To Those Who was Lost, the Wind Open Its Door for…
“Do not walk upon this land calling it just “earth”; recognize what it truly is.”
Mehmet Akif Ersoy, 1921, The Turkish National Anthem.
“For some reason, the potential of Troy as a significant tourist destination hasn’t been given much thought until now. A few days ago, a group of Greek tourists arrived. Among them were many people who were born and raised in the villages and towns around Çanakkale and who spoke Turkish very well. I saw some of them crying when they finally reached these places they loved so much.”
Azra Erhat, 1969, the Blue Anatolia, s. 37.[1]
I knew that traveling to Alçıtepe to oversee preparations for the artist residency program organized by the EGE-HUB project would be somewhat challenging. Although there are flights between Ankara and Çanakkale, I chose an overnight bus because of the inconvenient flight times. After a nine-hour journey with frequent stops in various cities, I arrived in Çanakkale (Gallipoli) at dawn. I had visited the city briefly a couple of times before, but, like everyone born and raised in Turkey, I had frequently heard its name throughout my education. The region, historically a strategically important sea passage, was one of the key fronts of World War I, which ended the Age of Empires. The Battle of Gallipoli, fought between the Ottoman Empire and the Allied Powers from 1915 to 1916, is remembered as a pivotal event in the establishment of the Republic of Turkey and a foundational event in the national myth. History textbooks feature legendary narratives, images, poems, and anthems about the battle.
Although the Ottoman Empire suffered heavy losses, it won this crucial battle. This victory was more than just a triumph; it was a symbol of hope for the salvation of the crumbling empire. The slogan “Gallipoli is impenetrable” (which the opposing side heard as “Gallipoli is impossible to break”), attributed to Mustafa Kemal, founder of the Republic of Turkey, perfectly summarizes the battle’s historical significance. This slogan, which became widespread after the naval victory on March 18, 1915, can be interpreted as a motto expressing that Çanakkale was not just a battleground, but also a symbol of the nation’s determination to defend itself and its independence. However, the signing of the Armistice of Mudros in 1918, the dissolution of the Ottoman Army, and the occupation of Istanbul turned this victory into a great mourning and wound for the members of the generation who built the Republic of Turkey. Mustafa Kemal’s rise to prominence during the Battle of Çanakkale provides grounds for a mythological interpretation, suggesting that the great devastation carried the seed of salvation. This national myth, which remains important today, is just one layer of the region’s history related to the founding of the Republic of Turkey.
After arriving in Çanakkale, I decided to take the ferry to the Gelibolu (Gallipoli) Peninsula, home to Alçıtepe. I was excited about crossing the Çanakkale (Dardanelle) Strait, a natural and historical maritime boundary, by ferry. I was excited by the idea of crossing the Dardanelles Strait, a natural and historical maritime border, by ferry. When I boarded the Eceabat (Maydos) Ferry, which shuttles between Gelibolu (Gallipoli) and Truva (Troy) – sites of two battles that left their mark on world history – I encountered a large group of visitors who had come from Gaziantep, a city even far from Çanakkale than Ankara. The visitors traveled in five buses and were students visiting historical sites in Gallipoli as part of a project initiated by the Şahinler Municipality in Gaziantep. The project aimed to foster a sense of national history in younger generations and was organized under the slogan, “From the City of Veterans to the City of Martyrs.” Gaziantep, a historically significant, multicultural trading city in southeastern Turkey, demonstrated great resilience in the face of French occupation during the Turkish War of Independence (1919-1922). Therefore, in 1921, the Grand National Assembly of Turkey honored Antep with the title “Gazi” (veteran), even though it was still an internal parliament in exile in Anatolia. In this sense, the slogan read quite strikingly within the framework of the national myth.
From the images displayed on the buses, I gathered that the Şahinler Municipality intended to bring 250,000 people to Çanakkale as part of the project. Mostly high school–aged youths wearing black T-shirts and name tags excitedly took photos with seagulls on the ferry. After a short and cool sea voyage, I arrived in Eceabat. Two things caught my attention as I disembarked. Right next to the pier was the “Opet Martyrs’ Park” (Opet Şehitler Parkı), which recreated the hand-to-hand combat of the Gallipoli Campaign and invited visitors on a journey through time. There were many souvenir stalls and shops, as well as restaurants and hotels, lined up side by side directly opposite the park. However, some of them appeared to have been abandoned. This suggested that something was wrong with tourism in the region.
It’s not easy to summarize briefly what I’ve gathered from this limited excursion and the interviews we conducted as part of the EGE-HUB project. But I’ll try. Following the Battle of Çanakkale (Gallipoli), the Ottoman Empire began to decline, culminating in the establishment of the Republic of Turkey in 1923. However, this marked the beginning of the struggle to build a modern nation-state from the remains of a collapsed empire. Historically formed cultural geographies are fragmenting, and the centers of commerce and culture from the Age of Empires are turning inward. The Aegean Sea, for example, is becoming a tense border between Turkey and Greece, despite historically being an inland sea of a civilization similar to the Mediterranean. During this tumultuous process, the unique cities of the Empire’s geography, such as Çanakkale, Edirne, and İzmir, were, in a sense, petrified when they remained within the borders of the newly established nation-states.
During this period, the question of how to preserve the legacy of the Gallipoli Campaign also arose. For instance, the decision to build a monument for the fallen was made 25 years after the war, in 1943. Due to financial constraints following the 1944 competition, the winning project was not realized until 1954. The monument was officially opened on August 21, 1960, the 45th anniversary of the war. Between the founding of the Republic and the unveiling of the monument, many significant political and social events occurred that reflected the growing pains of the nation-state building process. Examples include the Greco-Turkish Population Exchange of 1923, the Istanbul Pogrom of 1955, and the 1960 Turkish Military Coup, which is also referred to as a “revolution” (ihtilal) at that time. Indeed, the timing of the Monument’s opening immediately following the May 27th Military Intervention was no coincidence. During this period, the national myth was redefined and continues to exist as a national creed that still influences us today.
This area was designated the Gallipoli Peninsula Historical National Park in 1970. However, it was not until 1971 that a war museum was opened to document and convey the events that took place in Gallipoli. Various landscaping and restoration works were carried out until the Çanakkale Martyrs Monument reached its present form in 2007. In 2006, the “Respect for History Project,” sponsored by the fuel company Opet, was launched. As part of the project, the concepts of “Archaeo-Village” (Tevfikiye) and “Ethno-Village” (Çıplak) were tested to promote tourism in the region. The first concept aims to create an atmosphere that reflects the historical and mythological values of Troy through environmental arrangements that evoke the region’s heritage. The second concept aims to establish a village identity that reflects the diverse historical and cultural layers of Anatolia. In 2014, the “Çanakkale War of Gallipoli Historical Area Directorate” (Çanakkale Savaşları Gelibolu Tarihi Alan Başkanlığı) was established to bring the management of all historical sites under a single administration. Consequently, the region began to be viewed as a tourist destination, or, more colloquially, an “open-air museum,” which fostered national consciousness within the context of the new national narrative redefined during the 2010s.
For the 2010s, these developments regarding the renewed remembrance and commemoration of Çanakkale were undoubtedly no coincidence. The Justice and Development Party (AKP) came to power in Turkey in 2002 and implemented a democratization program during its first 10 years that convinced everyone of Turkey’s eventual membership in the European Union. During this period, Turkey appeared on the covers of international magazines as a role model country. However, certain developments in the 2010s caused this image to change rapidly. For instance, the civil war that began in Syria in 2011 redefined Turkey’s position in the region amid the ongoing “refugee crisis.” The moderate political climate in Turkey changed rapidly following the Gezi Park protests in Istanbul in 2013, which some viewed as a continuation of the Arab Spring. From 2012, the 100th anniversary of the 1912 Balkan Wars, to 2023, the 100th anniversary of the establishment of the Republic of Turkey, the country entered a period of historical and social remembrance. In this period, a repertoire of various official campaigns and events were introduced to commemorate the tragic Sarıkamış Operation (1914–1915) on the Eastern Front, in which Turkey fought Russia during World War I, and the Gallipoli Campaign (1915) on the Western Front. This commemoration also coincided with the 100th anniversary of the deportation (tehcir) of Armenian intellectuals from Istanbul, which was a tragic event. In this sense, commemorating Çanakkale and Sarıkamış was particularly significant in this context.
When I arrived at Alçıtepe, where EGE-HUB was taking place, this new political framework was clearly evident. For example, right at the entrance of the village, you would be greeted by the “Turkish Red Crescent Çanakkale Martyrs’ Hospital Museum” (Hilal-i Ahmer Çanakkale Şehitlik Hastane Müzesi). The old building, which served as an important rear-line support center during the Gallipoli Campaign, finally opened as a museum on August 10, 2021—the 106th anniversary of the Battle of Anafartalar. A grandiose mosque built right next to it completes the picture.
Despite official histories that could periodically change color, the local community also had its own memory. The artist residency program organized by EGE-HUB aimed to express migration narratives that remain in the local social memory through art and enable the local community to discuss this history. However, being able to talk about what remains in the local social memory regarding migration and pull it out from under a heavy veil, such as that of the Battle of Çanakkale, required effort.
The “Special Warfare Memories Collection” (Özel Harp Anılar Koleksiyonu) museum, for instance, is a significant example in this regard. It was established in the name of Salim Mutlu, who ran a grocery store in the village. The collection of bullets and other iron materials left over from conflicts that surface throughout the historical peninsula, especially after rain, has almost become regional folklore in the postwar period. In almost every village, merchants and intermediaries—usually grocery stores—would buy these collected materials by the kilo. At a certain point, Salim Mutlu started selecting and collecting samples of the materials he received. From 1961 onward, he started displaying these materials in a section of his house next to his grocery store.
This amateur interest soon gained institutional status, and by 1963, this interesting community-supported local exhibition was being referred to as a “museum.” Salim Mutlu’s personal initiative gained significant interest quickly. At a time when there were no officially established memorial sites for the Gallipoli Campaign, his initiative became an official stop on visits to the region.
For example, there was the visit of the NATO delegation to Turkey in 1962, shortly after Turkey joined in 1952; the visit of President Fahri Korutürk to the region just before the Cyprus Peace Operation in 1974; and the significant visit to Turkey in 1995 by Rauf Denktaş, the mücahit (Turkish Cypriot resistance fighters) leader of the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, an independent state with disputed international recognition. Given the historical significance of these dates, one could argue that this small local museum has acquired the meaning and function of a “shrine,” visited whenever the national myth is needed to remember.
On the other hand, Salim Mutlu’s biography includes the phrase “son of an immigrant family” in reference to his origins. Without providing information on where, why, or when the migration took place, this statement opens the door to the region’s untold history. During the informal interviews conducted as part of the EGE-HUB project, we often heard the “old names” of local places, such as Alçıtepe (Kirte), Eceabat (Maydos), and Küçük Behramlı (Andrabali). In local usage, spatial references were referred to not only by the names that appeared on current maps, but also by historical (pre-Republican) and local codes. Our interviewees used current map names when speaking to us, but other names when speaking to each other, and this code-switching happened surprisingly spontaneously.
However, when speaking about the communities living in these areas, a specific time period was always mentioned, and people recalled when “they” arrived, without any information about where they came from or why. Despite the phenomenon of migration, which left its mark on local memory through semantic gaps, another interesting narrative element revolved around “ghosts.” There was a familiar story of ghost sightings among the inhabitants that spanned generations. Around the villages, after the rain, while going mushroom hunting at night, it was a common occurrence to see ghosts of soldiers from different nations, or a Turkish soldier meeting with a young girl (his fiancé), at specific spots like cemeteries or prominent rocks. How was this possible? A village headman we spoke with explained the collective ghost-seeing narrative by saying, “A person who is afraid sees everything.” He then recounted how it had happened to him. Another person sold his house and moved to the city to avoid seeing ghosts.
Not to provide an explanation or establish a cause-and-effect relationship, but rather to understand how these ghosts filled the gaps in the local memory regarding the region’s migration history. In 2019, while discussing what could be done regarding the theme of migration at Kirte School – an elementary school that officially exists but is not really operational (another ghost) – which was founded by a young woman from the local community who returned home during the global pandemic, I was silently contemplating these things.
I am not really sure how else to conclude this article except to express my hope that the collaborative thinking process that began with the EGE-HUB project will continue, enabling us to rethink not only this region, but the Aegean Sea region as a whole.
[1] The “Blue Anatolia” (Mavi Anadolu) movement emerged in Turkey in the mid-20th century with the idea that Anatolia itself is one of the deep sources of Mediterranean and Western civilization. It suggests that humanism, art, and philosophy do not belong exclusively to Ancient Greece, but also grow out of the layered civilizations that have shaped Anatolia for millennia. Rather than seeing the region as a periphery, it invites us to view Anatolia as a living crossroads between East and West, where cultural continuity matters more than sharp historical breaks. Through literature, history, and travel writing, it tries to awaken a cultural awareness rooted in landscape, memory, and ancient heritage. In this way, Mavi Anadolu becomes both a rediscovery of the past and a quiet challenge to Euro-centric narratives.
