CAIRO — Once upon a time, a man named Mustafa Kemal decided to make his people westernized. After winning a war of independence, driving out foreign invaders and abolishing a corrupt sultanate and outdated Caliphate, he went further. Using his position as head of the army, as well as his personal popularity stemming from his military victories, he began transforming every aspect of his country’s society.
The fez was banned, replaced by Western hats. Islamic laws were banned, replaced with a French system of civil law. Power was vested in a parliament, whose authority to rule stemmed “from the sovereignty of the nation.” Plural marriages were banned. The call to prayer, which had echoed over the landscape for a millennia, was changed from its original Arabic to Turkish, the state’s vernacular. The Dervish lodges were banned. The holy relics of the Prophet were carefully placed in storage, away from prying eyes and fanatical pilgrims. Freedom of and from religion was established. Alphabets were changed, and last names were given to the people. Parliament gave the title “Atatürk” to Kemal, recognizing his importance in the new nation’s birth.
That creation may have been painful, with the removal of the nation’s religion a birth-pang hard to accept. But it was necessary, for from it emerged a new nation ready to take its place among the world’s great states. Indeed, no one could deny that Kemal’s reforms had been responsible for this great new beginning.
When I first arrived in Turkey, I knew little of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk. Time and again, friends, neighbors and random men told me variations on this story. Atatürk created the nation. Atatürk’s work had made Turkey the force it is today. Some of Atatürk’s reforms may have been harsh, but no one could deny their need.
I like to think I heard these stories with a critical mind, but as Atatürk’s successes were listed to me continuously, as I passed his statue multiple times on my school and work commutes, as his picture gazed at me from every shop’s wall, as his quotes littered the day’s conversation — it was hard not to be convinced. While I may not have become a Kemalist, my remarks about Atatürk were almost entirely laudatory. (They were genuine too, not just resulting from Turkey’s ban on Atatürk’s defamation.) What I conceived of Atatürk, my conceptions, like those of the Turks I lived with, were positive.
Now, I am no longer in Turkey. I have moved to Cairo, hoping to explore this region from a different angle. Once again, Mustafa Kemal began my introduction to a new culture.
As other American students and I joined some locals for dinner along the Nile, conversation flowed. The Americans tried speaking Arabic, their Modern Standard dialects contrasting sharply with that of the Egyptians. The Egyptians responded in kind, their English betraying varying degrees of practice.
As I ate, an Egyptian named Ahmed engaged me. “You don’t speak Arabic?” he said. I shook my head no, explaining I had been living in Turkey this last eight months — my Arabic studies were set to begin the next morning. Ahmed mentioned that Turkish and Arabic shared many words and I agreed, adding there had been more before Atatürk reformed the language.
“Atatürk,” Ahmed said loudly. “That guy was a dick.” As I looked around, momentarily thinking Turkish police would descend any second, Ahmed told me his view of Mustafa Kemal.
Once upon a time, there was a military dictator named Mustafa Kemal. After throwing out foreign occupiers, he refused to relinquish power to his land’s hereditary ruler, and instead abolished the sultan’s throne and a caliphate sacred since Islam’s dawn. Because Mustafa Kemal hated God and all believers, he banned the fez and instead mandated a brimmed hat, making it difficult to pray. (The brims made it impossible to pray without uncovering one’s head. This was intentional.) He banned Islam’s Sacred Law, instead importing a cheap French substitute wholly unsuited to Muslims. Because he hated Arabic, the call to prayer was changed to Turkish.
Since Mustafa Kemal was drunk on power (not to mention imported wine), he went about trying to make his new kingdom resemble the Europe he so desperately loved. The alphabet was changed. Western-style dress was adopted, and traditional styles banned. Women were not allowed to cover themselves. Mustafa Kemal turned his back on his Muslim brothers, caring about no people’s welfare but his own and that of his mistresses. Finally, he foisted upon himself the title “Atatürk.”
Neither of these stories is historically accurate, both impacted terribly by cultural bias. But they serve as reminder that this region, often considered monolithic by those viewing from afar, remains a realm of diverse opinions, values and beliefs.
You can reach this columnist at thescene@theeagleonline.com.
