By Garen Kazanc
It was one of those receptions that had taken months to
organize. The tables were fitted with fancy decor topped with bouquets of
tulips picked from all parts of the country. The hall was unlike most other
halls in the city; elaborately embellished with handmade ornaments, it had the
capacity to dazzle one’s eye. Throughout the night, couples mingled, announcers
made long speeches, and others danced. It was the place to be. The reception took place in Istanbul and was hosted and
organized by a local Armenian church. The leading figures of Istanbul’s
Armenian community were present. Among those invited were various government
dignitaries, including Ismet Inonu, then president of the Republic of Turkey.
Inonu was accompanied by his wife, who was impressed by the decorations and the
preparation that went into the event. “My goodness, such beautiful decorations!” she said
gleefully. “Where do they come up with the money to finance all this wonderful
decor?”
“Don’t ponder about that too much,” Inonu replied
sternly. “Pretty soon, I’m going to squeeze them like lemons so hard that
they’ll run dry.”
Inonu would never back down from his promise.
A few years after this event, in a village nestled deep
in the heart of Anatolia, my grandfather, who was 14 at the time, was returning
home after a day spent playing with neighbors. He found the front door left
open and a blaring commotion inside his home. As he walked in, he saw his three
older sisters sobbing, his mother on the divan crying uncontrollably, and his
father sitting beside the table with a folded piece of paper on his lap.
Asking what had transpired, his father replied, “This
year’s taxes came in,” as he waved the bill in his hand. “There’s no possible
way I can pay it. It’s three times what they were last year. The only way to
keep our home and livelihood is if I go to Askale.”
What terrified the family the most wasn’t the tax bill
itself, but the prospect of their father and husband having to go to Askale and
serve in the harrowing labor camps there.
In the days of Varlik Vergisi of 1942, when non-Muslims
were
forced to sell their possessions to pay the exuberant
taxes imposed on them
My great grandfather had 15 days to pay the bill in full
in cash or else his property and belongings were to be confiscated by the
state. However, what terrified the family the most wasn’t the tax bill itself,
but the prospect of their father and husband having to go to Askale and serve
in the harrowing labor camps there. With the head and main provider of the
household gone, the house would likely be confiscated anyways. But this was a
risk my great grandfather was willing to take. Askale was located in the
In the days of Varlik Vergisi of 1942, when non-Muslims were forced to sell their possessions to pay the exuberant taxes imposed on them
eastern part of the country where the freezing cold and labor-intensive duties
would almost certainly lead to death. This was especially traumatizing for the
mother of the household, who had already lost three children and a husband
during the Armenian Genocide. The prospect of losing her second husband in
similar circumstances inflicted the worst kind of pain.
These were the days of the Varlik Vergisi of 1942, a tax
policy that was supposed to be levied on the wealthiest citizens of Turkey.
However, it was the Armenians who paid the biggest burden with a tax hike of
232 percent—the most punitive tax rates to be known in Turkey. Although the
heaviest hit were the Armenians, the Jews, Greeks, and converts (Donmehs in
Turkish) were hit hard as well.
The policy’s main proponents were two men—President Inonu
and Prime Minister Sukru Saracoglu—who championed the idea of taxing the
non-Muslim minorities heavily before Turkey’s potential involvement in World
War II. These men are much revered in Turkish society today. In fact, two of
the largest stadiums in Turkey are named after them.
For the Armenians, however, it was part of another
genocide in the making. If Stalingrad was to fall, and Germany subsequently
named victor of the war, Turkey was to wipe out its minorities—the same way its
tentative ally Nazi Germany had done in Europe. Turkey knew that an ally like
Germany would never condemn it; on the contrary, Germany would encourage it.
Moreover, with an alliance with Germany and the fall of the USSR, the nationalist
clique within the Turkish government was excited about the prospects of an open
corridor into Central Asia. In this sense, the Turkish government found an
opportunity to complete what it had left unfinished in the previous war.
The government’s master plan was thereby programmed
similarly to how the Young Turks set up their genocidal policy prior to World
War I: heavy taxation; labor battalions of able-bodied men; the militarization
of society; the forceful conscription of Armenians into the army in what became
known as the Twenty Classes, or the Yirmi Kura Ihtiyatlar Olayi; and the
eventual reunification with their brethren in Central Asia by demolishing
anyone in their way.
By this time, it was reported that 26 armed Turkish
divisions were stationed across the border with Armenia, waiting for an
opportunity to launch an offensive. As such, another Sardarabad was to commence
if Germany succeeded in Stalingrad. In other words, my worried great
grandmother had every right to believe that history was to repeat itself.
Upon hearing of his father’s decision to go to Askale, my
grandfather rushed out of the house in tears. He sat on the curb in front of
his home and unleashed a frantic wail. A Turkish man, who just so happened to
work in the local tax bureau, saw my grandfather crying and approached him. The
man asked my grandfather why he was crying; my grandfather said that his father
was going to Askale and that he may never see him again. The man already knew
about the taxes, but had little power to circumvent the damage. Deeply moved by
my grandfather’s grief, he nevertheless demanded the tax forms from my
grandfather and said he would try to help. Miraculously, the man managed to
render the tax bill void and thus saved the life of not only my great grandfather,
but his home and the entire family from certain doom. To this day, my
grandfather believes that man was an angel sent from God.
It was through such confiscations that the Turkish
government reportedly collected 314,900,000 liras (or about $270 million) that
amounted to 80 percent of the state budget. Just like in the previous war,
Turkey now had the money it needed to fund its war machine at the expense of
non-Muslims—mainly Armenians—in the wake of another world war.
A newspaper headline announcing, ‘The Tax Period Has
Ended,’
but adding, ‘If these taxes aren’t paid, their belongings
will be confiscated.’
The rest of the population wasn’t so lucky. Confiscations
of
A newspaper headline announcing, ‘The Tax Period Has Ended,’ but adding, ‘If these taxes aren’t paid, their belongings will be confiscated.’properties are worth
astronomically more than the puny amounts they were bought for. It was through
such confiscations that the Turkish government reportedly collected 314,900,000
liras (or about $270 million) that amounted to 80 percent of the state budget.
Just like in the previous war, Turkey now had the money it needed to fund its
war machine at the expense of non-Muslims—mainly Armenians—in the wake of
another world war.
It may be a lesser known part of Armenian and Turkish relations,
but these events were so profound that they still have an effect on my family
and I today. I wonder what would have happened to my family if that man had
never encountered my grandfather on the curb crying. I also wonder what would
have happened if the tides of war had swung in Germany’s favor. One can’t help
but assume that my family would not have come out of the war alive if Germany
had won the war. With an entire people squeezed dry from the “lemons” they once
were, I don’t believe such questions matter. But with non-Muslims essentially
reduced to a few thousand in Turkey today, one can’t help but wonder who the
Turkish government will tax next in case of a third world war?
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