1921, November 7th, Monday.
The new week began in Constantinople with an atmosphere thick with unspoken anticipation. Sultan Murad VII's government, barely a week old, had already signaled its intent to diverge sharply from the path of its predecessor. The dismissal of Damat Ferid Pasha, the initiation of internal reforms, and particularly the diplomatic note questioning the Allied-dominated administration of the Constantinople Port Authority, had sent clear ripples through the occupying powers. A formal, unified response from the Allied High Commissions was expected, and it was unlikely to be conciliatory.
Murad met early with Grand Vizier Tevfik Pasha and Foreign Minister Reşid Akif Pasha. The latter, a man whose diplomatic experience was etched into the weary lines of his face, looked particularly grave. "Your Imperial Majesty, Your Highness," Reşid Akif began, "I received informal word late last night through the Swedish Legation – a neutral channel often used for such backroom communications – that the British, French, and Italian High Commissioners intend to deliver a joint note this morning. They have requested my presence at the British High Commission at eleven o'clock. They specifically asked that I attend alone." "Alone?" Murad's eyebrow arched. "A clear attempt to isolate you, to maximize their collective pressure. They preferred to summon our Grand Vizier to General Harington's den. Now they summon our Foreign Minister. Their arrogance knows few bounds." "Indeed, Your Majesty," Tevfik Pasha said heavily. "It is a classic tactic. They wish to demonstrate their unified displeasure and to remind us who holds the ultimate authority in this city." "Our strategy remains unchanged, Reşid Akif Pasha," Murad affirmed, his voice firm. "Receive their note. Listen to their pronouncements with all due diplomatic courtesy. Acknowledge nothing beyond receipt. Make no commitments. State that the Ottoman government will study their communication with care and respond in due course through the appropriate channels. We will not be intimidated into hasty concessions." "I understand, Your Majesty. That will be my precise approach," Reşid Akif confirmed, though the strain was evident. He was walking into the lion's den armed with little more than diplomatic protocol and the fragile authority of a near-bankrupt state.
At precisely eleven o'clock, Reşid Akif Pasha found himself seated before the triumvirate of Allied power in Constantinople: General Sir Charles Harington for Great Britain, General Maurice Pellé for France, and Marquis Eugenio Camillo Garroni for Italy. The atmosphere in General Harington's imposing office was frigid. General Harington, acting as spokesman, did not mince words. "Monsieur le Ministre," he began, dispensing with Tevfik Pasha's honorific from the previous week and using a more distancing French address, "we have received your government's note concerning the administration of the Port of Constantinople. To be frank, we find its contents, and its implications, deeply troubling and entirely unacceptable." He outlined their position bluntly: The existing Joint Commission for the Port was established under the terms of the Armistice and subsequent agreements vital for Allied security and the logistical support of their forces. Any attempt to unilaterally alter its structure or mandate would be viewed as a hostile act, a breach of solemn undertakings, and would meet with "the most severe consequences." They rejected out of hand the Ottoman proposal for a new commission with Ottoman parity, dismissing the evidence of mismanagement Cavit Bey had compiled as "exaggerated and politically motivated." They demanded the immediate withdrawal of the Ottoman note and a formal assurance that no such "disruptive initiatives" would be undertaken in the future. General Pellé added, his tone laced with sarcasm, "Surely, Monsieur le Ministre, the new Ottoman government has more pressing concerns – such as addressing the banditry and rebellion in Anatolia which threatens all semblance of order – than to interfere with efficiently run international bodies like the Port Commission." Marquis Garroni, ever smoother, lamented the "unfortunate misunderstanding" that must have led to such a "regrettable" Ottoman diplomatic note, expressing hope that wiser counsel would prevail. Reşid Akif Pasha listened patiently, his expression carefully neutral. When they had finished, he rose. "Gentlemen," he said, his voice calm, "I have taken careful note of your collective communication. I will convey its contents faithfully to my government. As I stated, His Imperial Majesty's government will study your response with the seriousness it deserves and will reply through the appropriate diplomatic channels in due course." He bowed curtly and departed, leaving behind a palpable air of Allied indignation and frustrated power. The gauntlet had been thrown down, not by the Ottomans, but by the Allies, daring Murad's government to pick it up.
Reşid Akif Pasha returned immediately to Yıldız Palace, where Murad had convened Tevfik Pasha and Cavit Bey. The Foreign Minister recounted the meeting verbatim, his memory for diplomatic nuance exact. When he finished, a heavy silence filled the Sultan's study. Cavit Bey was the first to speak, his voice tight with controlled fury. "So, they dismiss our evidence of their plunder as 'politically motivated' and demand we cease any attempt to reclaim our own sovereign assets. This is not diplomacy; this is dictation by conquerors!" He looked at Murad. "Your Majesty, if we back down now, after this clear rebuff, they will know they can walk over us at will. We must find a way to escalate, to expose their hypocrisy." Tevfik Pasha, ever the pragmatist, cautioned, "Escalation carries immense risks, Cavit Bey. Direct confrontation could lead to precisely the 'severe consequences' General Harington threatened – tighter economic blockades, perhaps even direct military action against key government buildings or the arrest of ministers. We must be realistic about our current capabilities." Reşid Akif Pasha added, "Their unity on this matter seems absolute, Your Majesty. They clearly see control of the Port as non-negotiable, both for its revenue and for its strategic military value. Any direct challenge will be met with their combined force."
Murad listened to all his ministers, his youthful face betraying little of the internal calculations. His gaze was distant, thoughtful. "They have rejected our reasonable proposal for a reformed, equitable commission," he said finally. "They have dismissed our evidence of corruption. They have threatened us. This tells us much about their true intentions – they are not here as partners, or even as impartial overseers, but as exploiters." He turned to Cavit Bey. "Your initial instinct to expose them was correct, but a direct, unsupported accusation from us would be dismissed as propaganda. We need leverage. We need irrefutable proof that will resonate beyond their High Commissions, perhaps even within their own parliaments or with other international powers who might look askance at such blatant colonial exploitation." "How do we obtain such proof, Your Majesty, when they control the Port Commission's records?" Cavit asked. "That," Murad said, a new, steely glint in his eye, "is where our new Muhafız-ı Hümayun İstihbarat Şubesi may prove its worth sooner than anticipated." He looked towards the door, as if expecting someone.
As if on cue, Hafız Bey entered and announced that Kolağası Esad Bey, the newly appointed head of the Imperial Guard Intelligence Directorate, requested a brief, urgent audience. Murad nodded. Esad Bey entered, as quiet and observant as ever. He bowed. "Your Imperial Majesty. I have a preliminary report." "Proceed, Esad Bey." "My initial operatives, men of utmost discretion and loyalty, have begun their work," Esad said, his voice low. "One, with past experience as a clerk in the Port Authority before the Allied takeover, has managed to renew contact with a former colleague still employed there in a minor capacity – a man disgruntled by the blatant corruption he witnesses daily and whose family has suffered under the current economic hardships." Murad leaned forward. "And?" "This colleague, Your Majesty, has indicated a willingness, for a price and with assurances of protection, to… procure copies of certain internal ledgers and communications within the Port Commission, documents that are not part of the official reports shared with the Ottoman government, documents that detail the true revenue diversions and illicit payments." A predatory smile touched Murad's lips. "Indeed, Esad Bey. See that this… willing colleague is offered generous compensation and every assurance of our protection. Obtain those documents. They will be Cavit Bey's ammunition. The Allies have thrown down a gauntlet. We will pick it up, not with a direct assault they expect, but with the sharp blade of truth."
He then turned back to his assembled ministers. "So, our response to the Allied démarche will be as follows: Reşid Akif Pasha, you will draft a polite but firm note acknowledging their communication. It will express our 'disappointment' that our constructive proposal for a more efficient and equitable Port administration was so summarily rejected. It will state that the Ottoman government reserves its right to pursue all legitimate avenues to protect its sovereign interests and the welfare of its people. It will make no threats, but it will concede nothing. We will buy time for Esad Bey's operation." "Cavit Bey," he continued, "once those documents are in your hands, you will prepare an undeniable exposé of the Port Commission's corruption, ready for discreet dissemination to select international press contacts or sympathetic neutral legations when the moment is right. Fevzi Pasha," for the War Minister had joined them during Esad Bey's report, "your Hassa Ordusu and the internal security of this palace and our government become even more critical. We may be entering a period of heightened tension." Fevzi Pasha nodded grimly. "My men are making progress, Your Majesty. Recruitment for the Hassa Ordusu has begun, drawing from the most promising and loyal soldiers. We are also improving the palace's own guard details. We will be ready."
Nuri Efendi, the Sheikh-ul-Islam, who had also been summoned for this crucial strategy session, added his counsel. "Your Majesty, if this matter escalates, the spiritual and moral support of the people will be paramount. I will prepare a sermon to be delivered this coming Friday, and a public letter from the Ulema, emphasizing the Islamic imperative for just governance and the rejection of exploitation, without directly naming the Allies, but the meaning will be clear to our people." "Excellent, Nuri Efendi," Murad approved. "Every front must be engaged."
The remainder of the day was spent in a flurry of activity, implementing these decisions. Esad Bey's fledgling intelligence service, now with a critical mission, began its dangerous work. Cavit Bey sharpened his knives for the financial data he hoped to receive. Reşid Akif Pasha crafted his carefully worded diplomatic reply. Fevzi Pasha accelerated his efforts to build a loyal military core. Murad felt a sense of perilous exhilaration. His government had faced its first direct, unified challenge from the Allied powers and had not buckled. Instead, they had found a new, more audacious path. The risk was enormous. If Esad Bey's operation failed, or if the Allies discovered it, the consequences could be catastrophic. But the potential reward – exposing Allied hypocrisy and regaining a vital national asset – was equally immense. He thought of the message still making its slow, silent way to Ankara. If that channel could be opened, if even a sliver of understanding could be reached with the nationalists, his position against the Allies would be immeasurably strengthened. But for now, he had to fight with the meager resources at hand, relying on the courage of his new ministers, the loyalty of a few good men, and the sharpening edge of his own reincarnated intellect and will. The gauntlet had been thrown. And Murad, the young Sultan with an old soul, was preparing to throw one back.