The heat is sweltering, the agenda is suffocating

The heat is sweltering, the agenda is suffocating. My country's very foundations seem to be creaking. I need to find something to cheer me up. My mind turns to two beloved grandfathers. I will share two true stories about them — stories that fill me with joy every time I recall them. I hope you won't be bored.

Let me first share what they had in common. Both were graduates of Darüşşafaka, meaning they grew up as orphans. My father's father, Halil İbrahim, came from a family of calligraphers, which is why the family later took the surname Yazıcı. He graduated from Darüşşafaka with the highest honours — alül ül ala — and first served as a telegraph director, then rose to become a finance inspector and eventually Undersecretary of the Ministry of Finance. He became the right-hand man of the renowned Ottoman financier Cavit Bey, who was executed in 1925 on charges of involvement in the İzmir assassination plot. In 1926, my grandfather was forcibly retired under a special law that retired senior Ottoman bureaucrats. I never got to meet my grandfather İbrahim. However, my late grandmother, whom I loved dearly and who taught me so much, was denied a pension under that same special law. I later understood why, every time she came to visit her chubby grandson Hasan, she brought only small, inexpensive gifts — a little paper bag of chestnuts or a wafer. There was also a family legend, whose source was my grandmother's uncle Hamdullah Suphi Tanrıöver, that went something like this: Apparently, some time after my grandfather was retired, Atatürk asked İsmet Paşa: "İsmet, among us there is no one who truly understands finance. We used to have Cavit, but we hanged him. There was a young man called Halil İbrahim — what do you think, shall we bring him back into service?" İsmet Paşa's answer was said to be firm: "No, that won't do. Cavit has tainted him."

The story about my grandfather İbrahim that I want to share with you goes like this. While he was head of the finance inspection board, a tip-off arrived. A group of shrewd local operators had formed a racket with an equally shrewd group of British officials at the Düyun-u Umumiye, and together they had begun siphoning off a considerable portion of the Düyun-u Umumiye's core function — servicing the Ottoman debt. The moment my grandfather heard this, he gave orders to his staff: "Get ready — within a day or two we are going to inspect the Düyun-u Umumiye." Those who received the order were stunned. They tried to talk him out of it. "İbrahim Bey, have you thought this through carefully? That place is uphill from here" — my grandfather's office was at the Vilayet, while the destination, the building that is now İstanbul Erkek Lisesi, was further uphill — "and you have a heart condition. God forbid." One of his staff went even further and informed on him to the then Minister of the Interior, Talat Paşa. The Paşa immediately grabbed the telephone. "İbrahim Bey, don't go playing Don Quixote by trying to inspect the Düyun-u Umumiye! Besides, I've noticed that a significant number of the staff under your command come in late. That is what you should be dealing with!" İbrahim Bey replied: "Paşam, allow me to remind you: the proper functioning of the Düyun-u Umumiye is the responsibility of our state, and overseeing it is my responsibility. As for those who come in late — I am aware of the situation; my female staff in particular have difficulty finding transport in the mornings. I have a suggestion. Your closeness to the Palace is well known" — like Enver Paşa, Talat Paşa was also a son-in-law of the Ottoman Palace — "please intercede: have the Palace assign 10 to 15 carriages to the Ministry of Finance. I will then bring these ladies in even at the crack of dawn." Talat Paşa was furious at this reply and sentenced my grandfather to spend the weekend under arrest in his own office. A cartoon about the incident even appeared in one of the newspapers of the day.

Before I tell the story about my mother's father, the ophthalmologist Dr. Yusuf İzzet, let me mention one more thing the two grandfathers had in common beyond growing up as orphans and graduating from Darüşşafaka. Both, in time, married granddaughters of pashas. You may have already gathered this from my reference to Hamdullah Suphi a moment ago: my paternal grandmother's grandfather was Abdüllatif Suphi Paşa, the Ottoman Empire's second Minister of Education, and my maternal grandmother's grandfather was Müşir Adil Paşa, a comrade-in-arms who stood alongside the Hero of Plevna, Gazi Osman Paşa, throughout the siege. I did get to meet my grandfather İzzet. One of my most treasured childhood memories is being carried on his lap as he took me on a tour of the Savarona. My grandfather Yusuf İzzet is the holder of an İstiklal Madalyası — a medal I guard like the apple of my eye. I also gave his name to my eldest son.

My mother used to tell this story. In 1930, my grandfather was practising medicine in İzmir. One day, out of the blue, his old friend from his youth, Mustafa Muğlalı Paşa, appeared at the garden gate of their home. He said to my mother: "Müzehher, my dear, is your father home? I need to consult him urgently about something." My mother replied: "Mustafa uncle, Father isn't home right now, but he'll be back shortly — please come in and have a coffee while you wait." It turned out just as my mother said, and within a few minutes my grandfather arrived. The following conversation took place between them. "Yusuf İzzet, you are a doctor, and I know you are generally cooler-headed than I am. Today an order arrived from Ankara that I don't know what to do with. You've surely heard — a major reactionary incident took place in Menemen. They martyred one of our officers. The order I have been given from Ankara is to wipe Menemen off the map. I don't know what to do." My grandfather thought for a brief moment and gave this answer: "Mustafa, if I am thinking clearly, Ankara will reverse this order in short order. For that reason, rather than saying you cannot carry it out, say 'yes, understood, I am beginning preparations immediately' — but then take your time with it. Look, today is Friday, a holiday; everything moves a little slowly anyway." My grandfather's prediction proved correct. The order was rescinded before long, Menemen remained where it was, and Brigadier General Mustafa Muğlalı was appointed to head the military tribunal convened over the incident.

As I was finishing this piece, I suddenly felt the urge to pass on something from my late aunt as well. Whenever things around her began to go wrong, she would tell this story. "Hasan, when Istanbul was occupied in 1918, I was 11 years old. A street two blocks from the house where I now live was decked out with Greek flags. Let me remind you — this is not Ayvalık. I cannot bring myself to say the rest; you understand."