’Autumn pain’: A purgatory? Not quite

The "events of September 6 to 7" sparked after the bombing of Kemal Atatürk's house in Thessalonica, as well as the increased tension in Cyprus, caused a near fatal blow particularly to the presence of Istanbul Rum community. In material damage, it resulted in the destruction of some 5,000 shops, 3,500 residences, 90 churches, 40 schools and 2 cemeteries. 60 percent of the victims were Rums, but there were 20 percent Armenians and 12 percent Jews. As it was historically proven, it was mainly the result of a state policy of constructing a Turkish "national state" and driving the prosperous minorities out. A policy that was, for her special interests, assisted by some little "dirty British tricks."

I had to watch the film. For the last two weeks, the publicity surrounding the release of Giritlioğlu’s latest work had portrayed it as a turning point in the Turkish-Greek painful recent history, as a film which forced the Turks to look back at their dark past with a clear eye.

I had also read a few reviews in the Greek press under such dramatic headlines as "The Turks are shedding tears" by watching the new film etc. In the generally favorable reviews in Turkey, however, some were pointing out certain weaknesses of the film, like the TV-acting style of the players, the TV-serial style of camera work where acting is done virtually eye-to-eye. But that was not my main problem with the film. After all, we can all understand the budgetary restrictions faced by film producers trying to make ends meet, and I accept wholeheartedly the convenient principle of "artistic convention" which allows our imagination to ignore such mundane details. My problem was the story. Or rather the scenario.

When the film ended and the lights went up, I was left with a feeling that the real story had not been told. Or that I had watched two films running together on a parallel line, occasionally intercepting but rarely genuinely fusing into one logical sequence.

One film was the love story of Behçet, the son of a nationalist land owner who had dreams of seeing his son in politics one day, and Elena, a young Istanbul Rum girl whose Fellini-esque grandmother was pushing her as a prostitute to powerful Turks. An unlikely love affair blooms between the two literally through the window glass of their apartments facing each other on one of the side streets of Istiklal Avenue. After lots of dramatic episodes indirectly, but only indirectly, related with the September 6 to 7 events, the girl is killed during the riots. But the prostitute Elena looks too fresh and innocent still playing with her dolls and roaming through the crowded streets of Pera at the centre of Istanbul’s Rum community, wearing her Christian cross on an excessive low cut modern dress. She also looks too emancipated for her time when at a dramatic moment of the film she enters an aggressive Turkish nationalists march and grabs a Turkish flag from the mustached flag bearer.

Which brings us to the second film, the political and social drama of the September 6 to 7 events. This second film runs as a background setting to the front text of Elena-Behcet story, loosely related to it. I mean, one could run the Elena-Behçet story with different background historical sets and it could still be credible as much as any other Greek-Turk cinema and TV love story can be. Actually Elena brings faintly into memory the Turkish bride in the successful TV serial "Yabancı Damat" (Greek title: The borders of love) shot three years ago.

But the "socio-historical" film running in the background of the love story, has got several problems. To start with, the story of the September 6 to 7 pogroms is projected as the result of rightists-fascists and leftists-communists students, a discourse which actually transfers the story to a decade at least later. The angry Turkish mob that pillages the minority shops and premises around Istiklal Avenue is shown as local Istanbullu or even angry students, as opposed to people actually ferried by buses from other parts of the country in order to "do the job," as historical evidence has shown. One of the most dramatic sequences of the film involves scenes of organized "markings" of premises to be attacked. Groups of Turks sneaking in the middle of the night, carrying buckets of red paint and painting red crosses on the entrance of the houses or businesses to be hit later.

Actually they did not need to do that. As Dr. Dilek Güvenç showed in her most authoritative study of the events, the "job" was very well prepared. The neighborhoods that were to be attacked were controlled by three-member groups whose leader was showing to the mob the places to be hit. The groups had lists of the houses and businesses belonging to minorities. Those lists were prepared during World War II by the Republican Peoples Party, or CHP, "just in case the minorities would cause a problem." So there was no need for the red paint as much dramatic that was seen on the screen. A better research of the sources, a study of the numerous personal accounts would have made the background set less of carton pier film set.

"What did you think of the film?" I asked a Jewish friend of mine whose husband is Turkish. "The film is okay, but the Rum girl is a prostitute. That means that only prostitutes can have affairs with Turks or that Turks see minority women as prostitutes. Imagine what makes me then!" she said with a good laughter.

"Imagine what makes me, too," I replied.