Ottoman Brothers: Muslims, Christians, and Jews in Early Twentieth-Century Palestine (6 page)

In contrast to the immediate reaction seen in Salonica, Istanbul, and other central locales, in more peripheral cities and towns the response was far more cautious, as local residents awaited cues from the local governor and military commander. Such was the case in Harput, a town in eastern Anatolia that had a large and nervous Armenian population. On the Arabian Peninsula, the
sharīf
, the highest religious official in Mecca who was a descendant of the family of the Prophet, and the local governor, who was considered corrupt and oppressive, reportedly ordered that anyone talking about the constitution would be flogged.
²³

Likewise in Jerusalem, almost two weeks passed from the arrival of the first telegrams bearing the news before the local government acted on the notice. The governor of the province, Ekrem Bey, was a former palace secretary who belonged to a distinctly different world than the young soldiers, intellectuals, and officials who had agitated for and carried out the revolution. Unlike them, many of whom were graduates of the modern state military and civil service academies, Ekrem Bey had been trained as a scribe in the sultan's personal office staff, and as such he owed his professional position and livelihood directly to the sultan. And yet, Ekrem Bey was also the son of Namik Kemal, the leading Ottoman liberal thinker who had died under house arrest. Undoubtedly, both position and parentage had taught Ekrem Bey that the secret of political survival lay in conservative caution, and so he apparently did his best to ignore the news of the revolution for as long as he could.

According to a report of the American consul in Jerusalem, the lull ended when “one courageous effendi” initiated a group telegram to the central government, sending its congratulations to the sultan in the aftermath of the announcement of the constitution and at the same time complaining of the governor's refusal to set a date for the public celebration. In short order, the governor “was soon surrounded by a band of Moslems, Christians, and Jews, who, in their turn, encouraged the people to demand their rights.”
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This group of locals complained to CUP headquarters in Salonica about the governor's “unsympathetic attitude,” prompting the committee's harsh warning that “any governor or official who put obstacles in the way of the people manifesting their joy were enemies to the liberty of the people and lawless in their actions, and that such were not worthy of being kept in their positions, and that it was for the people to boldly object and oppose such and permit nothing that was against the public peace to continue.”
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In a letter to his superiors at the Ministry of Interior, however, Ekrem Bey vigorously denied the accusations against him, claiming that when approached by the Jerusalem notables (more than ten days after the news had arrived in Jerusalem), he had hurried to begin making preparations for the celebrations. In Ekrem Bey's mind, he had carried out his official duty fastidiously. “I did not delay in declaring the constitution. I brought the Grand Vizier's telegram for a public reading in an official manner at the government headquarters. I declared. I informed the districts. I brought about its inclusion in the Jerusalem newspapers and I gave details about the manner of its declaration. The duty of a clerk employed by the state was fulfilled.”
²⁶
“As for
Kemalzade
[son of Kemal],” he continued, “the joy of his heart was declared out loud to his friends.”

In his defense, Ekrem Bey blamed “corrupt villains” in the local CUP branch as well as a local political rival, the deputy-governor of Jaffa.
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Indeed, the acrimonious relations between Ekrem Bey and the local notables (who he referred to as “insects” on at least one occasion) made such a strong impression upon his young daughter that she remembered their two years in Jerusalem darkly, and even decades later likened Jerusalem to a fire-breathing dragon. In her mind, at least from the perspective of an overworked and unappreciated government official, “there was nothing but gloom, religion and filth…. Jerusalem was not an easy city to handle. One had to pacify a thousand hatreds and jealousies.”
²⁸

As a result of the quarrels between the Ottoman governor and leading Jerusalemites, the first ceremony in Palestine to mark the historic moment was not held in Jerusalem, the seat of the provincial government, but rather, in Jaffa, its commercial rival on the coast. On August 6 Ekrem Bey took the two-hour train ride to Jaffa where he was greeted by thousands of new citizens gathered between the government house and the army headquarters with Ottoman flags decorating every building in town.
²⁹
The governor read aloud the imperial decree containing the list of reforms to be implemented while spiritual representatives of the various religious communities accepted the constitution on behalf of their members.

Upon his return to Jerusalem later in the evening, Ekrem Bey announced that an official ceremony would be held that Saturday at noon at the army barracks next to Jaffa Gate; Jerusalemites began preparing for the event by placing Ottoman flags on official buildings as well as houses and stores, and lamps were hung in the streets to light the city at night.
³⁰
However, due to mounting public impatience, spontaneous celebrations broke out the following day, August 7. Immediately afternoon
prayers ended at the Dome of the Rock Mosque, a crowd of about five thousand people set out toward the army barracks, singing, waving flags, dancing with swords, and firing pistols.
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Upon their arrival, the military commander of Jerusalem, R iza Bey, “look[ing] upon the crowd with pleasure and honor,” sent out Ottoman soldiers and military band members to join in marching through the streets and markets. As one observer noted, “Cries of ‘Liberty, equality, fraternity!' [were] heard from thousands of people, and ‘love and brotherhood' sang between all the sons of the different communities in Jerusalem.” Crowds celebrated in the streets until late into the night.

The following morning, the military band paraded through the markets and streets again, playing military music and the national anthem. Hundreds of people accompanied them through the city, singing, dancing, and shooting pistols, while others sprinkled rose water and tossed
flowers from the balconies of houses and stores. In addition to government buildings, private houses, stores, and warehouses were decorated with Ottoman flags and flowers, as well as with numerous banners that read, “Long live the sultan! Long live the army! Long live freedom! Liberty, equality, fraternity!”

The crowds began to gather at the appointed spot before noon. According to press accounts, “all types of men were present,” characterized by a variety of clothing, religions, parties, and classes; the press focused on the theme of unity among difference, noting that “all went forward with one heart to celebrate freedom!”
³²
As the crowd began to file into the courtyard of the army barracks, people squeezed together on the rooftops and adjoining fences—and thousands still remained outside. According to one newspaper correspondent, over forty thousand Muslims, Christians, and Jews had gathered; lemonade, cigarettes, and coffee were distributed gratis in honor of the historic and festive moment.
³³

At 1:30 P.M. the governor and his clerks arrived by carriage, wearing ceremonial black clothing and the same decorative ribbons on their
chests as members of the crowd which consisted of three silk ribbons—red in the middle (inscribed, “Long live the sultan! Liberty, equality, brotherhood!”), the two outer ones white (proclaiming, “Long live the Ottoman army!” and “Long live freedom!”). After the crowd parted to let the governor and his entourage through, the governor read the official proclamation reinstating the constitution. The governor, in the words of one account, was:

seemingly pale and perturbed because of the uncertainty of the reception the populace would give him. The proclamation was read, followed by a speech that had been prepared for the governor, in which he assured all that the time of oppression had ceased and the era of liberty and prosperity had dawned. Little or no enthusiasm was shown except to applaud the reference to liberty. Even the mention of the name of the governor's father [Namik Kemal], a well-known advocate of political freedom, whose books had long ago been destroyed and he himself kept a prisoner until the day of his death, failed to elicit applause.
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It is doubtful whether more than several dozen in the audience understood the language of the official proclamation, which was in Ottoman Turkish, but certain key terms derived from Arabic (most significant among them
urriyya
—in Ottoman Turkish
hürriyet)
would have been comprehensible to most of the audience, and indeed served as a pivotal link between the official proclamation and its popular reception. The following speaker, Sa'id al-Husayni, a Jerusalem notable and the new director of education, translated the proclamation into Arabic for the crowd, explaining the concept of “liberty”—which he described as given by the sultan in an act of imperial generosity—as well as the workings of parliament and the parliamentary system. Each time the word
liberty
was pronounced, the crowd cheered in unison, “Hurray!” In a theme that would be repeated often, al-Husayni linked the imminent political changes with the economic revival and social renewal that would surely follow throughout the empire: new schools would open, commerce would flow, the imperial coffers would fill, new railroads would be built, and cars would be purchased, all of which were greeted by the cheers of the crowd. Then ‘Abd al-Salam Kamal, the Turkish language editor of the official bilingual newspaper
Noble Jerusalem (kudüs-üşerif/Al-Quds al-Sharīf
), and Shaykh ‘Ali al-Rimawi, the paper's Arabic editor, spoke about freedom of the press.

In many ways, these events followed the proscribed ceremonial rituals not unlike myriad other official imperial ceremonies held on the anniversaries of the sultan's birthday and ascension to the throne or ceremonies to welcome a new governor or provincial official. Government officials had control of the central platform; appropriate homage was paid to the
sultan; the official Ottoman flag (red with a white crescent) was visible for all; and the usual government clerks, notables, spiritual leaders, and foreign consuls were present. Furthermore, by symbolically accepting the constitution on behalf of their co-religionists, spiritual leaders continued to be used as official intermediaries between the sultan's government and his subjects.
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