The Lost Muslim Cemetery
The Lost Muslim Cemetery
I grew up in a house built on a long-lost Ottoman army graveyard. This painting is about a history that was omitted by design as we were growing up.
Before colour was added.
The Muslim Cemetery.
(A reconciliation) July-August 2021. Acrylic painting 80 x 100 cm.
The above painting has its roots in my early childhood on the island of Crete. It has somehow wanted to find expression and over the years has surfaced in my stories and artwork. So when this image appeared on a canvas in 2021, I was not surprised. It is largely based on a photograph for a postcard by E. A Cavaliero from the late 1800s. The caption in French reads Costume Turc Crétois. In other words, the photographer captured the dress code of Cretans in the late 1800s. But these were not just any islanders. They were Cretan 'Turks', Τουρκοκρητικοί or Τουρκοκρήτες, Tourkokritikí or Tourkokrítes,
Turkish: Giritli, Girit Türkleri, or Giritli Türkler, Arabic: أتراك كريت), in other words, Greek speaking muslims. The vast majority of Muslim Cretans were indigenous to the island, converted to Islam, but retained the Cretan dialect and traditions. It is assumed that many belonged to Catholic families who had benefitted under Venetian rule, but I cannot substantiate this assertion with accurate figures.
When I first saw Cavaliero's photograph some years ago, I was surprised. I knew from Ottoman population censuses that Crete had a large number of Muslims, who eventually were forced to leave in an exchange of populations in 1923. I did not know all the details, but as a child of refugees coming the other way, so to speak, (From Turkey or a rather 'pre-Turkey' Asia Minor, to Crete) I knew the pain of displacement. Of course, all this was not discussed when I was a child, but it was there. I sensed it often.
In our garden in the suburb of Mastaba, (spelled Μασταμπάς or Mastampas) I found a long bone whilst 'digging for treasure' in our long-vanished house garden. I showed it to my mother who calmly said that it probably belonged to a domestic or a farm animal. I did not actually believe my mother, but I think I wanted to. It is clear that the experience remained with me and I have tried to depict this childhood experience in a number of ways over the years, either directly or in a symbolic way and the images below are just two of those attempts. I employed at that time a children's book illustration style.
As a child, I fancied myself as a bit of an archaeologist. I believed and felt that beneath our feet was another world, buried from our eyes, but just as important. It was not however the frightening world of the dead, but a world full of stories and lives that connected with ours. I still see myself as part of a greater narrative; I often sense that my own life, multifaceted as it has been, is a small link in something much greater and complex, often just waiting there. Sometimes we see a glipse of it and at other times the sense of it is as close as we will get to knowing. In In the picture on the right, I am acting out one of my little stories with one of my toy soldiers. Those were the days when physical toys were my gateway into my little fantasy world. When I painted this little illustration, I was not aware that I had included those ghostly figures in the background. At least not at a conscious level.
In the decades after WWII, the area seemed distant and inaccessible to people living in the main town of Herakleion, but by the 1970s, it was a thriving suburb, with beautiful gardens and some impressive houses. Of course, amongst the beauty and the gardens, there were also very poor families and dwellings of a few rooms shared by the many children. We as a family, were fortunate on reflection.
Mastampas/Mastabas was a peculiar name for a Greek suburb, but we all accepted it. The history of Crete meant that many Italian, and Turkish place names remained and we never questioned their providence. It is so obvious to me now, that Mastampas or Mastabas comes from the Arabic word for a grave. I think that is how it passed down into some sort of common parlance during the Ottoman era and I surmise from all that I have read that the Ottomans adopted the term as a geographical designation, based on what they knew about its prior use.
(Between the Arab Emirate and the Ottoman era, there was the Venetian period. The exact chronology of the various occupiers is worth reading.) [2]
A definition of Mastaba from Wikipedia:
A mastaba (/ˈmæstəbə/ /ˈmɑːstɑːbɑː/ or /mɑːˈstɑːbɑː/) or
pr-djt (meaning "house of stability", "house of eternity"
or "eternal house" in Ancient Egyptian) is a type of ancient Egyptian
tomb in the form of a flat-roofed, rectangular structure with inward sloping
sides, constructed out of mudbricks. These edifices marked the burial sites of
many eminent Egyptians during Egypt's Early Dynastic Period and the Old Kingdom. In
the Old Kingdom period, local kings began to be buried in pyramids instead of
in mastabas, although non-royal use of mastabas continued for over a thousand
years. Egyptologists call these tombs mastaba, from the Arabic word مصطبة
(maṣṭaba) "stone bench".[3][4]
One Turkish dictionary defines Mastaba as follows: (Ottoman Period) (C.: Masâtıb) Cedar. The stone or wooden bench next to the door in structures such as mosques, madrasas, inns, palaces. [5]
The word پيكه - peyke also appears in Ottoman Turkish translations as a bench, a place for the feet, a footboard beneath a bench. [5a]
I found the following newspaper article about our old suburb particularly informative, because of the sources quoted by the writer, Dimitri Savva:
[so] the prevailing opinion is that the suburb of our city got this name from the burial place of the Turkish fighters.
The late historian Nikolaos Stavrinidis, in the valuable translations of the documents of the Turkish archive of Heraklion, tells us that in Mastabas Ottoman archers on the order of the Sultan undertook their military exercises and practiced their archery skills, in order to be ready for war. At one time, a Teke (Tekke or Khanqah, a building designed specifically for gatherings of a Sufi brotherhood) was erected on a plot of 510 square metres. This most probably was an enclosed area with covered cloisters, comprised of arches. When the aforesaid teke was erected a Turkish official assumed ownership of the surrounding area and turned it into his own estate, and as a result told the archers that they could no longer practice there, telling them to "go somewhere else to shoot your arrows". The archers reacted with a letter to the Sultan to decide the matter. Surprisingly the Sultan replied favourably. Later, when the structure fell into disrepair, another translated Ottoman document tells us for certain that there was a Mausoleum in Mastabas:
[...] because the exterior of the New Gate, formerly built by Mastabas, had fallen into ruins due to the lapse of many years, it was repaired by divine grace after the appointment of Seit Mustafa as guardian of the Mausoleum, planted next to it. benefit and prosperity of Mastaba. Now Elhaj Ibrahim Pasha proposes that it be planted in the same area, without preventing the archers, another vine, the product of which, half to be consumed by the respective commanders of Chandakos, and the other to be available in favor of Mastabas, of the respective governors participating in the expenses of cultivation, and pruning of this vine. [6]
After several tumultuous centuries of Ottoman rule, and the Greek revolution (1821) which led to Grece's independence, 'ethnic' conflicts incited by political rhetoric and historical mistrust led to such levels of violence between Muslims and Christians, that eventually an exchange of populations was orchestrated by the Greek Prime Minister Eleftherios Venizelos in 1923 and supported by the Turkish Leader Kemal Attaturk. Venizelos proposed a "compulsory exchange of Greek and Turkish populations," and asked Fridtjof Nansen to make the necessary arrangements. Crete did not become part of Greece until 1913.
This major compulsory population exchange, or agreed mutual expulsion, was based not on language or ethnicity, but upon religious identity, and involved nearly all the indigenous Orthodox Christian peoples of Turkey (the Rûm "Roman/Byzantine" millet), including even Armenian- and Turkish-speaking Orthodox groups, and on the other side most of the native Muslims of Greece, including even Greek-speaking Muslim citizens, such as Cretan Turks. Each group were native peoples, citizens, and in cases even veterans, of the state which expelled them, and neither had representation in the state purporting to speak for them in the exchange treaty.[7]
Historians have described the exchange as a legalized form of ethnic cleansing.[8][9][10]
So much for a 'brief' background to a history that is incredibly complex and at times painful. It is of course impossible for one artwork to portray all this. Nor is my painting trying to do this. In essence, it is an acknowledgment of the human suffering on both sides of the conflict. Furthermore, it is an act of remembrance and of reconciliation. When the last of the Cretan 'Turks' were finally deported to a country that they did not know, because of their religion, they endured great hardships. Much is written by Turkish scholars on the subject of adjustment and no- adjustment of this distinct Grecophone group. The tragic events of 1898 whereby Bashi Bazooks (Muslim Irregulars) attacked the British security force in Candia (modern Heraklion), which in turn led to the slaughter of Christian civilians must have shocked many Muslim Cretans as well as outraging the Christians. The incident accelerated the end of Ottoman rule on Crete and two months later the last Ottoman soldier left the island.
Living in England since I was a child, many will say that it is easier for me to be forgiving of the past suffering and the pain of my home island. The work of historians in both Greek and Turkish, often make for difficult reading and it is clear that despite brave attempts to offer a balanced and impartial narrative, there are still deep wounds that many will not forget. I am the child of two refugees. Expelled from their homes in Asia Minor and resettled on 'Greek soil' on the island of Crete. They knew suffering and saw the impact on their families and loved ones struggle to make a home in a land that sometimes wanted them and at other times not. It is still an honour to be a Politis, like my father ( someone from Constantinople/ Istanbul) yet in the 1920s, many of the migrants suffered discrimination and were subjected to the taunts of the locals, despite being Greek and Christian. Their lives were defined by their losses, but also by their own volition and their Victims of hate themselves, they refused to embrace it in return. They chose honest, quiet, hard-working lives and stoicism and most of all, hope. They taught me to love not to hate and to believe in the possibility of change, not in the pursuit of empty national rhetoric. I know that the past is riddled with complexity; that many suffered. I like to believe that there are enlightened people on all sides of whatever political and national agenda. I know that we can build trust based on how we act as of now, whilst honouring the sacrifices and the pain of past generations.
I am at times shocked by the nationalist rhetoric I see on social media, but I am equally encouraged by the goodwill shown. I don't think holding on to the pain of the past will lead us to reconciliation or healing. I believe the only thing that will is to extend a hand of friendship. So to the memory of all that suffered from injustice, and hate, I offer this painting of three Cretans. Mastabas was a place that was built on an old burial ground and it is worth remembering and honouring those buried regardless of religion and affiliation. Later it became a place where new lives were created and where I spent an idyllic childhood.
Details and summary explanations:
Face 1 is based on the photograph by Cavaliero but with some additional shading.
Face 2 combination face including that of the artist.
I tilted the middle face to add a less formal pose. Combination face with multidirectional light sources.
Cannon balls from a photograph of Castro Di Mare, Heraklion.
Lost gate from Chania, based on a photograph from the Gerola Archive, copyright Istituto di Veneto.
Mediterranean skull moth. In Cretan folklore, moths are associated with the spirits of the departed.
Aspect of old Candia (imagined).
Olive tree, Venetian fortifications, and light house, based on artist's memories.
Muslim funerary marble and found bones. From the artist's archive and observation.
I hope the viewer examining this work will use the information and the visual elements above to create a personal narrative that illuminates this painting, for him/her.
Thank you for visiting.
George Sfougaras August 2021.
Additional sources and references.
[1] https://en.mehripublication.com/product-page/the-forgotten-conquerors
[2] For a fascinating summary of Cretan history see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_Crete
[3] A mastaba (/ˈmæstəbə/ /ˈmɑːstɑːbɑː/ or /mɑːˈstɑːbɑː/) or pr-djt (meaning "house of stability", "house of eternity" or "eternal house" in Ancient Egyptian) is a type of ancient Egyptian tomb in the form of a flat-roofed, rectangular structure with inward sloping sides, constructed out of mudbricks. These edifices marked the burial sites of many eminent Egyptians during Egypt's Early Dynastic Period and Old Kingdom. In the Old Kingdom period, local kings began to be buried in pyramids instead of in mastabas, although non-royal use of mastabas continued for over a thousand years. Egyptologists call these tombs mastaba, from the Arabic word مصطبة (maṣṭaba) "stone bench"
[4] An example of an Egyptian Mastaba: http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ancient/egyptians/pyramid_gallery_02.shtml
[5] Definition of Mastaba in Turkish: https://www.seslisozluk.net/en/what-is-the-meaning-of-mastaba/
[5a]Definition of 'peyke' which appears in Ottoman Turkish as the meaning of Mastaba: https://osmani.ahya.net/english-turkish-dictionary-13654.html
[6] Article from newspaper Patris on the history of Mastabas: https://archive.patris.gr/articles/149884
[7] (From: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Population_exchange_between_Greece_and_Turkey)
[8] Pinxten, Rik; Dikomitis, Lisa (May 2009). When God Comes to Town: Religious Traditions in Urban Contexts. Berghahn Books. p. 3. ISBN 978-1-84545-920-8
[9]^Adelman, Howard; Barkan, Elazar (2011). No Return, No Refuge: Rites and Rights in Minority Repatriation. Columbia University Press. p. 33. ISBN 978-0-231-52690-6.
[10]^ Mulaj, Kledja (2008). Politics of Ethnic Cleansing: Nation-state Building and Provision of In/security in Twentieth-century Balkans. Lexington Books. p. 31. ISBN 978-0-7391-1782-8.
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