THE OUTBREAK OF THE ISTANBUL POGROM
THE OUTBREAK OF THE ISTANBUL POGROM
Description
Istanbul, 1955, 17-year-old Aliki witnesses a Turkish mob looting Greek homes, and attacking, raping, and murdering Greeks, along with Armenians and Jews. This was the beginning of the so-called "Istanbul Pogrom," in the immediate wake of which more than 15,000 of the city's Greek residents fled Turkey. Today, fewer than 3,000 inhabitants of Greek origin remain in Istanbul - which, at the start of the Turkish Republican era, had been home to close to 150,000.
Tags
Credits
Field Reporter
- Κατερίνα Κασίμη
Interviewee
- Rallou-Alikh Makrh
Podcast Producer
- Magia Filippopoulou
Sound Designer
- Iasonas THeofanou
Sound Editor
- Spyros Lymperopoulos
Voiceover
- Eva Kesserling
I was born in Constantinople. We were a minority that, more or less, all lived comfortably. There were two hundred thousand of us. At the time we lived there, we were practically running things. Everything, the shops, the factories, everything belonged to the Greeks. Everyone else was just good for peanuts.
My father was—he worked for a large confectioner’s—a master confectioner. My mother was the top seamstress. There was nothing new that came out that she hadn’t sewn.
Every Sunday, we went to church, all dressed up, let me tell you! The older ladies with their hats, their parasols... Oh, yes! And Pera was a real bride market. Oh, yes! We knew who would be there, who would come. Our school—I mean for the women, the girls’ school—finished at three. The Zografeion—that was the boys’ school—finished at three-thirty, so that we wouldn’t meet. But just think for a second... We would sit and wait for them. Oh! The suspense! You bet! We knew what time Emilios would come out...What time someone or other would come...Like clockwork!
I was free to do whatever I wanted. The only thing I had to make sure of was to be home by eight-thirty. If I didn’t do that, my father went berserk.
We also had Turkish friends, we didn’t have a problem with them, we got on really well together. Everything happened later; it was the politicians’ interfering that ruined the atmosphere. We were, honestly, very close.
It all happened so suddenly.
The biggest lie they told was that the Greeks of Constantinople had burned down Ataturk’s house. This was their biggest lie. That spread and caused this situation and what happened in Cyprus and everything that followed. That’s how things started. So suddenly. Governments.
I will never forget. It was September.
The day that the trouble happened, my mother and I were in Constantinople. It was so quiet...there wasn’t even any traffic, nothing. People had started to worry.
A truck arrived, full of whom we called bolikourous. They got out with wooden beams in their hands to smash things and beat people up. They broke into the houses there, broke chandeliers, did terrible things, threw things, oh my! That day, that dreadful day, was the worst of our lives.
At some point we heard bells ringing and we said: ‘What’s going on? This isn’t good. Why are the bells ringing? Isn’t this enough already? They have to ring bells?’ We stopped, and we saw St George’s; it was on fire.
We saw the despot. ‘Father Derkon’, we said, ‘what happened?’ ‘They think they’ve burned me!’ he said. One of the Greek young men we had went inside, took hold of him, wrapped him in a sack and saved him. They didn’t manage to burn down the church. Some saw an officer standing in front: others say it was St George himself.
Turks saved both my house in the city and in Therapeia. I was on the balcony and I leaned over to see what was happening and they threw a rock at me...Had it hit me on the head, that would have been the end of me. A Turkish officer lived right below, and he went downstairs and said to them: ‘What are you doing? That’s my daughter!’ Right away, they bowed really low, kissed his hand, and left.
And Pera! You couldn’t set foot in Pera. They pulled and tore down curtains, shoes, bottles of perfume. They broke everything and threw everything out… Such frenzy! In the entrance to my father’s shop, there was a hatstand, looked like an Arab man, who held a tray like this, and men coming in would put their hats on it. They smashed it to pieces! It was made of plaster, you know. One of those. They took out their rage on it. And that wasn’t all? What about the heaters? They ripped out the radiators! They somehow mangled them… How did they manage that?
We were afraid they would catch us and... A lot happened. They ruined girls… Assaulted priests… So much. So much happened then. So much. Around there, they scalped priests.
I attended the Zappeion and graduated in ‘55, during the turmoil. I had just finished exactly when the trouble began. They set fire to the school.
The persecution started and we were forced to come to Greece. So, my husband could not complete his studies and dropped out… He was studying maths. And dropped out halfway through. At the last moment in Constantinople, we were going to get married. Everything was ready. It was going to be a civil service. And then there was one of those… Allegedly, my father-in-law owed money and there was a seizure order against him. And everything was taken.
I was twenty-six when I left Constantinople. Unfortunately. In ‘65. My mother had already died. Of heartbreak, of course. My father came with me. Other relatives… Everyone for themselves.
We were in Thessaloniki. At first, we lived in Nea Moudania. It felt like being back in Constantinople. Really nice, comfortable. And because we were all—most of us—refugees there, we had the same manners and customs.
My father had some money. We gave it to a relative. Never saw it again. We came here, fortunately, to Thessaloniki. We had a bit of cash and decided that we could do what we could with that. We rented a little shop, there on Vasilissis Sofias Street. It was a little convenience store. Until… ah! We went through hell before we could get back on our feet.
Should I keep quiet? I can’t. I’ve been holding it in, and I want to say it now. I’ll say it.
Unfortunately, they weren’t good to us here. They called us ‘tourkosporous’. Turkish seed. Of course, this really bothered us, because a Greek who lives abroad is more Greek than a Greek living here. In those days, when we turned on the radio—there was no TV in those days—we cried when we heard the Greek national anthem or Greek spoken. And here, they called us that.
My husband had a friend and classmate who played basketball. They didn’t call him by his name; they called him ‘Turk’. I’m telling you; they treated the Greeks from Constantinople really badly. Now, they have finally begun to own it and they say, ‘You came and brought culture to us’. Now...
All the families were destroyed; we all stopped seeing each other; we fell apart. One relative in the West another in the East. Very few managed to stay together. All the rest are one in America, another… God knows. Unfortunately. Our homes are gone; everything is gone. Although there is a regulation, the Greeks will not get their property back, no matter how many years go by. There is that agreement between Greece and Turkey. Where is it? Did you get it? I’ve been trying for years for what I have in Therapeia. We started the case in 2008 and it’s now 2020. Like I said to the lawyer: ‘What am I going to do with the house when I’m pushing up the daisies?’
Will I go to Constantinople? It is a stranger to me.