Siyah: Haiti and the success of the Greek Independence Wars against the Ottomans

This is the fourth instalment in ‘Siyah’, a series which explores African Diaspora and Turkish social and cultural narratives, with journalist Adama Juldeh Munu. To mark 230 years since the Haitian Revolution began and 200 years since the culmination of the Greek War of Independence, the following article will summate Haiti’s support for Greek independence against the Ottoman Empire.

“It is Toussaint’s supreme merit that while he saw European civilisation as a valuable and necessary thing, and strove to lay its foundations among his people, he never had the illusion that it conferred any moral superiority…” ― C.L.R. James, The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution.

These words, penned by London-born Trinidadian C.L.R James in his ground-breaking work, reveal the less-than-simplistic relationship Haiti had with European powers under its first governor-general. That while Haiti’s forefathers took to Enlightenment philosophy and ideals associated with the French Revolution, its infamous and successful revolt against France served as a major source of inspiration for Greek nationalists who mounted one of the most direct threats to the Ottoman Empire’s influence in the early 19th century, the outcome of which led to Greek independence and its ongoing tense relationship with present-day Turkey today.

The Haitian Revolution was in one sense not exceptional for its time. It took place during an era that historians refer to as the ‘Age of Revolutions’, a spurt of turbulent political change in countries such as France, China and the United States, where insurrectionists were inspired by Enlightenment philosophy. In another sense, the Haitian Revolution was exceptional in its own right, not least because it transpired into the only successful slave revolt in world history (Leddy, 2004). Due to its emergence as the first independent Black majority country outside of Africa, and at the height of the transatlantic slave trade, the parameter for Black liberation was pushed beyond the scope of the African slave’s desire to be free from bondage to one to being a fully-fledged citizen with full self-determination and governance in a society of his or her own making.

The basis of revolutions is a reimagining of societal and political infrastructures. The ancient system of bondage was not a 'peculiar institution' when it was first introduced to the colonies in what would later become a part of the United States of America, but social (white supremacist ideals) and economic (exploitation by way of capitalism) theories ushered in a new framework to justify chattel slavery. To say however that the Haitian Revolution was primarily pushed solely by L’Ouverture’s fascination with European ‘Enlightenment’ is only one part of the story. James’ argument primarily centres on the enslaved and their ‘allies’, their cultural and religious impetus for change, their collective mobilisation and the personality of Toussaint. And yet the call to freedom on this small island reverberated beyond its shores, inspiring and playing a role for other revolutionary movements, from Latin America to the Greek struggle for independence from the Ottoman Empire. The latter raises some important considerations:

Firstly, learning about the relationship between Haiti and Greek nationalists somewhat detracts from the sole focus placed on the penultimate role the British Empire and Arab nationalists played in diminishing the Ottoman Empire’s power and influence.

Secondly, the different relationships that existed between various parts of the African diaspora and the Ottoman Empire are made apparent. Fleeing members from the island’s planter class carried tales that reached other parts of the Caribbean and the US, to the unsuspecting ears of other enslavers and the enslaved, including enslaved Black people who were emboldened by it. A fact that in 1893 abolitionist and former slave Frederick Douglass attested to when he described Haiti as “the original pioneer emancipator of the nineteenth century” in a lecture on Haiti:

“Until Haiti struck for freedom, the conscience of the Christian world slept profoundly over slavery. It was scarcely troubled even by a dream of this crime against justice and liberty… The mission of Haiti was to dispel this degradation and dangerous delusion and to give to the world a new and true revelation of the Black man’s character. This mission she has performed and performed it well” (in Daley, ed., 2013).

Haiti’s demonstration of self-liberation was well-known among antebellum African-Americans, who were further inspired to continue to revolt against their so-called slave masters. And while some historians are suspicious of the true extent to which Haiti played in inspiring such revolts, what is clear was that it was more than enough to rattle the most powerfully illustrious of the time, in countries like the US. Thomas Jefferson wrote to the governor of South Carolina on December 23 1793, saying he was informed by a French gentleman from Saint Domingue that two men of colour were setting out from the island to Charleston “with a design to excite an insurrection among the negroes” (Lipscomb, 1904). Also, several state governments created laws excluding West Indian Black people between 1792 and 1801 for fear the slaves of refugees (the slave planters) would ‘infect’ African-American slaves (Sheridan, 1982).

As Siyah: Deciphering the Ottoman Involvement in the African Slave Trade demonstrates, while millions of continental Africans for the most part served as the underbelly of the Ottoman Empire as slaves, Black diasporans in Haiti were actively working to undermine it.

But the discrepancy raises an important question and leads to the third consideration: Did knowledge of the social conditions of Africans impact Ottoman intellectuals’ reception of ideas linked to the French Revolution? In a discussion paper entitled ‘Between Saint-Domingue and the Sublime Porte: Revolution Ottoman Realpolitik, and the Inter-hemispheric contingencies of modern political thought’, Ariel Salzmann argues that there is textual evidence to suggest Ottoman officials like Secretary of State Mahmud Raif Efendi were aware of the strategic significance of Caribbean colonies and upheavals in a communique which he labels HAT 14217. This communique was devised at the end of the War of the Second Coalition. It arrived in Istanbul on the eve of the signing of the Treaty of Amiens (March 25, 1802), which marked the restoration of Egypt to the Ottomans:

“Fransa Devleti’nin Amerika’da son Dominik [sic] adasında Tosi Lövernor [sic] ismindeki âsiyi tedip için Brest Limanı’ndan donanma sevkedeceği.” [Translation: The French Government will dispatch a fleet from the Port of Brest to the island “son Dominik” in America to put down a revolt in the name of “Tosi Lövernor”].

“When compared with the voluminous documentation to be found in the archives of Europe and the Caribbean itself concerning colonial administration, the trafficking in human beings from Africa, and the shiploads of commodities directed toward European ports and beyond, the absence of any explicit mention of slavery within the Ottoman document is in itself striking. Its writer did not comment on the fact that the slave revolt played out against the background of the ideas and politics of the French Revolution” (Salzmann, 2019).

Salzmann suggests Ottoman officials may have not fully acknowledged the importance of the ideals underpinning the revolt; and that their idea of freedom would almost certainly have been limited to freedom from bondage as opposed to free citizenry. Fast forward to the period 1821-1830, the Ottoman Empire would be in direct conflict with these very ideals via Greek independence revolutionaries, marking an important juncture in its gradual decline and the political transformation of the Mediterranean writ-large. During the Greek War of Independence, revolutionary nationalists were in a struggle against the Ottoman Empire that had presided over the country since 1453. The outcome was the creation of modern Greece; the first subject peoples of the Ottoman Empire to secure recognition as a sovereign power. Their motto of ‘freedom or death’ was not quite unlike that used by Haitian revolutionaries. Revolutionary nationalists also faced a series of hurdles not too dissimilar to that of their Haitian counterparts. Early successes included the capture of Athens in June 1822, but by 1827, most of the Greek Isles had been recaptured by the Turks.

Greek nationalists sent a letter to Jean-Pierre Boyer, asking for ammunition and monetary support. Boyer was Haiti’s second president. He is remembered for his role in the unification of Haiti and the Dominican Republic – and his encouragement of free Black migration from the United States.

Freedom was hard-won, but it was fragile. Haiti’s sovereignty was thwarted by various power plays from France, Britain, Spain and the US which included threats of military invasion and ‘monetary’ compensation totalling 150 million francs, which is around $30 billion in today’s money. The extortion relates to a decree issued by France on April 17, 1825, that stated France would recognize Haitian independence at the price of 150 million francs. These led to the diminishment of the island’s wealth and political stability for decades to come. So, while the Haitian Revolution is regarded historically as a blueprint for Black liberation politics, Haiti was never allowed to blossom into a free and independent nation because of global structural racism, which is prevalent to this very day.

There was an important precedent in Greek nationalists seeking Haiti’s support. In 1815, after his defeat against Spain in Cartagena, Venezuelan revolutionary Simón Bolívar’s and a group of soldiers sought the aid of Haiti’s first president, Alexandre Pétion. Pétion not only provided shelter and food but supplied 4,000 rifles, gunpowder, military strategists and veterans for an expedition in April 1816. After the expedition failed, Haiti provided further supplies eight months later, whereby Bolívar succeeded. According to El Libertador: Writings of Simón Bolívar, a collection of public and private letters, Bolívar structured its first government and constitution after Haiti’s and fulfilled a promise to Pétion to help other enslaved peoples in the region.

Jean Pierre Boyer, President de la Republique d'Haiti

Paris: Chez Jean, [circa 1820].

Bolívar wrote to Pétion, “In my proclamation to the inhabitants of Venezuela and in the decrees, I have to issue concerning the slaves, I do not know if I am allowed to express the feelings of my heart to your Excellency and to leave to posterity an everlasting token of your philanthropy. I do not know, I say if I must declare that you are the author of our liberty.”

Marlene L. Daut who is the Associate Director of the Carter G. Woodson Institute for African American and African Studies tells me, “Significantly, Boyer saw the Greek independence movement as an extension of the one heralded by the Haitian revolutionaries in 1804, which culminated in Haiti’s freedom and independence from France.”

Below are extracts from Boyer’s response sent to Adamantios Korais, the Governor of Greece in 1822. As Sideris and Konsta explain, it “provides interesting insights into how the Haitian president viewed the role of Haiti in the world. At the same time, it highlights the allure Haitian revolutionaries had among contemporary Greek revolutionaries thousands of miles away.”

LIBERTE (The Hag) EGALITE JEAN PIERRE BOYER

President of Haiti

To the citizens of Greece A. Korais, K. Polychroniades, A. Bogorides and Ch. Klonaris In Paris

Before I received your letter from Paris, dated last August 20, the news about the revolution of your co-citizens against the despotism which lasted for about three centuries had already arrived here. With great enthusiasm we learned that Hellas was finally forced to take up arms in order to gain her freedom and the position that she once held among the nations of the world.

Such a beautiful and just case and, most importantly, the first successes which have accompanied it, cannot leave Haitians indifferent, for we, like the Hellenes, were for a long time subjected to (a) dishonorable slavery and finally, with our own chains, broke the head of tyranny.

Wishing to Heavens to protect the descendants of Leonidas, we thought to assist these brave warriors, if not with military forces and ammunition, at least with money, which will be useful for acquisition of guns, which you need. But events that have occurred and imposed financial restrictions onto our country absorbed the entire budget, including the part that could be

disposed by our administration. Moreover, at present, the revolution which triumphs on the eastern portion of our island is creating a new obstacle in carrying out our aim; in fact, this portion, which was incorporated into the Republic I preside over, is in extreme poverty and thus justifies immense expenditures of our budget. If the circumstances, as we wish, improve again, then we shall honourably assist you, the sons of Hellas, to the best of our abilities.

Citizens! Convey to your co-patriots the warm wishes that the people of Haiti send on behalf of your liberation. The descendants of ancient Hellenes look forward, in the reawakening of their history, to trophies worthy of Salamis. May they prove to be like their ancestors and guided by the commands of Miltiades, and be able, in the fields of the new Marathon, to achieve the triumph of the holy affair that they have undertaken on behalf of their rights, religion and motherland. May it be, at last, through their wise decisions, that they will be commemorated by history as the heirs of the endurance and virtues of their ancestors.

In the 15th of January 1822 and the 19th year of Independence, BOYER

Sideris and Konsta provide the following analysis: Firstly, the letter addresses “citizens of Greece” who at the time were subjects of the Ottoman Empire. This demonstrates Boyer recognised their nationhood or peoplehood. As such, Greek historians regard this letter as one of the earliest acknowledgements of modern Greece. The significance of support from the progenitor of the earliest forms of democracy could also be considered a symbolic triumph for the Haitian Revolution’s legacy:

“It was precisely the difference between being a citizen and being a subject that was at the heart of the war between Greeks and Persians in the fifth century B.C., as well as at the heart of the revolutions at the turn of the nineteenth century C.E in the Caribbean islands or the Balkan Peninsula. For this reason, Greek historians consider this letter to be very important, as it was the first official recognition of the contemporary state of Greece and the first official reference to Greek citizenship. The recognition of the importance of this letter abounds in the Greek historical works, both in encyclopaedias and historical treatises” (Sideris & Konsta, ed., 2005).

Secondly, Boyer’s references to Greek classic history evoked the historical connections he believed both countries shared in their struggles against imperial rule: “All of them refer to the war that broke out during the fifth century B.C. when the Persian Empire attempted to conquer the democratic city-states in Greece. More specifically, they refer to a fight between the concept of democracy, emerging de novo at that time in Greece, and the despotism of a hereditary oppressive monarchy that at that time dominated the Persian Empire. Boyer refers to two well-chosen battle leaders of this war: Leonidas and Miltiades. He also refers to two historically important battles: Marathon, a beach about 42 kilometres northeast of Athens and of Salamis, an island just across the port from Athens. At the beach of Marathon, Miltiades, Commander-in-Chief of the Athenian Army, defeated the invading Persians (490 B.C.). (The long-distance race of Marathon commemorates this event). Leonidas, King of Sparta, died together with 300 of his fellow Spartans in their heroic but unsuccessful attempt to defend mainland Greece at the narrow pass of Thermopylae (480 B.C.). Finally, at the narrow straits of the island of Salamis, the Greeks won the final battle; under Admiral of the Fleet Themistocles a small fleet, manned by free citizens of Athens…”

Historians Franklin W. Knight and K. O Laurence explain in The general history of the Caribbean: The long nineteenth century transformations, that Boyer later offered 25,000 pounds of coffee to be sold for supplies, the importance of which cannot be understated [Knight & Laurence, eds., 1997:393]. Coffee was the third most valuable commodity in global trade by the end of the 19th century. It came to dominate both European and American consumption during a time of great expansion by both regions into Asia, Africa and Oceania (Topik, 2004).

It’s important to note however that Haiti’s intervention was not a major factor in Greece’s success in gaining independence. Great Britain’s intervention, which led to the Treaty of Adrianople in 1829, probably packed a far greater punch as far as the Ottoman’s retreat goes. Regardless, Haiti’s role was crucial if not at least from an ideological standpoint. So much so that in 1935, Princess Marina of Greece visited Haiti to express gratitude for its role in Greece’s independence from the Turks.

Siyah: Black Eunuchs: The Case of Bashir Agha

This personal piece authored by Zeinab Suleiman focuses on the life of Bashir Agha, a prominent African eunuch during slavery in the Ottoman Empire, and what his life can tell us about the treatment of Black eunuchs in the imperial court. It’s the third instalment in ‘Siyah’, a series exploring the relationship between the African Diaspora and Turkish social and cultural narratives, with journalist Adama Juldeh Munu.

Istanbul is an exciting city for history buffs and those who are inquisitive about the past. The Ottoman Empire’s splendour and opulence can be visibly seen in the magnificent mosques and palaces dotted around the city, like the Topkapi Palace – a must-see attraction. It served as the main residence and administrative centre of Ottoman sultans. I was motivated by a discovery that there were Black eunuchs in the Ottoman Empire. Like every other empire, it too had its fair share of trading enslaved Africans.

Chief Eunuch of Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hamid II at the Imperial Palace, 1912

Some affluent African eunuchs lived amidst the sultanate residency and beyond, at the peak of Ottoman power, even at Topkapi. This affluence is manifested visibly in the splendour of the quarters the slaves lived in. However, the enslaved had a purpose and were selected accordingly – a process they would have undergone before they occupied their places in the palace. The consequence was the creation of an ‘otherness’ of the African among those living and working within the harem. Similar to the breeding process inherent in US and South American chattel slavery, the young, healthy and strong were selected for field work and breeding. Black eunuchs were deliberately chosen for being ‘unattractive’ to discourage any sexual interactions with Caucasian women servants for instance. Additionally, they were made impotent through castration. It was reported in detail by John Burckhardt who visited Upper Egypt and Nubia in the early 19th century, however, did not witness the operation in person.

“…the young man was held down on top of the table while his genitalia was tied off with ‘soap coated silken cord’ they were then swiftly cut off with a razor. Following surgery, a wooden or (then) tin tube was inserted into the Eunuch’s urethra, the wound was cauterised with ash and hot sand, then slightly later with boiling oil ….”

Post from Zeinab's blog

According to George Junne’s The Black Eunuchs of the Ottoman Empire: Networks of power in the court of the Sultan, there may have been around 800 court Black eunuchs that were taught Turkish, and also received instruction in religion, court manners and discipline. Enslaved boys would have been under the supervision of the chief Black eunuch, whose role at times was as high as that of the prime minister. The chief Black eunuch was affluent and influential enough to be an advisor, carry responsibility for the education of the princes and would have close links to the sultan. One of the longest-serving chief Black eunuchs was Bashir Agha (1657-1746).

Agha’s story is one of resilience, having emerged from the brutal vortex of the African slave trade, torn from his home in Abyssinia at a young age. He survived castration and went on to serve in a prominent house in Cairo. He was later transferred to Istanbul and soon became a rather affluent individual. He occupied the office of the Chief Eunuch for 29 years, longer than any other before and after him. Agha became so powerful that he could influence the selection, patronage and dismissals of prime ministers, and kept an eye on the conflicts between rival claimants for office.

He not only influenced Ottoman court culture but it is also said he played a key role in shaping Ottoman Sunni Islam. He was appointed Chief Eunuch of the Prophet’s tomb in Medina and supervised the imperial religious patronages in Medina and Mecca, sponsoring libraries and Qur’an schools throughout the empire.

Agha was an adherent of the Hanafi school (one of four Islamic legal schools of thought and practice) which was the main legal practice of Islam in the Ottoman Empire. However, it is argued Agha actively supported Sufi orders [Sufi orders refer to the practice and philosophical tradition in Islam that relates to spiritualism] and the structures in which they practiced their rituals. This took place during a time when the orders were under attack by puritanical movements during the 17th century. By the 18th century, some Sufi sects flourished, with much credit awarded to Agha for his intervention through his widespread promotion of the study of the Prophet’s sayings, and for providing a collection of and commentaries about the sayings in his numerous libraries. According to Professor Jane Hathaway: “Bashir Agha, who came to the Ottoman palace as a gelding slave, left his mark on history as a Sunni Muslim master, a statesman, a Sufi, and a book lover at the end of his long life.”

Bashir Agha Mosque in Istanbul

Agha’s legacy still stands among the architectures of Istanbul and Cairo, including mosques, schools, fountains, and more so, his vast collection of books which are preserved in the Suleymaniye library in Istanbul. In my walks in the Sultanahmet area which contains the Hagia Sopha mosque, I stumbled upon one of his buildings – the Haji Bashir Agha Mosque. The mosque contains a beautiful fountain and courtyard built in 1745. He also built a fountain on the Divan Yolu, an ancient road in Istanbul, and another one in Eyup, Istanbul.

My excitement in discovering this amazing man’s contribution – not only to the Ottoman Empire but to the Islamic world – had me contacting Professor Jane Hathaway and thanking her for her work. It was like two schoolgirls talking about their favourite pop musician; Jane was equally glad that someone else had discovered Agha. Bashir Agha’s contributions served the course of history, for their contribution to humanity and civilisation, despite the inhumane nature in which they came to be in Turkey.

However prominent chief Black eunuchs were, they remained outside Ottoman society and were not integrated. And this became more pronounced during the 19th century when the international slave trade was abolished. They became, as Juune puts it, an “embarrassing relic of a corrupted old order”, thus by the time Ottoman rule ended in 1923, court eunuchs virtually had no role.

Siyah: Deciphering the Ottoman’s Involvement in the African Slave Trade

This is the second instalment as part of a new series entitled ‘Siyah’ which explores the relationship between the African Diaspora and Turkish social and cultural narratives, with journalist Adama Juldeh Munu. A comparative analysis on both the trans-Atlantic slavery and Ottoman slavery regarding Black people. Were Ottoman experiences anomalies or are they simply a reconfiguration of the same system?

‘‘Slavery’ is a word that is by-and-large misunderstood, for what it was and currently is. Some believe discussing ‘slavery’ in all its guises should be relegated to the annals of time. But if the famous line “The past is not dead!” in William Faulkner’s Requiem of a Nun is anything to go by, today slavery powerfully evokes debate, particularly within the African diaspora. It sits at the intersection of conversations focusing on reparations in both Europe and the Americas; the call for the return of stolen African artefacts that lie in some of Europe’s most prestigious cultural institutions; includes the 2017 revelations CNN made on ‘slave auctions’ in Libya amidst the migrant crisis; and countless reports highlighting the mistreatment of domestic workers under the Kafala system in the Middle East. These are not mindless dwellings over past events. They are of the here-and-now.

US chattel slavery largely influences how we conceptualise slavery, which is by no means accidental when one factors how it is represented in classrooms and wider society. Additionally, the search for an all-encompassing definition of ‘slavery’ through a historical lens is tricky because of the distinctive manifestations of slave societies in different times, and the political and economic forces that shaped them. We are forced then to accept that human rights, dignity, freedom, ownership and exploitation are not abstract terms operating in a vacuum, but products of their time.

While contact between Turks and sub-Saharan Africans spans centuries, dating back to the 9th century, a detailed study of that relationship – even pertaining to slavery – is too expansive for this project. I will primarily focus on the late Ottoman period when the enslavement of sub-Saharan Africans was most prominent, and briefly address the reasons cited by historians for which they were brought there, the manifestation of enslavement and abolition, and the ramifications of this history for Afro-Turkish descendants today.

It suffices to say ‘hidden histories’ are either due to wilful design to keep them hidden or the lack of reliable sources that makes proper enquiry possible. Similar to other enquiries into slavery, Ottoman slavery relies heavily on official documents such as court records, Western travellers’ accounts and interpretations of modern historians. Women and slaves, as non-taxpayers, were ‘generally ignored in documents prepared by the Ottoman central government’, and so their voices were largely silenced (Erdem, 1996: 18). What this piece summarises will work within this scope.

Firstly, Ottoman slavery was generally a multi-racial and ethnic system (Kayagil, 2020: 50), not dissimilar to the indentured servitude system preceding race-based slavery in the US. Between the 1300s and 1600s, the devşirme system (a military conscription of young Christian males), prisoners of war and concubinage from Eastern Europe supplied slaves. But at the turn of the 19th century, a more racially classified system emerged with a heavier reliance on sub-Saharan Africans to fill huge labour gaps, brought on by political and economic shifts: inter-state warfare between Muslim and non-Muslim polities, unstable economic conditions, debt, brigandage and scarcity caused by environmental factors. One exception perhaps was in Ottoman Cyprus where enslaved sub-Saharan Africans were common between 1590 and 1640. The courts of Nicosia stipulated that the market value of Black and white slaves was not disparate, contrary to other slave markets (Jennings, 1987: 294-296). Of the 44 in this period whose origins are explicitly stated at least half were of Black origin.

The study of sub-Saharan African slaves in the Ottoman Empire poses a number of challenges. Firstly, Ottoman state sources did not always categorise people by ethnicity, but by religion, and because Saharan Africans were mostly owned by Muslims, they were also in turn considered Muslim. Secondly, the terms used to describe them pose more issues. The word Arap (turkish for Arabs) also applied to trans-Saharan Africans. British and French documentation is helpful because their more distinct notions of race meant they were keen to record the presence of sub-Saharan Africans wherever they went (Ferguson 2010: 171-2). In some parts of the Ottoman Empire, notions of race and identity were fluid. Court documents from Cyprus used interchangeable words for Black people including zenci, siyah and mamluk, the latter also used to describe North Africans. In these cases, we know the enslaved kept their names and identities.

At the height of the slave trade during the mid-19th century, around 1.3 million Central and East Africans were primarily intercepted via the trans-Saharan slave trade through ports in the Nile Valley, the Red Sea, Benghazi, Tripoli, Izmir, Bursa and Beirut. Istanbul and the Hijaz comprising Makkah and Madina were the empire’s two largest slave ports. Trade routes also connected West African cities Bornu, Kano and Tripoli to Mediterranean outposts such as Cyprus. The journey was mostly treacherous for a number of reasons: distance and climatic conditions, and the slaves were required to carry cargoes of animal skins and carnauba wax. They were sold when opportunities arose at other mid-points, be it within Africa or onboard ships bound for the Ottoman Empire (Ferguson, 2019).

The second quality concerns the organisation of slaves among elite and non-elite lines, underpinned by two parallel bases, Islamic law and the Imperial Court. Islamic law permitted the use of this kind of labour, but with certain conditions. Islamic scholars often point to guidelines which promote the kind treatment and manumission of enslaved people. However scriptural guidance did not always underpin social practice (Ferguson, 2019) and where it mattered, imperial administration underpinned a variety of roles that slaves would take up. Elitist roles included kul or military-administration in which male slaves were trained and could ascend to higher positions as viziers to the sultan, and could include eunuchs and conscripted Balkan boys and men. However, it became a less prominent feature of the institution by the late Ottoman period as the number of military expeditions which aided Ottoman territorial expansion receded. The second was harem slavery whereby women would either serve as concubines or wives. Both slave types in urban households had better living standards and room for upward mobility than the following group that often resided in rural areas and were owned by non-elite people: domestic slaves. Both men and women could be domestic slaves, and their function was subject to Islamic law (Toledano, 2011:28-29). The last was large scale institutional enslavement that involved both agricultural slavery and galley slavery (Wilkins, 2013: 347).

The third quality relates to what Madeline Zilfi describes as ‘regionalisms’; forms of ethno-demographics and other social patterns which resembled similar dynamics in Caribbean slave societies (Wilkins, 2013: 346). Michael Ferguson’s work primarily focuses on African slavery outside of Istanbul where roughly two thirds of enslaved people were women. African women were often domestic slaves, while Circassians were mostly concubines. He explains Izmir probably had the largest proportion of sub-Saharan Africans in the late Ottoman empire outside of Egypt and Istanbul, due to a high demand for labour. He has also produced essays looking into the lesser known slave histories of Africans on the Greek island of Crete, relationships with diaspora cultures and religions, as well as their slow ‘disappearance’. Esma Durugönül is currently working on a survey to collect information focusing on stories of Afro-Turk descendants in Antalya, for which there are little to no surveys (Durugönül, 2013).

An Istanbul Slave Market

The fourth quality concerns the low-ranking status and exploitation Saharan Africans subsequently experienced. Under Islamic law, any person of any race could be in bondage and manumitted, and mixing was common. However by the 19th century, racial attitudes hardened such that an emancipated Black woman would be expected to marry an emancipated Black man (1994:71). And so, while the variety of slave experiences and roles has convinced some historians that Ottoman slavery was an ‘open system’ (Zilfi 2010), there are cases which echo the harsher realities of Atlantic chattel slavery. While Suraiya Faroqhi’s Stories of Ottoman Men and Women (2002) demonstrates that both Black and white slaves were considered property, sometimes shared among spouses, slaves were bought and sold and generally had no control over their lives, or their children’s lives. In her book, Eve Troutt Powell reports cases where enslaved women were raped, forced to abort their babies, or in cases where they did give birth, new-borns would be taken away from the enslaved mothers in Egypt and Sudan. Jane Hathaway’s work looks at the roles of Black eunuchs that were considered valuable property and would have undergone extremely violent castration.

Ferguson highlights negative attitudes by Turks in Izmir towards Afro-Turks in their attempt to practice and celebrate African traditions such as the now annual Calf festival: “The newspapers Hizmet and Ahenk are examined together here, as the editor for both was Tevfik Nevzat (1865–1905), a former lawyer and school teacher who was deeply influenced by both Western philosophies and the writings of Namık Kemal, one of the founders of the highly influential Young Ottoman political movement.Nevzat’s influential newspaper articles criticizing African practices at their annual festival demonstrate the tension between emerging Ottoman concepts of belonging, identity, and citizenship, and the integration of emancipated Africans into Ottoman society. The impressions of African residents of Izmir, revealed in the pages of both newspapers, were focused on their ‘wild’ and ‘savage’ behaviour, stemming from a perceived lack of culture and civility” (Ferguson: 2019:).

Lastly, Ottoman slavery lacked the kind of firebrand abolition movement among the enslaved and their supporters. On the one hand, the legal permissibility of slavery against the interference of foreign governments like the British and the spectrum of responses from Ottoman officials did not create the kind of firebrand halt to slavery that existed elsewhere. That interference took place following Britain’s ‘role’ in stamping out the trans-Atlantic slave trade in the early 1800s. Hakan Erdem argues there are no specific abolition juncture points where slavery impacted people of African descent within Ottoman slavery and “no abolitionist tracts popularising the subject and bringing home the sufferings of slaves – real or imagined. Today, the abolition of slavery, as one of the past human achievements, is not part of the curriculum in schools in modern Turkey. Nor is there a specific date of abolition (as in the West Indies or the USA) which could be used as a dramatic starting-point for such a study” (Erdem, 1996).

But that’s also true for how abolition worked in other parts of the African diaspora. For instance, different emancipation days took place across the South following the US civil war, the last of which took place in Texas on June 19th 1865.

The long-drawn-out independence war between Haiti and France between 1791 and 1804 also speaks to the longitudinal nature of abolition and the role enslaved Africans played in their own liberation. Likewise, Ottoman Tunisia was the first to abolish slavery in the Muslim world by 1846 to curtail European intervention and to protect against enslaving Christians for ransom, after the French occupation of Algeria in the 1830s.

While the importation of slaves was abolished in 1857, as an institution it remained legal until the fall of the empire in 1922. The call for abolition was both “culturally loaded and sensitive interference” during the Tanzimat – a period of reform (1839-1876) which included moves to abolish slavery. In the introduction to his essay Late Ottoman concepts of slavery (1830s-1880s), Toledano says:“Ottoman statesmen (from 1840), Young Ottoman activists (in the 1860s), and the Tanzimat writers (during the mid-1870s) were faced with the need to respond to Western abolitionism. In spite of their different reactions, all three groups rejected the Western image of Ottoman slavery by adopting a bifurcated strategy: to the outside world, they projected the image of kul/harem slavery as the only type of Ottoman slavery, while simultaneously, at home, they treated domestic and agricultural slavery as the only types of Ottoman slavery. This is a case of amplification and deletion as a measure of resistance to extra-cultural interference. The unpleasant, negative, disturbing manifestations of slavery – the traffic in and the lot of African menial slaves – were deleted from the representation of Ottoman slavery. At the same time, the realities of kul/harem slavery were amplified to serve in the intercultural exchange. Because of the rigidity of Western abolitionism, no alternative Ottoman counter strategies were developed. In the West, a campaign to abolish only domestic and agricultural slavery – indeed, the predominant and most painful types – was never contemplated” (Toledano).

Caption: Frequency of Black slaves

Source: Jennings, 1987

Recent slavery institutions, both Atlantic and trans-Saharan, have huge implications on how race-based theories and practices have not outlived their purpose in today’s world, but are sustained by it. Police brutality, the criminal justice system, forced ghetto-isation of Black communities, and racial wealth gaps in Western industrialised nations can be linked back to white supremacist ideals which arose during the height of these slave trades.

Pulitzer Prize winner and New York Times journalist Nikole Hannah Jones’ The 1619 Project looks into how American slavery speaks to the nation’s struggle to reconcile with its historical, social and political paradoxes, as both a self-proclaimed bastion of freedom and liberation and instigator of the denigration of Black people. It also argues that while Black Americans have been historically denied the fruits of American democracy, they have been its greatest proponents. This was met with opposition by the now lame-duck president Trump, who launched the 1776 commission to police initiatives that critique any conversation that challenges the notion of systemic racism. Even narratives on Europe’s connection with chattel slavery is awash with dismissals and the downplay of the brutal realities of plantation life in former Caribbean colonies. A great introductory article on this is written by my former colleague, Amandla Thomas-Johnson on this subject. However, the amnesia over this part of the empire’s history, as Ehud Toledona puts it, is attributed to contradictions in seeking a progressive future, while being weighed down by a less savoury past on the issue of race. This is particularly true for most European nations today, but it’s reverberated in the decades of erasure and marginalisation of Afro-Turks, most likely brought about by the new Turkish Republic and Turkish nationalism since 1923.

Sadly, problematic prejudicial attitudes have in some instances continued to shape the image of the “Black experience in Turkey’s subconscious”, which can be traced back to slavery. In his piece ‘ Is there really no anti-Black racism in Turkey?’, journalist Tunay Altay recounts a recent interview with Yalçın Yanık, the first Black candidate to run for parliamentary elections in 2018, who said, “Even the ones who call themselves democrats in Turkey sometimes act racist and make discriminatory comments about my Blackness”. Altay goes on to vigorously survey the various ways in which the ‘Arab Mammy’, the ‘Yam Yam’, ‘Savage’ and ‘Sexualised Black body’ are represented in Turkish television and film. “Connected to this history of slavery in Ottoman Turkey, the Arab mammy (Arap Bacı or Bacı Kalfa in Turkish) stereotype was one of the early representations of Black women during the Yeşilçam era (Turkey’s old cinematic era between the 1950s and 1970s).” This of course mirrors both American minstrelsy and caricatures depicting Black people in inferior positions such as the African-American actress’ role as ‘Mammy’ in Gone with the Wind.

But in recent years, Afro-Turks have been taking matters into their own hands by setting up initiatives that both enlighten their histories and dispel myths around their Blackness and heritage. In 2006, the Afro-Turk Solidarity Association was set up by historian Mustafa Olpak to bring to light the forgotten histories and presence of Afro-Turks and recently arrived African immigrants. This has included oral history projects of Afro-Turkish descendants and projects showcasing the experiences of recently arrived African migrants, whose lives in Turkey add to the conversation around Blackness in the country, which has gained both political and media appraisal on a national and international level. Olpak’s autobiographical work was the basis for Gül Büyükbeşe’s first documentary ‘Baa Baa Black Girl’ or Arap kızı camdan bakıyor (2006), and a Turkish Radio Television documentary looked at their class positions in “Black, African and Turk – Siyahım, Afrikalıyım, Türküm” (2010). Both remain an important resource for anyone interested in finding out about the longstanding presence of Turks of African origin and their lives in the villages in Izmir. In 2008, Tarih Vakfı or the History Foundation compiled an oral history project turned book to open up public discussions on the history of slavery and its repercussions on Afro-Turks and how they perceive their identity as an ethnic group.