The 'Türkiyeli' who wage war on Turkishness

Reşat Nuri Güntekin compiled his memoirs from his time as an inspector for the Ministry of National Education (1927-1939) into a book titled Anadolu Notları (Anatolian Notes). Anadolu Notları is a socioeconomic panorama of 1930s Turkey, captured by the master writer's pen. We are talking about a period when intercity travel was difficult, and finding hotels—let alone in towns, even in provincial centers—was a challenge, as most were converted inns.

The Turkish villager, the town notables, ordinary people, provincial sociology, bureaucracy, and daily life in Anatolia are reflected with stark realism by the great writer's masterful pen. People impoverished by successive wars, war profiteers, and the changing social life are described through simple sentences that carry profound meanings.

According to Güntekin, coffeehouses are social spaces that bridge class differences, bringing the rich and the poor together. They occupy a significant place in Anadolu Notları as venues where the pulse of the town beats and where public opinion is primarily formed. While speaking of Anatolian wisdom, the people's unerring common sense, and their intuition, he occasionally travels to the past, making room for pre-Republican memories and figures.

The section regarding the trip he took to the western provinces with the Russian writer Zarhi, who had come to our country to write a screenplay about the War of Independence and the Turkish Revolution, should be read as a field confirmation of the author's aforementioned thoughts. Let us quote from the author's pen what happened in a village coffeehouse where they took shelter due to heavy fog while ascending Uludağ:

“A little later, a few villagers came into the coffeehouse. They were accustomed to the foreigners who were never absent from Uludağ during the skiing season, especially the Germans; they thought Zarhi was an athlete too, and they offered him cigarettes and serviceberries along with coffee. But what interested Zarhi most were a few events recounted by a white-bearded old man about how they retreated toward these peaks during the occupation, and then how they descended back to the plain on the day of the great vengeance. My travel companion was paying more attention to the villagers' expressions and the meaning in their heavy and noble gestures than to my translation. He said to me:

-It is as if I would understand and follow the event even if you didn't translate. This magnificent simplicity (simplicite magistrale) in the narrative points to a deep foundation of wisdom (fonds de sagesse) and a culture. How often I have encountered this type in Turkey.”

Reşat Nuri moves from Zarhi to Ömer Seyfettin, wishing to convey to his readers the common denominator between events that took place in two different periods and two different environments:

“The story is old. It belongs to the years of the Great War (1914-1918). Ömer was a literature teacher at one of the schools. Those who knew Ömer closely know very well; sometimes he would latch onto something and repeat it for days. At that time, he had fixated on something: 'Knowledge is one thing, wisdom is another... A wise person (arif) is one thing, a scholar (alim) is another,' he was saying.”

A teacher friend, known for his deep knowledge and extensive reading, wanted to tease Ömer one day: “Ömer Bey, you say knowledge is one thing and wisdom is another; I cannot quite wrap my head around this. Please, do me the favor of explaining this to me,” he said.

Ömer said, “It is different, my dear friend. If you won't get angry, let me explain with an example. For instance, you are very well-read, you are a scholar, but you are not wise (arif). Our head janitor has not studied. Therefore, he is not a scholar, but he is wise.”

The teacher friend was a bit offended. But since Ömer was not a person to hold a grudge, he didn't show it; he laughed along with everyone else.

It was about eight or ten days later. One day, Ömer came to the teachers' room with joyful news: “Good news,” he was saying. “200 wagons of sugar are coming from Austria... Sugar will become terribly cheap.”

Since Ömer frequently visited the Committee of Union and Progress General Center, the friend we called a scholar, along with some other friends, believed the news and showed satisfaction.

A minute or two later, when the head janitor entered the room, Ömer repeated the same news. But he did not seem very happy; with a polite demeanor, he said: “Don't believe it, sir; this is bait. If Austria found sugar, they would eat it themselves!”

Ömer began to jump up and down, clapping his hands like a child. He said to the scholar friend: “Didn't I tell you, my dear friend? Look, despite all your knowledge, you believed this news. But he didn't swallow it, my dear friend. Because he lacks knowledge, but he has wisdom.”

The teachers of a hundred years ago had knowledge, even if they lacked wisdom. Today's 'Türkiyeli'—who have turned into the Fridays of Robinson Crusoe—not only lack a share of wisdom, but despite all their arrogance, they do not possess a shred of knowledge either. If Ömer Seyfettin were alive, who knows what he would have written about these knowledge-less, wisdom-less, anti-Turkish 'Fridays'!