The Martyrs' Day of the World
Seyit Ali was an Ottoman private soldier during the naval operation in the Dardanelles Campaign. As the British Navy was forcing the way through the Dardenelles 94 years ago, Seyit was helping the Ottoman artillery unit by reloading the cannons to defend the Strait. He managed to lift a shell, weighed around 330 kg. That bullet hit the British battleship HMS Ocean, which still sleeps with the fishes in the Marmara Sea. Seyit was promoted to a corporal, but he couldn't manage to lift the bullet again. After he posed with a mock bullet, he said that he could do it again, if it's vital for the country.
Today is the 94th anniversary of the end of the Battle of Gallipoli, which was won by the defending Ottoman army in 1915. It is marked as the Martyrs' Day in Turkey.
Like the following
Turkish Independence War, which was won against Britain, France, Greece, Italy and Armenia, the Gallipoli was also a miraculous victory. Britain's mighty royal armada was beaten, alongside the international troops of the British Empire and France, in this last battle against
imperialism.
The result was 500.000 deaths and major political developments, like the resignation of
Winston Churchill, as well as the rise of
Mustafa Kemal, the founder of Turkey who was a leading commander in Gallipoli.
As the number of the casualties proves, Gallipoli was one of the last and maybe the deadliest
trench war of the history. The opposing trenches of two sides were just 15 meters apart.
Do you know those lyrics of
Turkey's national anthem? Mehmed Akif Ersoy, the poet of the anthem, had phrased it in the best possible way in the 7th verse:
What man would not die for this heavenly piece of land?
Martyrs would gush out should one simply squeeze the soil! Martyrs!
May God take my life, all my loved ones and possessions from me if He will,
But may He not deprive me of my one true homeland for the world.
Ersoy was not romantic, neither in the first or the last line. We have recently seen that the second line of this verse is also a fact.
A fire was erupted in Gallipoli last week. The villagers went to the burnt forest and found bones and skulls (above). It is understood now that they belong to the Turkish soldiers who died in the Battle of Gallipoli and was buried there without tombstones.
However, they might have been
the ANZAC soldiers, too. It doesn't make a difference. As Atatürk had stated in the most humane way:
"Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives: You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours: you, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well."
By praising the courage of the decent soldiers and by protesting the enormity of the imperialist politicians, let's remember that the war continues and the martyrs from all nations keep falling down in vain, maybe while reciting another poem by Mehmed Akif Ersoy:
To the Martyrs of Canakkale
This Dardanelles war - without equal in the world
Four or five mighty armies are pressed and are hurled
To reach the Sea of Marmara by hill and pass
So many fleets have surrounded a small mass...
The Old World and the New World, all have come this way,
Bubbling like sand, like a flood, or like Judgement Day;
The seven climes of the world stand opposite you
Australia, beside which observe Canada, too!
Different are these hordes in face and skin and sound
Only their violence, forsooth, is equal all round.
Outstretched he lies there, shot right through his spotless brow,
For this Crescent, O Lord, what suns are setting now?
O soldier, for this earth's sake fallen to the dust,
If your heavenly forbears kissed your brow, it is just.
Brave you are, your blood makes the One God victorious,
Only the lions of
Badr could be as glorious.
Who can dig a sepulchre great enough for you?
History itself, say I, cannot contain you.
That book records the epochs upturned in this race...
Eternities are needed to give you your place.
You, who destroyed the onslaught of the last crusade,
From the dearest sultan of the East, Saladin,
And from
Kilic Arslan who earned high accolade
You who took the iron hoop hemming Islam in
And shattered into pieces on your own strong breast.
You with whose spirit move the legends of your name
The iron hoop that robbed Islam of all its rest;
Ages of history overflow with your fame...
No more these horizons for you no more this test...
Martyr, son of martyr, ask me not for a grave,
The prophet, open-armed, awaits his warrior brave.
If you sail through the Dardenelles Strait, you would see this giant writing on the wooded hills of Gallipoli: "Stop wayfarer! Unbeknownst to you this ground you come and tread on, is where an epoch lies!"