OPINION

A canceled concert and the weight of history

A canceled concert and the weight of history

Greek singer Despina Vandi canceled a recent appearance in Cesme in Izmir (once known as Smyrna) because the Turkish flag and a poster of modern Turkey’s founder, Kemal Ataturk, adorned the stage. The concert had been organized by the Turkish Education Foundation (TEV). The Greek singer said, “TEV unilaterally decided to change the nature of the event from a concert to a political event, which had not been agreed upon.”

The mayor of Cesme, Lal Denizli, got up onto the stage to slam the Greek singer for her decision, adding, “I hope she never again tries to take down the Turkish flag, which is stained with blood.” She was followed by a youth choir which sang “Izmir Marsi,” a nationalist anthem celebrating Kemal’s march into Smyrna in 1922.

It is worth noting that Vandi has displayed her ideological sensitivities before, such as in 2013, when she canceled a scheduled performances with pop singer Notis Sfakianakis after he voiced his support for the neo-Nazi Golden Dawn party.

Would a Belgian or Spanish singer agree to perform in Turkey with a poster of Kemal and the Turkish flag in the background? Probably yes, as they have no significant connection to the Turkish national emblem or Ataturk. But can a Greek artist do the same?

For Greeks, Kemal’s image is inextricably linked to the Asia Minor Catastrophe, the massacre and the burning of Smyrna. The Turkish claim that “Greeks burned Smyrna” (a theory that still resonates in Turkey) is based on the destruction, looting and fires perpetrated by the retreating Greek Army in August 1922. Turkish villages, settlements and cities like Usak and Philadelphia suffered greatly at the hands of Greek soldiers, a fact confirmed by Greek officers of the time such as Cleanthis Boulalas and Georgios Spyridonos.

Would a Belgian or Spanish singer agree to perform in Turkey with a poster of Kemal and the Turkish flag in the background? Probably yes

However, this served as a pretext for the Kemalists. Kemal himself set the tone that not one “infidel” should remain in Smyrna.

Many refugees left with their keys, hoping to return, as had happened in other parts of Turkey during the first persecutions in 1914. But this time, there would be no return.

The fires in Smyrna (according to foreign observers) was set methodically by the regular Turkish army and irregulars to raze the city and ensure that Greeks and Armenians would find only ashes if they ever tried to come back.

This was part of a specific ethnic cleansing policy; it was also an outburst by an army whose lands had been occupied by Greeks, who had come dangerously close to Ankara in the summer of 1921.

On the other hand, it’s known that in Turkey, the flag and Kemal’s figure are literally everywhere. It is not a political issue; it is a matter of culture and mentality. In Greece, there’s no need for a flag to be displayed at a concert. It’s irrelevant to the event; it is not a military event. In Turkey, it’s different: despite the recent Islamist sweep under President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, Kemal and the flag always symbolize a resurrection: Turkey was literally disintegrated in 1919. In Gallipoli, initially, then in Sakarya and Smyrna, it seemed to be reborn. And its rebirth contrasts sharply with a severe national disaster for Greece.

There is, in other words, a festering past on which Greeks and Turks often stumble out of nowhere. Hence a simple concert by a Greek singer in Turkey, in other words a musical event, and its cancellation acquire a political dimension directly connected to the bloody history that ties Greeks and Turks.

No, Vandi could not have sung or danced in front of a poster of Kemal. Even if she’d wanted to.

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