The discourse of postwar modern architecture is dominated by historical accounts that easily describe the processes of modernization in Turkey during the Cold War as a unilateral flow of ideas and expertise from the United States. Yet, the relation between benefactor and beneficiary is much more complex. This article explores culture production as a state function and intellectual practice through which bureaucrats and intellectuals representing the state agencies disseminated Americanism as common sense in postwar Turkey. Drawing on the cultural activities of two parallel organizations, the Turkish Information Office (TIO) acting in New York and the United States Information Service (USIS) in Turkey, it illustrates how the intricate relations among ideology, politics, and architecture affect the practices of bureaucrats and their audiences in the process of culture production. Promoting ideologies of Americanism, these organizations simultaneously popularized American architects and their buildings to their audiences. The comparative analysis of two case studies, the photo book Talking Turkey by the TIO and the Architecture Series of the Voice of America Forum Lectures, demonstrates how the division created between information and culture as two separate functions of foreign diplomacy perpetuated similar divisions in architectural discourse such as the iconic and the ordinary.

This paper scrutinizes anxieties of national identity in Turkey through the image of Zeki Müren in three films, Beklenen Şarkı, Kırık Plak, and Son Beste. In these films the image of Zeki Müren is articulated as the ridiculous sublime. His image always tells two stories simultaneously: construction and collapse of national identity. Through an analysis of Müren's early films, the paper shows, how anxieties about the formation of Turkish citizenship and about modernity are substantiated in his image. This analysis is carried out in the following steps: I, first, explain how the films chosen here construct the feeling of we-ness and national imaginary by virtue of Classical Turkish music and the voice of Zeki Müren. I show that the image of Zeki Müren in these films tells the story of the national subject being interpellated or hailed by Turkishness and argue that Zeki Müren's image exposes the “speculary” structure of Turkishness. Examining the construction, completeness, and integrity of Turkish national identity the paper continues to explore its collapse, incompleteness, and disintegration–that is, the dimension of “beyond interpellation.” Put differently, I analyze how the feeling of we-ness collapses and explore the pleasure and torment produced through the relationship between social power and the subject. With the help of these two axes of exploration, I show how the torment as well as the pleasure of subjection, the desire to be recognized as well as the fear of not being recognized is the text of Zeki Müren's image in these films.

The religious and nationalist nature of the Sheikh Said Rebellion in 1925 has been debated by the scholars for decades. For the Kurdish nationalists the rebellion symbolized the Kurdish struggle for an independent state. For the Turkish state, it was another deception by Great Britain to stir up the region for its colonialist interests. Newly available sources in the US diplomatic archives raise the question of the Turkish government's fomentation and/or manipulation of the Sheikh Said Rebellion. In addition, some of the Turkish oppositional leaders (such as Kazim Karabekir) of the time suggested that this rebellion was allowed to happen to suppress the political opposition in Turkey. This study examines the validity of these claims and how this rebellion was manipulated to silence political opposition in Turkey. More specifically, this study will seek answers to the following questions: Was the Sheikh Said Rebellion fomented by the Turkish government to eliminate the political opposition? How was this rebellion manipulated to accomplish this aim?

The literature on merchants and trade in the early modern Middle East is still rudimentary. Although the period witnessed basic changes in trade patterns of the region, there have been very few regional studies addressing the nature of trade and the various groups engaged in it, either from an internal or local perspective or from an international one (Masters, 1988; Raymond, 1984; Abdel-Nour, 1982). For much of the Arab world there is a gap in the literature between Goitein's and Ashtor's works on the Middle Ages on the one hand, and the eighteenth century on the other when northern European companies acquired a strong foothold in the area (Goitein, 1966, 1967; Ashtor, 1978). For Iraq there exist almost no general works on the early Ottoman period and the Iraqi archives remain inaccessible. Thus, any conclusions on trade and merchants in Iraq during this period are by necessity tentative and general. There are a number of issues that can be raised with respect to early modern Iraq, however, which are relevant to the history of early modern trade in general.

The Turkish-German axis is not the first route that comes to mind when rethinking German cinema in a global perspective. Turks in German cinema have tended to be cast in one-dimensional roles, as victims on the margins of society, unable to communicate and integrate. After more than four decades of Turkish presence in Germany, can we finally observe a new trend in representation, focusing more on playful enactments, mutual mirroring, and border-crossings? In an era of increasing global mobility of people and media, questions about the status of transnational cultural productions by travelers, emigrants, and exiles have achieved a new intensity. Film critics, concomitantly, have begun to call for a new genre category, one which explodes the boundaries of “original” national cultures as well as those of cinematic conventions. This new genre is variously labeled “independent transnational cinema,” (Naficy, 1996) “postcolonial hybrid films” (Shohat and Stam, 1994) or simply “world cinema,” (Roberts, 1998) a descriptor which, in contrast to older separatist categories such as “third world cinema” (Pines and Willemen, 1989) or “sub-state cinema” (Crofts, 1998), stresses the universality of mobility and diversity.

On the night of July 4, 2004, Greeks across the globe celebrated their national team's triumph in winning the European Championship Cup of the Union of European Football Associations (UEFA). The victory had been unexpected and the celebrations, which lasted until the next morning, largely spontaneous. Urban streets everywhere in Greece filled with people clad in Greek flags and in plastic replicas of Alexander the Great's helmet; cars hooted past, horns blowing to that well-known five-and-six-beat rhythm signifying soccer victory, the air thick with the bright fumes of celebratory crackers. In the towns of Thrace, where the majority of Greece's Turkish population lives, the scene was the same: loud, celebratory, and full of nationalist symbols. In Komotini, the capital of Thrace, minority members watched and listened, some with apprehension, others with excitement about the unexpected victory.

After the coup attempt on July 15, 2016, the Turkish state started to produce a new official history of the event as a narrative of popular resistance against a military coup for the sake of democracy. This narrative with a religious aura was supported by “democracy watch” meetings and new commemoration days, museums, and monuments across Turkey. It was based on four concepts, symbolized by the Rabia sign: one nation, one homeland, one flag, and one state. However, the use of the Rabia sign has fallen from grace recently, creating a critical gap or “glitch” in the mnemonic infrastructure. This paper offers a visual categorization of July 15 monuments across Turkey and positions them in the historiography of Turkish national monuments. Finally, Rabia monuments are analyzed as a case study to show part of the complex (trans)national narratives of the “New Turkey.”

The Ottoman encounter with European colonialism over their African territories during the nineteenth century contributed to a renewed interest in Africa and its inhabitants. This resulted in several official and non-official travels to this continent at the end of which the travelers published their memoirs. This article intends to analyze Ottoman perceptions of Africa in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century by drawing upon Ottoman travelogues. It concludes that the travelers established paradoxical accounts regarding the implications of European colonialism for Africa and the ethnic taxonomy of the African people. They perceived European colonialism as a civilizing mechanism on the one hand, and treated it as the most significant reason of African “backwardness” on the other. Similarly, while they criticized the European colonial discourse based on the superiority of the white race over others, they established similar ethnic taxonomies establishing hierarchies among African tribes.

Blood, sexual honor, and “Muslim-ness” are related discourses that in Turkey produce national subjects in the service of the state. The national narrative brands a subject's perception of self, attributes of the body, and everyday practices with highly resonant markers of belonging. The maintenance of a national identity requires continual vigilance against the threat of forgetting, losing the coherence of the narrative, and disappearing. I will examine the role of purity and boundaries in reproducing Turkish national identity, with particular focus on two key metaphors of threat: the missionary and the headscarf.

The first line of the United States Marine Corps anthem, “From the Halls of Montezuma to the Shores of Tripoli,” refers to one of the earliest encounters between the United States and the Ottoman Empire, when the American navy attempted to suppress “pirating” along the northern coast of Africa at the beginning of the nineteenth century (Field 1969, pp. 27-67). This ritualization of animosity, framing the American image of the Ottoman Empire, has elements carried over from Europe, in which Muslims in general, and the Turks in particular, are drawn as “cruel, fanatical, lustful and dirty” (Wheatcroft 1993, p. 231). According to the European vision, “[the Turks] were, from the first black day they entered Europe, the one great anti-human specimen of humanity” (Gladstone 1876). American images mirrored this European perception. For example, as the United States entered World War I in 1917, Henry Cabot Lodge, Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, presented the war effort not just as aimed at the defeat of Germany, but as a crusade for the destruction of the Ottoman Empire:

[The Ottoman Turks] have been the pest and the curse of Europe, the source of innumerable wars, the executioners in countless massacres… Such a… government as this is a curse to modern civilization. Like a pestilence it breathes forth contagion upon the innocent air (USC 1917, vol. LVI, p. 64).

For the economies of the Middle East, the nineteenth century was a period of rapid integration into the world economy. Some of the forces behind this process came from Europe. In the aftermath of the Industrial Revolution, Great Britain and later the Continental economies began to turn towards areas beyond Europe in order to establish markets for their manufactures and also secure inexpensive sources of foodstuffs and raw materials. As a result, European commercial penetration into the Middle East gained new momentum in the 1820s after the end of the Napoleonic Wars. Later, starting around mid-century, commercial penetration began to be accompanied by European investments in the Middle East in the forms of lending to governments and direct investment in railways, ports, banks, trading companies, and even agricultural land. A large part of this investment served to increase the export orientation of the Middle Eastern economies.

On April 17, 1993 the Turkish President, Turgut Özal, suddenly died, leaving the Turkish nation in a state of shock and mourning. This situation lasted for almost a week, a time full of nationwide, activities in preparation for the final services which eventually were to culminate in the state funeral. It was only after this that Turkish society returned to normal everyday life, to watch its politicians haggling over Özal's political heritage. As outsiders to Turkish society living in Istanbul at that time we became participant observers of this atmosphere of rising collective solemnity. It was the symbolic dimension of the funeral preparations and the final services which principally aroused our interest, and these are, therefore, the main reason and focus of this article. As festivities always have a reference to the self-understanding of a community or a nation, we analyzed those images and signs which reached us through reading newspapers, watching TV, listening to the radio and the people, and through personal participation in the funeral service in Istanbul. Insofar as we conceptualized Özal's funeral as a collective ceremony that both mirrored and created this society's self representation, our focus gradually broadened. Proceeding on the assumption that the comparison of two similar events at different historical moments of a society will allow us to get an insight into the development of a society’s self understanding over time, we have chosen the funerals services for Mustafa Kemal, the founder of the republic, as just such a point of reference. This will give us an insight into the development of Turkey’s great political tradition, or, more precisely, into the changing construction of national identity on the part of the political elite. In choosing the funeral service of Kemal Atatürk as such a point of comparison we do so first of all because until today Turkish state and society have been deeply characterized by and identified with this leader's legacy, and consequently any change can only be measured by taking Kemalism as a point of reference.

When multi-party politics was initiated in Turkey in 1946, rival interpretations of Kemalism emerged to confront the challenge posed by the center-right's surmounting electoral victories. While the left-populist interpretation led by Ecevit gained considerable momentum, there was also a parallel yet less visible formation of a reaction against it—namely, conservative republicanism. From the mid-1960s onwards, left populists and conservative republicans waged a serious political rivalry which temporarily foreshadowed the important similarities they shared due to the legacy of Kemalism. Following the failure of left populism in the late 1970s, these similarities gradually resurfaced and the left populists have withdrawn to the reactionary position of conservative republicanism which fits the language of frustrated elites.