HALIDÉ EDIB HANOUM, AUTHOR AND PATRIOT—A WOMAN DOWERED WITH THE
ALL-CONQUERING GIFTS OF THE TRULY BRAVE
THERE can scarcely be a worse misinterpretation of the Turks to-day than
the common assumption that they do not value their women. As an example
to prove this we turn to the charming writer and patriot, Halidé Edib
Hanoum. Not only well known for her work in England and America, she is
respected and honoured throughout the length and breadth of her own
country, trusted with positions of responsibility, consulted and, above
all, listened to, by those at the helm of affairs.
As one of their brilliant journalists once said in the ante-room of the
Assembly: “We gave her a place in the army. She would have gone with the
delegates to Lausanne had her health permitted. She was elected a Member
of the Assembly, and now we realise the Constitution does not yet admit
women, we shall remove all such restrictions.”
Strong evidence of eager homage to a brilliant woman emphatically
expressed! I had met this famous lady in the old days, when we were
friends with Turkey, and am naturally anxious to renew the acquaintance,
if only to talk over the terrible happenings that have transformed her,
alas! into one of the bitterest of England’s enemies. I am sure that,
like Mustapha Kemal, she will be rejoiced to come back to us when we
both change.
Her little farmhouse, most charming of rustic homes, stands on a rough
road, at this time of year inches deep in mud, about an hour’s drive
from Angora. A clear stream runs by the way, and all around is silent
and calm, save for the very occasional noise of a passing carriage. In
summer, with the sun shining on the grazing cows, it would seem an ideal
spot for this untiring worker.
A voracious reader of the Continental Press, Halidé Hanoum has told me
of her great amusement at the report that her flight into Anatolia had
been “promoted by a desire to flee from harems and veils.” It is, of
course, in Constantinople that the women have so largely cast off the
old customs, whereas in far-away Anatolia most are still rigorously kept
in seclusion. “People in Europe simply cannot grasp what our
civilisation means,” she said; “that is what makes it so difficult for
us to come to an understanding.”
She and her husband, Dr. Adnan Bey, now Angora High Commissioner in
Constantinople, would have been imprisoned with the other Nationalists
three years ago had they not managed to escape to these mountains. Clad
in the picturesque costumes of the villagers, with clogs on their feet,
and a few possessions crowded into a bullock-wagon, they made their way
slowly into Angora, dependent for food and shelter upon the picturesque,
but uncomfortable, little inns on the way.
Since the victory of the Nationalists, she is free, of course, to seek
her equally picturesque home in the heart of Stamboul; but, “How I love
my Angora farmstead!” she cried, as her quaint peasant waiting-woman
brought in coffee and cigarettes. There was proof, at least, in the
countless books, papers and souvenirs from England around us that she
has not forgotten her education in the American College; and, whatever
her judgment of us to-day, she speaks our language without a fault.
As the eye travels over the delicately-cut features of Halidé Hanoum,
the expression of sensitiveness stands out as the greatest charm of her
beauty. Yet the quiet reserved manner cannot hide the force of her mind
and her compelling personality. Charm, intelligence, great talent and
courage, are all in her dower. What is it one admires the most? For me,
certainly, the all-conquering gift of the _truly brave_.
As my father used to say of General Gordon: “In the service of God and
humanity, he was the bravest of men; and in his sorest need or his
greatest loneliness, his courage rose all the time. To have known Gordon
is to say with certainty, ‘God is courage!’”
This fragile and thoroughly feminine little lady was first in the field
against Abdul Hamid, one of the first to understand Angora, to leave all
for the Pasha, to work without ceasing for Nationalism and the new
Turkey. She tells me that a true account of the Greek atrocities, as
_she_ saw them, will be an important feature of her memoirs, though I
shall be, personally, more eager to read the story of her own courageous
achievements.
There is only one of her judgments upon things as they are which I
regret, and believe to be mistaken. Trained in an American college, and
honoured as she is all over the States, it is but natural that she
should blame England for leading America astray on the subject of
Christian minorities. Here neither nation assuredly can plead not
guilty; but the exaggeration and the fervour of the false appeal have
come, I honestly believe, from across the Atlantic, and not to them from
us.
Halidé’s first literary achievement, for which she was decorated by the
Sultan, was to translate “The Mother in the Home,” by an American
pedagogue of the sixties; just the kind of book one would expect an
intelligent young girl to choose!
I first met Halidé Hanoum just after she had succeeded in ending her
first marriage. The union was not a happy one—she was then only
seventeen—but it brought her two fine sons, who are naturally very proud
of their mother. Education and training among American-taught students
had made it impossible for her to lead the old harem existence, but she
was able to give herself up to deep study, absorbing from her husband’s
extensive library the many original ideas she is now giving to the
world. My friends have told me, and I can well believe, how much one
loses of beauty in her exquisite style of writing from ignorance of the
language. One envies her the rare combination of a first-class Eastern
and Western culture.
During the reign of Abdul Hamid she was condemned to death, and her
“Memoirs” will, one day, reveal to us the terrible suffering of those
years. Now, however, the pendulum has swung back, and she is reaping the
reward of her courageous work for young Turkey by the high esteem and
consideration she universally receives. She was frequently consulted by
the late Talaat Pasha and the late Djémal Pasha, owing to her
exceptional knowledge of Western institutions. It was at her house, too,
I met the able and charming editor of the _Tanine_, Hussein Djahid,
afterwards with us at Lausanne. All Turkey’s great men have visited her,
and visit her still; and, without doubt, much of the destiny of her
country has come to birth, if not maturity, in her home.
Under the shadow of renewed war, this citizen in the Great Republic of
Letters could not refrain from the sad topics of Greek atrocities and
Lausanne, but soon turned our talk to more congenial thoughts.
She asked after John Masefield, and I told her that he had been a
stretcher-bearer during the war, and recently I sent him a laurel leaf
from Rome with an enclosed note: “Coming events cast their shadows
before!”
I believe in frankly telling an author how much one enjoys his work, and
have myself often appreciated the pleasures of such spontaneous
flattery. Was I not myself grateful to receive from Australian mothers
letters thanking me for “having written the truth about the Turks.”
Their sons were prisoners in Turkey.
[Illustration:
BROUSSA.
General view of this charming Asiatic city.
p. 256
]
[Illustration:
HALIDÉ HANOUM.
THE WELL-KNOWN WRITER, PATRIOT, AND FEMINIST LEADER.
She has ridden all over Anatolia, making official reports for the
Turkish Government concerning Greek atrocities.
]
[Illustration:
DR. ADNAN BEY.
HIGH COMMISSIONER FOR CONSTANTINOPLE.
Husband of Halidé Hanoum.
p. 208
]
Sarojini Naidu, also a friend of Halidé Hanoum, sent me an exquisite
poem during the world’s despair. As the words went perfectly to the tune
of “Rose in the Bud,” I have sung them again and again for conquest in
sorrow, and rejoiced in their magic power. To those yearning for higher
things, to whom words of faith bring comfort amidst the cold angles of
life, the little poem may have its message:
Nay, do not weep tho’ life be full of sadness;
Dawn will not veil her splendour for your grief,
Nor spring withhold that bright appointed beauty
From lily’s blossom or Ashaka leaf.
Nay, do not pine tho’ life be full of trouble;
Time will not pause nor tarry on his way.
To-day that seems so long, so strange, so bitter,
Will soon be some forgotten yesterday.
Nay, do not weep—new hopes—new dreams—new faces,
The unspent joy of all the unborn years,
Will prove your heart a traitor to its sorrow
And make your eyes unfaithful to their tears.
SAROJINI NAIDU.
After the Constitution of 1918 had been proclaimed, “Freedom for Women”
became one of the burning questions of the day. Here, Halidé Hanoum was
almost immediately the acknowledged leader, and has ever since been
urging her sisters, with noble eloquence, to take the position so long
denied them in the life of the country. With her solid backing from
Talaat and Djémal, Djavid and H. Djahid, she achieved wonders of
awakening. In those old days I had myself contributed to some of the
excellent women’s papers, which were brought out for the discussion of
educational and social problems, among which I regret to have seen no
more of that most promising sheet, the _Kadinlar Dunyassi_. At the
request of the Department of Public Instruction, Halidé Hanoum drew up a
programme of Education for Women and was herself appointed Chief
Inspector of Schools.
By the letter of the law at least, Turkish women are in a much better
position than women have yet secured among us—to the disgrace of Western
liberty. They have always administered their own property, signed all
documents relating to their own affairs, have the full privileges of a
witness in the courts, and are allowed to plead their own cases—we have
not.
They were, unfortunately, kept back socially during the retrograde
régime of the ruthless Hamid; but their fine work on the battle-fields
of the Balkan wars, side by side in the ranks with their men, and their
able organisation of the Red Crescent Society, carried them forward _a
hundred years_.
There has been a certain amount of agitation for the abolition of the
veil, but the tradition withstands reform, though it is now no more than
a sort of toque, or turban, such as we also frequently wear. However,
Halidé Hanoum—most advanced of feminists—has never herself abandoned the
veil, probably seeing in it a Nationalist, if not a religious, symbolic
significance.
I wish I could reproduce at least some of the finest passages from some
of her lectures. The noble spirit of her inspiration yet speaks, even to
those unable to follow her words. No one can marvel that she set her
hearers on fire to save “all that remained of the Turkish
Empire—Anatolia.” As she has written, “It is the love of race which
first made the Turks a mighty people. Whatever may come, rest assured
our race cannot die. It hath immortal life. Though we stand alone
against the world, our love of race will give us courage. Till we can
once more stand proudly beside the nations, we will fear no obstacle and
shrink from no self-sacrifice!”
She gave to Mustapha Kemal Pasha, before his full powers were proven to
all, the words found on the stone of an old Turkish Padishah:
“God appointed me ruler, that the name and fame of the Turkish race
might not be extinguished. I was not appointed to rule over a rich, but
over a poor, people, scantily supplied with food and clothing. For the
Turkish race I slept not at night, I rested not by day, I worked for my
people till death.”
Her work in Syria, interrupted, alas! by the war, has established her
remarkable powers of organisation; and though she denies that she was
ever actually in the Cabinet, no one can doubt that she would make a
splendid Minister of Education. The deputies themselves are so eager for
her admission to the Assembly, that we may easily soon hear that the
department has been placed in her able hands.
At Beyrout she converted the big building of the Dames de Nazareth into
a fine school, where, faithful to her Western training, she gave special
prominence to Swedish drill, and where, as in the American colleges,
Moslem and Christian sit side by side. When the English advanced in
Syria she handed over her schools, and her Armenian and Turkish orphans,
to the Americans, with the womanly entreaty that they would “care for
them and, above all, make them good boys and girls.”
The Turkey of her dreams and ambitions stands for peace and territorial
integrity, for progress in education and equal rights to Moslems and
Christians. She knows when peace comes that England, with no thoughts of
intrusion, will yet be only too glad to help. England is generous and
hospitable. Turkish students, in medicine and other faculties, have long
been with us (at Bedford College and elsewhere), conquering all
difficulties of language, climate, and social customs, taking their
degrees, etc, beside British women. Our schools, our hospitals and clubs
will always welcome all who wish to come to us: as Halidé Hanoum knew
well, before I reminded her.
Despite their limited heritage, often from mothers who cannot read or
write, Turkish women are brilliant students. I well remember trying to
interest the public in a friend of mine who, after specialising in
Gynæcology at Dublin, secured a London M.D. But the paper which could
not find space for this interesting achievement gaily printed long
columns of “Arabian Nights” nonsense about the strange ways of Turkey
which belonged, in fact, to the period of the woad-stained ancient
Britons. If the public really must have cheap romance, they would not
complain of an approximately correct date!
It is fortunate, indeed, for Turkey that their leading feminist will
work for progress on sound lines, and is far too wise to see no farther
for women than a junior partnership with men.
There are, at present, but few feminine stars in the Turkish firmament.
But all are loyally united in one common cause—to gain their freedom and
save the Fatherland. It is too soon for us to indulge in prophecy on
what their final self-organisation may achieve.
Halidé Hanoum, like so many others, is trying to regain the health she
spent so generously during the war. Attached to the army as a sergeant,
she followed the troops without a thought of danger and fatigue; and
since the recent hostilities she has ridden from town to town throughout
Anatolia, collecting and arranging her report of the Greek destruction
and atrocities. This report, controlled by experts and neutral
commissions, was sent to the Lausanne Conference. Halidé Hanoum’s
expression is sad. “How can I help loving my Anatolian home?” she said.
“It has cost us such a terrible price in lives and suffering to save our
land, we naturally would all die now rather than live in slavery again.
“I am horrified to hear,” she went on, “that anyone can still attribute
the fire in Smyrna to the Turks. Why do they not accuse them, too, of
burning Asia Minor? Will it always have to be so? Although the Greek
atrocities committed in our land are too horrible even to talk or write
about, excuses are always found for the Greeks, while anything done by
the Turks is grossly, unjustly exaggerated. If one Christian dies, the
whole Christian world is concerned, as it should be. But, on the other
hand, when a whole community of Moslems is wiped out, no one cares....
It is this spirit of injustice that exasperates Moslems. Now, however,
our recent victory gives us the right to demand equal consideration with
Europeans, no more, no less.” But, “speaking of Greek atrocities,” she
continues, “the world has simply _got to know_ what they were during
this war. Dr. Nansen, of the League of Nations, is busy lecturing on the
Greeks’ suffering, but what of the Turks’? All the terrible devastation
to which you can testify, all the number of women and children burnt and
violated; the world must have these figures to pass judgment on the
Greeks. This eternal and unjust fault-finding with the Turk not only
breaks his spirit (remember he is an Asiatic), but incites him to do
things he never otherwise would think of doing. It is a most dangerous
policy.”
With regard to the Conference, Halidé Hanoum seems to have lost her
usual optimism. “Are we right to have faith?” she asked. “We all of us
welcomed a change in the British Government, and hoped that our
interests would be impartially discussed at Lausanne, but what is
happening?”
The two actions which Halidé Hanoum considers _most_ unjust to Turkey
are the endeavours to exempt Christians from military service and the
retention of the Greek Patriarch. “After the effort we have made to be
free, we must have our country to ourselves, and if the Greeks expect
equal rights with the Moslems, they must fight for those citizen rights.
As to the Patriarch, imagine asking us to keep a man who had taken
advantage of his sacred calling to turn his flock against us.... Will
the Western Powers always interfere? All our history goes to prove that
Turks and Christians have lived together in perfect harmony. When the
Powers began to interfere, however, the Christians showed the basest
ingratitude. They invented the most wicked stories, knowing there was no
justice for us, and that whatever they said would be believed. Now the
Powers who turned the Christians against us cannot keep their promises.
The Christians want to come back to us. But we will have _no more_
interference.
“If the Conference is only to be an excuse to wear the Turks out, why
should we wait, only to fight in the end? A policy of slow death is
intolerable. We do not seek war, though we are ready to fight, because
we want to build up our country, take care of and educate our people,
and give them a little of the comfort and happiness they deserve. Rather
than have an unjust vassal-peace,” she concluded, “let us perish
altogether.”
* * * * *
The picture of Halidé Hanoum confronts us on all sides throughout
Anatolia. Among the heroes of the revolutions, the Turks reverence her
as their Joan of Arc. No history of the Nationalist movement can ever be
attempted or thought of without a full record of her courageous loyalty
and untiring patriotism.
* * * * *
I was once asked to suggest the best way of helping forward the cause of
women in Turkey. I naturally answered that I would give them England’s
_best_: her social and nursing service, but, above all, her literature.
M. Henri Taine wrote of us: “The English are a horrible race, but they
have done all there is to be done in literature.” It has always made me
ashamed to find so few English books in Turkish schools. Of course, at
present, our language is not widely known among these people; but, as
the nations of the world grow closer in thought and faith, one hopes
that they, too, may share the inspiration and moral uplifting so many
have found in our best classics.
We should surely endeavour to remove the reproach implied by the words
of Professor E. J. Browne: “French influence has played too large a
part, both in the political and literary field, in the evolution of New
Turkey, and French ideas have too long dominated Turkish reformers.”
The life of Florence Nightingale and her precepts, our science and the
writings of George Eliot, these few names and ideas may serve to
indicate the treasure we have for all men. Our literature is a gold
mine, which I, for one, long to see given its full honour and
pre-eminence in the education and development of the women of Turkey.
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