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Fatih Maps

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Fatih Sultan Mehmet II's conquest of Constantinople, on Tuesday May 29th, 1453, was not only one of the most important events in Ottoman history, but in world history as well. So it is not surprising, then, that for at least 60 years people in Turkey have been putting forward rival interpretations of Fatih's accomplishment. Most recently, the movie Fetih 1453 turned the conquest into, among other things, a story about fatherhood. The film reminds us all that after spending long hours working at the office or planning your assault on the walls of Byzantium, it's important to take time to play with your kid. Because what matters, in the end, is not having the world call you conqueror but having your child call you dad.

Anyways, as an op-ed in in (tomorrow's) Today's Zaman and a photo collection from OHP suggest, the 500th anniversary of the Fetih in 1953 served as an opportunity for Turkey's leaders to present Fatih as an enlightened, tolerant secular, Western-Oriented leader. In short, a good Kemalist five centuries ahead of his time. The image above, for example, is the annual highway map from the Karayollari Mudurlugu, invoking Fatih as a symbol of engineering prowess in order to tout the Democrat Party's road-building program. At the same time, as the cartoons in our photo album show, the opposition used this same interpretation of Fatih to criticize the government for not doing more to improve Istanbul's infrastructure.

Yet not everyone accepted the Kemalist appropriation of the Ottoman past. In subsequent decades others have tried, with equally little concern for historic truth, to paint Fatih as a pious Muslim leader who captured Istanbul in accordance with Koranic prophecy. It is perhaps a tribute to their success that a number of scholars have documented the recent Islamicization of Fatih (see, for example, Alev Cinar or Etienne Copeaux) but few people are aware of his earlier secularization.

The map to the left comes from a book (1) discussing the persistent rumor that Fatih designed the castle of Rumeli Hisari so that its shape would spell out "Ya Mohammad" in Arabic script. Writing in 1953, the author, despite providing this nice graphic, went to great lengths to explain that this was sheer coincidence, and the design of the castle was based purely on strategic, not religious motives. In one of the anecdotes favored by his secularizers, Fatih is supposed to have rebuked several of his spiritual leaders believed their prayers had brought down the city walls by drawing his sword, pointing to the blade and saying "This... is sharper than your prayers."

(1) Anadolu ve Rumeli Hisarlari Tarihi, Esat Sezai Sunbulluk, Onan Basimevi 1950.

Folk Song Map

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Veiw a larger version of the This Map

Inspired by projects like America by Song and this Bob Dylan map, I set out to try to map as many places as I could think of that are mentioned in folk songs from around Turkey, the Balkans and the Middle East. It's an ongoing project, and I would welcome suggestions and translations from readers to incorporate into the map.
 

Protest Maps

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This is a map posted on Facebook by Kader Sevinc of cities where demonstrations have taken place over the past week. "The work of a few radicals??" Kader asks. Maps, as many of our posts show, have always been used for propaganda, and we are delighted to share some propaganda for a good cause. 

Another mapping project that is currently in its infancy but could turn into a valuable resource is https://istanbulviolence.crowdmap.com/ Unlike some other collective mapping projects, it tries to sort news reports of developments and violence according to their level of reliability.

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A new map, this time actually made by Kerim Bayer, that might be especially helpful for people abroad trying to follow the urban geography of the protests over the first couple days. Hopefully we'll have a map from Kerim soon showing subsequent developments, although as he says its "more difficult to map the past two days because the protests in Istanbul were not exactly as mobile as earlier…"

Gezi Park Round Three

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A few more Gezi Park maps. The one above, by Benedikt Koehler , shows the location of geotagged tweets referring the Gezi Park protests betwee June 1-3. More information about how it was made can be found on Koehler's blog, Beautiful Data.


Our feelings toward maps based on twitter data are best encapsulated by the image to the left. Indeed part of what's interesting about Koehler's maps is that they do a fairly good job of confirming what anyone who has been reading about the protests would suspect: people tweeting about the protests are mostly located where the protests are happing. Another map shows that the overwhelming majority of tweets are coming from Istanbul, Ankara and Izmir. Hence our preference for simple google maps like Kader Sevinc's that usually convey the same information without the technological pretense of most twitter maps.




The map below was my best effort at creating an anti-protest propaganda map. I felt like somebody should try, but, as the mediocre results show,  my heart wasn't in it. On a related note, since a number of people questioned our intentions or motives after previous map posts about the Gezi Park protests, here is my position on the subject.



 

Article 4

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This global skylines graphic is kind of neat on its own, but it would hardly be worth posting without Efkan Cetin's comment (right). We can't believe they forgot Tokat either.

Greater Albania

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A few weeks back we posted a map of Greater Greece. Today we have one of Greater Albania. It's still pretty small. While Greece in the past claimed part of what is now southern Albania (referred to as Northern Epirus), this map shows the region in northwestern Greece claimed by Albania (Southern Epirus). Albanian irredentists also claimed all of Kosovo, as well as Albanian-populated parts of western Macedonia (over which low-level fighting broke out in the late 1990s).
 
In contrast to this vision of greater Albania, the chaotic years surrounding World War One in fact saw several smaller states declared on Albanian territory. There was the Republic of Koritsa (set up with the support of the French army), the Autonomous Republic of Northern Epirus (set up by local Greeks with the hope eventually joining Greater Greece) the Republic of Mirdita and the Republic of Central Albania.

Koritsa Republic
Autonomous Republic of Northern Epirus

Albania is widely recognized as having the best flag in the world, at least since Libya abandoned its all green one. The two headed eagle was a Byzantine symbol, which is why it is so widespread today among anyone who ever coveted a piece of the Byzantine's glory. The Greek church still uses it, as did the Russian Czars when they claimed the Byzantine mantle after the fall of Constantinople. The Seljuks occasionally made use of the double-headed eagle, and in the Balkans it served as the a symbol for both Serbs and Kosovar Albanians. It gained prominence as an Albanian symbol because of its association with the 15th century Albanian hero George Kastrioti, or Skanderbeg. The double-headed eagle has subsequently appeared in one form or another representing all of Albania's many incarnations. Add some tricolor and its the flag of the French-sponsored Koritsa Republic. A blue cross makes it the flag of the ethnically Greek Republic of Northern Epirus. With a pair of fasces or a communist star it can accommodate different political ideologies as well. These flags pay tribute to Albania's many incarnations during the 20th century, beginning with its organization as an autonomous region within the Ottoman Empire.

Autonomous Vilayet of Albania
Provisional Government of Albania
Principality of Albania, 1914
Principality of Albania, 1920
Albanian Republic
Kingdom of Albania
Under Fascist Occupation
People's Socialist Republic of Albania

Afternoon Map Exposes Secret US Plan for Canal Istanbul

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A reader was kind enough to write in the other day and provide a little more information about a conspiracy theory that this blog seems to have inspired. In January, we posted a formerly classified map (above) showing US plans for defending against a Russian invasion in the early 1950s. The post has subsequently been viewed by over 10,000 people, which, suffice it to say, is more than the average map post (and way more than the last post about Albania). Interest began when someone concluded that the proposed defensive line running accross Thrace between Buyuk Çekmece and the Black Sea was, in fact, a secret American plan for "Canal Istanbul," thus showing that the AKP's mad project had in fact been a US scheme all along. After misidentifying the Çatalca Line, one of the most famous defensive positions in Turkish military history, our ulusalcı readers went on to assume that the Demirkapı Line, at the neck of the Gallipoli penninsula, was another proposed canal. The presence of this second canal explains America's hidden goal in promoting this project: to circumvent the straights, and with them the Montreaux Convention, thereby gaining legal sanction for turning the Black Sea into an American lake.

The New Assyria

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From The New Assyria newspaper, October 15, 1916. For a full-sized image click here.

Despite their obvious idiocy, all sorts of ridiculous maps offering alternative visions of middle eastern borders show up everywhere online, spawning thousands of conspiracy theories and stealing attention from other, more interesting visions (like Lawrence of Arabia's). Maps of a reconfigured Middle East remain popular, it seems, because many people are convinced by the - I would argue questionable - idea that poorly drawn imperial boundaries are to blame for the region's problems. 

So at the risk of starting a whole new set of conspiracy theories, I'm excited to share this map from our go-to Suryani expert Benjamin Trigona-Harany. It's another rarely-seen vision for a completely different set of Middle East borders from 1916: The New Assyria. As Ben says "I've always liked this map because it signals that the adoption of a shared ethnic Assyrian identity by the Chaldeans, Nestorians and Süryani was in full swing - not to mention showing their charmingly optimistic borders for a future Assyrian state."

After I admitted that my understanding of the groups in question was limited to the assumption that Nestorians were followers of the Nestorian Heresy (and probably don't call it that), Ben was kind enough to explain:

"The Chaldeans are Nestorians who joined the Catholic Church. What became the Süryani are one of the groups that rejected the Council of Chalcedon (Kadıköy) for being too conciliatory to the Nestorian position. The others that joined them were the Copts/Ethopians and Armenians. There is also a Catholic offshoot of the Süryani church with its own Patriarch. All of them use Syriac, a dialect of Aramaic, as a liturgical language, and modern variants are still spoken by a few communities today.

We can say that today, all Nestorians, most Chaldeans and many Syriacs (meaning Süryani) consider themselves descendants of the ancient Assyrians. A small minority of Chaldeans think they are actual Chaldeans, and perhaps half of all Syriacs self-identify as Aramaeans.

Whatever the ethnicity actually is (and I have no dog in that fight), the pre-20th century Syriacs didn't consider themselves to be part of any greater Assyrian community, although a new wave of nationalist historiography centres around proving a continuous Assyrian identity whereas it used to be about proving the ancestral bonds between the modern and ancient Assyrians.

The emergence of a greater Assyrian community coincided with the early twentieth-century diasporas, particularly in the United States, and was then reinforced by the arrival of World War I survivors. You don't find an Arab identity like you do in the Maronites (who are also claimed by Assyrian nationalists) or the Levantine Greek Orthodox and Melkites.

This map reinforces this maximal claim of an ethnic bond between these different peoples more than it delineates the borders of a future state, and that is what makes this map interesting to me. A few years after the appearance of this map, the Assyrian delegation at the Paris Peace Conference did float the idea for an Assyrian state about half the size of the one you see here; still unrealistic but more representative of Nestorian, Chaldean and Syriac settlement."

The Croissant of Crisis

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These are a few of the highlights from a French book of maps about the Middle East that came out in 1993 titled Atlas Geopolitique du Moyen-Orient Et Du Monde Arabe (edited by Philippe Lemarchand and published by Editions Complexe). Subtitled "Le Croissant Des Crisis" or "the Croissant of Crisis," the book examines the politics, religion, culture and history of the region through a post Gulf War lens. The result is a series of maps that are, by turns, informative, problematic, absurd and obscure. Included here are some of the highlights. The mapabove, for example, ranks Islamic countries according to the "severity" of their Islam, resulting in a graphic that, like so many others, seems to offer a seemingly precise rendering of already widespread impressions (Saudi Arabia and Iran are both super Muslim!) without offering any profoundly new insights (in Egypt, the situation is mixed. That certainly explains the last week or so!).

More helpful is the map below, which offers a handy guide to all the region's coups over the last half century. The next step, it seems, would be color-coding them according to whether the French or the Americans were responsible.


Finally, an interesting look at the linguistic development of the region, where English and French are facing off with Arabic and one another in an ongoing battle for cultural cache.

 

The Uprising of Women in the Arab Worldانتفاضة المرأة في العالم العربي

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Here is another more contemporary map we encountered as graffiti on a wall in downtown Beirut representing the Arab World as the hair of a woman. It is the symbol of the group called "The Uprising of Women in the Arab World" or انتفاضة المرأة في العالم العربي in Arabic.

The group unites activists throughout the Arab world and began in 2011 with the political mobilization of the Arab Spring. Its Facebook group has over 100,000 members. The group's description is as follows on the English side of their website:

"It was an urgent reaction to the social and political developments in the region because we didn’t want the Arab Spring to be aborted. From Tunis to Egypt to Libya to Syria to Yemen to Bahrain…, the Arab revolts are led in the name of dignity, justice and freedom, but we cannot reach for those values if women are being ignored or absented from the main scenery.
United under the slogan “Together for free, independent and fearless women in the Arab world!”, the demands of the Uprising of Women in the Arab World are:
- Absolute freedom of thought, of expression, of belief or disbelief, of movement, of body, of clothing, of lodging, of decision making, of marriage or non-marriage;
- The right to autonomy, to education, to work, to divorce, to inheritance, to vote, to eligibility, to administrate, to ownership and to full citizenship;
- Familial, social, political and economical absolute equality with men;
- The abolishment of all laws, practices and fatwas violating the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, such as excision, stoning, lashing, the laws acquitting rapists or tolerating crimes of “honor”;
- Protection against domestic violence, sexual harassment and all forms of physical and psychological abuse and discrimination facing women today in the Arab world and beyond.
The campaign of the Uprising of Women in the Arab World aims to:
1- Highlight the various kinds of discrimination against women in the Arab world (social, economical, political, judiciary…). Being aware of the injustice we are subject to is the first step to counter it.
2- Pin out the fact that women in our region share many struggles. We could then create a common ground for feminist activism, overcoming the borders of the states and building on from each other’s experiences.
3- Re-open the debate in the social media on women’s conditions, especially that women have suffered lots of attacks after the success of the revolts of the Arab Spring countries.
The revolutions that made our heart pound and filled us with hope for each and every Arab country while getting rid of dictatorships must continue. We must now get rid of patriarchy that authorizes each man to be a dictator, whether with his sister, girlfriend, wife, daughter, or even his own mother… We, women and men together, must continue revolting against oppression and put forward our feminist demands. We will not accept any priorities imposed on us, we will not practice self-censorship and we will not compromise on our rights.
Let the Arab Spring continue until it does with women what spring does with the cherry trees."

Malaria Map of Italy

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Source: Sıhhiye Mecmuası, Vol 1 No 3 - Lucien Renault - "Italya'da sıtma mucadelesi" (1922)

Malaria, a disease that has been endemic to Mediterranean climates for perhaps millennia, was once known as the Roman fever. The marshes around the city of Rome did indeed prove fertile breeding ground for mosquitoes, the animal discovered to be the vector of the disease in 1900. Following the First World War, Italy became one of the principle centers of malaria research in the world as it embarked on a campaign to eliminate the disease, and countries with similar geographies such as Turkey looked to Italy as an example of how to combat malaria through a combination of swamp drainage, anti-malaria medications, and pesticides.


This map comes as a translated article in the Turkish medical journal Sıhhiye Mecmuası documenting the early-goings of Italy's battle with malaria. It is telling that Turkish scientists would be interested in translating such articles as they eagerly awaited the results of this unprecedented attempt to not just limit but eliminate malaria within the national boundaries of Italy.

The black areas represent official malaria control areas declared as part of these efforts in 1922. What they reveal is not entirely surprising. The low-elevation coastal areas of Italy were the principal areas where malaria was a threat. However, while the poorer and warmer south of the country was a natural area of focus for the fight against malaria, this map is a reminder that during the 1920s, malaria was still an issue in parts of the richer north near Milan and Venice and even surrounding the captial of Rome. 

The second map at right is a more detailed look at the different medical institutions associated with combating malaria in the Roma province (click here for a full-sized version)


From the Collection of Ibrahim Hakki Konyali

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We are taking a break from maps to put up some assorted photos from the collection of Ibrahim Hakki Konyalı. A leading popular historian whose work appeared in countless newspapers and magazines from the 1930s through the 1970s, Konyalı also played a crucial role in helping preserve evidence of the Ottoman past. He intervened to prevent archival documents from being sold as scrap while working for the Turkish Military Museum and boasted, in the pages of the short-lived religious paper Büyük Doğu that he stopped the government from tearing down Ayasofya's minarets by claiming they were integral to the structural integrity of the dome. Konyalı briefly published his own magazine, Tarih Hazinesi, in the early 50s, promoting a conservative take on the recent past that blended religious nationalism with criticism of the Republican People's Party and its one party regime. A committed researcher and accomplished scholar, he also carried out a number of heated arguments with other historians who questioned his methods and his politics. Among other controversial revelations, for example, was a document in which Fatih Sultan Mehmet II put a curse on anyone who might violate his wish that Ayasofya remain a mosque for all eternity.

Today, Konyalı's papers are housed in a pleasant library next to the Selimiye Mosque in Uskudar, where the staff encourages researchers to pour themselves tea, or else brings it to you themselves along with the documents. Alongside article clippings and numerous notes (unfortunately often written in an illegible ottoman scrawl), Konyalı amassed a number of photographs of historic buildings, people and events. Here are six or seven of the more intriguing ones, to be followed by some other collections of his on subjects such as Mevlevi leaders and the Hicaz Railway. In most cases the captions are taken directly from his notes on the back of the photo, with additional information included when available.

"One of Istanbul's first taxis, a Ford, and its driver, Pangaltılı Apik" (Konyalı Archive, 679)



"Sabiha Sultan on the day of her wedding, 1921" Sabiha was the daughter of the last Sultan Vahdettin. Ataturk, among others, proposed to her after the end of the Gallipoli campaign. Somewhat later, of course, he would send her family into exile. Following stays in France and Switzerland, Sabiha ended up in Egypt for a while before returning to Turkey when allowed back in 1952. (Konyalı Archive, 202)



Hıdırellez celebrations (Ruz-ı Hızır or Hızır günü) in Ereği [undated] (Konayli Archive, 2907)



A monument to Muslim soldiers in the French army who died during the occupation of Istanbul
 after WWI. It is located in a cemetery near Topkapı outside of the city walls. (Konyali Archive)



A "People's alcohol" factory in Konay, undated. The first two words of the sign read "Halk isprito." The image in the archive was a negative. Here it is with the color reversed. (Konayli Archive, 893)



"Greek Prime Minister Karamanlis's house in Karaman" (Konyai Archive, 1887) An interesting article in Hurriyet in fact cites Konayli's work as the source of the persistent rumor that the famous Greek politician Konstantin Karamanlis was in fact from Karaman in Turkey. In fact, Konstantin, whose nephew Kostas served as Prime Minister more recently, was born in northern Greece near Serres in 1907 when the region was still under Ottoman control. The article also mentions a conversation that supposedly took place in the 50s between Karamanlis and Adnan Menderes in which both prime ministers discussed the irony of the fact that Karamanlis took his name from the Turkish place and Menderes took his from an ancient Greek river.




"Greek prisoners working under the orders of the Cayhat Menzil Command on the Western Front" (Konayli Archive, 752)


The Transformation of the Summer Pasture: Geography, Migration, and Social Change in the Middle East

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Chris Gratien, Ph.D. Candidate, Georgetown University
chrisgratien@gmail.com

Yörük Encampment in the Taurus Mountains from Edwin John Davis, Life in Asiatic Turkey (1879)

Summer is upon us and as in many summers past, millions will visit the various beaches of Turkey's Aegean and Mediterranean shores in search of fun and sun at popular holiday destinations such as Bodrum, Ayvalık, Fethiye, and Kaş. The warm coasts of modern Turkey are increasingly a vacation destination for those looking near and far for excitement or relaxation. The phenomenon of beach culture and many of the things that come with it are historically recent on the global stage; yet, summer sojourns to alternative locations are nothing new. In fact, long before the beach resorts of Bodrum, swarms of seasonal travelers once flocked not towards but rather away from the coasts during the hot Mediterranean summers.

The summer destination of choice throughout the Ottoman period was of course the mountains, where cooler air promised health and respite from the scorching heat of the plains and coasts. While for well-to-do city-folk this might have been a trip to a summer home in the mountains, all segments of society participated in this seasonal migration. In particular, pastoralist communities would move their entire herds and property to a summer pasture referred to as a yaylak (or yayla), where they would set up camp until the passing of the hottest months allowed them to migrate back down to the grassy plains for winter grazing. This seasonally migratory pattern arose out of a symbiosis between geography, climate, and human activity that defined life and politics in many parts of the Anatolian countryside.

Changes in the political, economic, and technological contexts of human society have dramatically transformed the function of the yaylas that nonetheless continue to hold symbolic significance for many. The massive migrations of people and animals have become a thing of the past, and while this has meant an overall decrease in the geographical significance of highland plateaus, people continue to find new ways of making use of these spaces. This short essay offers a historical glimpse at summer pastures and the migrations they encouraged over the course of dramatic changes in ecology within Turkey over the past two centuries complete with a compilation of maps new and old. 

As pleasant summer pasture-themed accompaniment to this article, please enjoy Selda Bağcan's rendition of "Yaylalar"

Nomad's Land: Features of Transhumance

Source: Wagstaff, The Evolution of Middle
Eastern Landscapes
 (1985)
The diagram at left from Wagstaff's The Evolution of Middle Eastern Lanscapes (1985) shows the different possible ways of living in the Middle East and their intersections. Crucial to this model is the point that a community relying entirely on either a nomadic or a sedentary lifestyle or entirely on either cultivation or pastoralism is not as common as a lifestyle comprised of a combination of these different types.

The romantic notion of the wandering nomad whose noble yet rudimentary mastery of nature stands in stark contrast to our modern methods is not without its justifiable appeal but often lacks an appreciation of the sophistication of mobile modes of living. Migratory societies, while lacking some of the institutions of settled or urban society, are nonetheless structured around finely-tuned ecological practices well-suited to various ways of life including the raising of livestock or pastoralism. 

Transhumance is a migratory mode of living based on seasonal exploitation of areas of differentiated elevation, namely in the form of migration from a highland summer pasture and a lowland winter pasture. Transhumant pastoralism has historically been practiced not solely in the Middle East but throughout not only Europe, Africa, and Asia but also in the Americas as well with the introduction of domesticated livestock.

Source: Wagstaff, The Evolution of
Middle Eastern Landscapes
 (1985)
While villagers residing in fixed structures who migrated seasonally are considered transhumant just as well as any, many of the transhumant communities of the Middle East lived in mobile tents (and are often referred in the archival record as "tent-dwellers" for this reason, see Nora Barakat, OHP #61). The diagram on the right from Wagstaff shows different kind of nomadism with transhumant pastoralism represented by the vertical nomadism at the bottom. Pastoralist communities followed streams and mountain passes to access plateaus (the "summer quarters" or yaylas in our case) where they could graze their livestock and followed similar routes on their return. Thus, the migratory patterns of these communities were tied to the possibilities and opportunities offered by the mountainous geography.

Distances of migration varied depending on the distribution of yaylas. While transhumance could mean moving as short a distance as a few kilometers to a nearby mountain or hill during the summer, some seasonal migrations in the Ottoman Empire entailed the movement of tens of thousands of people and animals over hundreds of kilometers of differentiated terrain. For example, the map below at left shows the different types of migrations in the Adana region that sent pastoralists wintering in Çukurova through the Taurus Mountains far off towards Kayseri, Niğde and the massive Uzunyayla near Sivas. Alternatively, the map on the right shows smaller migration routes  in the Antalya region of Turkey, where transhumance remained a viable lifestyle well beyond the late Ottoman and early Republican period when state pressure and economic factors combined to all but eliminate this type of nomadic living.

Source: Gould, Andrew Gordon.
Pashas and Brigands (1973).
Source: Tuebingen Atlas of the Near & Middle East History, Geography & Cultural Anthropology
click here for full-sized version

Bakhtiyari Migration Routes in Qajar Iran
Source: Khazeni, Arash. Tribes & Empire on the Margins of Nineteenth-Century Iran (2009)

Why Yayla?




While summer pastures make great holiday locales to beat the summer heat, the function of the type of pastoralism practiced in the Middle East has historically extended well beyond a change of air. Most practically speaking, nomadic living allows pastoralist communities to access more vegetation and utilize lands with insufficient rainfall for sustained sedentary agriculture without irrigation. The map just above on the left illustrates broadly the parts of the Middle East that are unsuitable for dry farming due to insufficient rainfall, and small patches of historically uncultivated land that do not register on this map can indeed be found throughout the former Ottoman Empire. The map to the right shows the resultant distribution of lifestyle in modern Syria, which mostly conforms to the pattern described here although it is influenced by the use of irrigation in some areas.

Migratory lifestyles not only allow pastoralists to make use of otherwise marginal lands before moving on to another pasture but also allow them to take advantage of seasonal rainfall differences and reduce the ecological burden of their flocks on the grasses they graze so as to effect a more sustainable rate of consumption. The diagram at right shows the seasonal plant growth rates in the Mediterranean. Generous rates in the spring and summer allow for healthy pastures to develop at high elevations where little can grow during the winter. Migrating to access these pastures allows thick grasses at low elevations to replenish.

Of course, transhumance was also widely practiced in regions that were perfectly suitable for agriculture, which points to some of the other advantages of a mobile lifestyle. In times of crisis, mobility offers a form of security, and following the initial instability of the Celali rebellions during the 1590s, the countryside of the Ottoman Empire was certainly a place where the state failed to monopolize violence, leaving villagers vulnerable to the depredations of armed groups also fighting to survive in what Sam White has aptly referred to as a Climate of Rebellion, pointing to the role of climate variation and ecological disruptions of the agrarian economy in creating this period of instability. White argues that the environmental conditions which created food scarcity and caused village economies to fail favored an outcome of an increase in a move towards pastoralism and a semi-nomadic way of life.

Another critical factor in the predominance of transhumance is the seasonal disease risk posed by malaria in low-lying regions throughout the Mediterranean. Malaria, which is spread between humans by mosquitoes, thrives in regions with low elevation, high summer temperatures, and of course ample standing water to breed in. We've done a three-part series on the history of malaria on Ottoman History Podcast that gives  particular focus to the Ottoman context. Faruk Tabak singles out malaria as one of the important factors encouraging a general increase in mountain settlements vis a vis lowland settlements in the Mediterranean during the early modern period. This claim is strengthened by the fact that yaylas were well-understood to be salubrious areas that offered special protection from disease. Evliya Çelebi's Seyâhatnâme from the seventeenth-century, which among many things is a rich source for local information about the society, culture, and geography of the Ottoman world, comments on the importance of yaylas in protecting against illnesses including malaria (sıtma) in regions such as Payas (modern-day Hatay province, Turkey) where locals had special beliefs about the power of the pasture (see Seyahatname Vol.3 p.32). 

Source: Geographical Society of America Bulletin
A quick look at the elevation map of Southern Anatolia (Adana and Antalya regions in the migration maps above) on the right illustrates in very simple terms the importance of yaylas in protecting against malaria. The orange-yellowish areas of the map of more than 1 km in elevation are the principal destination regions for old summer migration. During the height of anti-malaria efforts in Turkey where DDT was aggressively deployed in regions such as the Çukurova plain surrounding Adana to kill mosquitoes, it was not deemed necessary to spray at elevations beyond 1200 meters or so. The map below from a Turkish government report on malaria control from 1949 shows the areas of malaria control in Turkey at that time. While the lack of malaria control in Eastern Turkey was likely due to an absence of adequate services and infrastructure, the patches of Central, Southern, and Western Anatolia that were without malaria control are all high elevation regions. In other words, moving to the yayla from May-October, the principal time of year when malaria can thrive in the Mediterranean (it is too cold for mosquitoes to proliferate in the winter) was a natural and indeed elegant solution for the endemic disease risk posed by malaria.

Source: Seyfettin Okan, Türkiye'de sıtma savaşı

This point is further emphasized by the history of immigrant settlements in Anatolia. During the nineteenth century, Russian colonial policy in Crimea and the Caucasus sent hundreds of thousands of Muslims fleeing into the Ottoman Empire. The Ottoman state for its part attempted to settle these communities on "vacant" land, i.e. ones not possessed by a landholder but perhaps used for other purposes. For Tatar or Circassian immigrants, settlement in low-lying regions of Turkey's warmest provinces such as Adana spelled death; many of the settlements created in such regions no longer exist. However, villages founded at high elevations more similar to the Caucasian geography and better protected from disease stood a better chance. In Episode 112 of Ottoman History Podcast, we told the story of one such village, Atlılar, where a Circassian community succeeded in establishing a permanent settlement on a yayla north of Mersin. 

Outside of this impersonal geographically deterministic explanation for the phenomenon of transhumance and the importance of the yayla, I will note the pastoralist communities under discussion also comprised entire societies, not fully separate from broader Ottoman society politically and culturally but nonetheless exercising a large degree of autonomy and cultural uniqueness. These groups usually referred to English as tribes and in the Ottoman period defined variously using distinctions such as aşiret, oymak, cemaat, kabile, and others were able to maintain independence through a combination of mobility, self-reliance, and cooperation with the Ottoman state. Groups that today fall under ethnic and communal categories such as Yörük, Türkmen, Kürt, Alevi, Tahtacı, Bedevi, and others all took part in a pastoralist mode of production that shared among many things an admiration of the yayla and its culture. The yayla is associated with the symbolically significant spring months and springtime celebrations such as Hıdırellez that usually took place following migration to the mountains. Even for communities without fixed residences, the concept of home or sıla in Turkish could be associated with the safety of the summer pastures. Thus, the immense cultural significance of seasonal migration for the self-identification of these communities provided additional incentive for them to resist attempts at settlement and restriction of mobility by the state in addition to the threat it would pose to their flocks and livelihood.

Yet, alongside the cultural importance of the summer pasture as part of the deeply-rooted concept of home for transhumant communities must be considered the real ecological implications of settlement. Otherwise, resistance to state resettlement efforts whether around Adana during the 1870s or in Dersim during the 1930s appears merely as a reactionary rebellion against the rule of law of the modern state, i.e. a strugglesolely for autonomy. Forced settlement, which usually entailed a change in the relationship between pastoralist communities and the mountains, bore severe consequences in terms of the economic and physical health of those subject to such policies, and it is only within the context of these hardships that we can begin to understand the true legacy of what can be observed as a worldwide offensive by modern states against nomadic populations.

Settling Nomads

Resettlement of the Rışvan tribe: The area on the right centered on Adıyaman is approximately 700 km from
the area displayed on the left where members of this tribe were resettled near Ankara.
Map Source: Suat Dede, "From Nomadism to Sedentary Life" MA Thesis, Bilkent University

The factors that have led to the virtual disappearance of transhumance in regions of Anatolia where a significant percentage and in some cases majority of the population practiced some type of nomadic pastoralism as late as the nineteenth century are numerous, but state measures have played a critical role in this process. Ottoman governments had long maintained tense relations with mobile populations; they were difficult to control and tax but important military and economically. When possible, settlement was encouraged, though attempts to force settlement could be met with both passive and violent resistance. Well into the nineteenth century, the factors described above outweighed state pressure to settle in the balance of settlement and nomadism that emerged.

During the nineteenth century and particularly following the Crimean War, increased military power allowed the Tanzimat-era Ottoman state to force local populations in many parts of the empire to submit to taxation, conscriptions, and, in the case of nomads, settlement. Reşat Kasaba explains the shift towards forcing settlement in A Moveable Empire. There were numerous reasons why settling nomads was seen as advantageous. Aside from the apparent ability to better control settled populations, promoting settled agriculture would allow the Ottoman economy to benefit from increased demand for cash crops such as cotton on the global market. Meanwhile issues regarding migration back and forth between pastures on increasingly defined borders posed problems in terms of diplomacy and security. 

My broader dissertation research examines the impacts of a particular period of forced settlement in the Adana region initiated with the fırka-ı ıslahiye (reform army) in 1865. I have alluded to the ways in which this region was a center of transhumance above. Forced settlement in the Adana region was designed to secure the mountains by settling tribal communities into marginal areas of the Çukurova plain. Some groups agreed to settle without resistance while others fought the Ottoman army before being put down. Afterwards, the provincial government attempted to build houses and villages for the settled communities. However, due to the prevalence of malaria in these regions and other factors impeding a transition to settled life, these villages witnessed high mortality and rates of abandonment by those settled there, many of whom preferred to continue their migratory pattern when possible. The result of this process was thus a mixture of lingering transhumance coupled with the establishment of largely poor and disadvantaged rural communities that were on the margins of the emerging cotton economy. 

While the case of Adana may display a particularly pronounced manifestation of the phenomena I associate here with forced settlement, this trend could be witnessed throughout Anatolia during the late Ottoman period and into the Republican era. Settlement occurred incrementally, driven by a combination of state pressure and economic incentive. Seasonal migration for health or comfort continued as a practice, but as former pastoralists became urban migrants and agricultural workers, the vitality of the yayla as an economic space waned, remaining largely as a nostalgic symbol of a prior mode of existence. 

An Enduring Geography

A cable car conveys campers and
picnickers to summer plateaus
on Uludağ in Bursa, Summer 2009
Source: Chris Gratien
Our world has undoubtedly witnessed a dramatic transformation with regard to the relationship between seasonal migration, pastoralism, and human settlement. Transhumance in the sense of exploitation of summer and winter pastures for grazing has come to be an extremely marginal practice when compared with pastoral farming and the increasingly industrialized production of animals and their products. With this change, the social space created by the summer pasture has also been modified, though not eliminated.

Given the discussion I have provided above, it is not surprising that in modern Turkey, the various products from yogurt and cheeses to carpets and comforters associated with traditional pastoral life in Anatolia have become romantically associated with a yayla kültürü or summer pasture culture. Mountain living is remembered with tremendous nostalgia, and many urban families maintain some link to the yayla in the form of summer homes or relatives in mountain towns and villages. Today, plateau regions are home to small towns linked to larger cities that offer temporary or permanent refuge from the burdens of urban life, and while these geographical regions are no longer significant as ground for grazing sheep and goats, they remain a fantastic places for grilling, picnicking, hiking and camping. The economies of these areas often thrive in part on the development of a robust yayla tourism industry in many parts of Anatolia.

Planting trees with Fındıkpınarı Municipality
Source: Chris Gratien
The symbolic significance of the yayla as a green ecological space associated with springtime, clean water, and fresh air also endures in the form of environmentally-oriented projects aimed at the preservation or revitalization of the summer pasture scene; however, these projects occur within a radically different cultural and socioeconomic context than that which originally imbued them with their special meaning. For example, in Spring of 2013, I participated in a trip to the town of Fındıkpınarı near Mersin, Turkey where the municipality had arranged for a group of students to participate in the reforestation of the yayla by planting trees on the hillsides of a plateau region. Of course, the reforestation of these areas, which were well-deforested even before the Ottoman period, can only be imaged in a time when these spaces are no longer considered vital for the pastoralist economy as sources of grass for livestock. Only with changing times and significant intervention by the state has the yayla become imagined as a place where pristine nature might be nurtured and preserved.

Yet, this does not mean that the time for summer pastures has altogether passed. One can still spot small flocks of sheep throughout the most sparsely populated and mountainous ares of Turkey, and in keeping with the nomad's tendency to use space extensively (i.e. to expand activities to fill available space), today's herders and shepherds are also ready to capitalize on new economic opportunities for grazing. For example, the spread of trucks and vans throughout the Middle East has allow for a whole new type in nomadism wherein the shepherd move the flock by motor vehicle. The below chart from an article by Dawn Chatty on the pastoral family and the truck in Lebanon details the daily activities of various members of a Bedouin family living near the Syrian border during the 1960s.

Source: Dawn Chatty, "The pastoral family and the truck" in When Nomads Settle (1980)
Moreover, when the conditions that eliminated transhumance are no longer present, a resurgence is possible. In modern Armenia, for example, economic and demographic decline since the fall of the Soviet Union and the Armenian-Azerbaijani War has left the countryside abandoned, particularly in parts of the country that were formerly home to Muslim inhabitants. The wide availability of land has created not just new potential for pastoralism but critical need to explain the country's vacant pastures, leading even to talk of renting the pastures to Iranian sheep according to an article by James Brooke entitled "The Geopolitics of Sheep in an Armenian Region."

Tent of cattle herders near Kari Lich, Armenia
Summer 2010
Source: Chris Gratien
During the summer of 2010, I made a short hike that began at Lake Kari, a highland lake on the slopes of Mount Aragats in Armenia located at over 3,000 km above sea level. Even on the sunniest summer days, the air is cold on the highland plateau between Lake Kari and the town of Byurakan below, making it a prototypical summer pasture. There, one encounters small communities of Kurdish-speaking Yezdis (or Yazidis), who by and large remained in Armenia following the Nagorno-Karabakh war unlike their Muslim Kurdish counterparts. These communities have traditionally practiced pastoralism and thus have enjoyed some prosperity as of late due to good access to pastures in Armenia. However, a more surprising presence on the plateau is that of Armenian families from Yerevan who take up residence in large tents and tend to cattle on the yayla. I spoke with a young man who explained that while he was from the city, coming up to the pasture during the summer to raise animals offered his family a low-cost means of earning some extra money. Admittedly, he was not nearly as enthusiastic about being on the yayla as I was, but nonetheless, the combination of opportunity and incentive that brought his family to the summer pasture is a testament to the ways in which transhumance remains as it always has a viable extension of and indeed complement to settled life.

Beer Map

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This map, by Feòrag NicBhrìde, has been floating around the internet for a while. Patrick Adamiak sent it along with the suggestion that perhaps it revealed something about the role of Ottoman history in the Balkans' linguistic development:

"You can almost visualize the 19th century borders of the Ottoman Empire in this map of all the terms for beer in Europe. With this map you can almost chart the time and place beer came to the Ottoman Empire; probably from their western Mediterranean neighbors, at a time when (at least parts of) Romania, Bulgaria, Albania, and Greece were still in the empire. Probably sometime in the 19th century, but definitely before 1878. you would expect Macedonia and Bosnia to follow this trend, but they use the general Slavic term instead. This suggests that Yugoslavia imposed the Slavic form of the word, or that beer spread from Slavic speaking Austro-Hungarian Croatia and Slovenia instead of from their Balkan neighbors to the south.

Some research bears this out.

It seems beer first came to the region when the new Bavarian king of Greece, Otto, brought a personal brewer with him in the 1830's. The brewer's son, who in 1864 founded the first commercial brewery in Athens, spent a lot of time exporting his products to the Hellenic state's neighbors. It seems that these brewers got people in the southern Balkans and western Anatolia to develop a taste for beer, and further German, Swiss, and Austro-Hungarian immigrants found an opportunity to open commercial breweries in Bulgaria, Romania, and Istanbul in the late 19th century. It is interesting, however, that despite the central European roots of beer production in the Balkans and western Anatolia, all these countries use the Italian form of the word Beer, Bira. Beer only came to be commercially produced in Italy from around the 1840's or so. It looks like the Ottoman and post-Ottoman world's longstanding commercial ties to Italy caused Bira to enter the various Ottoman languages from Italian before commercial, indigenous production started, even though the first wave of breweries were almost all started by enterprising central European immigrants who would've called it bier."

Lest we as the editors be accused of not contributing any real research to this post, here is a fantastic beer ad put out by the Turkish government that appeared in several magazines during the 40s. It features an image of a Hittite man serving beer, above a reminder that, as proven by recent excavations, "The beer you drink today has a 7,000 year history." Barely visible in the three circles below are the words "It Nourishes[Besler]" "It Refresher [Serinletir]" and "It Gives Joy [Neşe Verir]."




Ottoman and Arab Maps of Palestine, 1880s-1910s

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By: Zachary J. Foster 

Academics have long concerned themselves with maps of Palestine.  But almost all of the published literature on Palestine maps– including the publication of the maps themselves– has dealt with those maps published in Europe by Europeans.  But what about the Ottoman administrators who ruled over Palestine, and those (primarily Arabic speakers) that lived in Palestine?  How did they imagine Palestine in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century?  The largest collection of ‘Palestine’ maps available on the web from the Ottoman period, for instance, some 166 maps – contains a whopping total of ZERO maps produced in the Ottoman Empire.[1]  Below, I would like to offer a few very preliminary comments on how the Arabs and Ottomans cartographized Palestine in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.



The first map in this collection was published in Filastin Risalesi, an official publication of the Ottoman army intended to be used as an officer’s manual for the Palestine region.   The manual itself is a social, topographical, demographic and economic survey of Palestine circa its time of publication, 1331 (Rumi).[2]  It is actually a quite unremarkable work, and resembles much of the ‘geographical’ literature published in both Ottoman and Arabic in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.  The map itself, just as the rest of the book, is published in Ottoman Turkish, and includes both topographical features, such as rivers and mountains (the darker the color, the higher the altitude), as well as all of the major towns and cities. 

It is worth noting as well that the version of Palestine represented in this map bears heavy European influences.  In much of the European geographical literature of the 19th century, as Gideon Biger tells us, Palestine extended from Rafah (south-east of Gaza) to the Litani River (now in Lebanon), from the sea in the west, to either the Jordan River or slightly east of Amman in the East.[3] This is more or less the Palestine that we see on the map.  Notice, as well, that that there are no lined-borders, only a very general sense of Palestine as a region.  This was common for the period as well.  Finally, the southern desert, orNaqb (Negev in Hebrew), is not included in the map, a common feature of European, Ottoman and Arab maps of the region in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.  South of Beersheba was wilderness, both beyond the purview of Ottoman imperial authority, and therefore also beyond the purview of Palestine. 



Now we shall turn to another series of maps published in book titled Jughrafiya-i Osmani (1332).  The first map of Palestine in the book is actually not a map of Palestine per se, but a map of Asya as-Sughra (Asia Minor) qabla al-Milad (before the birth of Christ).  This is quite an interesting map insofar as it attempts to portray the political geography of the region as it looked liked in the pre-Christ period.  Anyone with even a passing knowledge of European intellectual history of nineteenth century knows that what was interesting to write about, what was worth knowing, studying and digging up, was ancient, biblical history.  Thus the European growth of ‘bible studies’ had a profound impact on Ottoman thinking, something that surfaces in this map here.  Hence, the word ‘Palestin’ is written with the letter ‘pe’ in Ottoman Turkish – something I have only found on this map.  It is also worth noting that the word ‘Palestin’ is written over only the very southern most area the settled part of the Levant (inside, even the city of Ahira (Jericho) is north of the ‘Palestin.’  This, again, reflects a classical geographical understanding of Palestine – which included the southern coastal strip from Gaza to Jaffa, or the territory inhabited by the Philistines, or ‘Plishtim,’ in Hebrew.   Other noteworthy markers on the map in include ‘Samarya,’ (Samaria), Damasus (Damascus), Palmayra, Tayr and Yupa (?). 



Our next map, like the rest in Jughrafiya-i Osmani (see 90, 101, 104, and 116), make no mention of Palestine anywhere.  This was not uncommon for the period, as Palestine did not constitute an administrative district in the Ottoman Empire.  Instead, the entire region is labeled ‘Suriye’ in all of these maps. 




Now we turn to another map in Jughrafiya-i Osmani (after p. 98) which does in fact mention Palestine, now spelled in standard Ottoman (as well as Arabic) way rather than spelled as a transliteration of the Latin word Palestina.  This map claims to be a map of the Ottoman administrative geography (taksimat-i idariya), which is interesting because, as we just stated above, Filistin was NOT an administrative unit in the Ottoman Empire.  The region in which Filistin appears in this map (in between the two horizontal lines) was in fact the Mutasarıflık(Mutasarifiyya, in Arabic) of Jerusalem, of Kudüs-i Şerif.  Indeed, it was not uncommon in both Ottoman and Arabic geographical thinking to regarding ‘Palestine’ as synonymous with this administrative district.[4] This was a curious blend of the way the Ottoman administered the region – and the way the Europeans labeled them. 




The final map in our collection comes from George Post’s Nabat Suriya wa-Filastin wa-al-Qatr al-Misri wa-Bawadiha (Beirut, n.p., 1884), 411 (The Flora of Syria, Palestine, and the Egyptian Country and its Desert).  The title of the map itself is: The Botanical Climate of Syria (Aqalim Suriyya al-Nabatiyya). Note that Filastindoes not appear anywhere on the map.  Again, insofar as this is a translation of a book by one of most well-regarded botanists and geographers of Palestine in the nineteenth century, we once again see just how much the Arabs, in this case, came under the influence of their European counterparts.  Indeed, this is one of the first books ever published in the Arab language which included the word ‘Filastin’ in the title of the work, and, low and behold, it is a translation from the English! 

The editors of the OHP have urged me to include a cautionary note to nationalist ideologues on all sides of the spectrum:  the 'idea' of palestine in Arab and Ottoman thinking indeed bears heavy European influences, but this a point of scholarly interest, and has no political implications of any kind.  Nationalists love to point to the 'indigenousness' of their own nations and national territories -- their originality, their time-immemorialness.  But this 'urge' to 'defend' the 'taintlessness' (as if being influenced by Europeans is somehow 'tainted') of their own national spaces, to claim they were not 'mere' 'knee-jerk' 'reactions' to European ideas is itself profoundly reactionary, and embraces everything wrong with nationalism: its claims to ethnic or ideational purity; its ideas of exclusivity, gloriousness and ever-lasting-ness: these are dangerous ideas and have been at the origins of some of the most deadly and dangerous plots in all of human history.  Yes, Europe came to dominate the globe in the nineteenth century, with their bibles, guns and MAPS.
 


[1] This would be The David Rumsey Collection. 
[2] For a more detailed discussion of the pamphlet, See Salim Tamari’s, “Shifting Ottoman Conceptions of Palestine: Part 1: Filistin Risalesi and the two Jamals,” Jerusalem Quarterly 2011(47)
[3] Gideon Biger, “Where was Palestine? Pre-World War I perception, AREA” Journal of the Institute of British Geographers 13(2)(1981): 153–160.
[4] See, for instance, Sabri Sharif Abd al-Hadi Jughrafiyat Suriyya wa Filastin al-Tabi‘iyya (Cairo: al-Maktaba al-Ahliyya, 1923), 32; Butrus al-Bustani, Da’irat al-Mar‘arif 10 (1898), 196; Yehoshua Porath, “The Political Awakening of the Palestinian Arabs and their Leadership Towards the End of the Ottoman Period,” in Studies on Palestine During the Ottoman Period, Moshe Ma‘oz (ed.) (Jerusalem: The Magness, Press, 1986), 351-381; Johann Büsso, Hamidian Palestine: Politics and Society in the District of Jerusalem 1872-1908 (Leiden; Boston : Brill, 2011), 479.

Hicaz Railway Ticket

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Having posted several maps showing the Hicaz Railway in the past, we thought we should also post this Hicaz Railway ticket that was preserved in the Ibrahim Hakki Konyalı archive (#1565). It's in the form of a small booklet, with four detachable tickets covering each stage of the journey. First by French mail-ship from Istanbul ('Der-i saadet' in the Ottoman) to Haiffa. Then by train to Medina (the ticket for this leg, of course, needing no French translation), then back along the same route. Food was included. 



The picture is from a German postcard printed during WWI. See the rest of the ticket after the break:



English America

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I found this early republican map in a antique store recently, and am posting mostly because it looks nice, but also because it refers to Canada as "English America" which is remarkably apt.

French Visions of Greater Syria

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Chris Gratien, Georgetown University

click here for full-sized version

The above map from May 1920 shows the geographical region of Syria as defined by French administration at the very beginning of the occupation of Syria, which lasted from approximately 1918 to 1946. It actually includes two separate definitions of Syria, a core region stretching from Adana, Marash, and Urfa in the north to the Sinai in the south, therefore including Lebanon and what would become the British Mandates of Palestine and Transjordan. The second geographic distinction of the "provinces of Syria" includes the Syrian desert. This imagining of Greater Syria by French administrators would eventually be scaled back as both Jordan and Palestine became British territories, the occupation of the Adana region ended in 1921, and later the area around Iskenderun and Antakya (modern-day Hatay) was ceded to Turkey in 1939.

Source: MAE, Série E (Levant) 61, brochures, no. 1

Kızıl Bayrak: Early Soviet Propaganda

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Here we have an article the July 16, 1921 issue of the weekly periodical L'Europe Nouvelle, which was founded by Louise Weiss in 1918. The magazine focused on political developments in Europe and particularly the new political order emerging under the League of Nations. This particular issue was found in a box in the French National Archives (310AP/95) along with other newspaper clippings dealing with issues related to French interests in the former Ottoman Empire.

The above image is an example of Soviet propaganda from the Turkic regions of the Soviet Union encouraging Turkish-speaking citizens to join with the newly ascendant communists under the banner of the "Red Flag (Qızıl Bayrağı)". More images from the article, including a map of Soviet factories (seen here in full size) can be found below.







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