Aram Sakalian, The Young Ottomans from Tanzimat to Democracy (Stamboul: Abdülhamid University Press, 2011)
… The Ottoman army advanced on Haifa in June 1910 with every expectation of fighting a decisive battle against the unofficial national legislature. Even as it marched, however, events behind the lines bid fair to take the matter out of its hands. In northwest Anatolia, armed trade unionists took over several cities and declared them workers’ communes. Rumblings of rebellion stirred in the Balkans, with Albanian hill clans gathering and Bulgarians demonstrating in the streets of Sofia and Niš. Worst of all, the citizens of Stamboul rose up in support of the opposition, seizing key government buildings and putting the diminished garrison under siege.
The army commander, Ismet Ali Pasha, was still confident that he could defeat the rebel forces at Haifa, but that would do little good if the empire fell to pieces in the meantime. He spent a sleepless night in his command tent after learning of the Stamboul uprising, and then took what he believed to be the only available option: he declared that Sultan Abdülhamid was deposed in favor of his brother Mehmed V and that the army would support the Haifa legislature as the legitimate national government. The Sultan, who was with him, was put under arrest before he could cause trouble, and Ismet Ali entered Haifa alone to swear an oath of loyalty to the provisional government. The Ottoman Revolution was accomplished.
Having swung its support to the revolution, however, the army was now the most powerful force within it. Ismet Ali acted against the rebellions in Stamboul and Anatolia without consulting the new government; on July 11, he crushed the Izmit commune in a bloody battle and opened the road to the capital, and on July 15, he entered Stamboul against scattered resistance and put the city under martial law. The last remaining workers’ commune at Adapazari surrendered two days later after a punishing siege. Several members of the provisional legislature, including Lev Bronshtein, protested the army’s action, but Ismet Ali had presented them with a fait accompli, and no other faction had enough force to challenge him.
The new government quickly became a
de facto triumvirate of Bronshtein (by now widely known as “Lev Pasha”), Ismet Ali Pasha, and former vizier Abdul Hadi Pasha, who returned from internal exile to rally the entrenched bureaucracy. The relationship was an uneasy one, and each was accused of selling out by his more militant allies, but none could easily overcome the others. Ismet Ali needed Bronshtein and the Haifa government to maintain legitimacy, Lev Pasha needed a functioning army to keep the empire together, and both needed the civil service to keep the state running.
Bronshtein’s presence, and the liberal majority in the Haifa legislature, ensured that some radicalism would remain in the revolution, but the army and civil service swung it in a more conservative direction than it might otherwise have gone. The September by-elections held to fill the remaining legislative seats – which were carried out under military supervision – returned a substantially more conservative slate of representatives than had been elected in May.
The constitution reported out of the assembly in April 1911 was thus a blend of radicalism, conservatism and sheer pragmatic accommodation. The radicalism showed most clearly in the strengthened bill of rights, the equality of the Arabic language throughout the empire, the elimination of the Sultan’s political powers, and the institution of universal male suffrage. All property qualifications for the franchise were eliminated and, just as importantly, rural voters were now equal to urban ones; for the first time, peasants would vote on their own behalf rather than having their votes cast for them by village headmen. The constitution did not, however, incorporate any economic rights other than a right to collective bargaining, did not give the vote to women, retained the millet system for personal status matters, and kept the central bank independent of the government, all items that Lev Pasha and his allies fought for bitterly but lost.
The pragmatism and balancing of power blocs showed in the framing of the government. The office of the Sultan was retained and, while stripped of his governing powers, the monarch remained the supreme religious judge, able to overturn qadis’ decisions and issue rulings of great impact on daily life and political ethics. The Sultan’s place as political executive was taken by a nine-member council in which the army, the
ulema, the trade unions, the industrialists and the central bank would nominate representatives to sit alongside four members chosen by the legislature for a four-year term. The president of this council, who had to be one of the legislative members, would be prime minister of the nation and would appoint the cabinet, but could not make major decisions without a vote of the full council.
The legislature consisted of a directly elected lower house, the Mejlis, and an indirectly elected senate, with half the senators chosen by the vilayet governments and the other half chosen by the sanjaks and by a new category of independent cities which had sanjak status. Legislators nominated to the executive council could be either members of the Mejlis or senators, and both houses were equal in the submission and consideration of bills. The two houses, sitting together, could question and dismiss cabinet ministers, but could not dismiss members of the executive council once elected; executives could be impeached only by a two-thirds vote of their fellow councilors.
The empire’s structure below the national level was a matter of much debate. The ultimate consensus was for an empire that was not federal but was substantially decentralized; the sanjaks and independent cities would have no sovereignty and limited taxing powers, but would have broad local authority on a long list of matters. The vilayets were largely de-emphasized; although they remained in existence as administrative units and played a part in choosing the senate, they had few other functions.
Each sanjak and vilayet would have a governor appointed by the central government; however, the local council could reject an appointee or dismiss him for malfeasance. Beyond that, the sanjaks were granted wide latitude in choosing their form of government. Some, especially those that had parallel governments before the revolution, had elected councils; others had councils of notables chosen by some form of co-option; still more combined the two by having an elected lower house and an upper house consisting of provincial notables or religious figures. A few, mainly in the industrial regions of Anatolia, instituted corporatist or syndicalist councils in which the workers, or both the workers and industrialists, had a dominant political role. The sanjaks also had the option of extending the vote to women – which about a third of them did immediately and half by 1920, with varying degrees of qualification – and could set their own language policies and override the millet system in local matters.
The decentralized system satisfied neither the federalists nor the proponents of a unitary state. But at the same time, it alleviated some of the bitterness over the crushing of the workers’ communes and the suppression of the Stamboul uprising, because it gave sanjaks and cities broad latitude to be as progressive or conservative as they wanted to be. The trade unions were able to regain some of the ground they had lost in northwest Anatolia and the Levant, often by re-enacting the informal deals they had made with the industrial class in the year prior to the revolution, while regions such as Albania, eastern Anatolia and rural Arab districts achieved local control and kept much power in the hands of native elites. This would be the compromise on which the new Ottoman state would survive the turbulent 1910s through 1930s, with many political conflicts being contained by being devolved to the sanjak level.
Another compromise decided the fate of the outlying provinces. Many of the delegates from Yemen, the Arabian desert and Bulgaria were outright separatists, and even the more moderate representatives demanded strong local autonomy. For the first two, the Sultan’s continuing role as Caliph provided the solution. The Yemeni and Bedouin chiefs swore allegiance to the Sultan in his capacity as supreme judge, agreed to abide by his rulings in Islamic matters, and pledged to pay an annual religious tax that was roughly equivalent to their existing tribute. In exchange, they were not made part of any sanjak or vilayet, and were effectively independent in their relations with neighboring countries. Many nationalists grumbled, but there was precedent with Egypt, and the consensus was that the empire had done well to shed such rebellious and economically marginal territories.
Bulgaria proved harder, but a compromise was eventually found there as well; the Bulgarian separatists realized that they couldn’t defeat the Ottoman army on their own and that Russia was neither able nor inclined to help them, while a majority of the Ottoman negotiators recognized that Bulgaria would be a running sore if the status quo were maintained. The final draft of the constitution declared that Bulgaria, within borders that maintained the empire’s territorial contiguity in the Balkans, was a semi-independent principality such as Serbia and Montenegro had been before 1878. The Ottoman army would control the border, and Bulgaria would have no armed forces of its own, but it would otherwise not be garrisoned by Ottoman troops and would have the power to collect taxes and make its own laws. The Bulgarian prince would also be allowed to send ambassadors to foreign capitals and make his own trade policy, although he would be obligated to make no moves that put him directly in conflict with the Porte.
The constitution left no one completely happy, but it was one that the stability-starved citizens were willing to accept. The election of October 1911, which chose a permanent legislature to replace the provisional assembly, bore this out, with most seats being won by supporters of the constitution and with the Democratic Party and Progressive Arab Union holding narrow majorities in both houses. After some negotiation, the volatile Abdul Hadi Pasha became president of the executive council. Lev Pasha was offered a seat on the council but turned it down, assuming correctly that he would be sidelined if he accepted the post. Instead, as a leader of the PAU – he had spent most of his political career in the Arab movement, and considered himself an Arab Jew as well as a follower of the Bahá'u'lláh – he was elected speaker of the Mejlis, which was a far better and more visible post for a born agitator like him.
By this time, former Sultan Abdülhamid had also come to terms with the new order. He was released from house arrest and allowed to retain the post of Ottoman judge on the International Court of Arbitration, in which he would continue to influence the development of Islamic international law. This was, ironically, exactly the role that his old nemesis Midhat Pasha had once envisioned for him…
Şefik Seren, An Economic History of the Ottoman Empire (Stamboul: Tulip Press, 1982)
… The years of instability had taken a heavy toll on the Ottoman economy. A lira in 1911 was worth one thirtieth of a 1906 lira, which in turn was worth little more than a third of a prewar gold lira. By 1912, political stability and renewed confidence in the central bank had reined in the inflation rate, and the “new lira” issued that year at a ratio of 100 to 1 proved stable, but in the meantime, the emerging middle class had seen its savings decimated.
For some, the inflation of 1906-11 was a blessing in disguise; peasants who had taken part in land-purchase programs after the war were able to retire their debts and own their land free and clear, while the empire’s own internal debt was virtually wiped out. But this was more than offset by local bank failures, businesses starved for credit, and the greater burden of foreign debt, much of which was denominated in hard currency.
The last of these would prove especially difficult, and in 1913, the government opened negotiations with its creditors for a writedown. The talks went relatively smoothly; the stability of the new government and the continuity of the central bank had inspired trust among the creditor nations, and they greatly preferred a writedown to a default. But coming on top of the Russian writedown of 1908, the British debt crisis of 1910-11 and Britain’s partial default earlier in 1913, it strained the global financial system almost to the breaking point, causing an acute financial crisis that would spread to Austria the following year.
The economic crisis would define the remainder of the 1910s in the Ottoman Empire. It did not fare as badly as some countries; surrounded as it was by neighbors with limited industry and little or no war debt, it was able to continue expanding the markets for its industrial products. Turkestan, also, was still growing, and its cultural and religious links with the Ottomans enabled it to become a significant trading partner. But the Ottoman economy still suffered with the reduction in European trade and the continuing losses to the middle class from bank failures and diminished investments.
This environment created a groundswell of support for the social insurance programs that Lev Pasha advocated from the well of the Mejlis. He would find allies in the imamate, many of whom had absorbed some Abacarist and Belloist teachings over the decades and who preached that social justice was a key obligation of the government during hard times. In 1915 and 1916, the legislature passed a series of acts regulating the banks, establishing old-age pensions and unemployment insurance funds to which workers in both the formal and informal sectors could contribute, and creating public works programs for the unemployed. These programs at both the national and local level – some sanjaks went farther than the central government – were used to build extensive rural infrastructure, improve roads and ports, and expand the developing power grid.
It would be a public works project that, in 1918, led to the discovery of the Mosul oil fields and ushered in the next phase of Ottoman development…
Tamar Benvenisti, On the Borders: Religious Reformism in the Ottoman Periphery (Stamboul: Four Ways Press, 2006)
… Egypt prospered in the years after the war. It had contributed troops and materiel to the Ottoman war effort, and the Libyan front had occasionally spilled over into its western desert, but the Nile Valley heartland had remained untouched and casualties had not been heavy. The emerging textile industry had profited from Ottoman war contracts, and under Riyad Pasha’s technocratic government, much of the tax revenue from these sales was reinvested in infrastructure and industrial development.
For a time during the 1900s, the aging Riyad Pasha’s quasi-Belloist ideals of apolitical government seemed like a model for the developing world. He led a succession of cabinets composed of doctors, scientists and engineers, and without the need to be responsible to shifting electoral majorities, these governments were free to engage in long-range planning. Public health and sanitation improved greatly, by some accounts adding a full decade to life expectancy, and rates of public investment were among the highest in the world. The growing appeal of Muhammad Abduh’s neo-Mu’tazilite teachings manifested itself in school construction and increasing educational participation; by 1910, 50 percent of boys and 10 percent of girls attended primary school, and secondary education had become common in the cities.
But all this time, discontent was growing among those left behind: while the cities became rich, rural development lagged, with Sudan and Upper Egypt particularly neglected. Riyad Pasha’s meritocracy left many voices unheard, and development projects were often done without regard to the communities they disrupted and the people they displaced. There had been calls for more democracy even before the war, and afterward, the village and district advisory councils became rallying points for the people to demand a genuine parliament and responsible government. And in the south, Belloist peasants withdrew as they had in Muhammad Ahmad’s time, in protest against heavy taxation and government neglect.
The Ottoman Revolution and the 1911 constitution, which replaced the paternalistic system of the Young Ottomans with a more developed democracy, fueled Egyptian demands for similar reforms, and Riyad Pasha’s death the same year left the government without a clear leader. And the Ottoman economic crisis hit Egypt particularly hard; Egyptians had bought many lira-denominated war bonds, and declining Ottoman imports cut heavily into the textile industry’s profits.
By 1915, matters had reached a critical point, with peasant withdrawals in the south nearly universal and civil disobedience growing in the cities. The corruption that had always existed in rural districts had made its way to the capital as prices rose and it became difficult to live on a civil servant’s salary. As in the Ottoman Empire during the years before the revolution, even many of the elites believed that fundamental change was necessary, but there was little consensus on how.
On the morning of October 20, 1915, a group of radical junior army officers took things into their own hands and overthrew the government. These officers were heavily influenced by Muhammad Abduh’s scientific Islamism and support for popular government, and they declared the formation of an Egyptian Republic and announced elections for a constitutional assembly. The elections would be less democratic than promised – they would take place with a heavy military thumb on the scale, and would be dominated by supporters of the junta – but for the first time, Egypt would have a legislature with genuine power. The new constitution, ratified in early 1917, provided for an American-style presidential system (which the officers favored because the government would not be responsible to the legislature) with a two-house parliament and multiple tiers of local government, all elected by universal male suffrage.
Later that year, Said Elgendy, the chairman of the junta, was sworn in as Egypt’s first elected president. As a follower of Abduh, he retained many of the technocratic aspects of the Riyad Pasha government, but he also instituted an intensive program of rural development similar to the Ottoman public works programs, and created a corps of itinerant rural teachers modeled on the Malê and Javanese
jajis. He was particularly concerned with education for girls, and many of those taught by the
jaji corps would become the voices of Egypt’s emerging feminism…
… In 1910, Bornu had finally recovered from its devastating wartime losses, and reconstructed itself around the postwar Belloist agricultural communes. Like the original Belloist colonies of the 1840s and 50s, these colonies became centers of education, extending their religious influence into the Kingdom of the Arabs and Ottoman Libya. Belloism had also spread outside the Bornu Empire proper to the vassal states of Darfur and Ouaddai and the Toubou and Tuareg tribes of the eastern Sahara, knitting them more closely to the state; by the early 1910s, although still nominally independent, they functioned as integral provinces of the sultanate.
Bornu’s position in Africa made it an economic and cultural bridge between the Ottoman world and the British, French and German empires. The Lagos-Ilorin-Kano railroad was extended to Bornu during the war, and afterward, a flourishing trade grew up between Bornu and the Malê successor states; after 1915, the sultanate would become a place of exile for Labor Belloists from the northern tier of British West Africa. And in the southeast, the vassal kingdom of Ouaddai bordered on N'Délé, the German-allied kingdom founded by an exiled Catholic Buganda prince; the N'Délé dynasty courted Bornu as a counterweight to German influence, and Ouaddai became an important trade route from German Central Africa to Egypt and the Ottoman world. And ideas as well as goods would flow both ways; by 1920, Belloism had begun to influence popular Catholic ritual in the countries to the south…
… At the eastern edge of the Ottoman sphere, the Caucasus was in a state of ferment. Both the Christian kingdoms and the Muslim khanates were controlled by their feudal landholding families, who dominated the parliaments and were virtually absolute lords within their rural domains. The cities were opposition strongholds; in Georgia and Armenia, war veterans and the emerging working class demanded a true voice in government, and as the Baku oil fields began to be developed in earnest after 1905, Shirvan became home to a large, discontented and brawling trade union movement. The opposition in all three countries – Christian and Muslim both – was influenced by Abacarism and the egalitarian reformism of Central Asian teacher Abay Qunanbaiuli, and also by Marxist and narodnik ideologies filtering down from Russia.
The Decade of Revolutions would come to the Caucasus in 1912, when an oil workers’ strike in Baku spread into an uprising throughout Shirvan. With the Khan and the imamate acting as mediator, an arrangement was brokered between the rebels and the traditional elite, and in 1914, a parliament of expanded powers with a socialist majority was inaugurated. This government’s writ did not extend far beyond the capital city and the oil fields, however, and the feudal families continued to act as lords of their holdings, and by 1918, relations between the two had degenerated into a low-grade civil war with mounting atrocities on both sides.
In Georgia and Armenia, the revolutions would be more peaceful but just as incomplete. Popular protest forced the introduction of universal suffrage in both countries, resulting in the election of liberal parliaments in Georgia in 1913 and Armenia the following year. Both legislatures enacted progressive constitutions and attempted to reform the government and military to create unitary states. But as in Shirvan, the feudal families, most of whom had private armies and could count on the loyalty of their peasants, resisted the expansion of national government and drove off or even killed officials who came into their territory. By 1920, their quarrels sometimes spilled over into Persia and Anatolia and endangered the oil pipelines to Stamboul and the trade routes to Turkestan, forcing the Ottoman government to intervene…