Category: Culture/Art

On the eve of the 21st century, Turkey is celebrating the uninterrupted 75th anniversary of her foundation (29 October 1923) and commemorating the 60th anniversary of the death of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk (in November 1938). The man who founded modern Turkey, the successful fighter against European colonialism, was at 35 years of age, the youngest general of World War I and the hero of the Gallipoli campaign. Even today I remember how we Turks mourned him as though we had all lost our father. There are not many of his contemporaries alive today, but there are many of my generation who saw him in their youth or childhood. I am one of them.

My encounter with Ataturk occurred in elementary school. The year was 1937 or 1938. News of his visit brought excitement to the school. The blackboards were painted and even inaccessible corners were cleaned. The school administration distributed new history texts to each class. The text was written by Afet Inan, ‘a liberated woman historian’, whom Ataturk admired. The students became impatient. Each wanted to see him, while the teachers, overcome with emotion, wanted to be relieved of their classroom duties.

There were some descendants of famous personalities scattered in various classes. The school administration took care to make their classrooms especially attractive. Still we had a little bit of hope in our class. According to our teacher, if he was to be believed, Ataturk would not overlook our class since our teacher fought in Ataturk’s army during the war for independence, 1920-1922. As rumour of his impending arrival spread, Ataturk appeared at the end of the week. We were studying Turkish history exclusively that day. We did not hear Ataturk arrive but realized something was happening because of the commotion in the corridor. Every eye turned to the windows with a view of the corridor. There was no doubt that Ataturk was here. Our teacher counselled us to avoid losing our heads in the excitement. 

Ataturk’s presence did not raze my classmate at the neighbouring desk. He had a mania for copying secretly from a book which he kept on his lap during examinations. Even in a subject in which he was well versed, he preferred to copy. When he filled in his name, date of birth, and address, he would glance at his identity card and copy. Cheating was a game for him. Ataturk’s presence did not dissuade him from keeping his copy book on his lap. He was the type who would be proud to say later ‘You see, nobody would dare cheat in Ataturk’s presence but me.’

Meanwhile, Ataturk and his party had gathered in the corridor. Ataturk was in the middle, flanked by the senior school administrators. The remainder of the group followed at least two steps behind them. Then the door opened wide and Ataturk entered with his entourage. We all stood at attention just like soldiers. As we jumped to attention, the book fell from my classmate’s lap. He blushed with embarrassment. Fortunately, no one noticed in the excitement.

Ataturk told our teacher to seat us, which he did. Our teacher then bowed, not extremely low, but at just the right height and introduced himself rather modestly as ‘Your obedient teacher in history’. Since he was a member of the board of education as well, we were astounded that he referred to himself as merely a teacher. Perhaps Ataturk would have questioned him more diligently if he had known of the teacher’s other responsibilities. Ataturk asked him ‘Do you teach from the book or from your own concept?’ The principal and the teacher answered simultaneously ‘From the book’ as they tried to prevent him from asking ‘From which book?”Very nice’ replied Ataturk with a glance at the text book on the desk. Had he asked us about anything in that book, we would have been dumfounded. Thank heaven, he didn’t. The principal and the teachers explained the curriculum to Ataturk to change the subject.

I had seen a picture of Ataturk. He posed with two fingers in his waistcoat pocket, his head bent slightly forward. ‘To look at him directly is difficult. To look in his eyes is impossible. If you look at any more than his chin, you will be dazzled by the reflections from his eyes and lose consciousness as though you were struck by lightning’. This was common folk wisdom so I didn’t dare raise my head to look at his face. What I could see was his watch chain, waistcoat, two fingers of his left hand in his pocket, his collar and part of his chin but the Devil made me suddenly glance a little higher. I saw no dazzle nor did lightning strike. Even the principal and the teacher could look into his eyes with no ill effects. 
Dazzling reflections and lightning were exaggerations but the stare from those eyes was unusual. The eyes stared into space; they seemed to focus at great distances and peer into wide chasms. Even a child could not fail to notice that nothing escaped those eyes. No one could deceive this man. He was unimpressed by bombast. He was extraordinary. Nobody was required to tell him what needed to be done. Those who attempted to deceive him appeared to be merely superfluous, thoughtless, unseemly or presumptuous. That is why the principal and the teacher were so ridiculous in his presence. He did not need their briefing. What he should have been told he already knew.

I am still convinced today of the correctness of those childhood impressions. I recently read a 1941 publication about Ataturk’s conversation with General MacArthur when MacArthur visited Istanbul in 1931. In his diary MacArthur noted that even before Hitler’s rise to power in Germany Ataturk had prophesied that World War II would begin in Europe between 1941-1945. He also foresaw that the United States could not maintain its neutrality and that the first victor in Europe would be Bolshevik Russia rather than England, France, or Germany.

Everything happened exactly as he had prophesied. He knew that teachers would give him evasive answers; that a book would fall from the lap of a blushing student; and that a newly introduced unopened book would be presented to him as a traditional text. He knew all that in the early morning prior to his departure from his residence at Bosporus. For such a man there are no surprises.

To avoid embarrassing his hosts he always appeared to be listening to their presentations but he could not wipe the sardonic expression from his face. I noticed how his cold blue eyes, arched eyebrows and thin lips produced an expression that said: ‘Tell me Mister, what kind of text book do you really use? I already know what district you’re from; what your favourite flavour is; and what kind of coffee you drink and whether you take it with cream or sugar.’

I asked myself why Ataturk didn’t perceive the sanctimoniousness of the selfish sycophants around him when he was able to look into the bottom of their souls. Some time later I realized the answer. Ataturk was not deceived by the games they were playing. He was just toying with them. Nothing is as ridiculous as a confidence man being duped by his intended victim.

After paying quick visits to two other classes, he and his entourage visited the principal’s office. Before he left the office, Ataturk autographed a photograph of himself. No sooner had he left the office when two blustering teaching assistants slipped in and lunged toward the cigarette butt Ataturk had left in an ashtray. They argued over who would smoke Ataturk’s cigarette butt and finally agreed to share it in the hope that each would inhale some of Ataturk’s ingenuity. I thought both would now be on a fast track to a ministerial post. Alas, that was not to be. One became a customs officer and the other headed a small municipal office.

As the teaching assistants fantasized about their future, Ataturk prepared to leave. His departure was announced and we all rushed into the schoolyard. After conferring with his aides, Ataturk decided to mingle with the student body. He left his aides behind and plunged into the crowd. We all marched with him to the main entrance, which was used only on ceremonial occasions. The young students moved in every direction, some even creeping backwards like lobsters to look at his face. Ataturk was unperturbed and strode resolutely ahead.

Curious spectators appeared by the thousands at the school entrance. Police officers had great difficulty keeping the crowd from spilling into the street. Every window with a view was crammed with faces struggling for a glimpse. When Ataturk appeared on the street, the crowd began applauding. Exulted by the applause, he entered his automobile and departed, flanked by a motorized escort. His entourage followed with great difficulty as the swarming crowd impeded the passage of their vehicles.

That evening the attendance list was checked. Two sly foxes were found to have exploited the occasion and skipped school that day. I don’t remember if they were punished. I think missing that historic day was punishment enough.

Azmi Guran. Ph.D., Prof.El.Eng. (University of Pennsylvania)