14
Özgür Teoman and Muammer Kaymak, "Commercial agriculture and economic change in the Ottoman empire
during the nineteenth century: A comparison of raw cotton production in Western Anatolia and Egypt" Journal of
Peasant Studies. 35, 2, (2008), 320.
15
110
global demand for cash crops for export meant an almost continuous and acute labour shortage in
Izmir’s hinterland. As one French consular official observed in 1892:
L’agriculture à peu d’exceptions près, est encore à l’état d’enfance.

Les instruments agricoles ont des formes toutes primitives. … sont
coupés ou arrachés à la main. … Les procédés rationnels et scientifiques
ne commencent à être mis en œuvre que dans quelques fermes
importantes des sandjaks de Smyrne, Saruhan, ou d’Aidin…
Agriculture, except in a few exceptional cases, is still in a state of infancy.

Agricultural instruments are all primitive in form. … are cut or picked
by hand… Rational and scientific methods are beginning to be put
in place in a handful important farms in the provinces of [Izmir],
Saruhan, or Aydın… 16
Thus, despite the intense demand that sparked a steep and sudden rise in cash crop production,
supply was never fully able to keep up. The Ottoman state, knowing that agricultural exports via
Izmir formed a major part of its fiscal base, did everything in its power to minimize this
scarcity. 17
Africans were a potential solution to the labour shortage. The French consul in Izmir, said
as much in a letter to his superiors in November 1861, following the collapse of the cotton
market in the American South. In it, he explained that the hinterland of Izmir did not have
enough labourers to meet the demand to break and cultivate new land. He recommended
therefore that people with advanced knowledge of agricultural methods, such as the Swiss,
Germans and Alsatians, should migrate to the region to quickly solve the problem. However, he
concluded that “new populations are necessary, to give these lands more value [than] they had in
16
Firmin Rougon, Smyrne: situation commerciale et économique des pays compris dans la circonscription du
consulat général de France (vilayets d'Aïdin, de Konieh et des iles) (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1892), 73.
17
111
ancient times.” However, given the difficulty of attracting European farmers to the Ottoman
Empire, it might be advantageous to seek workers from:
…among the black peoples of the interior of Africa.

For it should be noted that in all these regions there
are many blacks, probably descendants of former
slaves who have kept their connections with the farms…. 18
Thus as noted by the French consul, by 1861, Africans were already living and working on farms
outside Izmir where they or their ancestors had once been enslaved.
Recently emancipated Africans were not the only newcomers to Izmir’s hinterland. At
the same time that demand for labour increased, waves of refugees were arriving to the Ottoman
heartland from territories the Ottomans were losing in the Balkans, the northern Black Sea coast,
and the Caucasus region from Russian expansion and newly independent nation-states. 19 To
solve both the refugee problem and labour shortage, the Ottoman state began to move the
refugees to areas in need of labourers, of which Izmir’s hinterland was amongst the most
important. 20 Vital Cuinet, a French statistician who visited the region in the 1890s, estimates that
by 1892, 50 000 refugees had arrived in Izmir’s hinterland. 21 They were generally settled
18
Charles P. Issawi, The Economic History of Turkey, 1800-1914 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), 24.
19
Vital Cuinet, La Turquie d'asie: géographie administrative, statistique descriptive et raisonnée de chaque
province de l'asie-mineure (Istanbul: Les Éditions Isis, 2001), 14-15.
20
Cuinet, La Turquie d'asie, 15; This settlement of refugees also provided the opportunity for the Ottoman state to
balance out the demographic disparity it believed existed between Christians and Muslims in villages throughout
empire. For demographic engineering see Erik J. Zürcher, “The Late Ottoman Empire as a Laboratory of Social
Engineering” Il Mestiere di Storico 10,1, (2009), 7-18. Justin McCarthy, Muslims and Minorities: The Population of
Ottoman Anatolia and the End of the Empire (New York: New York University Press, 1983).
21
Cuinet, La Turquie d'asie, 15. Kasaba notes that labourers from the east, particularly Kurds and Laz also came to
the region seasonally: Kasaba, The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy, 63. For a trans-national analysis
focusing on a different agricultural region of the Ottoman Empire at the same time, see: David Gutman, “Agents of
Mobility: Migrant Smuggling Networks, Transhemispheric Migration, and Time-Space Compression in Ottoman
Anatolia, 1888–1908” InterDisciplines, 3, 1, (2012), 48-84.
112
alongside newly established railway lines, thus enabling them to make an immediate and direct
impact on cash crops exports. 22
Sharecropping as Unfree Labour
Labour in Izmir’s interior was generally arranged through a sharecropping system. Large
land-owners preferred to rent their land out to sharecroppers who had proven a relatively
inexpensive source of labour, particularly for the cultivation of crops requiring year-round
attention. 23 In most but not all cases, sharecropping entailed a 50-50 division of the harvest
between the landowner and a sharecropper who paid the taxes on his half in exchange for access
to land and tools provided by the landowner. 24 This arrangement was advantageous to the owner
because the duties of cultivating usually fell not only to the labourer but also to his wife and
children. 25 Thus, in hiring one man, the land owner was de facto acquiring the labour of an entire
family. 26 In addition, landowners exploited the usual annual renewable sharecropping contracts
which enabled them to reduce or augment the workforce according to need. 27 The state also
preferred sharecropping to wage labour in that it tied families to the land and thereby created a
sense of ownership, and presumably a greater work-ethic. 28
22
Pamuk, The Ottoman Empire and European Capitalism, 99. Cuinet notes a belief that these refugees often worked
harder than the local native population, many of whom were Christians, helping the state ensure the economy was
not entirely in the hands of its minorities of which it was greatly concerned about in this period. Furthermore, he
argues those coming from Bulgaria were particularly good at adapting to farming practices in Izmir’s hinterland.
Circassians, on the other hand, were the most difficult but had the most neatly organized villages with well-
manicured gardens and productive fields: Cuinet, La Turquie D'asie, 15-16.
23
24
25
Rougon, Smyrne, 73.
26
For a similar process in South Africa see: Pamela Scully, Liberating the Family?: Gender and British Slave
Emancipation in the Rural Western Cape, South Africa, 1823-1853 (Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 1997).
27
In times of acute labour shortages, wage labour was a quick and easy way to draw people to work on intensive
harvests particularly for big and foreign owned farms. This was utilized during the cotton boom during the
American Civil War. However as Quartaet notes wage labour was the exception to the situation of most farmers in
Izmir’s hinterland. Quataert, "Part IV: The Age of Reforms,” 870.
28
Teoman and Kaymak, "Commercial agriculture and economic change,” 320; Pamuk, The Ottoman Empire and
European Capitalism, 102.
113
However, while it might have been an easy way to find employment, a sharecropping
arrangement entailed major risks for the leasee. For example, in the historiography there is little
clarity on whether sharecroppers comprised “free” or “unfree” labour. Özgür Teoman and
Muammer Kaymak note that “forced labour was prohibited as a rule” but they do not present any
evidence from the nineteenth-century to back up their argument. Instead they cite a study about
seventeenth-century labour relations. 29 Likewise Quataert’s declaration that in the Ottoman
Empire, “the combination of scarce labour and abundant lands usually did not lead to debt
peonage and enserfment” is unsubstantiated. 30
Others argue that sharecropping arrangements did in fact evolve into unfree labour. As
Kasaba notes, çiftlik owners did not hesitate to use forceful means to tie the peasants to their
estates in times of need. For example, a local notable in the Serez province (present-day northern
Greece) reportedly had 5000 guards whom he often employed to coerce peasants to work.
Special decrees were acquired from the government which allowed çiftlik owners to force
“runaway” peasants to return to land even if 40 years had passed since their flight. Not only did
farm owners use force and new laws to restrict the mobility of workers, but it appears, at least in
one example from Bosnia, that they even coerced them to grow specific cash crops. 31
Furthermore, Pamuk notes that the abolition of corvée labour in the European provinces of the
empire in 1818 had little effect. A further abolition measure was passed in 1839, but corvée
labour did not disappear from the regions of what is today northern Greece until the mid-
nineteenth-century. 32 Quataert notes that contracts between sharecroppers and land-owners were
“often verbal in nature.” In such arrangements, contract terms could be changed at whim by the
29
Teoman and Kaymak, "Commercial agriculture and economic change,” 317
30
Quataert, "Part IV: The Age of Reforms,” 871
31
32
114
landlord and, without any documented evidence of the agreement, sharecroppers would have
little legal recourse if they protested. 33 There was no third party oversight, such as local courts,
to approve of the contractual arrangement or to complain to if the relationship became
exploitative.
Newly settled sharecroppers of all backgrounds found themselves in a particularly
precarious situation. Many had limited resources and training in agricultural techniques, and
therefore, according to Özgür and Kaymak, were considered part of “the most marginal [labour]
category” of all in Izmir’s hinterland. 34 Critically, their lack of access to the capital and
technology needed to work the land was a major impediment to becoming self-sufficient. Indeed,
they were often dependent on others to break ground and begin farming. 35 Loans came from
landowners in the form of implements such as ploughs, seeds, and beasts of burden such as oxen.
These loans were often part of the sharecropping contract which meant they cut into any
potential earnings. If the landowner was unwilling to do so, the leasee would have to take loans
from local merchants or bankers. 36 The interest on such loans was often very high, and labourers
often became increasingly indebted. 37 While the state may have preferred the newly arrived
refugees become sharecroppers, those without previous knowledge of how to access capital for
agriculture in the Ottoman Empire would have been at a distinct disadvantage.
33
Quataert, "Part IV: The Age of Reforms,” 857. Indeed, the link between sharecropping and unfree labour, while
tacitly acknowledged, does not feature in either the historiography on the economic history of the late Ottoman
Empire or on slavery in the Ottoman Empire. This is despite the fact that ample evidence exists from elsewhere in
the world, such as the United States and Brazil that sharecropping did indeed result in exploitative relationships that
verge on slavery. See for example: Douglas A. Blackmon, Slavery by Another Name: The Re-Enslavement of Black
Americans from the Civil War to World War II (New York: Doubleday, 2008).
34
Teoman and Kaymak, "Commercial agriculture and economic change,” 320.
35
36
37
Pamuk, The Ottoman Empire and European Capitalism, 88. Hoping to solve the problem of usury, the Ottoman
Agricultural Bank established a branch in Izmir’s hinterland by the 1890s, Cuinet, La Turquie D'asie, 42.
115
Emancipated African Sharecroppers – The Most Vulnerable of All
The dangers of falling into an ostensibly unfree labour arrangement would have been
especially present for newly emancipated Africans. One of the main reasons for this was that
while the African slave trade had been prohibited by 1857, slavery itself continued to be legal in
Ottoman domains. Moreover, as noted in chapter one, there was a history of enslaved Africans
on farms in Izmir’s hinterland from at least the eighteenth-century. Orhan Kurmuş, working from
the number of emancipated slaves recorded in the British consular reports between 1869 and
1876, estimated that if a mere 10 percent of all Africans slaves were being liberated by the
British, there would have been approximately 13 500 in Izmir’s rural interior in the third quarter
of the nineteenth-century. 38 However, Quataert has rightly questioned Kurmuş’ methodology. 39
First, the estimate of 10 percent is entirely arbitrary. Second, the records of the British consul in
Izmir cannot be used to estimate those enslaved throughout western Anatolia. Third, it is
incorrect to assume all slaves in the hinterland were agricultural labourers when many - probably
the majority - were employed in domestic work. Thus Kurmuş fails to provide any conclusive
insights into linkages between African slavery and agricultural labour in Izmir’s hinterland.
However, his work does underscore the fact that when emancipated Africans arrived to work as
labourers on farms in Izmir’s hinterland in the third quarter of the nineteenth century, they likely
ended up working alongside legally enslaved Africans. Such a scenario, in which both enslaved
and recently freed Africans worked side by side on the same çiftlik, would not have played out in
favour of the emancipated Africans. Centuries of enslavement of Africans supported by religious
38
Kurmuș, Emperyalizmin Türkiyeʼye Giriş, 110-110; Pamuk, The Ottoman Empire and European Capitalism, 100.
39
116
edicts doubtless associated Africans with slavery in the minds of most Muslim middle and upper
class men. 40 As landlords, these men would not have treated emancipated Africans on their farms
on equal footing with other sharecroppers from the Balkans or other northern parts of the empire.
Furthermore, many of the new African arrivals had recently been emancipated following
their capture in, and transport from, sub-Saharan Africa. Thus, they had already been forcibly
removed from their native land and psychologically degraded. In addition, the growing seasons
and environmental conditions of their African homelands were very different from those of rural
Anatolia. They lacked the knowledge and skills to farm effectively, much less independently. In
contrast, most other newcomers to Izmir’s hinterland were agricultural peasants from the
Balkans, Crimea and the Caucusus, which enjoyed environmental conditions similar to Anatolia.
They would have had a distinct advantage over the Africans, and a greater chance of becoming
successful farmers and avoid falling into exploitative work relations.
It is difficult to assess from qualitative data alone to what degree these conditions shaped
the experiences of emancipated slaves in rural Anatolia. However it is clear that the context in
which newly emancipated Africans arrived in the region did not augur well for their acquisition
of a level of independence and stability matching those of other (non-African) labourers. These
circumstances however, have been largely neglected by both economic historians of nineteenth-
century Izmir, and historians of slavery in the Ottoman Empire.
The Planned Settlement of emancipated Africans in Izmir’s hinterland
By the late nineteenth century, the Ottoman state became actively involved in moving
emancipated Africans to Izmir’s hinterland to address the region’s labour shortage. These actions
40
117
may have had historical precedence. For example, in 1848, the sub-Saharan sultanate of Bornu
sent seventy slaves as a gift to the Ottoman court. The Ottoman sultan manumitted these slaves
upon their arrival, forced them to marry one another, and placed them on “farms belonging to the
crown to protect them from destitution.” 41 Once on these farms, they probably entered into
sharecropping arrangements. This example shows that the sultan, and thus the state, were willing
to direct emancipated Africans to where he saw fit and exploit their labour. Forcefully marrying
them also demonstrates that the state opted to prioritize its needs over those of the newly “free.”
When the Ottoman state signed the General Act of the Brussels Conference in 1890, it
became responsible for the welfare of newly-emancipated slaves and the British government and
its consuls in Ottoman lands put increasing pressure on their Ottoman counterparts to honour
their responsibilities. That same year, the Ottoman state devised a plan to move newly
emancipated slaves within the empire (with the exception of those in Istanbul) to Izmir. ‘Guest-
houses’ were established in every major city to act as temporary detention centres for these
former slaves before they were moved to Izmir. 42
In order to further provide for the growing needs of Izmir’s rapidly developing
agricultural region, Ottoman officials devised a plan that involved forcibly marrying
emancipated Africans and settling them in the hinterland where houses were to be constructed
for them and they were to be provided with basic farming tools. 43 Furthermore, as noted above,
forcing emancipated Africans into family units was ideal for sharecropping. Some emancipated
African women were also sent on their own to the hinterland villages to work as domestic
servants in the households of wealthy farmers. 44 Thus, while guaranteeing the emancipation of
41
42
43
44
Martal, "Afrika'dan Izmir'e," 177-178.
118
these Africans, the government directed their labour according to its needs, and attempted to
control their reproductive capacity – two facets of control that were characteristic of slavery.
Erdem notes that in 1890, negotiations occurred between the Ministry of the Interior in
Istanbul and the governor of Izmir about the cost of settling emancipated Africans in Izmir’s
hinterland. In these discussions, the governor said he was unable to come up with the funds from
regional resources, and therefore set up a local subscription campaign to help fund the purchase
of some tools and farm implements. 45 After some financial squabbling, the settlement plan seems
to have been implemented. However, neither Erdem nor Abdullah Martal, who both examined
discussions around this plan in detail, provide evidence to conclusively demonstrate its success.
Erdem’s sole remark is that the plan was likely successful because there are villages in Izmir’s
hinterland today with high proportions of people of African descent. He suggests that the unusual
names of some villages in this region, such as Yeniçiftlik (New Big Farm) Yeniköy (New
Village) Hasköy (Royal Village) reflect that they were constructed as part of this settlement
plan. 46
The Ottoman state’s intervention into private processes of emancipation has often been
explained through a repetition of the state’s own discourse of benevolence. For Toledano, the
nineteenth-century Ottoman state “offered protection and benevolence” through “responsible
placement” of emancipated slaves into elite households. 47 In his view, motivated by
“humanitarian considerations,” the state “reluctantly” involved itself in the slave-slaveholder
relationship and created a new and direct dialogue with the slaves themselves. 48 By contrast,
45
Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 180. These types of schemes were common in the late Ottoman period
and, most notably were responsible for funding the Hijaz railway, see: Quataert, "Part IV: The Age of Reforms,”
808-809.
46
Erdem Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, 180.
47
48
Toledano, As if Silent and Absent, 139, 111.
119
Erdem believes that state intervention was “necessitated” by the growing numbers of slaves
being rescued or running to consuls for safety. In this context, the Ottoman state was simply
trying to “secure the future well-being of freed slaves.” 49 Similarly, Martal considers that the
Ottoman government wished “to ensure that the emancipated slaves [did] not remain in a state of
misery for an extended period of time.” 50 However, when the state’s actions to shape the lives of
emancipated Africans are understood within the economic context of an acute labour shortage
discussed above, they appear less like benevolence and more like pragmatism. This is not
surprising given that the priority for the state was to maintain the economic engine that was
Izmir’s hinterland.
The Kadife-i Kebir çiftlik of Tire and the Mekteb-i Sanayii
The relationship between the the Kadife-i Kebir çiftlik of Tire and the Mekteb-i Sanayi
demonstrates how some emancipated Africans arrived in Izmir’s countryside. As noted in
chapter two, the Mekteb-i Sanayi, the state-run institution established to house and educate
orphans and vagrants where some emancipated Africans were also reportedly sent, was intended
to be economically self-sufficient. Its sources of revenue included urban businesses and rural
çiftliks. This connection to the countryside is thus one of the mechanisms that brought orphans,
refugees, and emancipated Africans to Izmir’s farms. The Ottoman provincial record for 1891
notes that the Kadife-i Kebir, a large çiftlik near Tire was the most significant source of revenue
for the perennially underfunded Mekteb-i Sanayi. 51 The state had given the Mekteb-i Sanayi of
Izmir the right to manage and profit from this farm beginning in 1869 after it had been
49
50
Martal, "Afrika'dan Izmir'e,” 174-175.
51
120
nationalized following the death of its previous owner. 52 At a public auction the same year an
unknown third party leased Kadife-i Kebir çiftlik for 3-4 years during which time it became the
second most important source of revenue for the school next to the Cezayir Han (discussed in
chapter two), contributing almost 10 percent of the total income. 53 According to the Ottoman
provincial notebook of 1891, Kadife-i Kebir comprised a village (karye), with a population of
434 people, who worked 93 plots of land. 54 The state’s conceptualization of the farm as a
“village” demonstrates how sharecroppers formed permanent settlements around the lands that
they worked, while the fact that there was an average of 4.7 people per plot, reflects the
predomination of family-sized units.
It is possible that the school directed its students, who were trained in a variety of trades,
to work on this farm, perhaps for an additional fee from the leasee. The benefits of this school-
çiftlik relationship were numerous. From the perspective of the leasee on the farm, it provided a
reliable pool of workers. For the school, a more productive çiftlik meant greater revenues. In
addition, this relationship served the state’s goal of developing agriculture in Izmir’s hinterland.
The land around Tire was in fact highly productive and had direct links to Izmir’s port.
According to Cuinet, Tire was one of the biggest commercial centres in Izmir’s hinterland in the
late nineteenth century. 55 The land around it was also extremely fertile, located on the Izmir-
Konya historical caravan route, and since the mid-nineteenth century, connected to Izmir by rail
(as part of the Izmir-Aydın line). Interestingly, Cuinet also notes that licorice root was the source
of “une grande fortune” for a British company that held a monopoly over its production in the
region. It is possible that licorice root was also the major product on the Kadife-i Kebir çiftlik
52
Yakın, Izmir Sanayi Mektebi, 64.
53
Yakın, Izmir Sanayi Mektebi, 69. Yakın also notes that there were smaller farms located in Narlıdere also used a
sources of income for the school.
54
55
Cuinet, La Turquie D'asie, 142.
121
which, because of its large size, close proximity to a railway, and reliable labour pool, probably
focused on intensive agricultural production for export.56
Unfortunately there is little information about who actually lived and worked on the farm,
and how many of them might have been emancipated Africans. The state enrolled some rescued
Africans in the Mekteb-i Sanayi, but it is unknown how many graduated and were sent to the
interior. However, it does appear that the farms around Tire also had another pool of labour to
draw upon: enslaved Africans. It is known that Tire was an important slave market even in the
era of abolition and therefore enslaved Africans were certainly working near the Kadife-i Kebir
çiftlik. 57 Indeed, the British consul of Izmir in 1869 described that each July, just before the
harvest, the Tire slave market boomed. 58 For farms in dire need of labourers such as the çiftliks
around Tire, it is reasonable to believe that landlords tapped into this readily available source of
labour as well, suggesting that enslaved and emancipated Africans may have periodically worked
on this çiftlik together. The history of Kadife-i Kebir çiftlik thus reveals a direct link between the
state-run school in Izmir and the rural interior whereby emancipated Africans were moved from
the city centre to the hinterland in an attempt by the state to address the ever-present rural labour
shortage. 59
The Settlement Program Beyond 1900
Little is known about how the state directed Africans to Izmir’s hinterland after 1900.
Existing studies on emancipated Africans and their relationship to Izmir’s hinterland typically
56
Cuinet, La Turquie D'asie, 197.
57
Kurmuș, Emperyalizmin Türkiyeʼye Girişi 111.
58
Kurmuș, Emperyalizmin Türkiyeʼye Girişi 111.
59
It is important not to over emphasize the impact of these programs. Indeed, Kasaba notes, settlement of refugees
of any background by the state to address the labour shortage lacked systematic cohesiveness. And thus their impact
on the economic output of the region is difficult to assess but likely not what the state had intended, Kasaba, 69-70.
122
end their analyses around 1900. 60 This abrupt halt in the literature is likely a result of the sources
upon which these studies are based. By the late 1890s, the British government believed that
African slavery in the Ottoman Empire was no longer of major concern. Less time and energy
was thus put in to policing it. As a result, the foreign commentary (and documentation) on this
topic largely comes to an end at this time. 61 Historians have replicated this timeline: as the trail
evidence ends, so do their examinations of Ottoman Slavery. Thus, the history of emancipated
Africans in Izmir’s hinterland after 1900 remains largely unknown.
However there exists a scattered trail of domestic documents that demonstrate that the
movement of emancipated Africans to Izmir’s interior likely continued. For example, in the
spring of 1906, Italian military ships cruising off the North African coast near Tripoli intercepted
a boat trying to smuggle African slaves. Subsequently, the Council of Ministers in Istanbul
ordered them to be sent to Izmir. These Africans, some of them children, were to be freed and
trained in agricultural and industrial methods and settled in “appropriate places in Izmir.” 62
Thus, despite the end of detailed British documentary evidence on the subject, the slave trade,
and settlement of rescued Africans in Izmir, continued into the twentieth century. Demand for
such labour continued until at least 1914. It was only during World War I that many export
markets in Western Europe were closed to products from Izmir’s hinterland and, with a decline
in export production, the agricultural labour shortage in Izmir province came to an end.
Africans in the Torbalı Population Register of 1904
60
For example, see: Erdem, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire; Martal, “Afrika'dan İzmir'e”; Toledano, Slave Trade.
61
62
BOA/MV/113/112, 24 Rebulahir 1324 [23 May 1906].
123
A hitherto unknown population register from 1904 the hinterland town of Torbalı, some
50km southeast of Izmir, provides concrete evidence that Africans were in fact settled in large
numbers in the Anatolian countryside by this time. 63 The registry contains information about
every adult in villages around Torbalı. The places of origin listed for many villagers include
Sudan, Egypt, Ottoman Tripoli (Libya), Derna, Benghazi, Tunis, and the Arabian Peninsula. 64
Those registered also bear names which indicate their racial background, a common practice for
enslaved or formerly enslaved Africans in Ottoman lands, such as “Arap” or “Zenci (or the
feminine Zenciye) meaning, ambiguously, black or negro. To take but a few examples, one Arap
Ferhat, son of Abdullah and Hatice, a resident of the village of Tulum, was born in Arabia in
1844. His wife, Fatma, was also born in Arabia, in 1856. A certain Zenci Ibrahim, son of
Abdullah and Meryem and his wife Zenciye Feraset, residents of Pamukyazı village, were born
in Sudan in 1825 and 1860 respectively. 65 Since Pamukyazı means “cotton summer” in Turkish,
it can be assumed that this village was originally settled by seasonal migrants who picked cotton
in the summer and ended up staying year round, forming a çiflık village. Another resident of
Pamukyazı was Menekşe Dadı, an unmarried woman, born in Arabia in 1854. Dadı is one of the
many Turkish words used to describe domestic workers responsible for looking after children, a
job typically assigned to emancipated African women. 66 Thus by 1904 emancipated Africans had
been established in great number is Izmir’s hinterland.
It is no coincidence that Izmir’s interior was both the site of an acute labour shortage and
the settlement of emancipated Africans. Ex-slaves arrived in the agricultural lands outside Izmir
63
This register was recently uncovered by a local historian Necat Çetin who was one of the first to access the
holdings of the newly opened municipal archive of Torbalı in July 2012. A copy of his findings are located in
ADKYDA.
64
Necat Çetin, unpublished study, ADKYDA.
65
Necat Çetin, unpublished study, ADKYDA.
66
See for example: Saz, 19. Anılar.
124
as part of the waves of newcomers that flooded the region. Once there, the position newly
emancipated Africans found themselves in was precarious as best. Given that African slavery
was still legal in the empire at this time, emancipated Africans were no doubt pushed towards
working in unfree labour conditions. In such a system, it is likely that some chose to leave their
exploitative contracts and undesirable relationships for alternative means to earn a living.
Emancipated Africans as Bandits in Izmir’s Hinterland
In the 1860s, British ethnologist Hyde Clarke, while travelling in Izmir’s countryside,
noted the existence of certain bandits who he described as “very fine negroes of Turkish birth…
above six feet high.” 67 Who were these men who left such a strong impression on this foreign
visitor? What drew them to live outside the law? In his highly influential study of the
phenomenon, Eric Hobsbawm declared that “[b]anditry is freedom.” 68 Yet neither he, nor others
since, have analyzed the links between slavery, emancipation, and banditry. This is not
surprising given that such a transition would have largely occurred outside the realm of written
evidence. However, given the perilous labour conditions recently emancipated Africans faced in
Izmir’s interior, as described above it can be said that the contrast between their previous lives
and this so-called “freedom” as outlaws would have been striking to say the least. It is argued
here that the presence of African bandits in Izmir’s hinterland, while difficult to trace, is
reflected in local cultural production from the late nineteenth century to the present. The
following section explores the world of African banditry in Izmir’s hinterland. First, it begins by
describing the unique nature of banditry in western Anatolia in the late-nineteenth century. 69
67
Hyde Clarke, “On the Supposed Extinction of the Turks and Increase of the Christians in Turkey,” Journal of the
Statistical of London, vol 28, no 2 (June 1865), 273.
68
Eric J. Hobsbawm, Bandits. (New York: Delacorte Press, 1969), 24.
69
The most authoritative study on banditry in Izmir’s hinterland is: Sabri Yetkin, Ege'de Eşkıyalar. (Istanbul:
Türkiye Ekonomik ve Toplumsal Tarih Vakfı, 1996).
125
Second, it discusses the factors behind why some emancipated Africans may have chosen to
become bandits. Third, it brings together various – fragmented – pieces of evidence to reveal
glimpses into the lives of African bandits in the mountains and valleys outside Izmir.
In the nineteenth-century Ottoman Empire, there were a wide variety of practices which
could be described as banditry. Those who engaged in banditry were not simply a motley group
of petty criminals or robbers inhabiting the countryside. In western Anatolia they were a distinct
class of bandits who, rejecting Ottoman law and the state, lived according to their own social
system and moral code. 70 In the area around Izmir, these bandits were most often referred to as
zeybeks or efes. They wore distinctive waist belts, hats and clothes decorated with long tassels
and bits of metal. They were almost always armed with a rifle, curved sword, and knives. Styled
in this way, they differentiated themselves from everyone else in the countryside. 71 Ottoman
historians have labeled these zeybeks and efes as “social bandits,” as they are believed to have
been revered amongst poor villagers for their bravery and resistance to the perceived
oppressiveness of the Ottoman state. Villagers believed these bandits fought on their behalf,
helping them financially or offering protection when needed. 72
However, prior to the late nineteenth-century, many zeybeks worked as mercenaries, or as
security guards for travelers venturing from the port to the countryside. As they protected
property and goods for money, their primary allegiance was to their own preservation, not the
rural poor. Nevertheless, in the late nineteenth-century, bandits became increasingly involved in
70
M. Çağatay Uluçay, 18 ve 19. yüzyıllarda Saruhan'da eşkiyalık ve halk hareketleri (Istanbul: Berksoy Basımevi,
1955), 174. Izmir’s hinterland has a long and storied history of banditry. This is largely because of the critical role
bandits and other irregulars played in fighting off the occupying Greek army between 1919 and 1922.
71
Yetkin, Ege'de Eşkıyalar, 19.
72
See: Hobsbawm, Bandits;Yetkin, Ege'de Eşkıyalar.
126
harassing travelers and commercial caravans laden with goods bound for Izmir. 73 In response,
the Ottoman state made numerous but ultimately unsuccessful attempts to suppress banditry in
Western Anatolia.
In 1883, the Izmir governor’s office produced a detailed report on banditry in Izmir. Its
three main conclusions were that banditry thrived because the province’s nomadic peoples
offered bandits shelter and provisions that the municipal administration was corrupt and its
officials “talentless” and “ignorant,” and that the gendarmerie was too understaffed,
undertrained, and ill-equipped to cope with the phenomenon. 74 Another report in 1886 gave
concrete advice on how to suppress banditry in the countryside. However, the solutions relied
almost entirely on villagers, who were urged to survey and report bandit activity, and even arrest
bandits. 75 This again reflected the inability of local authorities to tackle the issue. By 1893, when
prisoners were regularly escaping from the newly-built prison on Izmir’s waterfront and fleeing
to the countryside to join roving gangs, the situation was so dire that the state offered pardons to
well-known bandits in the hope that they would relinquish banditry. 76 Ultimately however, the
Ottoman state was never fully able to suppress banditry in Izmir’s hinterland. M. Çağatay Uluçay
estimates that by the end of the nineteenth century, that there were approximately 4000 bandits in
the region – double the number of soldiers stationed there. 77
Men became bandits for different reasons: to escape a repressive landlord, excessive
taxation, legal penalties, military service or other state harassment. 78 Some were sharecroppers
73
Enver Behnan Şapolyo, “Efe, Zeybek, Kizan Yasayışlar i ve Adetleri,” Turk Yurdu, 234, 1, (July 1954), 53-54. In
this sense, they resembled the Italian banditti, Greek klephts, and Balkan haiduks, who Hobsbawm discussed in
detail. See: Hobsbawm, Bandits.
74
Yetkin, Ege'de eşkıyalar, 68.
75
Yetkin, Ege'de eşkıyalar, 70.
76
Yetkin, Ege'de eşkıyalar,71, 73.
77
Uluçay, 18 ve 19. yüzyıllarda Saruhan'da eşkiyalık, 70-73.
78
Olcay Pullukçuoğlu Yapucu, Modernleşme sürecinde bir sancak: Aydın (Kağıthane, Istanbul: Kitap Yayınevi,
2007), 179, 183-184.
127
or seasonal labourers threatened with indebtedness because they had neither the knowledge nor
the resources to farm properly. 79 Indeed, the rise in banditry coincided with the arrival of
unprecedentedly large numbers of labourers in Izmir’s hinterland (as described above). These
refugees were aliens, with no local connections, and as sharecroppers had no claim to the land
they worked. 80 Given the absence of such attachments, an exploitative work regime, and the very
real threat of impoverishment and indebtedness, many migrants turned to banditry. While the life
of a bandit was incredibly difficult in its own right, living a semi-nomadic existence in the
mountains, under constant threat from the state, the predicament many of these refugees found
themselves in was not much better: there were few legal options to improve their lives. 81
Moreover, the geography of Western Anatolia offered bandits potentially rich pickings.
This was particularly the case for the Menderes valley, a mixture of rugged mountains and rich
and productive valleys southeast of Izmir. Small mountain passes controlled key routes through
the area, offering bandits the opportunity to rob trade caravans, and capture for ransom important
officials and businessmen. 82
From Enslavement to Banditry
Banditry may have been an appealing option for formerly enslaved Africans if they
believed it was a means to improve their livelihoods. However, given that no sources exist which
explicitly detail how and why emancipated Africans became bandits in Izmir’s hinterland,
79
In the case of the nomadic peoples of western Anatolia, the Yörüks, who traveled with their pasture animals and
lived off the land, the transition to a life of banditry would have been less difficult. This would have been
particularly easy when their grazing lands were taken over and developed into cash-crop farms. Indeed, many
nineteenth-century bandits have “Yörük” as their nickname, suggesting this origin. The most notable of which is
Yörük Ali Efe. W.G. Clarence-Smith has shown that many bandits in southern Africa at this same time were former
nomadic peoples who had undergone a similar displacement from their pasturelands with the arrival of cash crop
agriculture, particular during the cotton boom of the American Civil War. William-Gervase Clarence‐Smith,
"Runaway Slaves and Social Bandits in Southern Angola, 1875–1913" Slavery & Abolition 6, 3, (1985), 29.
80
Hobsbawm, Bandits, 27; Pullukçuoğlu Yapucu, Modernleşme sürecinde bir sancak, 182; , “Izmir 1922: A Port
City Unravels,” 219.
82
Pullukçuoğlu Yapucu, Modernleşme sürecinde bir sancak 180-181.
128
examining their history is a complicated task. One likely reason they became bandits was
inadequate integration into the households to which they were connected following
emancipation. Rather, they were pushed into the precarious life of the seasonal labourer, or a
low-earning sharecropper, always threatened with indebtedness and impoverishment. They were,
in a sense, social misfits and so while banditry seems like a high-risk option, it may have been no
more or less secure than any other available to them.
Archival sources that reveal the presence of African bandits of Izmir’s hinterland are hard
to come by. Like bandits everywhere, they necessarily kept themselves hidden, and are thus
largely undocumented by the state except for references to their criminal acts, arrests, or
executions. Furthermore, as discussed in the introduction, Ottoman sources do not record
ethnicity as a demographic category. Thus piecing together the lives of African bandits in Izmir’s
hinterland is challenging and requires a bit of “narrative imagination.” 83 The only sources
available to describe the social and cultural history of African bandits in Izmir’s hinterland
include folklore, paintings, photographs, songs, and tales. Another technique is to look in state
documents for bandits who have Zenci or Arap as their nickname (lakap), as this implies that
they were Africans.
Visual evidence from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, in the form of
post-cards and photographs, demonstrate the existence of Africans zeybeks. A postcard from
Izmir, dated 1902, features five zeybeks posing for the photographer, in their unique dress,
holding swords and rifles.
83
Toledano, Silent and Absent, 38.
129
Figure VI - Postcard featuring a group of Zeybeks, with 2 Afro-Zeybeks. 84
At least two are clearly of sub-Saharan African descent (Afro-zeybeks). There are three reasons
to believe that these zeybeks were probably irregular forces working for the Ottoman state: first,
the presence of the standard issue Ottoman army tents in the background; second, the caption
“Zeybek drills” which suggests structured military practice; and third, the fact that a
photographer was allowed to take and publish such a photo. After all, it would be highly unlikely
that a photographer could have arranged to photograph real bandits. This photo then is a
depiction of zeybeks and Afro-zeybeks working as irregular troops for the Ottoman state.
A painting from the late nineteenth-century entitled “Grand Country coffee-shop at
84
Author unknown, “Exercise des Zeibeks,” date unknown. Postcard. Consulted at APKA, 17 August 2011.
130
Aydın” by folk-artist Theophilos Hatzimihail from the nearby island of Lesvos, depicts zeybeks
in Izmir’s hinterland cooking and celebrating.
Figure VII - “Grand Country coffee-shop at Aydın” - Theophilos Hatzimihail (1933). 85
85
Reproduced in Theophilos Chatzēmichaēl and George Manoussakis, Theophilos (Athens: Commercial Bank of
Greece, 1966), 23.
131
Figure VIII - Magnified portion of “Grand Country coffee-shop at Aydın.”
132
At the centre of the work is an Afro-Zeybek named Baba Aziz Arap. Much of Hatzimihail’s
oeuvre which focuses on snapshots of contemporary life of non-elites at work remains
underappreciated and little known outside of Greece. For a brief period in the 1880s, Hatzimihail
lived in Izmir which is when he would probably have witnessed this scene. 86 Aydın was the
terminus for one of the rail lines into the interior which passed near Tire and Torbalı. On the left
hand side of the painting, Hatzimihail depicts characters who typically would have frequented
such a coffee house. On the far left is a Circassian chief, and to his right sits a turbaned man,
suggesting his position as religious official. To his right sits a man wearing a fez, indicating his
profession as a state official. All three are distant from, but gazing upon, a number of zeybeks
who dominate the coffee shop scene. They are portrayed as celebrating, dancing, playing
instruments, and cooking. While described in the caption accompanying the painting as “second
in command’ to Gerali Zeybek, the Afro-Zeybek Baba Aziz Arap appears as the focal point of
the painting. 87 Adorned in a more ornate costume then the others, he sits in a throne-like chair,
with Gerali Zeybek standing next to him. Indeed, the name Baba Aziz means “revered leader” in
Turkish.
There are also numerous folk songs romanticizing the exploits of Zeybeks in Western
Anatolia that are still sung in contemporary Turkey. Among these songs, Abdurarahim
Karademir has noted one in particular which mentions an Afro-Zeybek:
Arap Zeybek pencereden avladı The Black Zeybek shot from the window
Çirkin Ali kollarımı dağladı Ali the ugly branded my arms
86
For a full biography see: Chatzēmichaēl and Manoussakis, Theophilos.
87
My Thanks to Anastassios Anastassiadis for helping to decipher Hatzimichail’s handwriting.
133
Eyübüm’ün kanlı gömleğini görünce Upon seeing my dear Eyüp’s bloody shirt
Anacığı hüngür hüngür ağladı His mom cried sobbingly88
This song demontrates the existence of an oral culture that contains tales of Afro-Zeybeks. In this
example, the Afro-Zeybek is the enemy, causing grief and sorrow. He is the villan and not the
typical folk hero.
Zeybeks had numerous ritual dances which have today become popular folk dances. This
is particularly true in Turkey’s Aegean region. One of the most well known is the Koca Arap
(Strong Arab/African) dance which is dedicted to a famous Afro-Zeybek named Koca Arap. 89
The dance is generally performed by one person, and involves highly technical slow motion
movements which are meant to connote the bravery and courage of Koca Arap. This photograph
from the early twentieth century allegedly shows an African (and likely Afro-Zeybek)
performing this dance in a village near the hinterland town of Ödemiş:
88
Abdurrahim Karademir, “Afro Zeybekler ve Koca Arap Zeybek Dansı” Egeden, (Izmir: Ege Universitesi, 3, 9,
Summer 2011), 46.
89
Abdurrahim Karademir, “Afro Zeybekler ve Koca Arap Zeybek Dansı, ” 47; Enver Behnan Şapolyo, “Efe,
Zeybek, Kizan Yasayışlar i ve Adetleri,” Turk Yurdu, 234, 1, (July 1954), 53.
134
Figure IX. Afro-Zeybek performing the Koca Arap dance in Ödemiş, approx 1900. 90
The followingwords usually open the performance:
Koca Arap Dedikleri bir kara dana Who they call the Strong African is one black calf
Çeker bıçağı girer meydana who draws his knife and goes into the square
Böyle aslan doğurmaz her ana Not all mothers would give birth to such a lion 91
This apparent reference to the Calf Festival (as described in chapter four) can be interpereted as a
lasting connection in the Turkish historical memory to a distinctly African practice. Koca Arap is
presented as exceptionally brave amongst zeybeks. Unlike the poem above, the Afro-Zeybek
here is presented as hero.
As noted above, nicknames denoting ethnicity or origin can help indicate the presence of
90
Uknown photograph reproduced in Abdurrahim Karademir, “Afro Zeybekler ve Koca Arap Zeybek Dansı,” 47.
91
Abdurrahim Karademir, “Afro Zeybekler ve Koca Arap Zeybek Dansı,” 47.
135
Africans in Izmir’s hinterland. Indeed, numerous bandits who gained notoriety in Izmir’s
countryside do in fact have such names or nicknames, including Parmaksız Arap, Arap Halil,
Arap Ömeroğlu, and Koca Arap. 92 Furthermore, a letter dated 1856 from the Council of
Ministers in Istanbul notes that amongst a group of bandits arrested near Izmir was a certain
Zenci Ali (Ali the Black or Ali the Negro). These bandits were ordered to be deported to
Ottoman Libya (Fezzan) as punishment for their crimes. Interestingly, this might have sent Zenci
Ali back to the very port in Africa through which he was shipped as a slave to Izmir. 93
Afro-Zeybeks in the cultural imaginary of modern Izmir: the Story of Arap Abdullah
Reflecting the legacy of Afro-Zeybeks in the late Ottoman period, folktales still told in
contemporary Izmir tell the stories of African bandits. Yaşar Ürük, a local historian in Izmir, has
recently published the story of one of the most famous Afro-Zeybeks of Izmir, Arap Abdullah. 94
While the historical veracity of stories about individual zeybeks of all backgrounds is often
difficult to establish, it is known that Arap Abdullah was in fact a real person. 95 The folktale is
divided into four key parts, each of which reflect many of the real life experiences of Africans in
Izmir’s hinterland, discussed above.
The first is Abdullah’s arrival to Izmir’s hinterland: Abdullah was born in the Sudan
around 1820. After being orphaned, he was taken north (presumably enslaved) to the Ottoman
Empire. 96 Upon arriving in the hinterland town of Torbalı, he was given to a local village leader
(ağa) who raised him. The second part recounts Abdullah’s transition from çiftlik worker to
92
Yetkin, Ege'de eşkıyalar, 94, 100; Kasaba, “Izmir 1922: A Port City Unravels,” 219.
93
BOA/A.}MKT.MVL/ 77/ 36, 29 Rebiülahir 1272 [8 January 1856 ].
94
Also known as Parmaksız Arap Efe or Arap Mercan Efe. Yaşar Ürük, Iğne Deliğinden Izmir, (Alsancak, Izmir:
Yakın Kitabevi, 2011), 186-188.
95
Yetkin, Ege'de eşkıyalar, 94, 100; Kasaba, “Izmir 1922: A Port City Unravels,” 219.
96
The fact that Ürük leaves out any mention of enslavement, either of Abdullah’s childhood in the Sudan, is likely
as result of the silencing of the slave experience in twentieth-century republican Turkey, a topic discussed further in
chapter five
136
zeybek: when Abdullah was 20 years old, he worked as a camel caravan guide on the ağa’s
çifltik. One day, he was tasked with delivering a caravan full of dried figs to the ağa’s business
contacts in Izmir. After delivering the load to their destination in the port, Abdullah went to a
beerhouse along with his fellow caravan workers. There, a Greek woman and young Levantine
man tried to rob them. Abdullah escaped to the street, killing three men in the process. He then
fled to the mountains of the hinterland where he become a bandit. 97 Part three describes his
exploits as a bandit leader: Arap Abdullah roamed the rugged terrain around Torbalı and
Ödemiş. He gained the reputation of a fearsome bandit leader in the mountain passes of the
Menderes Valley. Villagers in the region revered him as a local hero. He often came to their
defense when threatened by petty criminals or overzealous landlords. Fourth, the story closes by
telling of Abdullah’s benevolence towards villagers in his later years: Abdullah retired from
active banditry in 1879. In this new phase of his life, he helped to organize and settle disputes
between different bandit groups in Izmir’s hinterland. While living in the village of Sultan
Çiftliği outside of Torbalı, he also helped support poor villagers and farmers by buying farming
tools and helping them pay for dowries. 98
Thus, this folktale brings together a number of elements about the history of Africans in
Izmir’s hinterland. It explains the arrival of Abdullah to the region through enslavement, his
work on a large farm, his transition to banditry as not one of choice but necessity, and his deeds
as an honourable bandit who looked cared for rural peoples. As such, this folktale shows how the
presence of Afro-Zeybeks in Izmir’s hinterland in the late nineteenth century still resonates
today.
Western Anatolia has an extensive history of banditry in the nineteenth century. The
97
Ürük, Iğne Deliğinden Izmir, 187.
98
137
abolition of the slave trade helped to increase the number of Africans in Izmir’s hinterland in this
period. Even though the documentary evidence is lacking, it is clear that some left the
agricultural labour system and took their destiny into their own hands. In so-doing, they removed
themselves from the restraints of the state or repressive landlords. Becoming a bandit allowed
African men to gain a degree of autonomy in their lives, but it did not come without risk. As an
outlaw, they were under constant threat of arrest by Ottoman authorities. It must be kept in mind
that, this option was only available to emancipated African men. As will be shown in chapter
four, African women had other methods and strategies to acquire personal autonomy.
Conclusion
This chapter has discussed the presence of emancipated Africans in Izmir’s hinterland in
the late nineteenth-century. It has shown that they were part of a general flow of labour to rapidly
developing countryside. It has discussed the perilous position that ex-slaves found themselves in
as agricultural labourers working as sharecroppers. It described and explained the presence of
African bandits in the region, and suggested that banditry, while dangerous in itself, was one of
the ways in which emancipated Africans could create for themselves some personal autonomy.
In this way, the arrival of Africans in Izmir’s hinterland made an important albeit
unacknowledged impact on the history of Izmir’s hinterland in the late nineteenth century.
138
Chapter 4 – The Calf Festival
Introduction
By far the most well-known aspect of the history of the enslaved and emancipated
Africans in Izmir is the Calf Festival (Dana Bayramı). An annual event, the Calf Festival,
gathered Africans together in the name of spiritual and social solidarity. It thus forms a defining
feature of African identity in Izmir. There may have been a Calf Festival in Izmir for centuries,
linked to the African festival noted by Faroqhi in the hinterland in the sixteenth-century. 1
However, the majority of information on the Calf Festival is from the late nineteenth and early
twentieth-centuries, and it is upon this that the following description and analysis is based. This
chapter begins by describing the festival in detail before examining its possible origins, and the
reasons why emancipated Africans chose to maintain it. The festival and the associated religio-
spiritual practices are then compared to similar African practices elsewhere within and beyond
the Ottoman Empire. The significance of the festival within the local context of religious
devotion at a specific shared tomb is examined, as are the motivations behind its prohibition in
the 1890s. Finally, this chapter examines the language used in locally published newspaper
articles to demonstrate how people thought about the Calf Festival and the emancipated Africans
in the late nineteenth-century. The chapter concludes by evaluating the significance of the Calf
Festival within the local festival landscape of late nineteenth-century Izmir.
Description
According to many observers, each neighbourhood on or near Kadifekale with significant
African populations, such as Temaşalık, Ikiçeşmelik, Mizraklı, Yapıcıoğlu, Dolapdere,
1
Faroqhi, “Black Slaves and Freedmen Celebrating”
139
Kireçlikaya, and Damlacık, participated in and held Calf Festival celebrations of their own.
However they came together for the concluding and largest day of the event. 2 The location of the
main festival grounds seems to have changed. Perhaps it rotated annually between the different
African neighbourhoods. One of the earliest known sites for the Calf Festival was reportedly to
the east of Kadifekale, on the grounds of what is today the Eşrefpaşa Wedding Hall. 3 Another
location reportedly used into the early Turkish Republic is a site slightly north of the castle atop
Kadifekale, in the current neighbourhood of Ali Reis. 4 There, it is said that Africans used the
remnants of an ancient Roman theatre as the grounds for their festival. Indeed even today, this
area is still known informally by local residents as Calf Square. 5 However, as most written
sources from the late Ottoman period place the festival atop Kadifekale, this is where the
following analysis concentrates.
Late nineteenth-century sources indicate that the Calf Festival took place annually over
three consecutive Fridays in May. The first of these Fridays was termed Dellâl Bayramı or
Declaration Festival. On this day a select number of community members dressed in red or white
tunics, including flag carriers, 6 and a person called a kabakçı başı, or head gourd-player, walked
in the street playing instruments made out of dried gourds announcing the upcoming festival.
Amongst this group of musicians was the community organizer or godya who was also the head-
priestess of the African community, described in one source as “a serious faced woman.” 7 Nail
Moralı records that there were often many godyas, all of whom were older women held in high
2
Ege, Eski İzmir’den Anılar, p.27; Hizmet (Izmir), 14 May 1892, 2; Anadolu (Izmir), 4 June 1944, 2.
3
Interview with Mustafa Olpak, 30 July 30 2012 (Izmir).
4
The exact location is now at the corner of 985 Street and 1035 Street.
5
Interview with Mustafa Olpak, 30 July 2012 (Izmir); Interview with Cemal Akselvili, 30 July 2012 (Izmir);
Interview with Rükiye Simali, 30 July 2012 (Izmir); Anadolu (Izmir), 4 June 1944, 2.
6
Ege, Eski İzmir’den Anılar, 27.
7
Hizmet (Izmir), 4 May 1894, 2.
140
regard and taken care of by the rest of the community. 8 This procession is reported to have
paraded through Izmir’s streets singing, to the accompaniment of gourds and drums, especially
in the neighbourhoods on and around Kadifekale. They also collected donations to cover the
costs of the festival in dried-out gourds or beggar’s cups, 9 clinking the money to the music as
they walked. If the donation was significant the godya would acknowledge the donor who the
parade participants would thank by shouting “maşallah” (bless you) in unison. 10 It is reported
that even the governor’s office gave donations. 11 These songs were apparently sung in an
African language: Moralı transliterates some of the lyrics as “glu glu” 12 while A. Şahabettin Ege
recorded them as “lülü,” 13 and Kadri Şencan as “lu lu lu.” 14 At the very least, this information
demonstrates that the African community sang the same songs year after year. When the parade
finished, many members of the African community gathered atop Kadifekale where they joined
together in announcing that the “Peştamal Bayramı” or “Cloth Festival” - so called as the
participants wore white cloth as part of the celebrations - would occur on the following Friday.
On Peştamal Bayramı, “a great multitude” of African participants, all wearing a similar
white tunic, congregated atop Kadifekale. There, they pooled all the donations in order to
purchase a desirable calf. Upon returning with the calf to Kadifekale, they dressed it up with
items such tulle, muslin, strings of dried red peppers, and a pink kerchief around its neck. 15 They
then paraded with the calf through the streets of Izmir to different markets, mosques, tombs, and
8
Nail Moralı, Mütarekede Izmir: Önceleri ve Sonraları, ed and trans., Erkan Serçe. (Izmir: Izmir Büyükşehir
Belediyesi Kültür Yayını, 2002), 12.
9
Hizmet (Izmir), 4 May 1894, 2; Moralı, Mütarekede Izmir, 12; Anadolu (Izmir), 4 June 1944, 2.
10
A common Turkish expression of praise, “wonderful!” or “magnificient!”; Hizmet (Izmir), 4 May 1894, 2.
11
Anadolu (Izmir), 4 June 1944, 2.
12
Moralı, Mütarekede Izmir, 12
13
14
15
Moralı, Mütarekede Izmir, 12.
141
sufi lodges, seeking blessings, 16 while once again playing gourd instruments, tambourines,
drums, ringing bells, and dancing. 17 Some reports indicate that each neighborhood atop
Kadifekale decorated its own calf. Thus the festival took on a competitive tone as each sought to
outdo the other. At times, this even resulted in shouting insults about a rival neighborhood’s
calf. 18 Moralı notes one such insult, corroborated by a current elderly resident of Kadifekale:
“[o]ur calf is the true calf, the Temaşalık calf is a shit calf!” 19
This series of small festival days culminated the following Friday in the Calf Festival
proper. It was on this day that the celebrations reached their climax. After waking at dawn, one
group of Africans dressed in their best clothes before again congregating atop Kadifekale to
decorate a calf and parade it through the city, while another group made preparations at the
cemetery surrounding the tomb of Yusuf Dede where the parade was to terminate. This place,
located next to the still-standing Ottoman fire tower that looks over the city, roughly 400 metres
east of Kadifekale castle, is where the calf was to be slaughtered. 20 Observers recall seeing
people from all backgrounds standing on rooftops, climbing up trees, and packing the streets to
view the parade. 21 When the procession reached the cemetery, the godya sacrificed the calf and
its blood was collected in pans and trays. Each of the participants then dipped their fingers in the
blood and marked themselves with it. Three to four cooks subsequently cooked pieces of the calf
with rice in three large pots, and prepared bazine, a soup made from okra and flour, which one
source states was specific to the Africans. This is still a popular soup in Libya – which was
possibly the country of origin of at least some of the Africans. After this feast, there was dancing
16
17
Hizmet (Izmir), 4 May 1894, 2; Nail Moralı, Mütarekede Izmir, 12.
18
Nail Moralı, Mütarekede Izmir, 12; Interview with Cemal Akselvili, 30 July 2012 (Izmir).
19
Nail Moralı, Mütarekede Izmir, 12.
20
21
142
and merrymaking for the remainder of the night. 22 It was then that hundreds of young
participants performed special African dances using batons and sticks to drum and zurna
music. 23 Numerous temporary coffeehouses were set up around the festival site, as were tents for
vendors of ice cream, helva, sunflower seeds, pistachios, dried chick peas, and candy apples. 24
Without firsthand accounts from African participants, it is difficult to explain the
motivations behind the Calf Festival. None of the literature that refers to the festival derives
directly from, or cites as its source, African participants. Nevertheless, two different authors have
asserted that the sacrifice of the calf ensures a prosperous and healthy year for the African
community. Early twentieth-century historian of Izmir Raif Nezihi indicates that the practice
originated in ancient Egypt, and that the sacrifice was initially human - involved drowning a
woman in the Nile – later replaced by a calf that was slaughtered. 25 A contemporary local
newspaper editor suggests that the African community performed the Calf Festival in order to
prevent (the ghost of) a headless African from causing sickness and harm to afflict the African
community and the population of the city as a whole. 26 Ege, another local author who also
witnessed the festival firsthand, gives a more practical reason for the festival. He states that it
was held annually before many of the Africans headed into the hinterland of Izmir to work on
farms as seasonal labourers for the summer. 27 There is evidence to suggest that Africans did
migrate from Kadifekale for seasonal work in Izmir’s hinterland (see chapter 3) and might well
have marked such an event with a celebration. 28
The Calf Festival certainly served as a means of organizing and uniting emancipated
22
Ege, Eski İzmir’den Anılar, p.27.
23
Anadolu (Izmir), 4 June 1944, 2; Hizmet (Izmir), 24 May 1894, 2.
24
4 May Hizmet (Izmir) 1894, 2; Reşat Nuri Güntekin, Meskinler Tekkesi, (Istanbul: Inkilap kitabevi, 1946), 57-58;
Ege, Eski İzmir’den Anılar, 27; Anadolu (Izmir) 4 June 1944, 2.
25
Raif Nezih, Izmir tarihi (Izmir: Bilgi Matbaası, 1927), 10, 8.
26
27
28
Güntekin, Meskinler Tekkesi, 57.
143
Africans and their descendants, helping to maintain community solidarity. For example, one oral
testimony by an aged woman of African descent indicated that it was customary for every
African child in Izmir to have their future read by a godya, perhaps as part of a rite of passage to
adolescence. 29 She recalled that the day a godya read her fortune by looking deep into a fire and
entering a trance-like state in front of her. In the midst of the trance, the godya declared that her
spirit was connected to a dove: she was to have a beautiful voice but always be very tired and
sleep a lot, both of which she attested came true. When her brother had his fortune read, the
godya acted erratically, flailing about in her trance. She intimated that he was to have trouble
with alcohol, which also reportedly turned out to be true. 30 That this elderly woman clearly
believed in the fortune telling powers of the godya likely indicated that the latter had a major and
long-term influence over the lives of the African community in Izmir. 31
Further suggesting its importance in maintaining community cohesion, the Calf Festival
may have also served as a way to organize marriages for young adults in the African community.
One account notes that such marriage procedures were rather complicated and included highly
ceremonialized dancing. 32 Perhaps this was merely a secondary function of the festival, the
inevitable outcome of grouping together a large number of young Africans in celebration.
More simply, the Calf Festival served as a means for the members of the African
community of Izmir to organize themselves, express their unity, and confirm their unique
identity. Indeed, a similar type of event occurred wherever emancipated Africans in the Ottoman
Empire were able to gather at this time. Erdem and Toledano have noted the major similarities
between the Calf Festival in Izmir and a similar annual event held in Istanbul which also
29
Interview with Rükiye Simali, 30 July 30 2012 (Izmir).
30
Interview with Rükiye Simali, 30 July 30 2012 (Izmir).
31
Reading fortunes as part of an African festival in Ottoman lands appears to have been a common practice. See:
Saz, Anılar.
32
144
occurred in May, and involved dancing and celebration. The Africans, mostly women, gathered
together in the city parks and public spaces, and sang, danced and ate special food cooked at the
festival site. The Istanbul festival was also led by a woman known as godya, as in Izmir, or
kolbaşı. Unlike Izmir however, it appears participants in the Istanbul festival did not welcome
outsiders, reportedly “defending it if necessary” against them. 33 Unfortunately, the paucity of
sources on the activities of the Istanbul African community do not allow for more detailed
comparison with the festivities in Izmir.
I have also produced a detailed study of the African festivals in Chania, Crete that
provide a better basis for comparison and discussion. 34 According to Greek and other European
eyewitness reports from the mid to late nineteenth century, the May festivities of Africans in
Chania were also held on three separate days. The 1st of May marked the initial day of
celebration. It is unknown if it had a particular name other than “the First of May” but this day
was likely the most important of the three. The festival took place in the African quarter of the
city just outside the eastern walls, near the neighbourhood known as Kum Kapı. Celebrants
gathered at the tomb of Saint Bilal, wearing their best clothes, which included red cloth and
special jewelry. The day began with a large parade of African celebrants, led in the late Ottoman
period by a certain Ali Koko, who sang as he marched. Following him was a woman known as
Abla Nuryie who danced continually (possibly a godya?), with a gender-divided procession
following them through the town. Much dancing and singing took place, as well as the playing of
musical instruments such as cymbals. Women who were unable to take part climbed atop the
33
34
Ferguson, “Enslaved and Emancipated Africans on Crete.”
145
city’s main gates to watch. 35 Following the parade, the celebrants gathered on the beach near
their houses to put small vessels filled with oil in the sea, and pushed them in the direction of
Mecca, presumably sent off with wishes. They then sacrificed numerous rams that were given to
them by the local beys and ağas (Muslim notables) and prepared a feast of ram meat, rice,
special pastries and drinks. 36 Following the meal, they danced, with young men reportedly trying
to show off for the young women. 37
On 14 or 15 May, known as Saint Zeyti Bilal Day (it is unclear if he is the same Saint
Bilal mentioned above), the celebrations resumed. It was also celebrated outside the city walls
near the tomb of Saint Zeyti Bilal. The ceremonies included placing gifts of incense and candles
on the tomb. Participants then sacrificed a ram, which was cooked and eaten with rice, after
which they would once again dance and socialize. 38
The final celebration of the festival, called Saint Gazi Mustafa Day, was held on 22 or 27
May. Gazi Mustafa was a renowned hero who reportedly died in the capture of the city by the
Ottomans in 1645. As with the other festivals, Saint Gazi Mustafa Day was held outside the
walls near the beach, at Gazi Mustafa’s tomb where, as with Saint Zeyti Bilal a week earlier,
gifts of incense and candles were offered. In addition to sacrificing numerous rams the African
celebrants cooked a special dish made of rice and sugar. 39 Dressed in their best clothes, they
engaged in a variety of dances, to the accompaniment of drums and batons. On 27 May 1845,
French traveler Victor Raulin witnessed this event and noted the presence of refreshment
35
Charidimos Papadakis, Οι Αφρικανοί στην Κρήτη Χαλικούτες [The Africans on Crete: Halikoutis] (Rethymno,
Greece: Graphikes Teknes Karagianaki, 2008), 133-137. Papadakis uses εβλιγiα (Turkish: evliya) to indicate that
they are Muslim saints.
36
Papadakis, The Africans of Crete: Halikoutis, 140
37
Papadakis, The Africans of Crete: Halikoutis, 140-141.
38
Papadakis, The Africans of Crete: Halikoutis, 133.
39
146
vendors and event tents. 40 And nineteen years later to the day, Edward Lear noted that the
“blacks and Arabs [North Africans?] were having a fête” in Chania. 41
There are some obvious similarities between the African celebrations of Izmir and
Chania. Both festivals took place over three separate days, involved music, dancing, singing,
festive clothing, parading, performing sacrifices in cemeteries or near tombs, and cooking and
eating communal meals with special dishes. Like the festival in Istanbul, the differences are more
difficult to account for. It is not clear, for example, if the differences are due to a lack of
evidence, distinct traditions, or local conditions and circumstances. Most likely, it was a
combination of all of these factors. An example of a more notable adaptation to local
circumstances is the way in which the Africans at Chania reportedly sang songs in praise of
Prince George of Greece and Denmark, who had in 1898 been appointed high commissioner of
the newly autonomous Crete. 42 Perhaps they did so to convey the message that they were in
support of his appointment and had no desire to get caught up in Christian-Muslim tensions
which were at a near breaking point on the island.
As the population of Africans grew in the nineteenth-century Ottoman Empire, the larger,
predominantly urban, African communities sought to organize and create for themselves large
social events such as festivals. These events were heavily influenced by traditions that originated
from their ancestral African homelands, and were highly important to their sense of identity and
social and spiritual well-being.
40
Félix V. Raulin, Description Physique De L'île De Crète (Paris: A. Bertrand, 1869), 200 in Richard Pankhurst,
"Ethiopian and Other African Slaves in Greece during the Ottoman Occupation" Slavery & Abolition. 1, 3, (1980),
342.
41
Edward Lear and Rowena Fowler, The Cretan Journal (Athens: D. Harvey, 1984), 102.
42
147
The Case of Melek and the Importance of the Calf Festival
The importance of the Calf Festival to the African community of Izmir is perhaps
demonstrated by the case of a murder/suicide related to it that took place in the neighbourhood of
Yapıcıoğlu atop Kadifekale. According to an article in the local newspaper Hizmet dated 28 May
1894, a woman named Hediye who was the wife of a street-coffee seller who worked in Kordon,
refused Melek, presumably her female servant, permission to attend the Calf Festival. She locked
Melek in a room of her house, and then went off to participate in festival. Melek, reportedly
unable to bear the injustice of her situation, took a gun that was located in the room and fired a
fatal shot into her chest. 43
There is no specific mention that these women were Africans. However there are a few
important clues. First, the names Melek and Hediye were common names given to female
African slaves. Second, Yapıcıoğlu was a known African neighbourhood and site of the Calf
Festival. Third, that coffee selling, the occupation of Hediye’s husband, was consistent with the
type of work that male emancipated Africans undertook in Izmir. 44 Fourth, while the press saw
this incident as an event “worthy of pity” and connected to “ignorance,” the importance of the
festival to these women is made very clear. Perhaps Melek killed herself knowing that, if she was
unable to meet her religious and social obligations, it would be both socially embarrassing and
potentially dangerous for her. As will be shown below, the spiritual aspects of the festival
affected all parts of the lives of emancipated African women.
The Calf festival and Zar/Bori
43
44
148
Toledano has convincingly shown that core elements of the ceremonies, parades and
festivals of the African communities in Izmir and Istanbul and elsewhere in the Ottoman Empire
bear the hallmarks of the Zar/Bori possession and healing belief system “infused with Sufi rituals
and other localized Islamic components.” 45 Zar and Bori are two names applied to the various
female-led trance-based spiritual practices connected to spirits that afflict mainly women in areas
south of the Nile and in the Horn of Africa (Zar), and in Saharan West Africa (Bori).
Since at least the mid-nineteenth century, these practices have played an important role in
the social and religious lives of the inhabitants, particularly women, of these parts of Africa. 46
Moreover, just as the core elements of Voudou were brought to St.Domingue (Haiti), and
Candomblé to Brazil by enslaved Africans, so Zar/Bori was brought by slaves to the Ottoman
Empire. However, as these practices in Africa are locally specific and highly adaptable, it is not
presently possible to analyze the origins and influences of the Izmir spirit possession practices. 47
Zar/Bori practices generally include a spiritual leader, usually a woman; a possessed
person (or persons), a possessing spirit, group participation often in the form of music and dance,
the family of the possessed (real or imagined) and their deceased relatives spirits, and an outside
community or crowd. 48 As Janice Boddy argues, Zar/Bori serve as a way for the community to
deal with and mitigate specific and very real issues affecting the lives of the ‘possessed.’ These
can include but are not limited to, loss of pregnancy, poverty, depression, marriage problems,
abuse, and stress in general. Possessed women act in ways that would normally be unacceptable,
45
46
The definitive studies on Zar/Bori remain Janice Boddy, Wombs and Alien Spirits: Women, Men, and the Zar Cult
in Northern Sudan. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1989) and I.M. Lewis and Ahmed al-Safi, and Sayyid
Hurreiz, (eds.) Women's Medicine: The Zar-Bori Cult in Africa and Beyond (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press, 1991).
47
For Candomblé see: Stefania Capone, Searching for Africa in Brazil: Power and Tradition in Candomblé.
(Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010); For Voudou see: Ina J. Fandrich, "Yorùbá Influences on Haitian
Vodou and New Orleans Voodoo" Journal of Black Studies 37, 5 (2007), 775-791.
48
149
“smoking, dancing, flailing about, burping, hiccupping, drinking blood and alcohol, wearing
male clothing, publicly threatening men with swords, speaking loudly, and lacking due regard for
etiquette.” 49 These actions associated with spirits are manifestations of real day-to-day problems
affecting the women they possess. Thus, the ceremony was not a way of exorcising, but of
managing and helping the ‘spirit’ and of solving the problems affecting the possessed. 50 The
prevalence of spirit possession practices amongst enslaved and emancipated African
communities indicates that they were not only a cultural link to their homeland, but also a critical
strategy employed to manage the difficulties they experienced as slaves in unknown lands.
Zar practices were also characteristic of enslaved Africans elsewhere, notably in
Zanzibar, Iran and along the north African coast. 51 For instance, the mid-nineteenth century
memoirs of Salima binti Said (Emily Ruete), daughter of the sultan of Zanzibar, give an
excellent description of Zar practices by enslaved African women on Zanzibar mid-nineteenth
century which are remarkably similar to those in Ottoman lands. 52 She notes that an “expert
woman” is tasked managing the spirits of the afflicted, who were mostly women. Some spirits
required exorcising while others were simply pacified. Spirit visitations came at predictable
times, and large events involving intricate ceremonies were organized around them. The afflicted
might suffer from convulsive attacks, lack of appetite, or the desire to withdraw from normal
49
Boddy, Wombs and Alien Spirits, 131; also cited in Toledano, As If Silent and Absent, 217.
50
51
For North Africa see: A J. N. Tremearne, The Ban of the Bori: Demons and Demon-Dancing in West and North
Africa (London: Cass, 1968); Ismael M. Montana and Ehud R. Toledano. The Abolition of Slavery in Ottoman
Tunisia (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2013); John O Hunwick and Eve T. Powell. The African Diaspora
in the Mediterranean Lands of Islam (Princeton: Markus Wiener Publishers, 2002). For an expansive Indian Ocean-
wide study see: Fitzroy A. Baptiste and Kiran K. Prasad. Tadia, the African Diaspora in Asia: Explorations on a
Less Known Fact ; Papers Presented at the First International Conference on Tadia in Panaji, Goa, Held During
January 2006. (Bangalore: Jana Jagrati Prakashana, 2008).
52
Emily Ruete, Memoirs of an Arabian Princess: An Autobiography (New York: Appleton, 1888), 214-217. Also
cite in: Edward A. Alpers, "Ordinary Household Chores: Ritual and Power in a 19th-Century Swahili Women's
Spirit Possession Cult" The International Journal of African Historical Studies 17, 4, (1984), 687-688.
150
day-to-day life. According to binti Said, Zar participants were members of a “secret society” and
only they could be present when communication was made with the spirit. These events
generally took place in a dark room. The afflicted woman who entered a trance in order to
communicate with the spirit was wrapped tightly in special clothing, surrounded by women
singing in unison, and imbibed a special drink made of corn and dates (presumably alcoholic).
Meahwhile, the other participants drank the blood of slaughtered animals, including fowl and
goats. Interestingly, binti Said notes that elite women also practiced Zar. 53 Recent fieldwork by
Kjersti Larsen indicates that such practices continue to this day in Zanzibar. 54
For Iran, Behnaz Mirzai notes enslaved peoples, most from East Africa, also brought with
them Zar spirit possession beliefs and ceremonies. These are most manifest in the southern
Hormozgan and Baluchistan provinces of Iran 55 where, Mirzai recently filmed a documentary,
entitled Afro-Iranian Lives, which shows that the Zar is still practiced. 56 Indeed, Maria Sabaye
Moghaddam has done field work in these same provinces and has concluded the Zar practices
there are much the same as those described on Zanzibar. 57
While there is utility in tracing the origins of the religious and spiritual practices of the
Africans of Izmir, it is arguably more important to understand why and how these practices were
adapted to their new circumstances and context. These Africans, now in a minority position,
were, after all, in the midst a different, and often hostile, cultural space with different norms and
values. However, as will be shown, the dynamic and flexible nature of these spiritual practices
equipped their practitioners to effectively mitigate their new circumstances.
53
Alpers, “Ordinary Household Chores,” 687-688.
54
Kjersti Larsen, Where Humans and Spirits Meet: The Politics of Rituals and Identified Spirits in Zanzibar. (New
York: Berghahn Books, 2008), 88-93.
55
Behnaz A. Mirzai, "African Presence in Iran: Identity and Its Reconstruction in the 19th and 20th Centuries."
Outre-mers : Revue D'histoire. (2001): 229-246 also cited in Toledano, As If Silent and Absent, 212.
56
Afro-Iranian Lives, Dir. Behnaz Mirzai, 2008. Film.
57
Maria Sabaye Moghaddamm, “Zâr Beliefs and Practices in Bandar Abbâs and Qeshm Island in Iran”
Anthropology of the Middle East, 7, 2, (Winter 2012), 20, 19-38.
151
Africans at the Tomb of Yusuf Dede, a Shared-Sacred Space
As noted above, sources indicate that the tomb of Yusuf Dede was the site of the climax
of the Calf Festival in late nineteenth-century Izmir. Demonstrating just how important this
particular saint was to the emancipated Africans of Izmir, a Capuchin priest conducting research
in the 1890s about the early Christian history of Izmir noted at that time that Yusuf Dede had
become the “tutelary saint” for the nearby “negro village.” 58 A rich and deep history of religious
devotion and practice is focused around this tomb atop Kadifekale to which Africans became
attached in order to legitimize their own practices. In order to best demonstrate the significance
of this process, it is important to delve into the history of the tomb of Yusuf Dede, also known to
Christians as the tomb of St.Polycarp. Thus not only did emancipated Africans attach themselves
to an established religious space in the city but one which historically was welcoming and
accepting of varied forms of religious devotion as long been before their arrival the tomb had
been a sacred space shared by local Muslims and Orthodox Christians.
Sources from pre-Ottoman times show that in the early centuries CE, in the first known
and documented case of saint veneration in Christianity, the Christians of Smyrna celebrated the
martyrdom of St. Polycarp atop Kadifekale on the day of his death, February 23rd. 59 In 155 C.E,
the Romans killed St. Polycarp, who subsequently became the patron saint of Smyrna, in a
stadium that once stood atop Kadifekale for refusing to deny his religion. In early Ottoman
Izmir, numerous travelers recall seeing a tomb atop Kadifekale that, while constructed in Islamic
style, and cared for by Bektaşi sufis, was also venerated by Christians as the tomb of St.Polycarp.
58
John Murray (firm), Handbook for Travelers in Constantinople and Turkey in Asia (London, J. Murray, 1878),
264; Jean Baptiste, Saint Polycarpe et son tombeau: notice historique sur la ville de Smyrne (Constantinople, F.
Loeffler, 1911), 202-203.
59
Howard Carroll, Polycarp of Smyrna- with special reference to Early Christian Martyrdom, PhD diss., (Duke
University, 1946), 221-222, 230.
152
Figure X – The Tomb of St.Polycarp (1904). 60
For example, in 1622 a French missionary noted that local Muslims worshipped at the
tomb because St.Polycarp was “an evangelist of God and thus their prophet.” 61 In contrast,
60
Carleton H. Graves, "The tomb of St. Polycarp, the first Christian martyr, Smyrna, Turkey in Asia” (Philadelphia,
C.H. Graves, 1904) <http://hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/cph.3c38542>. Date accessed: 10 July 2014.
61
F.W Hasluck, “The ‘Tomb of S. Polycarp’ and the Topography of Ancient Smyrna” The Annual of the British
School At Athens, 20, (1913-1914), 81.
153
Laurent d’Arvieux visiting mid-seventeenth century, stated that the tomb was “well guarded by
religious Greeks.” Around the same time, English traveler Thomas Smith indicated that local
Christians celebrated a feast day at the tomb. 62 Famed Ottoman traveler Evliya Çelebi also
visited Kadifekale, listing the tomb of Hacı Yusuf Baba atop Kadifekale amongst the four
Muslim pilgrimage sites in Izmir. 63 In Bektaşi sufism, Baba and Dede are higly regarded ranks in
its organizational hierarchy and terms of respect. Çelebi also makes note of a nearby tree with
magical properties, which was likely the same one seen by French traveler Pierre Galland in
1678 who recorded that local Christians believed that it grew from Polycarp’s staff placed next
to the tomb, much like the large tree seen in photographs from the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries (see Figure IV). 64 Thus from very early, the site of the tomb of Yusuf Dede /
St.Polycarp appears as a shared-sacred space. However this ‘sharing’ was not static nor entirely
equal, and likely involved competing Christian and Muslim parties vying for control of the tomb.
For example, Sufis of the Bektaşi order are long known to have occupied already established
religious sites such as tombs as a means of wooing potential converts to Islam. 65
As a result of the increased volume of travelogues, a lot more is known about the tomb in
the nineteenth-century. Two German travel accounts from the 1830s discuss the activities of
local people at the tomb. Anton Prokesch von Osten described it as the place where a “Greek
service” was held weekly, while Gotthilf Heinrich von Schubert noted it as a site used by
62
Hasluck, “Tomb of S.Polycarp,” 82-83.
63
Evliya Çelebi, Evliya Çelebi Sayahatnamesi, Vol.15, trans. Zuhuri Danışman, (Istanbul, Zuhuri Danışman
Yayınevi, 1969), 86. It is interesting to note that of all the people who described the tomb, only Çelebi gives Yusuf
the title hacı, meaning one who has performed the hajj to Mecca and Medina.
64
Çelebi, Evliya Çelebi Sayahatnamesi, 82; Antoine Galland and Fréderic Bauden, Le voyage à Smyrne: un
manuscrit d'Antoine Galland (1678) (Paris, Chandeigne, 2000), 100.
65
F. W. Hasluck, “Ambiguous Sanctuaries and Bektashi Propaganda” The Annual of the British School at Athens 20,
(1913-1914), 94-119.
154
Christians, and by Muslims who sacrificed sheep at the tomb and distributed meat to the poor. 66
Josiah Brewer, describing the tomb, from his visits in the second quarter of the nineteenth-
century, indicated that Muslims visited the tomb on Kurban Bayramı (Arabic Eid al-Ahda’) to
sacrifice lambs and distribute the meat to the poor, and that a bloodstain could usually be seen on
the ground nearby. Furthermore, he stated that some years earlier, during a serious cholera
outbreak in the city, a Muslim religious leader “led a body of hundreds of youth in a sacred
procession to this grave of a reputed holy man, to avert, if possible, by prayers or offerings, the
raging pestilence.” 67
66
Hasluck, “Tomb of S.Polycarp,” 84; Gotthilf Heinrich von Schubert, Reise in das Morgenland in den Jahren 1836
und 1837, Vol 1 (Erlangen, S.S. Palm and Enke, 1838), 277.
67
Josiah Brewer and John Warner Barber, Patmos, and the seven churches of Asia: together with places in the
vicinity, from the earliest records to the year 1850 (Bridgeport, Ct., Bradley and Peck, 1851), 124-125. For Cholera
in Izmir in the late-nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, see: Mehmet Karayaman, 20. Yüzyılın Ilk Yarısında
Izmir'de Sağlık (Izmir, İzmir Büyükşehir Belediyesi Kültür Yayını, 2008), 184-185.
155
Figure XI – The Tomb of St.Polycarp (approx. 1900). 68
In the early 1850s, Fisher Howe, an American Missionary noted that, were it not for
missionary activities, a great number of “paganized communions” held by Armenians and
Greeks alike would still be occurring. They had previously “indulge[d] and cherish[ed] the spirit
of ancient persecutors” while standing atop Kadifekale where Polycarp was killed. 69 In 1855,
Martha Nicol, a British nurse working in Izmir, described her visit to the tomb:
68
Author unknown, “Tombeau de St.Polycarp,” date unknown. Postcard. Consulted at APKA, 17 August 2011.
69
Fisher Howe, Oriental and Sacred Scenes: From Notes of Travel in Greece, Turkey, and Palestine (New York,
Dodd, Mead & Co., 1853), 80.
156
I now took my first walk to the grave of Polycarp…
accompanied by a friend, who had touched at Smyrna en
route from Palestine to England. It was a splendid morning
as we wended up the steep hill on which "Ismeer" is built,
and leaving the last houses of the town behind us, reached,
in about a quarter of an hour, what by tradition has received
the name of Polycarp's tomb. If it is the tomb of Polycarp, it
is also the tomb of some Mahomedan saint[…]. It certainly
is not unlikely that about this very spot the martyred body of
the saint was buried—at all events, it is venerated as his grave
by Greeks, Roman Catholics, Armenians, and Protestants, and
many a twig is torn away from the good old cypress as a
memento of the “tomb of Polycarp." Strange that it should
also be a spot considered sacred by the Turks! 70
In the 1860s, Bonaventure F. Slaars expressed his unhappiness with local Christians who
annually prayed the Muslim-style tomb. 71
Thus in linking themselves to the tomb of Yusuf Dede, the Africans of Izmir were
attaching themselves to a local religious space and practices. Whether this process involved any
negotiation or difficulties is unknown. However since Sufi Islam is based upon welcoming and
accepting a variety of practices as a means of gaining potential converts, their presence and
actions there likely caused little complications. 72 After all, the ecstatic devotional trances that
form a central part of Sufi and Zar/Bori practices are in some ways similar. Thus African
spiritual and cultural practices were adapted within the local, Ottoman, Izmir, and Muslim
context. This was also the case elsewhere in Ottoman lands, such as on Crete where Africans
also adopted local saints and practiced a brand of Islam at their tombs that was infused with spirit
70
Martha Nicol, Ismeer, or Smyrna and its British Hospital in 1855. By a Lady (London, James Madden, 1856), 67-
69.
71
Konstantinos Oikonomos and Bonaventure F. Slaars, Étude sur Smyrne, (Smyrne, Imp. B. Tatikian, 1868), 50,
n.49.
72
Marshall G. S. Hodgson, The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization, vol. 2
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974), 201–22; The literature on Sufism is vast, for an excellent overview
see: Dina Le Gall, "Recent Thinking on Sufis and Saints in the Lives of Muslim Societies, Past and Present"
International Journal of Middle East Studies 42,4, (2010), 673-687.
157
possession/ healing beliefs and practices derived from their homelands. 73 Over time, the shift
amongst the Africans of Izmir towards adoption of local norms, dressed more and more in local
Muslim style and language is likely to have occurred as a result of the perceived advantages of
integration into local society. 74
The fusion of Muslim saint veneration and Zar was also found in Egypt. Anthropologist
F. De Jong observed similar festivals in the mid-twentieth century for local saints in Cairo, called
ziyâra (“visitation days”). 75 According to De Jong people gathered at the tomb very early in the
morning, local merchants set up stalls and booths near the tomb, musicians played music to put
participants into a state of trance, and people recited verses of the Quran in unison or engaged in
ecstatic dancing. Elsewhere men may took part in the ancient Egyptian tradition of stick dancing
(tahtib). 76 Popular artists, story tellers, and fortune tellers also offered their services. 77 One
ziyâra in southern Cairo, at the tomb of Abu-al-Su’ud al-Jarihi (also known as Sidi Abu al-
Su’ud) differed from the numerous others in that was attended largely by women, as the saint
was considered “helpful in bringing about pregnancy.” 78 Both De Jong and a previous visitor to
this tomb record seeing zar ceremonies in houses located a short distance away. Unlike the Calf
Festival was in Izmir, ziyâra events in Cairo were not linked to one particular group, such as
emancipated African slaves. Rather it was, and still is, a popular form of Muslim religious
expression generally performed by the lower classes.
73
Michael Ferguson, "Enslaved and Emancipated Africans on Crete", 171-195.
74
For a full discussion of the process of conversion to Islam elsewhere in the Ottoman Empire, see Anton Minkov,
Conversion to Islam in the Balkans: Kisve Bahası Petitions and Ottoman Social Life, 1670-1730 (Leiden: Brill,
2004.) and Marc D. Baer, Honored by the Glory of Islam: Conversion and Conquest in Ottoman Europe (New York:
Oxford University Press, 2008).
75
F. De Jong "Cairene Ziyâra-Days: a Contribution to the Study of Saint Veneration in Islam." Die Welt Des Islams.
17 (1976), 26-43. See also: Gerda Sengers, Women and Demons: Cult Healing in Islamic Egypt (Leiden: Brill,
2003).
76
De Jong “Cairene Ziyâra-Days,” 28.
77
De Jong “Cairene Ziyâra-Days,” 35.
78
De Jong “Cairene Ziyâra-Days,” 32
158
For the Africans in Izmir, the question of how a female-dominated Zar/Bori practice at
the tomb of Yusuf Dede mixed and fused with male-dominated Sufi practices is, due to lack of
sources, unresolved. This was not the only place where Africans performed Zar/Bori ceremonies,
and if tensions arose they could move to another locations around Kadifekale discussed above.
Indeed, oral history testimonies indicate that there were other tombs used by Africans, such as
the shrine to Tezveren Ali in Eşrefpaşa, who is identified today by locals of non-African descent
as an African Muslim saint. 79
80
Figure XII – The Shrine of Tezveren Ali in use (2012).
The idea of what was considered acceptable religious devotion differed: Sufis operating the
Yusuf Dede tomb accepted African rituals there, unlike at least one politician and some local
newspaper editors who considered that they were contrary to both Islam, Ottoman civilization,
and ‘progress’.
79
Interview with Mustafa Olpak, 30 July 30 2012 (Izmir).
80
Michael Ferguson, untitled. Photograph. Izmir, 2012.
159
The Prohibition of the Calf Festival
Throughout the nineteenth-century, emancipated Africans celebrated the Calf Festival
unrestrained by the state. Indeed, local authorities supported efforts to raise funds for the festival
which attracted sizeable crowds of non-African spectators. While the festival perhaps striking
some residents as a bit unusual or as a site of curiosity, it became part of the local fabric of life.
This changed however, when sometime between 14 June 1894 and 22 April 1895 the governor of
Izmir, Hasan Fehmi Pasha, prohibited the festival. 81 Although the ban only lasted a year - in
1896 Hasan Fehmi was reassigned to administer a different province 82 – it represented a change
in official attitudes towards Africans that eventually resulted, in the early twentieth century, in
the suppression of the festival.
In attempting to prohibit the Calf Festival, Hasan Fehmi also linked Izmir to the broader
context of growing state regulation of the social and religious activities of emancipated African
communities worldwide in the nineteenth century. Authorities became increasingly concerned
about growth in non-African participation in activities which they regarded as immoral, even
barbaric in origin, and possibly seditious in that they ran contrary to the state’s vision of order
and progress. In the post-abolition era, authorities everywhere increased their surveillance of
emancipated Africans. For example in 1817, the American city of New Orleans passed a law
limiting the place, day, and time that emancipated Africans could gather, dance, and play music -
finally banning such events completely in 1851. 83 A similar process occurred in the Brazilian
city of Salvador where Candomblé events were, after years of police crackdowns, regulated to
81
Nezih, Izmir tarihi, 10, 14; Ahenk (Izmir), 22 April 1895, 2-3.
82
Nezih and Üyepazarcı. Izmir'in Tarihi,16, 10.
83
Ned Sublette, The World That Made New Orleans: From Spanish Silver to Congo Square (Chicago: Lawrence
Hill Books, 2008), 274, 286.
160
specific times and places. 84 However, despite attempts by the authorities to restrict them, the
emancipated slaves of Izmir, like those of New Orleans and Salvador, continued to practice their
traditional festivals which were central to maintaining a connection with their past, history,
heritage, religion and homelands. They formed a core part of their identity which they were
unwilling to relinquish.
The following section examines the initial prohibition in Izmir in the context of the
concerns of Hasan Fehmi, and Ottoman administrators generally in late nineteenth century with
regulating space, and establishing law and order in Ottoman cities.
Hasan Fehmi Pasha
Hasan Fehmi Pasha was a typical Ottoman statesman who, prior to his governorship of
Izmir, had served in a number of key government posts, including Minister of Justice. 85
Although the author of a major work on Ottoman law that had been censored by the Sultan
Abdulhamid II (1876-1909), he was one of the few senior ranking official who worked both
under the sultan and, following the 1908 revolution, in the administration of the Young Turks. 86
The role of Hasan Fehmi in shaping the history of Izmir is little acknowledged, although
he was responsible for important changes to the city. He re-shaped the primary school education
system in and around the city centre, 87 established a quarantine station for cholera victims staffed
by 150 medical officers on nearby Klazumen Island, and constructed a trunk road through
84
Dale T. Graden, From Slavery to Freedom in Brazil: Bahia, 1835-1900 (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico
Press, 2006), 111.
85
Sinan Küneralp, Son Dönem Osmanlı Erkan Ve Ricali, 1839-1922: Prosopografik Rehber. (Istanbul: Isis, 2003),
76.
86
Roderic H. Davison, "Hasan Fehmī." Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Brill Online, 2013. Reference.
McGill University. http://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/hasan-fehmi-SIM_2766
Date accessed: 26 March 2013
87
Ayten Can Tunalı, “Hasan Fehmi Paşa´nın Aydın Valiliği Döneminde Eğitim- Öğretimde Düzenlemeler,” Ankara
Üniversitesi Dil ve Tarih-Coğrafya Fakültesi Dergisi , 46, 1, (2006), 150.
161
Ikiçeşme to Eşrefpaşa, aimed at increasing the movement of goods and people through Izmir. 88
In this, he was part of the mainstream late Ottoman ‘modernization’ process.
Nezihi notes that the ban on the Calf Festival was part of a wider prohibition of
unauthorized public activities, including the playing of drums and zurna and the practice of
shooting guns in the air during imperial holidays and at Easter. 89 As all of these activities were
closely tied to religious festivities, the regulations were aimed at restricting forms of religious
celebration in public, especially those associated with Easter. Fehmi Pasha further insisted that
all government officials should dress in a uniform manner in public, 90 banned villagers from
entering Izmir wearing the ubiquitous loose, baggy pants (şalvar) in the city, requiring them to
wear European-style trousers, and most significantly, imposed strict regulations for the clothing
worn by zeybeks. These included a stipulation that tassels must be cut short, and the legs of their
trousers must reach to the knees. 91
From the early nineteenth-century, as has been shown, particularly in reference to the
implementation of the ubiquitous fez, western-minded Ottoman reformers placed significant
importance on regulating the clothing worn in public by both government officials and Ottoman
subjects/citizens. 92 For the reformers, dress should reflect the order, uniformity, and modernity
embodied in the sweeping reforms of the era.
The writings of Ottoman and Turkish statesman Ebubekir Hâzım Tepeyran sheds further
insight on the attitude of Hasan Fehmi, with whom he worked in Izmir. According to Tepeyran,
Fehmi believed that, ordering all government officials – including low level officers, irregular
88
Tunalı, “Hasan Fehmi Paşa,” 78.
89
Nezih. Izmir tarihi., 10, 14.
90
Ebubekir Hazim Tepeyran, Ebubekir Hazim Tepeyran Hatıraları (Istanbul: Turkiye Yayınevi, 1944), 115.
91
Tepeyran, Ebubekir Hazim Tepeyran Hatıraları, 113.
92
See for example: Donald Quataert, “Clothing Laws, State, and Society in the Ottoman Empire, 1720–1829”
International Journal of Middle East Studies. 29, 3, (1997), 403-425; Selim Deringil, “The Invention of Tradition
As Public Image in the Late Ottoman Empire, 1808 to 1908” Comparative Studies in Society and History. 35, no. 1,
(1993), 3-29.
162
gendarmes, and the governor himself – to wear uniforms while on duty would ferment a positive
view of the state in the eyes of the newly-formed citizenry. 93 First and foremost, dress uniformity
would create a sense of camaraderie amongst Ottoman officials. Likewise it would create a more
clearly delineated hierarchy of power associated with the state and thus break local non-official
affiliations. 94 New official uniforms would also reinforce the presence of the Ottoman state in
the lives of ordinary citizens.
Similarly, the regulation prohibiting villagers wearing şalvar trousers in the city was a
reflection of the intent of the imperial power to shape everyday life in Izmir. It also indicated that
Ottoman authorities conceived of the city and the hinterland differently- the hinterland was
unruly, unmanageable, while the city was or should be a site of order, modernity, requiring
constant management. In regulating the movement of people between the two, the state thus
sought to ensure that no embodiments of disorder entered the urban centre of power.
The regulation of zeybek clothing within city limits while similarly intended to limit the
flow of unwanted elements from the hinterland to the city, also pointed to at a major challenge of
banditry the state faced in the countryside. The ban on the wearing of zeybek clothing in the city
must be situated within the context of a longstanding battle between the Ottoman state and
banditry in the hinterland of Izmir - although banditry only became a major threat to authorities
when Ottoman power attempted to exert itself beyond the urban space. As seen in chapter three,
the failure to successfully tame the countryside offers a good example of how and why Ottoman
authorities failed to fully accomplish their goal of governing the people of Izmir.
93
Tepeyran, Ebubekir Hazim Tepeyran Hatıraları, 115.
94
Khaled Fahmy, All the Pasha's Men: Mehmed Ali, His Army, and the Making of Modern Egypt. (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1997), 141-143.
163
Analyzing the Failure of the Prohibition
As noted, the Calf Festival was celebrated again in May 1896 following Hasan Fehmi’s
transfer to Salonica. 95 It would be thus easy to conclude that the festival’s prohibition was
directly related to Fehmi’s personal views, and that once he had gone the status quo returned.
While this may be partly the case, there were likely other factors involved in the festival’s
continuation during the brief period of prohibition.
As mentioned, it appears a prohibition was never actually enforced and there is no
evidence to suggest that police or the military intervened to stop the festival from taking place. If
this was the case, it likely reflects a more general problem of governance in the Ottoman Empire
in this period: state officials often lacked the resources to enforce new policies. For example, as
noted in chapter two, prior to Hasan Fehmi’s appointment of governor of Izmir, it was revealed
that funding to retrain and integrate rescued emancipated slaves in a special program in Izmir
was inadequate. The central government in Istanbul offered officials in Izmir only half the
estimated cost of such a program, arguing that the original budget was grossly inflated. 96
Furthermore, in the same year as the prohibition, Hasan Fehmi’s plans to construct new roads
from the town of Menteşe to the rail network likewise never materialized due to funding and
labour shortages. 97 Thus in the very period that local authorities were trying to enforce the ban
on the Calf Festival, the government of Izmir was falling short on many of its other programs as
well. In many ways, the prohibition of the Calf Festival fits within the greater context of
expanding state control and management into unprecedented aspects of life in the nineteenth-
century.
95
Nezih. Izmir tarihi, 16, 10; Hasan Fehmi remained in Salonica until 1902, see: Küneralp, Son Dönem Osmanlı
Erkan Ve Ricali, 76.
96
97
Pullukçuoğlu Yapucu, Modernleşme Sürecinde Bir Sancak: Aydın, 230.
164
The failure of the prohibition echoes other failed efforts by the state to regulate the socio-
religious lives of its citizens across the empire in this period. For example, Selim Deringil has
noted the unsuccessful attempts of the Ottoman state in the 1890s to convert the Yezidi peoples
of eastern Anatolia to its brand of state approved-Sunni Islam and conscript them for military
service. The Ottoman policy, in which Yezidi allegiance and co-operation was sought through
both “carrot and stick” methods, represents for Deringil a “microcosm” of Ottoman policy
making at that time. The ‘carrot’ method included sending diplomatic missions to community
elders, promises of improving the quality of education, and constructing new mosques. On the
other hand, the ‘stick’ method included using the Cossack-like Hamidiye irregular cavalry
regiments to terrorize villagers and sack the Yezidi holy site of Laliş, and attempting to exile
community leaders to North Africa. 98 In the end, like the prohibition of the Calf Festival, the
Ottoman state failed to meet its objectives. Deringil points to the problems of vacillating policy
makers, and the personalities of those state officials acting on the ground directly in contact with
the Yezidis as the main causes of its failure. Owing to these factors, the state was either
unwilling or unable to accomplish the goals it set out at the beginning of this program of
conversion and conscription. 99
Given the direction of recent historiography on the African Diaspora which is attempting
to place greater importance on the actions of Africans themselves, 100 it is tempting to suggest
that the emancipated Africans of Izmir were actively responsible for the failure of the
prohibition. Indeed, given the importance of the festival in their social and spiritual lives, they
may have been especially unwilling to accede to a prohibition when the state had failed to
98
Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains, 69-70
99
Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains, 61-75.
100
For the case of emancipated Africans in Brazil see: Kim D. Butler, Freedoms Given, Freedoms Won: Afro-
brazilians in Post-Abolition, São Paulo and Salvador (New Brunswick, N.J: Rutgers University Press, 1998).
165
adequately address their needs following emancipation. What is clear is that the continuance of
the Calf Festival in spite of an attempted prohibition should be seen as a sign of its importance to
the emancipated African community.
Discourse Analysis of Major Sources of Calf Festival History
Descriptions of the Calf Festival come largely from a few published works, chiefly
newspapers and books. While Toledano has briefly touched on the ways in which the Africans of
Izmir have been represented as wild and savage in this print material, these descriptions remain
largely uncontexualized. 101 By contrast, a deeper investigation into the local writers behind these
newspaper articles reveals the ways in which the few descriptions of the African population that
appeared in print at this time were informed by particular personal philosophies and worldviews.
This section therefore looks at these texts and their authors, placing them in the context of the
Ottoman reform and modernization movement, and then examines the particular language they
employed and how it shaped popular perceptions of the festival and emancipated Africans. 102
Author and Editor Archeology
In the 1890s, two Izmir newspapers published articles on the Calf Festival. These were
Hizmet and Ahenk, which were not only the most popular Ottoman language newspapers in late
101
102
While this section focuses specifically on the representations of Africans in Izmir, perceptions of “backwards”
and “uncivilized” people in Ottoman lands have been examined elsewhere, most notably: Selim Deringil, "They
Live in a State of Nomadism and Savagery”: The Late Ottoman Empire and the Post-Colonial Debate."
Comparative Studies in Society and History, 45, 2 (2003), 311-342.Ussama Makdisi, "Ottoman Orientalism" The
American Historical Review. 107, 3 (2002), 768-796; Eve M. Troutt Powell, “Chapter 2: Black Servants and
Saviors: The Domestic Empire of Egypt,” A Different Shade of Colonialism: Egypt, Great Britain, and the Mastery
of the Sudan. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 64-104.
166
nineteenth century Izmir but enjoyed widespread readership throughout western Anatolia 103
Their histories are deeply linked as they were both founded by lawyer Tevfik Nevzat, often
referred to as Izmir’s first Turkish newspaperman. He established Hizmet in 1886, with his friend
and literary giant Halit Ziya Uşaklıgil, and Ahenk in 1895. 104 Despite their wide readership, the
papers functioned on a small staff, the editors themselves writing all articles. 105 However, as
Uşaklıgil moved to Istanbul in March 1893 to work for the famous Servet-i Funun literary
journal, his only influence on publications dealing with Africans was, perhaps, a small article
that appeared in 1892. 106 The philosophy of Nevzat is thus crucial to an understanding of how
emancipated Africans were portrayed in the two newspapers. 107 Nevzat was born in 1865 in the
İkiçeşmelik neighbourhood of Izmir’s Kadifekale to a father displaced from the Crimea
following Russian expansion into the peninsula. Nevzat was thus born and raised in an area with
a high concentration of emancipated Africans and where the Calf Festival took place. 108 He
would therefore have had grown up around emancipated Africans and likely witnessed the
festival firsthand. Nevzat became one of the few Muslim lawyers operating in the business centre
and foreign-dominated Kordon area of Izmir 109 where he came into contact with European
clients and their ideas, beliefs, and philosophies. Like his friend Uşaklıgil, Nevzat was fluent in
French and steeped in the French literature of the era, including the works of Hugo, Dumas, and
103
Ö. Faruk Huyugüzel, Izmir'de edebiyat ve fikir hareketleri (Izmir: Izmir Büyükşehir Belediyesi Kültür Yayını,
2001), 24. Zeki Arıkan, Izmir basınından seçmeler 1872-1922. vol.1 (Izmir: Izmir Büyükşehir Belediyesi Kültür
Yayını, 2001), 4.There were in fact numerous newspapers in other languages, particularly Greek and western
languages to serve the western and Levantine community.
104
Huyugüzel, Izmir'de edebiyat ve fikir hareketleri, 54.
105
Zeki Arıkan, Izmir basın tarihi, 1868-1938 (Bornova, Izmir: Ege Üniversitesi Basımevi, 2006), 38.
106
107
Huyugüzel, Izmir'de edebiyat ve fikir hareketleri, 54. Indeed, Nevzat was even credited as being the head writer
of Ahenk. Arıkan, Izmir basın tarihi, 46.
108
Ziya Somar, Bir adamın ve bir şehrin tarihi, Tevfik Nevzad: İzmir'in ilk fikir ve hürriyet kurbanı. Kahramanlar,
(Izmir: Izmir Büyükşehir Belediyesi Kültür Yayını, 2001), 16.
109
Somar, Bir adamın ve bir şehrin tarihi,17; Arıkan, Izmir basınından seçmeler 1872-1922, 4.
167
Verne. 110 He also taught at a high school, where he first met Uşaklıgil and Mahmut Esat Efendi,
who later wrote many articles for Nevzat’s newspapers becoming a famous lawyer and statesmen
following the 1908 Young Turk Revolution. 111
Also like Uşaklıgil, Nevzat was deeply influenced by both Western philosophies and the
writings of Namık Kemal, one of the founders of the highly influential Young Ottoman
movement. 112 The philosophy of Kemal thus deserves particular attention to help reveal Nevzat’s
mentality as he wrote about the Calf Festival in his newspapers.
In the mid-nineteenth century, Kemal engaged in debates surrounding the fusing of
European liberalism with Ottoman and Muslim socio-political traditions. He believed the
Tanzimat polices were a superficial adoption of European practices and that real reform had to
come through the development of constitutional representative government that instilled in the
populace a sense of loyalty and belonging to the state. Greatly influenced by the ideological
developments of the French Revolution, the Young Ottomans sought to develop liberal concepts
of progress, freedom, and citizenship in indigenous, Ottoman political parlance. 113 This
movement represented “the first modern ideological movement among the Ottoman elite who
through their writings sought to influence public opinion. 114 Its partisans placed a heavy
emphasis on education which, they believed, would unite people and develop a common will to
truly modernize the Ottoman state. The vehicle the young Ottomans used to accomplish this goal
was not necessarily schools, which lay in state hands, but daily newspapers and journals which
they financed and published – the first independent media in Ottoman lands. Two of Kemal’s
core concerns were to raise the status of Ottoman to that of European women, and rid Ottoman
110
111
112
113
Zürcher, Turkey, 71.
114
168
society of folk traditions that had he deemed incompatible with westernization. 115 To accomplish
this task Kemal in 1865 founded, and subsequently worked at the helm of the Ottoman language
newspaper, Tasvir-i Efkâr which would prove to be one of the most influential of his generation.
Nevzat was of a younger generation, but was so influenced by Kemal that on the day
Kemal died, he was reportedly so upset that he could not teach at his high school and, the
following day, celebrated Kemal’s life and work in an obituary that appeared in Hizmet. 116 Thus
like Kemal, he also believed in newspapers as a means of educating the masses. 117 It is in this
light that Nevzat’s editorialship of Hizmet and Ahenk, and the articles about emancipated
Africans and the Calf Festival, must be understood. His main goal in writing on these topics was
to explain that the customs celebrated by African inhabitants of Izmir were contrary to the
formation of a modern, European-influenced liberal society and should be prohibited. Thus how
and why he shaped each article, and each word choice, is very important.
In this respect, his most significant article is an editorial appended to the long description
of the Calf Festival that appeared in Hizmet, dated 3 May 1894. First, the editorial argues that a
critical examination of the Calf Festival reveals that it lacked any historical or ancestral
foundation. Rather, it was the result of groundless beliefs, an ignorance which should be pitied,
and should be banned. 118 His use of the word “cehalet” to mean ignorance carried a religious
connotation, implying that the Africans were as benighted as the peoples of Arabia prior to the
rise of Islam. Nevzat’s writings thus reflect Kemal’s idea that the purity of early Islam, devoid of
115
Niyazi Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey (Montreal: McGill University Press, 1964), 277;
Nilüfer Göle, The Forbidden Modern: Civilization and Veiling (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996),
33-35. The literature on this topic is vast. See for example: Yeşim Arat, “The Project of Modernity and Women in
Turkey” in Rethinking Modernity and National Identity in Turkey Sibel Bozdoğan and Reşat Kasaba (eds.) (Seattle:
University of Washington Press, 1997), 95-112.
116
Somar, Bir adamın ve bir şehrin tarihi, 19.
117
Arıkan, Izmir basınından seçmeler 1872-1922, 5.
118
169
the excesses and corruptions that developed in later centuries, needed to be recaptured in order to
bring the Ottoman Empire into the modern world. 119
The editorial also demonstrates that the emancipated Africans are not only religiously an
‘other’ but also racially as well. The author notes a feeling of sadness and surprise in learning
that 4000-5000 “of our well behaved white people” (Dana Bayramı’na ‘akıllı, uslu dört beş bin
beyaz ahalimizin de iştirak etmesine ta’accüb ettikten, acımaktan kendimizi alamıyoruz!) had
recently participated in the Calf Festival alongside 400-500 Africans. 120 Dividing people by skin
colour also helps construct the image the emancipated Africans as a ‘double other’ for the reader
both not acting in accordance with Islam and biologically different. Furthermore by referring to
white people as ‘well-behaved’ the opposite is thus logically projected onto the Africans: wild
and unruly.
The editorial further notes that African women from Kadifekale had formerly travelled to
the Levatine suburb of Bornova where they undertook “improper” (açık saçık) activities that
involved “our people” – a reference to the Calf Festival and to Zar/Bori practices. His allusion to
Bornova, an opulent suburb inhabited by successful business people, was deliberate, used to
conjure up the image of a bastion of western order and civilization threatened by wild, unruly
peoples. What Nevzat failed to mention was that, as George Michael La Rue has shown for
Cairo, the wealthy European or Europeanized urban elites of nineteenth-century Egypt possessed
African slaves/ex-slaves as domestic servants as well. 121 It is thus entirely possible that the Calf
Festival was celebrated in Bornova to serve the needs of the Africans working as domestic
servants in elite households. Another possibility is that they visited Bornova to serve the spiritual
119
Göle, The Forbidden Modern, 34.
120
121
George Michael La Rue, “’My Ninth Master was a European’: Enslaved Blacks in European Households in
Egypt, 1798-1848” Race and Slavery in the Middle East, 99-124.
170
and medical needs of the elites. Studies reveal that throughout the nineteenth-century, that elite,
European and non-European women in countries with a substantial African slave/ex-slave
populations consulted African women for their knowledge of medicinal and spiritual healing.
Examples include Zanzibar, as in the account of Salima binti Said noted above; and Egypt,
where by Khedive Ismail (1863-1879) employed three female African healers when no other
treatments, including European medicine, had helped his seriously ill daughter. 122 Thus it would
be reasonable to conclude something similar occurred in Bornova.
The article concludes by re-emphasizing that the Calf Festival was grounded in
unacceptable and ignorant notions (efkar-ı cahilane ve gayr-ı makbüle), recommending that the
brothers and fathers of participanting women, African or otherise should prevent them from
visiting Kadifekale’s “unsuitable neighbourhoods” (yakışmayacak mahaller). 123 In giving such
instructions, the newspaper article reveals both the power and importance of the Calf Festival,
and the need to maintainance of the established [law and] order, in public and private spaces. The
command to control the women is given to their husbands and brothers, who were both the most
likely readers of the newspaper, and those traditionally charged in Ottoman society with
disciplining family members including wives, daughters, and children. The fact that the
newspaper gives this directive reflects how important Nevzat perceived the order of public space
to be. In the logic of the article then, a modern, European city has no place for such disturbances
which should immediately be [suppressed]. The newspaper puts the onus on male members of
the household to help create and maintain an ordered and western space.
The threat to the Izmir’s public order was made very real to readers of Hizmet a few
weeks later when it reported the case of a women’s death related to the Calf Festival, noted
122
123
Hizmet, 4 May 1894, 2.
171
above. As Nilüfer Göle notes for this period, “[w]esternization and the arousal of “civilizational”
consciousness were directly dependent upon the relationship between the sexes, the allocation of
space, and lifestyles.” 124 Indeed, in this article Kemal’s philosophical influence on Nevzat’s
attitude in this instance was clearly shaped by Kemal who wrote:
there exists no difference between dancing and flirting with the devil…
if what you assume to be civilization is seeing women in the streets
almost naked or dancing at a gathering, these are all against our morality. 125
While Kemal here alludes to the western European women and their sexuality being displayed
more prominently in public space than in the Ottoman world, his message was clear: a
modernizing Ottoman culture had no place for women dancing, celebrating in public whether
European or African.
Similar language is used in the article published on 28 May 1894 in Hizmet regarding the
murder/suicide of a servant girl who wanted to attend the Calf Festival noted above. It begins, for
example, with the sentence “[s]peaking of ignorance (cahillik), we feel sorry for those light
witted and silly people who gather together [for the Calf Festival]” 126 As in the editorial of 2
May, this article first draws upon religiously-based language to demonstrate the
inappropriateness of the Calf Festival practices, appealing to its readers’ basic sense of right and
wrong. It then attempts to degrade and discredit the participants, as well as to show how unhappy
they are with such practices. The article concludes with the sentence “[w]hile we feel pity for
those who take pleasure from the Calf Festival… we do believe that this poor woman’s death is
125
Göle, The Forbidden Modern, 35
126
172
worthy of sadness” 127 thus implying that Africans participated in such festivities because they
were ignorant.
Similarly, in an article published in Ahenk on 22 April 1895, notes the prohibition of the
“base and unreasonable” (‘adi ve namakul) festival, was enacted as a result of a few frightful and
“inappropriate situations” (uygunsuz ahval) that arose involving women, which ran contrary to
“public decency” (adab-i umumiye). As in the lengthy editorial published in Hizmet roughly a
year earlier, the Ahenk article connects directly the concept of public decency with the actions
and behavior of emancipated African women. It rouses fear that the Calf Festival threatened the
maintenance of public order and traditional gender roles. These concerns, expressed in a number
of similar newspaper publications, reflect Kemal’s philosophy, and the wider drive of reformists
to shape Ottoman Izmir into a modern European city. 128
This trend was not restricted to Ottoman language newspapers. Nea Smyrni, a small
Greek language newspaper, also, published a front-page article on 11 December 1906 in which it
discussed a popular folktale about how sub-Saharan Africans became black-skinned – that made
allusion to them making a pact with the devil. 129 That a small Greek language paper in Izmir
should discuss such a topic might appear unusual. It was, perhaps, motivated by the daily
encounters of Greek-speakers with emancipated Africans on the street, or in the port or factories
of Izmir -- or simply a reflection of commonly propagated racial stereotypes. It appears that the
language used in this particular article crossed a threshold for acceptable public discourse and
was later censored by the Ministry of the Interior. The reason given was that the article’s content
127
128
Furthermore, while other studies have argued that these two newspapers differed in their editorial content, the
case of these articles about the Calf Festival show that there is very little different between them. Contrast with:
Huyugüzel, Izmir'de edebiyat ve fikir hareketleri, 24, 54; Zeki Arıkan, Izmir basın tarihi, 1868-1938. (Bornova,
Izmir: Ege Üniversitesi Basımevi, 2006), 46.
129
Nea Smirni (Izmir), 11 December 1906, 1.
173
was baseless “superstition.” The ministry also ordered that no such writings appear in the
future. 130
The Calf Festival in the novels of Uşaklıgil and Reşat Nuri Güntekin
Another main source for information about the Calf Festival that historians have used are
novels published by two influential Turkish writers of the early twentieth century. The first is the
work of Uşaklıgil published about Izmir in his later life, especially the short story Civelik Ziver
which appears in the partially autobiographical Izmir Hikayerleri [Izmir Stories].131 The second
is Miskinler Tekkesei [The Sufi Lodge of the Poor] by Reşat Nuri Güntekin. 132 Both stories have
a protagonist living and working in Izmir around the turn of the twentieth century and witness
the Calf Festival first hand. This is not surpising given that Uşaklıgil’s realist writing style and
sought to portray life as it was in the street. 133 Likewise for the younger Güntekin who was
influenced by foreign writers and even Uşaklıgil himself. 134 For the most part, descriptions are
very similar to those in the newspapers as Africans are portrayed as vulnerable, pitiful, and in
need of help.
In both of their stories a similar chain of events occurs: the protagonist encounters a
young orphan child while attending the Calf Festival, and is drawn, out of pity, to help and take
care of it. In Uşaklıgil’s story, the child, named Ziver, is described as a 10 year old beautiful
light-skinned or mixed (Habeş) boy with no shoes. The child explains that because his parents
died when he was young, the godya cared for him. 135 The main character explains that this child
had a magnetic personality and, after discussing the boy’s future with the godya, takes him home
130
BOA/DH.MKT/1141/44, 26 Zilka’de 1324 [11 January 1907].
131
Uşaklıgil, Izmir hikayeleri, 110-125.
132
Reşat Nuri Güntekin, Miskinler Tekkesi (Istanbul: Inkilap Kitabevi, 1946).
133
Huyugüzel, Izmir'de edebiyat ve fikir hareketleri, 150-151, 181.
134
Reşat Nuri Güntekin and Muzaffer Uyguner. Reşat Nuri Güntekin; Hayatı, Sanatı, Eserleri (Istanbul: Varlık,
1967), 5, 7.
135
Uşaklıgil, Izmir hikayeleri, 112-113.
174
from the festival and assumes responsibility his upbringing. Once adjusted to his new life, the
boy is employed in the main character’s cafe.
The main character in Güntekin’s story lived atop Kadifekale surrounded by neighbours
of African descent. He was able to watch the Calf Festival from his window. During the
celebrations, a crowd brought a small girl, roughly 7-years old, with a bloody nose and mud in
her curly hair and scratches on her legs, to his door for urgent care. Along with an elderly
African neighbour, he helped attend to the child’s needs, cleaning and feeding her. Later, the
child recounted that she was from Zile in central Anatolia where, she was the foster child
(evlatlik) of a head of the regional treasury (defterdar) whom she had fled after suffering abuse.
Since that time, she had lived with a Jewish woman in a home on the slopes of Kadifekale, who
exacts a fee for her services. Finding this situation unreasonable, and worrying for the child’s
future, the main character and his elderly African neighbour agree to care for and raise her. 136
By connecting their descriptions of the Calf Festival, these two authors create certain
images and perceptions about Africans in Izmir. Most critically, much like the newspapers
influenced based Kemal’s modernizing philosophy, these authors emphasize how only educated,
westernized men, are able to care for vulnerable, wild, helpless, African children. Much the
same, this task is taken with both a sort of pity and sense of duty. These notions fit into debates
in this period about a new Ottoman culture was emerging that was ‘civilized’ and superior to
these peripheral, non-state sanctioned beliefs and practices throughout the empire that ran
contrary to state approved Islam. As will be shown in chapter 5, it is these very same
philosophies which ground the actions taken by the state in the early Republican period, and are
the root of the total suppression of African identity in Izmir.
136
Güntekin, Miskinler Tekkesi, 59-61.
175
The Calf Festival in Izmir’s Annual Celebration Cycle: The Claming of African Space and
Identity
One of the other important functions the Calf Festival was that it served to assert and
define an “African space” within the city of Izmir. Public performance, festivals, parades, etc.,
were ways in which different groups identified themselves to others in a city with a diverse
population like Izmir. Thus, where, how, and by whom the Calf Festival was celebrated provides
important information about how it fit into the fabric of everyday life in Izmir.
For example, in the late-nineteenth century most events organized by Levantines were
held indoors in private spaces. Much like how their suburb, Bornova, was separate from the rest
of the city, their festivities were as well. Their social events included theatre nights, cinema, and
most importantly, annual balls. For example, in the spring the Sporting Club held an annual
charity fund-raiser ball described as “a gala-extravaganza with all-night dancing, music and
theatrical interludes.” Attendance to these events was by invitation only and thus restricted to the
major political and economic players of Izmir at that time. 137 The one Levantine organized
festival that was an exception to these private celebrations was the annual carnival wherein
Europeans, Levantines, and their local counterparts took part in a centuries-old tradition of mask
wearing, street processions, and temporarily lax social order. One local observer recalls the
carnival in Izmir as “a season of gayety [sic] in which all sects appear to unite with equal
animation, even the taciturn Turk seems to catch a portion of the general animation.” 138
137
Milton, Paradise Lost, 27, 101.
138
Kolluoğlu Kirli, “Cityscapes and modernity,” 224.
176
The time of Passover was an important mark on the city’s calendar, not only because of
its significance to the Jews of Izmir, but also because it reportedly was a tense time between
Jews and Rum, based on an old belief that the unleavened bread was made with the blood of a
Christian child. 139 This belief, likely borne out of a history of distrust between the two
communities, perhaps signals that tensions may have existed between two dominant indigenous
business communities in the city.
By far the most important public event for the Rum inhabitants of Izmir was Easter.
Marked by a multi-day event involving processions that included shooting guns into the air and
ringing church bells. 140 The significance of this annual event is made evident when one looks at
how much importance and effort went into the Easter Celebrations under the occupying Greek
forces after World War I. 141 As the holiest time for orthodox Christians, it was a means of
defining their community in the face of centuries of pressure living under Ottoman Muslim
control.
The day of the accession of the sultan was, particularly in the nineteenth century, a day in
which the power and majesty of the empire and its heritage were celebrated. Numerous buildings
were decorated and there were a plethora of public events including music and marching
bands. 142 The iconic clock tower of Izmir was also constructed to celebrate the twenty-fifth
anniversary of the accession of Abdülhamid II to the throne.
The Muslim communities had many festival days, the biggest of which was held at the
end of the month of Ramadan. There was also the Day of the Sacrifice, which traditionally
included the sacrifice of an animal, such as a sheep, goat, or cow, whose meat was subsequently
139
140
Moralı, Mütarekede Izmir, 11.
141
142
Elie Podeh, The Politics of National Celebrations in the Arab Middle East (New York: Cambridge University
Press, 2011), 44-45.
177
donated to those in need. The day of the birth of Muhammed, known as mevlid, was also a major
public festival. Even those groups which put more importance in the lineage of the early caliphs,
what we might call today “Alevis” or “Shiites”” but known to Ottomans as acemililer performed
their ritual practices publicly in Izmir on the tenth day of the month of Muharrem. 143 Other
smaller events, like local saint days, whether Christian or Muslim, involved small processions
and gatherings, as did funerals and days of circumcision for young Muslim children. 144
Each of these public events and festivals used space in different ways. Some were
entirely exclusive while others were inclusive. The Calf Festival in Izmir was inclusive, choosing
to welcome whoever wanted to attend or participate. It thus welcomed both new participants into
the community as well as onlookers. The Calf Festival was the unique time in which Africans
gathered and celebrated, and as a result asserted their identity as part of the urban fabric that
made up nineteenth-century Izmir.
143
Güntekin, Meskinler Tekkesi, 57.
144
Moralı, Mütarekede Izmir, 9-10.
178
Chapter 5: Loss of Community, Silence, Resurgence (1880-2014)
Introduction
Thus far, this thesis has examined the history of the African community of Izmir during
the second half of the nineteenth century. This final chapter turns to the history of this
community beyond the climax of their arrival in Izmir. The scope of this chapter is widened in
order to consider the history of the African presence in Izmir over the long term from the late
nineteenth century to the present. This perspective reveals three distinct phases in the history of
Africans in Izmir. First, this chapter examines factors that contributed to the disruption of
African community in Izmir in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. These included:
their spatial marginalization, the arrival of non-African refugees in their neighborhoods, and a
loss of autonomy due to national and international actors advancing into their neighbourhoods in
Izmir. Second, I analyze wider socio-political factors in the early twentieth century related to the
silencing of the community in the public record, most notably the impact of Kemalism. Analysis
of this phase is aided by brief glimpses into the lives of Turkish citizens of African descent in
Izmir mid-twentieth century. Third, this chapter examines factors that precipitated the rise of
Afro-Turkish identity in the twenty-first century, such as the democratization of Turkish society,
and the impact of international organizations and Afro-Turkish activist, Mustafa Olpak. The
chapter concludes by exposing some of the contemporary issues surrounding the development of
Afro-Turk history. This long-term perspective reveals that, despite the seeming destruction of the
African community and state-enforced silence of Africans in Izmir mid-twentieth century, a
sense of their unique culture, history, and identity has survived into the present day.
Part I – Loss of Community
179
Urban development and Marginalization
In order to understand how the specific location of Izmir’s African community affected
its inability to maintain its cohesiveness into the twentieth century, a brief discussion of the
urban development of late Ottoman Izmir is in order. As noted in chapter one, Izmir’s urban
development did not involve a grand plan for the city, but was undertaken in response to meeting
the growing economic needs of the port. 1 The crucial changes to the urban development of Izmir
came in the third-quarter of the century, with the construction of two rail lines connecting the
rich agricultural hinterland and the recently developed port at the northern tip of the city. The
modernized quay and port facilities were finished in 1875. The construction of two European
(British and French) funded rail-lines and port meant the economic power of the city lay largely
in the hands of the Europeans and their local counterparts. Economic power shifted northwards
to the point of embarkation of goods between the trains and the ships in the new port. Political
power thus moved north as well, shifting away from the old city center at the foothills of
Kadifekale. This meant that most Ottoman government buildings and the majority of the
residents of Izmir were becoming spatially detached from the seat of power in the city.
Generally, those who lived and worked in the northern part of the city were Europeans and local
Christians, while those living in the old southern city were either Jews or Muslims.
Owners of import-export businesses played an increasingly important role in the city’s
development. For example, in 1868 the central government approved the participation of
propertied people – including, for the first time, foreigners – in Izmir city council’s affairs.
Central Ottoman officials believed this was the best way to incorporate their needs into the
1
Kolluoğlı-Kirli, “Cityscapes and modernity,” 221.
180
state’s decision-making on the development of the city. 2 Not surprisingly, these local power-
players prioritized development of the port over the poorer residential parts of the city. As a
result, the southern part of the city, including Kadifekale and the African neighbourhoods, such
as Ikiçeşmelik, Balıkuyu, and Dolapdere, came to be neglected.
The previously informal divisions between the northern and southern parts of the city
became formalized in the creation of the two municipalities. In 1879, in order to further
streamline development of the port and rapidly developing northern sector of the city, central
Ottoman officials in Istanbul split the city of Izmir into two separate municipalities. In doing so,
Ottoman officials did not merely recognize a reality of late Ottoman Izmir, but, also reinforced
existing class structures and institutionalized an ethno-religious divide. 3 Two different cities with
two separate economic, social, and cultural backgrounds were formed. 4
This new divide served to keep wealth where it was concentrated in the northern
municipality. For example, as infrastructure developments were funded by taxpayers, the roads
in the northern municipality where wider, cleaner, and well maintained. The exact opposite was
the case for roads in the southern municipality. 5 Likewise, between 1879 and 1890, the number
of gas street lamps in the northern city doubled from 750 to 1600. Meanwhile the southern city
did not receive any gas lamps until ten years later and even these were still required to be
individually lit. 6 Thus, by the late nineteenth century, the southern half of the city was not only
starkly less developed than the northern part, but also came to be developed according to and for
the needs of those in the northern part.
2
Zandi-Sayek, Ottoman Izmir, 97.
3
Zandi-Sayek, Ottoman Izmir, 98-99.
4
Serçe, Tanzimat’tan Cumhurriyet’e, 61-63.
5
Zandi-Sayek, Ottoman Izmir, 100-101.
6
Zandi-Sayek, Ottoman Izmir, 100.
181
This dual-municipality arrangement lasted only until 1889 when the administration of
two separate cities proved too complicated for effective governance. As a result, the city was
fused back into one municipality. 7 Nonetheless, atop Kadifekale the spatial and economic
marginalization of the emancipated African community was fully entrenched. In many ways, the
negative views and perceptions of local officials and newspapers editors discussed in chapter
four are a reflection of this economic reality. Partly as a result of this underdevelopment, the city
and its officials were largely unable or unprepared to deal with the dramatic rise in urbanization
and arrival of Muslim refugees from the third quarter of the nineteenth century.
The End of the Tomb of Yusuf Dede
As noted in chapter four, the centerpiece of the African community in Izmir in the late
nineteenth century was the tomb of Yusuf Dede. It was there that a sacrifice of a calf occurred
during the annual African festival. Thus, the fate of the tomb is inherently linked to the African
neighbourhoods in which it was located. Understanding the factors that lead to the destruction of
the tomb of Yusuf Dede in 1931 is therefore a way to understand how the vitality of the
neighbourhood was lost.
A number of factors brought about the demise of the tomb, including outside perceptions
of Africans and their descendants as uncivilized and wild, and neglect of their part of the city by
municipal and provincial authorities. Additionally, the pressure put on the city by the waves of
refugees who arrived from the third-quarter of the nineteenth-century onward caused city
authorities to adopt a series of substantial urbanization and settlement policies. These schemes,
framed in terms of public health and anti-religious discourses, had particularly adverse effects on
the African community.
7
Serçe, Tanzimat’tan Cumhurriyet’e, 71.
182
The number of people fleeing the contracting borderlands of the Ottoman Empire from
the late-nineteenth century onwards is staggering: the Crimean War (1853-1865) turned
approximately one to two million people into internal refugees. 8 But the waves of immigration
that had the greatest impact on Izmir were those following the 1877-1878 Russo-Turkish War in
which a similar amount were uprooted. 9 Numerous other conflicts and the loss of territory, such
as Crete, contributed to the growing number of refugees in Izmir. In 1899 alone, some 20 000
refugees arrived in Izmir from Crete. 10 The Ottoman state thus searched for ways, such as
establishing Refugee Commissions, to manage and control the flow of refugees into major ports
like Izmir and expedite their resettlement. 11
An order from 1878 indicates that state-owned and abandoned properties, and those
possessed by religious endowments (vakıfs), were to be used to help settle the refugees. 12 It
appears that some of the lands used for resettlement were connected to the vakıf of “Yusuf
Baba,” indicating that land around the tomb of St. Polycarp was used for that purpose. 13 Ottoman
officials created planned ‘immigrant districts’ on Kadifekale and Değirmendağı to ease the
management, control, and surveillance of this new refugee population. The land atop
8
H. Yıldırım Ağanoğlu, Osmanlı’dan Cumhuriyet’e Balkanlar’ın Makûs Talihi: Göç (Istanbul, Kum Saati, 2001),
30; Nilgün Kiper, “Resettlement of Immigrants and Planning in Izmir during the Hamidian Period” PhD diss. (Izmir
Institute of Technology January 2006), 41.
9
Ağanoğlu, Osmanlı’dan Cumhuriyet’e, 33-40; Kiper, “Resettlement of Immigrants,” 56-59.
10
Ağanoğlu, Osmanlı’dan Cumhuriyet’e, 40; One such building project in 1900 was designed to help some of the
recently arrived refugees from Crete labeled “homeless and helpless”, by a Cretan charity. They were able to
construct 37 small dwellings in different parts of the city. Kiper, “Resettlement of Immigrants,” 176.
11
For a full discussion of this topic see Kiper, “Resettlement of Immigrants,” Chapter 5.
12
Kiper, “Resettlement of Immigrants,” 173; Arzu Temizsoy, “Cultural and Architectural Significance of Planned
Refugee Houses in Izmir (Turkey) from the point of conservation” in 1st International CIB Endorsed METU
Posgraduate Conference – Built Environment & Information Technologies (Ankara, 2006), 744. Whereas
indigenous forms of urban settlement had used cul-de-sacs to create a semi-private space in neighbourhoods, these
new state-planned neighbourhoods were to have a strict grid system, dramatically increasing the ability of local
authorities to pass into these neighbourhoods. Temizsoy, “Cultural and Architectural Significance of Planned
Refugee Houses in Izmir,” 750; Cânâ Bilsel, “The Ottoman Port City of Izmir in the 19th Century: Cultures, Modes
of Space Production and the Transformation of Urban Space” in Afife Batur (ed.), 7 Centuries of Ottoman
Architecture “A Supra-National Hertiage” (Istanbul: YEM Yayınları, 1999), 227.
13
Baba and Dede are often used interchangeably in reference to Sufi saints or leaders.
183
Değirmendağı where construction of these planned neighbourhoods began is indicated as ancient
Greek ruins and Jewish and Turkish cemeteries on an 1876 city map. 14 A tower was also
constructed in 1897 beside the tomb of Yusuf Dede which was used not only to watch for fires in
the city, but also allegedly to monitor the fast-growing refugee neighbourhoods as well. 15
Despite the efforts of the Ottoman state to regulate the development of planned
neighbourhoods on Kadifekale and Değirmendağı, they, perhaps unsurprisingly, fell short. It was
largely left up to the refugees themselves to construct new homes wherever and however they
could. Continual waves of displaced peoples arrived in Izmir and settled atop Kadifekale,
creating a more diverse citizenry in neighbourhoods where Africans were concentrated.
The more well-known case of a Jewish cemetery located at this time at the foot of
Değirmendağı exemplifies the relationship between cemeteries, local communities, refugees, and
the government in Izmir. Despite being a Jewish cemetery, it contained the tomb of a local
Muslim saint, Bahribaba. Muslims often visited the tomb to make wishes by lighting candles and
slaughtering animals. 16 Thus like the tomb of Yusuf Dede, religious beliefs and communities
converged at Bahribaba. In 1893, a Jewish organization constructed 30 homes in one corner of
the cemetery for Jewish refugees who had fled the expanding Russian Empire, 17 indicating that
an immediate need for housing trumped the sanctity of this sacred space.
In 1914, the newly appointed governor Rahmi Bey was intent on speeding up the
movement of people and goods in the city, and thus took aim at cemeteries which he believed
hindered their movement. 18 Rahmi Bey and other officials employed a bio-political argument,
14
Temizsoy, “Cultural and Architectural Significance of Planned Refugee Houses in Izmir,” 745.
15
Sabri Yetkin, Itifaiye Binası’ndan Izmir Kent Müzesi ve Arşivine (Izmir: Izmir Büyükşehir Belediyesi Kültür
Yayını, 2002), 8.
16
17
Kiper, “Resettlement of Immigrants,” 177; Georgelin, La fin de Smyrne, 28.
18
Serçe, Tanzimat’tan Cumhurriyet’e, 141.
184
typical of the rationales also used by municipal politicians in Europe at this time, to justify the
cemetery’s destruction: that cemeteries were known sites of disease and sickness and thus for the
sake of the health of the city’s populace, they must be removed and/or turned into green space. 19
Concerns about sickness were of the utmost priority given that the city’s new barracks (Sarı
Kışla) were located next to the Bahribaba tomb in the Jewish cemetery. These plans however,
were met with stiff resistance, both by the Jewish community, and by Muslims leaders who
operated and used the tomb of Bahribaba. 20
A local anecdote suggests that the sheikh responsible for watching over Bahribaba’s tomb
met with Rahmi Bey to express his opposition to the governor’s development plans. He
explained that Bahribaba himself came to him in a dream to tell him not to let anyone disturb
him in his resting place. Rahmi Bey, demonstrating his disdain for such superstitions, reportedly
responded by saying that Bahribaba had also come to him in a dream, and had asked to be moved
to a more peaceful and less crowded space. 21 Rahmi Bey’s actions towards Izmir’s cemeteries
are instructive to explain the attitudes developing amongst local officials. 22 Specifically,
religious opposition would not be accepted as a valid argument as the needs of the growing city
were paramount. The lack of interest in preserving the sanctity of cemeteries meant that the
tombs within became threatened.
The Tomb of Yusuf Dede and Imperial Battles
19
Serçe, Tanzimat’tan Cumhurriyet’e, 142-143, Ürük, Iğne Deliğinden Izmir, 138. For debates about cemeteries in
London, see: Peter Thorsheim, “The Corpse in the Garden: Burial, Health, and the Environment in nineteenth-
century London”, Environmental History, 16, 1, (2011), 1-31.
20
Kemal Anadol, Büyül Ayırlık (Istanbul: Doğan Kitap, 2006), 336.
21
Bahribaba’s tomb was thus moved to another cemetery where it stayed until 1932, when it was removed in favour
of a municipal building. Ürük, Iğne Deliğinden Izmir, 138.
22
For example, in the same year the central Ottoman government decided that an Orthodox Christian cemetery,
located in the way of a planned rail line in Izmir’s southeast had to be removed. See: BOA/I.ŞD/1409, 12 Recep
1327 [30 July 1909].
185
It was not just local and domestic concerns that threatened the tomb of Yusuf Dede but
international ones as well. By the turn of the twentieth-century, the tomb of Yusuf Dede and the
lands atop Kadifekale became the focal point of archeological research and excavations. Soon
thereafter it became a battleground that pitted a renowned Greek archeologist, French Capuchin
priests, and the Ottoman government against one another. In doing so, the struggle for the tomb
of Yusuf Dede, known to Christians as the tomb of St.Polycarp (as discussed in chapter four),
became part of a broader struggle of local versus foreign interests within the Ottoman Empire.
The impacts of this battle for the tomb of Yusuf Dede were ultimately felt most severely by the
emancipated Africans and their descendants as it was their site of worship. However, their
interests were not taken into account in this conflict between international actors.
In 1907 George Lambakis, a renowned Greek archeologist and staunch anti-Catholic,
visited Kadifekale as part of his research in early Christian history. His main interest in Izmir
was the tomb of Yusuf Dede. Lambakis was driven to empower the nascent Kingdom of Greece,
where he founded important archeological societies, by helping it create a narrative linking its
modern history to its ancient (and imagined) past. 23 In his work, published a few years later in
1911, Lambakis strongly questioned whether the tomb of Yusuf Dede was in fact connected to
St.Polycarp and contained his body. 24 In a study produced three years later, Jean Baptiste, a
French Capuchin Priest, raised many of the same issues. He pointed to some discrepancies
between its appearance and location and what was described in early modern European
travelogues. The French Capuchins were also greatly interested in finding any artifacts related to
St.Polycarp, who was not only the namesake of their church in Izmir, built in 1630, and patron
23
My thanks to Anastassios Anastassiadis for providing this information on George Lambakis.
24
Baptiste, Saint Polycarpe et son tombeau, 185.
186
saint of Izmir, but the patron saint of France as well. 25 Whoever discovered this other, ‘real’
tomb could thus claim authority over it and St.Polycarp’s legacy, and therefore advance their
goals of developing national identity for Greece, in the case of Lambakis, or spiritual authority in
Izmir, in the case of Baptiste and the French Capuchins. According to his study published in
1911, Baptiste visited the tomb of Yusuf Dede numerous times beginning in 1882, in an attempt
to determine its authenticity. To do so, he interviewed elders of the neighbourhoods atop
Kadifekale. 26 He records that some elders claimed that Yusuf Dede was a “cheikh arabe,”
reflecting that most of the people living around the tomb were emancipated Africans. 27 Baptiste
concluded that the tomb of Yusuf Dede was from a later era, and indeed neither contained the
body of St.Polycarp nor was ever intended as a site of devotion for him. 28 Both Lambakis and
Baptiste stated that the tomb of St.Polycarp was likely elsewhere on top of Kadifekale, on the
other side of the nearby ruins of an ancient Roman stadium.
Unfortunately for Lambakis and his cause, it appears that he never really had the support
needed from the flegling Greek state to realize his work. Nor does it appear that the local Greek-
speaking Christians heeded his call to make an annual pilgrimage en masse to the nearby ancient
Roman stadium atop Kadifekale to celebrate St.Polycarp on his feast day (February 23rd) to
assert Orthodox authority over it. 29
Fortunately, and rather conveniently for the French Capuchins, the land identified by
Baptiste as the likely place where the true tomb of St.Polycarp rested atop Kadifekale was
already in their hands. A few years prior the French Capuchins had purchased from a certain
25
Baptiste, Saint Polycarpe et son tombeau, 194, 329. Catholics celebrated Polycarp in a yearly procession near the
Church of St.Polycarp in the city centre. This procession is entirely separate from the one that was performed by
locals at the tomb, see: Rauf Beyru, 19.Yüzyılda Izmir’de Yaşam (Istanbul: Literatür, 2000), 160-162.
26
27
28
29
Baptiste, Saint Polycarpe et son tombeau, 185. But as mentioned above a small hardcore set of locals always did.
187
Osman Hamal Bacha a large swath of open space, previously used as a vineyard. It appears that
by the time the French priests had “discovered” this second tomb of St.Polycarp, they had
already been managing the vineyard and operating a small mission outpost atop Kadifekale. 30
Unfortunately, little is known about the missionary activities of the Capuchins in Izmir’s poor
southern neighbourhoods. Officially, it was forbidden to evangelize Muslims in the Ottoman
Empire. 31 However, given that Ottoman officials had little influence over the daily lives of those
living atop Kadifkale and that French missionaries were targeting emancipated African
elsewhere in the world at this time, 32 it is highly possible that they built their outpost to attract
the Africans living there. The other refugee populations struggling after fleeing the contracting
northern borderlands of the empire would no doubt have been potential targets as well. 33
Internal Ottoman documents reveal how the “discovery” of this alternate tomb of
St.Polycarp by French Capuchins unfolded on the ground. In doing so, they also demonstrate just
how an archeological excavation became a major site of colliding Ottoman and French interests.
According to these Ottoman documents, in the spring of 1909, a “French priest” had discovered
ancient artifacts on his vineyard located atop Kadifekale near the castle, presumably the one
30
Baptiste, Saint Polycarpe et son tombeau, 195, 210-211. This would also make sense given that numerous
photographs show many of the porters were emancipated Africans whom would have likely lived around Osman’s
land. Incidentally, the surname “Hamal Bacha” (Turkish hamalbaşı) meaning “head of the porters” perhaps indicates
that Osman was involved in organizing porters in Izmir’s busy port and thus connects the marginalized people atop
Kadifekale with work in the port.
31
Selim Deringil, Conversion and Apostasy in the Late Ottoman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2012).
32
Martin Klein and Richard Roberts, “Gender and Emancipation in French West Africa” in Pamela Scully and
Diana Paton (eds.) Gender and Slave Emancipation in the Atlantic World (Durham, 2005), 162-180; Aylward
Shorter, Cross and Flag in Africa (New York: Orbis Books, 2006).
33
Upon hearing that the French Capuchins had purchased the land which contained this tomb, Lambakis was
furious, reportedly writing three open letters, one in which he blamed his fellow citizens and Orthodox coreligionists
in Greece for not being active enough to support his work, another to Catholics congratulating them on their
acquisition, and a third to the Orthodox Patriarchate in Istanbul, stating that while the Orthodox Christians of Izmir
slept, one of the most important monuments of their history was stolen in the night. In his view, the race to acquire
this tomb, which could have been used to both satisfy and further fuel Greek nationalism and irredentism for Izmir,
was lost. Baptiste, Saint Polycarpe et son tombeau, 185-186.
188
described above owned by the French Capuchins. 34 Local Ottoman officials working for the
Ministry of Education visited the site, along with security guards who were tasked with
protecting it. When they arrived, a French priest physically blocked their way and denied finding
anything. In later communications, the French consul in Izmir informed Ottoman authorities he
knew nothing of these events. It appears that much confusion occurred over who had the ultimate
authority over the site. Questions were raised about what the extra-territorial rights and
capitulations, given years earlier by the Ottoman government to the French, meant for their
claims. The matter was finally dealt with through the Ministry of the Interior and the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs, probably after a thorough check of the specifics of the language in the
capitulations treaty. 35 Unfortunately, the final document in this folio does not make clear what
exactly the decision was, though judging from Baptiste’s study, it can be assumed that they were
unsuccessful in officially assuming control of the newly discovered ‘Tomb of St.Polycarp’. After
stating that, as of the time of writing his book (1910-1911), the French had not yet been able to
properly excavate at the site, Baptiste adds:
We dare to hope that the Ottoman government, especially the

one today, will imitate the benevolence and liberality of
European governments, by allowing and even helping
archeological excavations of this kind. This is the only way
to reconstruct the civil and religious history of these lands. 36
In the context of the history of the African community atop Kadifekale, the language Baptiste
employs is rather ironic. He uses the very same discourse of modernity and civilization against
34
BOA/DH.MUI/72/77, 30 Cemaziyelevvel 1328 [6 June 1910].
35
BOA/DH.MUI/72/77, 30 Cemaziyelevvel 1328 [6 June 1910].
36
189
Ottoman authorities that they themselves used to disparage the practices of the Africans in Izmir
in exactly the same space. 37
The tomb of Yusuf Dede at end of the Ottoman Empire and Early Republic
A number of other events occurred within the city which dramatically reduced the use of
the tomb of Yusuf Dede and turned it from a shared sacred space into simply a sacred space.
First and foremost, at the outset of the First World War (1914-1918), all subjects of enemy
countries, including the French Capuchin missionaries established atop Kadifekale, were
expelled from Ottoman territories. 38 In 1919, with the defeat of the Ottoman Empire, Izmir was
occupied by expansionist Greece. 39 Little is known about the tomb of Yusuf Dede in this period
although a street named “Yusuf Dede,” located in the “Upper neighbourhood” (presumably
Kadifekale), appears in an official Greek register of the city. 40 There is also at least one account
of the Calf Festival during the Greek occupation (1919-1922), suggesting that the African
community was able to continue their important cultural event despite the dramatic changes
37
This was the very language and philosophy that had underpinned the liberal-minded Young Turk revolution of a
few years earlier. The classic study on the Young Turks remains: Feroz Ahmad, The Young Turks; the Committee of
Union and Progress in Turkish politics, 1908-1914 (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1969). For a regional perspective, the
understudied case of the “discovery” of St.Polycarp’s “true tomb” and the intense efforts by the French Capuchins to
claim it as their own can be compared to more prominent examples relating to discoveries in Ottoman Palestine and
the city of Jerusalem. There, the Great Powers used the same techniques in an attempt to involve themselves into the
Holy Land. As has been shown, consulates, archeologists, and missionaries worked together to legitimize and
actualize their claims to particular spaces for their spiritual and or imperial interests. “Discoveries” were often
questionable, as in the case of this alternate tomb of St.Polycarp. See: Margarita Diaz-Andreu Garcia, A World
History of Nineteenth-Century Archaeology: nationalism, colonialism, and the past (Oxford, Oxford University
Press, 2007), 131-166.
38
It is unknown whether this approach was successful. However, given that in the nineteenth-century, Ottoman
officials had grown increasingly unhappy with the perceived abuse of the capitulations by foreign powers, which
they viewed as an attack of their sovereignty and hindrance to their economy, there were ample motivations to deny
the claim of the French if possible. Dominique Trimbur, “The École biblique et archéologique française: A Catholic,
French, and Archaeological Institution,” in Katharina and Galor Avni (eds.), Unearthing Jerusalem: 150 years of
archaeological research in the Holy City (Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 100.
39
For a full discussion of this topic, see: Michael Llewellyn Smith, Ionian Vision: Greece in Asia Minor, 1919-1922
(Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1998).
40
G.N. Mihail, Yunanistan Rehberi (1920) (ed. and trans. Engin Berber) (Izmir: Akademi Kitabevi, 1998), 17.
190
occurring around them. 41
By far the most traumatic event in the city’s recent history was the Great Fire of 1922.
Following the retreat of Greek Forces by sea, and arrival of Turkish nationalist forces by land, a
fire broke out that destroyed the city centre and its extensive port infrastructure. The tomb of
Yusuf Dede, along with the rest of Kadifekale, was located far away from the fire and thus
survived unscathed. It was not until the following year, 1923, that the impact of the end of the
Ottoman Empire directly affected the tomb. The ensuing Greek-Turkish Population Exchange
mandated the transfer of all orthodox Christians from the newly-declared Turkish Republic to
Greece and obliged Muslims living in Greece to move to Turkey. 42 Between 150,000 and
320,000 Greek-speaking Christians lived in Izmir in 1914, accounting for around one to two
thirds of its population. All were forced to leave, thus sharply reducing the number of visitors to
the tomb of Yusuf Dede/St.Polycarp. 43
As for the incoming refugees, neither the city nor the new Turkish Republic had the
ability to properly accommodate them. Despite the fact that houses of former Christian residents
had been abandoned and would have theoretically been available to refugees, many were taken
(legally and illegally) by local politicians and businessmen who parceled them out to family
members or rented them to refugees at high rates. Subsequently, as in previous waves of
immigration to Izmir, refugees were often forced to arrange their own settlement. Open areas
41
Güneş, “Kölelikten Özgürlüğe,” 12.
42
There were some exceptions, including the Orthodox of Istanbul and neighbouring islands, and the Muslims of
Thrace. For the text of the treaty see: Renée Hirschon, (ed.) Crossing the Aegean: And Appraisal of the 1923
Compulsory Population Exchange Between Greece and Turkey (New York, Oxford, Berghan Books, 2003), 281-
287. For a more general discussion of the social history of these events, see Bruce Clark, Twice a Stranger: How
Mass Expulsion Forged Modern Greece and Turkey (London, Granata Books, 2006).
43
Aydın Vilayeti (Turkey) and Erkan Serçe, Izmir ve çevresi nüfus istatistiği, 1917 (Izmir: Akademi Kitabevi,
1998), VI-VII. Cemeteries of the no longer resident Orthodox population were also taken over, one of which was
quickly turned into a recreation centre with tennis, volleyball, and basketball courts, see: Anadolu (Izmir) 3
December 1931, 3. For a more general discussion on this process see Clark, Twice a Stranger, 192-193.
191
such as those atop Kadifekale and Değirmendağı were thus further subjected to informal
development. Interestingly, as emancipated Africans were considered part of the Muslim
population, many arrived in Izmir and the Aegean region as part of the population exchange.
Mustafa Olpak and others I interviewed trace their lineage back to Crete prior to the exchange,
while Beyhan Turkkollu, a middle aged Afro-Turk woman currently living in Izmir, traces hers
back to Salonica. 44
While the population exchange dramatically disrupted the confessional geography of
Izmir and Kadifekale, it was the growing control of all aspects of life by Turkish authorities that
ultimately shut down the tomb of Yusuf Dede. Since the early 1800s, the Ottoman government
had increasingly restricted the influence of Sufi orders which they considered to be a competing
source of authority. This culminated, in the late nineteenth-century, in the registration of all Sufi
leaders and their places of worship. 45 The position of the Sufi leaders was further undermined
during the early Republican era. On 30 August 1925, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, leader of the
newly founded republic, publicly attacked traditional types of clothing, including the fez, and
promoted western style headgear and clothing for all citizens. His speech also directly criticized
popular religious practices such as Sufism:
It is a disgrace for a civilized nation to appeal for help to the dead…

Is it possible to call a group of people a ‘civilized nation’ while they
let themselves be led by the nose by a herd of sheikhs, dedes, seyyids,
Çelebis, babas, and emirs; while they entrust their destiny and lives to
chiromancers, magicians, dice-throwers, and amulet sellers?
44
Olpak, Köle Kıyısından; Interview with Anonymous, 23 May 2010 (Güzelbahçe, Izmir); Interview with Beyhan
Turkkolu, 3 August 2012 (Izmir).
45
Silverstein, “Sufism and Govermentality,” 171-185.
192
Finally, on 30 November 1925 the Turkish parliament officially outlawed Sufi orders, closing
their places of worship, schools, and prayer spaces, and confiscating their assets. It thus became
illegal for anyone, including Africans, to visit tombs of saints. 46 It likewise prohibited Africans
from worshiping at the tomb of Yusuf Dede or indeed celebrating the annual Calf Festival. Here
again, the language of modernity and civilization, as seen in Baptiste’s denunciation of the
Ottoman government, was deployed this time by the new republic against popular Islam. At the
same time, his choice of words harkens back to the discourse employed by local officials and
newspaper editors to disparage the Calf Festival (as discussed in chapter four).
While the tomb was closed in 1925, it remained intact until 1931 when its destruction
was linked to a number of more local developments. The Provincial Health Commission of Izmir
began to regulate burials. The province passed a law in 1926 which forbade the burying of dead
within the city limits. 47 It also dismantled two cemeteries in the nearby neighbourhood of
Eşrefpaşa, transferring some tombstones to a local museum, and constructing a fire station and
other municipal buildings on the sites. 48 The fate of the tomb of Yusuf Dede was finally sealed
on 10 April 1930 when the Turkish parliament passed a law authorizing the transfer of
cemeteries that were abandoned and/or formerly administered by religious endowments (vakıfs)
to the municipalities they were located within. 49 Owned by the municipality, it was only a matter
of time until the tomb and surrounding cemetery met its fate. In 1931, numerous small
cemeteries were turned into parks as part of a campaign to turn the ‘dead space’ in the city into
‘living space.’ Many of tombs demolished are devoted to Sufi saints such as Emir Sultan and Ali
46
Hülya Küçük, The role of the Bektās̲ h̲īs in Turkey's national struggle (Leiden, Brill, 2002), 233.
47
Mehmet Karayaman, 20. Yüzyılın Ilk Yarısında Izmir'de Sağlık (Izmir: Izmir Büyükşehir Belediyesi Kültür
Yayını, 2008), 246.
48
Karayaman, 20. Yüzyılın Ilk Yarısında Izmir'de Sağlık, 246.
193
Baba, Mısırlı Tekkesi, Mevlevihane, and Piyaoğlu Hamza Bey. 50 The cemetery where Yusuf
Dede lay was dismantled in 1932 and an elementary school erected on the site the following
year. 51 The symbolic centerpiece of the local African community was replaced with a centralized
institution intended to promote belonging to the state. It is not insignificant that the school itself
was named Inkilap (Revolution), or that two of the Afro-Turks I interviewed had attended it as
children, but were unaware of what had formerly existed there. 52
Part II - The Middle Era – The Silence in the Twentieth Century
In order to promote the foundation of the Turkish Republic, Mustafa Kemal (Atatürk)
developed a platform for political, social and economic reform, known as Kemalism that in 1931
became adopted as the official ideology of the state. Kemalism comprises five vague principles:
republicanism, secularism, nationalism, populism, statism, and revolutionism (or reformism). 53
All contributed to the silencing of Africans of Izmir but three of the five did the most damage to
the community and are worth examining in detail. Secularism meant not just a separation of state
from religion, but also “the removal of religion from public life and the establishment of
complete state control over remaining religious institutions.”54 Indeed, secularism was the key
and defining element of Kemalist reform. It involved ridding the state, education, and law of any
religious elements. Secularism evolved over three stages: First, was an attack on the ulema, the
50
Karayaman, 20. Yüzyılın Ilk Yarısında Izmir'de Sağlık, 247.
51
“Okulumuz” T.C. İnkilap İlköğretim Okulu,
<http://okulweb.meb.gov.tr/35/01/330718/hakkinda.html>. Date accessed: 2 March 2012
52
Interview with Beyhan Turkkolu, 3 August 2012 (Izmir); Interview with Rabia Açık, 4 August 2012 (Izmir).
53
The difference in the fifth point is a matter of translation and political background. Conservatives emphasized
‘reformism’ while more progressives preferred ‘revolutionism.’ See, Zürcher, Turkey, 181.
54
Zürcher, Turkey, 181-182.
194
Muslim learned class who represented the bastion of Muslim knowledge in Ottoman society. 55
Second, was the removal of religious symbols and their replacement with ones relating to
Western civilization. Third was the “secularization of social life” and an attack on folk and
popular Islam in daily life. 56 While some of these reforms had in fact begun during the Ottoman
period, they were taken to new extremes in the early republican era.
Nationalism and the personality cult of Atatürk were in many ways intended to take the
place of religion. 57 The academic disciplines such as anthropology, history, linguistics were
employed to help consolidate the new nation-state by constructing the concept of Turkishness.
Academics in these disciplines emphasized the inherent proximity of Turkish and western
European civilization, and hence distance from Arabo-Muslim civilization. Lastly, the state
defined Populism as putting the interests of the ‘Turkish nation’ above individual needs and
desires.
Within this period of silence, there is little information about the activities of Africans in
Izmir. While it is tempting to conclude that this is an “unfortunate” situation, it is nothing of the
sort. This is period of official suppression of non-Turkish identities. The state had a vested
interest in suppressing the visibility of subjects who contradicted its newly constructed vision of
Turkishness. 58 Thus, there is little documentation about the experiences of Turkey’s diverse
peoples of in the twentieth century. Therefore, any existing traces of the presence of Turkish
citizens of African descent in Izmir in this period must be understood as a triumph.
This helps to explain why, despite the change in the nature of the state and its ruling
philosophy, the generally negative view of Africans and people of African descent persisted into
55
56
57
Zürcher, Turkey, 181-182.
58
Ghosh notes a similar case for women in Colonial India, see: Ghosh, Sex and the Family in Colonial India, 18.
195
the new republic. To fully understand this “period of silence” for Turkish citizens of African
descent, a discussion of the constructions of race in Turkey is in order. However, this field of
study is very much still in its infancy and does not fully address the unique place of people of
sub-Saharan origin. 59 Murat Ergin has shown that one of the key developments in this period was
a cultural practice which he calls chromatism, or a “fascination with skin colour and related
physiognomic features.” 60 Notions about the ‘natural’ characteristics of Greeks, Armenians, and
Jews were a central part of the state-driven racial discourses, aiming to define Turks and
Turkishsness against racial characterizations of what they were not. As such, a cultural hierarchy
developed that positioned Turks at the evolutionary peak in relation to these inferior others. The
construction of Turks as “white” and European required a constitutive photo-negative that was
black and non-European. Not surprisingly, this meant Africans were thus classified by their
physiognomic traits and cultural practices at the bottom of this civilizational order.
Despite the abandonment of state-sanctioned scientific racism in the mid-twentieth-
century, these racial discourses persisted in popular cultural stereotypes in the subsequent
decades and continued to inform certain state procedures. For instance, the regulations governing
recruitment of Turkish Police cadets, as laid down by the Ministry of Internal Affairs in 1975,
required applicants to be of “good health,” which excluded anyone with a speech impediment, a
stutter, baldness, or those “having black skin (Negro).” 61 Thus, Turkish citizens of African
descent were legally prohibited from becoming police officers in Turkey until at least 1975.
59
The most prominent example is Nazan Maksudyan. Türklüğü ölçmek bilimkurgusal antropoliji ve türk
millietçiliğinin ırkçı çehresi 1925 - 1939 (Istanbul: Metis, 2005).
60
Ergin, “Is the Turk a White Man?,” 831.
61
T.C. Resmi Gazetesi, 7 June 1975, 15258, 4. Whether this regulation is simply reproduced from earlier Ottoman-
era regulations is unclear. Likewise what it was about black skin that precluded someone from police service is
unknown.
196
Africans in the public eye in Izmir: Vahap Özaltay
In the midst of this period of relative silence about Africans in Izmir, one particular
Turkish citizen of African descent, Vahap Özaltay (1909-1965) had a very public presence. 62
Born in Beirut, Özaltay moved with his family to Izmir at a young age. Soon thereafter, he began
a storied football (soccer) career with the local club Altay from which he took his surname,
meaning “Pure Altay.” Local audiences in the 1920s, impressed by his skill and quickness,
nicknamed him Kara Inci, “Black Pearl.” 63
Figure XIII - Vahap Özaltay (approx. 1920). 64
62
My thanks to Alp Yücel Kaya for informing me about the life of Özaltay.
63
Milliyet (Istanbul), 18 June 1965, 11.
64
Author unknown, title unknown, date unknown. Photograph. < http://www.spordefteri.com/resim/11396/altay-li-
eski-futbolcu-vahap-ozaltay>. Date Accessed: 2 October 5 March 2014.
197
After helping the team win numerous successive championships, Özaltay became the first
Turkish footballer to be recruited by a European team, Paris Racing, for which he played for five
seasons (1932-1937). In 1937, Özaltay returned to Izmir where he became the first Turkish
football player to turn professional in a Turkish league. Later, he enjoyed a successful career as a
head trainer for various Turkish teams. Özaltay made news headlines across Turkey, but
especially in Izmir. After his passing in 1965, he was honoured with a statue in Izmir that still
stands near the Ottoman-era train station. During his life and after his death, Özaltay was known
as Turkey’s “chocolate coloured footballer.” 65 The nicknames “Black Pearl” and “Chocolate
Coloured Footballer” suggest that Özaltay’s visual appearance was perceived as unusual and
exceptional by Turkish society. Thus, while these names may have been intended as terms of
endearment, they in fact reflect the racialized nature of Turkish society at this time.
Africans as domestic servants in Republican Izmir
Despite the transition from Ottoman Empire to Turkish Republic, the daily life of
Africans and their descendants changed little. Afro-Turks occupied the lower strata of society
and thus continued with many of the same jobs they had performed in the Ottoman era, notably
domestic service and manual labour. In this sense, the legacy of slavery had shaped the options
for employment well beyond the legal end of slavery and the Ottoman Empire.
Indeed, they earned a reputation as excellent workers. African domestic servants in Izmir
in the late 1950s made national headlines. 66 It was reported in the Istanbul-based newspaper
Milliyet that Americans working in Izmir were so pleased with the cleaning abilities of their
domestic servants of African descent that they hoped to take them back to America, and even
65
Milliyet (Istanbul), 11 March 1932, 11.
66
Milliyet (Istanbul), 1 December 1957, 3.
198
informed friends and relatives back home that they should try to hire some as well. An article
had appeared in the bulletin of a local Izmir employment center entitled “Black Servant Women
are wanted to send from our city to America.” 67 The employment bulletin promised high wages
and good working conditions in America. It is not clear, however, if any Africans from Izmir
ended up going to America to work as domestic servants. 68 There is no mention in the bulletin of
whether these domestic servants were to receive citizenship as part of the employment
arrangement. 69
Africans in Izmir in the twentieth-century: work and migration
The middle of the twentieth century was a time of unprecedented urbanization in Turkey.
Migrants flooded into Izmir both from its hinterland and a large part of western Anatolia in
search of work. 70 Amongst these migrants were Turkish citizens of African descent who helped
to increase the number of people of African descent in Izmir’s urban centre. For example, the
parents of Beyhan Turkkollu, moved from Tire (mother) and from Bayındır (father). They ended
67
Milliyet (Istanbul), 1 December 1957, 3.
68
This article however may in fact reveal just as much about American culture at the time. Most Americans living
and working in Izmir in the 1950s were connected to the NATO military base in Izmir. It is likely that Americans
living in Izmir sought to replicate the race hierarchies of pre-civil rights America by hiring Turkish women of
African descent as their domestic servants. The literature on African-American domestic servants is vast. See:
Elizabeth Clark-Lewis, Living In, Living Out: African American Domestics in Washington, D.C., 1910-1940
(Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1994); Bonnie T. Dill, Across the Boundaries of Race and Class: An
Exploration of Work and Family Among Black Female Domestic Servants (New York: Garland, 1994); Rebecca
Sharpless, Cooking in Other Women's Kitchens: Domestic Workers in the South, 1865-1960 (Chapel Hill: University
of North Carolina Press, 2010); Susan Tucker, "A Complex Bond: Southern Black Domestic Workers and Their
White Employers" Frontiers: a Journal of Women Studies 9, 3, (1987), 6-13. It could be argued that Izmir and
Istanbul were the only two cities that Americans could accomplish such a ‘re-creation’ of race hierarchies in the
1950s. The fact that they were able to do so speaks to the similarities about the conditions and social class of
Africans from entirely different wings of the global African Diaspora both affected by the legacy of slavery.
69
For a contemporary study on African and African Diaspora domestic workers and religion see: Shireen A. Ally,
From Servants to Workers: South African Domestic Workers and the Democratic State (Ithaca: ILR Press, 2009).
70
Neslihan Demirtaş, Social Spatialization in a Turkish Squatter Settlement: The Dualism of Strategy and Tactic
Reconsidered (Frankfurt am Main, Germany: Peter Lang International, 2008), 67.
199
up both settling in the historical African neighbourhoods atop Kadifekale where they met. 71
Likewise, the mother of Rabia Açık, another Afro-Turk woman in Izmir, moved from Söke (a
town along the Izmir-Aydin rail line) to Izmir in search of work. 72 The same can be said for
Mustafa Olpak’s family who left Ayvalık (located 150kms north) for Izmir. He notes that they
moved to Izmir because they had relatives already established there. It was hoped that these
connections would help ease the transition for the family. 73
As Izmir’s urban space continued to expand throughout the twentieth century, so too did
the spatial distribution of employment opportunities. Thus, Turkish citizens of African descent
moved away from Kadifekale and other historical African neighborhoods to places closer to their
newfound work. For example, in the 1950s, the father of Erkan Tırnaz, a middle aged Afro-Turk
man now living in Güzelbahçe (a small town 30km west of Izmir), moved from Kadifekale to
Karşıyaka (on the northern edge of the gulf of Izmir) where he worked as a scrapper in the
boatyards. 74
The neglect by Turkish academics of the history of Afro-Turks in this period did not
dissuade foreigners from researching their history. For instance, a contribution by German
academics published in Ethnic Groups of the Republic of Turkey (1989) lists Africans living
along Turkey’s littoral region. In particularly it notes Africans in Izmir and villages and towns in
its hinterland such as Yeniciftlik (near Tire), Tulum, and Torbalı, as well as Ayvalık, and
Selçuk. 75
71
Interview with Beyhan Turkkolu, 3 August 2012 (Izmir).
72
Interview with Rabia Açık, 4 August 2012 (Izmir).
73
Olpak, Köle Kıyısından, 55-56.
74
Interview with Erkan Tırnaz, 3 August 2012 (Güzelbahçe, Izmir).
75
Peter Alford Andrew (ed.), Ethnic Groups in the Republic of Turkey (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1989), 107-108, 331.
200
Memory as a Means of Transmitting the history of Africans in Izmir
Even though by mid-century Turkish citizens of African descent in Izmir seemed
confined to the shadows of history, there were at least two important mid-twentieth-century
Turkish sources about Afro-Turks. One is a newspaper article that appeared in the nationally
distributed Anadolu newspaper in June 1944, 76 and the other Halit Ziya Uşaklıgil’s Izmir Stories
(including Civelik Ziver discussed in chapter two) which was published in 1950. The article
contains important details about the Calf Festival that the author had seen first-hand as a child in
Izmir. For this article to be printed at this time, it would have had to pass strict censors. Any
publication perceived to be threatening to the public welfare (memleketin umumi siyaseti) would
have been blocked. 77 Amendments to Turkey’s press law in 1940 added punishments for
publications which offended “national sentiments (milli hisler), threaten the nation’s security, or
promote incorrect statements about the country’s history.” 78 This is noteworthy given that that a
danger to public morality (Ottoman Turkish: adab-ı umumiye) was the very reason why the Calf
Festival was deemed inappropriate by local authorities and newspaper editors in the Ottoman
period. It can thus be inferred that by mid-twentieth century, the Turkish censors did not believe
stories of Africans celebrating the Calf Festival to be dangerous. Perhaps this is because it had
become just a local curiosity of a by-gone era. By 1950, censorship laws had eased, making the
publication of Halit Ziya Uşaklıgil’s Izmir Stories possible. 79
76
77
Since its founding, Turkey has had laws restricting freedom of the press. The 1924 constitution provided for
freedom of the press “within the framework of the law.” However it was in 1931 that the “Press Law” was enacted
which Gavid D. Brocket calls “draconian” and represents and unprecedented level of scrutiny and censorship of the
press. While initially only banning discussions about the sultanate, caliphate, communism or anarchism, it quickly
expanded to anything deemed to be threatening to order and stability. See: Gavin D. Brockett, How Happy to Call
Oneself a Turk: Provincial Newspapers and the Negotiation of a Muslim National Identity (Austin: University of
Texas Press, 2011), 66.
78
Brockett, How Happy to Call Oneself a Turk, 66.
79
Halit Ziya Uşaklıgil, Izmir Hikâyeleri (Istanbul: Cumhuriyet Matbaası, 1950).
201
While these published worked are important sources of the history of Africans in Izmir in
late Ottoman Empire, they are written from an outsider’s perspective. As such, they do not
entirely reflect life in the community. Despite the mid-century being a period of silence in
publishing about Africans in Izmir, Africans themselves were actively keeping their experiences
alive by passing family histories on to younger generations in private within the home. Mustafa
Olpak’s family history provides a rare glimpse into understanding how the Africans of Izmir
have maintained knowledge about their past.
Olpak is a marble-worker from Ayvalık of African descent who has become the main
organizer and symbol of an emerging Afro-Turk movement. Olpak’s transition from marble-
worker to community organizer began with his authoring a biography of his mother’s life,
entitled Kölelikten Özgürlüğe: Arap Kadın Kemale [From Slavery to Freedom: The Black
Woman Kemale] in 2002. 80 The book garnered little attention until it was reworked, expanded,
and republished as Kenya – Girit – Istanbul: Köle Kıyısından İnsan Biografleri [Kenya – Crete –
Istanbul: Human Biographies from the Slave Coast] in 2005. 81 Using secondary sources by
Erdem and Toledano to fill in the gaps in his memories, Olpak details the family’s history from
their capture in Africa, to their transport across land and sea, and their ownership by a Muslim
family on Crete. He describes his family’s daily life and work on Crete and their difficult journey
to Anatolia. Some family members arrived well before the Greek-Turkish population exchange
of the 1920s, others during it. 82 They arrived on the shores of the fledgling Turkish republic
speaking only Greek, as did the majority of Muslims on Crete, and were thus subjected to
harassment and had difficulty finding work. 83 His mother encountered problems in elementary
80
Mustafa Olpak, Kölelikten Özgürlüğe: Arap Kadın Kemale (Izmir: Self-published, 2002).
81
Olpak, Köle Kıyısından.
82
Olpak, Köle Kıyısından, 31-33; for a summary of this process, see: Ağaoğlu, Osmanlı’dan Cumhuriyet’e, 292-95.
83
It is unknown if they had retained any knowledge of African languages as it is not noted by Olpak.
202
school, such as being excluded by the other children because of her dark complexion. 84
Olpak explains that his interest in his family’s history comes as a result of being two
generations removed from directly experiencing enslavement himself. While his grandparents
experienced slavery firsthand, and his mother and her siblings wanted to forget it, Olpak and his
siblings had many questions about their family’s past. 85 Olpak recalls that his interest started
when he was very young. Even as a child he had realized his mother was unwilling to talk about
the family’s history. He recalls that she became “shy, ashamed and sad” when asked. 86 Without
their mother’s help, he and his brother Cemil asked their grandmother questions about the
family’s history. To avoid overstepping over social boundaries, the brothers devised a plan to ask
only five questions at time. 87 They asked such questions as: “[w]ere your grandma and grandpa
slaves on Crete? Are we descended from slaves too?” Over time their questions became more
detailed and reached farther into the family’s history. In one instance, they placed a map in front
of their grandmother and grandfather and asked: “[c]ome on grandma, can you show us where
you come from?” and “[g]randpa, where were you born? Where did you come from?” 88 Olpak
recalls that upon being questioned, his grandfather would close his eyes to focus on recalling the
fine details of their past. As a child, Olpak was at times fearful of asking them potentially painful
questions, but his curiosity trumped any apprehensions he had.
The story of Olpak’s family shows how this period of public silence was not only brought
about by actions of the state but by Turkish citizens of African descent censoring themselves.
External pressures, most notably Kemalism and a desire to forget any aspects of the family’s
past, such as being associated with slavery, that might prevent future generations from
84
Olpak, Köle Kıyısından, 34-41, 47-48.
85
86
87
88
Olpak, Köle Kıyısından, 14.
203
succeeding would have muted most discussion.89 In some households, the act of passing on
knowledge about the family’s history might have been easier than Olpak’s. While it seems that
many elders maintained total silence, some grandparents and parents likely volunteered
information to the new generation. However, Olpak’s household probably reflects the average
experience of Africans and people of African descent in Izmir twentieth mid-century:
information about the family’s past was learned, but only through great difficulty.
Part III – Development of Afro-Turkish Identity in the early 21st century
Within the last thirty years, this silence about the history of African slavery and Turkish
citizens of African descent has been broken by both Turkish citizens of African descent and
others interested in the legacies of slavery and emancipation. Broadly speaking, the most
important factor that precipitated a new era of open public discussion about the history of
Africans in Izmir and the emergence of Afro-Turk identity was the transformation of Turkish
society beginning in the early 1980s. Quite simply, people had grown suspicious and weary of
the promises of Kemalism. The mantras of progress, modernity, and civilization which the state
had rigorously promoted had not met expectations. Turkish citizens no longer wanted to
“sacrifice the present for the future” and thus began to examine their own unique histories,
beliefs, cultures from which they had been forcefully separated. 90
More specifically, the 1980s witnessed a series of events that affected the nature of the
relationship between society and state in Turkey. For example, the Kurdish uprising beginning in
89
For a similar discussion as it related to the legacy of slavery in Egypt see: Eve T. Powell, Tell This in My Memory:
Stories of Enslavement from Egypt, Sudan, and the Ottoman Empire (Stanford, California: Stanford University
Press, 2012), 126.
90
Reşat Kasaba, “Kemalist Certainties and Modern Ambiguities” in Rethinking Modernity and National Identity in
Turkey, 16.
204
1984 in the country’s southeast exposed cracks in some of the foundations of the republic. Its
message of distinct cultural, linguistic, and ethnic identity showed all Turkish citizens that there
were people with divergent histories and lives that have not been accounted for by the state. At
the same time the limits of state power were revealed by the inability of the state to suppress the
movement. 91 Concurrently, a weakening of secularism occurred as a result of the rise in
popularity of new moderate Islamist political movements. 92
The result of these dramatic changes to Turkish society, unparalleled since the foundation
of the republic, was that Kemalism as a guiding force in daily life became increasingly
questioned and thus weakened. The tenets of state secularism and nationalism began to play less
significant roles in shaping both public policy and ordinary lives. In many ways, Turkish society
was transforming into a globalized, post-modern society. What once were universal truths (the
tenets of Kemalism) had become destabilized. Turkey was transitioning from a nation-state
based on the concept of ethnic and religious homogeneity to a country that accepted, to a certain
degree, the coexistence of plural and diverse identities. 93 It is within this context that in 1989
local newspapers in Izmir featured a few short articles about the unique history of villages in
Izmir’s hinterland and their residents of African descent. 94
International organizations have also played a role in opening discussion about the
history of peoples of African descent in Turkey and the development of Afro-Turk identity.
Foremost amongst them is the European Union (EU). Numerous treaties which Turkey signed as
part of the EU harmonization process call for “cultural diversity and intercultural dialogue”
91
Kasaba, “Kemalist Certainties and Modern Ambiguities,” 16.
92
Zürcher, Turkey, 289. For a more complete discussion of this topic see: Ayhan Kaya, "Management of Ethno-
Cultural Diversity in Turkey: Europeanization of Domestic Politics and New Challenges" International Journal of
Legal Information: The Official Publication of the International Association of Law Libraries 38, 2, (2010), 219.
93
Durugönül, “Invisibility,” 286.
94
205
within and between member states. 95 Signatory states are required to accept and explore the
varied experiences of their peoples’ past. While Turkey’s accession to full membership of the
EU is still incomplete, these cultural agreements are being followed. The United Nations
Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) has promoted the development of
Afro-Turkish identity even more directly than the EU. Most particularly, its Slave Route Project
has supported organizations which seek to “contribute to a better understanding of the causes,
forms of operation, issues and consequences of slavery.” 96 However this process of an
‘awakening’ of Afro-Turk identity did not occur immediately following the weakening of
Kemalism in the 1980s or EU cultural agreements. As recently as 2003, Esma Durugönül
remarked on a “lack of African consciousness” or lobby group on behalf of Turkish citizens of
African descent. 97
Olpak’s book, Köle Kıyısından İnsan Biografleri [Human Biographies from the Slave
Coast], caught the attention of fellow Turkish citizens of African descent and a number of
different organizations including the Turkish Historical society and UNESCO. With UNESCO
support through the Slave Route Project, Olpak subsequently founded the Africans’ Cultural and
Solidarity Association (Afrikalılar Kültür Dayanışma ve Yardımlaşma Derneği) in 2006 in
Ayvalık. At the Association’s opening event it was announced that UNESCO and the Turkish
Historical Society planned to undertake an oral history project to record the personal histories of
Afro-Turks across the Aegean region. In early 2007, Turkey’s national broadcaster, Türkiye
Radyo ve Televizyon Kurumu (TRT), produced and aired a documentary based on Olpak’s book,
95
Turkish accession to the EU began in 1999. See: <http://www.europarl.europa.eu/summits/hel1_en.htm> for the
results of the summit. See the various treaties and agreements since 1999 noted at:
<http://www.ab.gov.tr/index.php?p=91&l=2>. Date accessed: 3 July 2014.
96
“The Slave Route,” UNESCO <http://www.unesco.org/new/en/culture/themes/dialogue/the-slave-route>. Date
accessed: 5 July 2014.
97
206
and featured interviews with Olpak, Erdem, and Toledano. 98
Figure XIV - Mustafa Olpak - Founder of the Africans’ Cultural and Solidarity Association. 99
Since the mid-2000s, Olpak has organized an annual festival in Izmir to celebrate Afro-
Turkish history and identity, modeled on the Calf Festival. It is now the centerpiece of the
community’s revival. Like the original festival, this one takes place at the end of May and is a
multi-day event. The seventh annual Calf Festival in 2014 began with a procession through
Izmir’s main streets. Participants included dance groups of Afro-Turk children, as well as ex-
98
“Arap kızı'yla yüzleşme zamanı!” Radkal <http://www.radikal.com.tr/haber.php?haberno=214057>. Date
accessed: 5 November 2008.
99
Mehmet Yaman, “Çıkolatalı Renkli Vatandaşlar” Zaman, 2014.
<http://www.zaman.com.tr/multimedia_getGalleryPage.action?sectionId=3042&type=foto&galleryId=144460&acti
vePic=3>. Date accessed: 14 June 2014.
207
patriot African groups from Burundi and Uganda based in Istanbul. Attendees included members
of the Senegalese, Nigerian, and American embassies as well as academics from a local
university. It also involved a panel discussion with academics on the topic of ‘Unforgettable
Africa and Colour and Division in Anatolia,’ followed the next day by a large picnic and musical
performances. 100 The main part of this new festival, however, did not feature any religious
performance like those of the late nineteenth-century, nor did it occur atop Kadifekale. Instead, it
took place in the town of Torbalı. 101
Clearly then, with these discussions about race, racism, and the unique history of
Africans of Izmir taking place in public and even supported by the Turkish government, Turkish
society has dramatically changed since the silence of the mid-twentieth century. Turkish citizens
of African descent in Izmir and the Aegean region are beginning to identify as Afro-Turks and
discuss their past openly in a way not in seen the twentieth-century.
Moreover, Olpak’s Association is not the only one that has emerged in Turkey. Another
group was founded, representing the Afro-Turks of Muğla province whose forefathers were
brought there from the Sudan and Egypt as part of a failed agricultural plan engineered by the
Khedive of Egypt in the early 1900s. This group has also received attention from the local media,
and a documentary was made about their past in 2008 by an independent filmmaker, Ahmet
Ilgaz, entitled Sütlü Çıkolata [Milk Chocolate]. 102
Olpak, Afro-Turks, and Politics
100
Mustafa Olpak, “AFRİKALILAR KÜLTÜR DAYANIŞMA VE YARDIMLAŞMA DERNEĞİ (AFRO-
TÜRK),” (Izmir, 2014).
101
Olpak, “AFRİKALILAR.”
102
Sutlu Cikolata, Dir. Ahmet Ilgaz, 2007. Film.
208
Olpak’s activities to mobilize his community have brought him and his organization into
the contentious realm of minority politics in Turkey. While his goal is singular – to unite Turkish
citizens of African descent and raise awareness about their history – Olpak has stepped into a
political minefield for which he was, self-admittedly, unprepared.
Firstly, the results of oral history project undertaken by the Turkish Historical Society
remain inaccessible. Despite promises that the archived oral history interviews would be made
available to the public, not even Olpak himself has access to them. When I spoke with the
archivist at one of the planned repositories, the Ahmet Priştina City Archive in Izmir, he said he
knew nothing of this project. 103 Furthermore the website for the project, afroturk.org, is rarely
updated. This confusion and delay suggests that the Turkish Historical Society is perhaps less
committed to supporting the cultural diversity of Turkey than it claims.
In response to a major attack on Turkish military forces by the members of the Kurdistan
Worker’s Party (PKK) in Dağlıca in October of 2007, anti-PKK and anti-terrorism protests and
marches were held across Turkey. During these protests, nationalist groups also attacked the
buildings of The Peace and Democracy Party (BDP), a legal pro-Kurdish political party, which
they believed were either working in co-ordination with, or acting as a front for the PKK. On 22
October 2007, the building of the BDP in Ayvalık was attacked and set on fire. Whether
intentional or not, the Afro-Turk Association’s headquarters, located in the same building, were
also burned down. 104 When asked about this event in an interview, Olpak responded by
acknowledging the dangers of extreme nationalism, and stated that he believed the attacks on his
103
“Oral History Project” <http://www.afroturk.org/texts/2.pdf>. Date accessed: 9 October 2009.
104
“Şiddetten Afrikalılar Derneği bile kurtulamadı” Radikal
<http://www.radikal.com.tr/haber.php?haberno=237117>. Date accessed: 29 June 2010.
209
group were more than just a coincidence. 105 It is noteworthy that the BDP and the Afro-Turk
Association operated in the same building in Ayvalık. It reflects their common goal to organize
and raise awareness about the plight of the minority peoples they represent which have been
silenced in the twentieth century.
However, Olpak’s politics are not tied to the BDP or any established party. After
relocating the Association’s offices to Izmir, he has since engaged the Turkish Communist Party,
The Republication People’s Party (CHP), and the ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP).
Olpak met with AKP members in Izmir in 2010, asking for funding for his organization, which
he has been requesting since at least 2007. Most interesting about this meeting was the comments
made by the local AKP chief to the media. While legitimizing the cause of the Afro-Turks, he
also attempted to placate nationalists worried about the emergence of another minority group
seeking recognition and state support. The AKP leader noted that Anatolia is a “cultural mosaic,”
that the Ottoman Empire had included parts of Africa, and that “our brothers here became
Ottoman citizens” where they “fought in the War of Independence with bravery and provided a
great service to the nation.” 106 The positioning of Afro-Turks not only as fellow Ottoman
citizens, but also as supporters of the Turkish nation since its foundation demonstrate what the
AKP leader believed were the prerequisites for a minority group to be legitimate in Turkey
today. Afro-Turks are “our brothers” as they were Ottomans too. And just like “us,” they actively
participated in the nation building process. Finally, it is also important to note that this AKP
105
“Afrikalılar Derneği Anadolu Halklarının Kendi Tarihi Ile Yüzleşmesini Hedefliyor”
<http://www.kozonline.org/arsiv/kk39/KK39_11_04.htm>. Date accessed: 5 July 2010.
106
“Afrikalılardan Ak Parti Il Başkanı'na Ziyaret – Izmir” Haberciniz <http://www.haberciniz.biz/afrikalilardan-ak-
parti-il-baskanina-ziyaret-izmir-805527h.htm>. Date accessed: 5 July 2010; “AK Parti Izmir Il Başkanı Kabak:
Afrika Kökenli Kardeşlerimiz Kültürümüzün Renkli Bir Mozaiğidir!” Etkihaber <http://www.etkihaber.com/ak-
parti-izmir-il-baskani-kabak-afrika-kokenli-kardeslerimiz-kulturumuzun-renkli-30555h.htm>. Date accessed: 5 July
2010.
210
member failed to mention that most Africans arrived in Anatolia as a result of enslavement,
indicating perhaps a lack of knowledge on or uneasiness with this topic.
Figure XV - Sign outside the Afro-Turk association offices in Kemeraltı, Izmir. 107
Later in 2010, Olpak expressed to local media in Izmir his support of the major
democratization initiative of the AKP government (demokratik açılım). He promised that if
government officials were to attend the Afro-Turk’s annual festival, he and his organization’s
members would wear AKP pins and support them in the next election. 108 Thus by 2010, Olpak
believed he was in a position to influence the voting choices of Afro-Turks and that he saw the
107
Michael Ferguson, untitled, Photograph. Izmir, 2012.
“Afrikalılar’dan açılıma destek” Hurriyet
108
<http://hurarsiv.hurriyet.com.tr/goster/printnews.aspx?DocID=15233906>. Date accessed: 8 August 2010.
211
democratic initiatives of the AKP as beneficial to Afro-Turks.
Olpak previously held a rather unfavourable view of the AKP government. Three years
earlier in 2007, Olpak expressed his frustration to local media:
It is said Anatolia has a rich culture, but the government

is not helping those working to bring this out. We didn’t do
anything wrong. The state’s official channel [TRT] made a
documentary out of my book but state officials act like spectators
on the sidelines. Permission wasn’t even given for us to open a
booth at the Izmir International Fair. They said that it was not
appropriate, as their justification. What is inappropriate? There is
an attitude of not taking the organization seriously. Even the
people reading the official documents amongst the [state] officials
laugh. However if we examine their genes, perhaps there was even
African slavery in their past. 109
In subsequent interviews, Olpak added that “we only want to bring out our culture.” In
softening his position, Olpak was tacitly acknowledging the danger of enflaming nationalist
sentiments. He was also trying to ensure his association was not seen as divisive. Olpak’s Afro-
Turk Association is not looking for reparations for slavery, nor do they have any land claims nor
have sights set on special linguistic or religious rights. It could therefore be suggested that the
AKP government began to eventually support Afro-Turks after concluding that they were a
politically safe minority to promote, one which will not interfere too much with the status quo in
Turkish politics.
Parallels of Afro-Turk and Kurdish experience: 100 years apart atop Kadifekale
109
“Obama bile bizi biliyor ama Kültür Bakanı ilgilenmiyor” Bir Gün
<http://www.birgunabone.net/life_index.php?news_code=1225791387&year=2008&month=11&day=04>. Date
accessed: 8 July 2014.
212
As noted above, despite Kadifekale being the location of the historical African
neighbourhoods and the site where many of their descendants still live, the re-created Calf
Festival does not occur there. This is likely a result of ongoing neglect by the municipal
government which stretches, as has been shown, back to the Ottoman period. Successive
governments have been either unable or unwilling to manage the informal housing that
developed there. 110 Since the 1990s, it has been home to a large population of Kurdish refugees
largely from the city of Mardin. They came to Izmir as a result of instability created by the PKK-
Turkish state conflict. Since 2005, the city has finally taken concrete steps to revitalize this part
of the city. However, this revitalization appears to prioritize beautifying Kadifekale for tourists
and not fully addressing the needs of the current residents. Nor does anything other than
Kadifekale’s ancient Greek and Roman past feature in the city’s plans to attract tourists.
Relocation programs for current residents have also fallen short of their promises.
The new Kurdish residents atop Kadifekale have been subject to many of the same
discourses as their African predecessors. Mostly importantly, both Kurds and Africans were
viewed as representing a foreign culture, one that is antithetical to Ottoman/Turkish
civilization. 111 Like the African community earlier, the Kurdish community was negatively
impacted by municipal development policies that utilize a public health discourse to legitimize
their actions. 112 This urban renewal of Kadifekale also threatens to destroy any remaining vestige
of the history of Africans still existing there. Many people of Africans descent still inhabit
Kadifekale and are affected by this urban renewal project and will be forced to move as well.
110
Cenk Saraçoğlu, Şehir, Orta Sınıf Ve Kürtler: Inkâr’dan ‘Tanıyarak Dışlama’ya (Istanbul: Iletişim, 2011), 78-79.
111
For middle class Izmirli views of Kurds today see: Saraçoğlu, Şehir, Orta Sınıf Ve Kürtler
112
Ahmet Karayiğit, “Kadifekale’nin Sosyo-Ekonomik Profili ve Sorunları” Izmir Ticaret Odası (Izmir: Izmir
Ticaret Odası, July 2005). <http://www.izto.org.tr/NR/rdonlyres/E1A13BFC-7F56-429D-94F6-
407D932A12C6/9249/kalesosyo.pdf>. Date accessed 28 March 2011.
213
The city plans to connect the newly a constructed park atop Kadifekale with the open air
museum of ancient Greek and Roman artifacts at its base. To do so, they will demolish large
swaths of housing on the slopes of Kadifekale. The centerpiece of this project is the restoration
of the large 16 0000-seat ancient Roman theatre. 113 Many of the residents, including Afro-Turks,
whose homes currently sit atop this ancient stadium are in legal battles with the city to halt the
destruction of their homes.
As noted in chapter four, according to oral history interviews I conducted, the flat ‘stage’
area of the Roman theatre, which was still discernible as of August 2012, is known by long-time
local residents as a former location of the Calf Festival, known informally as “Dana Meydanı” or
Calf Square. The restoration of the theatre will mean that Dana Meydanı will be no more, and
that its residents, including the elderly who have important information about the African
community, or who are of African descent themselves, will be dispersed throughout the city. In
this act of prioritizing the ancient history of Izmir over its more recent (and unique) past, the city
is prioritizing tourist dollars over the well-being and the living history of the people that
currently inhabit Kadifekale. 114
Conclusion
Despite recent developments, it should be kept in mind that the opening of discussion
about the history of Africans in the Ottoman Empire and modern Turkey, is in no way fully
accepted. Indeed, the as Engin notes, “ethno-racial legacy of the early Republican period” (1923-
50) still shapes current issues about “minority rights, what constitutes Turkishness, negotiating a
113
“Kadifekale’deki antik tiyatro gün yüzüne çıkarılıyor” Zaman <http://www.zaman.com.tr/kultur_kadifekaledeki-
antik-tiyatro-gun-yuzune-cikariliyor_2118788.html>. Date accessed: 8 October 2013.
114
214
national culture in a global world, and reformulations of citizenship.” 115 For Turkish citizens,
Kemalism and its legacies must be negotiated everyday despite a relative loosening of its grip on
society.
The climate of fear related to identifying oneself publicly as a Turkish citizen with a past
divergent from the official historical narrative, especially one rooted in slavery, continues to be a
source of shame, embarrassment, and fear for many people of African descent in Izmir. In 2010,
I asked an elderly man of African descent living in the town of Güzelbahçe about his origins and
received an evasive response. Beyond indicating that his mother came from Crete, he expressed
both sadness and reticence to talk about this subject with me. He added that “[a]ll I know is that
Turks come from Central Asia.” 116 Beyond the fact that he knew little about his family’s past
(which I later confirmed through talking to other relatives of his) his response was probably
motivated by his discomfort talking to an outsider who he did not fully trust. To protect himself
and his family, he employed a classic and rather revealing defense: the official, mid-twentieth-
century Kemalist explanation of the origins of Turkish peoples.
115
Ergin, “Is the Turk a White Man?,” 832.
116
Interview with Anonymous, 23 May 2010 (Güzelbahçe, Izmir).
215
Conclusion
This thesis has detailed the social and cultural history of enslaved and emancipated
Africans and their descendants in Izmir. It has demonstrated that, while Africans had been
present in Izmir for centuries, the size of the community reached a climax at the end of the
nineteenth century, at which point Izmir had the second highest concentration of Africans in the
empire’s northern tier (after Istanbul). This ballooning of Izmir’s African population was largely
a result of the abolition of the slave trade. As an important port city situated on numerous trans-
Mediterranean shipping routes, Izmir became the main site where the Ottoman state, backed by
its British partners in abolition, decided to install rescued emancipated Africans. Despite the
legal abolition of the trade, problems of enforcement meant it persisted largely underground.
Therefore, even though the Izmir slave market ceased to exist by the third quarter of the century,
it was replaced by an underground network of slave trading.
Once in Izmir, most of these state-emancipated Africans were integrated into private
households, yet many were likely re-enslaved. The existing household structure enabled an
efficient way to integrate such homeless and kinless people into Ottoman society. Other
emancipated Africans were placed in new state institutions designed specifically for their care,
such as the settlement and training program known as the “Izmir plan.” African children too
young to be left to their own devices were sent off to existing Ottoman institutions for orphans.
While such a degree of state intervention following emancipation into the lives of Africans is
unprecedented, it appears that it had little impact in improving their lives, as demonstrated by the
case of African children. The real difference was that this intervention allowed the Ottoman state
to make these newly arrived people more knowable, manageable, and above all, enabled the re-
216
direction of their labour power to where it was needed most acutely.
Emancipated Africans also formed their own neighbourhoods atop Kadifekale. As such,
it can be said that an “African space” existed in late nineteenth-century Izmir. This kind of
spatial solidarity reflects the fact that most of the Africans of Izmir lived very much on the social
and economic margins of Izmir and therefore relied on each other in times of need. The majority
of African women worked in domestic service, while the men worked as manual labourers
mostly in the port. Combined they helped to contribute both directly and indirectly to the
economic growth of the booming port city.
Many emancipated Africans also settled in Izmir’s hinterland and worked as
agriculturalists. Some moved to the interior on their own, while others were forcibly settled there
by the Ottoman state. Regardless of how they arrived in the interior, Africans were thus part the
flow of refugees and migrant labourers to the countryside where an acute labour shortage meant
opportunities for employment were readily available. As such, Africans who helped produce,
process, and transport cash-crops in the hinterland played an important role in generating the
remarkable growth and prosperity for which Izmir was known during this time.
Despite the fact that most if not all newcomers to the countryside worked as
sharecroppers, Africans would have been amongst the most vulnerable labour group. This was
because Africans were the least prepared to undertake agricultural work in the hinterland and
because centuries of enslavement had influenced how they were regarded – that is, as amongst
the lowest order of people in the eyes of landowners and state officials. By the first decade of the
twentieth centuries, villages scattered throughout Izmir’s hinterland were inhabited by
emancipated Africans, many of whose descendants still live there today. Some African
agriculturalists in the Ottoman period found this situation in the countryside untenable, and
217
became bandits seeking what perhaps was an unattained form of ‘freedom’ they never gained
after emancipation. In various ways then, Africans came to live and work in Izmir’s countryside
just like in the city centre.
Despite their marginalization, the African community in Izmir possessed a vibrant
culture. They organized an annual festival known as the Calf Festival, which incorporated
elements of religious practices brought with them from sub-Saharan Africa. In the late Ottoman
period this festival formed the centrepiece of community identity. Their growing presence in the
late nineteenth-century atop Kadifekale impacted Izmir’s social and cultural landscape. The
festival became part of the fabric of Izmir’s many public celebrations, with numerous non-
African spectators attending. The activities of the African community in Izmir were a cause for
concern amongst the upper echelon of Ottoman society, who viewed African spiritual practices
and the annual festival at which Izmir’s Africans congregated as expressions of ‘savagery.’
Those behind the newspapers in which much of the anti-African discourse appeared were largely
of the same educational and philosophical background of late Ottoman and early Turkish
reformers, who drew heavily upon western, liberal concepts to shape their views about the future
of Ottoman and later Turkish society.
In the early twentieth century, the new Turkish state adopted ideology based upon an
extreme form of nationalism that attempted to redefine and consolidate a homogenous “Turkish”
identity and worked to efface any social, cultural, and religious diversity within its borders. As a
result, Africans in Izmir were silenced and their cultural practices in public space ceased. The
tomb where the Calf Festival was practiced, known to Muslims as the tomb of Yusuf Dede and
Christians as the Tomb of St.Polycarp, was eventually demolished and a state-elementary school
built in its place. In this way, the African community of Izmir was physically displaced, and its
218
memory effectively erased, by an educational institution of the new Turkish state.
The discourses of modernity and civilization that were deployed by Ottoman officials and
learned classes against the Africans of Izmir persisted into the republican period and, indeed, still
resonate in racial politics of Turkey today. Only by the close of the twentieth century did a
weakening of Turkish nationalism enable the descendants of these formerly enslaved Africans,
known as Afro-Turks, to begin recovering and celebrating their unique heritage and identity
anew.
While Afro-Turks in Izmir have made great strides in raising awareness about their
history, there is no doubt a long way to go before the divergent experiences that they embody
will be accepted in mainstream Turkish society. If then Prime-Minister (now President)
Erdoğan’s rhetoric during the Gezi Park crisis is any indication of a general mood that still
prevails amongst the majority, then Olpak and his association still face an uphill battle.
Reflective of this, in the Turkish presidential campaign of the summer of 2014, Erdoğan, who
went on to win the election by a slim majority, was accused of making racist and divisive
remarks against his fellow candidates as well as Georgian and Armenian ethnic minority groups
in Turkey. 1
Ultimately, this thesis has shown that life as an emancipated African in Izmir was often
just as difficult and grueling as life in slavery, and prone to greater exploitation and uncertainty.
Engrained cultural notions about the subservient place of Africans in society were not overcome
by attaining theoretical “freedom.” Thus, following emancipation, Africans in late Ottoman
Izmir by and large still lived at the bottom of the social, cultural, and economic order. What can
be said is that, the existence of Olpak’s Afro-Turk association demonstrates that the legacy of
1
“Erdoğan’dan mezhepçilik ve ırkçılık dersleri: ‘Bunlar Alevi, Zaza, yabancı’” Sendika
<http://www.sendika.org/2014/08/erdogandan-mezhepcilik-ve-irkcilik-dersleri-bunlar-alevi-zaza-yabanci/>. Date
Accessed 10 August 2014.
219
African slavery is now opening up for discussion in Turkey. As such, Afro-Turks have joined the
rest of the global African diaspora in their struggle for recognition and equality.
220
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The African Presence in Late Ottoman Izmir and Beyond

McGill University, Montreal

A thesis submitted to McGill University in partial fulfillment of the requirements of

the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

© Michael Ferguson 2014

contributes to the historiographies on nineteenth-century Izmir and on slavery in the Ottoman

underrepresented in the prevailing literature.

patrimoine culturelle et identité unique. Cette thèse contribute à l’historiographie d’Izmir et de

Note on Place Names……………………...………………………………………….….........6

Note on Transliteration and Spelling…………………………………………….…..…........6

Chapter 1 – Izmir in the late Ottoman Slave Trade…………………………………….......34

Chapter 2 – Africans living and working in Izmir post-emancipation…………………….71

Chapter 3 – Emancipated Africans in Izmir’s hinterland: agriculturalists and bandits....107

Chapter 4 – The Calf Festival…………………………………………………….…………..139

Chapter 5 -- Loss of Community, Silence, Resurgence (1880-2014)……………………….179

Note on Transliteration and Spelling

Pronunciation of Turkish letters

Ğ, ğ = known as the soft g (unpronounced), lengthens the proceeding vowel.

I, ı = dotless i, somewhere between “in” and eel”

Ö,ö = same as the vowel sound in the French peu

Ş,ş = “sh” as in shore

Ü,ü = same as “u” in French tu

ADKYDA - Afrikalılar Dayanışma, Kültür ve Yardımlaşma Derneği Arşivi [Afro-Turk

BOA – Basbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivi [Prime Ministry’s Archives], Istanbul

Figure I - Mekteb-i Sanayi of Izmir (approx. 1900)………………………………………..88

Figure IV - Izmir’s Port and Customs House, 1890………………………………………….102

Figure V - Fig Market in the Bazars of Izmir (approx. 1900)………………………………103

Figure VI - Postcard featuring a group of Zeybeks, with 2 Afro-Zeybeks………..…………130

Figure VII - “Grand Country coffee-shop at Aydın” - Theophilos Hatzimihail (1933)……...131

Figure VIII - Magnified portion of “Grand Country coffee-shop at Aydın.”…………………132

Figure X - The Tomb of St.Polycarp (1904)………………………………………………..153

Figure XI - The Tomb of St.Polycarp (approx. 1900)………………………………………156

Figure XII - The Shrine of Tezveren Ali in use (2012)……………………………………...159

Figure XIII - Vahap Özaltay (approx. 1920)…………………………………………………197

Figure XV - Sign outside the Afro-Turk association offices in Kemeraltı, Izmir……………211

Map 1 – Location of Izmir in the Eastern Mediterranean………………….……………….35

Map 2 – The urban space of Izmir in 1876…………………………………………………44

included this revealing statement:

According to them we don’t understand politics. According to them we don’t

In Turkish politics, this characterization of class divide is expressed in the well-known

rooted in the Ottoman period.

zenci – African slave.

thought about enslaved Africans and continue to imagine their descendants.

family entitled Kenya-Girit-Istanbul: Köle Kıyısından Insan Biyografileri [Kenya-Crete-

June 2013, Olpak responded:

Everywhere demonstrations are being made for democracy and freedom.

Regrettably, Mr. Erdoğan gave a very unfortunate example in his

from sub-Saharan Africa.

Izmir’s Africans congregated as expressions of “savagery,” in contrast to their own notions of a

percent of the total population. 6

and their descendents in Izmir.

Historiography of late Ottoman Izmir - a “Cosmopolitan” city

Izmir, as represented in this conventional historiography, is the emergence and untimely

destruction of this “cosmopolitan” city. 10

them by imperialism and colonialism. 12

disrupt these imagined boundaries.

Most studies on Izmir employing “cosmopolitan” or the idea of “cosmopolitanism”

term “cosmopolitanism” have uncritically replicated it exactly as found in the travelogues,

emphasized the potential plurality of cosmopolitanisms as a way to describe non-elite or non-

environmental transformations as a result of dramatic economic growth. Studies of this type

developments outside of the city center and port area. 25

closest one can get to them. 32

Historiography of enslaved and emancipated Africans in the late Ottoman Empire

emancipated Africans and their descendants who inhabit Turkey today.